Arthurian Cultivation

I was naked and covered in blood, lying on the cold snow, blood was my world, it filled my mouth, my nose, and even gurgled from my ears. It was a truly terrible way to end a wedding night.

A raven watched me, likely waiting for me to take that last step through death's door, a portal I already had my foot wedged in.

“You carry on my carrion friend, I do suggest you avoid getting too close. There will be no free dinners for you this night.” I tried to say, but with the blood and heaving lungs, I'm not sure it had a chance to understand me.

Shockingly the curse wasn't actually painful, immensely distressing yes as I leaked from places no man should leak from, but little actual pain. It helped that the blood loss numbed me. I mostly felt exhausted. A wave of lightheadedness swamped me. Throwing me into my Hearth.

Standing at the core of my cultivation, in my mind I saw it like a neglected fireplace of a grand hall. In it, the flames flickered surrounded by ramparts of ash, and the flue was all but stuffed with soot leaving the fire all but guttering.

In here I could feel it, my death approaching. The vital force of my blood is all but gone. I took a breath, a deep one. With it the flame that was little more than an ember was snuffed out.

I was dead.

It lasted a heartbeat, an impossible heartbeat of a corpse. Then all was a flame. The impurities caught alight, the ash being blown away to reveal wood turned to charcoal by the burning flame. The soot spiralling in the chimney was blasted away by the rush of wind and licking flames. For the first time in two years, I felt my soul breathe properly.

The flames rose to a roaring crescendo, a violent power that my Hearth couldn't contain. The effect was far grander than my last death. I'd not had this many impurities when I'd discovered this trick after I'd annoyed my 'family' and been forced into an ill-fated escape attempt with fatal consequences.

My surprise at not only being alive but also having risen a rank in Cultivation had totally redefined my goals. It'd also been hell to cover up! Not least that fire was not limited to my soul, my body was its own pyre right now. I'd awake in a swamp of melted snow and burnt earth.

Bearing the blood of the phoenix was a blessing and a curse.

My Hearth, unable to contain the flames expanded, I could feel the breakthrough to Bronze as it happened. The structure changed, my fire shrinking, and the colour changed, as my Hearth reached the Forge stage. The flames radiated through me, no longer would I be limited to refining what I had, now I could forge myself anew.

With the breakthrough came the first great reveal. For most, this was a moment of revelation, a sense of what fae they were connected to. While most got a gift at the beginning of their path, it was not universal, nor useful at decoding heritage.

There were uncounted numbers of fae, if you were lucky you might get a hint at the court your sire hailed from. Fire gifted were almost always connected to the summer court, just as ice was to winter. The reveal of the second gift was where things started to narrow down.

Get ice and water, you were definitely winter court, and if your family had others with those traits you might know there and then whose bloodline you held. That revelation could help guide your cultivation, and help you bring focus to the areas your heritage would shine.

For others, it was a curse, the revelation showing they hadn’t inherited the blood they’d hoped for. A fire gifted who gained metal would realise their heritage most likely descended from one of the rare smiths of the autumn court. Families could be destroyed with accusations of infidelity only to discover their line had always carried ancient blood long dormant.

I had none of these worries. I knew my parentage. My Mother was Lady Guinevere Croxleigh, and my father, well I didn't know the bastard's name but he certainly was shot through with phoenix blood if not an actual phoenix taking human form. He certainly wasn't Regus Harkley as my birth records indicated. The Harkleys had never had a phoenix in their line in over a thousand years of recorded history.

I had checked quite thoroughly.

The fires from my Hearth reached into the stone foundation. Laying the stones was the first step on the Cultivation journey, to build the foundations for the fire that was to grow. Reaching into the stone which had over the years of my stagnation at Wood merged deeply with my slumbering gift.

A phoenix was connected to many gifts, fire was most common, but life, rebirth, and justice were all options. Smoke was one of the lesser-known aspects. I'd often fantasised about what gift I might get. Getting fire would be nice.

The flames reached down and I could feel the connection. A new path to power opened before me. It felt cold and empty, and my soul twitched, had I been mistaken, was I some other fae thing reborn from fire and ash? Could I actually be a Harkley?

The revulsion was short-lived, as power blew into my Hearth, feeding the flames with fresh power I recognized it finally. It was a power I'd known most intimately from my two sojourns beyond the realm of the living. I had the gift of death.

A fitting gift. A curse as well, death cultivators were not popular, often going mad in battle. A perfect one for me as well. No one would be trying to marry me off any time soon, and I'd already decided to leave behind the whole rising to the top of a mountain of bodies.

With my revelation complete my body took the opportunity to reform. My soul sense expanded to my new Bronze-level body. As it did I felt a certain malleability to form, just like last time an intrinsic sense told me I could make some changes.

Gone was my blonde hair, always a bit too glossy compared to the Harkley's hay stacks, it was still upheld as a sign of my heritage. I shifted it I'd intended to go for brown, but found it growing darker. My face changed and shifted, and for a moment I nearly held onto my eyes, they were green, and the last remaining mark of my mother's heritage.

I pushed them away, they were too iconic, and part of the charm and mystique I'd woven around my former self. Better to cut anything that might tie me to my old identity. I held no doubt my mother would have wanted me to take every opportunity to distance myself from the Harkleys.

In the same sense as when I changed my hair, my appearance was not fully under my control. I aimed for blue eyes but felt something twist that command.

Other than that I didn't have much else to change, I did even out my legs, according to my numerous fighting instructors I had one leg shorter than the other. A minor deformity that was harped upon constantly. A few tweaks here and there, but my time was already done, my senses were returning.

I came to in a steaming pit, my renewal having boiled away the snow and ice beneath. The ground beneath me was still warm. I lay back enjoying the moment. The stars were out in full force. I breathed in deep.

I was free.

From across the snow, the raven from earlier hopped towards me. It was missing a foot but still made good time. Its beady little eyes judging me for my unexpected vitality.

“I did try to warn you beaky. I am pleased you're not burned though.” I got a strange sense from the raven. It took me a second to place it, till it cawed its dismay as I further proved I was not a corpse by standing up.

The harsh croak reminded me of my earlier days before the Harkleys found me when I was living as a peasant where death was a frequent threat. The most potent reminder of death’s presence was the corpse wagons, the croaks of the ravens announcing their passing as surely as the ringing bells. What I was sensing was the bird's aura of death.

I dressed quickly, my clothes wonderfully dry, I had hung them close by. I marvelled at the litheness of my body. My new realm of Cultivation meant that the glamour of my Hearth was rolling around my body freely, no longer did I have to push the power to my muscles to gain a burst of speed or press it into my eyes to get a clearer sight.

No one sensation was new but the collective whole was beyond my wildest expectations. I bounced and shifted laughing at the effortless infusion of my glamour. For a second I was worried, would I eat through my reserves? Even with my recent cremation, there was only so much ash and smoke about me.

Death saved me here too. The glamour of death was everywhere a constant source of sustenance for me. I'd spent far too long absorbing the ambient glamour as I hid my gift, now pulling on two sources I was spoilt for power. Drinking deeply I finished changing and began the next part of my escape plan.

It took a few minutes to get ready.

Of my clothes, I'd removed all but my trousers, belt and shirt. My jacket, an exceptionally foppish brocade showing a pattern of peacocks on Harkley blue, I'd snagged that ugly insult to fashion on a log and thrown it into a nearby stream. It was too easy to recognize and may confuse any search for me. I'd also hurled my blood-soaked boots away for similar reasons. With my new level of Cultivation bare feet were no worry to me.

Before tossing the boots, I'd been sure to extract my boot knife and the trio of gold coins I carefully cobbled into each sole. The knife then peeled off the strip of silk that covered the leather of my belt. In there was a collection of coins and other odds and ends.

The silk I added to one of my socks, the pair had become two pouches between which I split my valuables, including my flint and steel and alchemical fire starters. I moved the knife to my belt and then blasted myself with ash, aiming to destroy all scent of blood.

The raven croaked in surprise, clicking its beak in frustration, it seemed to be holding out hope that I'd realise I was dead and become dinner.

I took a look at the stars and got my bearings. Path picked, and I began to run. The woods around the keep were relatively safe, the monsters hunted by the Knights in their frantic attempt to gather power and climb the ranks.

I aimed to brush against the deeper untamed forest and onwards to the city of Chartex. The path wasn't as safe as heading back to the city of Frauls that the Keep overlooked, but I was far less likely to meet the risk of being discovered this way.

It also gave me a chance to fight monsters. Something I was equally keen and worried about. Keen as their cores could fuel my growth, and afraid, because without the impurities clogging my paths I would not resurrect if I fell in battle.

Like everything in my life, it was a balancing act.