15. The Chosen & The Spurned (I) (Patreon)

Dorian jerked awake, one side of his face burning. He knew instantly he’d been slapped.

The slapper in question stood above him, grinning with all her teeth.

“Morning!” said Kaya.

Groaning, Dorian pulled himself up to his elbows. He felt sore and his head still ached, but not nearly as much as he’d expected. A soft sheet of sunlight wafted in through the doorflaps. His mind was elsewhere.

Holding onto that vision felt like grabbing at water. Was that real? Some godsforsakened cultists managed to revive an Empyrean of Yama’s caliber? Highly unusual. He guessed the vision had been triggered by a residual soul bond; he had imbibed all of Yama’s, after all…

He rubbed at his temples. Yama’s eyes were still seared into his mind. Bah. That was that life, this was this one. Clean break. So what if some overzealous cultists got their hands on a shiny new puppet? Cultists did cultists things, sure as time went on. It was none of his concern. Maybe he should be more concerned, but he’d made so many powerful enemies in past lives he couldn’t remember half of them. Usually, nothing ever came of his feuds—the Multiverse was a big place, after all, and he was always incognito; in the midst of some run or another.

Let those brats be someone else’s problem.

As Kaya plopped down beside him, he shoved it to the back of his mind.

“Listen up.” Kaya waved at him. “You awake? Do I need to slap you again?”

“I’m awake,” said Dorian hastily, dragging himself fully upright.

“Good. This is serious.” She crossed her arms. “Yesterday, we weren’t the only ones attacked.”

“Hm?”

“Sixteen other tribes got hit,” she said. A frown creased her head. “Four surrendered. Eight perished. And that attack was just the start.”

Dorian blinked. In the Western Desert there were scarcely more than a hundred tribes, scattered across a massive range. To strike a tenth at once in an opening overture?

Unless the West shored up an alliance—and fast—they had a matter of months left. If that.

“Chief says he’s speeding up training,” said Kaya, chewing on her lip. “We’re gonna meet up with a few other tribes, join forces. The Oases are moving fast too. Last night Chief spoke to ‘em through scrying glass. The major ones, Azcan, Zola, they’re all opening up heavy recruiting. Y’know what this means?”

“….No?”

“They’re planning something big,” breathed Kaya. Her eyes shone. “They didn’t say what it was—secret, ‘till it’s all finalized, Chief said—but they wanna get at the best talent and train ‘em up fast. Yappa thinks it’s some big kerfuffle that ropes in all the tribes and Oases—“

“Oh!” grinned Dorian, cocking his head. “A tournament.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a tournament.” Dorian nodded sagely.

Kaya looked at him funny. “How’d you know?”

“It’s always a tournament,” said Dorian, patting her arm.

“If you say so…” Kaya looked at him funnier. Then a light-bulb seemed to go off in her mind. “Oh! That reminds me—“

Then, faster than he could react, she slapped him again.

“Oww!” He yelped, rubbing at his cheek. “What was that for?”

“You little—“ Kaya stood up, her face suddenly flushed. “Since when were you gonna tell me you’re a martial prodigy? Heaven-grade talent?! New initiate Chosen?!”

Dorian scratched his head. Right… In all that mess, he’d totally forgotten.

“In fairness,” he said slowly, “I didn’t know until yesterday either.”

“It makes no sense,” muttered Kaya, pacing around. She shook her head. “You were never good at a damn thing in your entire life!”

“Thanks.”

“Sometimes I wondered how we were even related!”

“Thanks.”

“I mean, gosh, with the way you were going, I didn’t think you’d live to see eighteen!”

“I’m your brother, remember?” he said, wincing. “Aren’t you supposed to be loving, or supportive, or something?”

She paused. “Oh. Oops! Was that mean?”

“…”

She forged on. “Joining basic training was one thing, but this?”

She ran a hand through her hair. Then she shot him a glare, her brows scrunching together. “Anything else you’re holding out on me?”

Dorian eyed her her left hand carefully. By now he’d identified a pattern. Right hand, hair hand. Left hand, slapping hand.

“As a matter of fact, yes…”

“Huh?”

“I’m broke through to Origin Level 2...”

Whirling around, she froze. “You did what?!” She pinched the bridge of her nose. She breathed in and out slowly. “Nuh-uh. No, you haven’t.”

Dorian shrugged. “You can check if you’d like.”

“How.”

An easy excuse popped to mind. It just so happened to segue into the next reveal, too.

“Alchemist Hu gave me a qi pill!”

She looked at him deadpan. “…Alchemist Hu gave you a qi pill.”

He returned her gaze evenly. By now he was nearing mastery of the naive blink.

“Yes. Alchemist Hu gave me a qi pill.”

Her frown deepened. “Alchemist Hu…gave you a qi pill?”

“Alchemist Hu did indeed give me a qi pill.”

“Why,” she said, her face twisting into a pretzel of incredulity, “did Alchemist Hu give you a qi pill?!”

“Because I’m now his apprentice!”

Now, nobody really ever paid attention to Io before Dorian had booted him out. The only person who’d have missed him if he went was Kaya. Which meant she was probably the only person he needed to convince.

If only she hadn’t known Io so damned well.

Moaning, Kaya shook her head. She was rubbing her head so hard her skin was turning raw pink. “No, no, no. I’ve had enough. I don’t believe you.”

“He saw me with my elixir brew outside and said I showed promise!” he grinned. “If you want, you can ask him.”

“Argh!” Kaya clutched her head like she’d had a sudden onset migraine. “You—Hu—I—It doesn’t make any—Wha—“

She squinted at him. She took a very long, very slow breath. For a while she was silent.

Dorian broke the silence. “Are you okay?

“Am I—hells, am I!”

She giggled.

“Heh. Heh! Why not?” Her giggles were turning to snorts. “Vordors are falling from the sky, my bro’s suddenly the Dweller’s gift to martial arts and alchemy…I’ve gone mad. I’ve cracked,” she said dreamily.

“…You’ve only realized that now?”

“Shut up.”

She rounded on him. “I’m dreaming. That must be it.”

“I don’t think—Oww!”

Dorian rubbed his poor reddening cheek. “Why?”

“To make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“Then shouldn’t you slap yourself?”

She thought it over. “Bleh. Nah.” She blinked owlishly.

“Y’know what? I do feel better.” A small grin tugged at her lips. “I think I’m starting to get it. A little. Yea. Brother, alchemy, heaven-grade, prodigy, yes, yes. The world’s gone upside-down. Mhm.”

She hesitated.

“Can I slap you again, to make things feel more real?”

This time, Dorian scurried well out of range. He eyed her left hand warily.

“I’ll be gentle, promise!” she cried.

“Sis, you have issues.”

***

After a breakfast of roasted Vordor meat—if there was one positive to the ambush, it was that there was plenty to go around—Kaya seemed to have settled down. Her squinting glances had settled down to a steady rate of three a minute. She’d only thrown out a host of conspiracy theory explanations—stumbled on a magical supertreasure, awakened latent bloodline, unknowingly blessed by passing wise grandpa—before she tossed her hands up in exasperation and gave up.

By the time they were off to the day’s Chosen training, she nearly seemed back to her chipper self. If she hadn’t fully accepted her brother’s drastic change, she at least managed to mentally sidestep most of it. Which was basically the same thing.

As they strode to training—together, a fact Kaya still couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around—she moved on to talking about other things. It was all Kaya babbling and Dorian listening, which was how all of her and Io’s conversations went.

Dorian let the words pass over him. Maybe it was the vision, maybe it was the looming threat of war and imminent demise, but his mind prickled with a little unease. He only zoned back into listening when it was clear Kaya was asking a question.

“—didn’t, did you?”

“What?”

“You didn’t say anything about me to Kuruk, did you?” she said, very slowly.

Oh, right. That. He did set Kuruk on her, didn’t he? He winced.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “Kuruk, that oaf? He’s the worst! I’d never.”

“Attaboy,” chuckled Kaya. She ruffled his hair. “Shouldn’t have even asked. You wouldn’t betray me like that.”

Dorian smiled outside and cringed inside. This probably wouldn’t end well. Either Kaya got mad, or Kuruk did, or both.

Somehow he’d expected more time to deal with this mess.

Ah, my old nemesis. The consequences of my own actions.

What goes up must come down. If only he hadn’t lobbed up an anvil.

Scratch that. He’d rather take an anvil to the head than an enraged Kuruk punch.

Well, too late to run now. The training field conveniently doubled as the center of the Tribe, and they were only a hundred-odd feet away. All the blood and bodies and debris had been scraped off, leaving only a flat clearing of matted, black sand.

A horde of young men stood in a loose circle, chattering. The Chosen, the top echelon of the tribe. There had been less than thirty before. After the attack, a smidge over a fifteen stood; a handful were decked out in scale-plate uniform, the mark of a Chosen at the verge of being a full Hunter. He recognized Hento in the mix, who gave a beatific smile and a wave, and Kuruk, who looked so red you could use his face as a color palette. Unchecked fury radiated from him like heat as he glared, bull-like, at Dorian.

What luck! I’ve been found out.

Dorian gave him a cheerful wave.

Next to him stood Tocho, looking dour and ever, and the Head Hunter. Kuruk’s father.

Without knowing them, Dorian would’ve never guessed they were distant relatives, much less father and son.

Head Hunter Tuketu was half his son’s size. Where Kuruk was made nearly entirely of muscle, Tuketu was lean, built but not overly so; there seemed to be an inherent explosiveness to him, like his physique was a spring always coiled. He looked like if a storybook knight who’d hit middle age; still handsome, with graying hairs and too-smooth skin indicative of a [Vigor] physique. Dorian’s surprise, the man nodded to him in greeting. There was mirth in his eyes.

Dorian blinked. Is he aware his son wants to beat me to a pulp?

“Strange…” Kaya hummed. “Usually there’s more stuff.”

It was true. The field was surprisingly barren today. The Chosen were usually privileged with dummies or targets or special training artifacts, but it seemed the Head Hunter had something else planned.

As he and Kaya neared, Tuketu cleared his throat. Silence drew like a curtain over the Chosen, so fast it seemed rehearsed. Sixteen eyes fastened on Kaya and Dorian at once.

“Welcome, Chosen Kaya! Welcome, initiate Io!” said Tuketu. The first thing Dorian noticed was his gaze. Playful, sure, but also intense—not cutting and weighty, like Chief Rust’s, but arresting. His gaze was the sort to make anyone feel truly seen, warm as sunlight, the kind of gaze you could bathe in. His demeanor was effortlessly joyful. His aura was like a big warm coat.

Tuketu shifted from Io back to Kaya. “I hope your rest has been smooth. The tribe is most grateful. Last night, you were a true hero. You’ve brought honor to the name of the Chosen.”

Kaya bowed, a tinge of red on her cheeks. “It’s my duty, Master Tuketu.”

Tuketu turned to the rest of his Chosen. His aura flipped in an instant. Now there was an edge to it, sharp enough to cut. A few Chosen flinched. “If only more of your brethren could claim the same.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “We are all gathered. Let today’s session begin.”

“My pupils, we must speak of last night.” His demeanor shifted wholly. Now he seemed a beleaguered father saddened by a wayward son. “To be a Chosen is a privilege! You are Chosen to defend the tribe. But what did I see in the heat of battle? Rank cowardice!”

His eyebrows drooped in disappointment. “Hiding! Fleeing! Everything but rising to the task. Last night, half of you failed this tribe.”

His sigh was slow and drawn-out. “A Chosen who cannot fight is no Chosen at all, is he?”

He paused. “In wartime, it is imperative we train valiant, strong soldiers posthaste. Chief Rust has given me access to a plethora of the Tribe’s long-stored treasures for just this task. Treasures of a caliber none of you have seen!”

At this, nearly everyone perked up.

“But tell me, dear pupils. Do the cowards among you deserve them?” He shook his head; it swung like a pendulum. This time, his sigh had extra weight; it was a sigh of resignation.

“Itahi. Mohe. Tumu. Usti. Step up.”

Four teens, pale, trembling, waded to the front. Tuketu held out a palm.

“Hand in your insignias. As of now, all of you are no longer Chosen. You and your families lose all Chosen’s privileges.”

Cries of protest erupted.

One Chosen, a bearded, bulky man, fell to his knees. “I beg of you, Master, reconsider! My family’s but a grandmother and a young daughter left. I only ran away for them, Master. Please. We’ve barely enough as is! Without the Chosen’s pay, the rations—“

“Perhaps you should have considered that when you ran, tribesman Mohe,” said Tuketu amiably. “Your logic is wrong. If you had fallen valiantly in battle, the tribe would’ve cared for your family forever. But you did not. The tribe has not failed your family. You have.”

A formless pressure descended. Tuketu had unleashed a fraction of his cultivation base—a threat.

“Your insignias. Now.”

Mohe swallowed. He dug out a metal token as though he were tearing it out of his own skin and, with a slight unclenching of his fist, let it drop to Tuketu’s palm. The rest followed suit.

“Leave,” said Tuketu with a sad smile. “None of you are welcome any longer.”

“This is a grave mistake,” cried a short, stocky Chosen as he turned to go. “The tribe needs warriors. Gutting the Chosen now is suicide!”

“We have no need of warriors like you. Begone.”

Tuketu didn’t take his eyes off of the sorry for until they vanished behind a tent, out of sight.

“Hento Rust,” said Tuketu. He didn’t even look at Hento, but the pretty boy flinched anyways. “Your father’s status is the only reason you were not among them, but my patience wears thin. See to it that you do not force my hand, yes?” Hento nodded quickly to the back of Tuketu’s head.

Those four weren’t the only deserters. If Tuketu was strict in his measures, today’s cohort might be cut by half—but it was clear he was only killing the chicken to scare the monkey.

Then Tuketu’s full-on grin returned full-force, like it’d never left. He turned back to address the crowd of Chosen. All of them looked a great deal more on edge.

“Let this be a small warning,” said Tuketu. “These are dire times. There are great opportunities in store, Chosen! Treasures, training, elixirs, the lot!” He crossed his arms. “But never forget that none of your positions are secure. To seize the Tribe’s resources, you must prove yourselves the most deserving.”

This was music to Dorian’s ears. I like this Tuketu. He’s a tool, but at least he’s a meritocratic tool. Prove yourself most deserving, eh? He was practically salivating at the thought.

Plus, the man can put two sentences together. Is Kuruk adopted?

As though on cue, Tuketu’s eyes came to rest on Dorian.

“Some things end, and some begin,” he said softly. There was a hypnotic quality to Tuketu’s gaze, but unlike with Chief Rust, this one had no bloodline backing. It was simply in the way he carried himself—like he deserved the world’s attention, and he knew it.

“Io. The tribe’s latest Heaven-grade talent. I expect great things from you,” said Tuketu primly. He reached out and pressed an insignia token to Dorian’s palm.

“To mark your initiation as Chosen, I grant you the only treasure you will not have to earn.”

Dorian brightened. Finally!

Then Tuketu touched a ring on his hand. At first Dorian had taken it to be a plain metal ring, but the moment Tuketu’s fingers grazed it it glowed with a script written in white qi.

Interspatial ring. Low-grade? It was the first he’d seen in this realm.

Tuketu pulled a treasure out.