[The Twining] 6. Ros (Patreon)

It had been a long, long time since Rosophilus had seen the surface. Ros had never seen human children up close, but had excellent hearing and had learned many things by living in proximity to their settlements.

It had been easy to forget that the boy was, indeed, a boy. He didn’t often act like one. He didn’t chatter and was comfortable with long stretches of silence. He wasn’t annoying. Ros called him a boy, a child, but that was because of the boy’s appearance—not because of how the boy acted.

Ros had joked about the boy crying on the beast’s behalf, assuming it was because of his injuries, of which there were many. Ros had been stunned when the boy heard its taunt, only to break into wracking sobs. The beast found the situation deeply uncomfortable.

The boy needs me alive, Ros told itself, comforted by the clear logic. If I die, he dies. He’s crying because he sees a reflection of his own death in mine.

But as the boy came back with ragged hunks of gold-tinged meat, Ros’s discomfort only grew. The boy’s eyes weren’t filled with selfish relief. He wasn’t satisfied that he’d managed to salvage a powerful ally.

He didn’t even look happy. He looked burdened, like with every piece of meat he was unloading a weight from his back.

It made the beast’s obsidian scar itch.

After an hour of delivering meat, the boy collapsed before Ros. A white nail taller than the child lay on the floor, its surface coated in pale blood.

“Do you feel better yet?” the boy asked, his face expressionless. He must have been exhausted, but his gaze was sharp.

Ros had once rescued an ornery little kitten. Even as it grew older, it would always wear the most distasteful expression, but it had stayed all the same, riding on Ros’s back or head. The boy reminded it of the cat.

Ros snorted. “A bit.”

“Can you walk?”

Ros ignored the question. “Why do you care?”

The boy looked offended. “I know how to show gratitude where it’s deserved,” he said finally. “We both want to escape this place. My job is to guide you. Your job is to keep us alive. You’ve been doing a good job so far. It would be a waste”—his voice broke—“for you to die, just like that, in this dim, forgotten room. Even if you tried to trick me that one time with the rodent meat.”

If Ros weren’t paralyzed, its tail might have swished in embarrassment at the reminder of its poor advice.

“Boy,” Ros began, licking its teeth, “what is your name?”

He wore a stubborn expression. “You first.”

“Rosophilus, but you can call me Ros.”

The boy’s eyebrows rose. “Your name is Ross? You’re male?”

Ros’s nose wrinkled. “Ros, not Ross. And monsters don’t have genders.”

“Well, what about animals that get corrupted and turn into monsters?”

“They don’t turn into monsters,” Ros explained. “Monsters are simply born from their bodies.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “It’s a bit tedious calling you an ‘it.’”

Ros barked a laugh. “I told you when we first met to call me whatever you like. Rosophilus, Ros, or any of those human pronouns.”

“Okay,” the boy said. He swayed from exhaustion.

“Your turn,” Ros said, realizing the boy was on the cusp of unconsciousness. Ros was surprised by how much it cared.

“Oh.” The boy gazed unflinchingly into Ros’s eyes, then smiled. “My name’s Isen.”

And then he fell asleep on the hard ground, without any source of warmth. Ros snorted indignantly. The beast pulled Isen closer, pinching his disgusting shirt between two talons, and laid the boy down between its forearm and chest.

Isen, Ros thought. What a strange, gifted child.

It was the beast’s last thought before joining the boy in slumber.

***

Isen woke up feeling sore, but better than when he’d stirred inside the bear. He grabbed for the bear talon and used it to help himself up. He was glad to confirm that his left eye could see normally, even if it was perpetually blurred by the presence of the mist. Ross was up, the beast cycling the ambient energy still streaming in through the open doorway.

Isen rubbed at his eyes and realized how gross he still was. “Ross, where is the closest source of water?”

“It’s Ros. And not close.”

“I really can’t hear a difference,” Isen said. “Define not close.” He’d easily walk hours if he could find water, especially since the monsters in this area were scarce. Now that he had the bear talon—which was more of a spear than a sword—he had slightly more confidence defending himself.

“There was only one main path that led this way. Water is at least six hours from here, back the way we came.”

Isen scowled. “And the monsters… how are they, over there?”

“Dense,” the beast said, its voice a low growl. “Besides, you have a convenient source of liquid here.” It barely had enough strength to lift its head in the direction of the bear.

Isen gave Ros a dubious look. “Drinking monster blood—”

“Will empower you,” the beast said.

“But what about corruption?”

“Yesterday, you spoke of corrupted animals. I told you there was no such thing. Monsters use the dead to reproduce. To become a monster, you would need to die.”

Isen frowned. “The blood of the rodent you first presented to me… all I sensed from it was danger. Not opportunity.”

“That is because such a weak monster is full of impurities.” The beast paused. “It’s possible I underestimated the danger of feeding such impure blood to a child.”

“Why didn’t you give me a stronger monster, then?” Isen wondered. “One with less impurities.”

“My blood would be worse for you than a rodent’s,” Ros said softly. “I have less impurities, but the power of my blood would overwhelm you. It would be too much to handle.”

Isen pointed over the scaled beast’s shoulder at the bear. “But… you’re saying I can drink the bear’s blood?”

“That monster is a tier beyond me,” Ros said, “but has touched on divinity. Its blood runs gold, even if only just. It will heal you even as it destroys. It will sustain you and temper your body. The corpse itself is an opportunity seldom seen in the depths.”

Isen’s eyes widened. He’d thought the room was the opportunity. But for its guardian to be powerful enough to be an opportunity unto itself…

Just who had made this place?

“What does it mean to temper the body?” Isen asked. “How does that compare to when I cycle energy?”

“Tempering the body improves your vessel so you can better cycle energy and refine it, strengthening your core. If you improve yourself through refining and tempering, you can ascend the tiers,” Ros explained.

“I still don’t fully understand what these tiers are,” Isen admitted. “On the surface, powerful people are mages. I’d never heard of cultivation before I met you.”

“Mages… interesting. It is a different path to power. One you aren’t suited for.”

Isen laughed. “I know.” He raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever fought a mage?”

Ros just snorted.

“Were you there when lightning tore open the Twining?” he asked. He’d found Ros nearby, so he’d assumed.

“I was nearby, but not close enough to escape before the tears closed,” Ros responded.

Isen sighed. “There was a woman who made a pill on the Twining. She used the energy of the golden corona itself and called it ‘light aspected abyss energy.’ When she finished, thunder rolled in and chased her, striking everywhere. She called it ‘tribulation.’ Do you… know anything about that?”

“She was probably a cultivator. One playing with powers beyond her capabilities to control.”

That… was a cultivator?

“Are cultivators dangerous?”

“They can be. Aren’t I dangerous?”

“You’re a monster.”

Ros licked its lips. “You think I came into the world like this?”

“I suppose not. For monsters, is cultivation almost like… evolution? You temper your body, refine the ambient energy, and advance?”

“Roughly.”

“Is it the same for humans?”

“Partially. Tempering by blood and refining by cycling are common to all creatures. The stages of advancement are also the same.”

“The tiers have names?” Isen asked.

“Yes. You’re at the beginning of the hollow formation stage. The second tier is the hollow ring stage. I’m at the peak of the third tier, the core consolidation stage. The names will make more sense later.”

Isen’s gaze flickered to the bear corpse. “What’s the fourth tier called?”

“The divine core stage.”

“Why were you surprised that the bear was a divine monster when you knew it was in the fourth tier?” Isen asked, his tone filled with suspicion.

Ros sighed. “It was at the very beginning of the fourth tier. I assumed it had failed to establish its path to divinity and was unable to progress further. But... that clearly wasn’t the case. It didn’t advance because it couldn’t.”

Isen cocked his head. “We already know it was forced to guard this place.”

“I know, boy. It’s just...” The monster appeared sullen. “It’s a shame. Some beasts, when they’ve reached the end of their cultivation journeys, make agreements to serve humans in exchange for benefits. Sometimes, even in return for help securing valuable cultivation materials that might fix a cracked foundation. To me, it seems that the bear beast was enslaved here and forced into hibernation, prevented from advancing.”

“A cruel fate,” Isen said. “Maybe, after all of that, it wanted to die.”

Ros’s eyes flared golden bright. “It certainly wanted to live. For monsters, there is no other way. Advance, or oblivion. Such is our destiny.”

The words echoed loudly in the room.

“As I was saying, humans and beasts may have the same stages, but a critical difference is how we break through the bottlenecks between tiers. Your path will be different from a beast’s. You’ll need to figure it out yourself.”

“Well,” Isen muttered, looking around, “maybe I’ll find something useful in all these books.”

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Ros in the light! Isn't it cute? Remember that Isen just comes up to a bit above the beast's ankle. Ros is enormous.