Cyril woke again from a dream. This one was not as clear as the fire-filled memory from his dreams. It was fragmented, filled with disembodied voices that strangely comforted him. He could remember being able to see, but the images themselves were unfocused and he could not recall what he was seeing entirely. The images slipped farther away as Cyril tried to recall them and eventually, he gave up trying and allowed the obscured memory to fade away.
Sitting up on the bed, his lithe figure reminded one of a cat as he lazily stretched his slender arms above him. He was unattended this morning as he dressed himself. The breakfast at the Sect Master's Hall previously was considered a special occasion and normally he could not be bothered to have so many people helping him. Cyril wasn't sure if he could stomach being "dolled up" every morning. The women who helped him had loved dressing up the beautiful aphrodite in the rich robes and jewelry. He wasn't kidding when he said he felt like a doll. He had taken some time convincing them he looked fine (difficult to do when the other party can technically argue you're blind), before they reluctantly let him go.
Cyril put on a simple disciples' robe with pants tucked into high boots. His slender fingers expertly braided his long, flowing hair and he tied it with a velvet ribbon at the end. His silky hair was long enough that the braid reached well past his hips and it swayed behind him elegantly. As he gathered a few thing to leave, he grabbed a peculiar set of glasses to wear.
There was no reason to wear the glasses other than the tinted lenses stopped others from seeing where his eyes were focused. He had found that other people became deeply uncomfortable if he looked at them too long with his blank stare. While he didn't really care, it still made it easier to converse with people. Most people were already scared of him as Elder Arvel's only disciple and the sect master's… precious fiancée. When he looked at people directly, they kept assuming he was somehow irritated with them. Talking with them became even more difficult as fear of the two most powerful men in the sect made them panic.
Cyril recalled one of the last times he had looked another disciple in the eye. The disciple had accidentally interrupted a pill experiment, causing it to fail. Unfortunately, Cyril had not really tried to hide his frustration and the disciple panicked. The man was a tall senior several cultivation levels above Cyril, but he had collapsed unconscious from his junior's stare. Cyril couldn't really blame him for fainting when even he feared his master and… the other man. Cyril just revived him quickly using his energy and sent him away. The experiment wasn't worth much and Cyril never mentioned the incident to his Master. He tried to remember not to look others in the eye after that. If wearing the glasses made things simpler for himself, so be it.
Cyril's courtyard was located in a secluded wing of the Alchemy Hall that compromised of Elder Arvel's personal quarters. As the head of the Alchemy Hall, Arvel simply elected to convert a few unused rooms of the massive building. The eccentric elder had never been good at separating his work and his personal life, and his decision to literally live in the Alchemy Hall was a perfect example of that.
Cyril walked the quiet corridors until he reached Master Arvel's personal lab. The room Cyril entered was filled with strange scents, bubbling sounds, and a wide variety of dubious objects. Beakers and glass bottles were lined up in an orderly fashion on worktables. There were shelves filled with a diverse collection of books and manuscripts. A number of the dusty texts were probably forbidden in some sects. A thick, glass box on a pedestal contained something that was eerily similar to a heart and pulsed slowly. The bitter smell of herbs mixed in the room and Cyril breathed in the familiar smell slowly. He could differentiate the mingling scents wafting through the room and he recalled the names and uses of each herb as he walked.
"Herbs?" A gruff voice came from within the seemingly empty room.
"Pyrrine Vine, Amnis Flower, Blood Rot Root, Crimson Bells…" Cyril listed out of a variety of plants. His eyes were closed and his hands remained clasped behind his back as he stood patiently reciting names of herbs being currently used in the room based only on smell. Once he finished, a low hum in the air acknowledged him passing the small test. Cyril turned towards an empty spot and opened his eyes. The voice from before gave a short laugh and an old man appeared from where Cyril was looking.
"I don't know how you do it, boy. Even though I'm suppressing my cultivation, I'm sure you shouldn't be able to sense where I am at your level." The man said and eyed his disciple with a mix of pride and suspicion.
Cyril gave an almost imperceptible smile, but didn't bother telling his master he wasn't using Spiritual Sense to find him. The old man could mask his presence as much as he wanted, but Cyril would still find him. His master simply couldn't hide every one of the hundreds of environmental factors Cyril used to see him.
The previously hidden figure observed Cyril as the boy gestured to pay his respects. "Cyril greets Master Arvel."
Master Arvel snorted lightly before turning away. "Stop wasting time with the pleasantries." Cyril's master simply tossed him a black memory stone filled with information for Cyril to memorize and returned to his work.
Cyril hummed noncommittally before he began perusing the contents stored on the stone by inserting energy into it. The master and disciple followed their normal routine of creating pills, potions, and salves; dabbling with a few poisons here and there. Although Elder Arvel was the head of the Alchemy Hall, he paid little attention to what went on outside his beloved lab. Few people could actually request anything from him. He was mostly free to do whatever he wanted, experimenting however his heart desired. Arvel devoted his time to his precious experiments and his single disciple.
The two alchemists puttered around the laboratory, working in quiet harmony, with Arvel sometimes appearing to check Cyril's work or give him instructions. Arvel returned to Cyril's side and was watching his student practice acupuncture techniques by putting needles into an anatomical model when he decided to broach a sensitive subject. "What do you think of Young Draek."
Cyril nearly broke the silver needle he was using. Cyril did not look in his Master's direction as he tried to gather his wild thoughts.
'Hate. No, too soft a word. Loathing- I loathe his guts. Despicable, vile, creepy-ass dragon bastard.'
"The Sect Master has done well with the Sect and he will bring the Sect… honor." Cyril made something up as his thoughts spewed profanities on their young, "honored" sect master. As much as he wanted to, he attempted to restrain himself from speaking negatively out loud. Varce was still the sect master and the only son of his Master's closest friend.
Master Arvel sighed at his student that was now stabbing the unfortunate anatomical model with more needles.
"You don't have to lie to me, child. And if you are going to lie to me, at least attempt to make it slightly more convincing." The old man eyed the victimized model. "Varce will not be a bad match for you. He will be a powerful mate that can protect you."
"I can't stand him," Cyril said flatly in a low voice. Cyril knew his Master would be disappointed, but he didn't lie this time.
Arvel's eyebrow rose. It was honestly one of the first times he had heard Cyril speak definitively about Varce. Before this, he had been vague or dismissive. He knew Cyril didn't want to marry Varce, but Cyril did not speak of it. Cyril would not even admit that Varce scared him. The two were engaged when Varce was twelve, while Cyril was six. The match had been an arrangement between Arvel and Varce's father after Arvel had officially declared his intentions to take Cyril as his only disciple. The marriage was supposed to be beneficial to both their heirs. Cyril, as a preciously rare beast hybrid, would be protected with the power behind Varce and Varce would receive a mate that matched his status as a pure-blood dragon. Although Cyril wasn't Arvel's biological child, Arvel treated him like he was his own son and the two old friends were glad to see a union between their houses. It was a well-arranged match. Or it would be if the younger parties could handle being in the same room together for more than five minutes.
"Young Draek is… temperamental. You have always been a level-headed person. You can be a calming influence on him. Varce will settle with time. You two have centuries ahead of you to work together and build your marriage… and he will protect you." Alver stressed the last sentence again, looking at Cyril solemnly.
Arvel was aware of Varce's violent tendencies, but such was the way of the cultivation world. Even the ever-righteous Dao Sects with their pretentious preachings on "morals and justice" walked paths filled with blood. They just walked it with a bit more hypocrisy, in Arvel's opinion. Their own Crimson Rose Sect specialized in cultivating dark arts related to blood techniques. The heightened blood lust was a natural part of their cultivation. The disciples of the Sect, including Varce and Cyril, learned to control this lust, even using it to fuel their power.
Varce would never endanger Cyril, Arvel was sure. The hot-blooded young dragon would cool down with time and Arvel was certain the level-headed Cyril would help the sect master settle himself. Audric had been the same way at his age, but he had matured. Especially after meeting Varce's mother. Cyril could be that influence for Varce.
Cyril on the other hand was getting very tired of the word "protect" which seemed to be popping up a lot. Varce may not even have the word in his brutish vocabulary, Cyril surmised. "Protect" was an awfully big and important word. Why does his Master take it so lightly and trust Varce with it so much?