Freshly dressed and washed, Song stood before Lee San with his head bowed in shame. His father sat upon the great wood and fabric chair of the Patriarch, which was decorated with generations upon generations of Lee family history. They were alone in the yurtwagon, the various ritualistic paraphernalia still scattered around the floor. The celebratory banquet had been canceled, his mother’s meat buns were cold, and after everything that’d happened, Song didn’t even have any tall, proud horns to show for it.

  Instead, the lines of his governing vessel hidden beneath his woolen deel robe now glowed faintly with starlight.

  Some Sign.

  “I’m sorry, Patriarch,” Song whispered.

  His father had also taken the opportunity to get changed, and now wore his customary yellow deel and thick grasswolf-pelt mantle. He looked up from where he’d been scratching Kkongi on his head. The Pheasant Tailed Red Hawk squawked with protest and gave Song an angry eye. But then, the vicious refinement level Demonic Beast did everything angry.

  “What for?” Lee San asked. His father’s face was inscrutable. Be mad! Be disappointed! Not this… blankness.

  “For… deviating,” Song replied, with a bitter note.

  San shook his head. “It’s disappointing, to be sure. But few are able to undergo qi deviation and keep their wits. You’ve shown the mettle and strength of mind of a proper scion of the Lee clan.”

  Hope surged in Song’s heart, but was instantly quenched as his father continued, “Even if you’re now unable to learn our martial arts.”

  Song’s heart clenched. “Can’t I still learn the basics? Maybe adapt them to my own martial path?”

  San shook his head. “No. Each technique is designed to draw out the power of the Verdant Mother’s qi. The Way of the Ram is not meant for those with the Dark Dreamer’s qi.”

  Song remained silent. What more could he say? At this point he was fully at his family’s mercy. If they wanted to, they could even throw him out of the clan as a disgrace. He’d enter the Gangho as a wandering free cultivator, to be picked off by any random Demonic Beast, or to serve as a footnote in the grand journey of some orthodox Heavenly Immortal.

  There were a few wandering cultivators like that in Changpo village, who had to work twice as hard to prove themselves with half the results.

  Song jumped as San leaned forward and poked his cheek, “Such a dour face. What you’re worrying about won’t come to pass. You’re a proud son of the Lee family! And let no one say otherwise!”

  Song kept tears from his eyes, and pulled his pointy toortsog hat down low to hide his hornless head. “What about Uncle, the aunties… and my cousins? Everyone will talk.”

  “Fools will always talk,” San growled, then checked himself. “Not that our Lee family raised any fools. If mouths flap, ignore them. You’ve accomplished something few do! Your own path is yours to tread. You simply need a teacher.”

  Song’s tone grew bitter once more. “But there aren’t any Void body cultivators in the Village.”

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  San tapped his fingers on his chair’s arm. “No. It's not a common path in Nakjo. I’ll need to send word through the merchants when next they come to buy horses. Or one of the peddlers. For now, I’ll ask An Iseul to watch over you.”

  A burn-scarred face set with a dour scowl flashed through Song’s mind. “The hunter?”

  “She’s an energy cultivator, not a body cultivator, so she won’t be able to teach you her techniques. But at least she’ll be able to guide you in understanding your new element.”

  “Oh…”

  San looked at his downcast son with a hint of amusement. “Does she unnerve you? Good. It’s not bad for a student to be properly frightened of their teacher. ”

  Indeed, she did unnerve him. Energy cultivators’ Sign was visible in their eyes, and in their Aura. Hunter An had dark grey sclera, and anyone who stood in her presence felt like something was watching them. Not for the first time, Song cursed his luck in being saddled with the qi of the Dark Dreamer. Void cultivators were all creepy, and skulked around in shadows like cowards!

  “Is there no other way?” Song asked, hesitantly.

  “No.” San’s tone brooked no argument. “I’ve already sent word. Rest tomorrow, and you’ll begin your lessons the day after.”

  “Yes, Patriarch. But… will she be able to teach me any other Names? Or should I try to puzzle one out myself?”

  “NO!” San roared, surging to his feet so fast that Song instinctively stepped back. San took a steadying breath and slowly fell back into his chair. “No. To speak a Name without the proper rites is the way of Demonic Cultivation. It invites disaster, warps the body with Signs that are too powerful or alien for it to contain, and increases the chance of an Inner Demon. Without cultivation materials to ease the qi and the proper ritual protections, you’ll become a monster like those of the Heavenly Demonic Cult.”

  Song pointed at Kkongi, who was preening on his father’s armrest. “What about Demonic Beasts like Kkongi, or the grasswolves? Do they know a Name?”

  “What did your lessons say?”

  Song frowned. “That they were naturally infused by the Great Ones elements.”

  “Mostly true. Or they might find some treasure already filled with a Great One’s qi, or simply be born with a great destiny. Few stumble upon or puzzle out a Name, but it’s not impossible. After all, the Great Ones are part of all creation. As for Kkongi? I know not. I found him as a chick feasting upon a jackal, the Earthen qi of The Golden Emperor already flowing within his dantian.”

  There was a silence that stretched between them, which San eventually broke. “How are you otherwise? Is your body hanging together? Your dantian?”

  Song held back a yawn. “I’m fine.”

  His father’s eyes grew sharp. “Do you remember what happened when you first came out of meditation?”

  Song rubbed the back of his head. “Just making a fool of myself. I remember running from the tent, and my brothers helping me. Oh, and I remember Kkongi knocking the wind out of me.”

  The hawk gave a mocking cry from where it sat on his father’s armrest, and Song shot a wary glance at the beast.

  San pulled at his long beard as he considered his youngest child. “Did anything… speak to you? During your time in the Great One’s mindscape?”

  Song schooled his face to blank confusion even as his heart raced. “No?”

  San heaved a long sigh and the tension ran out of his shoulders. “Good. You may leave. Your mother wishes to see you. Oh, and tell your brothers I need to see them.”

  Song bowed, hiding his face. “Yes, Patriarch.”

  His father waved him away. Song opened the flap and fled, guilt riding his soul.

  He’d lied to his father. He had seen something there in the endless dark, reflected upon that infinite mirror.

  An Inner Demon.

  There was only death for one overtaken by an Inner Demon.

  It was a secret Song would take to his grave… one he’d dig himself if this Cyrus proved a threat to his precious Lee family.

  Song stumbled to his mother’s tent, exhausted. He barely even registered her tucking him into bed with a soft lullaby.