A grief-filled cry pierced the smokey air. The despair it contained caused the ground to tremble with the sound. The mournful call drummed up the golden flames that raged in the clearing and the air crackled with the growing heat.
A small child huddled beneath an overhang of hardened earth that protected him from the flames that burned outside. The sound of his crying was drowned by the roaring flames and the cry in the air that had yet to disappear.
The sounds of clashing became louder, interrupted by tumultuous roars and furious shrieks of unseen beasts. The earth trembled again as the fight was forced nearer to the rocky overhang. The frightened child peeked out to see a flash of gold and red feathers standing before the overhang. Blood, sizzling with heat, dripped from the feathers to the ground. The boy choked back another sob as he tried to rush from the the hiding place. For a moment, the air is still. A saddened, gentle whisper reaches the boy's ears before he is pushed back and a burning golden light erupts outside. Then, there is only darkness.
Cyril woke up to darkness. He felt his eyes flutter open, but no light entered them. He lay still in the bed as he recalled the dream filled with fire and light. It was from his last memory of being able to see. The brilliant flash of light had blinded him permanently. While the distant memory was traumatic for many reasons, the loss of his sight had no real negative impact on him. As he grew older, he simply focused on improving his other natural senses, along with refining the incomparable Spiritual Senses that cultivating gave him.
Cyril had learned to use his Spiritual Sense to create a perfect multi-dimensional map of his surroundings using his energy. His spacial awareness and other senses were far sharper than his peers as he focused on honing his Senses to perfection.
Cyril was now using this same Sense to observe the small group of people that was still outside his room. He savored the last moments of solitude before their intrusion to his small santuary. A frown pulled his lips thinking about the useless function he was required to attend that morning. Even worse, he would have to dress formally for the ridiculous thing.
The grimace was wiped away as he heard the knock on the door. "Enter," His voice was still husky with sleep as he woke up only a few moments before.
The door opened and a few servants entered the room, greeted by the passively serene face of a beautiful young man. A stern-faced woman in front seemed to be in charge as the servants lined to the side of her.
The boy was truly stunning. His long waves of hair fell down his shoulders and back, pooling around him as he sat upright on the bed. Two delicate, antler-like horns proving his half-dragon heritage were partially hidden by his thick hair. Bestial features were common and the servants showed a variety of characteristics from various Beast races. Cyril had other traits that could be hidden or shown at will, but his horns usually remained visible. His small face always seemed to express aloofness towards everything.
The woman in charge shivered as she looked at the boy and he looked back. She knew he was using his Spiritual Senses, but the blind boy had an uncanny habit of looking directly into a person's eyes. She flinched and Cyril finally retracted his gaze. She poorly attempted to cover her sigh of relief with a cough as she respectfully approached.
"Good morning, Young Master Cyril. We are here to help prepare yo-" She was interrupted with a wave of Cyril's hand.
"For the meeting with the Sect Master. I remember." He unwillingly left the comforting presence of the bed to follow her. The women took their time preparing him. His hair was elaborately braided and arranged with ornamental pins. The long robes were made of thin silk and Cyril could feel the delicate embroidery thread that created the pattern of a rose on the back of them. His earrings and hair ornaments made soft clinking sounds when he turned his head.
Cyril was already an androgynous beauty before he was dressed, but now it was even more pronounced. His androgynous features were typical of an aphrodite like himself, a gender neither male nor female; though some inaccurately believed they were both male and female at the same time. Aphrodites weren't very common, but the clothing Cyril wore now was considered traditional for an aphrodite. It was an orchestrated mix of what local culture determined as masculine and feminine fashion. Cyril simply wondered why anyone bothered separating the clothing for genders in the first place.
Cyril could not see his appearance, but the ladies seemed pleased with the results. He disliked the added layers and extra ornaments, but said nothing. He didn't have a say on the dress code, so he simply refused to bother with it. Objections only led to problems. He stayed quiet and still as the ladies nit-picked their work and gave the last finishing touches.
Cyril's Master was already waiting for him when the women finally released Cyril. They met at the entrance of the Alchemy Hall were Cyril and his Master lived. Although they would not be leaving the sect, a small escort of guards gathered to show them through the more official visit to the Sect Master's Hall.
"Cyril greets Master Arvel." He payed respects to his Master as he bowed his head. Cyril's hands made a symbol as he greeted him. His fore and middle finger met his thumbs and formed a tear drop shape when his palms faced outwards. The stern old man nodded and hummed his response to Cyril.
Master Arvel had a dignified bearing that demanded attention. The smooth dragon horns that graced his temples created the illusion of a broken halo above his head. A single pin held part of his hair back up neatly. The Master was dressed in formal robes like his student and cut a striking figure. He looked over Cyril's appearance briefly and clicked his tongue.
"I have no idea why they still require formal robes for this. It's just breakfast for Heaven's sake!" The old man griped as they began walking.
"At least you didn't have attendants dressing you. I felt like a doll." Cyril replied dryly. His Master just harrumphed as he didn't have a reply for that.
Cyril knew the old man was just grumpy he had to find a set of dress robes to wear. He simply followed his Master who was quietly muttering about the unreasonable dress code as they went out for the morning meeting.
The master-disciple pair followed their escort towards the Sect Master's Hall. Cyril's anxiety rose as they walked. He attempted to suppress it, but the feeling continued to grow. There would be someone at the meeting he would rather avoid. Forever, if possible. His aloof expression did not change as he walked. Even his heart rate did not change as he used energy from his cultivation to control it to a normal pace. He hid the emotions well enough that even his Master could not sense what was was going on beneath the surface of the calm beauty.
The small group entered the Sect Master's Hall and were led through the richly furnished corridors. There were elaborate mosaic murals that depicted strange beasts and battlefields. Dragons frequently appeared in the images. Cyril was able to make out the scenes using a technique he had created himself. He had researched principles from a variety sensory techniques for years to achieve the effect he wanted. The trick involved using his Spiritual Sense to observe changes in materials. He could even read in this manner as he distinguished between the paper material and the ink to see what was written. He still didn't tell people about this technique as he figured it may give him some advantages in the future. He observed the murals quietly without looking towards any of them as they continued walking.
They finally reached a large dining hall and the escorts stopped outside the doors as Cyril and his Master entered alone. The duo gracefully approached the table arranged in the middle of the room.
Several men and women were already seated at the table. The long table was laden with fragrant dishes and the most prominent figures of the sect gathered to talk and laugh over an annual formal breakfast. It had been an odd tradition for a handful of centuries in the sect. The seats were filled with sect elders and high-ranking members who chattered over the meal sharing informative news or questionable gossip. Outsiders of the sect would be more than shocked to witness the almost domestic scene that presented itself in the Sect Masters Hall; it contrasted everything they imagined about the sect known for its deadly reputation and dark cultivation arts.
A young man at the head of the table had turned his attention to Cyril the moment he entered. A frighteningly wide smile drew itself across his face as he stood to welcome the new guests. While Cyril could not "see" his smile, he could feel it. His Spiritual Senses showed the contours of the man's face, allowing him to observe his expression. His smile felt creepy to Cyril, but he continued to walk towards the table a step behind his Master.
Cyril's Master acknowledged the smiling man with a dip of his chin. He was the only person in the sect that did not have to bow to the young sect master. Elder Arvel had practically rebuilt this sect from the ground up alongside the previous sect master, Audric Draek. The current sect master now in front of them was Audric's son. He was also Arvel's godson, and the young man would never require his godfather to pay such formal respects to him.
"Cyril greets Sect Master Draek." Cyril bowed to the young man as respectfully as he could and repeated the hand gesture he had used greeting his Master earlier. The Sect Master only clicked his tongue as his smile somehow widened even farther than before.
"Now, now, Little Cyril. Is that anyway to greet your husband?"