The Crimson Ascent Pavilion: where the Cult sends its young to burn the innocence out of them like impurities in iron. I was nine. Still clinging to the lie that hard work and honesty meant something. Foolish, I know. But belief dies slowly. Even here.
"Hey. I've been calling you. You didn't hear me?"
This child seemed to be worried about me, and it was clear her worries weren't unfounded. I had pushed myself to exhaustion, trying to prove I belonged. The older students saw a perfect opportunity not to teach, but to exploit. Their orders came wrapped in kind words, but the leash was real and I wore it like a badge.
"I heard. I'm just resting. That a crime now?"
"No. But you don't have to bow to them either."
I had grown up in isolation surrounded only by servants and family. So when a girl my age showed me kindness, I didn't know how to handle it. I wore my embarrassment like armor. Anger was easier.
"And you don't have to stick your nose in my business."
"...Okay, then."
Was I really so boorish?
"Whatever. Just be careful. Acting tough won't protect you forever."
"I'm... sorry"
She had already gone. This is how our first meeting had gone and to say the least, I don't think we were friends. Looking back, it's no wonder the others kept their distance. A thorn doesn't make friends. It just leaves wounds. Those Europeans who trade with the Imperial family say something along the lines of: 'Manners makyth man' Maybe so. But I was no man just a boy pretending not to care.
"Here. Water."
She left, and the silence that followed echoed louder than her words.
For the first time since arriving, I felt the ache of being truly alone. So when she returned… later, holding a cup of water and not a grudge, I didn't understand it. I feared it. Had she been born into an orthodox sect, they'd have praised her as a saint. But here, in the Cult, kindness is a weakness waiting to be punished.
"I'm sorry."
"..."
"... for before"
It took me days to spit out a few sorry words. Each syllable felt like failure, proof that I'd been shaken. She didn't smile because of my apology. She smiled despite my silence, my rudeness and my walls. It wasn't kindness. It was resilience. And next to it, I felt small.
"I had already forgotten, but you should respect your seniors."
"You're a senior?"
The older children wore red wide-sleeved robes over their black inner robes, and that was the source of my confusion, but it seems she was trying to paint herself as a kind older senior. Not that she held that title.
"Technically, anyone older is a senior."
"In the Cult, titles are just decorations. Strength's the only thing that matters."
"Careful. Keep talking like that and you'll die alone, clutching your strength like a trophy no one wants."
Took the words right out of my mouth.
"We're not beasts. Even the Heavenly Demon lets people get close."
"Because he can afford to. Weak people can't."
"So what are you, then? Strong enough to isolate yourself forever?"
"...Tch."
I couldn't formulate an argument against that, so all that I could do was just sit there and pout.
"Didn't think so. Now that's settled, let's start over. How about you introduce yourself first?"
"There is nobody who doesn't know who I am in the Cult."
"It's still proper manners to introduce yourself when you meet someone new."
"Fine..."
"I am Cheon Woon."
It was my first time introducing myself. But something about her made you want to listen..
"And I'm Seo Hyang, but since I'm older than you can call me Noonim."
Noonim. A title meant to tease. Annoying as it was, it fit her.
"How do you even know that you are older than me?"
"Didn't you just say? There is nobody who doesn't know who you are."
This was the end of my first proper interaction with Seo-noonim and the start of my first friendship. After that, she often came by we talked, fought and laughed. She had a smile that lit up rooms and she knew it.
Seo-noonim slowly pulled me out of my shell and taught me how to enjoy life for the first time. We would sneak into the garden at the Pavilion's outskirts and just talk and laugh for hours at night.
"The flowers here are so beautiful."
"And still, they get plucked and die. Beauty doesn't save you."
I had picked up the habit of trying to impress her with deep philosophy. I used some of my poison arts to kill the flower in front of us, trying to prove a point.
"I'd rather be like the weeds. Ugly, bitter but alive."
"Then one day you'll win and still feel hollow."
She was wise beyond her age, and my cheap imitations couldn't compare.
"Ouch"
I pricked my finger, my poisonous blood leaking out, I could feel eyes on me watching, weighing, waiting to break me.
"This is where you have been sneaking off to."
That voice belonged to Jang Mok, the boy who taught me that cruelty wears a smile in the Cult. I didn't know it then, but I'd spend the rest of my childhood running from his shadow. And eventually… I'd have to turn and face it.