Cultivation is Creation
Chapter 278: Former Candidates

Back in the Apex, I adjusted the high collar of my new robe for what must have been the twentieth time.

"You'll wear a hole in it if you keep fidgeting," Azure commented dryly.

"It's too tight around the neck," I muttered, sliding a finger under the collar again. "Why does spiritual enlightenment require strangulation?"

"Perhaps it's a metaphor," Azure suggested. "The physical discomfort represents the burden of responsibility."

I snorted. "Or maybe whoever designed these robes had a very different neck than mine."

The attendants had spent nearly an hour dressing me, treating each fold and crease with reverent care. The outer robe was a deep celestial blue that darkened to nearly black in the shadows, with silver embroidery depicting stylized representations of the blue sun's rays.

Beneath it was a lighter inner robe of pale blue silk, and silver-blue pants that gathered at the ankles above soft leather boots. A sash of midnight blue wrapped around my waist, secured with a clasp carved from some luminescent crystal.

"Is all this really necessary?" I had asked as they draped a delicate silver chain across my shoulders, from which hung a small pendant shaped like a lotus: the symbol of my office as Saint.

"You represent the Blue Sun's chosen vessel," the senior attendant had replied seriously. "Your appearance must reflect the dignity and gravity of your position."

Now, standing before the mirror in my chambers, I barely recognized myself. The humble village boy was gone, replaced by someone who looked like he belonged among the elite of the Blue Sun Academy.

The transformation was unsettling.

"Well," I murmured to my reflection, "at least now I look the part."

"The clothes make the man, or so they say," Azure commented.

Today's ceremony would be my first public appearance since becoming Saint, and all eyes would be upon me.

"Remember," Azure said as I prepared to leave, "you're not just representing yourself today. You're representing the Blue Sun itself, at least as far as they're concerned."

"No pressure," I muttered.

"On the contrary," Azure replied, "immense pressure. But nothing you can't handle."

I smiled despite myself, before straightening my shoulders and exiting the chambers.

***

The walk to the Grand Pavilion took me through the Heart Gardens.

Normally, I would have paused to appreciate the beauty of the place, but my mind was preoccupied with the ceremony ahead.

I had spent the previous evening carefully crafting my address with Azure's help, balancing humility with authority, gratitude with certainty, all while avoiding any specific commitments that might bind me to actions I wasn't prepared to take.

It was a delicate dance, one I hoped would satisfy the elders and the Blue Sun without drawing undue attention to myself.

As I approached the Grand Pavilion, two attendants, who were standing at the entrance, bowed deeply. "Most Honored Saint," they murmured in unison, stepping aside to let me pass.

I took a deep breath and entered, immediately struck by the transformation of the space.

When I had dined here with the other candidates almost a week ago, it had been impressive but relatively simple.

Now, it was resplendent.

Hundreds of floating motes of blue light drifted near the ceiling, creating the impression of a starry sky within the dome. Delicate arrangements of impossible blue flowers adorned every table and column. And the crowd, at least five hundred people filled the space, from the youngest acolytes to the most senior elders.

Near the far end of the pavilion, on a slightly raised dais, I spotted Kal standing among a group of elders. Even from this distance, I could sense the tension in their body language: rigid postures, overly formal gestures, a certain careful distance maintained between Kal and the others.

Kal, for his part, seemed completely unbothered by, or perhaps was deliberately ignoring, the tension. He noticed me immediately, offering a small smile. The conversation around him paused briefly as the elders followed his gaze to me, their expressions shifting into carefully composed masks of respect and curiosity.

With a respectful nod to the circle of elders, I looked around the hall.

Despite the pavilion being almost full, the ceremony wouldn’t properly begin for another half hour. This was the mingling period, when the various factions and ranks of the Academy could socialize under the pretense of honoring the new Saint.

For me, It was a perfect opportunity to relax and see how my former rivals were getting on.

I spotted Aric Leminov first, his golden hair unmistakable even in the crowded room. He was with a small group of what appeared to be fellow nobles, judging by their finery and bearing. As I approached, he noticed me and politely excused himself from his companions.

"Saint Tomas," he greeted me with a formal bow. "The attire suits you well. You look every inch the Saint."

"Lord Leminov," I replied, returning the gesture with a slightly shallower bow as befitted my new station. "Thank you for your kind words, though I'm still getting used to all of this." I gestured vaguely at my elaborate robes.

"I imagine it must be quite the adjustment,” Aric smiled. From a village mill to the Cerulean Apex, perhaps the most dramatic rise in the Academy's history."

I couldn't tell if there was any hidden meaning behind his words, but his tone seemed genuine rather than accusatory or suspicious. "It's been... overwhelming," I admitted, deciding that honesty, or at least a version of it, might be the best approach. "I never imagined anything like this."

"Few do," Aric nodded. "Even those of us raised with expectations of greatness rarely anticipate the exact form our path will take." He glanced around the pavilion thoughtfully. "I had expected to be either celebrating my selection as Saint or graciously accepting my role as a senior disciple today. Instead, I find myself in a curious middle ground, not selected, yet apparently still of interest to the elders."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "In what way?"

"Three elders have already approached me about discipleship," Aric explained. "It seems my performance in the Selection, while not sufficient for sainthood, was impressive enough to attract attention." He smiled again, more wryly this time. "Though I suspect my family connections don't hurt either."

I returned his smile. "Well deserved, I'm sure. Your control during the test was remarkable, knowing exactly when to stop, not pushing beyond your limits like..." I trailed off, suddenly aware that mentioning Amira's situation might be insensitive.

Aric's expression sobered. "Like Amira. Yes, a tragic situation. Have you heard? She left the Academy yesterday morning."

"I hadn't," I replied, surprised. "I thought she was still in the medical quarters recovering."

Aric shook his head. "The healers managed to stabilize her condition, but the damage to her Cerulean Vein was severe. She might be able to practice again someday, but..." He sighed. "It was apparently her decision to return home rather than remain here as a reminder of her failure."

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I felt a pang of genuine sympathy for the young woman. According to what I'd gathered, candidates prepared their entire lives for the Selection. To come so close only to have it all end in not just disappointment but physical injury, that had to be devastating.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "I hope she finds healing back home."

A troubled expression crossed Aric's face. "Between us, Saint Tomas, I'm not sure she will. House Dawn has fallen on difficult times in recent years. They placed a great deal of hope in Amira's candidacy, perhaps too much pressure."

"Sometimes families can be our greatest support and our heaviest burden," I observed, thinking of the complex web of expectations that seemed to entangle every noble family in this world.

"Already building alliances, Lord Leminov?" a voice called out, carring just enough mockery to be noticeable without being openly offensive. "How enterprising of you."

I turned to find Dorian regarding us with a carefully composed expression that didn't quite hide his displeasure. Unlike our previous encounter, he made only the most perfunctory of bows in my direction, technically respectful but clearly reluctant.

"Saint Tomas," he acknowledged, the title sounding stiff on his lips. "Congratulations on your... unprecedented achievement."

"Thank you, Lord Velaris," I replied evenly. "Your own showing in the Selection was commendable."

He gave a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Kind of you to say, though clearly not commendable enough. Millennials of dedicated service from House Velaris, three Saints produced from our bloodline, and yet the Blue Sun favors... new blood."

The pause before "new blood" said everything about his true feelings.

Aric shifted slightly, his posture becoming subtly protective. "The Blue Sun's wisdom transcends our mortal understanding, Dorian. Its choice is not a rejection of tradition but an embrace of potential."

"Indeed," Dorian agreed, though his tone suggested otherwise. "And I'm certain Saint Tomas will grow into his potential admirably. After all, he has Elder Kal's guidance now, quite the coup, securing our most talented Elder as a master." His eyes narrowed slightly. "One wonders how you managed that particular feat."

The implication was clear, he suspected some sort of manipulation or special treatment.

"The arrangements for my training were made by the Elders," I replied calmly. "I had no part in the selection of my master."

"Of course not," Dorian smiled thinly. "How could you have? You've been here, what, a week? Barely time to learn your way around the Academy, let alone influence such decisions."

I was a little confused why he was determined to make an enemy out of me, wouldn’t it make more sense to at least be neutral, if not nice, to the new Saint?

Before the conversation could grow more uncomfortable, a deep voice interrupted from behind me.

"Some are chosen for bloodline. Others for discipline. A few for raw talent." Bren Heart, the warrior monk from Stone Haven, stepped into our circle. "The why matters less than the what-comes-after."

His terse, direct manner of speech was almost refreshing after Dorian's veiled barbs.

"Brother Heart," I greeted him with genuine respect. "Well met."

Bren returned the greeting with a simple nod, his stoic expression unchanged. "Saint. You carry the burden now. Stone Haven honors the Blue Sun's choice."

"Your monastery's traditions are ancient and respected," I acknowledged. "I would welcome your insights in the days to come."

This seemed to please him, earning a slightly deeper nod and what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Wisdom comes in many forms. Sometimes from unexpected sources."

This last comment seemed directed at Dorian, who bristled visibly but held his tongue.

"Tell me, Bren," Aric asked, smoothly changing the subject, "how long will you remain at the Academy? Will you return to Stone Haven immediately, or stay for further training?"

"A moon cycle," Bren answered. "The Master Abbot desires observations on the transition. I am to learn and report."

I found myself genuinely curious about Stone Haven Monastery. It had been referenced several times, always with respect even from the highest-ranked Lightweavers. "Your monastery practices a different form of Blue Sun cultivation than what's taught here, doesn't it?"

Bren nodded. "Movement. Form. Discipline of body channels discipline of light. We commune through motion. Others through art." He gestured to Aric and Dorian. "They paint. You too now, yes?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "Elder Kal is teaching me the painting method."

"Good fit," Bren said approvingly. "Blue light flows differently through each vessel. Finding right method is key."

There was wisdom in his simplicity, I realized. Despite his taciturn nature, or perhaps because of it, Bren cut straight to essential truths while others lost themselves in complexities.

“But your unusual resonance is…concerning,” Bren said suddenly.

"Concerning?" I inquired, arching an eyebrow.

Bren nodded solemnly. "Stone Haven teachings warn that extraordinary power arriving unexpectedly often heralds extraordinary challenges to follow." His eyes, a pale blue that seemed almost colorless in certain lights, studied me with frank appraisal. "The blue sun does not bestow such gifts without purpose."

While I agreed with the general meaning behind his words, it didn’t hold true to my situation. My ‘unprecedented’ resonance was not gifted to me, but it wasn’t like I could just come out and say that.

“I prefer to think of it as an opportunity rather than a challenge,” Aric chimed in. “Perhaps Saint Tomas's unique connection to the blue sun is exactly what our Academy needs in these troubled times."

Dorian scoffed lightly. "Troubled times? The Academy stands stronger than it has in generations. Our only 'trouble' is the persistent annoyance of the Red Sun cultists, and they've been a thorn in our side for millennia."

"The signs are there for those who choose to see them," Bren replied calmly. "Increased raider activity. More frequent sun-touched transformations. The mysterious disappearances in the southern territories." He glanced at me. "And now, an unprecedented Saint from humble origins."

"You make it sound like I'm an omen of doom," I laughed lightly.

Bren's expression remained serious. "All change is an omen, Saint Tomas. Whether for good or ill depends on the actions that follow."

An uncomfortable silence fell over our small group. Aric looked thoughtful, Dorian skeptical, and Bren impassive as ever. I was searching for a way to steer the conversation back to safer territory when I spotted a familiar figure entering the pavilion.

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen," I said, bowing slightly to my former competitors. "I should greet Lady Vareyn."

As I moved away, I heard Dorian mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "of course he would," but I chose to ignore it. Politics and jealousies were inevitable in a place like this, and I had more important matters to focus on.

I made my way across the pavilion toward Laelyn, noting how people approached her with respect but not the near-reverence they showed me.

It was strange how dramatically our relative positions had shifted in just a few days.

When we first met, I was a refugee she had graciously taken under her protection. Now, I was the Saint, and she was... what? A failed candidate? A potential ally? Something more personal?

"Lady Vareyn," I greeted her with a warm smile when I finally reached her.

Her face lit up. "Saint Tomas," she replied, with a formal curtsy. "You look quite magnificent in your ceremonial robes."

"And you look as lovely as ever," I responded, gesturing to her elegant light blue gown. "Though I must admit, I feel rather like an impostor in all this finery."

"Nonsense," she said, stepping closer and adjusting the drape of my outer robe casually. "If anything, you wear the dignity of your office more naturally than most nobles wear their birthright." Her eyes met mine. "I hope you don’t’ let the position change who you really are.”

"I'm trying not to," I sighed. "It's all happened so quickly, it hasn't quite sunk in yet."

She nodded understandingly. "I can imagine. Even though I was raised my entire life with the possibility of becoming Saintess, I'm not sure I would have adjusted any better than you have." Her voice lowered slightly. "Between us, I'm almost relieved it wasn't me. The burden you carry now..." She trailed off, her expression somber.

"Do you regret participating in the Selection?" I asked, curious about her perspective.

Laelyn considered this for a moment. "No," she said finally. "It was expected of me, and I would never have forgiven myself if I hadn't tried. But now that it's over, I find myself faced with possibilities I never seriously considered before."

"Such as?"

A slight smile played at the corners of her mouth. "I might request permission to conduct field research on the historical integration of blue sun techniques with traditional medicine. There are villages in the eastern territories where folk healers still use methods that supposedly date back to before the Sundering."

I raised my eyebrows, immediately understanding the significance of her words. She was seeking knowledge outside the Academy's orthodox teachings, possibly even searching for traces of the dual-cultivation her grandmother had practiced.

"That sounds fascinating," I replied carefully. "I hope the council approves your request."

"And if they don't," she said with a hint of mischief in her eyes, "well, I am still a Vareyn. We have ways of pursuing our interests regardless of official sanction."

I couldn't help but smile at her subtle rebelliousness.

She glanced around briefly to ensure no one was within earshot, then leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Speaking of... unconventional knowledge, I was wondering if you might still have that family heirloom I entrusted to you?”

I understood immediately what she was referring to – her grandmother’s journal.

"I'm afraid not," I replied just as quietly, the memories of burning it and swallowing the ashes coming to mind.

Disappointment flickered across her face, quickly replaced by resignation. "You did what you had to do," she said softly. "It was the right choice, even if..." She didn't finish the thought, but I could see the sadness in her eyes: the loss of something precious, something that connected her to her grandmother and to a tradition that might now be lost forever.

"I memorized as much as I could," I offered, trying to provide some consolation. "The principles, if not the exact words. Someday, when the time is right, perhaps we could..."

Laelyn's expression brightened slightly. "I'd like that," she said. "After all, true knowledge resides not in objects but in understanding. My grandmother would have said that books are merely vessels, it's what we carry away in our minds that matters."

There was a weighted pause between us. I was about to respond when I noticed a disturbance at the entrance to the pavilion.