Waterstrider

Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fourthmonth, 1634 PTS

As they left the room, Han took a quick glance at his fellow disciples, soon to be his martial brothers and sisters. Qian he already knew quite well, but he wasn’t particularly close with any of the others.

Lin Wuyuan was the sort who was very energetic, but highly disciplined. She would happily chat with her friends for hours, but the moment they entered the training room it was as if she was a different person entirely, acting with rigor and discipline that felt more at place for a soldier than a girl in her late teens.

Sha, which was what all the other disciples had been calling the boy who claimed his name was ‘Shadowblade,’ was actually rather bright and talkative, though he did have a tendency for melodrama. He had odd tastes, in Han’s estimation. He had the feeling that even before donning the black robes of the sect’s disciples, Sha was probably already wearing all black. He had also refused to tell anyone what his real name was, and Han was actually starting to wonder whether his parents had actually named him that.

Blake Wan was a very lanky boy who was only fifteen years old. He had a timid personality, and Han still found it difficult to understand why he had been chosen specifically by the sect leader. Han supposed that the Sect Leader simply had an eye for talent far beyond Han’s own. Han had never actually spoken more than a few words with Blake, so he knew it would have been very easy for him to miss the signs.

Where Blake Wan was thin and lanky, Gen Feng was even moreso. He was simply unusually tall, and had to be halfway to seven feet tall. In the disciple’s dormitory, he had slept a few rows away from Han, but other than his physical attributes, Han’s understanding of him was mostly based around the fact that he tried to be friends with everyone. They had spoken a number of times before, and Han had a reasonably positive opinion of the other boy.

They were the first to leave the training hall, and walked together as they returned to the dormitory. Lin was the first to speak, her whole demeanor shifting as the doors closed behind them. She reached out and hugged Qian, who froze in surprise as she was wrapped in the shorter girl’s arms.

“I can’t believe we both made it, Qian-Qian!”

Han raised an eyebrow at the sight. For a moment he wondered if he simply hadn’t realized they were so close, but on a second glance, he saw Qian’s annoyed expression, and realized that it was likely one-sided. Qian broke the grip, moved out of the way, scowling. Lin mock pouted.

“I have to say, I’m pretty happy about this lineup as well,” said Gen. “I was worried I would have to be a martial sibling to someone problematic, but with this group I don’t expect any issues.”

“ The greatest martial masters see into the secrets of your heart,” said Sha poetically, his words ignored by everyone else.

“I still can’t believe I’m even here,” replied Han candidly.

“It’s such a shame. I thought I’d finally be rid of you, but you chased me yet again.” Despite the content of Qian’s words, it was clear from the smile she failed to hide that she was in a very good mood.

Han laughed.

“I’m also glad that we both made it. We’ll already be establishing our meridians by the time Tai and the rest manage to make it in.”

Lin chuckled, and looked at Han.

“You should have seen how anxiously she was watching your fights. She was so excited that her boyfriend made it in with her.”

“What? Boyfriend?” Han spluttered, shocked. “We’ve just been friends since childhood, we’re not like that.”

Qian was looking away, the tips of her ears red. Han supposed that she must be embarrassed by the misconception. Sha elbowed him, his face covered in a smirk.

“You don’t have to deny it, everyone knows. You almost always spend your breaks together.”

“What? You’ve been watching us?” asked Han.

“There have been lots of rumors,” nodded Gen. “Some of the guys refuse to speak with you because they’re jealous of you.”

“How did I not know anything about this?” he asked, shocked by how widespread this was.

Lin laughed.

“Probably because you’ve been talking with Qian-Qian instead of the other guys.”

Qian raised her head. She was still slightly red, but she had regained control of her expression.

“Whatever. It’s just a rumor. I’ve just been keeping him out of trouble.”

Lin couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Whatever you say.”

By this point, they had nearly reached the point where the male and female dormitories diverged. Han, Gen, and Sha were all covered in sweat, so they immediately went for the showers, hoping to use them before the rest of the disciples arrived. Han glanced at Blake, who had yet to say a word to the rest of them.

“Hey, do you want to join us? We’ll be hanging out in the baths for a bit.”

“I’m fine,” mumbled the younger boy in response, and so Han dropped the subject.

“He does that whenever someone invites him to do anything,” whispered Sha. “I think he’s hiding some sort of terrible secret.”

Gen snickered.

“I’m sure he’s just shy. We’ll probably be able to bring him out of his shell during training going forward.”

The three walked into the showers, and for once enjoyed the relaxing comfort of the room without it being filled with tens of other men at once.

The next morning, the six of them met up again outside the meditation room. They had all arrived slightly early, with Gen being the last to arrive. They chatted quietly with one another as they waited, until the time came.

As they entered, they found the Sect Leader already kneeling down in the center of the room. Han was surprised, as he had arrived over half an hour ago, and had never seen him enter. As always, he struck Han as a remarkably dignified man, his brilliantly embroidered red robes with the darkness of his skin and the brightness of his flaxen hair. He had a solemn expression on his face, and he glanced up as the disciples entered.

“Please sit,” he said, directing them to a set of cushions that had been laid out on the ground before him.

The room was best described as exuding a sense of meditative peace and calm. The floor and walls were paneled in some sort of faux-wood substance, and painted depictions of the Canvasian landscape adorned the walls. Each of the paintings depicted rainstorms bombarding the land below, giving the room a stormy feel. This was amplified by the quiet sound of rainfall playing from a speaker somewhere, as if it were pattering relentlessly against wood and stone.

Han had never personally experienced a storm, but he had used a shower before, and he had seen more than enough images and videos to understand the concept, as foreign as it was to him. It was as if the room itself had been constructed to be a shrine to the rainstorms.

He waited for them all to kneel on the cushions, settling in. They did so in silence, taking places orderly so as to avoid creating any sort of disturbance to the room’s peace. When they had all adjusted their positions he spoke again, his words almost seeming as one with the sound of the rain.

“Formless miasma encompasses many things, but the formless that I know of is that of water. It is the rain, it is the river, it is the ocean, and it is all that lives in and around them. A formless practitioner is the coursing river which tears its way through rock and stone, the single raindrop falling from the heavens, and the mere insect which skitters across a pond. All of these arts you may come to know, if you wish. Once your foundation has been refined to the peak and you reach the next stage, I will offer each of you a list of techniques, and allow you to choose what you wish to learn.”

His gaze slowly panned across the disciples, meeting each one’s gaze in successive order. Han shivered slightly, feeling as if those deeply profound eyes were glimpsing into his very soul, reading the essence of his being.

“As you may know, or perhaps have merely guessed, I was once a member of another sect, and have taken the long journey from Canvas to reach this place.” He had a wistful expression on his face, and Han could easily tell that he had left the planet due to some sort of tragic circumstance, whatever that might have been. “I am from the Downpour region, part of a sect bearing the same name, and if you take me as your master, you will bear that heritage as well. I will teach you any of the sect’s techniques that you wish to learn, but if you disparage or betray this legacy, your privileges will be revoked.”

The last words were spoken with a grim expression. There was no doubt in Han’s mind about just what he had meant by ‘revoke.’

“So I will offer you a final choice,” he said. “You may choose to learn other arts instead if you cannot handle the responsibility. These arts drive those who cannot master them insane, after all. It is a fate that I myself nearly succumbed to multiple times.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone parsed his words, forced to consider the threats. As before, the choice was inevitable, of course. They would not have come this far without having already committed to it, but Han was still the first to take action. Already in a kneeling position, Han leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the faux wood of the floor.

“I swear, Master, to uphold these responsibilities.”

Moments later, he heard the same words emerging from five other sets of lips, before there was a grunt of satisfaction emanating from before him, and he heard the dry voice of his new master reply to their oaths.

“Good. You may rise.”

As he raised his head, Han saw a faint smile on his master’s face as he looked at them, clearly lost in some sort of nostalgic recollection. The smile slowly faded, and his expression became stoic once more.

“We will start by discarding the basic forms that you have learned. The Rising Downpour Sword art will be your true martial foundation. While it is designed for swordplay, it can be shifted according to your needs, as it is a formless art.”

He stood, shifting into a martial stance.

“Follow my motions.”

The six disciples scrambled to their feet, quickly bowing.

“Yes, master!”

The Master-Disciple Relationship: [As important as heritage by blood, master-disciple heritage bears similar responsibilities and duties. The master's orders must be followed, but they also have the responsibility to train their disciples to the best of their ability. A master's connections and reputation becomes part of the disciple's own, and in sects, this can give a powerful figure's disciples great influence even with the more senior forces in the same sect. Training a disciple who eventually becomes a powerhouse is also a great honor, and the master is similarly allowed to borrow from the disciple's status in such circumstances. However, what matters most is the oaths one swears in the process of becoming master and disciple. Some masters impose harsh oaths with tough penalties, while others do not bother to impose anything at all. For many, who one's master is matters more than who one's parents are. This is true even in clans, though in a clan one's master will almost always be a relative.]