Radeon had long since stepped past the boundary that men called immortal. Past whatever lay beyond eternal.

The titles meant little to him. They had never sat right in his head.

"Master, allow me to pour you a cup."

He cradled the clay teapot in both hands and tipped a thin line of steaming amber into his master's empty cup.

Qi threaded from his fingers into the stream. It held the liquid steady against the mad mountain wind that clawed at the broken peak where they stood.

Not a drop spilled on the scarred stone between them.

Jekyll watched in silence. He lifted the cup. Took one slow sip. The lines at the corners of his mouth folded into a faint smile.

In his eyes the boy remained an amusing child.

He had taken hundreds of disciples over the centuries. Perhaps thousands.

Some had carved their names into history. More had vanished along the path.

To Jekyll this one. Giovanni. Whatever they called him. Was another tight green bud among many.

Competent enough. Quick enough. But not yet worth stirring the deep roots of the whole forest for his sake.

Jekyll had a personal policy. A bottom line he respected.

A bottom line his own master had beaten into him before Jekyll put that same man six feet under with his own hands.

Merits should never be set aside. Reward what is done well. Punish what is done poorly. Simple. Cruel. Clean.

Men would hate you for you didn't. They would expect more each time you acknowledged their worth.

Expectation turned to hunger. Hunger turned to resentment. His master had warned him of that. Died by that rule all the same.

He took Giovanni's bag without a word. The weight and the faint metallic clink told him enough.

Work of the array masters. He did not think of Giovanni as a boy with slippery fingers. Not before today.

If the child was stealing now then something had been left to rot. Jekyll wondered if it was the boy. Or his own neglect.

To ease the hard knot of guilt in his chest he unfastened one of his own pouches and fed a few extra materials into the collection.

Refined ore. Ink stones. A shard of a broken focus plate. All useful for arrays. Useless to him.

His interest had always been in cultivation and the harsher arts that came with it.

Jekyll closed the bag. This time he placed it back into Giovanni's hands himself. No qi. No technique. Just his fingers brushing the boy's knuckles and a thin smile that never reached his eyes.

"Within a week, I expect clear progress on this little interest of yours. By then, see that you have something worthy of my attention."

The smallest respect he could offer this young disciple. For now.

Radeon knew men like him. Traditional. The kind who spoke with a silent stare and a long, probing look. Their eyes were doors that opened only once.

A window to speak. A narrow slice of time when questions could be pushed through before the gaze slid away and shut again.

"Master, this disciple would ask. If a siege is coming, how do you wish me to prepare?"

"Do not fret yourself with impatience. We shall see how each piece moves when matters reach their height. If you wish to run, you may begin now."

Radeon saw his master sat his cup down. The tea already finished, he turned to the pot and poured tea once again. The master closed his eyes and lean into his chair. A sign that the visit is all but done.

"This disciple will take his leave, Master."

Radeon slipped out of the room and eased the door shut behind him. No sound. No trace.

Then he was already moving. Feet light on the stone as he took the stairs two at a time.

He had to catch the errand boys. His only clean way in was when they started to scrub the place down.

At the next landing he saw them. A small troop with their weapons bared.

Buckets that sloshed, brooms that thumped, rags slung over narrow shoulders.

Each one carried a thin pulse of cultivation in his core.

Nothing grand. Just enough to harden the back and keep the lungs from breaking.

For a breath, he weighed them. He could strip one of them of identity and no one would ever know.

Then he remembered the tight rule of his own path. Even at cornerstone his art bound him to three.

'I had Sail Knife, the first mate. Giovanni, the talented disciple. And the trunk that makes me immaterial.'

Every face he stole and made his own closed a door behind him.

Only if he was willing to peel it forcibly would he have one. He let the urge pass and fell in step behind the boys instead.

'If I reach gilded core, I get three more lives on top of the two I already carry. But...'

Three more names. Three more faces to wear when the world turned sharp.

He wanted it. The power. The safety of more masks. But he was against it all the same. Once a body formed a core the soul and flesh began to fuse.

Threads that should stay loose braided tight. Moving his soul out of a body after that would be like tearing muscle from bone.

'Best move now, knock them out. Set a delay. Get out.'

Torturous. Excruciating. The sort of thing that drew attention and left traces even dim fellows could see.

Radeon slipped through the hall with his head bowed. He did not let his steps falter. Lingering here would only make people wonder what he was up to.

Eyes would follow. Whispers would start. He had not come to feed their curiosity.

Not when his name was still hot in their ears. Not when one wrong look could match the harmless Giovanni to the thing they whispered about in the dark.

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