The First Cultivator

Azura knew the plan's brilliance as soon as Toren showed her what he had gathered. This would be the most significant step towards achieving equality among kin in the city. In the annals of history, they would refer to this moment as the event that changed everything. It would be when righteous justice was finally served against a group of trespassers so foul that even thinking of their deeds warranted execution from any folk with a modicum of decency. They would pay; oh yes, she and Toren would ensure it. Even thinking about what the offenders had done sent a spark of rage through her.

Quietly, the pair traversed the rooftops, Toren leading the way. They were close now. Their quarry tended to linger in this area. A cold breeze swept Azura's long hair back, causing a slight shiver that she hardly felt in her excitement. Azura shifted the sack to a more comfortable position as they moved on silently.

The sun was now high overhead, and she was beginning to wonder if they had missed their targets when Toren raised his hand. Azura froze, barely breathing. Wordlessly, the boy pointed down. She looked. There they were.

The targets were orcs. Creatures so foul that the stench from their unwashed bodies nearly gagged Azura two stories above. Their ugliness was only matched by their stupid expressions. Yes, they were genuinely foul beings for what they did.

Azura reached into the sack as Toren did the same. The boy mimed numbers on his free hand as he aimed. Azura did likewise. Once Toren showed the third finger, both of them threw. The effect was immediate. The orcs screamed in rage as, one by one, they fell, never to rise again, their blood staining the cobblestones.

… Okay, maybe the narrative in her head had sidetracked from reality just slightly. The orcs were not orcs per se, but rather four kin boys. And maybe the foul odor wasn't from them but from the sack she carried. And just maybe, the children didn't collapse bleeding. Instead, they were splattered with rotten fruits that exploded in a sticky red mess that covered them. But the great crime was no exaggeration.

"This is for pulling down my trousers!" Azura shouted, feeling vindicated. The one-sided bombardment continued without mercy. The boys' pitiful attempts at returning fire were hopeless due to their significant height advantage. All was right with the world… that was until Miss Grassfoot, the crow-kin grand book-keeper, exited her home, which happened to be directly in the line of fire.

The woman screamed as a particular soggy fruit, thrown by Azura, crashed into her, drenching the woman in sticky red pulp. On her face…

The battlefield froze as the civilian was the inadvertent victim of some long-overdue retribution. Azura's panicked mind instantly tried to justify the action. There were innocent casualties in war all the time. She couldn't be held responsible. The crow-kin would understand that her sacrifice was for the good of all.

The crow-kin woman wiped her eyes clean. The woman glared upwards, right at her, the fruit paste glistening on her feathers.

"AZURA!" The crow-kin squawked.

Oh shit. She didn't understand anything. Azura thought as she bolted away.

***

Azura's mother wasn't pleased, nor did she understand the necessity of the situation, as Azura did. She only understood an irate bookkeeper as she told her mother about the battle. A scowl was on the crow-kin's face as she looked at Azura hiding behind her mother. Azura stopped hiding there as the pair discussed her impending punishment. As the day drew to a close, Azura penned in her mental journal to document the day's injustice.

Dear invisible journal that I have to use since my mom is too cheap to buy me a blank book,

I have been wrongfully imprisoned by those I trusted the most. I have had no trial and was directly incarcerated with no due process of the law. I have not seen the light of day for over 180 minutes. I fear my mind is on the verge of breaking from the stress. My jailer has no sympathy for my plight and seems to take cruel pleasure in my discomfort. My meals are barely palatable. Worst still, dessert was cruelly denied to me. How can I continue in this state?! This genuinely tested my willpower to its limits, and I find myself lacking. The sun and wind are but distant memories. Night has fallen, and yet I know the tribulation waiting for me tomorrow will make this day pleasant in comparison. I do not know how I will survive.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Azura mentally closed her non-existent book, dreading the coming day.

***

"May I have a break warden?" Azura asked, her energy gone.

"It's only been 10 minutes Azura," her mother said, not looking at her as she continued her work.

"Could I perhaps be released early for good behavior?"

"I might consider it if I ever saw any."

"But this is so boring!" Azura declared, glancing at the large pile of clothes. Her mother was a mender. She washed and repaired people's clothes. Her mother was skilled at her craft, earning enough to pay for their modest home with the help of a stipend from her father. Azura had to hang the clothes out to dry as punishment for her transgressions. Afterward, she put them in bags for their customers.

"Prisoner, get back to work. Otherwise, I'll have another inmate shank you with a toothbrush," Azura's mother said, a touch of mischief in her voice.

"Yes, warden," Azura said. At least her mother played along with her fantasies. It made the time go by a little faster. Azura went outside and collected an armful of clothes from the drying lines before hanging up more. She brought the dried clothes inside and then started shoving them into bags.

"Not like that," her mother said exasperatedly. You have to fold them, or they'll never fit."

Azura stopped cramming the clothes into the bag.

"But it doesn't help that much. I don't think anyone would notice."

"Don't make me put you in solitary confinement."

"Fine," Azura huffed.

"Excuse me," her mother said, a look of fake indignation on her face.

Azura couldn't help but smile. "I mean, yes warden."

"Better," her mother said as she stitched a rather large hole closed on a ragged pair of britches.

Azura took the clothes out of the bag and began folding them.

Fold

Fold

Fold

Press

She grabbed another.

Fold

Fold

Fold

Press

On and on she went, and she had to admit she could fit a lot more in the bag than before. That was when the idea struck her. Azura looked down at the bag she was filling and then around at all the others who waited for her attention. Some bags were large, and others were small. Yet all of them could hold more if the clothes were folded. Even the smallest bags could contain enough to complete the job if the clothes were folded.

Could she…

Excited, Azura looked at her mother, who was focused on her task. She quickly closed her eyes, sending her mind deep inside herself toward her small mana reservoir. Azura might lack a mana pool of any significant size, but her control was phenomenal. She found it quickly. To her, it felt like a jar, albeit a small one, filled with a silvery haze, raw mana. But, looking at it anew, there was no order in the haze. It was just crammed in there, like the clothes bag she had been trying to fill. With trembling mental fingers, she reached out, grasping her mana. It was shaky, but she felt it come under her control with an effort of will. Then she folded it. She folded it like the clothes around her. The act was complete, Azura released the magic and watched in disappointment as the folded mana rapidly diffused to its original state. Was it her imagination, or was the gas slightly thicker? Perhaps she had to do it more. Azura, for all she was a daydreamer, troublemaker, and all-around scoundrel in training, she was tenacious.

"Azura!" Her mother snapped.

"Huh?" Azura asked, her mediation broken.

"The clothes won't fold themselves. Get back to work."

"Yes, warden," Azura said, desperately wanting to try her new idea.

***

Two hours! She had to work for two whole hours. How could such a steep punishment be set upon a mere child? Weren't there international treaties preventing such cruel treatment?

"Prisoner, you are free to walk the yard. You will be on chamber pot cleaning duty if you get into trouble."

Azura hesitated. She wanted nothing more than to run and play. But she knew herself. With such temptations, she would never give her new idea the time required.

"I think I'll spend today in solitary warden."

Her mother paused. She had never known Azura to pass up a chance to cause havoc outside.

"Are you feeling okay?" She quickly went to Azura's side and put her hand on her forehead.

"I'm fine," Azura pushed her mother's arm away. "I just want to try a few things with my mana pool." It wasn't a lie, but she didn't want to bring any false hope either.

"Oh. Okay, but don't push yourself. You heard what the mage said."

"I know," Azura said as she retreated to her room. Her room was tiny, with just enough room for a small dresser and a bed. Despite the small size, the room was well-kept and clean, which was more than most kin had.

She retreated to the middle of her bed and closed her eyes. Once again, she stretched her mental fingers to the mana inside her. Azura strained at the mental effort it took to grasp the mana. Then, she began to fold. She didn't let up, and after every few folds, she squeezed before continuing.

Fold

Fold

Fold

Press

Fold

Fold

Fold

Press

Countless times, she folded her mana. She never let go. Never gave it a chance to escape her grasp. Hours passed. Her mother came in, a worried look on her face as she told her dinner was ready. Azura barely kept a mental hold on her mana, preventing it from expanding as she told her mother she wasn't feeling well and just wanted to rest. Her mother hesitated and then left her to her own devices. The folding continued all night.

Fold

Fold

Fold

Press

As the first rays of light came in through the minuscule window in her room, she finally released her mana and collapsed onto the bed, falling instantly asleep.