Unrepentant

Jules occasionally tripped over roots and rocks as he struggled to keep up with Silas.

Silas could feel the boy's eyes boring into his back. It wouldn't be long before curiosity got the better of him.

“May I ask, good Sir… are you a mystic or… rather a cultivator?” Jules finally blurted out, unable to hold it in any longer.

Silas continued without breaking stride. “Of a kind.”

The simple response seemed to encourage Jules.

He quickened his pace until he was walking alongside Silas.

“What kinds are there?” he asked, scratching his cheek.

Nyx squawked, a sound that almost seemed mocking.

“Body cultivators, Spirit cultivators, Witches, Alchemists, Arcanists,” Silas listed off casually. “And many more.”

Jules’ eyes widened at the sheer number of possibilities. He couldn't resist asking the next question. “What kind are you? Are you super strong?!”

“Some wandering cultivators would kill you for asking them that,” Silas said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it had a certain heft to it. A trail of bone chilling dread began going down the lad's back.

Nyx flapped his wings once as if to emphasize the point.

Jules gulped audibly. “I-I meant no offense,” he stammered, stepping back.

Silas exhaled with twisted mirth at the boy's new fear over a question that most practitioners would either answer or simply ignore.

Jules, however, nearly reached a breakthrough in his newly devised technique, [Run Like a Bitch].

Silas continued his stride.

Jules took a moment to steady himself after his mind began wandering into nonsense. He followed Silas again, more cautiously this time. The lad had learned a lesson—curiosity could be dangerous when aimed at the wrong person.

The boy’s earlier curiosity still hung in the air like questions only half-asked. Silas decided to offer some insight of his own accord.

“No matter the kind of cultivation,” Silas began, his voice cutting through forest sounds, “All practitioners gather various kinds of energy into themselves, they refine it, purify it and make it greater. This energy is then used to manifest their will onto the world.”

Jules walked beside him, his ears pricked with interest but with a face of unease that Silas found amusing.

“Some call it Qi,” Silas continued. “Others refer to it as Mana. Some even call it simply Energy. Different names for the same concept.”

Jules nodded, though he looked as if he felt he was listening to knowledge not meant for him.

Nyx squawked and began miming strange characters with his wings. Jules's confusion was evident on his freckled face.

Nyx let out a groan-like squawk and flapped a wing over the side of Silas's ear in exasperation.

“What Nyx is trying to tell you,” Silas said, “is that the varying strength among all cultivators is distinguished by differing levels of both the amount and caliber of their energy base, regardless of the type.”

Jules’s eyes lit up again, but he kept silent this time, letting Silas speak on his own.

“Those just starting out are in the 'Energy Condensation stage.' From there, one progresses through 'Energy Transformation' and 'Energy Purification,' then finally reaches 'Energy Ascension.'”

Silas glanced at Jules, noting the boy’s rapt attention. "There are four stages altogether, each vastly distinct in power from the others. The majority of mystics you encounter are in the initial stage; few reach the second, a scarce number on the continent achieve the third, and as far as it is known, none are alive in the fourth."

Nyx fluffed his feathers in approval, clearly satisfied that his master had explained things adequately. Jules seemed to absorb every word.

They continued to walk, the forest’s damp air wrapping around them like a wet blanket. Jules's eyes darted to Silas, a new curiosity bubbling over.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Jules finally asked, his voice cautious.

Silas didn’t break stride. “No reason.”

Jules looked stunned, his freckled face contorting in confusion. “Huh? You’re sharing mystical knowledge out of boredom?”

Nyx flapped his wings and landed on Jules’s head with surprising agility. The crow gave a painful stomp that made Jules wince.

“Can anyone become a cultivator? No matter what kind?” Jules pressed, rubbing the spot where Nyx had stomped.

Silas allowed a smirk to play on his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Consider this, why would I teach you or anyone else how you could live for centuries or destroy cities with your bare hands when I can keep it to myself and do whatever I want?”

Jules fell silent, absorbing the implications. The young man’s earlier excitement seemed to drain away, replaced by a somber understanding of the selfish nature that accompanied power.

''You are either born into it, have great luck to weasel your way into it… or greater luck still to force your way into it,'' he finished, not really answering the original question. Perhaps anyone could, but if they should is another matter.

Silas glanced at Nyx, who had settled back onto his shoulder. The crow always enjoyed messing with people.

As they continued, Silas's words hung between them like an unspoken law: power was a solitary endeavor, meant for those who could seize it and hold it without mercy or hesitation.

Jules seemed to have grasped that much.

The morning mist began to lift, revealing the path ahead with greater clarity. Sunlight filtered through the canopy above, creating dappled shadows.

A weathered road sign appeared ahead of them, pointing out their direction towards Rhysling.

Silas barely glanced at it; his sense of direction rarely faltered. Jules, however, paused for a moment to scratch the back of his head, eyes tracing the carved letters on the sign. He sighed as he decided to break the silence once again.

"You know," Jules began, "I've always had this little ambition to live a good life. Simple stuff, you know? A cozy house, a loving wife. Maybe even some kids running around."

Nyx tilted his head and scratched at it with a wing, mimicking Jules's gesture with an almost mocking accuracy.

"My ma and pa were simple folks," Jules continued, oblivious to Nyx’s antics. "Pa was a mason like me. He taught me everything he knew about laying bricks and shaping stone. Ma was the heart of our home, always had a way of making everything seem right."

Silas walked on, letting Jules's words wash over him like background noise. The boy’s story had no particular interest to him, but it served as a momentary distraction from the monotony of their journey.

Jules seemed to gain confidence as he spoke. "There's this technique Pa showed me once—how to carve out intricate designs on stone without cracking it. It's all about finding the right angle and applying just enough pressure."

Nyx squawked softly, almost as if laughing at the lad's earnestness. The crow’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he settled back onto Silas’s shoulder.

Realizing he had been rambling, Jules’s cheeks flushed with some embarrassment. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I guess that's all I’ve got to offer in return for your answers earlier. Masonry tips and stories about my folks."

Silas glanced at him, before he turned his gaze back to the path ahead.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as they moved forward.

"Ever been to Rhysling before?" Jules asked, breaking the quiet. "You must have, right? With a robe like that and being a cultivator, you can't be short of money. And I hear cultivators love traveling!"

Silas responded with a simple nod.

Jules seemed encouraged by the response. "What's it like? Must be bustling with life, all those guilds and airships."

Silas gave another curt nod. "It is."

Jules scratched his head, searching for more to say. "Any tips for a newcomer? Like where to go first or what to avoid?"

Silas paused, considering for a moment. "Sign in at the appropriate offices. Register with the Mason's Guild. They’ll help you find work and lodging."

"That makes sense," Jules said, nodding gratefully. "Thanks for that."

Silas observed Jules from the corner of his eye, noting the lad’s growing confusion at his shifting demeanor—from brooding silence to brief conversation.

A low chuckle escaped Silas's lips, catching Jules off guard. It was the first genuine sound of amusement he'd heard from the man. "Many who seek the mystic arts do things and consume substances that destabilize their personality." He pointed to his head.

Jules blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. He hesitated before asking bluntly, "So, those rumors about cultivators getting into fights or killing for the slightest slight—are they just constantly under trauma or drugged out of their minds?"

Silas stopped walking and turned to face Jules fully for the first time since their journey began. His eyes bore into Jules's with an intensity that made him feel as though he were being dissected piece by piece.

"Some are," Silas replied with an unsettling calmness. "Others simply lack patience, some are immoral and some well just find it easier to kill to get what they want." He resumed walking without another word, leaving Jules to ponder.

Nyx flapped his wings lightly as if punctuating Silas’s statement with silent agreement, though with quite the evil glint in his eye.

Jules mulled over Silas's words, trying to reconcile the many facets of this enigmatic cultivator who alternated between sage advice and chilling revelations with disconcerting ease.

The dense forest began to thin, giving way to the outskirts of Rhysling. The walls of the city loomed ahead, tall and imposing, their stone surfaces gleaming under the midday sun. In the distance, airships took flight, their massive forms gliding gracefully into the sky.

"Look at that!" Jules exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder. "I've always wanted to ride one of those bad boys."

Silas barely acknowledged him, his gaze fixed on the city. Without breaking stride, he continued walking toward the town, leaving Jules momentarily behind. Jules scrambled to catch up, his fascination with the airships quickly replaced by the need to keep pace.

The scene at the city's massive gates was a chaotic symphony of life. People bustled about, some on foot, others in carriages or atop strange contraptions that defied conventional understanding. Large levitation boards powered by small Earth Crystals floated cargo effortlessly through the throng, guided by workers.

Nyx chose that moment to land on Jules’s shoulder, letting out a series of squawks that seemed almost conversational.

"From here," Silas said without turning around, "you’re on your own. Try not to get killed. And remember—don’t trust everyone in this city."

Jules’s face fell, clearly flustered by the sudden separation. He fumbled through his satchel, looking for something to offer as a token of gratitude. His fingers brushed against where his coin pouch is supposed to be, filled with outdated currency that would need exchanging. To his surprise, he found Nyx's beak clamped around it on his shoulder.

The crow smacked Jules lightly on the nose with the pouch before dropping it onto his head. Then Nyx plucked a shiny coin from within and swallowed it whole, his eyes conveyed mischief as he fluttered back to Silas’s shoulder, cawing with laughter.

Jules blinked in confusion as Silas and Nyx disappeared into the crowd without him noticing.

Complaints echoed through the crowd gathered at the gate of Rhysling. People stood in a haphazard line, their patience worn thin. Shouts and curses flew back and forth, turning the air rancid with frustration. A guard, face flushed with exasperation, tried to maintain order.

"The Magistrate's orders," the guard said, voice strained. "Forms of intent must be filled out for first-time entrants. No exceptions."

His words fell on deaf ears as the crowd's grumbling grew louder. Silas approached, his presence unnoticed amid the commotion. With a flicker, like a candle snuffed out and relit on the other side, he was beyond the gate before anyone could mark his passing.

Nyx took flight, perching himself atop a nearby building to survey the scene below. His keen eyes followed Silas as he navigated through the city with ease.

Rhysling was alive with activity. Artisans displayed their crafts on makeshift stalls while merchants haggled over prices with animated gestures. Children darted between adults, laughter ringing out as they played games only they understood. The diversity of people added to the city's vibrancy—travelers in colorful garb rubbed shoulders with locals in simpler attire.

Silas moved without obstruction, weaving through the streets toward the western end where the guilds stood like sentinels of knowledge and craft. Chatter mingled in the air, creating a tapestry of sound that matched the visual feast of the marketplace.

A blacksmith hammered away at an anvil, each strike sending sparks into the air. Nearby, a baker pulled fresh loaves from an oven, their aroma mingling with that of spices from an adjacent stall. Silas walked past it all with a predatory grace that parted crowds before him like water around a stone.

Nyx flitted from rooftop to rooftop, keeping pace with his master below. His feathers ruffled slightly as he watched Silas approach their destination.

At last, Silas arrived at a sturdy gate adorned with intricate carvings—the entrance to the Alchemist's Guild. He paused briefly to take in its familiar design before pushing it open and stepping inside.