Chapter 11: Decision to Join a Sect
Tharia woke up sore.
Not the pleasant kind of sore. The everything hurts and breathing is a mistake kind of sore. She lay under the blanket and conducted an inventory: back 'bad', shoulders 'worse', legs 'considering a formal complaint'. Her tail was stretched out behind her like a piece of damp rope.
Outside, Arvendale was already screaming. Merchants, hammers, the distant rhythmic chanting of disciples who clearly hadn't spent the previous four days destroying their own body. She hated all of them.
"Uuugh..." she groaned into the pillow.
She dragged herself upright. Splashed cold water on her face which helped exactly nothing. Her reflection looked tire, her hair looked tired and even her ears looked tired.
The System appeared while she was dragging a comb through the tangles.
System
[SYSTEM SUGGESTION]
Current Status: Plateau Approaching
Recommendation: Seek structured training environment
Note: Attempting to self-train at this proficiency level presents a 74% chance of injury.
Please find an adult.
[collapse]
Her ears flattened immediately.
"I don't need parenting from a text box," she muttered, setting the comb down with more force than necessary.
The suggestion sat there. Pointed. Annoying. Correct.
She'd spent four years avoiding structured environments. Sects were cages with better architecture, and elders were overseers with fancier robes. She'd left the Palace specifically to escape that entire system and the idea of walking back into a smaller version of it made her tail bristle.
But her hands were shaking. She'd hit twenty-five percent through sheer brute-force stubbornness, and brute force had limits.
She looked at the System ping for a long moment. Then closed it without responding.
Downstairs, Serenya was already at a corner table eating breakfast with the posture of someone who had never experienced a sore muscle in her entire life. Tharia slid into the seat across from her and let her tail droop over the edge of the bench like wet silk.
The barkeep glanced at her tail and set a second cup of tea on the table without being asked.
"You pushed too hard," Serenya said, not looking up.
"I had to."
"And now you can barely walk."
"I can walk fine." Tharia had limped down the stairs. They both knew this. Neither of them mentioned it.
Serenya sipped her tea. Set it down. Met Tharia's eyes with the kind of calm that made arguing feel exhausting before you even started. "You need structure. A library. Sparring partners. People who've survived through experience."
Tharia stiffened. "You're telling me to join a sect."
"I'm telling you that self-teaching has limits."
"I'm not becoming some elder's project."
"Then don't." Serenya's tone didn't change. "Go as an exchange student. Learn what you need, then leave when you're done. But if you keep training alone, you'll either hit a bottleneck or hurt yourself." A pause. "Likely both."
Tharia cut into her eggs like they'd personally offended her. Four years. Four years of no hierarchy, no overseers, no one measuring her against impossible standards. It had been her shield. But Serenya was right — it was starting to feel like a very comfortable, very small box.
"I'm not swearing loyalty," Tharia said.
"Don't."
"I'm visiting. Temporarily."
"Good."
"And the moment someone tries to leash me—"
"You leave," Serenya finished. Something in her expression softened. Not much. Just enough. "That's a sound plan."
System
[SYSTEM UPDATE]
Path Aligned: Structured Training Environment
Sect Affiliation: Pending
Willpower +10% — for making a difficult decision without flipping the table.
[collapse]
Tharia ate her eggs and pretended the System hadn't just complimented her for basic maturity.
Serenya's gaze dropped to Tharia's feet.
Tharia followed the look. Her illusory stockings had given up entirely at the toes. The skin underneath was raw and dusty and looked about how it felt, which was bad.
"Shoes," Serenya said.
It wasn't a suggestion.
"I've been fine without them," Tharia said, with the confidence of someone whose feet were currently staging a revolt.
"You will not walk into a sect hall barefoot like a forest waif."
"That's—" Tharia stopped. Looked at Serenya's face. Recognized the expression. "Fine. Boots. Whatever."
"Today."
"Fine."
By evening, Tharia had boots. Leather, practical, deeply unglamorous. She also had blisters from walking around the market district in new leather that hadn't been broken in yet, which felt like punishment for good behavior.
She limped back to the inn room and collapsed onto the bed face-first.
Her feet throbbed.
"Boots are a mistake," she announced to the pillow. "Civilization is a mistake. I'm going back to the forest."
"Sit up," Serenya said from somewhere behind her.
Tharia sat up, because arguing required energy she didn't have.
Serenya knelt on the floor in front of her.
"What are you—eep!"
Serenya took Tharia's foot in both hands. Produced a small jade jar from her sleeve then opened it. The smell hit immediately; something cool and medicinal with an undertone of mint that made Tharia's sinuses clear just from proximity.
"You don't have to—" Tharia started.
Serenya applied the ointment.
The sting vanished. The throbbing stopped. A deep, soothing warmth spread from Tharia's heel up through her calf and kept going, settling somewhere in her chest that had nothing to do with her feet and everything to do with the fact that Serenya was kneeling on the floor tending to her blisters with the same careful attention she gave to everything else.
Tharia's face went red. Her ears pinned back. She stared at the top of Serenya's silver head and tried to think of something to say that wasn't mortifying.
Nothing came.
"You shouldn't neglect yourself," Serenya said quietly, not looking up.
"I wasn't—" Tharia's voice came out smaller than intended. "I mean. I didn't think it was that bad."
"It was."
"Oh."
Serenya finished with the first foot. Set it down gently. Picked up the second one.
Tharia watched her work and didn't say anything else. "Thank you," she said. Barely a whisper.
Serenya didn't answer. Just kept working, her touch steady and certain.
Tharia's tail curled quietly against her own leg and stayed there.