It is crying.

  Three beings of chrome and silver surround it, holding shackles of searing obsidian as the thing slowly donates the tears from its eyes to the screaming river below. There are so many drowning in its currents, trapped in the waves of suffering. It can feel their pain, feel the gnashing of teeth as they demand JUSTICE, the agony coming to suffuse itself here into a concentrated point of suffering for no discernible purpose but to torture each other with their screams.

  At the edges, grey things of malformed limbs sup from the waters as though it were precious ambrosia, too lost in their drunkenness to notice the parasites feeding off their emaciated forms. Little things of many legs and sharp mandibles, digging through them slowly as they start reaching for the grey things' hearts, hoping for just a piece.

  Other than the river, it is barren here, more things of grey shuffling through grass that cuts, howling with agony as their only language. Little babes who understand nothing, but they will, eventually.

  That is what it means to grow, and oh how they grow. Each ascension transforms them into something horrific yet profound, a microcosm of everything wrong with the world, a product of something broken. It has been made a witness to these transformations, this isn’t the only river the things of chrome and silver have taken it too after all.

  It’s been to the upper layers, where the things of grey learn hunger, turning into ravenous beasts that chew on the entrails of their brothers.

  It has seen the red sands where rage is the only true companion that can be found, leading to the bashing of skulls and tearing of limbs.

  Finally, it bore witness to the face fear gives the grey ones in the silent forest, where they hide and scurry from things that are impossible.

  Unfortunately it's tears aren’t so valuable that it would have the chance to be brought higher, but it can only assume that the suffering experienced in their birthplace supersedes all as it does with the layers it has seen.

  It wonders, what is the purpose of its home? It doesn’t follow the logic that confines the WORLD, it would know, it has seen it. It’s like…like a filter maybe? No, it serves a greater purpose than just that but it can’t guess what that might be.

  It is fine, its purpose is not to know, it is to cry.

  And so it does, adding to the river.

  -

  Tantra takes a sip of her tea, it is a delectable thing of chamomile, sourced from the Rondevie Grasslands and ground down for her personal delight. She lets out a sigh of contentment, luxuriating in the delicacy of such a masterfully prepared beverage. It’s unfortunately the only good thing that comes from these gatherings

  “Why, it is simply a delight to see you again Tantra,” a red haired girl says with a hint of something Tantra can’t exactly identify but assumes to be scornful.

  That’s usually in line with their general feelings about her.

  “Indeed,” a girl with violet hair says, she wears the distinct toga of house Urath, “It has been a desolate thing to hold these meetings without your presence.”

  “A thousand gratitudes Lady Synthia,” Tantra says as she bows deep to the marquis's daughter. Synthia simply nods to her as though the gratitude were a matter of course, Tantra can barely muster the willpower not to roll her eyes.

  Her time at the sect has made her…less prepared for these decorative gatherings of social status. She had hoped this would at least wait until her linen robes are done with the tailors, but no, Ral had to get her a toga appropriate for the occasion.

  “Where were you?” A girl with hair of green asks, “your siblings weren’t very forthcoming about your location.”

  Tantra’s brow twitches.

  Why would you want to know where I was, all her being desires to say, but instead she takes another sip of her tea, swishing the scalding substance around in her mouth. While Qi might not make things stronger inherently it does make them more durable, so what should have burned her instead is only a mild nuisance.

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  She swallows, and makes a token appear out of thin air to the gasps of the ladies present.

  “I was sent to a humble sect called the Serpent’s Fang,” she says, “to train.”

  “As a cultivator?” a brunette says with no small amount of derision, “why on earth would you want to be like those brutes?”

  The cultivator currently presiding over the tea party, all lackadaisical in his seat a few tables away cracks one eye open and stares at Tantra, he grunts and goes back to sleep.

  “It was not my choice,” Tantra says carefully, “it was the choice of my father.”

  There are a few ‘ooh’s of actual understanding that come from the collection of overly dressed and perfumed fools.

  Tantra holds back the urge to groan.

  “Shouldn’t you have to renounce your…hmmm well you don’t have a title, inheritance then?” The blue haired girl says.

  Synthia waves her off, “merchants function under different rules, they have no oath to the empire, so they don’t need to follow the same rules as we, though I haven’t ever heard of a merchant cultivator before.”

  Synthia taps her chin in contemplation and shrugs.

  “Well, it isn’t as though it matters, since you aren't a cultivator”

  -

  Yorin skips down the halls of one very impressive mansion.

  He’s never been to a mansion before, but he has to say, this is definitely up there for presentation. Only the emperor's could be grander! Okay, maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but still, this place is ridiculously big. The field at the centre is bigger than the training field they have at the sect! And that’s supposed to accommodate hundreds!

  Absolutely ridiculous.

  But he doesn’t really think that’s a good thing, when Tantra came to the sect, she was easily the weakest of them all. It was only through her own effort and apparently control that she pushed her way to foundation so early.

  Still, If she doesn’t boost, she isn’t all that strong.

  For a farmer? Sure.

  For a cultivator? Not at all.

  He’s fairly certain her lacking strength came from this place of…what was the word?

  Deca-something.

  There’s also a lot of shit that just doesn’t make sense. Merchants are supposed to be stringent with their coins, at least that’s the impression he got from Tantra, although watching her have a breakdown at the first village when they gave them everything for free was pretty funny. Yorin thinks she likes to haggle more than actually saving coins.

  Now, the hall he’s skipping down is the opposite of fiscally responsible.

  They use lamps of pure gold, and adorn it with blueflame.

  Just one of those would cost more than his whole village, and there are thousands packed into the mansion like they couldn’t care less about all the massive amount of coin they’re losing. That’s just the tip of the iceberg though, the bedsheets? Made from the silk of a divine beast, each and every room that houses members of the family or guests.

  How did they even get their hands on something like that?

  Why even bother?

  Sure it’s nice but not nice enough to justify its surely stupid high-

  As he rounds a corner, someone crashes into his chest, falling flat on their ass.

  He, meanwhile, is completely unfazed.

  “A thousand apologies!” Yorin says as he stretches out his hand to the girl.

  The girl turns to look at Yorin with a scowl, only for shock to color her features.

  “You!”

  Yorin blinks at her and points to himself, “me?”

  “You’re one of my sister's new friends!” she exclaims as though it were an accusation.

  Yorin doesn’t really know how to respond to that, “yes?”

  She gets up without his help and brushes off her Toga as though the rug contained any dirt or dust to stain it. Honestly, the cleanliness of this place is almost nauseating.

  Her ocean blue eyes turn to pierce through Yorin as she considers him, she puts a hand on her chin and examines the boy, walking circles around him for the sake of being thorough.

  She crosses her arms in front of Yorin and harrumphs.

  “Know this plebeian! The Jade Sol will not accept just anyone into their ranks, if you wish to court my sister you must prove yourself first!”

  Yorin blinks, “I…don’t want to though.”

  The girl waves him off, “nonsense, Tantra is on her way to becoming a jade beauty, you’d be blind not to aim for her.”

  “I prefer her as a friend.”

  She pats his shoulder, “I see, you are simply intimidated by her beauty, worry not plebian! This Tosa Sol will instruct you in the arts of wooing the ladies.”

  “But…but I don’t want to,” Yorin begs.

  “Hmmm, maybe I should aid the one with the missing eye then?” she says with the subtle hint of a threat.

  A light illuminates in his mind as Yorin grasps onto an idea, the radiant smile he makes takes Tosa aback.

  “Yes!” he exclaims happily, “that might just work!”

  “What?” Tosa asks dumbly.