The next couple of days were…uneventful. There really wasn't anything more to say about it. The last ferry back from Sojourn had a technical malfunction, so her father had to stay over with his friends. He messaged them and let them know. Nothing to worry about.

He came home the next morning. Apparently his friends were very happy to know he was retiring. Apparently they didn't believe him when he told them why. Apparently, the whole family was invited for a big feast in celebration of his retirement in a few days.

Apparently, her Martial Mother counted as family now.

"You've known her for all of three days!"

"And for those three days, she's been eating at our table, sleeping under our roof, and helping out around the house with us. Besides, she's been taking such good care of you. Your father and I can't do that."

Aria couldn't deny that. Laylah had been providing her with a steady regimen of various cultivator medicines, and while the medicines themselves were doubtlessly ordinary, the knowledge of what to use, and how best to use it, was still invaluable.

Aria couldn't deny that.

But she really fucking wanted to.

She'd been healing up remarkably well, too. She could stand without her head spinning, and walk around without leaning on walls.

She could also stretch her Presence out far enough to know dearest teacher was laughing her ass off, pretend as she might that she was oh-so-engrossed in her reading. Apparently, there were Arts that let a cultivator use their Mind to read directly from data plates, which admittedly had a considerably less mystical and scholarly air to it than being buried in screens or tomes.

Crucially, it also didn't give her anywhere to hide from the absolutely venomous look Aria gave her. It was a strange feeling, seeing someone at least one order of magnitude older than her look away in something at least within the same language as shame.

"I just! Doesn't it strike you as a bit strange? This stranger — and I'm sorry, but that is what she was — shows up at your home, carrying your unconscious daughter, and you invite her in for tea?!"

"Well, darling, in all fairness, there were much worse places she could've taken our unconscious daughter."

Aria wilted at the insinuation, burying her face in her hands. "Why are you like this? Why are both of you like this? Why couldn't one of you be normal?"

"It really seems like you're making too big a deal of this whole thing. So what, you have a second mother now. Would you make this big of a deal if your father or I had brought in another spouse?"

"Obviously not," Aria rolled her eyes, "But—"

"Then be reasonable. She's your mother, as much as I am. I raised you onto two legs, she's raising you onto two wings."

Volkova raised an eyebrow at that.

"What? I'm well-read."

"Anya, that's a line from a novel I read in my youth. And it was considered trashy even 400 years ago."

Her mother scoffed and rolled her eyes. "I don't have to take this from you. Either of you."

Laylah rolled her eyes, smiling, and returned to her reading, although Aria could tell the immortal's attention was still split all around her. Presumably her mind wasn't restricted by such mortal trifles.

"Oh, Aria darling, I have a meeting with Dorian Merrick later today."

Aria restrained her venom at the mention of the name Merrick.

"He wanted to meet with you, if you were willing. He's not being pushy about it, so if you don't want to, I can tell him no and he won't take any offense to it. But, given you don't seem inclined to do anything better at home, maybe you wanna come along?"

Aria scoffed, but she knew she was being childish. She didn't know Dorian Merrick, but from everything she'd read of the man…

His family history rhymed with her own.

"Fine. But my overcoat's ripped to shreds. If he has problems with that, he can buy me a new one."

Anya laughed, "I don't think he will."

As it turned out, Dorian Merrick really didn't have a problem slumming it with the non-aristocratic rabble. He took such little issue with it, in fact, that he'd asked to have the meeting not in some smoke-filled backroom or some luxurious top-floor penthouse, but in a restaurant.

One of Aria's favourites, in fact.

It was a barbecue place, on the north side of the city, right next to the train station. It was mostly known as an Admiralty spot, and that's how Aria had come to know it, since it was the closest place to the station that served decent tea and was still open in the late hours when the last trains would arrive, carrying exhausted technicians home from distant outposts after their maintenance rounds.

The smell of grill-charred vegetables and mushrooms sent pangs of hunger through her, and despite her best efforts at composure her mouth couldn't help but water. Merrick awaited them at a small table, set for four — the place didn't do odd-numbered reservations, since it was tight enough as it was — smiling and waving as he saw them enter.

Aria's Presence spread through the eatery, picking up on aromas, textures, heartbeats, voices, breathing.

And two other Presences.

They weren't hostile. They felt…robust, but undefined. Unremarkable. They had no particular strong characteristic to them. They pressed against her senses, and though they spoke only through the gestures of their respective auras, the message was clear: make no trouble, and you'll find none.

Of course, Aria had no plans of making any. Not in her current state, but especially not in here. She loved this place, she wasn't going to see it wrecked.

She took a seat alongside her mother at the table, across from the Merrick scion. He was a bit older than Aria — 27, she recalled — but still young. Too young, some might've said, to be doing this sort of thing. But then, they often said the same of Aria, and she'd hardly ever let that stop her.

…Though maybe she should've, at some point.

Oh well.

Dorian Merrick dressed casually. A collared silken shirt, with the top buttons open, and a skirt that fell slightly below his knees. He rose to greet them, smiling as he shook hands with her mother. She kept her own greeting cordial, but nothing more. She had no sense of the man yet, and so warmth would've felt like flattery.

"Miss Rostova-Chen. I've heard so much about you!" He was…sincere. If a mortal had learned to lie to her Presence, then by the Saints he deserved to get one over on her, but nothing about him indicated anything but sincerity.

"Have you now, Mister Merrick?"

"Oh yes. Whole Admiralty's been abuzz about you. No one can agree on the specifics — and Idris Lance seems to be doing his best to keep it that way — but everyone can see the shape of it. Lots of questions flying about, even more answers, and I imagine none of them are close to right. But, I don't mean to bother you."

"It's no bother, Mr. Merrick, really. I'm quite honoured to hear you wanted to meet with me."

He seemed to grow embarrassed, and Aria didn't need her Presence to notice it. "Ah, yes, well. That was quite before you achieved your. Present station, shall we say."

That earned him a raised eyebrow. "You wanted to meet with me before you knew I was a cultivator?"

"I actually wanted to offer to pay off your commission. You're a very talented technician, and I was hoping to have you join my—that is, my family's, fleet. But, I imagine that offer probably seems quite. Quaint. Now."

"Mr. Merrick, I'm a weapons technician. I can work on ships as well, certainly, but it is not my specialty."

Aria fixed him with a piercing glare — and she really had her mother's eyes — as she leaned slightly forward, lowering her voice just enough. "What use, precisely, do you have for a weapons technician, that you'd be willing to buy off her commission?"

To his credit, he didn't wilt under her gaze, or make excuses. In fact, he matched her resolve, showing it in his own eyes. "Miss Rostova-Chen. My House. My family. Are ironmongers. We sell weapons of war to the highest bidder. No cause. No concern. We take money to help people kill people. It is a vile business, and I want no part of it."

"But I can't petition Grandfather's gentle heart to leave that business, on account of I'm not sure if he still has one or if it's gone and wilted altogether after so long in such a cruel vocation. That is why I have come all the way out here, to the edges of the Imperium. Do you think I didn't have offers of some cushy job, administering a handful of planets, skimming taxes off trade like a good, convenient little princeling?"

"I will make something of myself here, Miss Rostova-Chen. I will build my wealth. I will build my fleet. I will build my terror. And one day, I will march into my family's halls. And I will drag that decrepit old man off his throne, and seal this chapter of our family's shameful history in his blood."

"But you can't do that if you don't have the fire and iron to back up your claim." Aria leaned back, nodding in understanding.

Dorian nodded back. "I've no interest in inheriting that legacy. So here I am, writing my own, so my children and grandchildren don't have to live in this shadow. It would be cruel."

Aria sighed. "It's worthy a cause as any can be, when it involves such things. But I'm afraid I won't be able to take any part in it."

"I fully understand of course. I won't call on anyone to join in my crusade on ideology alone, and—"

"No, Dorian, you misunderstand. Your cause sounds quite worthy, and I imagine you already know my…frustrations with my own grandfather. Really, it seems a great way for a young lady of the seas and stars to spend the first few years of her immortality."

"Then what's stopping you?"

"Well, as I understand it, I don't think I am one of those."

"Ah. I…see. Aligning with one of the Great Houses, then?"

Aria laughed, and decided to stop toying with the poor man.

"Due to some of the particulars of how I came to be like this, I'm afraid I've no choice but to be a Monastery cultivator. Tragic, I know."

Dorian's eyes lit up, "Oh! Oh well that's wonderful! Oh that calls for celebration! Oh, I'm so sorry, if I'd known I'd have arranged something more festive than just tea, I—" He quickly waved over one of the servers, "Cousin, a kettle of Cinnamon Red and a plate of syrup cakes, please."

Aria was going to tell him there was no need for such things, but her mother got there first. "Well, Dorian, sweetheart, some of Viktor's friends have arranged a big festive dinner in a few days, in Sojourn, to celebrate his retirement. Why don't we make it one to celebrate her going to the Monastery as well? You're a sweet lad, I'm sure they won't mind hosting you."

Aria mumbled under her breath, "Calling a boy half as old as you 'sweetheart' doesn't look cute at your age, y'know," which summarily earned her a light rap of her mother's knuckles to the top of the head. As always, the gesture wounded her pride more than anything, but it did feel more absurd than ever to still be treated like that by her mother even after she became a cultivator.

"As I was saying. Really, I'm sure they won't mind you coming."

Dorian nervously ran a finger through his short blonde hair. "I'd be honoured, but I'd hate to impose…"

Aria's mother waved off his concerns, "It's no imposition, really. The more the merrier."

"Ah, still, Mrs. Chen, it feels improper to show up uninvited. Would they at least accept a gift?"

"For themselves? Not in a hundred years. Something everyone can share in might be appreciated though."

He thought for a second, before his eyes lit up. "Mrs. Chen, you remember the shipment we took over, last month?"

Aria's mother nodded, "From Bakari Trading Company. Their freighter got commandeered, didn't it? Delivering disaster relief somewhere or other. The Runningman Velvet. I remember."

"There was some Black Mountain tea on that manifest, wasn't there?"

"Not much. Not even a full crate, if memory serves." Which it always did, Aria knew. Her mother never forgot anything, as much as she often wished she would.

"But enough to serve at a feast, and with enough left over to pack up as gifts for everyone in attendance, no?"

"It'd be a princely gift. Fitting, certainly, but not cheap."

"Well, it would bankrupt me if I were giving out such gifts every day. But the young miss isn't going to be going off to the Monastery every day, and so my finances should be essentially fine."

As the cinnamon tea and cakes arrived, Dorian poured mugs for everyone at the table. Aria took a long, smooth sip, savouring all the complexities of the spices and the sweetener, little things her mortal senses never could've picked up on.

As she put her mug down on the table, she fixed the young man with a hard stare. "Nothing is free, Mr. Merrick, not even gifts. I'd rather you stated upfront what you'll be expecting in return."

Merrick nodded, quickly using a napkin to wipe the syrup off his fingers and reaching into his pocket. "Of course. Nothing much, I promise." He placed a small punchcard on the table. A standard, albeit certainly somewhat old-fashioned way of trading contacts. It could be read by any linker via a commonplace module, and most post houses, in space stations or on larger ships, had some sort of communication terminal that read them.

"Immortals often have need of mortal goods, especially in the Monastery. When such a need strikes you, reach for my name first. That's all I ask. No exclusivity. Just, the first company you call."

"And why wouldn't I just call my own mother?" She did accept the card, in spite of her doubts.

"As I'm sure you've inferred by now, your mother's warehouses are just one link in the chain of commerce I hope to build out here. We have our own fleet, and a half-dozen of our own traders, chartered by the Empress herself."

"My reach stretches far beyond just what's available on just one planet, or in one system, and I have the pull to get it to you faster than most others will be willing to."

"And in exchange you receive the favour of a Monastery cultivator? Betting on my meteoric rise, Mr. Merrick?"

He shook his head vehemently, "Nothing so crass, Miss. There's a reason Mrs. Chen tolerates me, and it's because I've always been straightforward in my dealings."

"Oh, I do more than tolerate you. Really, I find you quite pleasant to work with. And with little Aria going off to stare into suns all day long, I've got no one else to tutor and nothing better to do. We'll make quite the merchant of you yet, young Merrick."

Aria rolled her eyes as she grabbed one of the small square cakes off the plate, but in all fairness it was the right assessment. Aria wouldn't be able to take over her mother's work now, and if the woman didn't pass all her connections and tricks of the trade to someone she might spontaneously combust.

"You're too kind, Mrs. Chen." Dorian smiled. "But, I'm not trying to curry favour, young miss. Money in exchange for goods and services. Straightforward and honest. Monastery cultivators just tend to have far more to spend and far more reason to spend it."

"I'll keep you in mind, then. Though I'm not sure what makes you think I'll be so fortunate."

"Miss Rostova-Chen, do you know why we are here, in this particular eatery?"

"I imagined for their warm-spiced tea."

"That one is quite wonderfully restorative, isn't it? But as wonderful as it is, no. It is because I have spent the past two years bouncing through spots like this. Mrs. Chen was the first person willing to take me in as a true partner, and not merely a client or a subordinate, so I've made my home here these past months, but I have spent considerably longer rubbing shoulders with the Admiralty's rank and file."

"I don't say this to threaten you — naturally — but to explain what is seen and what is known. There's ample rumour, of course, especially regarding what happened out in the mountains. But by now, I imagine half the Imperium has seen the surveillance footage of your fight in the heart of the city."

Aria shrugged, though her heart wasn't quite in it. "Footage of cultivator fights isn't rare. You can download far more spectacular examples from the Imperial Library."

Dorian clicked his tongue, "Spectacle is trivial. I've no doubt you could've leveled half the city, had you wanted to."

Aria knew damn well she could've done no such thing, but she didn't say as much, albeit she did make a mental note to ask Laylah about the subject later.

"But a cultivator duel, in the heart of such a major city, with not so much as a single injury? I've already caught word of House Ikeda, House Torvall, and the Censorate preparing job offers for you."

"Then I think you've heard wrong. Cultivators are in plentiful supply, and the Censorate of all things has no trouble buying them."

"And how plentiful are good ones? The Censorate is happy to throw money at mercenaries to deal with rogues and reavers because they largely consider collateral damage to be a value add there. They don't bother retaining anyone who wouldn't qualify for the Monastery. Remind me, would you count?"

Aria fucking hated how smug he was being about it. Mostly because she knew damn well she would be just as smug if she were in his position, so she couldn't even really fault him for it. She really had set him up perfectly for that.

Aria sighed. "Fine. I'll concede the point."

"Good! Then, a toast to our collective good fortune?"

Aria couldn't help but smile as she raised her mug, "To audacious ambitions."

Her mother raised hers, "And the will to see them through."

By the time Aria's mother and the Merrick princeling got done with their business meeting — going over ledgers, contracts, rumours, and in many cases what sounded to Aria like outright superstition, but from which they seemed to be able to divine some profound meaning — the sun had begun to set.

The two women walked side by side, enjoying the lakeside breeze and the gentle hustle and bustle of a city winding down to the end of a day. Some shops closing, others opening. Shuttles taking people home from their shifts. Music flowing gently out of windows, children urging their parents along, unable to contain their excitement for whatever plans had been made for that evening.

"You know, it still doesn't feel real."

"Being immortal?"

Aria shook her head. "That part feels real enough. I live it every moment. Breathe it. I feel the Radiance in the air all around. It's so thin here. But it's there. In everything. In you, and me, and the bugs crawling in the dirt, and in the rocks they crawl under. Everything."

"No, the part I struggle to believe is what Dorian said. I never thought of joining the Monastery as an honour. I had caused a great and terrible immortal some amount of trouble, and now I would labour to pay off that debt until I succeeded or died trying."

"You hardly had any time to think about it. Though she's really not quite so terrible as you seem to think."

Aria rolled her eyes, "So I keep getting told. But…do you think it's true? That they'd really want to compete to buy me out?"

"Nah."

Aria stopped, frozen, at the sheer flippancy of her mother's response. "Nah? What's nah?!"

"I don't think it's true. I know it is."

"You WHAT?!"

"I keep up with the rumours too, you know. It's not just Ikeda and the Censorate who want you. Apparently some cadet branch of House Aurelian was prepping a bid too."

"I get why Torvall and some minor offshoot would want me. And I get the Censorate always wants to shore up how hard they can press on the Duchies. But why Ikeda? Don't they already have an Ancestor? Iskander Ikeda? And they've sponsored eight new Outer Disciples into the Monastery in the past thirty years."

"Presumably, they'd like to add a ninth. They've been butting heads with the censors since before I was born. The more disciples they have loyal to them, the better their chances when they inevitably bid for the Throne."

Aria pouted, "Stop changing the subject!"

"You're the one who asked!"

"You said it that way because you knew I'd ask!"

Aria's mother laughed, but didn't argue further.

Aria sighed, and kept pouting. "It really doesn't feel real, you know. I never thought I was that exceptional."

"Dearest, remind me, what's your scoresheet for the Admiralty's marksmanship competitions?"

Aria grumbled. "Well. Sure. Among mortals. But. I never thought I'd get to be a cultivator. It never felt real. And now it suddenly is. And I never thought any of my mortal training would translate. I thought immortal combat was all about being mystically-empowered and casting out powerful talismans and whatnot."

"Well, in fairness, spending more money than your opponent is an essential component of any effective combat tradition."

Aria snorted. "Apparently beating the shit out of them still gets you shockingly far, though."

"You seem unhappy about that."

"I'm not. Or. Maybe I am? I guess I just…don't know what I am."

Her mother's arms wrapped around Aria, pulling her into a warm, gentle embrace. "You're my daughter. And I am so, very proud of you. I always knew you'd do amazing at whatever you chose to do in life, and I was right. I'm sure you'll do just as great as a cultivator as you did in your mortal life."

"I feel like I still haven't quite left that part of me behind. But. After the feast, for dad's retirement. I'll go off to the Monastery. Stepping through the threshold. From one life into the next."

"People have been doing that since there were people around to do it. That's just what life is. Nothing remains the same forever. Everything changes."

"It's so scary."

"It is. But. You are my sweet, beloved, brave, bold girl. And I'm sure you'll be just as amazing at whatever's on the other side of that door."

Aria didn't move. The moon rising over the lake looked so beautiful. She hadn't just…stood there — admired it — in far too long.

There was, ironically, something clarifying about seeing it through the lens of her tears.