Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - 15. Chapter 4 - Lyre and Sand 4.1

Lyre and Sand: "'Build the empire with wheat, not sand.' It's said that I dance amidst the flames, playing the lyre and singing."

After meeting with Qana yesterday, we practiced with longswords until late into the night, which might have exhausted me too much. It wasn't until I heard a distinct sound that I woke up. Opening my eyes, I saw the sword master threading the belt through the loops of his pants.

I wanted to look away because it felt really weird, but I couldn't. The sight was too overwhelming--it was a work of art.

Qana's short, pure white summer fur didn't cover the sculpted, knotted muscles of his back, paired with huge, bulging biceps and deltoids, making him look like a magnificent marble statue.

I heard the clink of metal as Qana buckled his belt, then he turned to face me, seemingly searching for something on the bed.

For the love of Rationalism, turn your head away! Or at least close your mouth and lift your jaw!

I saw my conscience standing nearby, tugging at my ear and yelling admonishments. But I also noticed he kept glancing at Qana--humph, hypocrite. Wipe your own drool first.

But I could understand the struggle--his abs were so defined they showed through his fur, and his massive, rugged pecs...

I finally regained some rationality and snapped my head away. Staring any longer might have made the urban legend about nosebleeds from excitement a reality.

Why does this keep happening? It's so weird! Do other wolves with the same "preference" have this trouble, or am I an outlier even among the minority? Maybe I could ask Aether--can I ask Aether? I could ask Aether, right?

I helplessly scrubbed my face and snout fur with my hands, trying to clear my head or something.

Great, first Piqsirpoq--my half-brother--and now Qana. Though the temperamental, unsmiling sword master hadn't shown any special interest, I was certain he paid far more attention to me than to other wolves. Even more than what a direct master-apprentice relationship warranted.

Not just in the past year of solo sword training; even before that, I had sensed it. During evening training sessions, he always tried to teach me more and was much stricter with me than with others. Since last year, I thought my doubts had been answered--it was just the talent he saw in me and our shared abilities as psychics, that nurturing feeling for a junior.

But later, I overheard some young wolves gossiping in the cafeteria, mentioning that Master Polota confirmed Qana only agreed to share sword training duties a few years ago, and his time spent on it far exceeded the usual assignment. Other sword masters joked it was some kind of guilt for slacking off too long. I later verified that Qana started participating in evening training exactly when I was nine--the year I began learning how to hold a sword.

All these things together ruled out mere coincidence. For some reason unknown to me, Qana cared deeply about me.

Yesterday, I didn't think much about learning of Qana and Willow's relationship, but this discovery added a new possible explanation to my list--Qana saw in me the child he never had the chance to have.

I buried my face in my hands, wondering if voicing this thought would make me vanish from sheer embarrassment.

But I think I knew, I always...

"Don't waste time if you're awake. Breakfast starts in ten minutes." The sword master interrupted my thoughts. I looked up at him, and Qana was fastening his broadsword to his belt, then grabbed the cloak from the wall. "I'll give you five minutes." He said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

I immediately threw the blanket aside, sprang out of bed, and rushed into the bathroom. I grabbed a toothbrush with one hand and turned on the faucet with the other, guiding enough water to start washing up.

By vibrating the water at high frequencies to create cavitation, dirt detached from my fur--though I still didn't dare use it on my teeth, fearing it might shatter them. Now I was skilled enough to separate the dirty water into a stream and direct it away, letting clean water continue to flow over me. And my clothes no longer retained any liquid, so I didn't even need to undress, cleaning my outfit simultaneously, elevating the efficiency of my hygiene to the peak.

It was almost like using supercritical fluid, but simpler and less labor-intensive. Maybe not everything needed to be done in a complex, elaborate way, no matter how cool it seemed--though that didn't mean I'd stop trying to create supercritical water--for... science?

When I finished dressing and stood before Qana, he raised an eyebrow and gave me an amused look.

"Uh... what's wrong?" I asked, shifting my weight to the other foot, feeling uneasy under the sword master's imposing gaze.

Qana lifted his hand and poked my chest twice. When I looked down, I saw the care label sticking out of my shirt collar.

Suppressing the embarrassed heat creeping up my cheeks, I turned my short-sleeved crewneck shirt inside out, corrected it, and followed the sword master out of the room.

Bacon and eggs, cheese sausages, and honey toast. I must be dead, and Rationalism has forgiven me--heaven does exist.

"You know, being able to stuff all sorts of bizarre things into your mouth and swallow them is not mutually exclusive with appreciating fine food." I polished off half-melted Camembert cheese paired with a raw egg yolk--oh, the rich, intoxicating aroma rushing over my tongue--and then scooped up a large spoonful of acai yogurt.

"Absolutely no criticism intended," Qana said, still watching me, taking a sip of milk from his mug. "I'm just worried you'll eat too much and have indigestion later."

The sword master's reminder made me recall the issue. I sheepishly lowered my ears and scraped the remaining yogurt from the wooden bowl.

The dining hall was filled with various aromas, some fresh and pleasant, others rich and hearty, creating a delightful atmosphere. The sizzling oil pans, whether frying or grilling, each had their distinct rhythm. It was a feast, a perfect symphony played by the orchestra of vibrant senses.

Is this the world as experienced by the wolves of Mottle?

I wish everyone could enjoy this happiness every day.

"Why not just use a food synthesizer?" A very mood-killing question suddenly popped into my mind, but I felt it was necessary to ask.

"There are too many psychics here," Qana chuckled, setting down his empty cup. "Do you think the scariest things a food synthesizer can make are weird meals? Think again--use a little more creativity."

I set the empty bowl aside and started drinking my oat bran soy milk to finish off my breakfast.

"So, in places far from the Colosseo, ingredients are printed and then brought in for cooking, right?"

Qana nodded in confirmation to my question.

"Food synthesis technology is the foundation of not just the empire but the entire solar system's primary industry. The Asteroid Belt Alliance cultivates fungi, the Ares Federation grows algae, the Lunar breeds yeast, and the Canine Empire, blessed by Gaia, has various high-yield crops for starch, protein, and oil production." I glanced around the dining hall, watching the different wolves enjoying their meals, listening to the clinking of their utensils and their cheerful conversations. "If it weren't for... the serf class, would any of this be possible?"

Qana's deep blue eyes narrowed slightly, and he remained silent for a while, just watching me.

"Yes," the sword master said, slowly enunciating the words, occasionally baring his canines. "After all, there was a time when that was true."

"Then why..." Knowing that we weren't living off the exploitation of the lower classes was a relief, but it raised a bigger question. "If it's not necessary, why..."

"Often, things that seem nonsensical are the most practical demonstrations of 'sense.'" Qana sighed, rubbing his temples. "Remember when I talked to you about purpose and meaning?" I nodded. "Without these things, it's as if you don't exist. And non-existence is terrifying; it drives insecure people to do even more terrifying things just to prove their existence."

Qana's answer was almost as good as no answer at all. I tilted my head, folding my right ear down for further explanation. But the sword master shook his head gently and pointed to my mug.

"This isn't something that can be explained in a few words. We'll have a chance later," he said, scanning the dining hall quickly with his sharp eyes. "When there aren't so many 'red eyes' around." Qana grinned, baring his canines--an expression he usually wore before drawing his sword. Then he tapped my mirror circle with an almost imperceptible force to emphasize his point.

The ripple was so faint it disappeared immediately, causing only a very small disturbance.

I nodded slightly, lowering both ears in acceptance, and finished my drink.

I could guess "red eyes" referred to psychics, but I didn't understand why. Or why discussing these matters was an issue. As my knowledge grew, the fog shrouding the world only thickened, a phenomenon hard to grasp. Or perhaps this was the nature of truth?

I set my empty mug down, wiped my mouth with a napkin, and signaled to Qana. After he nodded back at me, he got up and led me out of the dining hall.