M.S. Davidson
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54. Housewarming Gifts
🕑 Added 2025-09-15 16:01:49 +0000 UTCTwo days blurred together like a fever dream of progress and pain.
Mornings belonged to Jeremy, who'd transformed into a completely different person after our courtyard match. Gone was the hesitant instructor—replaced by someone who pushed me to my absolute limits. He had me practicing short, deliberate mana burns right before specific movements, timing them to the split second for maximum impact.
It sounded simple, but it was brutal.
The concentration required was like trying to solve calculus while someone punched you in the face. I walked away each session looking like I'd been through a meat grinder, but I was getting better. Faster. More precise.
Jeremy had also asked me to teach him Tai Chi. The slow, flowing movements frustrated him at first—his instinct was to rush, to force—but he adapted with incredible speed. Within hours, he was moving as if he'd been practicing for years.
Meanwhile, Red spent his mornings tearing around the Tower lobby on some kind of secret canine reconnaissance mission, only reappearing when food was involved. Weird dog.
Since Dara had banned me from the Trial Grounds—much to Diana's vocal frustration—we ventured into the Citadel to find other ways to stay busy. When I asked Gary about Dara's reaction, he laughed so hard it echoed through the massive hall.
"Dara's greed is legendary," he'd explained between chuckles. "She hoards everything—spirit realms, artifacts, rare books. Having someone actually beat her trials? That's probably driving her insane."
It didn't take long for other Hunters to rope me into city reconstruction. I'd assumed that meant swinging hammers or cutting wood—not hauling impossibly heavy bundles of bricks across half the city like some kind of super pack mule.
But plenty of other Hunters were doing the same, and it quickly turned into a competition. Who could carry the most? Who could move the fastest? The camaraderie was infectious, and even the backbreaking work felt good after days of mental strain.
As I unloaded bricks, local kids swarmed me like I was some kind of celebrity, begging for stories about Terra and monsters. I happily obliged, watching their eyes light up as Red soaked up the attention like a furry sponge. Meanwhile, Trailbinders zipped past in blurs of speed, ferrying rubble to the brickyard for recycling. The entire city was rebuilding—together.
That night, Diana cornered me in my room with a specific agenda.
"Show me that mana refinement again," she'd said without preamble.
I hadn't told her that the refined white mana had fueled my bizarre attack against Dara's golem, but Diana wasn't stupid. She'd connected the dots.
The process was frustrating. I could only store a microscopic amount of the refined mana before it simply dissipated—a disconcerting discovery considering how much raw mana it took to create. It was like having to fill a teacup with Niagara Falls.
But we discovered something interesting when I accidentally tripped over the carpet in my room. The refined mana left to drift naturally through my pathways would passively heal minor cuts and bruises. Painfully slow compared to when I'd forced it during Richard's treatment, but that it worked at all was remarkable.
Afterward, I experimented with the Spirit Well. Drawing mana from it was nothing like absorbing standard mana cores. The process demanded total concentration—like trying to open a valve that had been welded shut. Minutes of mental effort would finally start the flow, but even the smallest trickle flooded my pathways instantly.
I had to cut it off fast when my head started ringing and my skin burned with excess energy. The Spirit Well was incredibly potent, but the difficulty of accessing it made it useless for combat.
The second morning brought Jeremy again, his movements sharper and more refined. He'd been practicing the Tai Chi forms overnight, but something had changed. His technique was evolving—closer to traditional Taijiquan than the basic forms I'd taught him.
"You're convinced this is all about mana manipulation," I observed as he flowed through a sequence that looked better than my own.
"Connecting body and soul through movement," he corrected, executing a perfect ward off that made me slightly jealous. "When you confirmed your home didn't actually have mana, it just made the principles more fascinating."
We spent the morning training, but this time I showed him the faster combat forms I'd developed through sparring. He absorbed them like he'd been born for it—outpacing me within hours and adding his own flourishes that actually improved the techniques.
Watching someone master in hours what had taken me most of my lifetime was both inspiring and slightly insulting.
That afternoon, Red and I wandered the city looking for Cass. I hadn't seen her for over a day, and apparently, neither had anyone else. That she'd vanished without a word was worrying me.
Our search eventually led us to Doreen's, which was absolutely packed. The moment she spotted me, Doreen put me to work helping Hildy in the kitchen—leaving Red unsupervised in what had essentially become a refugee mess hall.
After the intensity of the past week, I didn't mind. At least this was familiar exhaustion.
I immediately regretted that thought.
The kitchen looked like a war zone. Pots boiled over in violent eruptions, ingredients flew through the air like projectiles, and something in the oven smelled like it was actively on fire. A slick puddle of cooking oil coated the floor like a death trap waiting to happen.
"It's a fucking madhouse in here, Hildy!" I had to yell over the chaos.
She froze mid-frantic-motion to stare at me with wild eyes. "Ben! Are you here to assist?" Her voice was clipped, frazzled, barely holding together.
I laughed despite the disaster surrounding us. "Yes, you clean up, and I'll check what's cooking before the place burns down."
I barely avoided scorching myself as I yanked a pot off the overheated burner, then turned to investigate the oven. Carefully cracking it open, I found what looked like a mutant thirty-kilogram turkey roasting inside—severely overcooked, but mercifully not on fire.
Grabbing towels, I wrestled with the massive roasting pan, wondering how the hell Hildy had managed to get this monster into the oven in the first place. I took three careful steps toward the counter when—
Something shifted. A strange sensation washed over me, like the world had fractionally slowed. Even with mana enhancing my balance, my foot hit the oil slick, and I was already going down.
I'd become so dependent on Bravery—and now Valor—warning me of danger that I'd stopped using basic common sense. Yet another lesson learned the hard way.
The turkey was already airborne when I realized what was happening. I ignited a desperate mana burn, twisting mid-fall as my back slammed into the oil-slicked floor. But instead of letting thirty kilos of poultry hit the ground, I guided the heavy roasting pan across the tiles.
THUD.
The massive bird landed perfectly centered in the pan.
Lying flat on my back, covered in oil and questioning my life choices, I sighed. Apparently, Valor couldn't—or wouldn't—warn me about my own stupidity.
When I finally hauled myself upright, I found Hildy staring at me with an expression caught between awe and concern.
"Did you just burn mana to save a turkey from the floor?" She asked, shaking her head in disbelief.
I grinned, wiping oil from my face. "That's a lot of food to waste just because it—" I paused mid-sentence, realizing that food safety rules probably didn't exist in a world where people regularly ate healing pills. "I just don't want everyone eating floor-turkey."
Hildy shrugged and returned to bouncing around the kitchen like a caffeinated hummingbird, tidying up while I stirred the impossibly thick concoction she had bubbling in a pot. I'd shown her how to make simple gravy last week, but this was closer to edible cement.
The kitchen door exploded open, and Doreen practically shoved Red inside with obvious exasperation.
"Ben, get your mana beast under control—he's practically begging for scraps from people who don't even have homes right now."
I winced, moving to collect the suddenly dejected dog. At Doreen's words, Red's ears flattened against his skull, and he looked back at her with something almost like shame in his eyes. She didn't seem to notice.
I gave his haunch a firm pat and scratched behind his ears. "It's no big deal, buddy. There's plenty to go around." I grinned at him. "Besides, this is where the turkey is."
Red's entire demeanor transformed instantly. He brightened, dashed through the kitchen at full speed—hit the oil slick—and crashed straight into a cupboard with a tremendous bang.
I couldn't help it. A full-bellied laugh tore out of me, the sound echoing through the chaotic kitchen.
After all the talk of Seals and advancement and tournaments and everything else weighing on my mind—watching Red pick himself up and shake off the collision like it was nothing helped me center myself.
As Red scrambled back to his feet, a large sack tumbled out of the damaged cupboard. I walked over to investigate, pulling out what looked like a potato the size of my head.
"Oh yes, those are tubers the merchants brought over," Hildy explained, still stirring her cement-gravy. "I don't know what to do with them, but Doreen said to just boil them."
I turned the massive potato over in my hands, then glanced at the oil slick covering the floor. A grin spread across my face.
"Hildy," I said, pointing at the disaster zone beneath our feet, "is there more of that oil?"
***
Red and I lounged on the back steps of Doreen's, absolutely stuffed with turkey and what I'd introduced as "french fries." The turkey had been dry as desert sand—drowning it in the saved gravy barely made it edible—but the fries were an instant sensation.
I'd completely run out of potatoes as people kept asking for more servings. It didn't help that Red and I had probably consumed our body weight in crispy, golden perfection.
He sighed contentedly beside me, and I found satisfaction in knowing that even he had a limit to his appetite.
A familiar presence brushed against my aura just as Narrin rounded the corner into the alleyway, golden chains and jewels clinking with each measured step.
"Narrin?" I called, surprised to see him.
He bowed his head respectfully. "Amituofo, Revered One," he greeted in formal Eloquentia. That was definitely new. "This destitute beggar of a monk was sent to inform you that your residence in Mo-Lei is ready for your arrival."
I snickered at his deliberately humble phrasing but glanced back through the kitchen window, where the evening cleanup was mostly finished.
"Can we go there now?" I asked suddenly curious about what the Sentarians had prepared.
Narrin nodded—clearly able to understand English despite his formal speech—and gestured for Red and me to follow.
We wound through several narrow alleyways before he led us through an unmarked door that opened directly into someone's kitchen. A family sat around their dinner table, looking up with mild surprise as we passed through their home like it was a public thoroughfare.
Narrin didn't even acknowledge them as he strode toward a staircase leading down into darkness.
"Uh, sorry!" I called back to the startled family, hurrying to catch up.
"You need not apologize," Narrin said evenly. "The entrances to the Old Pathways belong to the Sentarian Order. We maintain them for the city's benefit."
I shrugged. "Still, we interrupted their dinner. Doreen's has an entrance—we could've used that."
"That entrance does not connect to our intended destination."
We descended flight after flight of stairs, going far deeper than I'd been before. The elaborate Buddhist decor gradually became less ornate as the chambers expanded, stretching into something that resembled an underground highway leading toward massive gates.
Two colossal metal doors—easily twenty meters high—stood open like the mouth of some ancient titan. Several Sentarian guards watched silently as we approached, their presence more ceremonial than threatening.
They waved us through without a word.
And then I saw Mo-Lei.
Viewing it from above in Arryava's room had felt like looking through a window—distant, incomplete. But walking through these streets, Mo-Lei felt real. And strangely, impossibly familiar.
The city sprawled around me in golden splendor. Tiered pagodas and gilded rooftops shimmered under the warm glow of countless lantern orbs, their curved eaves adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to shift and dance in the light. Details I'd missed from above unfolded everywhere—graceful bridges stretching between buildings, massive stone pillars etched with flowing script, and entire canals threading through the streets.
The air carried the scent of incense and ancient stone, laced with something faintly metallic that wasn't unpleasant. The distant hum of chanting drifted through the city, blending with the steady rhythm of life moving around us.
My head was on a constant swivel, trying to absorb everything at once.
We'd barely stepped onto the main thoroughfare when Narrin stopped and gestured toward a large red door set into what looked like fortress walls.
"Since you will likely have visitors during your stay, we placed your residence near the main gates," he explained, pushing the wooden door open to reveal a pristine courtyard.
The sight immediately reminded me of the Winters Estate—an open-air courtyard with stone pathways, elegant statuary, and a series of pagoda-roofed buildings, each with its own red door. It was almost exactly like a traditional Chinese siheyuan, complete with the Feng Shui arrangement I remembered from my Aapo’s books.
I grinned at the familiar design. "So... one of these is mine?"
Narrin gestured broadly with obvious pride. "This entire compound has been allocated to the Revered One. The main house is straight ahead, guest quarters to the left, and your meditation hall to the right."
I blinked in shock. The whole thing?
This wasn't just ten times larger than my old apartment—it was bigger than the house I'd grown up in. By a lot.
Narrin led me to the main house and opened the door, revealing a massive sitting area complete with an elaborate dining section. The furniture was beautifully crafted, reminiscent of the meditation rooms in Diana's Tower but somehow more personal.
Red immediately claimed the largest couch for himself, settling in like he’d paid good money for it.
"This residence was originally built for visiting dignitaries," Narrin explained, "but since only Archon Diana ever uses it, repurposing it for you seemed logical."
I drifted toward the dining table, drawn to a white cloth covering several latched wooden boxes.
"Diana stays here when she visits?" I asked, running my fingers over the smooth wood.
"Yes, but it has been quite some time since her last overnight visit. She did, however, deliver those items for you recently."
I exhaled slowly, shaking my head. "This is too much, Narrin. I might not even be on Ark in a week."
Narrin clasped his hands, his expression unreadable behind his insectoid features. "And should you ever find your way back, your home will be waiting." His voice carried an edge of something—dedication, hope, or perhaps something deeper.
I opened the first box, finding a handful of red and blue coins. Another contained several changes of clothes, including outfits that looked remarkably similar to what Felix had worn when bound for Sylvarus. I wasn't sure Diana believed my story about the house, but the housewarming gifts were thoughtful, regardless.
A note in the last box made me grin:
Stop losing your shit.
Yep, that was definitely Diana. Then a thought struck me.
"Oh! Arryava mentioned you might be able to repair my mana sanctum. Have you had a chance to examine it?" I asked hopefully.
Narrin immediately dropped into a bow so deep I was convinced he was using mana enhancement just to avoid toppling over.
"This pitiful monk apologizes profusely," he said, his tone unusually flat. "The binding that held your mana sanctum together was destroyed. Even our most experienced elders have never witnessed such devastation. If not for your Vajra, we would consider it impossible."
He hesitated, then added almost cautiously, "Would it be possible to examine..." He trailed off, as if catching himself mid-request.
"Oh, you want to see Winchester?" I said, summoning the staff into my hand with a small flourish. I half-expected Ted to appear with commentary, but for once, he remained silent.
Narrin straightened, inhaling sharply as his mandible-like jaw spread in what I could only interpret as fascination.
Experimentally, I set Winchester down on the table and actually let go—something I'd never tried before.
The sensation was immediate and uncomfortable. An invisible tether tried to pull the staff back to me, like I'd just released something that wasn't meant to leave my grip. I had to actively resist the instinct to recall it. Stepping away didn't increase the pull, but when I willed Winchester back, it simply appeared in my hand, bypassing physical space entirely.
A chill ran up my arm as I tested the connection, tossing the staff toward the ceiling and pulling it back before impact.
Okay, that's definitely cool.
Realizing I was getting distracted, I turned back to Narrin—who looked more bewildered than I'd ever seen a Sentarian.
Without thinking, I tossed Winchester to him.
He caught it clumsily, nearly dropping it before stumbling over his words in obvious panic.
"Apologies," he blurted in English—jarring after his formal Eloquentia. "Please, you must take it back. This ignorant monk is not worthy of holding such a sacred artifact."
I waved his concern away. "You wanted to examine it. Hard to do that from across the room."
I could feel him holding the staff through our connection. The sensation was completely bizarre—layered on top of the mental effort required to keep Winchester from yanking itself back into my grip.
Cautiously, Narrin held his hand over the orb. A vibration rippled through my connection with the staff, strange and slightly uncomfortable. I could trace the sensation inward, following it to that mysterious space where Winchester somehow existed both in my soul and in the physical world.
The vibration stopped abruptly. Narrin clicked his mandibles together in a thoughtful pattern.
"Passing spiritually aspected mana through it creates resonance similar to a mana sanctum," he mused, "but that's the extent of my understanding. Perhaps—"
"Can you do that again?" I interrupted, an idea forming. "I know aspected mana is difficult to manipulate, so no pressure if—"
"Of course, Revered One."
Narrin held his hand out again, and the vibration returned.
I turned my focus inward, tracing my mana pathways to the tether I could now clearly feel running through them. Ted had mentioned that the staff had pierced a hole between my body and soul, and I was certain I could sense the exact point where that rupture existed.
I pressed my perception against it.
Nothing.
It was like running into a solid wall. Wait—it was a wall.
Shifting my focus, I directed my awareness toward my soul-space—and suddenly I was there, standing face-to-face with the smooth stone wall of my circular chamber. A faint humming vibrated through the air, and I could see it now: a tiny pinhole of light piercing straight through the rock like a laser had cut through it.
"What's that sound?" Ted's voice echoed behind me, but I couldn't focus on him. The humming was already fading.
I stepped back and punched the wall as hard as my soul-self could manage.
Pain exploded through my physical body as a pulse of energy erupted outward from me.
One more. The thought wasn't mine—it was definitely coming from my Seal, urgent and insistent.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" Ted's voice sounded distant, muffled, but I was already moving.
I drove my fist forward again with everything I had.
The wall didn't shatter or explode. Instead, it shifted to avoid my strike, stone grinding like massive unseen gears turning. The entire structure warped and reconfigured—until I stood before a smaller but familiar room.
Shelves lined the walls.
My breath caught, and my eyes snapped open in the physical world.
The table and chairs around me had been shoved backward as if hit by a force wave. Narrin stood across from me, panting heavily, his eyes wide with exhaustion and something that might have been awe.
"What just happened?" he gasped.
I reached inward, feeling for that space in my mind, and grinned at the familiar sensation of shelves responding to my touch. I couldn't see the room from this side, but I could tell it was definitely smaller than before—but functional.
Running my awareness over the familiar items, I found everything intact, including the small wooden box from my last hunt.
Still grinning, I pulled out the silver mana coin and tossed it to Narrin, recalling Winchester to my grip in the same fluid motion.
Narrin startled at the staff's sudden disappearance from his hands but caught the coin with practiced grace, staring at me in confusion.
"You just helped me repair my mana sanctum," I said with a sly smile, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice. "And karma must remain balanced."
