ã€ŠLive With Thunderã€‹


 I: Live With It

    Once, Western dragons scorched the world. Now, they¡¯re almost extinct. But the woman who killed them? She¡¯s here, climbing my tower.

    That woman was my friend, once upon a time. Her name is Hui Long.

    I watch her now as she scales my abode. Her hair is stark white for she is now a full-fledged child of spirits and the holder of the nine Eastern dragons. She had called to me from afar earlier, waving before making the climb. My legs dangle from the bone-antler precipice of the tower. Eternally consigned to this place has driven me mad. Such is my punishment for insubordination against my clan. ¡®Insubordination¡¯. I did it for her. I stole the Dragon Blade, the Scaled Nodachi, for her to use. And use it she did, trekking across the continents after her escape from our clan, hounding the Western Dragons. And what did I get? The task of guarding our orange pillar, the daemon watchtower of Clan Adachi. Alone for fifteen years. Fifteen. Long. Years.

    Safe to say, I grew a little bitter.

    Hui reaches her hand up. I grasp it, pulling her onto the antler outlook, the wind swaying us ever-so slightly. Off-balance she stumbles into me, nearly knocking us both off had it not been for my bare feet clinging to the grooves of the antlers, keeping us steady.

    ¡°It is good to see you Raiten,¡± she says. Despite all the rage swirling in my heart, her face, her smile¡­ it melts away my bitterness for a brief moment.

    ¡°I hear you have become quite the hero,¡± I say, doing my best not to return the smile.

    She shakes her head, straightening herself. ¡°No. I have become quite the fool actually.¡±

    ¡°Ah so nothing has changed.¡±

    ¡°You could say that I suppose.¡±

    We both chuckle lightly at that notion. The sun peeks over the snow-capped mountains in the distance, the whites glistening, the gaps between the branches of Giant¡¯s trees glowing, the horizon exploding with color and waves of light. The world itself celebrates the dawns now -- thanks again to Hui Long¡¯s many escapades.

    ¡°I might have the frozen dragon in my arsenal, but I still get chilly. Shall we enter your abode?¡± Hui asks. I nudge my head, motioning for her to follow me into the small orange house of wood and stone, magic and bone. She trails her hand along the hard grooves of the walls as I stir the stew pot over the fireplace, smelling its salts and adding more kimchi and garnish.

    ¡°This is¡­¡± Hui trails off, looking around the interior. One futon in the corner, one stew pot held over the eternal flame, one torch stump hanging along the right wall, two windows, open and whistling with frigid air, assaulting them, assaulting him, endlessly.

    ¡°Cozy?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Horrible. What have they done to you Raiten? Why¡­ just for helping me?¡±

    ¡®Well what did you expect? Did you expect that I would get a slap on the wrist and let off? I wasn¡¯t born a noble little daughter like you, I was born a bastard and a concubine¡¯s son and my mother was never married and she was killed and I was beaten broken bruised cheated mauled for my entire childhood until you, only you, stood up for me once and me and my foolish little youthful heart fell in love and whenever you talked about yourself and your dreams and your cute little aspirations of saving the world I listened and imagined a future where I went alongside you, riding horses, killing daemons and dragons but then when it came time to deliver I did my duty¡­ I gave you everything because that sword is everything and what did you do?¡¯

    ¡®What did you do?¡¯

    ¡°It was not so bad,¡± I say, my face a perfect little mask, hollow from years of cold, sunken from thousands of sleepless nights in the storms of Katal.

    ¡°Are the elders still alive?¡± Long asks. Her face is colored by that stark rage I used to bear witness to in our childhood. She hated our clan leaders with a passion. Yet, that childhood anger was more wild and immature -- this seemed tempered and controlled, like that of a warrior¡¯s determination.

    My anger to them was cold, washed with time. I knew they would die, either by my hand or old age. At which point either some new elder would renew my enslavement or I would be free, having wasted fifteen years of my youth, wandering the planes beyond my home at the ripe old age of twenty.

    ¡°Unfortunately, yes.¡± I walk over to the torch stump on the wall and produce from its ashen insides a small, intricate amulet. Long looks at me, eyes focused on that red amulet. ¡°They made me the Thunder Watcher.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ do not understand.¡±

    ¡°You need not understand,¡± I say, clutching the amulet now. It glows with essence as I begin to squeeze it. ¡°But I shall ordain to you my purpose: I am slave to this tower; the wall against the beasts of the North. Whenever Giants or wyverns came trancing towards our clan, it fell upon me to slay them.¡±

    The amulet grows hot. Hui Long steps back. The fire crackles.

    I smile for once. It is not a smile Long likes.

    ¡°Do you remember the day that we made our grand escape?¡± I ask. She nods slowly, fingers curling around her waist, where the Scaled Nodachi lays in its sheath. I should be hurt by this distrust, but I know it is warranted. A seasoned warrior can often feel the pervasiveness of another¡¯s killing intent.

    ¡°I called out to you,¡± I continue. ¡°Told you to keep running. ¡®Chase your dream!¡¯ I yelled. What a fool I was. I should¡¯ve screamed, ¡®Save me! Help me!¡¯ But for some reason, I expected you to do that anyways. I thought that much was implied.¡±

    ¡°Raiten I---¡±

    ¡°And you know what saddened me most?¡± The amulet breaks, shattering into red angel dust, covering my palm, seeping into my skin. It is the last of my supply for this month, imparted unto me as the Thunder Watcher. ¡°It was the hope. I hoped you would return, even as the elder¡¯s beat me. I hoped you would return, even as they killed my mother and cursed me with immortal enslavement. I hoped you would return for the first week. The first month. The first year. The first decade, even. I never faltered. I believed in you.

    ¡°And then, a traveler comes and I let him pass. And he bade me news of your adventures. Your victories,¡± I spit. The angel dust sends waves of thunderous power flowing through my veins, like a tidal wave breaking, and I am unleashed once more upon this unfair world of mine. ¡°He tells me he is your lover, your scout. That he has gone ahead and that you shall visit me soon. ¡®Visit¡¯. As if we were old friends, catching up.¡±

    And Hui Long is speechless. She does not even tingle her sword, for she looks to me, my sunken face and starved visage, with a horror beyond comprehension. And my smile widens as I gain some catharsis --- some petty, useless catharsis from that reaction alone.

    ¡°I -- I did not know,¡± Hui Long finally says. ¡°I did not know they killed your mother.¡±

    This takes me back. But only for a moment. The anger surges once more and sparks of crimson lightning begin forming around me, bouncing off my skin, playing off my glowing red veins.

    ¡°You did not know? You truly have turned into a fool. Perhaps it is your spoiled upbringing that ingrained such ignorance as this --- for me, any slight against our clan was amplified to a criminal pedigree and our final escapade was my last straw. You have seen me steal rotten apples and be beaten bloody for it. When you pilfered wagyu, you were merely slapped. And still, you did not know?¡±

    Now Hui Long puts her hand on the white-leathered grip of the Nodachi, drawing it from its scabbard. Shaking, she holds it forward, a tear rolling down her face.

    ¡°I am sorry you have suffered so. But please, we can talk---¡±

    ¡°What did you do Hui? What did you when I gave you that sword?¡±

    ¡°Please just --¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°I shall impart upon you the truth: you fled.¡±

    ¡°Hear me out--¡±

    ¡°No!¡± I yell, lightning bursting from my fingers and striking the wall next her, shattering it and letting through the full breadth of the cold wind, whistling. ¡°Now is not the time for words. That was one, five, ten, fifteen years ago.¡± Another bolt of electricity, of angelic smite, whips from the palm of my hand, striking closer to her, grazing her flesh, eliciting a searing, burning, crackling scar across her thigh.

    She does not wince.

    ¡°Fight!¡± I yell. Then, I force her hand, imbuing red lightning into my legs, exploding off the ground and soaring straight into her.

    In a panic, she extends her blade forward. Right before hitting her, I create a sword of red lightning and, with one sparking slash, parry her blade away.

    There¡¯s a metallic ZING!!! As lightning and steel create music.

    We crash.

    We fall.

    The tower¡¯s head, the orange antlered house, becomes distant as we plummet. Entangled with her, legs locked around her waist, I raise my lightning swathed fists and reign them upon her. My sparking knuckles are buried into her face, her chest. She takes the blows ¡ª wincing and coughing bloody phlegm.

    The ground nears.

    She finally acts, framing me off of her with one hand and knocking the hilt of her blade against the back of my head with the other.

    Stars flash in my brain. My legs go wobbly. The impact deafens sound. I disentangle, falling away from her.

    Then, with a pulse of self-inflicted lightning, my body resets. The angel dust runs thinner. My clock to kill her ticks away.

    Just before hitting the ground, I lasso a thick bolt of lightning and shoot it up at the farthest gray cloud. It sticks. Just as a single drop of water in a sea elicits an expanding wave, upon impact, the lightning sends shivering sparks through the wisps of cloud, making it contract and harden ever so slightly.

    With that, I swing forth, the bolt going taut, heels grazing the ground, body arcing parabolically into the air. I let go and soar up. My eyes hunt Hui Long.

    Of course, she saves herself too. Just before impact with bare rockface, she extends her hand outward and from it, the Dragon of Wind emerges, wispy and wild. It swirls around her, whiskers long, eyes flitting, its form that of the wind taking a serpentine bodice in the sky. It has no wings like the dragons of the west -- rather it is long and fierce. And she rides it now, its tail hypnotically swaying through the air, circling me.

    The wind howls.

    A storm approaches, hailing an army of clouds and the thrum of distant thunder.

    I lasso one of those encroaching clouds, swinging towards her. She meets in the air, sword held outwards, arms shaking.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have to fight!¡± she yells. But surely, she must know this is futile. Regardless, I coil lightning into a ball and lob it towards her. She makes the mistake of trying to slice through it, only to cleave it in two. Both balls expand and explode. The lightning envelops her and the wind dragon and the two of them scream something fierce.

    The wind dragon dissipates. I don¡¯t take this for much; it is well known the wind dragon is the weakest, meant for speed and travel.

    She plummets once more, spinning midair. I pursue, diving for her, punching three bolts her way.

    This time, she flattens her body in the air and from each of her limbs comes forth a dragon. The Dragon of Flame from her right arm, the Dragon of Ice from her sword-arm. Wood from her right leg, Darkness from her left. They coalesce now, two of them interweaving and staying small: the serpentine forms of fire and ice coil around her sword, enhancing its power.

    The wood dragon takes the bolts of lightning I espoused in stride, protecting Hui Long before it completes its formation below her, saving her from a mighty fall. The dark dragon of smoke and black magicks becomes one with the wood dragon, forming its armor. And thus HuiLong raises a sword of ice and flame, riding a dragon of wood seeped in the darkness of ages.

    She looks to me with some measured determination now.

    ¡°Finally,¡± I mutter as I swing to another cloud. I summon that sword of lightning once more and a trickle of rain patters upon us -- the first weepings of the storm.

    And we battle.

    I sling lightning of all forms, all shapes. She circles and wades, blocks and evades, sometimes hazarding a strike only for me to swing away. It is a game of tag. I run and shoot. She chases. Long¡¯s blade reeks of energy. When I conjure up a particularly mighty bolt and send it shimmering her way, she blocks with her sword, yelling with fury as fire and ice explode against the lightning, creating a cloud of dust and sending sprinkles of ash and shards into the air. She emerges, her wood dragon snapping after my form.

    It nearly snatches my leg before I swing to another cloud, slashing it away with my blade.

    We clash midair a few times when we get too close. Our impacts send shivers through the storm. I notice from the corner of my eye cloud spirits gazing down upon our battle. It must be quite the spectacle for them.

    I am running out of time and energy. The angel dust is nearly out of my veins. Something needs to change -- the paradigm must shift.

    As much as I hate to admit it, she still goes easy on me. She has not deigned to summon her other four dragons for instance. Yet, that works to my advantage.

    So, I enact my ultimate strategy: swinging to the highest cloud, I arc up, above the mortal plane, above the gray sea of clouds, into the sky of color and light and purest freedom. The sun shines with a heavenly splendor, illuminating the topside of the clouds as if they were the landfall of heaven.

    She emerges from the storm, following me into that higher plane.

    There are no clouds above me.

    No chances to dodge nor swing away.

    Yet, I have one advantage now: I can build the lightning strike as I fall. So I aim my body down, blanketing my whole form in sparkling crimson. Flame etches on the outskirts of my body, dancing with the lightning as I break through the world. Momentum. Gravity. Lightning. All of it matters now ¨C I¡¯ll give every single piece of myself to end her.

    And I know her well enough to understand she won¡¯t dodge. It''s simply not in her Hui Long¡¯s nature.

    My sword of lightning is raised.

    She rides up, the dragon diligently meeting me head on.

    She raises the Scaled Nodachi.

    I slash down.

    She cuts up.

    I land first. My sword passes through her shoulder, leaving a deep gashing scar and she screams out in pain, falling from the dragon. I crash into the dual-dragons, my lighting-imbued body breaking through the dark dragon¡¯s armor and tearing a hole in the body of the wood dragon. I shoot, like a bolt of lightning myself, through the dragons and crash into Hui Long once more. We break through the plane of sun and splendor, back into the storm, my acceleration increasing. I bury my knee into her stomach.

    Our impact against the ground is like that of a meteor strike. A crater forms around us, stones and lightning shards exploding outward and upward. She lands first, her back breaking into the ground and I land atop her.

    The dust swirls. Then settles.

    I kneel panting atop Hui Long, lightning slowly dissipating. My sword still remains though, one last whisper of energy.

    She whimpers beneath. I should be shocked, yet it makes sense that she still lives, even after such an impact. Because of course she does. Because she¡¯s a hero.

    Her face is marred by a scar from our battle, a red line of blood streaking down her pale cheek. Hui¡¯s gray eyes stare up at me. She coughs.

    ¡°Your mistake,¡± I begin. ¡°Was not going all out. You shouldn¡¯t have underestimated me.¡± She shouldn¡¯t have tried not to fight. It was foolish. Had she used the Dragon of Light and the Dragon of Sound, she might have even struck before me in our last clash.

    Her sword lies scattered across the crater¡¯s edge. She looks at it for a moment before focusing her attention on me.

    My time is ticking. I have seconds left to end this, if I want to do it using the angel dust. The sword will dissipate otherwise.

    Yet, for some reason, my body is rigid. I hesitate.

    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± She coughs. Her eyes are pleading. ¡°Just kill me.¡±

    And there I see it. The guilt. It sickens me. How dare she feel guilty? How dare she not be the villain I envisioned her for? How dare she be¡­ the very same Hui I once knew.

    The sword disappears. I stare at my hand dumbly. My body is out of red lightning. I am simply a powerless slave once more.

    I think for a moment about doing it with my hands. Squeezing the life out of her.

    Instead, I roll over, and lay on my back.

    She has a hacking fit of coughs. I stare blankly at the sky as the storm clears and sunlight reigns once more.

    I sigh. The anger is gone. Cold. I have missed that crucial window of opportunity.

    ¡°Kill me Raiten. I deserve it,¡± she says.

    I shake my head. ¡°No, Hui. Killing you would just be foolish indulgence.¡±

    I turn towards her, staring at her battered form. Tears are streaking down her eyes. She weeps like a babe.

    ¡°Live with it,¡± I say.

    Her crying intensifies. And slowly, I take a stand, turning away, face blank, eyes fluttering from fatigue. I muster enough strength to make it back to the tower ¡ª I could not have gone far from it anyways, thanks to my curse. My dominion is this accursed rockface, barren and cold.

    So I begin to climb my old orange tower.

    A voice calls from behind me, crying from afar: ¡°I¡¯ll fix it Raiten,¡± she says, her voice cracking when saying my name. ¡°I promise! I will fix it. I swear it.¡±

    I do not care.

    Not anymore.

    In fact, for the first time in a long while, I feel nothing. It is a sickening blankness. And, for the first time in my fifteen years at the tower, when I enter my now broken watchpoint, what with its snuffed out fire and cold kimchi broth and half burnt futon in the corner, it¡­ it feels like home.

    My body aches.

    My mind suffocates.

    I do the only thing I can.

    I curl into my futon, cover myself head to toe, and do my very best to sleep.

 II: Live With Hell

    When I wake up, my head is a fog. A bog, a swamp, a river to cross ¡ª I groan out of my futon and rip it off me, heading to the eternal flame. It cooks from the hollow center of the pillar, raised on a dais of old magic. Dead magic to be sure ¡ª no elder nor clan has been able to reproduce it. My rations dwindle. I am nearly out of soot-tea. I pour some into the pot above the flame, along with lukewarm water, and begin to stir. The wall is fixed now ¡ª no signs of my battle with Hui from yesterday. I expected that much: the tower has this tendency to heal its own wounds. More old magic.

    I try not to think. It doesn¡¯t work. As soon as I take one sip of the tea, my mind clears slightly and, burdened with the memories of yesterday, I seek the wind. I go outside, to the antlered precipice of my tower and dangle my legs from its edge as the frigid air hits.

    It is early dawn.

    The sun, a great celestial spirit that our world orbits near, rises quickly on this day.

    I hold my head and listen to the sound of my own breathing.

    What now?

    I chuckle. The sound of my own voice is far too familiar to me, for it echoes slightly off the walls of my abode. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It''s been so long since I¡¯ve had¡­ nothing. Not a goal to look forward to, not an interaction to think of.¡±

    You idiot? You¡¯ve always had nothing. You¡¯ve created something from that nothing. Hope. Rage. Now¡­ well what¡¯s next?

    I take a sip of the soot tea and it feels bitter upon my tongue. A familiar bitterness.

    Familiar.

    I want something unfamiliar. Something new. New faces, new lands, new names. I ¡ª

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a slave any longer.¡±

    But, I guess that all depends on what Hui Long does next.

    ¡®I¡¯ll fix it, Raiten,¡¯ she had said. Well, for my sake, I hope she does. She owes me that much.

    The wind howls. And I do what I¡¯ve grown so used to doing.

    I wait.

    ¡­

    Monsters peer over the valley. I spot them midday and my stomach turns. I have no more amulets ¡ª no more avenues of fighting. I¡¯ve been in this situation thrice before. Both times, I experienced immense pain before finally killing my foes. The thought of that pain frightens me ¡ª no one likes watching their guts being ripped open.

    But that is the curse of immortality.

    As they near, the sun comes down. The air stifles, becomes stale.

    Their eyes glow in the gloom. 4 pairs of red eyes.

    I shiver. Eldritch wolves. Of all the things ¡ª it had to be them.

    I head inside my tower and put some water to boil. With the rapid efficiency that only comes from panic, I chop up some garlic and my remaining ginger, mixing them into a bowl and pouring hot water to create a smelly paste.

    The torch stump is my only weapon. I take it, smother it in ginger-garlic paste, and light it aflame with the eternal fire. The scent is putrid. The ginger-garlic doesn¡¯t do much but discomfort them. Still, I need every advantage I can get.

    The flame sputters and dances. I toss the torch from hand to hand and stand back outside, watching the wolves as they sniff my tower.

    Antlers cover them like armor, magically imbued with powers of eldritch forests. They must feel some connection with the tower ¡ª the last time I faced them, they did the same thing. Most of the foes I faced tried venturing past the tower, into clan lands. I was curse-bound to stop those, forced to venture out of his tower, break an amulet, and smite their lot. The wolves always came to me though ¡ª no thanks to the old magicks of this cursed Thunder Tower.

    And now they begin to climb.

    ¡°Come on you bastards,¡± I say, trying to give myself some modicum of strength. ¡°Come kill me. I have nothing this time, but I¡¯ll still burn the lot of you.¡±

    They tear the distance between us, red eyes nearing, claws puncturing into the tower to scale it.

    The first one is finally close enough for my fire to illuminate: two antlers from its head curl back, three upon its hide, two for each side of its body. This one is elegant ¡ª its antlers look purposeful, even artful. It is a dangerously fascinating creature. Most of them are not made like this ¡ª their antlers sprout from their bodies like arrows from the bloated corpse of a battlefield. This must¡¯ve been a lucky one. Good genetics.

    It snarls low, speaking in the runic language of the eldritch. I do not understand it.

    I get the gist though.

    So, I turn and run into my abode, setting the torch momentarily back in its wall stand.

    The wolf gives chase, climbing onto the orange-antlered precipice of my tower. When it leaps through the small entrance of my home, it is met with searing, boiling water. It howls as I throw the pot of water at it. Fur scorching. Then, as it backs into the wall, I heave the pot¡¯s ends with my burn-scarred hands and throw it at the wolf. The pot hits slow and strong, chipping one of its antlers. It stumbles, still not dead. Screaming something in eldritch. I wince ¨C the sound is grating. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    The torch is my last weapon. I take it back now and kick the wolf over with great effort, for despite its pain it is a heavy creature and it resists even now.

    So I burn it.

    With my foot upon the thing, I drive the torch into its face and, though the gray fur does not catch, the sound of searing is enough consolation. It whimpers and squirms. Its flesh blackens. I press the torch harder, into its eyes, against the antlers, down its snarling maw and into its throat. The scent of burning flesh fills the room.

    It dies with great effort.

    I am already tired. I pick up one of its broken off antlers and set it aflame, holding it like a dagger.

    Three more wolves snarl at my door, spouting more eldritch, no doubt raging.

    But their rage cannot compare to mine. Theirs is the rage of moments, fleeting putrid moments.

    Mine is the rage of years.

    ¡­

    The next three don¡¯t die so easily. They actually get the chance to fight, spitting green fire and uttering curses in runic Eldritch so that even the wood of my tower turns against me temporarily, shifting and striking out at me. I am stabbed by the walls, cut by the ceiling, and my legs are entrapped by the floor¡¯s twisting bone-wood for the wolves to gnaw at me.

    I find that laughing helps me ignore the pain at times. So, I do that as the wolves feast on me. One takes a liking to my face. It rips red, strippy chunks of flesh from my ear and cheek.

    I hate this. I hate all of this.

    I want to be numb. I want to die.

    I want to be free. Hui. Hui I hope to everything in this universe that you actually make well on your promise. I hope you don¡¯t abandon me this time.

    I hate that I think about her. I never used to rely on her. Not in my fifteen years here ¡ª nothing¡¯s changed. With that realization, I go back to laughing. Because I know something the wolves don¡¯t ¡ª the tower has only temporarily turned against me. When it heals itself, as it does every dozen minutes, it heals all curses placed upon it.

    So, I endure thirty more seconds of pain. My body confounds the wolves, for it too heals itself. My cheek regrows. My left eye reforms. My guts are reborn.

    My hand goes out. I finally manage to clutch the broken antler that fell from my grasp earlier, thanks to the tower loosening its grip on my legs.

    I strike out at the wolf eating my face. It doesn¡¯t expect the blow ¡ª so when the antler goes through the side of its neck with a wet crunch, it keeps chewing for a few seconds. Then, its mouth hardens on my face ¡ª a death grip. I scream and the tower finally lets go of me fully.

    The two other wolves stop eating once the wood of the tower retreats from my legs, leaving them free. That momentary hesitation grants me the opportunity to kick one wolf away and tear away from the other, dead wolf.

    I roll and twist ¡ªspring forward, pouncing on the two other wolves, antler in hand.

    I have never had a formal education in combat: never was I taught the Adachi Clan¡¯s warrior style of sword arts and spear styles. I learned my combat from beasts and monsters. So I fight on all fours and I grapple and growl and strike out like a mountain lion.

    It is a brutal and twisted battle. The wolves try again and again to re-utter their eldritch curse ¡ª to make the tower turn against me once more. I don¡¯t give them the chance, striking at them each time before they can do so.

    In the end, it is fatigue that kills them. They simply aren¡¯t able to keep up with my pace.

    One slows to dodge. I stick the antler between its eyes. The other spits a weak, slow ball of green flame at me. I roll to dodge and my hands snatch the fur of the wolf. With a great effort I pick it up, carrying it over my head with a roar. It writhes and thrashes, jaw snapping, claws slashing air. If it was smart, it would¡¯ve espoused the runic curse upon the tower once more. But I can feel its visceral panic. Especially once I walk towards to the antlered edge of my tower.

    It roars and howls, thrashing more violently. My bloodied grip on its fur tightens and I bear some of its weight on my shoulder, pushing forward. Then, with a strong heave, I fling the wolf off into the darkness of night. It howls all the way down. Then, it stops as the ground meets the creature with a low thump. The creature spasms and twitches. I watch its last moments with mild interest, breath heavy and frosting in the cold air.

    There is little satisfaction in this victory.

    I stumble back into the tower.

    I don¡¯t cry much anymore. I used to a lot in the first few years. Then, as I got settled into my position, as I accepted my circumstances, I stopped.

    Today I cry. I am tired. I am weak. Pain slithers through my body like a virus.

    I weep because I hate this now. I cannot get the vision of freedom out of my head ¡ª it is pervasive. Sickening. This is the first time I have hoped so and I hate that it is Hui who has given me this hope.

    Yet, still, for some reason, some deeper part of me believes in her. It believes that she will save me this time.

    My body has re-healed itself too much in this battle. Now the healing will come slower. So, I must use the chipped antlers of the wolves to cut into their fur and wrap their outer skin around my wounds, to help them close faster. I can¡¯t sleep thanks to the pain. So I take the pot back to the eternal flame. Then, I cut the leg off one of the wolves and set it boiling. The tears dry eventually. I am left staring at my pot, waiting for the meat to warm. It tastes like wood and bark and old chicken. Depressingly, I had fought through the night. The sun rises above my tower. I try to sleep as the wounds heal.

    But then I hear voices from the outside of my tower. I check, and from the open windows, I see two figures walking back from clan territory. No¡­ three figures. Squinting, I make out Hui, her lover, and an old man with a rope around his mouth.

    I smile ever-so slightly.

    She did make good on her promise.

    The smile vanishes as I think about how much I¡¯m supposed to hate her again.

    Still, for once in my life, freedom can be attained.

    For once, I no longer have to live with this hell.

    Well, that¡¯s if she frees me. I think, somewhat bitterly. After all, this is the woman who left you in the claws of the clan for 15 years. Who is to say she¡¯s not angry after our battle?

    Who¡¯s to say she¡¯s not here to gloat?

    So, my fingers curl into a fist as I wait for the group to slowly approach my bloodied abode.

 III: Live With Hands

    I was five when I watched my mother die. It was shortly after Hui Long had stolen a steed and the great Scaled Nodachi, prized possession of the clan elders. They had meant to pass it on as an heirloom to their sons. We had different plans for it: we wanted to save the world. Hui was always an incredible fighter ¡ª she once defended the village from mountain basilisks and war monkeys at the young age of four. Yet still, the elders did not consider her child of the spirits, despite all the signs.

    I think, looking back on it, it was probably because she was a woman.

    I was too young to understand the gender politics at the time. Really, all I cared about was helping my friend, and the person I loved to an extent. So when I gave her the opportunity to steal the steed, I didn¡¯t think about myself. I thought only about her. And she no doubt knew that, and still went along with the plan.

    When they caught me, they beat me. The calloused hands of trained Adachi warriors wailed down upon my little body until I was swollen all over and my nose leaked like water from a well.

    They dragged me by my hair to the procession of elders, kicking me into the stone judgment ring.

    ¡°So this is the little brat who helped the girl?¡± one elder, Kai, said. He sat to the right of our main elder, Renji. Strong old man he was ¨C broad shoulders, salt and pepper hair tied into a warrior bun, gray eyes.

    ¡°What does he matter? Why are we not dealing with the girl?¡± Daichi, the large-eyebrowed elder to the left of Renji, asked. ¡°We waste time with him.¡±

    ¡°The girl is long gone. She has taken our fastest steed and she rides well. She could be as far as the forest of thieves by now, and we cannot match her pace,¡± Hikaru, the youngest elder says. He is the only one who looks at me with some measure of pity.

    ¡°So, what, we¡¯re just meant to let her go?¡± Daichi asked. His fists shook with privileged rage: ¡°we have been robbed blind by a girl and her mutt. Do you understand how dishonorable that is? What will they say of our council? Lo and behold the generation of elders who could not stop a little girl from stealing their greatest heirloom.¡±

    ¡°My men have already sent for the girl,¡± Kai sayed. He looks at the empty fifth chair of the council. ¡°Where is Masaru?¡±

    ¡°He is in prayer to the spirits,¡± Hikaru explained.

    ¡°Ah so he is grieving. I see. Bastard thought he could get the sword passed to his son.¡±

    ¡°It is not lost to us yet,¡± Renji speaks for once, his voice low and rumbling. The voice of a mountain speaking into a valley. ¡°And this treason shall not go unpunished. Not for the girl and not for the bastard.¡±

    I was too bloodied to really register their words. I just hung my head low.

    ¡°What shall be done to the girl?¡± Kai asked.

    Renji pondered this question for a moment, resting his head on his fist. Then, he shrugged. ¡°We cannot kill her. She will be caught and when she is, she will be married to another clan. Let some noble little shit do what he will with her.¡±

    Hikaru remained neutral faced, but even I could tell at the time that he was bothered by this decree. I hoped he might save me.

    Kai simply nodded. Daichi was ecstatic ¡ª sadistic bastard.

    ¡°And the boy?¡± Hikaru hazarded.

    Renji didn¡¯t even spare me a glance. ¡°We need a tower slave. He can be of use. But, his holdings and purse will be seized. And bring his mother here ¡ª her head will be mounted in front of their household.¡±

    The elder said the words with such casual cruelty, that I didn¡¯t understand it at first.

    ¡°All in agreement?¡± Renji asked. He raised his hand and Daichi followed immediately, along with Kai. Hikaru did not raise his hand, eliciting a glare from Renji.

    ¡°All in disagreement?¡± Renji followed up. Hikaru still did not raise his hand.

    Daichi sighed. ¡°Abstaining is cowardice Hikaru.¡±

    Hikaru said nothing.

    ¡°Guards, bring Lady Kuragami here,¡± Renji said. As the guards began to drag me away, I tried struggling, but one dealt a blow to the back of my head with his spear. Stars flashed and I fell to the stone, dripping blood along the judgment glyphs.

    Renji held his hand up. The guards halted their dragging.

    ¡°Let him stay. He can watch his mother die.¡±

    ¡­

    I scrutinize the gagged man below my tower. He certainly looks like an elder. Just¡­ well it''s hard to tell from up here. I hope it''s Renji. I faintly see Hui looking upon the dead eldritch wolf.

    Rather than Hui climbing my tower, I watch as her scout does so. He is brown haired and white ¡ª perhaps some knight or warrior of the Western kingdoms. I try to ignore all bubbling thoughts of jealousy that come up: I really do despise that emotion. It is an ugly thing, as my mother used to tell me.

    But still, I can¡¯t help it. The girl who I loved as a child had grown to become a hero and whisked away a strong Western warrior to lay with her.

    Just¡­ enough. Think about how you¡¯ll deal with ¡ª well, whatever comes next.

    When the scout reaches the edge, I offer him a hand reluctantly. Last time, when he first visited the tower, he gladly accepted that hand.

    Now he slaps it away, pulling himself onto the antler.

    ¡°I think we were not properly introduced to each other in our first meeting,¡± he says, his voice tinged with anger. He is broader and taller than me, more muscular and attached to his belt are two single-bearded axes, small war-ready. This man paints a different picture than the scout I first met before Hui¡¯s arrival: the former was all smiles and laughter, joy and glory. This one is rage.

    Vengeance begets vengeance begets vengeance. I am glad I did not kill Hui Long. I am glad she will suffer in a different manner.

    ¡°My name is Gareth Rathkar. You have injured my lady greatly with not only your fists, but also your words and so ¡ª- wait what in the great dragon¡¯s name happened to you?¡± He asks, cadence changing as he observes my mauled body and bandaged wounds. He peers over my shoulder to see the dead wolves inside my abode. ¡°You were attacked in the night?¡±

    More like half-eaten, mauled, tortured, stabbed.

    ¡°I am still alive. But go on, continue with your righteous proclamation,¡± I suggest, my voice very slightly teasing.

    His eyebrow arches. ¡°You were not very honest with me in our first meeting. You told me nothing about your¡­ fraught relationship with my lady.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°You did not ask.¡±

    The wind howls. He shivers slightly. I do not. Not that it matters, there is no mental game or battle at play here ¡ª at least not one I¡¯m trying to enjoy in. I¡¯m too tired. He can no doubt see that.

    ¡°I thought you to be a decent man,¡± he scowls. ¡°Yet you nearly beat Hui to death and you berate her with your words.¡±

    ¡°There are no decent men. And besides, she deserved far more than that.¡±

    ¡°Why you ¡ª¡±

    ¡°She did not send you up here to kill me, obviously. So please, for both our sakes, send me your message and let''s be on with it.¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    His eyebrows furrowed and his fingers twiddle with the axe heads. I stare down, my chest aching.

    He grants me a long, suffering sigh [learned that one from you Nobody103 my goat]. ¡°I do not like you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±

    ¡°I just wanted you to know that.¡±

    ¡°Point taken. Get on with it.¡±

    ¡°She wishes to speak with you.¡±

    I stare at the elder. ¡°You have taken a prisoner?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve done more than that,¡± he chuckles. ¡°Much, much more.¡±

    Then, he heads down without another word. I follow slowly behind.

    ¡­

    Hui is tired. I see it in her eyes, the haunted look behind them. She has done something that did not like. Either that, or she has seen something she did not like.

    When Gareth touches down, he waltz¡¯s up to her and takes Hui¡¯s side like a loyal guard dog. The site churns my stomach slightly.

    I keep my distance.

    We stare at each other for a few moments. I scrutinize the elder and click my tongue. It is not Renji. Not even Daichi or Kai. No¡­ it is Hikaru. The one I hate the least.

    He is no longer young. His eyes have seen war or horror.

    Hui breaks the silence: ¡°You were attacked?¡±

    ¡°Four eldritch wolves came in the night,¡± I say.

    ¡°Four?¡± she asks, pity or empathy leaking through her voice, I can¡¯t tell which.

    ¡°The other three are in his tower, my lady,¡± Gareth says. She nods slowly, taking a renewed interest in observing my wounds.

    ¡°I¡ª I can heal you¨C¡± she begins, taking a step forward.

    ¡°Not in a thousand eons,¡± I mutter, just loud enough for her to hear. She makes a soft ¡®oh¡¯ sound and steps back, head hanging low. Gareth grimaces.

    This is getting nowhere.

    ¡°What happened in the clan?¡± I ask. ¡°Why did you bring him here?¡±

    ¡°I did what I could in the clan,¡± she begins. Her verdant war robes sway in the wind, revealing some deeper scars in the skin of her shoulder. I tell myself to feel no pity. ¡°As you can imagine, my homecoming was opposed by the entirety of the clan. But, Gareth and I tore through most of Kai¡¯s Adachi guardsmen. Only, we found Hikaru alone in the Judgement Rink. We questioned him and¡­ well it''s better if you ask him yourself I guess.¡±

    She grabs Hikaru by his gray, shaggy beard and she drags him towards me. I look down at him, blank-faced. I don¡¯t know how to feel about this man. I never really did.

    When she ungags him, he takes a wheezing breath, coughing out some phlegm. He is truly an old man.

    ¡°What? Did the other elder¡¯s not give you the elixirs of longevity yet?¡± I ask. His coughing fit amuses me mildly.

    He scowls. ¡°They did not deem me a worthy member of the council to receive it.¡±

    ¡°I see. Speaking of the devils,¡± I grab his chin hard and force him to look into my eyes. ¡°Where are they?¡±

    Hikaru looks like he¡¯s seen a ghost. Fear eats away the irises. This is the first time I¡¯ve seen him since the execution, since the enslavement. It was Daichi and Kai that often delivered my amulets and supplies. He never deigned to do so. Abstainer till the very end, it seems.

    ¡°I¨C they went to attend the meeting of clans.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± I look at Hui. ¡°What is that?¡±

    ¡°It is as it sounds. A meeting of the five major clans. And this time, it will be held in the Boar Ranges.¡±

    ¡°That far South?¡± Well shit. That¡¯s a long way down. Hikaru whimpers as my grip around his chin tightens. ¡°Well, elder Hikaru, I assume you understand what I¡¯m about to ask next?¡±

    He does not answer. I let go of his jaw and let him fall, let him squirm. Out of the corner of my eye, I note Gareth¡¯s disapproval. Hui remains silent, stone-faced.

    ¡°Well elder? Care to answer?¡± I ask.

    ¡°I¨C I do not know, Thunder Watcher,¡± he says, rubbing his chin.

    I kneel to his level. ¡°How do I get rid of the curse?¡±

    His eyes widened. ¡°You¡ª you can¡¯t. They¡¯ll kill me.¡±

    ¡°Not if you explain that you were coerced. That you were threatened. The elders don¡¯t harm their own that badly, you know this.¡±

    ¡°Raiten. I ¡ª¡± he fidgets. ¡°I am sorry.¡±

    This should surprise me. It doesn¡¯t. He is the type to apologize. The only one of the elders who probably ever would apologize.

    ¡°What we did to you ¡ª it was not right. I knew that. I am sorry.¡±

    I clasp his shoulder and give him a smile. ¡°Don¡¯t be. You didn¡¯t do anything. Don¡¯t worry,¡± I say. Hui shifts, looking a little perplexed by my sudden kindness. ¡°Just tell me how to rid myself of this curse. That will be enough repentance.¡±

    He sniffs. ¡°Really?¡±

    I nod.

    He looks ready to burst into tears. It''s as if I have lifted a great off of his shoulders. I am surprised it has weighed on him this heavy.

    ¡°Oh thank you, thank you Raiten,¡± he says, clasping his hands together. ¡°The curse ¨C right the curse! It is a curse split between the five of us. We can relinquish our particular hold on purpose ¡ª but most likely you will have to kill the others to relinquish their holds.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. I see. But that will be hard considering I am bound to the tower.¡±

    ¡°Do not worry, young master,¡± Hikaru says. Oh so its young master now, is it? ¡°I was asked to stay behind because I hold the part of the curse that binds you to the tower. It is the easiest part to hold ¡ª much easier than the immortality and the Thunder Tower spirit curse.¡±

    I raise an eyebrow and inadvertently look at Hui. She shakes her head. She doesn¡¯t understand either.

    ¡°Explain Hikaru.¡±

    ¡°Of course, young master. Each of us holds a part of your curse. I hold the binding to this land, Daichi holds one half of the Immortality, Renji the other the other half, Kai and Masaru hold the other parts related to the spirit of the Tower itself ¡ª in all honesty Raiten, I don¡¯t understand that part either.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Just ¡ª you can free me from my hold to this place? I can leave once you do so?¡±

    ¡°Yes, of course my lord. In exchange for my freedom, I¡¯ll free you with just a word.¡±

    ¡°Gareth?¡± Hui calls. I stare at the broad warrior, who wears a contemplative expression.

    ¡°He is not lying.¡±

    Interesting. Is he a seer? Or a holder of some other power? Some mutual understanding obviously passes between the two lovers and I look away, back down at Hikaru.

    ¡°Go on then. Release me.¡±

    ¡°Avarice of the Flood, Worshipper of the Thunder, With All My Might, I release you to plunder,¡± he speaks, his voice low and weighty. At first nothing happens. I wait for him to speak more or make some sort of magical hand gesture. Perhaps touch me upon the forehead or grant me some mark.

    Instead, all I feel is a very slight weight lifted from my back. As if one my bones set itself straight. And with that, I know I am free. I can feel it. And¡­ It is hollow. I expected to rejoice. But the very knowledge that I have to kill the other four makes my head ache.

    ¡°Did it¡­ did it work?¡± Gareth asks, looking at me.

    Hui answers for him. ¡°I think so. Your energy seems different, at least Raiten. What do you think?¡±

    I nod. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll find out later. But yes, I¡¯m fairly confident it worked. It''s like¡­ my body knows it worked.¡±

    ¡°A weighty feeling should¡¯ve been lifted from your back, young master,¡± Hikaru says. He is full of panicked joy.

    I consider him for a moment.

    ¡°Hui, may I borrow your blade?¡±

    ¡°But¡ª but you promised young master¡ª¡± Hikaru begins before I pat his shoulder.

    ¡°Relax elder, I¡¯m not killing you. Raise your hands.¡±

    Hikaru¡¯s eyes brighten and he raises his bound hands. Hui looks at me with a measure of caution. But, she relents and comes forward, unsheathing her blade. Gareth yanks her back with his hand.

    ¡°What are you doing!? He could kill you with that!¡± he snarls, his hand tight on Hui¡¯s.

    She touches him gently and twists her hand away. ¡°He had the chance to do so already. He will not kill me now.¡±

    I scoff. Don¡¯t tempt me.

    Hui obligingly hands me the sword. I take it, doing my very best not to even graze her slender fingers as she passes it to me. I don¡¯t ever want to touch her.

    The sword feels ethereal. It is beauty and death incarnate, the handle made of fluttering blue dragon scales and the blade sharper than anything I¡¯ve ever seen.

    I look at Hikaru and hold the sword low.

    ¡°Elder Hikaru. Thank you for freeing me.¡±

    He nods. ¡°It is something I should¡¯ve done long ago.¡±

    I give him a smile. ¡°You know elder Hikaru, out of every elder in the judgment rink, you were the only one who did not vote to kill my mother and have me enslaved. I¡¯ve always remembered that. So raise your hands higher please.¡±

    He obliges, expecting me to start cutting his rope-tie.

    A second later, both of his hands fall to the ground, wrists still tied together by the rope. He looks at them. He looks at his bleeding stumps. He looks at me, the bloody Scaled Nodachi.

    ¡°This is your retribution. For you did not raise a single hand to dispute my fate either,¡± I spit.

    He screams. He screams and cries and wallows on the ground, trying to gather his hands with the remains of his stump.

    Gareth and Hui look on in horror at the sight.

    And I watch the man who let my mother die writhe in pain. It feels good. This is a petty indulgence I can afford. Hui was not.

    I hand her the sword while keeping my eyes trained on the crying elder. This time, as I pass it to her, she not only grabs the blade, but she tries to grab my hand.

    My eyes widen. I snatch it away from her and continue watching the elder. I try to ignore the hurt look she gives me, like a kicked puppy.

    The elder¡¯s screams echo throughout the valley.

 IV: Live With Freedom

    After a few minutes of the elder¡¯s screaming, he passes out. I sigh, looking at the sight of his blood pooling in the crevices of the rockface.

    ¡°Please heal him Hui.¡±

    She looks startled at my request. ¡°But¡ª¡±

    ¡°I meant what I said. He doesn¡¯t deserve death. He¡¯s just a coward. And¡ª I ¡ª ah forget. Just make sure he lives.¡±

    Gareth glares at me. I give another sigh. ¡°Please make sure he lives Hui,¡± I say. She nods. I take a seat and hug my knee. I know I went too far. But it felt good. It felt good to tell him off. It felt good to slice his hands.

    And that scares me.

    If I did this to him, what will I do to Kai? Masaru? Daichi?

    Renji?

    The thought of their heads mounted on pikes makes me giddy. It makes me hate myself.

    My mind is a mess. I need distance, time to think. Hui being around doesn¡¯t help me, nor does her lover boy staring a hole through me.

    I stand and start walking back to the tower.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Gareth asks, suspicion lacing every word.

    ¡°Where else?¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m packing up and leaving.¡±

    So I climb back into my abode one last time.

    It is a somber climb. No wind to give chorus, no bleeding colorful horizon, just a gray sky and grayer prospect. I touch the walls, feel the familiar grooves of the antler, bone, and stone.

    I take an antler from a dead eldritch wolf. It is sharp and will act as a fine dagger. I take my packet of herbed soot ¡ª I have gotten too accustomed to its taste to go without it.

    Then, it is time. Nothing else need be taken.

    I wonder if this ¡°spirit of the tower¡± that Hikaru mentioned will follow me. Some part of me hopes it does. The other hopes it abandons me. I must strike out on my own. This is the only way I can¡­ the only way I can move on.

    When I come back down, Hui and Gareth are talking in hushed tones. Hui¡¯s arm on his shoulder, tender and intimate. It is a sight I tear my eyes away from. I remind myself of the hatred I have for this ugly feeling: but envy is an awful disease. I can only drown it with the rage I feel against Hui, though that too is being eclipsed by that mountain of fury I  reserve for the other elders.

    I remember the day they killed my mother so perfectly. It has haunted my nights for many years.

    I will make their deaths slow.

    Stop. This is a path that will destroy you.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± I mutter to myself, half-believing the words. Again, I realize how fogged my head is.

    ¡°So,¡± Hui begins, stepping away from Gareth. She looks at my motley pack of belongings and sighs. ¡°Where to next?¡±

    I stare at her, dumbfounded. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®where to next?¡¯ We are not going anywhere together. I am leaving.¡±

    ¡°Raiten¡­¡± she looks down and tightens her fists, as if about to cry once more. ¡°I wanted to tell you this earlier ¡ª I didn¡¯t mean to abandon you, nor leave you for so many years. I simply did not know. And even if I did I had¡­ so many duties, so many tasks to take care. I became a child of war, then an apprentice to a great spirit and thereafter I was needed. Families, children, kings, queens, nations beckoned for me to face the great armies of the Western Dragons¡ª¡±

    ¡°I do not care for your escapades,¡± I say. Gareth takes offense to this but Hui holds up a stern hand, holding her beast back. ¡°I sacrificed everything. And now I am nothing. At least let me be that nothing in peace.¡±

    ¡°Peace? Raiten, what peace? You have no food, no water, no provisions and you are injured. Let me help you, let me make it right¡ª¡±

    I groan. ¡°Don¡¯t you get it? There is no ¡®making it right,¡¯ you have cost me everything¡ª¡±

    ¡°At least hear me out fully would you!¡± she yells now, taking me back a step. ¡°You¡ª- you¡¯re not listening to me. You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re so ¡­ so!¡± Tears leak through her eyes now. Her chest is heaving.

    ¡°Angry?¡± I finish for her.

    ¡°Yes! And I understand, I truly do. But Raiten, we¡ª we can start again. Try again. It does not have to be like this.¡±

    My eyes can¡¯t help but glance at Gareth. He is silent now, hanging his head. As if mourning something. ¡°I agree. It does not have to be like this. And it won¡¯t¡ª-once I leave.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t say that.¡±

    She frustrates me now. ¡°Well what are you going to do about it Hui? Will you stop me? Use your dragons to tie me up and drag me to whatever your next adventure may be? Oh I know, maybe we can all sit around a campfire and tell stories about what happened to us in the past fifteen years. Yours will be some grand legend talking about battle after battle, love and friendship, glory and defeat, and ultimately, victory and fame. Mine will be one word: suffering. Then we can all laugh it off and forgive each other. Is that what you want?¡±

    She stares at me like I¡¯m a monster. I feel like one now, huffing and puffing after my tirade. I step back.

    ¡°I want to be alone. Like I¡¯ve always been. It is easier this way.¡±

    I turn to leave with that, stomping away.

    ¡°You¡¯re wrong,¡± she says in a low voice.

    I keep walking, ignoring her.

    ¡°It didn¡¯t end in victory Raiten. Though we were close.¡±

    I stop. ¡°What do you mean by that? The Western Dragons have been quelled.¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    ¡°Yes. The Dragon Prince was slain by my hand with the help Gareth and the rest of our party. But¡­ the Dragon King was slain by a giant with the Great Basilisk slung around his neck.¡±

    What?

    ¡°What? What does that even mean?¡± I ask. She spouts those titles as if she expects me to know them. I turn to face her. She realizes her mistake.

    ¡°Right. You don¡¯t know, do you? The Great Basilisk has been terrorizing the Southern Fimbul Lands for a while now, until it was subdued by a giant seven years ago. Not much was known about this¡­ ¡®giant¡¯ other than that he was some myth of the Fimbul People. Then, five months ago, when I killed the Dragon Prince and my party faced the Dragon King Zod, the giant killed three of my party before ripping Zod¡¯s head off and taking it as a trophy. The remaining Western Dragons recognized him as king, few that there were. They followed him back to Fimbul.¡±

    ¡°What does it matter?¡± I ask. ¡°The dragons are gone from our lands. You should be happy. You won. Became a hero. Stole the glory of a kill that wasn¡¯t yours.¡±

    ¡°Bastard ¡ª¡± Gareth snarled.

    ¡°That¡¯s right, I am bastard,¡± I tell Gareth. ¡°Born a bastard, treated like a bastard, enslaved as a bastard. What does a bastard care for this giant and his basilisk pet?¡±

    ¡°Raiten,¡± Hui begins, taking one deep breath. ¡°Join me. You are a powerful warrior. The Boar Ranges are on the way to Fimbul. We can get your vengeance and, if you wish, you can help me defeat the giant who calls himself Basilbane. Don¡¯t do it for me. Do it for others. I am to meet with my party in two days. We can add you to our ranks.¡±

    I scoff. ¡°You forget. Without the amulets, I am powerless.¡±

    Gareth raises an eyebrow at this. He does not understand. Hui does. Without the angel dust imbued amulets, curated by the elders of my clan, I would merely be a stubborn immortal, much like in my fight against the eldritch wolves.

    Hui pauses, then stuffs her hand into her robe. She produces a clinking bag. It sounds like money at first, yet when she tosses it to me and I let it drop, out spills seven amulets of crystalized angel dust.

    ¡°How ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hikaru¡¯s supply,¡± she explains. ¡°I figured you might need it. He told me that the other elders have more.¡±

    I am shocked that she gave this to me. I could kill her right now if I wished, and she knows that. But would I actually be able to? She would let me, surely. Gareth wouldn¡¯t. And¡­ in the end, I probably wouldn¡¯t go through with. Again. Because I¡¯m a coward.

    ¡°Raiten. What say you?¡±

    I think about it, closing my eyes.

    Maybe if it was ten years ago, I would¡¯ve said yes. But I¡¯ve given up on trying to be a hero. I just want to be. I want to live and experience all that I¡¯ve missed. This task will only enslave me once more, this time to duty. And I won¡¯t have that.

    Let it be Hui¡¯s problem.

    ¡°No,¡± I say. I pick up the bag of amulets and toss it to her.

    She tosses it back. ¡°Keep it. You might need them.¡±

    I expect her to cry. But it seems I¡¯ve dried her tears with my pettiness. She simply stares somberly at me.

    I consider giving her a nod, yet even that I cannot afford. I turn to leave.

    ¡°Raiten! If you change your mind, meet us at the entrance to Boar¡¯s Pass in a month''s time!¡± she calls.

    I do not turn back.

    ¡­

    I stand at the border between my old dominion and the world beyond, marked with a white scratch in the rockface. From here the hillocks slope into rocky terrain, till the forest springs up ¡ª black trees and red cherry leaves. A sea of red leaves and then the valley beyond¡ª a road that spills into open fields, meadows past what the eye can see. Till the winter chill of the South slithers down your spine, one could pass through the paradise of the Old Road.

    I always used to gaze at those faraway meadows and wonder: what would it be like, running through them? Passing my hands along the tall grass?

    Breathing in the air of Summer.

    Taking a deep breathe, I take a step past the white mark.

    The three times I tried to do so during my enslavement, I was met with such immense pain that I could not move a single muscle ¡ª except to fling myself back into the barren dominion.

    Now, there is nothing.

    Just the silence of loneliness.

    I force myself to smile. Then, laugh.

    I expect myself to cry once more. It doesn¡¯t come. So, I walk onwards, towards my new life and destiny.

    ¡­

    The amulets jingle in my sack as I enter the red cherry forest ¡ª its name I do not know. Even inside the canopy of leaves, it is beautiful. They swirl in the wind, breaking and fluttering like butterflies. There is a childish joy that enters my heart. I resist the urge to run around and chase the leaves, but when I come to the sobering realization that no one is around me, I go wild.

    I chase the wind, the sky, the air. I feel the touch of bark. I spot some deer and race them through the woods, going off road. I get lost. That makes me so happy. I used to know every single pebble of my old dominion. For once, I am deep in the unknown.

    I find my way back to the road after some time. The path darkens. I trek off and gather wood for a fire. My stomach rumbles and I realize, for once, I can scavenge for more than rock nuts and soot cake.

    The good thing about the immortality is that I don¡¯t need much food. Just enough for my body to barely remain upright.

    The hunger still remains though. It always has.

    I just got used to it.

    Now, for the first time in seven years, I eat my fill. I stuff myself on tree nuts and berries. I do not know if they are poisonous, nor do I care. I am so happy, I could die right now, laying on a log with a slow fire crackling at my feat.

    I don¡¯t dare to think about the elders or Hui Long or that giant she called Basilbane.

    Instead, I fall asleep in peace.

    ¡­

    I wake up to the sound of thundering hooves. Rubbing my eyes, I try standing and stretching, but I stumble slightly. Chuckling, I realize it is the first time I have slept so deeply in a while. I think it is because of the full stomach, more than anything else.

    I take to the road and see a horse-drawn cart, upon with a stack of hay and barley sits. They come from the East ¡ª perhaps from the Gorges of Adostra (my geography is understandably off).

    I stand in the middle of the road and observe them as they near. An older man sits in the front, holding the reigns to the carriage. He is white-skinned and thankfully, does not look of clan-make. Perhaps some villager or trader from the valley. Next to him sits a young girl, perhaps just barely a teenager. She wears an apron and has ruddy looking hair.

    When they spot me, the horses halt and the man gives me a strange look. With a sudden realization, I step out of their way and chuckle awkwardly.

    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m in your way, aren¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°Yah sure are,¡± he speaks, in the accent of a village farmer. Harder tones and blunt words. I do not mind. I much prefer this to prosy lies.

    Before the man is able to lift his reins and set the horses to moving again, the girl next to him whispers something softly in his ear. The man looks at me, looks at her, sighs, and nods his head towards me.

    ¡°You need a ride?¡± Before I answer he cuts me off ¡°It¡¯ll cost you.¡±

    ¡°Grandfather!¡± the girl chides.

    ¡°What? I ain¡¯t giving out rides for free. I¡¯m not some royal dog.¡±

    ¡°Where are you heading?¡± I ask him.

    He spits some phlegm, not out of spite or anything, but I suspect it is a habit. ¡°South to Takemeadow Village.¡±

    I have no idea where that is, but South is fine.

    ¡°I have no money,¡± I tell him honestly.

    ¡°That¡¯s too bad. Then ¡ª¡±

    ¡°We could have him work it off for a day!¡± the girl exclaims. The man grunts, taking another look at me.

    ¡°You look half-starved. Can you carry some hay?¡± he asks.

    I shrug. ¡°Well enough.¡±

    He squints his eyes at me, as if checking for something. Then, he just sighs. ¡°Hop in the back then. Try not to make a mess.¡±

    I bow slightly and haul myself into the cart.

    Huh. I actually just hitched a ride. It''s like those story books I used to read. I chuckle to myself again.

    ¡°Why are you laughing?¡± the girl asks innocently.

    I look at her. She¡¯s younger than I thought. ¡°Because I¡¯m a fool.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that mean?¡±

    The old man snaps the reins and the cart stumbles off down the road. I give the girl a wry smile. ¡°It means I¡¯m free.¡±

 V: Live With Farmers

    ¡°So, what¡¯s your name mister?¡±

    ¡°Raiten.¡±

    ¡°Oooh. What¡¯s that mean?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t really know to be honest¡ª¡±

    ¡°Cause my name¡¯s Dandy, after some flower or something.¡±

    ¡°Oh. That¡¯s nice I gu¨C¡±

    ¡°I hate flowers. I want to be named after something cooler. Like¡­ like Lightning!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a common name.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°I guess it''s just not something one names their kids after.¡±

    ¡°Aw. Really?¡±

    ¡°Really.¡±

    ¡°Damn.¡±

    ¡°Dandy,¡± the older man chides. She looks at him, confused. ¡°Don¡¯t curse.¡±

    ¡°But you curse all the time, Grandfather.¡±

    ¡°It''s different when I do it.¡±

    ¡°Why? Is it because you''re  old?¡±

    ¡°Why you little brat¡ª¡± the man pulls the little girl in with one hand and ruffles her hair teasingly. She starts giggling. I watch on from the back as the forest canopy clears away and the redness of leaves is replaced by a clear blue sky, pocked with light, wispy clouds.

    The wind rustles long, yellow stalks of grass. I rest my head on the side of the cart and watch the valley pass us by.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a strange movement in the wind. Something flowing. I squint and make out a ¡­ carp? A wind spirit carp fish swimming along with a school of its brethren. It is quite a strange sight. The older man notices my wandering gaze.

    ¡°Aye the oceanic and lake spirits love this valley,¡± the man murmurs. ¡°I¡¯ve seen my fair share of spirit gatherers hunt wind stingrays here.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± I respond.

    ¡°You¡¯re not really from ¡®round here, are you?¡±

    I shake my head, reaching my hand up to graze the underside of a passing wind carp. When I touch its underbelly, I feel the ghostly sensation of softer skin, hidden in the guise of wind and spirit magicks. The carp swims away rapidly in the air, trailing after its brethren.

    ¡°You are right uh, sir¡­¡±

    ¡°Name¡¯s Erto.¡±

    ¡°Right. I¡¯m not from here, Erto, though I¡¯ve seen this valley from afar many times.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± he says.

    I consider telling him of my previous dwelling, but I forgo the notion. I do not know these people, friendly as they may seem. We are simply strangers.

    I think about my next moves for a while as Erto discusses some trade terminology with a bored-looking Dandy.

    The Boar Ranges are brutal mountains dense with spirits and monsters. It is the homeground of the famed Yamakiba clan, or so I¡¯ve read. My limited education is quite the hindering factor now. At times during my imprisonment, I¡¯d request for books or writing sources. Kai only granted those requests after I slew bigger monsters or packs. And he never gave me anything too substantial.

    But now I am free. Free to read whatever I want. I hope to the universe that this village has a library.

    ¡­

    Takemeadow lays nestled in the dip of a valley, next to a river that flows directly from the Boar Ranges. It has wooden walls and farmland outside, people tending to crops and wives gathering water in basins with their children.

    It feels like flowering village ¡ª one that aspires to become a city. As we approach from the main road, militia men in leathers give us a familiar nod to enter through the gates.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been here often?¡± I ask.

    Dandy nods. ¡°It¡¯s our home.¡±

    Oh.

    ¡°I thought you were traders.¡±

    ¡°We are,¡± Erot says, whipping the reins. ¡°But, we need to stock up some extra supplies for winter. So at the behest of our mayor, we took to other villages and traded.¡±

    ¡°Ah. I see.¡± I was wondering why they would¡¯ve come back with some barley, when it seems they obviously have the means to grow it for themselves. If winter is approaching, my timetable runs thin. I need to decide what to do soon. That¡¯s¡­ annoying.

    The town itself is quaint and comfy, dense with houses of brick and wood. Men weave rugs on the street, women carry apple baskets over their heads, children kick sacks of seeds between them in a game.

    Dandy looks at them with wide-eyes. Erot rubs her apron-scruffed hair: ¡°go on then, me and the lad will take care of unloading.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± she asks, stomping her feet in excitement.

    ¡°Yah, just this once. But next time, you work double-time you hear?¡±

    ¡°Oh thank you Grandpa!¡± She reaches up and gives him a kiss on the cheek before leaping off the wagon, chasing after the kids to play. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    I smile at the sight. ¡°You''re a kind man,¡± I tell him.

    He scoffs. ¡°Ah. I¡¯ve seen monsters be kind to children ¡ª it is no big deal. The truly good men are people who are kind to all, ugly adults included.¡±

    We both chuckle at that.

    He stops the cart near the center of the town, where there lays a dirt square and fountain well. We get off and start hauling the hay towards the large, black-wooded horse pen.

    The hay is both heavier and lighter than I thought. For some reason I expected my innate strength built over the years to make this an easy task. However, it seems I still need some meat on my bones to make it so. Regardless, I do well enough in Erot¡¯s eyes, passing along the hay to the bald and bearded horsemaster.

    ¡°Mayor wants to see you Erot,¡± the horsemaster says, nudging his head to the tallest building at the edge of the square. It is a tavern with warm-lit insides and a bustling atmosphere around it. Music lilts from its windows.

    ¡°Why? I¡¯ve done my task, ain¡¯t I?¡± Erot asks. He seems perturbed by the summon, making me all the more curious as to whom this mayor might truly be. He sounds like an intimidating man.

    The horsemaster furrows his bushy eyebrows and beckons Erot closer, to whisper. I don¡¯t hear what they say, but it leaves Erot quite perturbed.

    Erot makes a grunt, pulling his hair back into a salt-and-pepper ponytail. He looks at me and notices, for once, a deeper scar embedded in my neck. It''s as if he takes stock of me once again, re-evaluating my uses. It is a violating sort of gaze, but I let it pass.

    ¡°You a warrior, kid?¡±

    I shake my head. He sighs. ¡°I ain¡¯t trying to prod or anything and lying won¡¯t do you much good.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a warrior,¡± I reaffirm. Which is technically true. My previous occupation was enslavement.

    ¡°Yah, whatever it might be, can you join for a bit longer? It would be nice to have someone else around while speaking to our ¡®beloved¡¯ mayor.¡±

    I consider for a moment, my mind harkening back to the fact that I¡¯m already wasting time if I want to pursue my vengeance. And do what? You need proper clothes to venture into the Boar Ranges and you¡¯ll definitely need to be properly fed. If you want any chance at vengeance, you have to be patient. Make a plan. Don¡¯t just pursue it blindly.

    Afford some distractions. They will give you time to think and time to prepare.

    I nod. ¡°Sure.¡±

    Erot grunts again. He seems to like that form of communication. I follow as he trails off, walking to the tavern.

    The music beckons louder. Some harp or Eastern instrument is played in concord with a woman¡¯s voice. As we enter the tavern, some eyes pass over us, specifically me in my dirt loins and foreign robe. I am for once, acutely aware of how bad my appearance must be. I shrink behind Erot and the tavern-goers quickly ignore me, watching instead the woman dancing on the tabletop.

    She taps her feet to the beat of the song, singing with a beautiful voice. Her green dress flows with every spin and movement, and sweat drips from her long black hair. A brilliant smile plasters her face.

    ¡°When the storm did scream and the flames they dreamed of a death beyond our halls,

    And the war grows bleak and the frail go weak, so the end shall come for us all,

    But at last we say we shall break away until night befalls our walls.¡±

    She holds that last note for an impressively long time, eliciting whoops and cheers from the audience. Then, someone sitting and sloshing his drink begins beating it against a table. The others follow, beating and clapping as the tune ramps up.

    Then, they all begin singing along with her.

    ¡°So come and see what a world we weave when the sky does shine unmarred,

    And the war grows bleak and the frail go weak, so the end shall come for us all,

    But we¡¯ll scream and shout and we¡¯ll give a fair rout

    Till the enemy does fall!¡±

    The clapping and singing and melody crescendos and with one sweeping bow, the act ends. Everyone whoops into cheers and laughter. Even I can¡¯t help but smile. Such dances and songs were not so permitted in the Adachi clan. Ours were more conserved: slow dances and slower melodies.

    This was something else.

    The woman steps off the table, assaulted by a tirade of compliments from young men and women and of course, a gathering of children. She smiles and picks a boy up over her shoulder, moving outside with the children and speaking to them in kind tones.

    ¡°That was nice. But where¡¯s the mayor?¡± I ask, looking at Erot. He grimaces.

    ¡°You''re staring at her boy,¡± he says.

    I look between her smiling form and his face for a few moments. Then, I can¡¯t help myself.

    I laugh.

    ¡°I have so much to learn,¡± I say. He gives me a pat on the back.

    ¡°Don¡¯t we all?¡± There is no humor or joy to his voice though. And I wonder once more who this mayor is to make Erot so apprehensive of her.

    We approach her as she swings a boy around by his ankles, the other children forming a circle around them. The rest of the bar goes back to their drinking and small-talk, and the lute player changes the song to a more background-centric track.

    The mayor notices us approaching and sets the child down, patting his giggling head. She tells the children something I don¡¯t hear and they go run off, waving her goodbye.

    Then she turns to us, white smile, green eyes. She takes a seat on one of the outside table benches and beckons us to join her.

    ¡°Come now, Old Erot. It has been a while.¡±

    We take our seats across from her. Erot looks stiff. I am also on guard.

    She¡¯s all smiles though. ¡°I see you¡¯ve brought back a guest.¡±

    ¡°Yah,¡± Erot said, jabbing a thumb at me. ¡°Picked him up on the road.¡±

    ¡°Oh how very kind of you,¡± she says. Then, she pauses, looking at me expectantly. A few seconds of awkward silence pass before I answer.

    ¡°My name is Raiten.¡±

    ¡°Raiten? That¡¯s quite the peculiar name,¡± she notes, resting her head on her palm. ¡°Hmm. You wouldn¡¯t happen to be from Clan Sorayvlad, would you?¡±

    I am startled that she even knows of that clan. What business would this Westerner have with that brutal clan? Yet, then again, I had heard tales of Sorayvlad calming down over the past few years, expanding their provinces through multiple marriages with the Western nations. Perhaps she knows of them through such unions. Either ways, this woman is already proving to be dangerous. I hold back a grimace.

    ¡°No, I am not,¡± I answer slowly and with some finality.

    ¡°Oh. Good,¡± she nods. She really is quite pretty. I can¡¯t imagine how many suitor offers she¡¯s gotten, considering her position in this quaint little town.

    ¡°Why do you ask?¡± I prod. She tucks her hair back behind her ear.

    ¡°Oh, no reason,¡± she says, closing her eyes. ¡°It''s just that, if you said yes, I¡¯d have to kill you.¡±

    She says it so seriously, I almost think she means it. But then she laughs a bubbly sort of laugh and points at me.

    ¡°Your face is quite telling. I like this one Erot. Keep him.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not my slave, Sorina,¡± Erot murmurs. Sorina huh? That¡¯s also a peculiar name.

    ¡°Of course not, Erot of course not. Heavens forbid I make a joke and you laugh at it.¡±

    Erot grunts. ¡°Over my dead body.¡±

    ¡°Oh I can arrange that old man.¡±

    ¡°Please stop threatening my benefactor,¡± I say, waving a protective hand over Erot. She looks my way, grin broadening.

    ¡°Ah I see now. So he¡¯s your bodyguard then?¡±

    ¡°Just get on with it, Sorina. Ask what you want to ask so I can go home to my daughter.¡±

    ¡°Oh alright alright. You two are no fun. I suppose you¡¯re made for each other,¡± she winks. Then, she sets her elbows on the table, interlocking her fingers. Sorina¡¯s smile disappears altogether. ¡°Now then, onto business. Tell me Erot, what have you found out from the other villages?¡±

    Ah I see it now. I look at Erot with a more critical eye.

    He¡¯s her spy.

 VI: Live With Family

    Erot grunts, but this grunt is more venomous than the others. Sorina twiddles her fingers, and my eyes flicker between the two of them, processing.

    ¡°Well? Surely you must¡¯ve heard some tidings?¡± Sorina says.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Erot says with a sigh. ¡°The Forgecrests are the same as usual; cocky bastards lord their iron trade over the other villages. Fangshade has both expanded and taken some heavy losses. I think their leaders are having some internal issues.¡±

    Sorina shrugs. ¡°I told them they¡¯d have issues if they continue abiding by that lifestyle of theirs, but some people just can¡¯t adapt I suppose.¡±

    Erot tightens his fist. I watch his face contort and twitch, as if he¡¯s holding himself back.

    Sorina notices as well: ¡°oh don¡¯t be so dramatic Erot. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be fine. Now, come on then: what of Netsreach and Havenmarch?¡±

    ¡°Netsreach has faced a tsunami recently. Half the village was under reconstruction by the time I got there. Though apparently, they spotted it early this time so no casualties.¡±

    ¡°Good for them. Last time was too brutal,¡± she says, clicking her tongue. It''s odd, seeing Sorina be empathetic for once. My opinion of her continues to shift and I conclude that I still don¡¯t know a single thing about this woman and I don¡¯t quite like that fact.

    ¡°Do they live by the rock-toothed coast?¡± I ask. I vaguely know of the area and have heard of its volatile climate. Sorina nods.

    ¡°It is an area prime for fishing and for catching lingering water bird spirits. But, it comes with that major drawback,¡± she says, circling her finger along the wood of the table. Quite a fidgety person, she is. But every action seems so calculated ¨C as if meant to draw my attention towards something else. I focus my gaze on her somber looking face. Is this a facade as well? Does she care at all for those people?  ¡°Fortunately for them, their trade makes them the wealthiest of the villages in central Katal, only second to Havenmarch and Forgecrests. And the clans of course, but I don¡¯t really count them.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± I murmur, scratching my chin.

    Sorina turns her attention back to Erot. ¡°And Havenmarch?¡±

    He grimaces. ¡°They have been struck with plague.¡±

    For once, I get to see Sorina startled. Her green eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Yah, it surprised me too. And it seems to be a brutal plague at that. They¡¯ve closed their gates and are self-isolating. Poor guards looked diminished. Couldn¡¯t let me in obviously.¡±

    ¡°That¡­¡± Sorina murmurs, hand combing her hair back now. ¡°Is troubling.¡±

    ¡°Apparently they have already sent a request to the Kingdoms, asking for some aid,¡± Erot continues. ¡°But¡­¡±

    ¡°But the Kingdoms don¡¯t a give a damn about us at the end of the day,¡± Sorina finishes from him. Erot shifts uncomfortably at this. He seems bothered by her openly treasonous thoughts.

    I stay silent. I am out of place in this spiraling political game of small-time villages. Still, it is fascinating how seriously these people seem to take these issues. Well, if this the life they¡¯ve known thus far, I suppose events like plagues in neighboring villages are quite cataclysmic. I suppress to the urge to chuckle. It is tragic, but it is a far cry from the world-shattering events I used to dream of facing ¡ª the very same events that I¡¯ve heard tales of Hui facing.

    Regardless, neither of them concerns me. I do not want to meddle in anyone else''s affairs. Their problems are theirs. I am simply biding my time to prepare for the Boar Ranges.

    Sorina looks at me with some measure of curiosity before giving one last sigh: ¡°let¡¯s stop here for now. I¡¯ll gather whatever information I can about Havenmarch.¡±

    ¡°As you wish,¡± Erot says. He stands to leave and I stand as well.

    ¡°Raiten, right?¡± Sorina calls, stopping us from leaving. ¡°Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?¡±

    I shake my head.

    ¡°Any money?¡±

    I shake my head.

    She nods to Erot. ¡°Since you¡¯ve already picked him up and the two of you seem to get along, why don¡¯t you hole up with Erot for a bit. I¡¯m sure he could use more laborers on his farm. What do you think Erot?¡±

    Erot looks at me and nods. ¡°I actually quite like that idea, Sorina.¡±

    ¡°You say that as if my other brilliant ideas displease you.¡±

    He gives her a look. She smiles again. ¡°Well, don¡¯t let me keep you. I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll be seeing you before your next trip Erot.¡±

    So we leave, heading back for our horses and wagon. As we go back to the horsemaster, I feel as though a pair of eyes are burning a hole in my back. I turn to look back at the mayor, but she is playing with the children once more.

    ¡°I do not like that woman,¡± I say.

    ¡°You and me, both Raiten,¡± Erot responds.

    ¡­

    We pick up Dandy from the well, where she was playing some hopping game with the other kids. I expect Dandy to assault me with more questions, but she falls asleep pretty quickly in the front of the cart as Erot drives past the walls of Takemeadow. He explains to me that his farm is on the outskirts of Takemeadow¡¯s territory, which is quite fortunate because he owns significantly more farmland than other villagers.

    At first, I take this as him exaggerating his land holdings. However, when we pass the fence threshold of his stalks, I see he was actually underestimating his holdings. His crops, corn and barley, black spirit cob and white nettle, range over several hillocks and across a wide expanse of the valley, running upstream until the land grows barren.

    It is golden and black and white and beautiful, with the sun glinting off the stalks like they are the footholds of some imagined heaven.

    ¡°How¡­ do you maintain all of this?¡± I ask.

    He shrugs. ¡°I have many grandchildren. And we have a spirit helper.¡±

    ¡°Ah. I see,¡± I say, though I don¡¯t quite understand. How much help could a spirit provide in matters such as farming? I curse myself for not checking if the village had a library ¡ª so consumed I was by the mayor and her strange behaviors.

    The farmhouse itself is quite humble in comparison to the vast swath of land Erot owns: two windows, maroon wooden tiling, and a woody smell that evokes a strange sense of misplaced nostalgia. We hitch the cart away and put the horses in their stalls before Erot carries young Dandy inside, me trailing after them. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°I¡¯m home!¡± Erot says.

    The sound of pattering feet erupts on the second floor and tumbling down the stairs comes seven children, all dirt-smudged and smiling. They practically tackle Erot with a hug, waking up Dandy.

    Erot is surprisingly deft with his hands. He manages to set Dandy down just before the other children dogpile him, all giggling like hyenas.

    ¡°Grandpa! Grandpa!¡± they yell.

    ¡°How was your trip?¡±

    ¡°Did you see Netsreach?¡±

    ¡°Ooooh! OOOH! What about Shadowfang? How are they doing?¡±

    ¡°Aw I want to go next time Grandpa, can I go? Can I?¡±

    ¡°Kids kids,¡± Erot wheezes. ¡°Give me some space would you?¡± They obligingly let off of him and surround us.

    Some take an immediate interest in me. Two older boys, perhaps both teenagers, look at me in awe ¡ª as I¡¯m some story-book hero brought to life. I scratch my head, embarrassed by their reverent eyes.

    ¡°Grandpa grandpa! Who is he?¡± One of the boys asks.

    ¡°My name is Raiten,¡± I say, bowing because I don¡¯t know what else to do. Even that they are impressed by and immediately they reciprocate the bow. Quite impressionable, aren¡¯t they? It''s as if they haven¡¯t seen another young man of my age in a while. Or maybe I¡¯m overthinking it and I just look so foreign to them, that they¡¯re curious about who I am?

    Eh, what does it matter? They¡¯re just boys.

    ¡°Father, your back,¡± a feminine voice says. A blonde-haired woman enters the room from the kitchen, brow furrowed with sweat, eyes brown and strangely intense. Though, everything else about her demeanor is kindly, especially the way she smiles at Erot.

    And I see Erot¡¯s face broaden into a grin of his own.

    ¡°It¡¯s good to be home,¡± he says, but Dandy pushes past him, jumping into the woman¡¯s arms.

    ¡°Mama!¡±

    ¡°Dandy oh my look how much you¡¯ve grown!¡± the woman exclaims, spinning her daughter around. The scene makes me uncomfortable. Why was my clan so clinical, so cold in raising its children? From the outset of our childhoods, we were taught only to pursue our desired occupation: warrior, doctor, council lackey, or on the bottom tier, builders and hunters. And of course, the worst tier of them all, slaves.

    It makes me strangely sad, watching this sight.

    Erot snaps his fingers in front of me. ¡°Come lad, let¡¯s eat. We can discuss your situation afterwards.¡±

    I give him a nod and head into the dining room, with the two older boys trailing behind me and the other children filing into their seats.

    ¡­

    Dinner is surprisingly calm. The children settle down as their mother passes out plates and dishes, along with the help of Dandy and Erot. I elect to sit on the floor, considering there are no extra seats available. Erot nearly allows this, but his daughter, the blond-haired woman who introduces herself as Ayla, does not ¡ª forcing me to take the seat of one of the younger boys. That boy, some lad named Kale, sits atop Erot¡¯s lap.

    Five boys. Three girls. Oldest boy is thirteen. Youngest girl is four.

    May the spirits help Ayla ¡ª it must be hard to manage eight children.

    Right before they eat, the family says their thanks to the spirits of the realm. I do not join in on the activity; I¡¯ve never been a worshipper of spirits. Nor a worshipper of anything really.

    Still, I respect their discipline. The children wait until their mother finishes a silent prayer. Then, when she takes the first bite, they get to feasting. It''s a well balanced meal of roasted vegetables and meat ¡ª the most food I¡¯ve seen on a table in fifteen years. I make sure to stuff myself but my stomach is so small that I can only keep pace with their young ones ¡ª- the older boys eat twice my fill.

    ¡°I heard you helped my father with his work,¡± Ayla says. She grants me a matronly stare, cutting into a beef strip with great delicacy. ¡°Thank you for that. I fear he is getting too old for this work.¡±

    I shake my head: ¡°it was actually he who helped me, not the other way around. I am leeching off of your kindness.¡±

    ¡°Oh don¡¯t think of it like that. In fact,¡± she leans over in and whispers to me in a conspiratorial tone ¡°Erot has taken quite a liking to you. If you want, you can ride out the winter here with us ¡ª we could always use an extra, more mature hand on the farm.¡±

    ¡°I uh¡ª-will think on it. Thank you for the offer.¡±

    ¡°Of course. Tonight you can take one of the boys'' rooms and they¡¯ll sleep in the shed near the fence.¡±

    I hold my hands up. ¡°It¡¯s no trouble. To be honest, I¡¯d rather sleep alone. It¡¯s what I¡¯m used to¡ª the shed would do just nicely for me.¡±

    ¡°Ah. I see. Are you sure?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± she hums, setting her fork down and looking me over more critically. I wilt under her gaze ¡ª it is because of those eyes of hers. ¡°You look as though you¡¯ve been through a lot.¡±

    ¡°I really haven¡¯t,¡± I lie.

    She shakes her head. ¡°I can see it in your eyes. My husband used to have the same look ¡ª the same faroff stare.¡±

    ¡°Your husband, is he ¡ª¡±

    She nods her head.

    I grimace.

    The children¡¯s laughter carries over our conversation for a moment. Out the corner of my eye, I see one of them pulling on Erot¡¯s ear, much to his annoyance. Another steals food from Erot¡¯s plate.

    ¡°He died a long time ago. It¡¯s been my father and I alone for a while now.¡±

    ¡°It must be tough,¡± I say.

    ¡°We get by. Especially thanks to our spirit, Umbrahorn. Heavens know what we¡¯d do without him.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of this spirit, where is he? Erot mentioned him earlier to me as well.¡±

    ¡°He protects our fields at night. He¡¯s probably out and about, swimming underground and getting up to all sorts of mischief,¡± she says, smiling fondly at the thought

    I want to talk to this woman more, ask her questions and figure out my living arrangements. But dinner ends in the blink of an eye and she is swept up by the tasks that befall her. I help out as much as I can, with the two teenage boys, Hansel and Ferot, trailing my every move.

    My raggedy old shirt gets caught on a drawer as it closes and rips. I stare at its torn folds for a moment, lamenting the loss of my five year old uniform. The Great Thunder Watcher brought low by a household appliance ¡ª there is a certain irony in that.

    I feel like laughing.

    I feel like laughing a lot more nowadays. It is a good feeling. It is a sad feeling.

    Ayla fusses over my shirt and tells Ferot to fetch me a new one. He takes one of Old Erot¡¯s old shirts; a tight white woolen homespun tunic. I change and help Ayla put the rowdy kids to sleep while Erot warms up some tea.

    Erot cups that steaming cup of tea as he leads me to the shed now, lantern in his other hand to guide the way through his maze of stalks. Despite how large this place is, I can tell he knows every inch of it by hand. By grit and dirt. He is the old type of man, the hard man. He is the type of man that would be well respected in my clan, though not prestigious or wealthy by any means.

    ¡°Well, here we are,¡± he says. The shed is large, made of red wood colored by strips of white. Inside are a number of hay bales and tools, along with a small folded blanket in one of the stalls. ¡°Its not the most comfortable provision but¡ª¡±

    ¡°It''s more than enough,¡± I say, giving him a bow. ¡°Thank you. You and your family have shown me true kindness where others have not.¡± Erot scratches his head and makes a happy grunt. Or an embarrassed grunt. I¡¯m still trying to decipher this secret language of his.

    ¡°Eh, it''s no trouble. You¡¯ve helped me out today too, what with our good ol¡¯ mayor.¡±

    ¡°Why do you do her bidding if you hate her so?¡± I ask.

    ¡°It''s¡­ complicated. Don¡¯t worry about it lad,¡± he helps me make a bedding area using nettles of barley and hay. Then, he turns to leave. ¡°Oh and Raiten?¡±

    ¡°Yah?¡± I ask.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure my daughter offered for you to stay with us through the winter. To be honest, I don¡¯t really mind it either. I need an extra hand. I¡¯ll pay you too.¡± Before I can answer, he shakes his hand. ¡°You don¡¯t need to give me an answer now. Just think about it.¡±

    He leaves with that, and once more I am greeted by the familiar sound of silence.

    ¡­

    It takes me a long while to sleep. I can¡¯t get the images of pure bliss out of my head ¡ª they rattle me. I can¡¯t separate them from all the horror of the last fifteen years. There would be some nights where I awoke to predator birds throttling my legs, cawing in my face. Other nights where I awoke to the sound of cackling hyena-monkeys trying to venture beyond the tower, forcing me to crack open an amulet and smite them down.

    I set my bag of amulets in the corner of the stall. Seven lifelines. Seven power-boosters. Seven times I can actually fight someone of significance.

    The eldritch wolf antler goes under my pillow.

    Eventually, my eyes do flutter close and my breathing slows.

    Then, something sharp tingles my neck.

    My eyes open.

    A voice whispers in my ear: ¡°Don¡¯t move a single muscle.¡± It is female and familiar. I strain my eyes up, to look at the visage of the person who threatens me. Green eyes. Killer smile. Sorina?

    She holds a curved dagger to my neck, and slung over her shoulder is a lute. She is dressed in warrior robes ¡ª  a mix of Western and Eastern blues and blacks, fit for a clan warrior.

    ¡°Listen to me very carefully, Raiten. You¡¯re going to answer each of my questions honestly. If you don¡¯t, I¡¯m going to slit your throat.¡±

 VII: Live With Music

    My hand is trapped under the pillow, gripping the wolf-antler. Her blade tingles along my neck, cold steel on skin. I breathe in. Then, with one fluid motion, I press my feet at an angle into the bedding needles and kick up, launching myself away from Sorina.

    Her blade slices my neck, but just barely.

    She hesitated. Her mistake.

    Hands now free, I roll forward and spin back, planting my empty palm on the ground and adopting the fighting style of the eldritch wolves: down on all fours. Snarling.

    She stares at her bloody dagger, then at my neck, eyes wide at my recklessness. Before she can spout another word, I sprint crawl towards her and spring up, slashing the antler down. My mind is in that same animalistic fight or flight mode that the tower used to elicit. Sorina raises her dagger and expertly parries my blow aside, stepping away and delivering a cracking kick into my sternum. I am knocked against the stall wall, crashing halfway through the wood, breath stolen.

    But I have dealt with monsters. She is just a¡­ well I don¡¯t what the hell she is but I intend to find out. The thin gash across my neck is already closing. It seems a full stomach helps me heal faster. I leap again, aiming low for her legs. She nearly pulls the same slash-and-kick counter, but I hook my arm across her ankle and drag her to the ground. Her head bounces off the nettle, her lute dislodging from her back. Why¡¯d she even bring that? I try not to think about it as I wrench myself upon her, antler raised to maim her at the least.

    Then, she screams.

    And the sound is so piercing that my eardrums pop and all noise goes faint, blood trickling down down down. I back away, groaning in pain. What the hell? Covering my ears, I see her standing up. She is mad ¨C some siren incarnate screaming my ears off. I don¡¯t know how she does it. Maybe through some spirit magicks?

    The lute, I realize. Don¡¯t let her grab the lute.

    Her screaming halts and she grabs at her chest, coughing up some blood. She has a limit it seems. Through the pain, I shoot for another takedown, scooping some nettles with my free hand and flinging them up as a blinder. Yet, rather than standing tall, she drops low and meets me head on.

    ¡°I should¡¯ve known they¡¯d send a monkey-cursed immortal at me,¡± she snarls. I slash for her shoulder. She jabs for my neck. She is much faster, and her blade pierces me, a sharp and suffocating pain in my throat. I stumble back, falling and choking on my own blood as it gurgles and stirs.

    She¡¯s a damn warrior, a damn soldier. She¡¯s trained. The way she stabbed me is too telling. Slowly, hands shaking, I grab for the dagger in my throat. It is curved up to my inner jaw, scraping against the flesh. Red hot pain.

    I groan and watch as my worst fears are confirmed because she does lunge for the loot, strapping it to her once more and strumming her fingers along its strings. From her robes, she procures another curved dagger and sets it against the lute as a playing pick.

    In a panic, I rip the other dagger out my throat, screaming out as blood drains out from my neck. I try forcing my legs to move. They don¡¯t listen, instead floundering beneath me.

    She begins to play.

    She picks at the strings with her dagger, delicately forming a simple, catchy tune of Eastern influence. It sounds like a tune from the clans.

    I need to get my amulets. They lay behind her, in a satchel. I should¡¯ve gripped one of them under the bed rather than this useless antler, but I was too afraid of using them so recklessly.

    With each note she plays, the air itself seems to bend to her will. It swirls around her violently, picking up the nettles and hay and twirling them in small whirlwinds. And, after playing twelve notes in rapid succession, the air itself shoots towards me and I am pierced in my shoulders and chest. My body is flung back, crashing up and out of the shed¡¯s rooftop, flinging dirt and dust into the air as I soar into the starry night, over the black spirit-berry fields. What? That¡¯s all I can think of, for pain steals every other rational thought away, sharpness digging inside of my throat, in my body, from my regenerating ear-drums. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Then, I am falling.

    ¡­

    ¡°Hello!¡±

    One slap.

    I blink.

    ¡°Are you awake yet?¡±

    Another slap, harder.

    My eyes are wide open. In front of me is half the body of a monster, its fin raised to slap me once more. I yelp and scramble back.

    ¡°What in the name of ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh good, you¡¯re finally awake,¡± the monster says. ¡°I nearly thought I killed you by catching you with my teeth. Erot would¡¯ve yelled at me for that.¡± Its head is flat, eyes bulging and black on the outskirts of its head, like the eyes of a hammer. The monster¡¯s mouth hangs open with fangs of wood peaking through its maw and its wooden body curves back, planted in the ground, its back fin sticking out sharplike.

    The creature is a hammerhead shark in its spirit form. Specifically, a wooden hammerhead shark spirit.

    ¡°You¡¯re ¡ª you¡¯re that spirit aren¡¯t you? The one that guards farm.¡±

    ¡°Ah, so you¡¯ve heard about me. Well, my name is Umbrahorn,¡± the shark says, its mouth cracking into a woody smile. ¡°Pleasure to make the acquaintance of Erot¡¯s new guest. He told me about you before he slept.¡± He makes a grand bow, fin upturned, leaning low.

    I sigh. My body aches and my wounds have not yet closed, meaning it has not been long since I fell.

    A lute¡¯s song echoes through the night.

    I hear the air hissing and the soft, slashing of crops.

    My eyes widen.

    ¡°Do you know what¡¯s happening?¡± I ask. ¡°You protect the farm right?¡±

    ¡°Well, I was hoping you could explain. I don¡¯t particularly like music this late at night.¡±

    I¡¯m talking to a spirit. I¡¯m talking a spirit! Spirits can talk? Maybe I hit my head too hard ¡ª maybe my brain is regenerating. I close my eyes. When I open them, the shark is still staring at me, face oddly sympathetic looking. I rub my eyes and slap myself. Focus. This thing might be your only shot ¡ª- Sorina is too strong.

    ¡°Do you know mayor Sorina?¡±

    Umbrahorn¡¯s smile broadens. ¡°Yah, old Sor eyes. She¡¯s visited us a few times; she¡¯s funny.¡±

    ¡°Right now she¡¯s not very funny: in fact she¡¯s incredibly angry.¡±

    The sharks face contorts. Then, he points to the directional sound of screaming: ¡°you¡¯re telling me, that she¡¯s doing that?¡±

    ¡°Yes! She attacked me in the middle of the night.¡±

    Umbrahorn scratches its long head. ¡°Hmm¡­ that is troubling. But, it doesn¡¯t seem like the Sorina I know.¡±

    The music is getting closer. The sound of wind blades escalates. She¡¯s searching for me. I need my damn amulets. I eye Umbrahorn¡¯s fin and stand up, approaching the shark spirit.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± It asks, backing away from me. Its lower body slides underground, shifting the dirt behind it as the shark backs away.

    ¡°Let me ride you,¡± I say.

    Umbrahorn turns his head. ¡°I¡¯m flattered but¡ª¡±

    ¡°Not like that! I mean, let me physically ride atop your back; you can get me back to the shed quickly and I can grab my amulets. With them, I can stop her.¡±

    ¡°I am a great spirit,¡± the shark spouts. ¡°And great spirits are not to be ¡­ ridden. In either sense.¡±

    I close my fists: ¡°look if you help me, we can beat her.¡±

    ¡°Beat her? Please. Erot told me you¡¯re new here. We don¡¯t beat people. If this truly is Sorina, I¡¯ll just talk to her and sort it out. Trust me.¡±

    ¡°RAITEN! STOP HIDING!¡± a voice screams, the music now crescendos. The wind is violent , swaying against the tall black stalks of miasma-bearing spirit berries that hides us.

    ¡°That must be her! Stay here, I¡¯ll go talk to her,¡± Umbrahorn says.

    ¡°No wait!¡± I yell, reaching my hand out. But the shark dives underground, kicking up soot and hard dirt. The ground itself rumbles as the wooden spirit travels towards the sound of Sorina¡¯s music, its fin peering out of the ground and moving the dirt above it ¡ª it¡¯s as if the shark is swimming underwater.

    I run in the direction it went, following its path of dirt and dust. The stalks are bent around Umbrahorn¡¯s path, making it easier for me to traverse.

    My left hand grips the antler dagger.. In my right hand, I hold the dagger that Sorina jabbed into my throat, soaked in my blood. I silently thank whoever¡¯s up there for my rapid regeneration: that throat pain was horrid.

    I did not like drowning in my own blood.

    I¡¯ll make her pay for that, I promise, though I don¡¯t quite believe it.

    As I run, I hear voices ahead of me, past another crop of berries. Before I can maneuver them, something comes flying out of the crop, soaring past me and crashing into the ground. It is Umbrahorn¡ª pierced by Sorina¡¯s musical wind. I run towards him as he rolls and tumbles into two more crop stalks before finally coming to a stop. When I reach him, I see the poor spirits'' fins and body are cracked.

    ¡°I take it that talking didn¡¯t go too well,¡± I say.

    ¡°Raiten?¡± It asks after a moment.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°You said if you get your amulets, you can beat her, right?¡± Its black eyes stare at me, not indicating any emotion. But its voice is low and Umbrahorn¡¯s maw is set in frown.

    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±

    With a feral grunt, the shark picks itself up and halfway re-enters the ground, its head and fin peeking out the dirt.

    ¡°Then jump on. Let¡¯s kill this bitch.¡±

 VIII: Live With Sharks

    Sorina:

    ¡°RAITEN!¡± I yell, not that it does much. This clan bastard hides amongst the stalks, so I must hunt him down like a dog. I knew it ¡ª I knew from the moment I saw his gaze lingering on me, like some predator sniffing out its prey. Sorayvlad will never leave me alone. Well, if that¡¯s how it''s going to be, I won¡¯t go down easy.

    My dagger thrums along the strings of the lute and I play the slower, methodical song of the Jade Queen and her throne. The sound spirits of wind coalesce around me, under me, surround me¡ª their long stretchy arms reach through the crops, feeling the barley and berries, the corn and wheat. No flesh.

    ¡°He¡¯s sneaky, that man,¡± one of the spirits whispers in my ear. I nod, looking to the sky. I called for Gold-Mist an age ago, but it has not yet arrived to aid me. Though I feel it drawing near. A prickling fear is eating at me now: despite the fact that I disposed of Raiten fairly easily, his immortality may be a problem. He¡¯s another poor dog of my clan no doubt. Regardless, I can¡¯t let him upturn everything I¡¯ve built. I¡¯ve sacrificed too much for that.

    He must die. Somehow.

    It won¡¯t be impossible: after all, you¡¯ve seen immortal slaves be slain.

    ¡°Something approaches us,¡± another spirit of mine hisses. I raise my dagger and harp, ready to play a harsher tune to deal with whatever comes. If it''s Umbrahorn again I¡¯ll have to dispose of him. Erot will be angry, but I cannot let Sorayvladians roam free.

    The fields across from me rumble; the corn stalks shake. I turn to them and start eeking out a tune. I know this sound. It is Umbrahorn, tearing through the ground as he swims.

    Then, I exhibit the most peculiar sight I¡¯ve ever born witness too: Raiten, with his long dark hair flowing behind him, rides shirtless atop of the back of Umbrahorn. His white shirt is tied around the shark¡¯s fin and he uses that to steer. It is like a comedy or a play ¡ª my mouth hangs open just looking at the two of them.

    Snap out of it! I issue out a dark tune meant for stories of storms assaulting fishing ships far into the great seas and obligingly, my sound-wind spirits go forth, slicing into the crops and soaring towards my enemy.

    But rather than meet me head on, Raiten and the Umbrahorn swerve right, going past us. For a brief moment, it looks as if Raiten will be flung off by this maneuver. Yet somehow, he catches himself on the shark¡¯s side, gripping tightly to the fabric of his shirt.

    They pass me.

    I glare at Raiten¡¯s unmarred face.

    He looks ahead.

    Then, he and the shark spirit are gone, heading back along the trail of destruction I left from the shed.

    I grimace.

    ¡°Coward!¡± I yell after him, trying to goad some sense of stupid from the man. Obviously, my voice is heard or ignored.

    Something bumps into my back, making me stumble forward. I turn, ready to slash my dagger at whatever it might be, but it''s just my cloud transport, Gold-Mist, patiently awaiting for me to get on.

    I grab on to its soft golden folds and sit myself atop the thing, staring after Raiten¡¯s retreating form.

    If I have to chase you down, so be it.

    ¡­

    Raiten:

    My world has gone insane. I ride a hammerhead shark through the vast fields of Erot¡¯s family, clinging on by a shirt and the strength of my feet grips on Umbrahorn¡¯s hide. I thank the Thunder Tower for teaching me how to climb barefoot ¡ª it comes in handy now. Umbrahorn tears a path forward, his destruction flinging dirt and crops of all types to our sides. They trail in our wake, like the afterimages of lightning when I use amulets.

    ¡°How far are we?¡± I hear Umbrahorn rumble, his voice traveling up my spine.

    ¡°It should be in the shed, I hope. Unless it somehow got flung away when Sorina blasted me full of her sound magicks.¡±

    Umbrahorn starts grumbling: ¡°this stupid mayor thinks she can come on MY farm and start attacking MY guests and insult me by daring to use her petty little spirits against me? Well I¡¯ll show her. We¡¯ll show her how great I am, we¡¯ll beat her down and¡­¡± he trails off, continuing to mutter and complain. For how polite the spirit appeared to be earlier, his rage is quite legendary now.

    I plant my feet across his fin, straddling it while standing taller to get a view over the heads of the next corn crop batch. I see the half-broken farm shed to our right.

    Giving Umbrahorn a pat while bracing my feet, I tell him ¡°take a right turn¡ª¡±

    Something sharp and invisible grazes my cheek, drawing a deep cut.

    I turn, finding much to my annoyance, Sorina is hot on our trail. She rides atop a golden cloud that whizzes past crops with incredible speed and Sorina plays harsh, singular chords that issue forth fast moving sound-magicks at us.

    ¡°AND NOW SHE RIDES A HEAVENLY MOUNT? I¡¯LL MAKE HER PAY FOR HER IMPUDENCE!¡± Umbrahorn roars. Then, he surfaces, dipping low and exploding out the ground, arcing in the air and flinging me upwards. I nearly lose my grip. The white shirt unloops and panic ensues. My arm stretches out, bare muscles straining as I reach and grab for his fin, re-looping my shirt to it. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Then, as Umbrahorn dives down, he spins, making my stomach hurl from the violent movement. Impacting the ground once more, he speeds away from the shed, towards Sorina.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I yell before dodging under a speeding wind blade strummed out by Sorina.

    ¡°Blight your stupid amulets, we can take her!¡± Umbrahorn roars. I groan in frustration. More wind blades hail at us. They are difficult to spot from afar, however, when they near, the wind takes the form of spinning swords and daggers, spears and arrows. Umbrahorn dodges and weaves and I do my best to stay on. I am not left unscathed: thrice my right side is grazed, twice my chest is pierced and I am nearly flung off. Once, a wind dagger hits my toe and the pain is so niche that it takes me by surprise. I blink through the torment, drawing Sorina¡¯s dagger from my loins and raising it as we near her.

    Her¡¯s is a face of fury.

    That must¡¯ve been how I looked, when I fought Hui. So¡­ angry.

    What have I done to you Sorina? What incited this?

    Before I can think further on that, Umbrahorn dives his head lower, his fin disappearing beneath the ground.

    ¡°What are you¡ª¡± I begin, but before another word can be uttered, his tail surfaces and slaps into my back.

    I am catapulted straight at the speeding form of Sorina.

    Umbrahorn you bastard! I curl up, raise my blade and slash forward, taking a surprised Sorina by the shoulder and tackling her off the speeding cloud.

    We tumble into the grass while her cloud speeds towards Umbrahorn. Mounting her once more, I bring my blade down again, aiming once for her shoulder. I do not know why I hesitate to kill her considering everything she¡¯s done to me. Perhaps it is a misguided sense of curiosity: a want to understand why she attacked me in the first place. Regardless, that curiosity does me no favors as Sorina dodges the blow by jabbing her shoulder blade into my chest and bridging me off her form.

    I roll away. She gets to work on her lute again, sending rapid-fire notes of wind spears. I duck low and spring forward, matching her relentless musical pace.

    She dodges back as I slash forward, my blade cutting through a strand of her hair. As she backs away, more notes thrum from her lute and a hail of wind daggers curves around us, taking me by the flank. I am pierced thrice and knocked into a crop-stalk, blood running down my exposed chest, body spinning to see Umbrahorn ripping through Sorina¡¯s cloud-mount.

    It takes a while for me to stand. My body is a mess of slow-healing wounds.

    Sorina starts playing a slow tune. A set of wind-formed hands take my feet from under me, dragging me out of the stalk. I try digging the dagger into the earth, but it is merely dragged with me until the hands jerk me up and the blade is left upturned in the ground. I squirm and struggle, but nothing really works.

    Hanging upside down, caught by both ankles, I am brought face to face with Sorina. Her shoulder is slashed from when I caught her with Umbrahorn¡¯s stupid catapult move. That is the only time I drew blood from her.

    Fear lances through me; I know she will inflict the greatest pains I have ever experienced. I can see it in her eyes. Those raging emerald pearls.

    She starts playing once more.

    Then, I am let free as Umbrahorn resurfaces near us and tackles Sorina, the two of them sprawling half a crop stalk away from me. I hit the ground face first ¡ª head goes spinning. Blood matts my hair. With a shake and slap, I get back on my feet and the sounds of battle echo through the fields.

    I look towards Sorina and Umbrahorn fighting. Though Umbrahorn caught her off guard initially, it seems she has somehow put him on the backfoot.

    I look back towards the shed.

    Grimacing, I start running towards the shed.

    Wait for me Umbrahorn!

    ¡­

    Sorina:

    My hands work overtime, my dagger picking against the lute with all the speed I can muster. Umbrahorn¡¯s giant head broke a rib or two, but I¡¯ve been trained to ignore those minute pains. This spirit will not stop me.

    I fling a retinue of weapons at its circling form. The spirit hands chase after it, multiplying and dividing into smaller appendages to grasp any part of the great shark. When it surfaces to attack me, I deftly dodge and thrum a few daggers at its underbelly, pushing it further into the air and allowing my spirit hands to finally grasp it. But the beast is strong: it sheds some wood as if it is exploding, its bark flinging from it like dagger shards of its own, momentarily making the wind hands dissipate.

    Some shards hail my way, and I summon an air shield through an old romance lamentation using metered chords and some of my own whistling for once. My shield magic was never good ¡ª I always needed to supplement it with my own voice, which takes a toll on my body. Still, it works well enough to block his shards.

    The shark nearly dives underground once more. I am too fast for it. My song changes into a tune of vengeance and the spirit hands reform once more, striking into Umbrahorn and grasping it by the fins.

    ¡°Unhand me filthy spirit user!¡± Umbrahorn says.

    ¡°Listen Umbrahorn, stop protecting him. If you don¡¯t, I¡¯ll kill you too.¡±

    ¡°You have no grounds to tell a GREAT SPIRIT what to do! You filthy lesser spirit user! Now unhand me so I can bite your head off!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I have to do this then,¡± I mutter.

    Then, in the distance, the sky flashes. My playing falters slightly. Thunder rumbles, but there are no gray clouds to be seen.

    Again, another flash, this time I see it is red and furious. Thunder strikes quickly after, a loud and deafening sound. I yelp and cover my ears, dropping Umbrahorn on his back. He flops around for a moment, cursing.

    I yell over him: ¡°What was that?¡±

    When he hears me, he starts cackling like a hyena. ¡°Oh Raiten you little bastard you went for them, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    I stare at him, confused.

    Then, a stream of lighting arcs through the sky, striking me straight in the chest. My body jolts and I scream, for the pain is fiery and more intense than any pain I¡¯ve ever received in my childhood. My lute is burning. I throw it away and it cracks against the ground, sending a discordant, dying breath of a tune throughout the fields.

    My heart feels aflame. My head goes light. I fall. My eyes dim close.

    I feel like I¡¯m living a dream, and in the depths of my subconscious, that crimson lightning strike replays over and over again.

    Then, I¡¯m kicked awake by something. My eyes flutter open to see one of my own daggers pressed against my throat.

    ¡°What was it you said again?¡± Raiten asks, looming over me. I whimper. He smiles. ¡°Right: listen to me very carefully, Sorina. You¡¯re going to answer each of my questions honestly. If you don¡¯t, I¡¯m going to slit your throat.¡±

 IX: Live With Sorayvlad

    Raiten:

    It took a long while convincing Umbrahorn not to kill Sorina immediately. The wooden shark spirit was giddy with joy when I touched down from the sky, wreathed in red lightning, my sack of amulets jingling along my loins. Poor Sorina went down with one blow ¡ª though I made sure not to overdo it.

    I decided I needed answers.

    So, I held back Umbrahorn as he tried to snap her head off, and, with some thorough convincing, I got him to watch us on the sidelines as I interrogated her.

    Sorina trembles beneath me. She thinks I¡¯m to kill her. Perhaps I will. It all really depends on her answer to my first question.

    ¡°Why did you try killing me?¡± I ask. Before she can speak, I cover her mouth with one hand and raise a lightning swathed fist, for the angel dust still runs plentiful through my veins. ¡°And do not try your sound magicks ¡ª whatever they might be. I quite like my ability to hear, thank you very much.¡±

    Her eyes widen and she nods. I let go of her mouth.

    ¡°I,¡± she begins slowly. ¡°Wanted to question you.¡±

    Before I can respond, Umbrahorn interjects: ¡°for what purpose lesser spirit user?¡±

    Sorina turns to Umbrahorn, whose top half leans forward and glares at her. She returns the glare: ¡°I am not a lesser spirit user. And, aren¡¯t you quite the lesser spirit yourself?¡±

    ¡°WHAT DID YOU¨C¡±

    ¡°Umbrahorn!¡± I yell.

    ¡°WHAT?!¡± he asks, eyes full of rage.

    ¡°She¡¯s just goading you. Don¡¯t let her.¡±

    Umbrahorn¡¯s face contorts for a bit before his maw curls into a smile. ¡°Right, you¡¯re so right Raiten! I won¡¯t let this she-witch bewitch me with her witchy words. I¡¯m a great spirit ¡ª I am beyond such petty grievances.¡±

    I sigh. I am starting to dislike how talkative this shark is.

    ¡°Answer his question,¡± I continue. ¡°What was so suspicious about me?¡±

    I press my dagger closer to her neck, drawing some blood from a small cut. She grimaces and closes her eyes. ¡°Just do it,¡± she whispers.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Just get it over with already! What are you waiting for? Stop drawing it out!¡±

    She can¡¯t be serious. ¡°Does it look like I want to kill you?¡± I ask, my voice bleeding frustration. ¡°If I wanted to do that, you would¡¯ve been dead a while ago!¡±

    ¡°Well, then what does Sorayvlad even want with me?¡± she asks.

    What? ¡°What does Sorayvlad have to do with this?¡±

    ¡°You ¡ª¡± she falters. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ not from Sorayvlad?¡±

    I look at Umbrahorn. He looks at me. Together, we both give a collective groan. I rub my forehead with my fingers and sigh, drawing the dagger away from her.

    ¡°No, I am not from Sorayvlad. I¡¯m from the Adachi clan. A¨CDa¨CChi!¡± I spell it out for her. She sits up and glares at me, the nerve of her.

    ¡°The way you glared at me when I was talking to Erot ¡ª¡±

    ¡°That was because you were acting incredibly shifty yourself!¡± I answer preemptively. This whole conflict is idiotic. All because of some stupid misunderstanding. Ah what is my damn luck?

    It seems to start setting in for her now ¡ª the fact that she made such a grievous mistake.

    ¡°So what,¡± I begin, anger rising in my voice. ¡°Just because you thought I stared at you funny, you were going to kill me?¡±

    ¡°I was going to question you!¡± she flails her arms. Umbrahorn starts laughing in the corner. I ignore him. ¡°But then you started immediately attacking me and I thought that meant my suspicions were confirmed ¡ª¡±

    ¡°I attacked you because you held a dagger to my neck! This specific dagger might I add!¡± I exclaim, dangling her own dagger in front of her.

    ¡°You ¡ª¡±

    ¡°What? Me what? I did nothing to you. How am I the villain in this situation?!¡± I toss the dagger to her feet in frustration. My neck and shoulder wounds have fully closed, but my chest and feet are still ripe with pain ¡ª pain that could¡¯ve been entirely avoided had this idiot just not decided to put a dagger to my neck in the middle of the night.

    If you were more patient and just answered his questions, you could¡¯ve avoided this as well, a voice in the back of my head mutters, but I shut it up. At the end of the day, I¡¯m not in the wrong here. She¡¯s lucky no one died.

    The two of us sit in silence for a bit while Umbrahorn continues laughing.

    ¡°Humans are such fools!¡± he says by the end of his fit. I give him a glare but that only incites more raucous laughter.

    ¡°I¡­¡± Sorina begins, pushing the dagger aside. I watch her and am surprised to find her head dip low, touching the ground. ¡°Am deeply sorry. I was in the wrong. This is my mistake.¡±

    ¡®Mistake¡¯ she calls it. Quite the understatement. I feel uncomfortable with her bowing to me however, and I make a shooing motion. ¡°Raise your head. I don¡¯t like it when people bow to me,¡± I sigh. She obliges, hanging her head low and staring at her dagger.

    We are now at an awkward impasse.

    Umbrahorn rumbles underground until he bursts up next to me, kicking some debris into my face. ¡°Why do you hate Sorayvlad so much anyways?¡± he asks, sounding genuinely curious. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    She sighs and winces as she tries to stand, only for her knees to buckle. Though her wounds are minimal when compared to mine, she is still mortal. I almost feel bad for her. Almost. The robes seem to weigh heavy on her so she takes them off, revealing a tighter Sorayvian clan uniform underneath; one with dark green stripes and blue patterns. A golden tousle hangs limply at the side ¡ª a symbol I recognize.

    The pieces of this puzzle begin forming in my head.

    ¡°You used to be of Clan Sorayvlad, right?¡± I ask. She nods, rubbing her wounded shoulder gingerly. ¡°What happened to you?¡±

    ¡°It is a complicated story,¡± she warns.

    ¡°Uncomplicate it. For now, at least,¡± Umbrahorn says. He¡¯s calmed down now and his voice is a lot more clinical than prior.

    She looks between me and Umbrahorn: ¡°What do you know of clan Sorayvlad?¡±

    ¡°They are brutal. But they¡¯ve made a concerted effort to be more¡­ accommodating over the past few years. I heard they started branching out and making alliances with Western nations across Katal,¡± I say.

    She turns to Umbrahorn expectantly, but he shakes his head. ¡°Nothing. What do you expect? I¡¯m cooped in this farm all the time ¡ª all I hear about is your petty village politicking.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± she mutters. ¡°Well you got most of it right, Raiten. Sorayvlad is the Northmost clan of the five great clans and probably the most brutal of them. Most of their children, no matter what occupation they eventually choose, are always trained in their warrior ways. As for me, I was not originally born a Sorayvladian. In fact¡­ I used to be a noble of Catolica.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± I realize. So my suspicions were right. ¡°You got married off, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    She nods. ¡°I was second cousin to the princess and therefore, I had some claim to our throne. But Catolica needed warriors. So, they handed their daughters to Sorayvlad. I was nine at the time. My husband was fourteen.¡±

    Damn. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ tough,¡± Umbrahorn says, showing remarkable empathy.

    She shakes her head. ¡°It was at first. But my husband was a kind man,¡± she says fondly, her face instantly brightening upon mentioning him. ¡°He never bedded me, was quite against the marriage himself, and treated me much like a younger sister for the most part. He trained me in the ways of the Sorayvlad clan and I grew to love him, in my own way. When the Clan Shogun died, however, my husband made a bid for his position. I supported him of course.

    ¡°But¡­ his other brothers and sisters, jealous of his success, had him killed in the night,¡± she spits. ¡°Cowards.¡±

    No wonder she hates them. She¡¯s kind of like me, in that way. All rage and no thought behind it.

    ¡°I managed to get away, start a new life here. Hide my identity. But I¡¯ve always been vigilant of any clan people and I¡¯ve always slept with my lute by my bedside.¡±

    ¡°So when you saw me¡­ you thought your streak of luck ran out,¡± I mutter.

    She nods. ¡°Yet in my paranoia, I was mistaken. I am sorry.¡±

    I sit in silence, trying to unpack all the information I just learned. She stares at me, looking me up and down, as if judging me anew.

    Then, her face transforms into one of realization. ¡°You¡¯re the Thunder Watcher of Adachi, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen you before. Eight years ago, when a Sorayvladian procession passed your tower to enter your lands and negotiate some settlements with your elders,¡± she says, shaking her head and chuckling. ¡°You were so small and frail then, watching us from your tower. I felt sorry for you.¡±

    ¡°Well don¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°It doesn¡¯t do much for either of us.¡± Despite her mentioning this event, I do not remember it so clearly. It blends with all the other times processions of clans, villages, and kingdoms came to negotiate with the Adachi¡¯s.

    ¡°Why¡­ Why are you here?¡± she asks, completely ignoring what I said.

    ¡°Similar reasons to you I guess. This place is just a stopping point in my journey,¡± I say. I consider hiding my true purposes, but I figure there¡¯s no point. We¡¯re all airing out our dirty closets. ¡°When I get strong enough, I¡¯m going to venture into the Boar Ranges and kill every single elder of Clan Adachi in the Meeting of Clans.¡±

    ¡°Ah, I knew there was something with you,¡± Umbrahorn says, shaking his fin. ¡°I approve. From the sound of it, these clans sound quite troublesome.¡±

    Sorina¡¯s eyes linger on my amulet sack. ¡°I assume that¡¯s your angel dust supply.¡±

    ¡°How do you ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Our old shogun used to choke down his own version of angel dust. I think that¡¯s what killed him, actually,¡± she shakes her head. ¡°Alright. It seems we are in quite the awkward position. I have done you a great wrong and it''s not like I can take it back easily. Had you not been an immortal, you would¡¯ve been dead.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ what now?¡± I ask, chuckling slightly at the absurdity of our predicament.

    ¡°Indeed.¡± She picks up her dagger and stows it away in her belt sheath. ¡°For someone who claims to pursue such a complete vengeance, you¡¯re a lousy fighter.¡±

    My eyebrow twitches. ¡°I struck you down with lightning.¡±

    ¡°While relying on your angel dust,¡± she says. ¡°Without that, you fought more like a beast than a man. It might work against other people, but it won¡¯t work against trained warriors. Like me.¡±

    I want to argue against her, but she is right. She was beating my ass before I got the amulets. ¡°What do you suggest?¡±

    ¡°If we could all just¡­ forget about what happened here tonight, I¡¯d be more than willing to train you and help you get prepared for the Boar Ranges.¡±

    Huh. That might actually be a very good offer. ¡°Its ¨C¡±

    ¡°I refuse!¡± Umbrahorn says, huffing and turning his head away. ¡°You have not only attacked Raiten, you have also greatly insulted and harmed me, a great spirit. I get nothing from this training plan farce of yours.¡±

    Sorina is calm. ¡°What would you like in compensation then, Umbrahorn?¡±

    The hammerhead smiles: ¡°I want you to get Erot to let me off the leash. I hunger for completion.¡±

    Her eyes narrow. I do not know what to make of this so I stay silent.

    ¡°If you don¡¯t do this for me, I will tell Erot about all that transpired tonight,¡± Umbrahorn warns.

    She shrugs. ¡°It will be hard. But, I can try my best. It may take a bit though.¡±

    ¡°Swear it on your honor.¡±

    ¡°I swear on my husband¡¯s grave,¡± Sorina says solemnly, taking Umbrahorn back a step. But he nods, satisfied.

    She looks at me. ¡°What about you Raiten? What do you say?¡±

    I sigh. Then, I nod. ¡°Do not hold anything back. You are correct ¡ª I am in dire need of an education. Both physically and mentally.¡±

    Sorina claps her hands together and puts on that fake smile that she gracefully plastered in the village. ¡°Great. Now that that¡¯s settled, let¡¯s all just go back to our nights and try to steal whatever sleep we can.¡±

    And just like that, she gets up to leave. I feel bad, watching her limp away. I look at Umbrahorn.

    ¡°What?¡± he asks me.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a wood spirit? Can¡¯t you heal her?¡±

    He scoffs. ¡°And why would I do that? This wasn¡¯t part of our contract in the slightest.¡±

    Exasperated, I don¡¯t even have the will to sigh anymore. What a stupid night. What a stupid fight. Well, at least you got a mentor out of it.

    I eye Umbrahorn as he watches Sorina limp away. And you¡¯ve somehow found someone pettier than you. Congratulations.

    The angel dust runs out. I am just a stubborn immortal once more.

    The shed is far away. My wounds ache.

    ¡°Umbrahorn?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Can I hitch a ride with you back to the shed?¡±

    ¡°A ride? A ride? Please Raiten, we¡¯ve been over this. I¡¯m a great spirit, I don¡¯t just give rides out to people like some traveling caravan.¡±

    ¡°But you just¡ª¡±

    ¡°Goodnight Raiten!¡± Umbrahorn says, diving underground. ¡°I¡¯ll see you tomorrow!¡±

    Then he¡¯s off, leaving me to limp back to my shed alone.

    I sigh. I really hate that shark.

 X: Live With Horses

    ¡°What happened to you?¡± Erot asks me as he shakes me awake. His eyes are trained on the shattered shed rooftop and the mess inside my stall.

    I wince. The wounds have closed, sure. But I am shirtless, covered in a blanket of hay nettles. My loins are not bloodied thankfully ¡ª I went through the effort of washing them last night. My hair is rough though, matted with grime and blood.

    ¡°I met your spirit last night,¡± I say. A half-truth will suffice well enough.

    Surprisingly, Erot doesn¡¯t seem mad. Its as if he expected this. In fact, he seems a bit amused.

    ¡°What, did you call Umbrahorn a lesser spirit or something?¡±

    I groan, rubbing my shoulder. ¡°Something along those lines,¡± I mutter.

    Erot makes some sound halfway between a grunt and a chuckle. ¡°He¡¯s a proud one. Did he hurt you too bad or anything?¡±

    ¡°A little but I handled it. No need to punish him or anything.¡±

    ¡°He blackmail you into say that?¡±

    I chuckle. ¡°No. But it seems like something he¡¯d do.¡±

    We talk a little more as I help him clean the shed. It¡¯s a cloudy day today and rain quickly begins pattering against the rooftop, flooding into the shed. Erot and I both groan as we watch the stalls get wet and muddy.

    ¡°Horses are staying at the house stables today,¡± Erot mutters. He nudges his head outside and I follow. He hands me his black overcoat and I thank him for it, for the morning is chilly. We take to the crops near his home, and, with the help of his eldest sons Ferot and Hansel, the work begins. I knew farm work would be difficult. But¡­ the shear breadth of Erot¡¯s land meant that we had to work long hours, going from harvesting crops to weeding out invasive spirit shrooms (Ferot took a sniff of one a while ago apparently and has ever since been collecting them under his bed, according to Hansel) to sowing more seeds. I am particularly bad at the harvesting part ¡ª my impatience hinders my progress significantly.

    It is quite the humbling experience.

    Especially when I have to milk the cows and shovel some manure. Erot is all over the farm, riding his palfrey horse up and down its length to oversee his sons working their particular tasks. Even Dandy joins in, helping their shepherd lizard and dog herd the goats and black-wool sheep.

    Near midday, while I watch and learn how Dandy herds the animals, I spot some spirit fish schools dropping down from the sky and trying to nip at crops. Some succeed, for there are many of them. However, the ground rumbles near them and Umbrahorn leaps out of the dirt, snapping his jaws at the fish and catching a great many of them. His presence is a deterrence ¡ª he¡¯s the scarecrow.

    It amuses me. Why does he have such an inflated ego? He truly does seem like a lesser spirit, consigned to work a farm. I think on Sorina¡¯s negotiations with the shark spirit the night prior, shaking my head. There¡¯s something more to him that I¡¯m missing.

    Dandy hands me a stick and I throw far for the big old wyvern-lizard and the dog to chase after. She claps her hands and gives me a thumbs up, approving of my throw.

    The rumble of hooves turns my attention downfield, where Erot rides up to us. The sun is already going down. It has been a full day of labor. My muscles are sore and my mind is somewhat numb, but it is not an unpleasant feeling. I quite admire this life, despite how much my own clan might¡¯ve looked down upon it. Besides, what better preparation is there than this? In a month¡¯s time, you can eat your fill, build your strength, and then take on the Boar Ranges. You are not wasting time. You are not wasting time.

    You are wasting time you imbecile.

    Remember how they mounted her head on a pike.

    Leave this, leave this right ¡ª

    ¡°Raiten!¡± Erot says. I snap out of it and look up at him, his hand outstretched to me. I take it and he helps me up onto the back of the horse. Dandy jumps onto his lap and I feel the poor palfrey huff its annoyance. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°We¡¯re done then?¡±

    Erot chuckles. ¡°We¡¯re never done. But, for now, we are. Besides, Sorina sent a crow over. Said that you have some meeting with her¡­ something about getting acquainted with the land,¡± he says, a tint of suspicion leaking through his voice. I ignore it, giving him a nod. ¡°Do you know how to ride?¡±

    ¡°I used to handle the horses in my clan, but it''s been a while.¡±

    He nods and steps off the horse with Dandy in his arms, handing me the reins.

    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Are you sure¡ª¡±

    ¡°You might as well practice now, since you¡¯ll be meeting our beloved mayor back in Takemeadow.¡±

    I sigh. Right. That¡¯s a ride away.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go then. Bare with me though, I¡¯m rusty.¡±

    I settle into the saddle and feel the muscles of the palfrey¡¯s fanks with my thighs, hear the horse breathe. Its muscles roll as Dandy and Erot hop on once more. With a deep breath, I take the reins and start the palfrey off with a slow trot.

    It is all too familiar.

    Despite my fifteen years without these animals, controlling them is muscle memory. Back in my childhood, before even Hui was my friend, I was merely a stable boy. Horses were my only friends. Clan Adachi never really respected their horses ¡ª they much more preferred the exotic mounts, like spirits and mountain crocodiles. Horses were always ridden without care, driven to their limits by long rides. They were like me ¡ª thrown to the side. Alone. Outcasts. I think they used to know that too. When I cleaned their shoes, they nuzzled me with their muzzles and they treated me the best out of the other stable workers.

    This farm palfrey reminds me of those horses. I scratch its neck and set it to a canter, then a gallop, riding the wind down the length of the farm and back to Erot¡¯s home.

    ¡°You¡¯re a natural,¡± he yells from behind me.

    I smile.

    ¡­

    After dropping Dandy and Erot off, he allows me to ride the palfrey, named Redtail, to the village. Day wanes to night and stars blanket the sky while the clouds move further South. The air smells of meadows and flowers, fragrance and bliss. Then, as I reach the warmly lit village, the smells become those of drinks and roasted meats supplemented with sounds of laughter and music playing, furnaces burning, people talking, living.

    I enter through the walls of the village and, with some annoyance, realize I have no idea where to look for Sorina.

    So, I ride along the dirt road, past the cemetery, the garden, central square, the tavern, a few night stands with street food, some clothing and general goods shops, then the housing sector of the village. Nothing. No sign of the mayor. I ask around, hear various claims. See jealous younger men wonder why I¡¯m so keen on finding her. I ignore them.

    I turn into an alley and set Redtail by a muddied water feeder. With a yawn, I hop off the palfrey and stretch my legs.

    Something rustles above me.

    My hair stands on its ends.

    I dodge forward, rolling away on my shoulder and standing to face a robed enemy ¡ª one that had dropped down on my position. Immediately I blitz them, launching off my feet and ducking my head low.

    They throw a flying knee, one that bangs into my chin.

    I fall face first in the dirt and groan before they mount me, fists raised. My chin feels like a bag of gravel now, heavy from the pain. Yet, I have enough energy to bite the thigh of the person who mounts me.

    They yelp. It is a feminine sound.

    I recognize it.

    ¡°Sorina, what in hells are you doing?¡± I groan. She pulls down her hood and glares at me, breathing like a furious bull.

    ¡°You bit me!¡±

    ¡°You attacked me!¡± I shoot back.

    ¡°I was testing you, you idiot,¡± she says, slapping me lightly across the face. She stands and rubs some dust off her black robes, before nursing the bite mark on her loins.

    I sit up on my elbows and work my jaw.

    ¡°Quite the test,¡± I mutter. ¡°Attacking me out of nowhere when it was you who sent for me.¡±

    ¡°I was following you the entire time and you didn¡¯t notice me! High-class clan warriors can move even better than me ¡ª they have the grace of felines. How are you going to deal with the great clans if you can¡¯t even notice me?¡± she says, exasperated. ¡°You are just¡­ a feral dog. I mean, really? Biting me was your first instinct?¡±

    She is such a frustrating woman. ¡°What did you expect? For me to give up?¡±

    ¡°For you not to be so¡ª no, you know what? It''s fine. I can work with this,¡± she reasons, pacing back and forth now. Then, she snatches my wrist. ¡°We can work on your movement and eyesight later ¡ª for now, come with me. I¡¯ll teach you how to fight like a proper clan warrior.¡±

    I sigh. ¡°Whatever you say, young master Sorina.¡±

 XI: Live With Training

    Sorina¡¯s house lies dead center in the housing district, only marginally bigger than the other village residences. It comes equipped with a thatched rooftop, a chimney, and a generally cozy feeling. She drags me over to the place, with Redtail following us from behind.

    ¡°Ignore the mess,¡± she says, before kicking the door open. Sorina practically throws me in before slamming the door shut and locking it behind her. Redtail whinnies at the sudden noise, tugging slightly on my heart.

    I chuckle upon seeing her ¡®mess.¡¯ ¡°And you call me a dog.¡±

    ¡°Oh be quiet,¡± she says, stepping over the stacks of notes and papers that litter the floor. Her living room is a dusty maze of books and maps, scrolls and other literature. Some knives hang from the wall, daggers are tipping down from the ceiling like icicles, and a long-spear hangs over the snuffed out fireplace.

    If I set a spark here, this house will be aflame in moments, I realize, shaking my head. I didn¡¯t expect her to be this¡­ messy. It''s not a normal mess either: it''s a paranoid one. She deftly maneuvers around her scroll stacks and books, grabbing a few as she reaches the kitchen.

    ¡°What are you waiting for, follow me,¡± she orders, heading down her nearly invisible stairway entry in the kitchen¡¯s corner.

    I oblige.

    Down the creaky wooden steps, I enter the stone cave of a basement. Weapons and old clan mementos hang the walls. The crest of Sorayvlad, a large wind spirit fish soaring amidst a storm, hangs in tatters at the far end of the cave. Sparse lights from lamps and strange, magical looking inscriptions along the walls illuminate the room.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen this type of magic,¡± I say, pointing at the inscriptions. She gives the characters a short glance before raising an eyebrow at me.

    ¡°It''s not magic. They¡¯re runic calculus.¡±

    Runic? ¡°Like, Eldritch Runic?¡± I ask.

    She shrugs. ¡°That¡¯s a dialect of runic meant for devious things. This is much more tame, yet somehow still hard to reproduce ¡ª just ignore it for now, its not like I¡¯m training you in that¡ª¡±

    ¡°But can you?¡±

    She drops her stack of books and scrolls on a table in the middle of the basement, knocking over the blades that lay strewn over it. The metal clatters to the floor, echoing throughout the room. I wince at the noise. She does not ¡ª it is normal for her to throw things about like this it seems.

    I do not approve. So much chaos ¡ª how does one even navigate all of it?

    ¡°I can,¡± she finally answers, though she says it in such a tone that suggests she simply won¡¯t.

    ¡°Fine. What do you want to teach me today then?¡± I ask.

    She opens a scroll over all the other papers and smiles, before turning around to show me its contents.

    ¡°This!¡± she says, unfurling it fully. It is¡­ a diagram. It shows two intricately sketched figures with blank faces, both of them with incredible anatomical detail, interweaving hands with palms facing upward. Their wrists cling to each other and, as the scroll moves down, it indicates that their hands begin to move in some sort of rhythmic, circular, back and forth pattern ¡ª all while the wrists continue to cling to each other.

    ¡°What is this? Magicks?¡± I ask. She shakes her head, rolling up the scroll and tossing it to the side of the room now.

    ¡°No. This is controlled fighting ¡ª the art of sticky hands, of eternal spring.¡±

    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Which one? Sticky or eternal?¡±

    ¡°Either or,¡± she shrugs.

    ¡°I much prefer eternal spring,¡± I mutter, but she ignores me.

    ¡°Put your hands out,¡± she orders. I do as she says, trying in particular to imitate the diagram. She walks around me, fixing my stance, my arm positioning and whatnot. It is very quiet here. I can hear every breath she takes ¡ª it makes me uncomfortable. ¡°Good. Now, no matter what, keep your wrists in contact with mine.¡± The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    She stands in front of me and adopts a similar, open-palm stance to me, wrist-to wrist, elbow facing down, hands extended up. Slowly, she begins moving her arms in a circular motion and I follow, keeping my wrists attached to her wrists. It is¡­ not a type of fighting style I¡¯ve ever seen. Perhaps some secret arts of the Sorayvladian clan? Regardless, it amuses me. I think I get the idea though ¡ª she¡¯s trying to teach me patience to some degree. This is a deliberate type of martial art, slow and controlled.

    After following her through the circular motions, she ramps up her speed and occasionally feints an attack, merely showing me the movements. She¡¯s so quick at manipulating my hand positioning ¡ª I know she has trained this art extensively. One moment she¡¯s at an arm¡¯s length and the next, she presses my hand down and cuts the distance, imitating the motion of delivering a punch to my sternum with her bottom three knuckles.

    We go at this for two hours.

    By the end of it, I am sweating profusely and my arms are tired. She grants me a break after that, and I take it gladly.

    ¡°I thought you¡¯d be a worse student,¡± she says. ¡°But you¡¯re not stumbling through these drills like a buffoon.¡±

    I shrug as I take a swill of water from a large basin she keeps in the corner of her basement. ¡°I have never been properly instructed in something before. I have no qualms about throwing out whatever I thought I knew prior because well¡­ the only thing I do know is that I know nothing.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± is all she says. Then, she slaps me across the back, nearly making me choke on my drink. ¡°Back to it then. We aren¡¯t stopping until you land a proper hit on me.¡±

    With a sigh, I stand, turn my palms upwards, and get back to it.

    ¡­

    It takes another an hour before I land a clean enough hit to Sorina¡¯s shoulder for her to be satisfied. Meanwhile, during that time, she landed more than a hundred stiff blows against my body. Despite its slow drilling, this art of eternal spring, when in motion, is fast. Sorina can unleash a successive series of six vertical punches before I can throw one. It explains her proficiency with the dagger well enough.

    But I am more curious about her song magicks. Yet, I suspect that if I ask her about this, she will simply dismiss it like she did with runic calculus. I must be patient I suppose ¡ª I am only just getting to know this woman.

    ¡°Well, that should be fine enough for one day,¡± Sorina says after I land the hit. She is sweating as well, but seemingly unperturbed by the pace of our training. ¡°Tomorrow night, you will come to the village and find me before I can find you. If not, we¡¯ll do some body conditioning for you: 100 blows to the chest.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s quite a lot,¡± I groan as I wipe some sweat off my brow with the underside of my shirt.

    ¡°Oh hush now. Good dogs listen to their masters.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a dog.¡±

    ¡°You growl like one.¡±

    ¡°You ¡ª you know what? I¡¯m too tired for this. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow,¡± I say, waving a hand as I exit her basement.

    ¡°Oh do try your best. But, I think I¡¯m going to enjoy punching you tomorrow ¡ª one-hundred blows is not nearly enough for biting my thigh you¡­¡± she trails off as I leave, exiting her house. It is the dark hours of night now and the village is quiet as a mouse, save for the tinkling of wind chimes and the steady trickle of well water. Redtail is patiently awaiting me outside. I run my hand along her mane before hoisting myself up on the saddle and galloping away from the village, back to Erot¡¯s farm.

    ¡­

    For the next ten days, I fall into a routine.

    Wake up. Work the farm with Erot.

    Eat brunch late with Erot¡¯s family, thank the heavens for Alya¡¯s cooking.

    Leave Erot¡¯s farm on Redtail, make the ride to Takemeadow.

    Fail to find Sorina. Get ambushed by her. She elicits a new punishment each time I fail and my body becomes a slow mess of bruises.

    Train with her in that dingy basement. Study her old clan diagrams.

    Go back to the farm in the dead hours of night. Wake up at the crack of dawn.

    Repeat.

    Once, I ask Sorina about her song magicks. She ignores me, saying a dog should learn how to fight properly before trying anything else.

    I think I am beginning to hate her teaching methods. She is endlessly teasing, harsh, and demeaning. But, no doubt, she is effective. By day seven I am landing more hits on her. For every six punches she throws, I can match her with three of my own.

    My body strengthens. Farm food is filling and farm life is back-breaking.

    On the tenth day, when I ride into the village, I finally spot Sorina scurrying along the rooftops in her black robes. I manage to lure her into an alleyway before getting the jump on her, springing to the rooftops myself and giving her a proper scare.

    She punishes me for that still.

    I can never win with her.

 XII: Live With Memories

    ¡°Why did your clan make you Thunder Watcher?¡± Sorina asks in the middle of a sticky-hands session. Her hands swirl and she pushes forward, parrying my wrists aside and striking me in the stomach. I back up a step, and, with a defiant grunt, reset with my wrists locked to hers.

    ¡°So now we¡¯re asking personal questions?¡±

    ¡°What, are we not friends?¡± she asks dismissively. I try moving forward, but her left hand blocks me in a technique called ¡®framing¡¯. Her body is bladed and protected. I shift right to get around her frame.

    ¡°We are acquaintances,¡± I mutter, before, out of some frustration, violently bat her hand aside and strike up. It is not the purpose of this exercise, but her framing is getting the better of me. She slips the strike and reciprocates with three blows of her own, each to my solar plex. I wince before finally parrying the fourth strike with the proper hand-swirling motion. She nods her approval, before sniffing and glaring at me. ¡°What?¡± I ask, thinking she¡¯s about to chide me for my impatience.

    ¡°Acquaintances? Is that all you make of us?¡±

    I mean, yes. What do you expect? ¡°You¡¯re just filling out your end of the deal. After trying to kill me, of course.¡±

    ¡°Oh it always goes back to the ¡®you tried killing me¡¯ thing. Get over it, that was a millenia ago,¡± she says, pushing forward now. Rather than interlocking wrists, she just starts throwing a litany of vertical punches, forcing me to parry on the backfoot. My back nears the cave wall but I circle out, with her relentlessly pursuing me.

    ¡°It ¨C¡± I take a breath when she strikes my shoulder, attempting to counter only for her to parry and strike again. I slide back, trying to gain some distance. ¡°It was two weeks ago!¡±

    ¡°Oh, same thing really,¡± she says, waving her hand in a ¡®your turn to attack¡¯ motion. I waddle forward in my square stance, body strong and core tight, arms outstretched. My assault begins slowly, probingly, and she yawns while blocking my blows. ¡°Besides, what type of ¡®acquaintances¡¯ spend each and every night together, lavishing in each other¡¯s company, hmm?¡±

    My strikes ramp up. I am always told by her to go 60% in sparring while she goes 80%, mostly because of our anatomical differences. Not that I think it matters for her ¡ª her technique outweighs mine so greatly that even if I gave it more than my all, I would truly still require my amulets to beat her.

    Still, now I up my percentage to about 80%. She notices, sweat glistening off her brow. I look for any indication of disapproval, however, she merely smiles.

    ¡°Fine, I guess we are circumstantial friends,¡± I admit, because when she starts smiling, I can¡¯t help but grin like an idiot myself. I am starting to enjoy this eternal spring art more now ¡ª especially considering how much better I understand it.

    ¡°See? I knew you¡¯d come around,¡± she replies. Then, with a series of five counterblows, she strikes my liver and knocks the wind out of me, forcing me to take a kneeling position. I hate liver shots, I lament, clutching my side. She pats my shoulder. ¡°You alright?¡± I usually never stop like this, so I don¡¯t blame her concern.

    I give her a nod. ¡°Just give me a second.¡±

    She nods and sits on the center table, knocking over more maps and blades. I am used to the sound of them hitting the floor now.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t answer my question.¡±

    ¡°How about ¡ª¡± I wince and take a stand, breathing heavy. ¡°You answer mine first: what¡¯s the deal with your song magicks?¡±

    ¡°Why are you so curious about that, I wonder?¡±

    ¡°Because you used that primarily in our first fight. And because you¡¯ve been so evasive about them every time I¡¯ve asked,¡± I point out. She sighs and pats the spot on the table next to her. I take a seat there, rubbing my side-still.

    ¡°It¡¯s a bit complicated. And personal,¡± she warns.

    ¡°So is your question.¡±

    With a shrug, she begins to hug one of her knees, allowing a hefty silence to pass between us. I almost tell her not to worry about it, but then she begins speaking.

    ¡°The sound-spirits are variations of wind spirits that have great importance to the families of Catolica. My mother contracted two of them and passed on to me that contract through the medium of the lute, which she taught me how to play. She died soon after and then, a year later, I went to Sorayvlad. But I always kept on playing the lute and learning how to work with the spirits,¡± she says, speaking of them fondly. ¡°Their names were Greta and Berteca. And they were my confidants. But¡­ every since our fight, I haven¡¯t heard from them once.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Shit. Then that¡¯s probably my fault.

    She shakes her head. ¡°I always lived with this delusion that even if the lute did break, they¡¯d stick with me. But, I guess the contract only existed through that lute.¡±

    I scratch my head. ¡°Can¡¯t you¡­ buy another lute or something?¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t really work like that. The type of lute doesn¡¯t really matter ¡ª objects like that become mediums through the passage of time and by gaining particular importance to people with spiritual affinities,¡± she laments. ¡°Regardless, ever since my lute broke, I¡¯ve been searching for Greta and Berteca on my own, but I¡¯ve had no luck in finding them. I thought they might reach out to me in the villages, or even back at Erot¡¯s farm, but I¡¯ve found no trace. It''s like¡­ they abandoned me.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sorry if that¡¯s the case,¡± I say, patting her on the back. She nods, and I see her eyes welling up. Yet, rather than cry or anything of the sort, she wipes her eyes and sniffs.

    ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m sure I¡¯m being over dramatic ¡ª I¡¯ll find them eventually. I just have to keep looking.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you will.¡±

    ¡°Alright, your turn now,¡± she says, punching my arm. I kind of hate how she seems to communicate only through violence. She puts on a warm smile. ¡°Spill your trauma. Why were you the big bad Thunder Watcher of Clan Adachi?¡±

    I sigh. ¡°Do you know what a Thunder Watcher is?¡±

    She ponders my question for a moment before answering: ¡°No. Not really actually. I have heard vague rumors ¡ª nothing substantial.¡±

    ¡°The role of the Thunder Watcher in our clan is storied and old. It is inexorably tied to the Thunder Tower ¡ª an ancient, eldritch thing that stood before our clan¡¯s time,¡± I say, remembering the place that I used to call home. It is so sad in my memories now, thanks to the liveliness that Erot¡¯s farm replaces it with. ¡°The Adachi clan initially assigned someone to the tower as the Thunder Watcher to do as the title says: watch for great storms. But, as time passed on and past clan elders were blessed with angel dust, they tried it themselves only to be adversely affected by its use: most of them died after shooting off a single bolt of lightning.

    ¡°So, in their great genius,¡± I spit, ¡°the elders started experimenting with the angel dust. First, they cursed the Thunder Watcher with an Adachi binding of immortality ¡ª a wicked sort of immortality that completely prevents death at the cost of amplifying any pain the user receives and, over time, degrading the user¡¯s mental state thanks to some aspect of the curse that I am¡­ honestly not too sure about yet. I only know about that because I watched the old Thunder Watcher kill himself and ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Wait wait wait, you just said the Thunder Watcher is immortal. How did your previous one kill himself?¡±

    ¡°Right¡­ I suppose the title ¡®immortal¡¯ can be misleading. It is not true immortality ¡ª it is merely infinite longevity and near infinite regeneration. Our previous Thunder Watcher killed himself by jumping into Mt. Vordrax. Nothing of his body survived and therefore, no part of him could be regenerated.¡±

    ¡°So even you can be killed?¡± she asked.

    I nod. ¡°It probably won¡¯t need to be something as extreme as what Watcher Sadai did; if I get injured far too many times in battle, my regeneration slows down enough to the point of which I could actually just die.¡±

    ¡°That¡­ is still immensely powerful,¡± she says, scratching her chin. ¡°But I assume you dislike it because of the pain?¡±

    ¡°And I don¡¯t particularly like the idea of being an immortal. I know what that comes with ¡ª seeing all your friends pass you by, being forgotten by time only to persist living through it¡­ that is pure torture.¡± Plus, I don¡¯t want to experience whatever mental degradation happened to poor Sadai. One day he¡¯s chatting to me just fine and the next¡­ he starts rambling like a madman mid-conversation, pushing me away, screaming at me. It is hard to remember my only other friend in the clan, for I pushed him out of my head for so long ¡ª- his was the very first death I witnessed. It was after that when I met Hui Long.

    ¡°Hmm. Makes sense I suppose,¡± Sorina responds, snapping me out of my reminiscence.

    ¡°Regardless, I digress. The elders forced the Thunder Watcher to use the angel dust and so, the use of angel dust has been passed and refined by three generations of Watchers. The elders want us to refine our methods to such a point where they can use angel dust freely,¡± I shake my head, chuckling. ¡°At the end of the day, I¡¯m just a cursed experiment, now only marginally freer than I previously was because I killed one of the elders. However, the other four apparently retain some control over my curse, so to be fully free, I must kill all of them.¡±

    ¡°And they are in the Boar Ranges now?¡±

    ¡°Exactly.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Your situation is a complicated one. But, how did you become Thunder Watcher in the first place? You still haven¡¯t answered that question for me.¡±

    Something drips from the cave ceiling.

    My mouth makes a thin line before I take a deep breath in.

    She told you her story. You might as well tell her yours.

    So, I do. In full. I don¡¯t know why. But, I just do.

    I tell her of my childhood, the hate the Clan held for my bastardized lineage. The hate they held for my mother. I tell her of Hui Long, of her heroism against the war monkeys, of our misadventures. I tell her of our final escapade, of how I sacrificed myself to grant her a getaway steed. It is like a flood breaking through a dam; I can¡¯t stop myself from talking. This is the first time it''s all come out to someone. Sorina listens quietly for the most part. I tell her about the judgement rink ¡ª of how they kill my mother before my eyes. I tell her about some of my years in the Tower. How Kai and his soldiers would deliver the amulets from a distance, staying just outside the domain to keep me isolated. How I would only interact with visiting travelers, peddlers, clan processions, and strangers. I tell of the eldritch wolves, half-giants, the stone boars, the bloody ravens and all the other beasts that attacked me, ripped at my guts. The ones that I killed easily.

    I tell her of my reunion and fight with Hui Long. I leave out my jealousy and envy for her partner.

    I tell her how I took Hikaru¡¯s hands.

    After that, I tell her again of how my mother died.

    And again.

    And again.

    I can¡¯t stop myself from describing it.

    The details get more visceral each time.

    My chest heaves.

    My voice cracks.

    And, in that damp little basement, like a child, I weep.

    I turn away from her, hugging myself, wiping away the tears with my clothes.

    Gently, Sorina tugs my shoulder with her hand, turning me around. She makes cooing sounds, like a mother, and I hug her and cry into her shoulder.

    I don¡¯t feel like a man anymore.

    What men do this? What men weep like this?

    You shouldn¡¯t be here. You are wasting your time. This does nothing for you.

    You must kill every last one of them.

    Yet at the end of the day, I am here.

    I am wasting my time.

    And I don¡¯t know why.

    The only thing I do know is that it feels good to let it all out. It feels good to let Sorina wrap her arms around me and pat my head. She sings a song that I don¡¯t remember, but it sounds like a lullaby.

    We stay like that for what seems eons.

    Eventually, at some point in time, I fall asleep in her lap.

    And, for the first time in a long while, I do not dream.

 XIII: Interlude

    Hui Long:

    Snow crunches underfoot. I follow a trail of blood up the mountainside. The white cougar and war monkey hide from me, licking their wounds. It¡¯s been a game of cat and mouse with this duo for a while now. They keep running. The monkey knows the terrain better than us, so they are able to hide within the folds of this forest. I struck the cougar once last night, when it issued an attack on our camp. Now, the trail goes cold near a small stream, bending around a cave entrance.

    Gareth sniffs the air. Snarls. ¡°They are close.¡±

    His hands grip those bearded axes of his; he always goes to them when he¡¯s antsy.

    My hand goes to the scaled grip of the Dragon Blade, feeling the familiar grooves imprinted by my fingers. It has been my most constant friend ¡ª unwavering, unstoppable. Raiten used to be your friend too, a voice whispers inside my head. Ever since my homecoming, that voice has been pestering me. Tormenting me.

    ¡®What did you do?¡¯ Raiten had asked me. And, for that, I could not give him a valid response. How could I explain to him how I never had a true moment of respite? How as soon as I was out of the clan, my life became a hellish grind through the machines of war?

    Even still, I am to blame.

    ¡°Stay vigilant Hui, it is upon us!¡± Gareth says. But I am distracted

    From the treeline, something shuffles in the brush. We turn to it, Gareth readying his axes, me thumbing the nodachi out of its scabbard.

    A white rabbit hops from the brush.

    Gareth sighs.

    I feel my hair rise. Something breathes ever so slightly above me ¡ª my wind spirit intuition confirms so.

    With a singular, fluid motion, I draw my blade and curve it upwards, invoking the dragon of ice to emerge from the steel and swim towards the sky, jaws snapping.

    Gareth looks at me. ¡°What¡ª¡°

    The war monkey and cougar fall in pieces around us, blood spraying like rain, velvet death on white snow. Gareth grimaces as my ice dragon comes back to me, gnashing its bloodied teeth. I run my hand along its slippery jaw before allowing it to re-merge with the blade.

    ¡°Tricky bastard was above us,¡± Gareth mutters, looking at the half eaten body of the War Monkey, this one tall and fur a mix of orange and white, eyes red. It still clutches the hammer it wielded against the villagers it terrorized.

    With a mild chuckle, I say, ¡°Now it¡¯s all around us.¡±

    Gareth only nods. Then, like a finale to the blood shower, snowflakes pelt down slowly from the sky.

    My breath frosts. It will be an early winter then. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go then,¡± I say nudging my head. Gareth nods, bending down to the half-bitten upper body of the monkey and starts sawing off one of its hands. I stare at him incredulously.

    ¡°What? We need proof right. Besides, look!¡± He smiles in a way that tells me he¡¯s about to say something stupid. With a grunt of effort, he rips the arm off with a crunching noise, halfway through the cut. Flailing it around, he says ¡°it¡¯s a monkey¡¯s paw.¡±

    I sigh and grant him a small smile. I know what he''s trying to do¡ª what he¡¯s been trying to do ever since he saw me after my fight with Raiten. That was the first time he ever saw me as truly¡­ vulnerable. Weak. I don¡¯t know how I feel about that still. But Gareth is good, has always been good. He is the other constant in my life, my second eternal blade.

    And I love him for it.

    ¡­

    In the far distance looms the Boar Ranges. Tall and snow-capped, like shards of ice sprouting from the world itself, they are my next destination. I look to them even now, past the smiling faces of the villagers.

    ¡°You have done us a great service, Spirit Child. We will not forget this,¡± their elderly mayor tells us. I accept her hand with a gracious smile, as I¡¯ve done many times before with countless other village heads, town chiefs, kings and emperors. I have constructed a routine mask of heroism over the last decade, and I understand what people want. They want to believe in something. Something beyond them ¡ª some force of ultimate light against the overbearing dark. I am not that. Yet, the least I can do, is fake it for them. So I accept their thanks, politely refuse their gifts, and, along with Gareth, head on to my next destination.

    We make our way through the open valley, where winter hillocks make way for the last dregs of summer bliss. The air may be cold, but the sun shines bright and high on this cloudless day. We pass by another village, this one by the rock-toothed coast.

    Gareth insists we stop for food. I oblige and we end up sitting at a street vendor, who stirs something rich with the scent of seafood in his cozy little kitchen, open for customers to watch while waiting in the stand. The booth itself gives a clear view of the pier, where fishermen navigate their boats past the rock-sharded coast and into deeper waters. Apparently, Netsreach was hit with a tsunami recently, so half of the village is actively being rebuilt and the pier is in tatters. But the fishermen find a way, as they always seem to do.

    It is a good village, with good people.

    ¡°What¡¯s on your mind?¡± Gareth asks. He speaks in his native language for once; the harsh syllables of Bulberish startle me. It has been a while since I¡¯ve heard it.

    ¡°I am wondering how we can find Basilbane,¡± I respond in shoddy Bulberish.

    He nods solemnly. ¡°I have been tracking his scent, but he¡¯s a hard one to follow. It diverges, branches off near the ranges. So¡­¡±

    ¡°Regardless, we must head South then,¡± I surmise. He nods. Looking beyond the coast, the ocean stretches endlessly against the sky, the two planes converging in a thin line in the distant horizon. I wonder what lands lie beyond our quarrels. Do they deal with bastards and beasts like we do?

    Sometimes, I wish I was beyond this. I wish I could be in those lands, where the only quarrel is of barley and grain, not of magicks and giants. Snakes and dragons.

    Old friends wielding red lightning.

    I shake my head. This line of thinking gets me nowhere. Move on. Focus.

    After all, you have to avenge your allies. Find this giant.

    So, when the food comes, I eat well and good. I challenge Gareth to an eating race. I win, but I think he lets me. Still, when I slam the bowl down and wipe the stew from my mouth, I feel renewed. A giddiness takes me like never before ¡ª and when I look to the Boar Ranges once more, it is not with dread, but with determination.

    ¡°I¡¯m coming Basilbane,¡± I whisper. ¡°And I¡¯ll take your head.¡±

 XIV: Interlude II

    Erot:

    My routine has been pretty consistent for the past few years. Wake up at the crack of dawn to the cawing of some rooster and bawling of spirit whales passing high above my fields. Take to the horses and brush them, feed the livestock, tend the crops, do a weekly-field check, then update the logbook. Its not as glamorous as my¡­ previous life was. Yet, it works. Its enough.

    It''s been enough for twenty-five years. Honestly, I wonder at times why I haven¡¯t gone mad. Then, Dandy or Ferot or lil Jack comes and falls on their face in the mud, or kicks a chicken and sets the whole flock hounding after them and that makes me smile. Its always the children that have pulled me back. Yet, they are getting older. As am I.

    I am growing weaker.

    I hate that.

    My bones creak and crack like the bent-up wood shed at the outskirts of our farm. Sometimes, when I bend down to rip out a crop, my leg buckles and I crumble to the dirt, panting like a mut. It''s humiliating. I am glad none of the children see me like this.

    Once, however, someone does see me in that vulnerable state.

    As I bend down to grasp the soft hair of a blossom-berry, my leg rumbles something fierce and I yelp in pain. A hand steadies from falling.

    ¡°You alright Erot?¡± the voice asks. I sigh, thanking the heavens that its not the little ones.

    ¡°Raiten¨C I¡¯m fine, just give me a second,¡± I say, steadying myself by flapping my arms about. However, instead of letting me be, Raiten hooks his arms under my pits and hoists me up. I grunt, shooing him off and dusting the dirt off my loins. ¡°You¡¯re too kind for yer own good.¡±

    Raiten chuckles at this. ¡°I think this is the first time anyone has described me as, ¡®too kind.¡¯¡±

    I raise an eyebrow at the lad. He has a strong look about him now; some muscle on those bones of his and his hair is no longer wild and wiley, but cut clean and sharp, kept long but manageable. He looks more the part of a warrior than a farmer. I knew who he was the moment I saw him ¡ª the type of man he was at least. I could see it in his eyes.

    Those hungry, haunted irises.

    ¡°You sure you alright Erot?¡± Raiten asks, waving a hand in front of my face. I snap out of my trance and stand to my full height, stretching out.

    ¡°Ye, don¡¯t mind me lad. Just lost in my thoughts, is all.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. I see. Well, I¡¯ll be off now ¡ª if I¡¯m late, your Dandy will sick her lizard on me.¡± He spins on his heels to head off, hopping on Redtail. Right. No wonder he found me. I let him take riding duties today. When did I become so forgetful? I hold my head, as if doing that would preserve whatever memories yet remain in this useless noggin.

    Before Raiten can canter off I call out to him: ¡°Raiten!¡±

    He turns back to me, patiently awaiting my answer. But, I have lost my train of thought once more. It was on the tip of my tongue too¡­ something important. I struggle to stammer out the words before, giving him a grunt and just saying, ¡°Yer a good lad Raiten. That¡¯s all I wanted to tell you.¡± Though it wasn¡¯t what I originally meant to say, I truly do mean it. He has been a tremendous help on the farm for the past few weeks and he has been a good friend of the children. The only thing I dislike about the young man are his nightly visits to good old mayor Sorina. Crazy witch.

    Raiten looks mildly shocked by my words. However, once he seems to process them, he gives me a little bow and rides off into the fields.

    ¡­

    Dandy:

    The sun hangs low when Raiten finally arrives. I blow my tongue at him out of spite. Lizzy has gotten too attached to him over the past few days. Without Raiten, the shepherd lizard refuses to do its job. That¡¯s what I get for tending to the lizard for the past five years, all on my own. As soon as he sees someone new, Lizzy clings to him like a spurned lover from one of Mama¡¯s novels. It''s so annoying! You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    ¡°Sorry Dandy, sorry. I get held up by Hansel and Ferot,¡± he says, but I won¡¯t hear any of it. I give him a loud and sufficiently dramatic HMPH! Before turning my back to him. Who does he think he is, keeping me waiting? ¡°I can see that you¡¯re angry with me. But¡­¡±

    Something flashes in front of me, a glint of metal catching the golden sunlight. Raiten dangles a flower blade ¡ª I squeal in excitement.

    ¡°Give me!¡± I say, jumping up to grasp it. I nearly snatch the dagger by the blade itself before Raiten expertly pulls it away. I whimper. ¡°Come on Raiten! You know how much I¡¯ve wanted this thing.¡±

    He strolls in front of me and bends down to my level first. Then, with a wicked smile, Raiten grabs the flower-wreathed handle of the blade and holds it even higher.

    ¡°A few ground rules Dandy: don¡¯t point it at anyone you like, don¡¯t play with it too recklessly, and for the love of all the Clans and their wretched elders, do not grab the dagger by the blade!¡±

    ¡°All right, all right!¡± I hold my hands out placatingly. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    He sighs. Then, he hands the blade over to me. The metal is slick, the petals are soft and red and blue and oh so beautiful. And the spine of the blade hums with a deep, ethereal energy. Mama used to read me tales about flower blades and their power. I always wanted to buy one from the market, yet Erot wouldn¡¯t let me.

    And now I hold one in the palm of my hands.

    ¡°Teach me!¡± I ask Raiten, bending low and bowing like they do in those books.

    Raiten chuckles. ¡°You don¡¯t want me as a teacher Dandy. That would be the blind leading the blind. Seriously. I¡¯ll try and find you a teacher. For now, just learn how to handle the blade carefully. And¡­ safely.¡±

    With a grin, I hold the blade out to Raiten. He backs up, grimacing.

    ¡°What¡¯s rule number one Dandy?¡±

    ¡°You said don¡¯t point it at people you like! I hate you right now Raiten!¡±

    ¡°But, I just got you the dagger and everything ¨C¡±

    ¡°You were late!¡± I yell, giving my best warcry. And so, rather than herding the sheep back into their pens, I spend the evening chasing Raiten with a dagger and yelling, all while his laugh bubbled throughout the fields.

    ¡­

    The Boy:

    Walk ¡ª walk ¡ª walk ¡ª walk, walking through the streets. Mother dead, gone, destroyed, rotting in the gloom. Father alive ¡ª alive ¡ª alive ¡ª then dead, scarlet line across his throat, hand clutching a dagger.

    Foot ¡ª foot ¡ª foot ¡ª foot, blistered and boiling, black and bubbling. Puss and blood leaking.

    Break break break break break again once more.

    They ¡ª they ¡ª they watch and they watch and they wander and wonder who I am but they do not know.

    Not yet.

    Run ¡ª run ¡ª run ¡ª run ¡ª run I tell them, run! Yet my mouth does not move. Meadow, dead zone, warlord, hero ¡ª disparate thoughts race and plague.

    March march march march marching up and down again.

    There¡¯s no cure for the sick.

    Blood slick, fog head, eye falls out, socket pusses and bleeds, they look and watch and see me now, understand me now, and I smile at them for they have finally understood the marching and the walking, the running the dead the fields of bodies I have seen oh I have seen it all, twelve years of bliss and one year of ultimate beautiful pain.

    And now they shall know it too.

    After all, there¡¯s no cure.

    ¡­

    The Girl:

    I am trying to juggle oranges when I see the boy. His clothes are brown, ratty, and torn. His hair is a mat of grease and dirt, blood and dried sweat. I sniff the air and close my nose with my hands, backing away, taking cover from the assaulting scent behind my stall.

    ¡°Hey! Go away!¡± I yell, tossing an orange at him. It hits him in the shoulder, and, to my surprise, completely knocks him over. Damn! I get up and over my stall, running to the boy. Mother and father will kill me for this. They have gone to talk with the other stall owners in Takemeadow, as they always do on early mornings like these.

    ¡°Sorry! Sorry, you alright?¡± I ask as I approach. Then, when I stand over him, I can¡¯t help but cover my mouth.

    His body is wrought with black sores, bumps and puss leaking from his arms. Yellow boils on his face. One particularly obtrusive boil has colonized his left eye socket.

    I back away, breath quickening.

    But he clutches my leg. Tripping, I let out a scream.

    His mouth moves.

    I can barely hear him.

    Then, he too begins to yell: ¡°March! March! March! Mad mad mad mad I am not mad for I have seen it and so shall you!¡± His grip tightens and he points with his other finger. ¡°And so shall you!¡±

 XV: Live With Rot

    Raiten:

    ¡°I think you¡¯ve graduated from the art of Eternal Spring,¡± Sorina says. I look up at her, confused. She had just knocked me flat on my ass for the millionth time, and to be honest, I was starting to get tired of it.

    I gesture to myself. ¡°You call this a graduation?¡±

    ¡°Trust me. You¡¯re good enough to match my six strikes with six of your own now. That should be more than enough to match other clan members in this particular art. However¡­ we should move on now,¡± Sorina concludes, extending her hand to me. I grasp it and she pulls me up, into her shoulder. She brings me uncomfortably close, not letting go of my head.

    ¡°What are you doing¡ª¡±

    Without warning, Sorina grabs my upper neck with her hands, interlocking her fingers. Then, I feel a sharp pain in my stomach and I am downed once more. I didn¡¯t even see what hit me ¡ª those are the blows that hurt the most.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be starting a new art today,¡± Sorina says. As I try to stand up off my stomach, she sits on my back and crosses her legs, bearing her weight on me. I grimace. She giggles a little. ¡°Today we begin learning the art of Iron Winter. I have no diagrams for this, but they are not necessary.¡±

    I try to sit straight. She responds by yanking my hair and pushing my head down.

    ¡°Why?¡± is all I can ask.

    ¡°100 pushups. Now. On my count. Ready?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Great. Down!¡±

    I go down, then up. She clicks her tongue. ¡°On my count Raiten, not yours. Did I say up?¡±

    I don¡¯t respond. She smacks me behind the ear. I want to kill this woman. She has never been this abusive.

    ¡°Answer me.¡±

    ¡°No, you did not say up Master.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right!¡± she exclaims. I can hear her smile. She pats the side of my head. ¡°I¡¯m glad my dog¡¯s ears still work.¡±

    ¡°Sorina?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t push it.¡±

    ¡°Right. Understand this Raiten: Eternal Spring is a graceful art. Iron Winter is not. It requires immense conditioning and strength, both of body and mind. I will be merciless. So, start over Raiten. On my count, you understand?¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡±

    ¡­

    Fifty-six push-ups later, a knock comes from Sorina¡¯s front door. I expected some interruptions today so I am not so annoyed. After all, for once I am training with her in the morning rather than the darkest hours of night ¡ª thanks to Erot letting me off early.

    Sorina seems annoyed though. She huffs and stands up, before yanking my hair once more. ¡°Keep going,¡± she whispers. I nod and start doing pushups on my own. Then, as Sorina goes upstairs, she sighs, comes back down, and drops a heavy ton of books on my back.

    ¡°However many you just did, redo them.¡±

    ¡°All right,¡± I groan. What I truly meant to say was ¡®Go kill yourself¡¯ but she was gone before I could correct that mistake. In all honesty, I am curious about how Sorina conducts herself as mayor. That is a side of her I have never seen. But¡­ I¡¯m sure she¡¯d do fine. In addition to training me in the Eternal Spring art and stealth, Sorina has answered any questions I¡¯ve had about Katal and its storied history, lore, and magicks. Well, besides runic calculus. Regardless, she seems to be a knowledgeable person: she should be more than capable of running a small village like this. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    I go down, annoyed that the weight of the books is somehow more than Sorina¡¯s body weight. I consider telling her this but figure that mentioning anything about a woman¡¯s weight is a recipe for death.

    Movement above me. Sorina and her visitor talk loudly. They sound panicked.

    I stop my pushups and try listening in. Nothing. The cave walls are too thick in this dungeon-like basement.

    I don¡¯t have to wait long. Sorina comes running down the steps, eyes downcast and intense. She pushes the books off my back and helps me stand.

    ¡°Training can wait a bit. We have an issue.¡±

    I wipe some sweat off with a towel on one of her benches. ¡°What kind of issue?¡±

    Her mouth makes a thin line. ¡°It''s better if I just show you.¡±

    ¡­

    ¡°What in the name of ¡ª¡± I can¡¯t even bring myself to finish the sentence. The poor boy¡¯s body is a rotting mess of boils and puss and blood. His corpse smells like spoiled milk and bad eggs. I cover my nose. We are in the village doctor¡¯s small cabin. He is a young man, handsome and perpetually weary. Especially today. He gives me a look of exasperation.

    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know what to do,¡± Lucian says. ¡°I have never seen anything like this.¡±

    I don¡¯t blame the man. This is probably the most intense case he¡¯s seen in years. Sorina pats Lucian on the shoulder and gives me a nod. ¡°A stall-girl found him at the back end of the village. Poor boy marched past our slumbering guards and fell right in front of her. Gave her a proper scare.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s the girl?¡± I ask.

    ¡°She¡¯s in the waiting room. Came straight to me carrying the boy. Said he was ¡®light,¡¯¡± Lucian says.

    I am tempted to touch the boy¡¯s boils. I don¡¯t know why I feel this compulsion ¡ªperhaps it is some sickly curiosity. Before I can reach within an inch of him, however, Sorina snatches my hand.

    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± she warns.

    ¡°Right. Sorry,¡± I say, stepping back. Lucian puts his head in his hands. He starts muttering. Sorina and I share a glance. ¡°Lucian. What is it?¡±

    ¡°I think¡­ I fear it might be plague.¡±

    Plague? Fear lances up my spine. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we¡­ leave?¡± I ask, looking at the door. Lucian shakes his head, muttering some more.

    Sorina places a calming hand on his shoulder once more, trying her best to soothe him. She¡¯s quite good at that. ¡°Lucian, if it''s a plague, are we not in danger by sharing this room with him?¡±

    ¡°No, no I¡¯ve seen this before. Once. It''s not airborne. It spreads by touch. By saliva and liquids. By¡­ flesh.¡±

    I subconsciously back away from the boy, standing close to the two of them. The lamp light hanging above us flickers. What once seemed a cozy doctor¡¯s cabin now feels like a house of horror.

    ¡°Did you touch him, Lucian?¡± Sorina asks.

    Lucian shakes his head, raising his gloved hands. ¡°Didn¡¯t want to risk it.¡± I shiver. Then, a thought occurs to me.

    The girl! ¡°Lucian, where is the girl that brought him?¡±

    Sorina¡¯s eyes widen at that and she forgoes her gentleness, shaking Lucian. ¡°Lucian! Answer him.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s ¡ª she¡¯s in the waiting room. I told her to stay there.¡±

    I tell Sorina to wait with Lucian and I run to the small waiting room at the entrance of the cabin. But, there¡¯s no one there: just a knocked-over chair and a wide-hanging open door.

    I pump my legs, sprinting out in the streets. The village is out in full force: people are shopping, roaming, perusing, and exposing themselves to this new evil. My eyes hunt for the girl as I push past a trading caravan, nearly getting trampled by a group of horse riders. Nothing. The sun hangs high. It shouldn¡¯t have been hard to see her. I ask around for any sign of the girl.

    ¡°You mean Faith? I saw her limping towards the Southern gate. Poor girl probably got hurt while playing. I think she¡¯s going back home,¡± one melon vendor says. I thank him and take to the rooftops, running and jumping across balconies, sliding on tiles, doing my damndest to make it to the gate.

    I don¡¯t really have a plan in mind. I just know I have to stop her from touching anyone else.

    I am too late.

    When I reach the Southern gate, I spot a blond-haired girl splayed out on the porch of a low-wooden house. An older man holds her in his arms, looking panicked.

    I run to them and shout: ¡°Let her go!¡±

    He looks at me and some deep, parental anger strikes up. His eyes light like fury. I skid to a halt and raise my hands. ¡°She¡¯s sick!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s my daughter!¡± the man yells. His voice is shrill. I look at the girl; she seems normal enough. But¡­ she¡¯s passed out cold. Perhaps the plague is just now sinking its fangs into her.

    A thought occurs to me.

    How many people did she encounter on the way here?

    I look to the open Southern gates, letting a steady flow of people in and out of Takemeadow. Traders. Families. Children.

    I look to the distressed father, weeping now as he shakes his pale daughter, grasping her bare arms.

    I can¡¯t stop this. It''s already underway.

    It is a sinking realization. One made worse by the darkening sky and the steady patter of rain that begins hailing forth.

    Lightning flashes.

    My little world is about to come to an end.

 XVI: Live With Lunacy

    ¡°I¡¯m closing the gates,¡± Sorina tells the crowd gathered in the Town Hall, a large, open-air pen in the Western part of Takemeadow, near the watchtower. Most of the villagers are gathered together thanks to the frantic ringing of the bells that occurred in the late eve.

    I sit on the steps of the podium, holding my head in my hands. A headache berates me. It has been quite the day.

    The villagers murmur amongst themselves. One young man steps forth from the crowd, youthful indignance on full display.

    ¡°My family has a trade deal coming up with Forgecrest. Are we just supposed to sit here and forget that? The money we will earn should feed us through the winter,¡± he says.

    ¡°Yah, what about our trade lines?¡± another woman speaks up.

    ¡°Our farms?¡±

    ¡°Our children? My son is out in Netsreach!¡±

    A chorus of voices rises in protest, spitting out different complaints. All valid. All useless.

    Sorina raises her hands and tries to quiet the villagers down. It doesn¡¯t particularly work. ¡°Listen! I understand there will be some major concerns! But we cannot allow this plague to spread further than it already has. We must follow in the footsteps of Havenmarch ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Havenmarch? Isn¡¯t it their fault in the first place that the plague has reached us? Didn¡¯t they also follow an isolation protocol?¡± The same young man at the front of the crowd asks.

    Others yell their agreement.

    Sorina sighs. The only good thing about this procession is that she was able to tell them that the plague spreads via touch, so now, the villagers stand a good distance apart from each other. Not that it matters. I think it''s already spread. Who knows how many of these poor bastards have been touched by the girl? The boy?

    ¡°Why did you not close the gates earlier? Why are we responding to this so late? Surely, some news from Havenmarch must¡¯ve reached you Sorina,¡± the young man says, eyes casting over both Sorina and me. He focuses on me and spits. ¡°Unless you were too busy coveting your lover like you¡¯ve done every evening.¡±

    Ah, so it''s petty jealousy then? I sigh. This will get us nowhere. What a wild and baseless accusation to level at us ¡ª he must¡¯ve seen me visiting her nightly and assumed the wrong thing. I look at Sorina. She looks livid ¡ª as if she¡¯s about to kill the young lad. He smiles at her reaction.

    He reminds me of myself to be honest. Did I look like that to Hui and Gareth? The thought sickens me.

    Lucian whispers something behind Sorina. She nods and lets him take the stand. He seems a little more composed than before ¡ª poor man started blaming himself for letting the girl escape. I think it does not matter ¡ª the boy probably got his hands on others as well. And¡­ who knows what other plague-bearers came from Havenmarch or other villages. This thing¡­ it is a dark hand that casts itself over the valley, unending and relentless. How do you fight something like that?

    Lucian clears his throat. The villagers quiet down a little. They seem to respect their village doctor a great deal. Well, it''s not as if they didn¡¯t respect Sorina before this ¡ª they probably just needed some scapegoat.

    ¡°Listen. Tensions are high. But, I can tell you all one thing: I have seen this plague before, in my youth. When I grew up in Grettleburg, the city-state neighboring Catolica, we were struck with the very same plague of boils and skin rot. It took my mother. Made me want to become a doctor. Eventually, it passed. But only when our local runic mage made a deal with the witch who dealt the plague.¡±

    What? ¡°This is a witch plague?¡± I whisper to myself. The other villagers seem equally as confused.

    ¡°Though the plague may have already spread beyond our walls, we must isolate ourselves. Certain people affected by this plague are¡­ transformed to a degree,¡± he shudders when saying that. ¡°It is dangerous if we let anyone here leave. Please,¡± he gets on his knees now and clasps his hands together. Some of the villagers gasp at this. ¡°I¡¯m begging you. Stay inside your homes. Belay your dealings and trade ¡ª put a hold on your lives, until we can find a way to fix this.¡±

    I look past Lucian now, eyes roving the horizon and the planes beyond our village. In the distance, I can barely make out the outlines of mountains. The Boar Ranges. No doubt the clan procession has already started. I cannot be confined here and now; I must find a way out.

    The plague cannot be my problem. This is a tragedy to be sure, but I am no gallivanting hero to save these people. I must put my goals first. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    The headache clears slightly. Some sense of purpose is restored within me.

    The procession ends soon after, with the villagers huddling into their homes, locking their doors shut, and night watchmen perusing the streets to enforce the curfew. The streets go quiet, except for the flicker of torchlight.

    Sorina, Lucian, and I stay in the Town Hall pen, silently watching the clouds clear for starlight and a half-moon¡¯s radiance.

    ¡°So¡­ what now?¡± Sorina asks.

    ¡°What now indeed,¡± Lucian parrots, taking a seat awfully close to me. I shift a little.

    ¡°Surely, there must be some way to deal with this other than just waiting it out. Right? I mean, you said it yourself Lucian. Some mage had dealings with the witch that dealt this plague in Grettleburg. Can we not do the same?¡± Sorina asks.

    ¡°It''s¡­ not that simple,¡± he mutters in response. ¡°First, we must have a way to find this witch. And I know of no such way. Even if we did find her, what would we do? Kill her? Would that cure us of the plague? Or, would it ensure its eternal pervasion? There is no right answer because we don¡¯t know. Trust me. I¡¯ve wanted to find this witch for years. She¡¯s the one who caused the collapse of my hometown, the death of my family. But I have not found a way to do so.¡±

    There has to be some way of tracking her. Some form of magicks or something. Not that it concerns me; I should be off at midnight. Sorina¡¯s expression is hard now. She must know of the troubles to come. Having a plague hit Takemeadow this close to winter does not bode well ¡ª she¡¯ll have to work quite a few miracles to keep her village alive. I feel bad for her, but it is not my place.

    ¡°Get some sleep,¡± I tell them. ¡°We¡¯ll have a long and terrible few days coming our way.¡±

    ¡­

    Sorina offers me to sleep in her basement. I politely decline, citing the unsavory rumors that would go around about us. She does not take this well, slamming the door on my face. I shrug. It must be frustrating for her to deal with this. She probably needs some time. And anyway, she won¡¯t have to worry about me much longer.

    I skip across the rooftops and leap over the village walls, quiet as a mouse. No one spots me.

    The night is ethereal. Stars and moonlight guide me back to Erot¡¯s farm. I should¡¯ve taken Redtail today. I think as my legs start to sore after an hour of jogging. In the morning, I had hitched a ride with a traveling caravan to Takemeadow rather than taking the palfrey, mostly because Erot said he needed the horse for the day. I was hoping that Sorina would give me a ride back tonight, but obviously, our circumstances changed.

    I thought about what to do as I made the run. At first, I planned to steal Redtail and head straight for the Boar Ranges. However, even I am not that selfish: I must tell Erot of my plans and warn him of the impending plague. Hopefully, he won¡¯t begrudge my decision.

    As I approach those rolling fields of crop and barley, spirit berry and white cherry, I hear a scream echo out into the eve. It is a monstrous screech that grates on my ears.

    Is the farm being invaded? I cut through the fields and clutch onto the amulet sack jingling on my belt; should things get nasty, I might have to use angel dust here. As I leap over another fence and trample some barley, the screaming intensifies. It comes directly from the house.

    The front door nears. The side windows are shattered. I brace myself and rear my shoulder back before slamming it through the door, cracking its hinges, stumbling into the entrance of the house. In the dining room, Alya and her kids are huddled together at the far end of the table. Lizzy stalks across the table. What in the hells ¡ª

    The shepherd lizard is dripping blood from its maw. In the corner of the room, I see the mangled corpse of the shepherd dog. Boiled over, rotting. Lizzy is too; she¡¯s got puss leaking from the scales, boils on her nose, and a savagery in her eyes.

    The plague got her.

    And she¡¯s closing in on Erot¡¯s family.

    I yell out a roar to grab the lizard¡¯s attention. It turns to me, teeth gnashing, tongue flicking out. Hissing. I am tempted to crush an amulet, but I don¡¯t want my lightning to endanger Alya and the kids. So, I grab a chair as Lizzy charges across the table, knocking over dishes and glasses, tearing up the white tablecloth with her claws. When she leaps for me, I swing the chair up and it shatters against the lizard, throwing it over my head, wood raining down, splinters biting into my skin.

    Lizzy lands across from us, near the stairwell.

    Before I can attack it further, Erot storms in from the doorway, pitchfork in hand. He raises the tri-pronged tool and spears Lizzy in the stomach, holding her against the stairs. The poor lizard dies slowly and dies loud, making hissing noises. I can¡¯t help but remember its innocence ¡ª the way it used to chase Dandy and me around the fields.

    Finally, the noises stop.

    Erot looks at me, panting. He must¡¯ve made a run here too, once he heard the screams.

    ¡°Dandy? Dandy!¡± Alya yells. I look across the table, to see the children backing away as Alya shakes an unconscious Dandy.

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch her!¡± I yell. Alya doesn¡¯t listen. I look at Ferot and Hansel. The two of them look like they¡¯ve pissed themselves ¡ª and they look ashamed, poor lads. It probably fell on them to protect everyone else. They must think they¡¯ve failed.

    ¡°What happened?¡± I ask.

    ¡°We don¡¯t know, Bernard just started acting all strange, and then he grew those boils and his skin started rotting. So Dandy took him to the house and Lizzy followed and¡ª and¡ª¡± Hansel stammers out.

    I cut him off: ¡°Did anyone besides Dandy touch Lizzy and Bernard? Has anyone touched Dandy since then?¡±

    ¡°Why? Raiten why? What¡¯s happening to my daughter?¡± Alya asks. Erot clasps his hand on my shoulder and pulls me back slightly.

    ¡°It''s a plague,¡± I whisper to him. ¡°Plague has come to Takemeadow. And it''s come to your farm.¡±

    He looks at me, eyes wide. Then he looks at Dandy and Alya and all the other children, some weeping, others shaking and shivering, terrified.

    ¡°No¡­¡± he says. But he knows just as well as I do: we were too late.

 XVII: Live With Witchcraft

    Erot¡¯s family quarantine themselves to their rooms, with Erot promising to deliver whatever essentials they might need. They have it a little easier, considering their large food storage. Still, it is heartbreaking to see the first inklings of boils begin to rupture Dandy¡¯s skin. She wakes up soon after she faints, but she is weak. Bedridden. None of the other children faint, but some also start showing signs of the rot.

    I help Erot make some packaged meals for them. It''s the least I can do.

    He is so silent during the task, so forlorn. It scares me. I can¡¯t imagine what thoughts are rummaging through his head.

    I enter the younger children¡¯s room where Dandy now sleeps alone. She is sweating in her sheets, breathing heavily. I look away. While putting the food on the side table, I notice the flower dagger hanging on her upper shelves.

    ¡°You¡ª you should take it back,¡± Dandy whispers. Her little voice startles me.

    ¡°Dandy, rest. You need it,¡± I tell her.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Raiten. I thought about getting the flower dagger and using it to protect us¡­ but, you said don¡¯t point it at things you like. And I liked Lizzy.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright Dandy. I understand.¡±

    ¡°Raiten?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Am I going to die? I feel like I¡¯m going to die.¡±

    I consider lying to her. Consolidating her. But¡­ Dandy would appreciate honesty from me, strange as that might sound: ¡°I don¡¯t know Dandy. I really don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± is all she manages to say. A darker silence passes between us. I pull up a stool and sit next to the bed, holding my head in my hands. How was it that only a few days ago, Dandy was chasing me around with the flower dagger? Her voice brimmed with youth and laughter. Now it''s wheezing.

    ¡°If I die,¡± Dandy begins again. ¡°Will I see my father?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you would, Dandy. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d love to see his daughter, all grown up. All feisty and strong.¡±

    She chuckles lightly at that. The air is still, other than the sounds of our breathing.

    ¡°What about you Raiten?¡± Dandy ventures. ¡°You never talk about them, but where are your parents?¡±

    ¡°They¡­ are in the same place as your father,¡± I tell her.

    ¡°Oh. Well, if I die, I¡¯ll be sure to say hi to them for you. Tell them you¡¯re a lousy farmhand.¡±

    ¡°Lousy? I did my job just fine.¡±

    ¡°How you were always late, and rather than do your work, you would throw sticks and chase little girls around ¡ª¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    ¡°Don¡¯t phrase it like that, please!¡± I beg. She giggles again. Then, her giggles turn into coughs. I hand her a glass of water, which she delicately takes without touching me.

    I don¡¯t know what to do.

    Tears are welling up in my eyes. I¡¯ve never felt this before. It is a sick feeling, a punch in the liver. You were going to leave. Abandon them. Abandon her. You sick bastard. You deserve to die.

    The Boar Ranges can wait.

    ¡°Raiten? Are you alright?¡± Dandy asks.

    ¡°Fine, Dandy. I¡¯ll be fine,¡± I say, wiping the tears before they can form. I clench my fists: ¡°And you¡¯ll be fine too. I promise. I¡¯ll make sure of it.¡±

    Because I¡¯m going to find that witch.

    And I¡¯m going to kill her.

    ¡­

    As I close the door to Dandy¡¯s room, I find Erot leaning against the stairwell. He too is distraught. I waltz up to him and take his arm.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to fix this,¡± I promise him.

    He looks at me with dead and tired eyes. ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°This is a witch plague. So, I must find the witch and bury her.¡± I think. Lucian could be right though: we might just have to coerce her into ending the plague. Then I¡¯ll kill her.

    ¡°But how does one track a witch?¡± Erot asks.

    I open my mouth to answer. Close it. This was the same problem Sorina and I faced. We had no answer.

    ¡°By their scent,¡± an all too familiar voice says. From the open doorway, I see Umbrahorn rumble out of the dirt.

    I glare at him: ¡°And where were you during our crisis?¡±

    ¡°Dealing with some trash,¡± the shark says. Then, it opens its mouth and belches out a set of fleshy human appendages. Erot and I look at each other. Umbrahorn smiles: ¡°This infected bastard started running into the farm shouting and screaming. I had to eat him.¡±

    ¡°Are¡­ are you now inf¨C¡±

    ¡°No you idiot, why would a great spirit like me ever get infected by some human plague?¡±

    I shake my head. Well, at least we know now how Lizzy and Bernard got infected. Poor animals.

    Umbrahorn presses: ¡°I can sniff her out.¡±

    Erot looks at Umbrahorn and sniffs. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°What other choice do you have, Erot? Hmm?¡± The shark is doing his best not to look smug, I can tell. I look between the two of them and scratch my head. Why is Umbrahorn on this farm in the first place? Why does he desire ¡®completion¡¯?

    Why does Erot not want to let him go so badly?

    ¡°Can you actually find the witch?¡± I ask.

    ¡°I can already smell traces of her here. If I follow them, surely I¡¯ll be able to find the witch. That is, of course, if my domain is abolished and I¡¯m allowed to wander the lands as a free spirit, Erot. The choice is yours,¡± Umbrahorn offers.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get too cocky you old bastard,¡± Erot mutters, sitting on the stairs now. His foot thumps against the planks as he thinks. I know that per Sorina and Umbrahorn¡¯s deal, Sorina had visited Erot to negotiate for the shark a greater domain. But Erot was insistent on making sure Umbrahorn wasn¡¯t allowed to be free.

    ¡°I can keep him in check,¡± I tell Erot.

    ¡°How?¡±

    I feel my amulets. ¡°Trust me. Whatever it is you¡¯re worried about, I¡¯ll make sure he stays in line. And he knows it too. Right Umbrahorn?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± the shark says, chuckling nervously. He knows my power; he¡¯s born witness to it.

    Erot sighs. ¡°Fine. But,¡± he points an accusatory finger at Umbrahorn. ¡°This isn¡¯t an excursion for you to go collecting your other parts; hunt the witch and the witch alone. If you do that, maybe, just maybe, I¡¯ll tell you where the shadow spirit is.¡±

    ¡°I want a guarantee,¡± the shark demands.

    ¡°You¡¯ll get no such thing.¡±

    ¡°Erot,¡± I interject. ¡°Give him some leeway.¡±

    Erot looks between us and snarls. ¡°Since when did you two get so close?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be like that Erot, I¡¯m trying to be fair. Besides, he needs some motivation; I don''t want him to lead me to the wrong place,¡± I tell Erot. I know he¡¯s antsy. I don¡¯t blame this wanton accusation.

    Erot stomps his feet. Once. Twice. ¡°Alright then. You¡¯ll get your shadow spirit Umbrahorn.¡±

    The hammerhead grins madly. It makes me question my decision; after all, I don¡¯t even know what this shadow spirit is.

    ¡°Let go of his bonds for a time, until the darkness reigns nigh,¡± Erot whispers. It is similar to how Hikaru released a part of my curse. Umbrahorn lets out a whoop before turning his back.

    ¡°Hop on Raiten, let¡¯s go kill this witchy bitch!¡±

 XVIII: Live With Acquaintances

    Umbrahorn rides rough and dirty. So I have to hold on tight with a rope cord and harness, attached to a leather fin strap on the hammerhead¡¯s spine ¡ª custom-made by Erot himself. I don¡¯t dare to ask about his past with Umbrahorn considering how distraught the poor man is. But, once we get far enough away from the farm, I regret not pestering the man. So many questions remain lingering. And now I¡¯m riding atop this free spirit as it zips through the earth, rumbling and reveling in the taste of new land.

    It is hard to stay balanced at first. Yet, I find that the less I try, the better I do ¡ª stupid as that might sound. Letting go of the harness and trusting in the strength of my legs works better than desperately holding on and getting thrashed about every turn.

    By the time we pass the village, I feel like a pro. Riding comes naturally to me. It''s the one thing I¡¯ve been ¡®talented¡¯ at.

    The sun is rising when Takemeadow comes into view. I have not slept yet and my body is starting to feel it. When we ride around the lake and the high walls of Takemeadow, I feel a deep sorrow. These people are innocent. They don¡¯t deserve the horrors that they are about to face.

    We follow the river downstream until we end up back near the Red Cherry Forest I entered so long ago.

    ¡°The scent is taking you this far out?¡± I ask Umbrahorn. He rumbles something beneath me, before realizing that I can¡¯t hear him through the movement of dirt and golden meadow grass.

    He opts to peak his head out: ¡°It goes farther Northeast. We still have a long way to go.¡±

    I nod, then lean back, allowing the harness to go taut as I massage my burning shoulders. This is still quite the workout.

    Well, anything¡¯s better than whatever evil training plan Sorina has cooked up for me. Thinking about her sends a pang of guilt clawing its greedy little way into my stomach. I probably should¡¯ve told her of my plans. But¡­ it''s better if I go about this alone. Less risk.

    At the entrance of the forest, I tell Umbrahorn to stop. Although the day has just begun, I need some modicum of sleep to continue. So, I find a nice patch of grass, cover myself in some moss, and sleep right next to the road with the wooden hammerhead watching as a reluctant sentinel over me. I fear it might run, so I keep the harness on.

    Erot told me that the rope cord itself is magically imbued with some binding properties: ¡°Got the material from a Runic Forger. Won¡¯t break easy.. And if this toothy bastard tries anything funny, he¡¯s ripe for a painful punishment.¡±

    Not that I suspected Umbrahorn would do much. He seems too enamored by his newfound freedom ¡ª reduced to a childlike state of wonder, black coal eyes glazing over the red canopy of the forest, the golden bars of sunlight that show through the leaves, the caressing sway of the wind and its feeling upon the spirit. He whoops and yips like a dog.

    It takes a while for me to find any peace.

    ¡­

    ¡°Raiten!¡± someone whispers. I stir ¡ª refuse to open my eyes. I feel like I just closed them. ¡°Raiten! Wake up!¡± the same voice hisses. I groan and turn my back, burying my head between my knees to bathe my vision in darkness.

    A finger touches my shoulder.

    My eyes flare open and I raise myself upon my elbows, throwing my right leg up for a grounded axe kick. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    The leg is caught and I am soon hanging upside down, hair obscuring my vision. I tug it back to find Sorina staring at me.

    ¡°I told you to wake up Raiten,¡± Umbrahorn groans from the side. One of his eyes is closed ¡ª cut through with some blade. His face is raked with scarring blows.

    ¡°Sorina,¡± I say simply. The blood is going to my head. She holds me high with one hand clawed around my shin. Impeccable strength. Annoying strength.

    ¡°So,¡± she begins, voice level at first. That scares me. ¡°Can you even begin to imagine how angry I am?¡±

    I chuckle lightly. ¡°A little¡ª¡±

    She tosses me against the tree. I fling against the stump, chest caving, breath stolen. Falling to the ground with a thump, I wince in pain. Something jolts through my bones. Some rock under my elbow. It makes the pain tingle in a lingering way. I roll and roll, desperate to move and focus on anything else.

    ¡°Umbrahorn?¡± I ask, trying to distract myself.

    ¡°What?¡± the shark replies.

    ¡°You¡¯re a lousy sentinel.¡±

    ¡°Raiten, Great Spirits are¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oooh Raiten look at me, I¡¯m a Great Spirit and I just got my ass kicked by a human being so I¡¯m going to say something stupid like ¡®Great Spirits are not meant for sentinel watching¡¯. That¡¯s you,¡± I mock. Somehow, that does the trick of undoing my pain. And it also makes me feel marginally better. I stand and dust myself off, looking at Umbrahorn. For once, the shark doesn¡¯t rise to the bait. He just sits there, halfway in the ground, staring with some dark fury at me.

    Sorina levels the same look at me.

    I sigh.

    ¡­

    ¡°You¡¯re an idiot,¡± Sorina mutters as I set the rope cord straight. It''s the first thing she¡¯s said after demanding that I explain my absence. Throughout my entire story, she remained blank-faced. Sharp, emerald eyes staring straight through me.

    ¡°How so?¡± I mutter. I try reaching close to Umbrahorn¡¯s fin to fix the leather strap, but he slaps one of my hands away. It is a childish act. I reciprocate in kind by slapping his fin. He grins. At least he¡¯s back in his usual spirits. Apparently, Sorina got the jump on him, as he so loudly complained to me after my mocking tirade. However, he was already healing up.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t think to say goodbye to me? Even though you were planning on leaving?¡± she asks. She sounds genuinely hurt.

    I look away. ¡°I ¡ª I wanted it to be quick. Painless.¡±

    ¡°Piss off. I¡¯m not some spurned lover, as much as the village might believe that. I would¡¯ve understood Raiten. What do you think I would do if I had the chance to avenge my husband? I¡¯d be antsy to get my vengeance too.¡±

    ¡°It''s¡­ not as simple as that,¡± I mutter. She clasps her hand on my shoulder.

    ¡°Then what is it?¡±

    ¡°I felt bad,¡± I say. ¡°I thought it was selfish, my leaving. And, to be honest, I was right. I can¡¯t leave you, leave Erot, leave Dandy like this. Not when I can do something about it. You lot have done right by me without asking anything in return. It''s about time I return the favor.¡±

    ¡°Might I remind you that she tried killing us!¡± Umbrahorn objects.

    ¡°That was a millenia ago Umbrahorn. Forget about it. She¡¯s a real close acquaintance now,¡± I say. Her face betrays a warm smile. ¡°Hells, she might even become your friend throughout this journey ¡ª¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not coming with us!¡± Umbrahorn says.

    ¡°You don¡¯t really have a choice, lesser spirit,¡± Sorina says, yawning. Then, she flips out one of her daggers. ¡°Unless you want to go for round three?¡±

    ¡°You¡ªyou! Just you wait, you bitch. Once I attain completion, the first insignificant ant I¡¯m slaughtering is you!¡± Umbrahorn rages.

    Sorina just laughs.

 XIX: Live With Plague

    ¡°When I say go, you kick a tree. Got it?¡± Sorina asks.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Great! Go.¡±

    I groan and hop of a meandering Umbrahorn, clicking off the harness. He¡¯s been slow-moving due to his recovery, so Sorina and I have only made it halfway through the Red Forest by the afternoon. She travels on her Golden-Mist cloud spirit ¡ª a fact that Umbrahorn also doesn¡¯t like.

    I go to the thinnest oak near me and pump my foot up, slicing it down across the tree¡¯s length. Pain. I wince and hop on one foot while Umbrahorn hoots.

    ¡°Turn your kick over more!¡± Sorina yells. ¡°And step out! Don¡¯t snap your kick: it''s an axe swinging down. It¡¯s not meant for speed, but for power. And keep your chin down! And ¡ª¡±

    I tune her out. I can only take in so much information at once. Turn my kick over more? I¡¯ll do that much at least.

    I hop back to my mount, only for Sorina to mercilessly say, ¡°go¡± once more. She only deigned to say it when I got nice and comfortable too.

    Whereas Eternal Spring was an art focused 90% on technique and 10% on conditioning, speed, and other factors, Iron Winter is more 30% technique, 70% everything else. That means constant pain, irrevocable soreness, and of course, unending teasing.

    After about my hundredth kick, we spot something on the road. A thin, gangly man limping his way down the path, dragging some sack behind him.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take a look,¡± I tell Sorina.

    ¡°Careful,¡± she says, tugging my sleeve. ¡°It could be a plague-bearer.¡±

    ¡°Then I just can¡¯t let him touch me, right?¡±

    ¡°Right. Just¡­ Remember, Lucian said some of them undergo ¡®transformations¡¯. When I pressed him about it, he told me it was just some vague rumors but ¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be careful. Trust me,¡± I say. With that, I head up the road while Sorina and Umbrahorn hang back. As I near the man, I see that he¡¯s not infected thankfully ¡ª at least not from his looks. No sores. No rot.

    He is quite injured though. And lost. His eyes are downcast and darkened by something deeper.

    ¡°Hello friend,¡± I say waving to him. ¡°Are you alright?¡± He looks up at me slowly. Blinks a few times, taking me in.

    Then, he hisses: ¡°What more do ya want from me? Leave me be. You¡¯ve taken everything already you bastard.¡±

    ¡°Uh, are you sure you¡¯re not mistaking me for someone else ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Not you, ya fool! The spirits! The Celestials! They take and take and take and they keep on taking until I don¡¯ got nothing left except me pride. And that they¡¯ll take too.¡±

    He¡¯s mad. The sack gives off an awful stench.

    ¡°Do you¡­ need any help or ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me!¡± he yells, staggering back. He stumbles over himself and trips, letting go of the sack. From its contents spills out some rotting meat. Flies eat spoiled flesh. My eyes widen.

    I see small fingers wrapped around a larger hand. It is a dead child. And more.

    ¡°Ah, now look at what you¡¯ve done you rat bastard!¡± The man yells, standing up now. He spits. I deftly dodge the spittle, now unsure whether the man is infected or not. I get my answer when he starts collecting the body parts and putting them back in the sack. ¡°Oh my poor babies, rest now, papa¡¯s got ye, papa¡¯s got ye.¡±

    It is a very sad scene. One that I back away from in shame. The man looks at me and his madness seems to clear for a second.

    ¡°They cut my babies up¡­told me to burn the bodies.¡±

    ¡°I understand,¡± I say, covering my nose.

    ¡°No you don¡¯t,¡± he sneers. ¡°No one would ever understand. I will bury them now, where they deserve to be buried. Keep away if you know what¡¯s good for ye.¡± Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    I nod and step back. Then, I motion for Umbrahorn and Sorina to clear the road.

    The man limps off with his sack, rambling madly to himself. I suppose he is the epitome of how the plague travels.

    Marching on, endlessly Southward, dragging with it a bag of bodies and madness.

    ¡­

    ¡°How does one even fight a plague?¡± I ask no one in particular. The canopy of the red forest falls away, leaving the upward rocky trek to Clan Adachi towards the North, a bending road following a creek to the East, and a darker wooden path Westward.

    ¡°You don¡¯t. You contain it and wait it out in most cases,¡± Sorina says. ¡°At least, that¡¯s what my father taught me back in Catolica.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t apply here,¡± Umbrahorn mutters, a serious edge to his tone for once. ¡°This is a witch¡¯s doing,¡± he spits.

    ¡°You dislike witches then?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Witches, warlocks, and most users of darker arts outside of normal magicks, yes. Hold for a second,¡± Umbrahorn orders, sniffing the air, digging his nose in the dirt, and then, giving us a wide grin. ¡°She¡¯s closer. East.¡±

    So we follow the creek, which ripples through a wooded brush and sparkles as the sun goes down.

    Umbrahorn moves somewhat faster now, allowing us to cut the distance easy. I hang on my cord while Sorina follows from behind us, flying slightly above ground-level to avoid the dirt and earth Umbrahorn kicks up.

    ¡°By the way, how did you leave the village so easily? You¡¯re mayor aren¡¯t you? Is it not your responsibility to watch over the people through this crisis?¡± I ask. The plague-bearing man has spooked me. I now regret allowing Sorina to come along, so I¡¯ve been pestering her with insinuating questions.

    She doesn''t seem to mind them, unfortunately: ¡°I¡¯m not in good-standing with the villagers right now, mostly because of last night¡¯s meeting. I left Lucian and the militia leader in charge during my absence. I wanted to go off and find the witch as well ¡ª I only found you by happenstance. Plus, Umbrahorn¡¯s trail is easy to spot.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± I mutter. My legs nearly slip and my feet grip the chinks of Umbrahorn¡¯s wood tighter; the shins are soring from the tree-kicking. But, thanks to my regenerating body, the pain lessens gradually and I can feel a significant difference ¡ª the muscles come back stronger, more durable.

    While we bend around the Adachi ranges, I can¡¯t help but wonder how the Thunder Tower is doing. Is it decaying in my absence? Or does it stand tall and sentinel over the lands I¡¯ve abandoned? ¡®I hold the binding to this land,¡¯ Hikaru had said in relation to my curse. ¡®Daichi holds one half of the Immortality, Renji the other half, Kai and Masaru hold the other parts related to the spirit of the Tower itself¡¯ So¡­ what happens when I kill Kai and Masaru?

    What is the spirit of the Tower?

    When we clear the ranges and the creek ends, the road diverges and slopes up into hillier country; greener pastures and hotter days. Night begins to beckon so Sorina and I make camp on one of those hills.

    ¡°We have been heading towards Havenmarch for a while now,¡± Sorina mutters. ¡°I suppose that is where the Witch is near.¡±

    I shrug as I throw more leaves to feed the campfire. ¡°Makes sense, right? I mean, that¡¯s the first village that got the plague.¡±

    ¡°And failed to contain it,¡± Sorina replies. She hands me some dried meat and I chew on it gratefully. It''s not one of Alya¡¯s feasts, but I used to survive on much less than this. Still, once you get used to something good, it''s hard to do without it.

    Umbrahorn is already fast asleep underground. Apparently, even spirits like him need some rest, albeit much less than humans: something along the lines of four hours for him.

    The fire crackles between Sorina and me. The night brings a nice chill. Stars gape out the folds of grey clouds. The moon is hidden somewhere in the gloom.

    ¡°I¡¯m still mad at you, by the way,¡± Sorina says, though she doesn¡¯t sound so mad. She sounds quiet and timid, like a little girl.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± is all I can manage to say.

    ¡°I mean, how could you abandon me like that? Not a word or anything.¡±

    ¡°Sorry.¡±

    She looks up at me. ¡°You¡¯re the only friend I¡¯ve had in a long time.¡±

    ¡°I figured.¡±

    ¡°And ¡ª wait, what do you mean ¡®I figured?¡¯¡±

    ¡°Who would want to be friends with such a messy person?¡± I say with a smile.

    She throws a stick at me. It bounces off my shoulder.

    ¡°You ass,¡± she says with a smile of her own.

    We both have a light chuckle at that.

    After a while without either of us sleeping, I ask, ¡°Any luck finding your wind spirits? Their names are¡­ Greta and, uh ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Berteca.¡±

    ¡°Right. Sorry.¡±

    ¡°It''s fine, it''s been a while since I¡¯ve mentioned them. And no, I haven¡¯t had any luck ¡ª despite my best efforts,¡± she sighs, poking at the fire with another stick. Some of the flaming sticks shift and send up fiery embers flying towards the night-sky. ¡°To be honest, that¡¯s also another reason I ventured out: I wanted to see if I could sense them on the road.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s find you a new lute while we hunt the witch. That might bring them back,¡± I offer.

    She shrugs. ¡°Maybe.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll find them. Don¡¯t worry,¡± I say, though I know that¡¯s a lie. I¡¯m a pessimist through and through. I fear the spirits have been gone for a while now. But I inject enough optimism in my voice to belay Sorina¡¯s fears.

    ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯ll get them back. Eventually.¡±

    I pat her shoulder across the fire. ¡°Get some rest. I¡¯ll take first watch.¡±

    She looks as though she might argue, but then she thinks better of it and curls into her blanket. I watch her slumbering form for a while before standing and stretching. Damn it, me and my chivalry. I haven¡¯t had a proper sleep in a while.

    Some time passes. My eyes are drooping. I take some water from my leather skin and drip it over my face. The coolness wakes me up nice and quick.

    Once I wipe my face with my shirt, I notice torchlights peering out the distant treeline. Squinting, I see a band of men with swords and daggers, crossbows and spears.

    And they are heading directly for us.

 XX: Live With Bandits

    I wake up Sorina. She¡¯s out of her blanket quickly, knives at the ready. When she peers over the hill, she snarls.

    ¡°Bandits.¡±

    ¡°You think so?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re in prime bandit country; I know so.¡±

    I clutch my sack of amulets. ¡°Should I wake up Umbrahorn?¡±

    She starts muttering to herself. It takes a while for me to realize she¡¯s counting their number. ¡°Ten. Ten men. Must¡¯ve seen our fire.¡±

    I take an amulet out. She snatches it from my grasp, easy as taking candy from a baby.

    ¡°What¡¯s that for? It''s ten men. I can survive, but what about ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Me? Who do you think I am Raiten, some damsel?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡¯m saying. I¡¯m not questioning your strength: I¡¯m just saying, one stray arrow and it''s over for you. Why risk that? Let me blast them to oblivion.¡±

    She raises an eyebrow. ¡°How many amulets do you have?¡±

    ¡°Six.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t waste them. There¡¯s no point in using one here. Actually,¡± she starts smiling that evil teacher¡¯s smile. ¡°I have an idea.¡±

    ¡°What is it¡ª¡±

    Sorina pushes me forward, trips me over her foot, and I go tumbling down the hill.

    ¡°All you Raiten! You got this!¡± she yells.

    As I roll down, I make sure to deeply regret my choice of comrades.

    Not that it does anything.

    ¡­

    I find myself face flat in the dirt, body contorted and muscles weeping for mercy. With a grunt of effort, I stand up and dust myself off.

    Two men level crossbows at me. Five swords. One dagger woman. Two spearmen.

    ¡°Hello gents,¡± I say, raising my hands. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±

    The dagger-bearing woman comes up. She looks tired, weary of everything and everybody.

    ¡°Listen,¡± she says, her voice low. ¡°We don¡¯t want too much trouble. It''s a hard road for all of us. Just give us your things and we¡¯ll let you on ¡ª you and your girlfriend up there.¡± She points to the hill. Sorina waves from above, probably smiling like an idiot.

    ¡°She¡¯s not my girlfriend,¡± I mutter. One of the spearmen steps up and jabs the spear near my neck. I flinch back slightly.

    ¡°Your things. Food, water, clothes. Anything and everything. Now,¡± he says, voice like a blade sharpening on a whetstone.

    I eye him darkly. Bring my hands down to my waist. Feign a grab for my sash. Then, I snatch the spearhead, snap it off. He looks at the broken end of his spear, dumbfounded. I kick forward, foot smashing into his leather gambeson. He falls back.

    WHIZZ! One bolt sticks me in the shoulder, knocking me back half a step. I growl. Something bestial is awakened within ¡ª the very same instinct that would help me back when I was a Thunder Watcher. I stagger forward and get on all fours, jumping at the nearest combatant. The dagger woman yells something. I don¡¯t hear the command; instead, I¡¯m atop a swordsman, delivering three rapid strikes to his face. His head bounces off the ground. He¡¯s unconscious.

    Another bolt comes whizzing. I duck under it, dodge a sword whistling my way, bounce off the ground, and kick a swordsman. He falls, two more take his place, along with a spearman following closely behind. I back off, retreating uphill slightly. The lead swordsman with a scar takes a swing. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    I slide back from it, come close, go wrist-to-wrist with him. He¡¯s confused. I deliver unto him six rapid punches with Eternal Spring. He buckles on the fifth.

    The other sword wielder, a woman with a warrior bun, presses me. The spearman follows suit. I¡¯m put on the backfoot, forced to defend.

    Parry parry parry. This is a familiar game. I¡¯ve done it with Sorina countless times. Even with weapons in their hands, they are amateurs ¡ª they aren¡¯t used to fighting. No bolts come my way, probably for fear of hitting their comrades. Better for me. The woman slices forth thrice, cleverly using her momentum to propel her. She¡¯s smarter than the others. But that won¡¯t make up for lack of experience.

    On the third swing, she oversteps, scores a slashing cut on my arms. I hit her sword hand, and her sternum, then kick her leg. She screams. I¡¯m surprised when she goes down, her leg a contorted mess. I stare at my own shin for a second. That second cost me a spear in the chest.

    I spurt out blood.

    ¡°Come on Raiten, focus!¡± Sorina yells.

    Another bolt flashes in the night. I turn my head away ¡ª it nicks my ear off. I go deaf on the right. With another growl of pain, I push myself into the spear, the sound of my labored breathing now muted, grizzly, primal. The spearman looks at me with horror as I push the weapon further into me, cutting the distance between us. I grab him by the collar, he lets go of the spear. Rearing my head back, I deliver a headbutt to his nose. He falls, coveting his broken, bloody nose, screaming some curses.

    With a roar, I break the spear in me and take both ends out. I toss one stick at one of the crossbowmen reloading. It spins and hits him in the head, knocking him down and out.

    I hold the broken-off spear end in one hand, use it to break off the bolt in my shoulder.

    Four men rally to the dagger woman. She looks at me as if I¡¯m some storied monster from children¡¯s tales. As I stomp back down the hill, the other crossbowman runs into the woods. Four people left then.

    They all come charging at once.

    I duck low and spring forward, rushing the charge-leader. I stick the spear in his shoe and before he can scream I kick his leg in, with less force than I used for the swords-woman.

    These people aren¡¯t ragtag bandits. They¡¯re just people. Plague survivors. I can tell by their desperation.

    So I won¡¯t kill them. I¡¯ll just stop them.

    Easier said than done though. The other three are upon me in an instant, and I circle around them, parrying some blows, taking others. The dagger woman slides behind me and jabs her blade into my back. The other two pounce. I kick one¡¯s hand, disarming him ¡ª focus on the other with a flurry of Eternal Spring punches. The disarmed one tries punching me in the shoulder ¡ª comes away shaking his wrist. I scoff before grabbing his neck and thrusting up with a knee to his stomach, making him keel over.

    One more.

    The dagger woman pads away, picks up a sword and levies it at me.

    ¡°What ¡ª what in all the hells are you?¡± she asks.

    That¡¯s a good question. I¡¯m not exactly the Thunder Watcher anymore. I pause in front of her, somewhat stalling to allow my wounds to close.

    ¡°I¡¯m just a farmer,¡± I eventually say.

    She spits. ¡°Bullshit.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you put the sword down? We can talk this out. I need not be your enemy.¡±

    Her hands are shaking. The sword vibrates in the night. I reach a hand out and lower the tip of her sword away from me.

    ¡°You lot aren¡¯t really bandits, are you?¡± I ask.

    She shakes her head, sets the sword down. ¡°Just kill me.¡±

    ¡°Why would I do that?¡± I ask, though some part of me desperately wants to just kill them. Still, my more rational side prevails, as it has been doing as of recent. ¡°Where are you from?¡± I want to disarm her, both physically and mentally.

    ¡°Have¡ªHavenmarch.¡±

    Ah. No wonder they¡¯re desperate.

    I look around at her downed band. ¡°This your whole outfit?¡±

    Another shake of the head. ¡°No. We have people. A lot of people. Children too.¡±

    ¡°That really doesn¡¯t excuse robbing strangers blindly in the night,¡± Sorina¡¯s voice echoes out. I turn to see her walking down the hill slope. One man, the poor spearman whose nose I broke, tries grabbing her leg. She brutally stomps on his hand and continues on.

    ¡°What else were we supposed to do? Our entire troop was basically robbed yesterday,¡± the dagger woman says out of frustration.

    ¡°By who?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Soldiers,¡± she spits. ¡°Damned Western Kingdoms were supposed to help us, not enhance our suffering.¡±

    Sorina and I share a look. ¡°But the Kingdoms don''t give a damn about us at the end of the day,¡± Sorina had once said when we first met.

    ¡°Soldiers of which kingdom?¡± Sorina asks.

    The dagger woman laughs. ¡°Who else? Catolica.¡±

 XXI: Live With Catolica

    ¡°Catolica?¡± Sorina asks. Her voice cracks a bit. The dagger woman nods. Then, she smirks.

    ¡°Why so surprised, miss? Thought the Kingdom of Vineyards would be noble? Think again. Their bitch queen and her brood keep nipping at our villages,¡± she raises her sword again, though not directly aiming it my way. It''s just reactive. Such is her hate. ¡°They¡¯re just like all the other kingdoms. Feed us with pretty little lies ¡ª then they pull the rug out from under us. They¡¯re doing it right now.¡±

    I make a move to grab the blade from her. She flinches when I step forward, dropping the blade and backing off: ¡°listen, I surrender. I don¡¯t want to fight ¡ª whatever you are.¡±

    I put my hands up in a placating gesture. ¡°Calm down. Let¡¯s talk this out. Sorina and I are just trying to understand what happened. In fact¡­ Umbrahorn!¡± I yell.

    The ground rumbles.

    Then, the patch of grass erupts between the woman and I. Green blades spin down as Umbrahorn makes a covetous yawn, stretching his fins out and smacking his lips together.

    ¡°What? What is it?¡± he mutters.

    ¡°Can you heal this band of Havenmarchers?¡± I ask. He fixes his gaze on me, not exactly angry but looking somewhat frustrated.

    ¡°Were they not attacking you just now?¡±

    ¡°Yes ¡ª wait, you knew and didn¡¯t do anything about it.¡±

    He shrugs. ¡°You seemed to have it handled.¡±

    I rub my eyes, tempering my own anger. ¡°Just¡­ heal them. Now.¡± Umbrahorn gives another shrug before surprisingly complying to my wishes. He goes first to the man whose nose I broke. I watch from the corner of my eye, wondering with some mild curiosity how wooded spirits go about healing: I¡¯ve heard their methods are unique, depending on the creature. So, what would Umbrahorn¡¯s preferred healing method be?

    As the great hammerhead emerges in front of the downed man, Umbrahorn rears his head back before bringing his mouth directly over the man. I am afraid for a moment that he will eat the poor fellow. It seems like the sort of spiteful thing the spirit might do. But¡­ no.

    Umbrahorn vomits on the man instead.

    It is a disgusting sight that I turn away from immediately ¡ª not before, however, catching a glimpse of the viscous green goo that the shark belches. Sorina notes my reaction and chuckles.

    The dagger woman looks at Umbrahorn with general shock as well. Her face turns pale. It looks as if she might throw up.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I ask, trying to ground her somewhat.

    Unfortunately, she doesn¡¯t tear her eyes away from Umbrahorn: ¡°Kara. Uhm, I think I might ¡ª¡±

    She puts a hand up and keels over, gagging and puking over her sword.

    I sigh.

    Sorina laughs a lilting laugh. I give her a harsh look. Her laughing intensifies.

    Great way to start asking questions.

    ¡­

    The goo seeps into the wounds of the fallen, closing their cuts and mending their fatigue. Eventually six of them are healed up nice and well ¡ª well enough to stand by Kara warily. Umbrahorn does not have the energy to heal the other three.

    ¡°What, no more vomit left?¡± I ask.

    ¡°I can only produce so much a day ¡ª I did my best,¡± he says defensively. ¡°You humans ask too much of me. No respect.¡±

    That almost makes me feel bad for the spirit. So I let him go back to his slumber. Thankfully, the other two are well enough to stand and take their leader¡¯s side. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    None of them dare attacking me again.

    Instead, they look¡­ ashamed. No wonder. If I tried robbing someone and they beat my entire party before deciding to heal the lot of us, I¡¯d be ashamed too.

    I feel for my right ear. It has yet to grow back fully. Must be why many of them stare at it. It is another awkward impasse. And I am tired.

    So, I clap my hands together: ¡°As I was explaining to your leader, Kara, we don¡¯t mean you harm. I understand. It''s a plague, people get desperate,¡± I say. Sorina mutters some protests behind me but I ignore her. ¡°I heard you were robbed yourselves. If you tell me where Catolica robbed you, maybe I can track them down.¡±

    Sorina shoots a glare my way at this. I don¡¯t blame her: we can¡¯t necessarily afford distractions like this. Especially with Dandy and others relying on me. But, I¡¯m not doing this out of some sense of heroism ¡ª I am not so charitable.

    I want to avoid Catolica.

    So, whatever location they list, we¡¯ll skirt around it. It¡¯ll be easier that way.

    ¡°They set up a checkpoint on the main road to Havenmarch,¡± Kara eventually says. ¡°They¡¯ve been taxing everyone coming out of that doomed village. And, if the people refuse, they have to go through the black forests of Brightbiar¡ª though, we just call them The Blightbriars now.¡±

    ¡°So the plagued have colonized them?¡± Sorina asks.

    ¡°Not only the plagued, but the ones who¡­ turned,¡± Kara shivers. ¡°I saw glimpses of those monsters. It''s why Havenmarch fell. After a certain amount of time, apparently, some of the plagued ¡ª mostly children affected by it ¡ª became worse than daemons. We should¡¯ve known something was wrong when all the spirits fled Havenmarch. But our council was too afraid to let the thing spread, so we weren¡¯t allowed to leave. And now they¡¯re all dead.¡±

    Mostly children. That¡¯s¡­ not good at all. Dandy comes to mind, curled up in her bed, coughing something fierce. I shake my head.

    ¡°How long did it take for these turned to emerge?¡± I ask.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know ¡ª maybe around a month into the plague,¡± one of the men says. It''s the spearman who initially threatened me. His eyes have a hollowed look to them. ¡°My son was turned, though I wasn¡¯t at the house at the time. When I came back¡­ well I had a family. Let¡¯s just put it that way.¡±

    We don¡¯t have time to waste at all.

    I shouldn¡¯t even be sleeping.

    I let silence hang in the air between us while I think. Do we go through the Catolica guards or the Blightbriars? The checkpoint seems like the obvious choice now, but it all depends on where Umbrahorn¡¯s nose leads us. I pray that the witch dwells in Havenmarch, rather than the woods.

    Sorina finally breaks the silence by rummaging through her pack and tossing Kara some dried meats. ¡°Give these to the ones who need it most. And I suggest you head South, past the Red Forest and to Takemeadow. We might also be blighted, but we have food at the least. Tell them Sorina sent you.¡±

    Kara shakes her head. ¡°If you¡¯re going to the Catolica checkpoint, we want to come with you. Those bastards have been stealing from Havenmarchers for a dozen days now ¡ª I want them to pay.¡±

    For what reason does Catolica steal from blighted people? Is it because they see an opportunity here? It seems¡­ so petty. So childishly evil. It doesn¡¯t make sense.

    ¡°Think about your people,¡± Sorina argues. ¡°They can¡¯t afford a vengeance trip. You said it yourself: you¡¯re hungry and desperate.¡±

    ¡°Catolica hoards our food. If we go back and defeat them, we can get it all back,¡± Kara argues back. Then, she looks at me. ¡°I don¡¯t know what sort of creature you are ¡ª I don¡¯t care. You fight like a monster. Help us. Please.¡±

    I sigh. ¡°The road South will be safer ¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, it won¡¯t,¡± another of Kara¡¯s party interjects. ¡°From what we saw, the turned ones are moving like this.¡± He stands and points his sword in the dirt, drawing a few lines down. Then, he draws a dot of our position: ¡°This is where we are. Our party tried going the long way, bending around the glades next to the Covetous Mountains in the East.¡± His sword makes a semi-circle east of our dot, and he draws some triangles meant to represent the mountain ranges. ¡°But the glades are filled with plague-bearers. And when we tried bending ¡®round the mountains, the clans stopped us.¡±

    Sorina¡¯s face darkens. ¡°Which clan?¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t know their name,¡± Kara says. ¡°But they had a crest with some fish in a storm. Do you know ¡ª¡±

    ¡°It''s Sorayvlad,¡± Sorina answers preemptively. Her histories are colliding. She¡¯s distraught.

    ¡°Regardless, Sorayvlad is herding the plague-bearers Southwest, towards the other villages. So the road South will be doomed soon enough,¡± the man finishes.

    I stare at him dumbly for a second. ¡°Are you sure? Because that¡¯s¡­ insane.¡±

    ¡°We saw it ourselves,¡± Kara answers. ¡°They were deliberately pushing them, but not eradicating them ¨C despite it being within their power to do so.¡±

    I scratch my head. What in all the hells is happening? What type of game have I gotten mixed up in?

    And how am I going to save one person when it seems like the entirety of Katal is closing in on us?

    Stop.

    Focus on what you can control.

    Kill the witch.

    Everything else comes later.

    Remember, this is all a distraction. Save Dandy. Repay your debts. Then, go kill the Elders.

    Masaru.

    Kai

    Daichi.

    Renji.

    Your mother¡¯s hair, flapping in the wind like a flag.

    Her bloated eyes.

    Her pale face.

    All on a stake.

    Don¡¯t waste your time. You¡¯ve done enough of that already.

    Anybody and anything that gets in my way will see death.

    ¡°You want to come with us? Fine,¡± I tell them. ¡°Let¡¯s raid the checkpoint.¡±

 XXII: Live With Destiny

    Souta:

    My procession carries me in a palanquin dubbed ¡°Heaven¡¯s Litter.¡± I am enclosed in a lavish box with carvings of cats and tigers etched into the scarlet brown wood. Three slits grant me views of the Giant¡¯s Glades: the wavering fields that dominate the Mid-Eastern lands of Katal, till they are bounded by the Covetous Mountains, where my home resides. It is my first time out. Ever. And they put me in a box.

    Still, I understand. They say it is for my safety. Uncle is careful like that. Paranoid at times.

    I clutch the amulet of emerald and steel, tossing it between both of my hands. If Masaru saw me doing this, he¡¯d probably scold me. He¡¯d say something like: ¡®Souta, don¡¯t play with your life so easily!¡¯ in that stern voice of his. I smile at the thought, tossing the amulet at a faster pace now.

    Then, someone knocks on the sliding door of the palanquin.

    ¡°Young Shogun, your Uncle wishes you to exit,¡± one of my guards say. I wrap the amulet chain around my neck and open the sliding door. The poor palanquin bearers finally get a break, setting the unwieldy wooden carriage on the ground and allowing me to exit. I stand at half their size, which annoys me. Uncle always tells me I¡¯m due for a growth spurt. But I¡¯ve heard rumors from other children that men stop growing after their thirteenth winter, which is said to be upon us soon.

    Regardless, I try my best to look dignified. I wear a slick green and black war uniform with golden tassels and a dark green cape clasped to my shoulders, bearing the insignia of Clan Sorayvlad: the wind bass spirit in a storm. A katana and its smaller brethren sword called the wakizashi, lay at my side. Their scabbards are intricately ordained.

    Walking past my bearers, I find my Uncle at the head of our plodding line. He surveys the glades with a scope; his eyes are weary from long-nights of traveling. It is he who leads our armies, conducts our strategy. He who advises me.

    When he spots me, he smiles.

    ¡°Come and see, Souta. See the histories of these lands,¡± he says, pushing me gently forward. He gives me the scope and through it, in the far distance of the green glades, illuminated by golden rays of sunlight, glints a giant short arms sword of Western make stuck deep in the ground. It stands half the size of a mountain bearing over the land like a pillar of heaven itself.

    And it is not alone.

    More swords and spears lay near it, similarly stabbing into the world itself. Some of them have bands and tassels attached to their hilts, which flap majestically in the high winds.

    The sight amazes me. Never have I seen such a field.

    ¡°What is it Uncle?¡± I ask, handing him the scope

    ¡°This is the Giant¡¯s Glade for a reason boy; it was dubbed so because long ago, the angels cast forth their blades and weapons upon the burgeoning djinn folk of the mountains, who sought to invade the heavens. These are the remnants of their battle.¡±

    ¡°Woah,¡± is all I can say in response. I see my uncle smiling from the corner of my eye. For his age, Masaru looks fairly young. His skin is not too wrinkled and his body is lean; he was probably extremely handsome in his youth. Though he never does talk about his past. Not even when I prod him.

    ¡°One day,¡± he begins, placing a strong hand on my shoulder. ¡°They will talk about our war like they speak of this battle. They will hold us, hold you, young master, in the same regard that they hold the angels. Do you know why?¡±

    I can guess, but I play along, shaking my head.

    Masaru smiles. ¡°It is because you wield the angel dust and you lead our armies against the evil whims of the Western Kingdoms. Look to the East, Masaru. Look at these poor people.¡± He places his hand on my head and makes me gawk at the sick. The plagued mass travels beyond us, with some of our men moving them along with spirit tigers and swords. It is a sea of rotting humanity that spreads out before us.

    ¡°They came to us for help because their Kingdoms and villages failed them. They might not see it now, but we will save them. You will save all of them. For that is your destiny Souta,¡± Masaru tells me. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°My¡­ destiny?¡± I ask. He speaks of this vague destiny sometimes, but never elaborates.

    This time however, he does: ¡°Your destiny is to wield the Dragon Blade and become the holder of Nine Eastern Dragons. And, conquering Catolica, saving these people, is merely the first step we must take towards that destiny.¡±

    ¡°I understand Uncle. I think,¡± I say. Though these grand ideals of destiny and valor bore me, I want to please him. He has always been good to me. It''s time I pay him back.

    ¡°Good. I knew you would Souta. You¡¯re a smart boy. Now,¡± he stares forward, a darker look clouding his eyes. ¡°Let¡¯s continue forth.¡±

    ¡­

    Raiten:

    I get a few hours of sleep at Sorina¡¯s behest. At first, I¡¯m tempted to argue against her, but I give in when she tells me, ¡°You¡¯ll be fighting actual soldiers. You can¡¯t do that red-eyed and dreary.¡±

    When I wake up, Sorina and Kara¡¯s band are backing up our camp. She tells me that we are meant to head to their campsite and tell the forty-some Havenmarchers of our plan. Apparently, they also have more fighters to spare at their camp. ¡®Fighters¡¯. More so just able bodied men and women, like Kara¡¯s band.

    As we cut through the woods, off the treaded-path, we cross the creek and slash our way through the denser brush. The forest is eerily quiet this morning. It sets me on edge; there¡¯s always at least some sound, some birds chirping or frogs croaking. It makes me wonder what happened to those animals.

    Did the plague get them too?

    I have so many questions about the plague that keep coming forth. Why does it mostly turn children? Why did Lizzy, the shepherd lizard, seem to go manic upon contracting the plague? Does it work faster on animals? Does it affect the minds of those infected?

    One of the swordswoman of Kara¡¯s band walks next to me. It¡¯s that fighter who gave me the toughest scrap of the entire group; the one whose leg I had to kick in. She keeps giving me weird stares. I don¡¯t know why at first.

    When she does it for long enough, I ask her, ¡°Is everything alright?¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± she says, blushing slightly. ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to make you uncomfortable.¡±

    Our voices are so loud, only because of the lack of other sounds. As to not disturb the group, I slow my pace and fall to the back of the line, behind Sorina and her mist-cloud. Umbrahorn scouts up ahead, rummaging underground.

    ¡°I just wanted to ask: what are you?¡± the woman prods.

    ¡°Meaning?¡±

    ¡°How do you heal like that? How do you¡­ fight like¡ª¡±

    ¡°An animal?¡±

    She chuckles. ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to be so mean about it, but sure. Like an animal.¡±

    ¡°The truth isn¡¯t mean,¡± Sorina says from ahead of us. ¡°Don¡¯t be sorry. He does fight like a dog.¡±

    I give Sorina a glare, which she returns with a smile. Then, she moves on ahead of us, giving me some peace. Well, at least you don¡¯t have to kick trees today.

    ¡°Before I answer that, what¡¯s your name?¡± I ask.

    She tugs her brown hair back and smiles. ¡°Hilda.¡±

    ¡°Well, Hilda, I fight like an animal mostly because that woman ahead of us, Sorina, treats me like an animal when she trains me.¡± And I also used to imitate the fighting styles of creatures that attacked me in the Thunder Tower, but she doesn¡¯t need to know that.

    Hilda looks somewhat shocked at this. ¡°She¡¯s your teacher?¡±

    ¡°Believe it or not, she¡¯s a much better fighter than me.¡± Our walking slows to a full halt as the group continues on ahead of us.

    ¡°Woah. I thought she was too¡­ pretty to be a fighter,¡± she says, an edge of teasing in her voice. I don¡¯t know what to make of that comment.

    ¡°She¡¯s probably the second best fighter I¡¯ve known.¡±

    ¡°What about your regeneration? What are you?¡± she asks, ignoring my remark.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ quite the question.¡± I don¡¯t know this woman. I could just lie to her. But, before I even get the chance to do that, I see something shuffling in the brush to our left.

    A low snarl emanates from it.

    Cursing, I push Hilda out of the way, unsheath her sword, and give the brush of thorns and bushels a WHACK!!

    ¡°What are you¡ª¡± she begins, but I shush her, closing my eyes and listening.

    No sound.

    Then, a lower growling. Ramping up.

    Getting closer.

    The sound of scraping claws.

    My left hand instinctively goes for the amulet sack, but I resist, clutching the sword instead. Hilda hides behind me, hands on my shoulder. She hears it too.

    Silence reigns.

    Hilda¡¯s heavy, fearful breaths eclipse mine.

    ¡°When I say run, you better sprint. Understood?¡± I ask.

    ¡°But ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Trust me. We are being hunted by something very smart,¡± I say. I don¡¯t really know how I can tell, but some instinct screams at me now. Some instinct I gained in my years of fighting monsters at the tower.

    My eyes search the forest. The trees are more spread out here than in the Red Cherry Forest, but the brush and the thorn are more dense.

    Something rustles above me.

    My hair stands on end.

    I sigh. I know what this is.

    So I look at Hilda and nod: ¡°Run.¡±

 XXIII: Live With Fear

    The Adachi ranges are inhabited by a wide variety of monsters and beasts. Once I fought a djinn ¡ª a tricky winged bastard who taunted me at every turn. That was when I was young ¡ª probably about twelve. I was still learning the game and he punished me greatly for it.

    I remember the way he spun around the tower, bat-like wings drifting along the wind, deep yellow eyes looking through my soul. I stood from the tower¡¯s precipice and levied crimson lightning against him, pelting the bolts as if they were spears. He danced in the air, laughing maniacally while deftly weaving my shots.

    ¡°Is this the best The Adachi Clan can give me? One sorry little boy throwing a temper tantrum?¡± he sneered, voice echoing through the valley. Then, he shot up, trying to cleave me with his axe. I ducked down, his axe missing most of my head. Most. It whistled through and skinned a decent chunk of my scalp off. It took a while for that to heal.

    The fight continued on like this for a while; him cutting in close, me shooting off more bolts. He scored some nasty blows on me which, at the time, cut so deep and so vastly that the wounds actually scarred over ¡ª something I thought was impossible beforehand, given my status as a Thunder Watcher.

    I was fighting with anger. Hatred. Taking out all the pent up rage I had due to my mother¡¯s death, still fresh in my mind. But that wasn¡¯t helping me. It might¡¯ve worked before against the hyena monkeys and half-giant devs, however, this opponent was different. Deliberate.

    Cunning.

    So, to defeat him, I had to rapidly develop my own sort of cunning.

    We fought through the night. He won most of the exchanges. Yet, for some reason, he never decided to delve into the Adachi lands. I was curse bound to fight him, but I wouldn¡¯t have minded if he used those smoke-based magicks of his to kill some of our Elders. Yet, he seemed fixated on toying with me.

    Eventually, when the sun began to rise once more, bathing our battle in deep orange hues, I feigned that I was out of amulets and angel dust. He bore into me, taking me off the tower and clutching me in his talons, forgoing the axe to lift me high into the sky, above the clouds.

    ¡°This was fun,¡± he whispered in my ear. ¡°But I grow bored of you, boy. Any last words?¡± The grips of his talons loosened slightly; his bloody claws withdrawing from my shoulders.

    ¡°Go back to the Jahanam from whence you came,¡± I responded. I thought it was a cool and a fitting line to say ¡ª something that one of those heroes in Kai¡¯s old war books would spout. Of course, this was when I still yearned to be a hero of sorts. Before I got tired of it all.

    The djinn simply smiled and let go of me.

    And that was when I activated my last amulet, hidden around my neck, underneath my shirt. Crushing it sent a wave of red lighting pulsing through me. I lassoed that lighting up at the confused djinn, wrapping it around his leg. He screamed as I dragged him down to the ground. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    I made sure to whip him against the Thunder Tower as well, petty as I was.

    And just before we hit the ground, I swung the bolt like a rope, making it go taut and bringing the djinn down before I landed.

    The crash knocked me out for a little thankfully. I probably almost died ¡ª my regeneration was working slowly, after all. When I came to, pain coursed throughout my body. My legs were broken, as were my arms and probably a few ribs.

    The djinn was in much worse shape. His leg was severed from my lightning rope and cauterized ¡ª his wings were burned from trying to slow his rapid descent. His breath came like a wheeze and I remember how balefully he looked upon me, upon this boy who had just outsmarted him.

    Despite my pain, I smiled at him.

    ¡°I curse you. I curse you I curse you I CURSE YOU!¡± the djinn managed to yell in a deranged fit of his own. I laughed at him at first. Then, he spoke some verses in a language I didn¡¯t know ¡ª a language that dug its icy claws in my spine and embedded itself in my body like a virus. My laughing quickly ceased.

    ¡°The elk will take you,¡± the djinn whispered. ¡°It will take you one day boy. And when it does, remember that it was the djinn, Baroth of the Eleventh Kingdom, that spelt your doom.¡±

    I expected him to die soon after, but he lived on for some time. A few hours at least. Wheezing and coughing and bleeding black all over the rocks. By the time I finally healed, however, he was gone. His body returned to dust and flame.

    For the next few years, I kept an eye out for this elk he spoke of. Never did it cross into Adachi lands. Never did I see a monster even remotely akin to a deer. So¡­ I forgot about the curse: chalked it up to some vague metaphorical threat or final taunt of the djinn.

    Until now that is.

    ¡­

    The curse the djinn placed upon me flared. I could feel it the moment I heard the growling ¡ª I just didn¡¯t recognize the feeling at first. But now that Hilda has started sprinting away, calling for help, I can look up and see the visage of the creature who hounds me.

    The Elk doesn¡¯t look like any normal deer.

    It has eight legs, four of which have metallic talons attached to its hooves. It must¡¯ve used those talons to scale the tree, for it perches on one of the large branches, eight black eyes bearing into me. Oddly enough, the creature also sports wings: one angelic white wing on its right, one djinn-like bat wing on its left. The Elk ¡ª if this thing can even be deemed an elk ¡ª snorts with fury before dropping down in front of me. Its landing shakes the ground, causing a few crisped brown leaves to fall from other trees ¡ª the last dregs of autumn.

    It stands thrice my size, twice my width, bleating and blaring like a goat and lion ¡ª its four incredible antlers burning with blue fire.

    And that¡¯s not even the worst thing.

    I want to laugh. Because I notice that this Elk is dripping snot and black worms are writhing in its flanks. Its legs have boils ¡ª its skin is rotting.

    It carries the plague.

    ¡°Alright then Baroth,¡± I say, dropping the sword and reaching for an amulet. ¡°Let¡¯s finish this eight year grudge match.¡±

 XXIV: Live With Your Failures

    <h2>XXIV: Live With Your Failures</h2>

    Sorina:

    What is taking them so long? I think, as we move on ahead. Kara and her band are busy cutting their way through an overgrown thorn brush, thwacking at it with swords and spears.

    I lean against a tree and play with my knives, juggling them in the air haphazardly. They catch the glint of the afternoon sun through the gaps of upper branches ¡ª other than that, we bathe in the shade, feeling the coolness of winter¡¯s onset.

    And I am starting to get a little pissed.

    ¡°Hilda,¡± I mutter, catching one knife and tossing it to my other hand. Who does she think she is, interrogating Raiten like that? Wasting our time. Holding him up. Looking at him like some lost puppy.

    I mean, what could they possibly be doing right now?

    I expel that thought rather quickly, for it bothers me. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯ve suddenly started caring about it so much. I have bigger worries.

    Umbrahorn comes back at that moment, his harness hanging loosely from the leather fin-strap as he emerges in the center of the group. He looks worried.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I ask. It''s the first time I¡¯ve seen Umbrahorn¡­ scared. His face hangs low, eyes fixated on the ground.

    ¡°I feel¡­. Something,¡± he says. ¡°I just don¡¯t know what it is. But it''s bad. Real bad.¡±

    ¡°What ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Kara!¡± someone yells. It''s Hilda, coming up the path. Without her sword.

    Damn. ¡°What happened?¡± I ask. I peer over her shoulder.

    ¡°There was this ¡ª this thing that¡ª¡±

    I shake Hilda. ¡°Where¡¯s Raiten?¡±

    ¡­

    Raiten:

    ¡°Little boy, little puppet, look how big you¡¯ve grown,¡± It speaks. Its mouth hangs open, but it does not utter the words. Instead, they come from the ground, from the trees, from the sky, echoing, chasing the wind.

    I back up slightly, hand clutching an amulet. Is that ¡ª

    ¡°Baroth?¡± I ask.

    The elk smiles in a very humane way. Then it raises itself on its hindlegs and stomps down, shaking the forest, the trees, the creek. When its front, rotting feet touch the ground, the world itself begins to change around it. What once was a warm and autumn hued environment now transforms into a ghostly, monochromatic visage: whites and blacks, negative colors, colonize the forest. Blue fire spreads forth from every step the elk takes, eating away the grass, scorching it a stark blackness. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    I crush the amulet.

    Lightning surges, sparkling crimson against the black and white domain of the beast.

    ¡°Oh, Thunder Watcher,¡± the elk says, opening its mouth once more but not speaking. It is like the creature is a vessel; a medium of conversation. ¡°You do not know how long I¡¯ve hungered for this moment.¡±

    Then, betwixt the burning antlers of the beast, a single orb of blue flame begins to circle. It materializes out of thin air ¡ª as if the very opening of the antlers acts as a portal. And that orb grows bigger. And bigger.

    Until swells and spews forth a pillar of unrelenting fire.

    My eyes widen and I imbue lightning into my legs, springing up just in time to dodge the blast of flame. I watch from midair as the pillar surges past my previous position, eviscerating the grass and leaves around it, eventually hitting and burning a hole through a yellow oaked tree. The tree itself, once colored a normal oak, now fades into black and white as blue fire stretches across its length. It cracks and tumbles slowly to the ground.

    ¡°For 50 years, I remained in the depths of Jahanman, awaiting my chance to return,¡± The wind whispers. 50 years? That doesn¡¯t make sense¡ª

    The elk begins to fly.

    I summon forth a spear of red lightning and lob it at the creature, aiming for its wings.

    For how big it is and how many appendages it has, it moves like a swift dancer, rolling to dodge my spear, which strikes against the forest itself causing another rumbling. This time, a murder of crows issues forth from the high branches, flying Southward, away from this impending battle.

    As I begin to fall I lasso a high, oblong cloud and swing from it, gaining more height above the elk. Then, I dismiss the lasso and dive for it.

    The elk looks up.

    Stares at me with its eight, black eyes. I stare directly into them.

    Then, my head goes insane. Deep pains press against the very tissue of my brain, eating away at any rationality I posses. I stop summoning lightning mid-dive, instead pressing my hands to my head.

    ¡°They asked me, ¡®Baroth, how could you lose to a mere child?¡¯ And they taunted me. And they ridiculed me, stripping away my honors, my glories. My pride,¡± the voice continues speaking. The elk meets me in the air, rearing its head down before swinging it up, impaling me on the ends of one of its antlers.

    I scream.

    Two branches of the antlers poke at my insides. One protrudes from my back.

    I try raising myself out of it. Try breaking the antler off with lighting infused punches.

    ¡°But I was saved. Freed from my solitude by the Witches throng of plague bearers. She promised me my elk. Promised me my vengeance.¡±

    Blue fire begins to charge between his antlers once more.

    He¡¯s going to blow me to pieces, I realize. In a desperate effort, I focus all my lightning energy into my right leg and deliver a cracking kick to the elk¡¯s jaw. It bleats and neighs, spinning in midair, jerking me painfully around on its antlers. Then, it whips its head out, flinging me off the antlered ends. I go flying towards the far Western side of the forest.

    Blue fire burns within me, thanks to the antlers.

    My head is a mess, thanks to the eyes.

    I try lassoing to a cloud. Too far, and I¡¯m too inaccurate. Instead, I come crashing through a foliage of branches and leaves, eventually hitting the ground with an unceremonious thud. I groan in pain. But I don¡¯t have time to rest.

    Because the blue fire does something I never could¡¯ve expected.

    It begins to attack my soul.

 XXV: Live With Soulfire

    ¡°Soul magicks are a Western machination,¡± Sorina had once told me when I prodded her about different sorts of magicks. ¡°They are pretty rare. It''s inherited ¡ª outside the spiral of regular magicks. And¡­ unlike most other magicks, its not something you can improve upon.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ you either have it or you don¡¯t?¡± I asked. She nodded. I scratched my chin, trying to ignore the steady drip of water from her underground cave. ¡°What does it do?¡±

    ¡°To be honest,¡± she shrugged. ¡°I have no clue. I¡¯ve never seen a soul mancer because most of them are immediately taken up by royals of greater nations than Catolica. From what I¡¯ve heard it''s a sort of magick that ignores everything in the physical plane in an effort to attack the very essence of ¡­ well everything. The soul.¡±

    It seemed like an arbitrary concept to me.

    Now, it is brought into ultimate clarity.

    The blue fire does not burn physically. It burns through me ¡ª to the very essence of what I am.

    I feel the contours of my soul ¡ª an orb shrouded in darkness and holding within it a crackling storm of rain and hail, thunder and hell. I feel the blue fire attempting to grasp the orb, turn it into monochrome negative darkness.

    With a gasp of effort, I place my hand upon my chest and splurge lightning. The self-inflicted shock wakes me up and actually strikes against the blue fire, breaking it apart.

    Again.

    Another shock. More of the fire dissipates. I don¡¯t know how, but I think it''s a mix of my lightning and regeneration that saves me. Otherwise, I would be destroyed.

    A third shock dispels the flame. I can breathe once more.

    The forest is vibrant around me. Full of color. And life. It seems that the wildlife in this Western area has not been deterred, for I hear birds musing and crickets chorusing.

    It takes me a while to stand, but once I do, I notice the ground around my chest has turned black and white, much like the other parts of the forest touched by the elk¡¯s domain.

    The elk. Baroth.

    How do I beat this thing?

    Blue soul fire from its antlers. No matter what, I can¡¯t let that flame touch me again.

    Deft flight capabilities.

    And eyes that hypnotize and attack my mental state.

    I shake my head. What type of monster is this? Some eldritch being? And how does Baroth, the mountain djinn, have access to it?

    Why did the witch free him? Does she know me?

    I try to remember a time where I¡¯ve fought a witch. Nothing comes to mind ¡ª never in my ten years at the tower did I fight anything remotely close to her. So¡­

    My thoughts are interrupted when I hear a crackling from the trees. Cursing, I jump up, lightning still flowing relatively strong through my body. Grasping one of the branches, I pull myself above the foliage of trees to witness the elk touching down upon the tallest of oaks, straddling the overgrown rounded brush, black eyes hunting for me no doubt.

    I dash across the treetops, silently, as I used to back when I hunted for Sorina in Takemeadow.

    I take it by surprise with a lightning-bladed slash from the flank. It screams as the energy ripples across its skin, leaving a scorching mark. I follow up with an Iron Winter kick to its underbelly, flinging the elk upward, high into the sky. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Rather than chase it, I lasso lightning and lob it at the beast. It spins around the elk¡¯s body, trapping its wings. With a grunt of effort, I pull as hard as possible, tugging the lightning rope ¡®round and bringing Baroth¡¯s vessel down at a thunderous pace.

    At the right moment, I dissipate the lightning rope.

    The elk spins back, falling, wings scorched slightly. A pillar of its blue fire shoots up, sundering the sky as the creature disappears below the treetops, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

    The fire remains for a bit before dissipating entirely.

    Silence reigns.

    Did I ¡ª Did I get it? I wonder.

    I wait, feeling my lightning reserves diminishing. I¡¯m willing to break another amulet though. This beast would be worth the trouble.

    There¡¯s a certain hate that¡¯s being reawoken in me. I remember how much Baroth tortured me that night in the tower. He hurt me so much that I didn¡¯t sleep the next few nights out of fear of for being attacked once more. I was twelve. Just a damn kid. And now, he¡¯s the one who dares to want revenge? Pathetic. He thinks he can break me. I will kill him slowly.

    A series of crunching movements sounds off below me. Before I can react in time, the elk bursts forth from the branches, charging directly into me. I wreathe my hands in lighting before grasping its burning antlers and headbutting the beast. That doesn¡¯t deter it.

    ¡°LET¡¯S GO FOR A RIDE!¡± Baroth screeches.

    Thus, we begin to fly into the distant horizon, continuing our battle with as much vitriol as two old enemies can muster.

    ¡­

    Sorina:

    Sweet mother of spirits, I think, looking at the monochrome desolation of the forest. What in the hells is Raiten fighting?

    The battleground they left behind is obliterated. Trees crackle and fall under the strain of blue fire. Lightning marks scorch the grass where the negative colors don¡¯t touch. Negative colors. A ghostly domain of white and black and some splashes of dark grey. This is some deeper Eldritch magicks. Different from the modern green and venom, I think, surveying the ground. Kara and her band spread forth from behind me, their faces set in looks of shock and awe. It truly seems as though we have stumbled upon the remnants of a storybook battle.

    We certainly heard the damn thing.

    Crashing trees. Fluttering birds. Lightning and chaos reigning through the forest. These were the sounds that assaulted them as they made their way back down their cut path, to where Hilda had abandoned Raiten.

    I look to Umbrahorn. ¡°What do you think it is?¡±

    He shakes his head. ¡°It¡¯s certainly not a spirit. That fire is soul flame ¡ª no spirit, no matter how great, can produce that. It takes something¡­ different,¡± he pauses, sniffing the air. ¡°They have gone far. Towards the west.¡±

    Worry frays my nerves. If he¡¯s struggling, even with the angel dust, then¡­

    I shudder. ¡°We have to find him. Where¡ª¡±

    I am cut off as a blaring roar comes from the West. Across the creek, in that denser treeline, a pillar of blue fire surges towards the sky, peeling apart a gray cloud. It looks as if it is a staff of angels ¡ª or giants. Despite it being soul fire, I can feel its vibrations, its sensations of oppressive heat, from all the way here.

    It is a sight unlike any I have witnessed. Such holds true for everyone else, for they gaze reverently upon that hypnotic blue fire. Even Umbrahorn is brought to awe.

    ¡°Dear Primordials,¡± one of Kara¡¯s men say. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go anywhere near that.¡±

    They are afraid.

    And why shouldn¡¯t they be? My own hands rattle like a drum.

    This is beyond me. And yet¡­ Raiten fights on.

    ¡°Umbrahorn, let¡¯s go,¡± I say, taking the shark¡¯s harness and attaching it to my belt. He gives me a fearful look.

    ¡°We¡¯re¡­ going after that ¡ª¡± he begins, but I slap him on the back.

    ¡°Snap out of it! You wanna be a great spirit? Prove it. Kill this monster with me.¡±

    Umbrahorn looks as if he¡¯s about to bite my head off. Then, the hammerhead shark laughs a bellowing laughter that startles the other members of Kara¡¯s group.

    ¡°Right. Nothing can beat me. For I am the greatest of spirits.¡±

    I stick my dagger loosely in Umbrahorn¡¯s hide to help brace myself. Then, I look to Kara¡¯s group.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be back. Just¡­ remain here. In fact, send some of your men to move your people away.¡± I¡¯m sure this will get even uglier from here on out.

    Kara gave me a simple nod.

    ¡°Alright then Umbrahorn,¡± I say, pulling the harness taut. ¡°Let¡¯s go for a ride.¡±

 XXVI: Live With Rage

    Raiten:

    Eventually, I disentangle from Baroth, shooting away from the flying monstrosity. He chases me across the forests, the plains, towards the East. Blue fire rages behind me. I counter with well-chosen lightning strikes that sunder the flames. It seems that my element counters his to an extent. The only problem is that he can produce a lot more soul flame than I can lightning ¡ª meaning he can just brute force his way through this battle.

    I don¡¯t have that luxury.

    He sends forth another sputtering ball of blue fire. I swing across the length of a cloud ¡ª but the flame finds its target, hitting my leg. With a curse, I jolt lightning through the thigh, scorching my leg and frying my nerves, making the damned thing numb. If I had better practice at this, I could find a more nuanced solution to countering the soul fire once it tried colonizing my body. Unfortunately, this is a first for me. A very dangerous first at that.

    To counter, at the top of my arcing swing, I dissipate the lightning rope and instead, imbue my feet with lightning. Somersaulting in mid-air I attach myself to the long cloud¡¯s underside. When my feet touch the gray, puffy wisps, the cloud hardens and coalesces, and I feel as though I am walking upon water. My hair hangs and the blood runs to my head. I try not to look down too much, instead focusing on my encroaching enemy.

    Baroth also has some self-healing capabilities ¡ª or at least, this elk vessel of his does. When I smite it, burn it, bite it, slash it, the damned beast always comes back. But I know better than anyone that nothing in this accursed world is truly immortal. I just have to squeeze.

    My dust runs close to done. I clutch another amulet in one hand and summon one last, gargantuan bolt of raging, crackling lighting in the other. Extending that arm back, I thrust it forward with as much power as I can muster, sending the spear of red light towards Baroth¡¯s zooming form.

    As the lightning passes through the air, branching sparks touch the clouds around it ¡ª such is its power. Lightning cannot be contained or controlled fully. It can be mended and shaped. Should one try to force it, bully it to bend to their wills, lightning will never obey. Instead, it will smite the beholder.

    That has always been the mistake of my elders. They try to control everything. That is why, to this day, they have never understood angelic smite. They thrust that duty upon their enslaved Thunder Watchers ¡ª who are, ironically, perhaps the only people in this universe who understand the whims of lightning.

    Because at the end of the day¡­

    We are the same.

    I feel a kinship with crimson lightning. It was my sole protector during my years at the tower. Whenever I got a new package of angel dust from Kai and his entourage, I¡¯d cherish and revere the amulets. I¡¯d clean them too ¡ª odd as that might sound, since I had to break them regardless.

    Now, my bolt of lightning cascades towards Baroth: a ripping redness in the sky. My eyes are trained enough to see its path, but to others, it must look like some scarlet flash. In its wake, thunder roars through the valley.

    Baroth cannot dodge the bolt fully. And he knows that. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    So instead, the beast summons forth its own pillar of blue, concentrated fire between its antlers. Then, it sends that flame forth to clash against the incoming lightning bolt.

    The impact of the two elemental forces sends shivers throughout the world itself. Suddenly, the dull sky gains a wealth of color as blue and red hues war for dominance.

    My lightning against his flame.

    Roaring fire against thundering storm.

    The sound of their battle is earsplitting. My drums beg to be covered, but I am too in awe of the lights below me.

    My angel dust runs out. Just as it does, my legs detach from the cloud. I crush another amulet and immediately re-imbue lightning into my soles, hanging from the cloud once more.

    The blue hues begin to win. Baroth has too much flame at his disposal. I issue forth three more bolts of lightning to help my primary spear, but it is a useless exercise. I should not engage in this battle of ego ¡ª his element will beat mine only through sheer volume.

    So, I detach myself from the cloud and watch as my lightning slowly disintegrates in the wake of Baroth¡¯s soul fire.

    However, the beast is too distracted by my original attack to notice me now positioning myself below him.

    As the final wisps of lightning disappear and Baroth¡¯s blue fire reigns as the sole element in the sky, I levy another three smaller bolts of lightning at Baroth¡¯s underside. They shoot up fast-like and strike the elk¡¯s white-furred belly, sending it flying above the clouds, bleating and roaring something terrible.

    I move to pursue; I lob a rope of lightning around another cloud and whip it down, launching myself with lightning-imbued legs simultaneously. Since the cloud gains weight when touched by my lightning, I propel myself like a catapult straight into the sky.

    Ripping through a cloud, I see Baroth high above me, screaming and cursing: ¡°RAITEN! THUNDER WATCHER! YOU FIGHT LIKE A COWARD!¡±

    I can¡¯t help but smirk at the beast as my flight halts and I fall back down, landing atop the clouds.

    It searches for me frantically but only finds me as I call out to it: ¡°Remember what happened last time when we were this high up Baroth?¡± I ask. I want to taunt him further. Make him irrational. ¡°If not, let me remind you: I strung you with lightning and thrust you down from the heavens, killing you.¡±

    The elk looks at me with a great measure of rage.

    I make sure to avoid the gaze of its black eyes, instead, looking at its body.

    Baroth dives for me.

    That¡¯s right, I think, hands tingling with sparks. Come get me. I¡¯ll kill you the same way as I did before.

    Then, something strange happens. Rather than summon more blue fire, Baroth¡¯s antlers begin to¡­ grow.

    What the ¡ª

    In mere moments, the already hulking antlers spurt forth and extend downwards, heading directly for me.

    In a panic I run across the cloud and launch myself forward.

    One antler simply changes path midair, following me.

    The other comes ¡®round to my frontside to cut me off.

    Alright. This is new, but I can deal with this ¡ª

    The antler in front of me splits into two. Cursing, I summon a crude lightning blade and slash at both antlers in front me.

    The one chasing from behind skewers my chest. Sharp, digging pain. Fire begins to rage against my soul. Cursing, I hit myself with lightning to stave it off.

    And then Baroth is upon me, head and body now caught up with his antlers. They retract to their normal size as the elk bears into me with his weight, diving down, parading me on its ends.

    ¡°Cocky little bastard,¡± Baroth hisses. ¡°Things have changed. Allow me to demonstrate.¡±

    And suddenly, the sky itself begins to turn monochrome.

 XXVII: Live With Eldritch Magicks

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you¡¯re doing it, but I commend your ability to fight my soul fire. Still, young Thunder Watcher, from the moment I saw your pathetic little form sitting high and mighty atop that great orange pillar, you were truly marked for death,¡± Baroth says. ¡°This is inevitable. Do not fight it. It will do you no good ¡ª make the pain even worse.¡±

    The sky, the forest, Katal itself turns black, white, and gray ¡ª all color is sapped and drained. I struggle on the ends of the antler, trying to pull myself out. Noticing this, Baroth extends his antlers out and branches them excessively, making it so that multiple antler-points dig into my insides.

    I scream.

    I try delivering a backwards kick with lightning, trying to recreate my previous escape from this position. But he is too far out. I try lobbing lightning behind me, yet other antlers penetrate my arms, my hands. One antler slaps me so hard in the back that my vision gets blurred. Another strikes me across the jaw, breaking off a few teeth. One particular tooth gets embedded in  my upper jaw. My mouth bleeds. It would take lightning to spit that one out ¡ª not that it matters. I am hurting all over.

    This much will break me.

    The regeneration already comes slower, despite being moderately enhanced by my angel dust.

    Where did this power come from? Why wasn¡¯t he using this before?

    I suspect it has something to do with the entirety of the world now looking like the colors he splays in his wake. It feels as if I¡¯d entered another realm entirely.

    ¡°Actually, on second thought, please, continue struggling,¡± Baroth says. ¡°Your screams are truly musical. I wonder, did your mother scream like this?¡±

    What?

    I crane my head around, fury in my eyes. Upon seeing this, he smiles.

    ¡°I did my homework. What? Did that hurt your feelings Raiten? Does the lonely little Thunder Watcher miss his mommy? His bitch mother? You know, I¡¯ll be sure to play with her corpse once I¡¯m done with you. Or maybe, I¡¯ll keep your soul on the brink of death, only to bring you back to life to watch me ¡ª I still haven¡¯t decided. Honestly, I have been planning out how to beat you for so long that I never really got around to ironing out the details of your death. But I¡¯ve dreamt of it. Oh I¡¯ve dreamt of it many nights, lusting for it. You don¡¯t know little one. You don¡¯t understand how much I¡¯ve obsessed over it.

    ¡°It took so long to get the elk. But once I did, I hunted and hounded, relentless. And then I saw and studied ¡ª admired how much you¡¯d grown. I respect your resolve to an extent, Watcher. Oh, perhaps I¡¯ll play with that female of yours or that stupid pet shark you keep. Maybe I¡¯ll visit Erot and his farm. Damn I should¡¯ve done that first actually ¡ª might¡¯ve been better. Oh well, mistakes can be overturned. After all,¡± he brings me close to him, face to face.

    His black eyes begin bearing into me. The soul fire catches my soul. The antlers start ripping my body apart.

    ¡°After all, Watcher, I am¡ª¡±

    I spit out my tooth, imbuing it with all the lightning power I can muster from the thick angel dust in my blood. The dust winks out immediately. But the tooth¡­

    It drills straight through the elk¡¯s head, shooting through its cranium, making its eyes twitch, gloss over. Purple blood spurts on me from the small hole.

    Baroth¡¯s body goes still.

    The world of monochrome begins to fade ¡ª back to normalcy. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    And, we begin to fall, blood flowing in droves as the antlers retract, the soul fire disappears, and I soar away from the elk, losing consciousness.

    ¡­

    Sorina:

    ¡°Where is he, Umbrahorn?¡± I ask. The shark follows the trail of destruction left in Raiten¡¯s wake. Chunks of the forest are decimated. Animals are scorched. Ash and earthly remnants flurry down from the sky like snowfall.

    Mist-Cloud follows close-behind us. I ride Umbrahorn for now ¡ª just in case we get into a fight. If we need to run, however, Mist-Cloud is the mount I¡¯ll take.

    ¡°He should be¡­ right here. What the ¡ª¡± Umbrahorn begins looking around. No, I realize. Did his trail end?

    Earlier, from afar, we witnessed Raiten¡¯s crimson lightning clash against blue soul fire. It was a harrowing sight ¡ª something straight out of a martial children¡¯s tale in Sorayvlad or a folk song in Catolica.

    We followed that trail only to find nothing. A desolate clearing ¡ª the trees around us turning to ash, burning away.

    The eye of the forest, as one might call it.

    ¡°Sniff again!¡± I tell the shark. He gives me a side-glare.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work like that. I¡¯m telling you, my senses are very keen and they tell me ¡ª¡±

    Something big and hefty thumps right in front of us, startling both Umbrahorn and I. The shark rears up and throws me off its back in surprise.

    I roll to the left and unsheath my dagger, pouncing on our foe.

    It''s an elk. Or¡­ some hellish creature made to resemble an elk. Eight black eyes. Four clawed hooves, four regular ones. Giant, imposing antlers. One angel wing. One devil wing ¡ª now half burnt off.

    And a hole through its head.

    ¡°It''s dead,¡± I mutter.

    ¡°Is it? Are you sure?¡± Umbrahorn asks. I look at him, surprised to find him hiding behind Mist-Cloud of all things.

    ¡°Umbrahorn?¡±

    ¡°Check again! I¡¯m telling you, check!¡± The shark yells. Shrugging, I take my knife and slit it across the elk¡¯s throat. Purple blood drains out, sticky and viscous ¡ªmore so than normal blood. It¡¯s almost like honey.

    ¡°Why are you so afraid? Do you know what this is?¡± I ask.

    He doesn¡¯t answer. I¡¯ve never seen the prideful spirit like this. It should be amusing¡ª yet it feels more disconcerting.

    Before I can press him, minor wind spirits surge around me. I consider asking the little sprites what happened, but instead, they start whispering frantically.

    ¡°Run, run, run! They are coming. The soldiers are coming!¡± They yell.

    ¡°Who?¡± I whisper. With sprites, you have to whisper ¡ª lest you blow them away. They can¡¯t be seen by the naked eye, so spirit mancers sometimes employ them as spies ¡ª though apparently they are fickle and hard to control.

    ¡°Catolica, Catolica!¡± They hiss. ¡°Catolica, Catolica!¡± They say it like a mantra now.

    Then, they soar away, riding the wind currents.

    I have a quick mental debate with myself: fight or flee? I look at Umbrahorn, shaking like a little boy in his first battle. With a sigh I make a decision.

    ¡°Umbrahorn, we have to go! Let¡¯s hide behind the treeline, up the hillock. At least then we can nab a look at our enemies.¡±

    ¡®Enemies¡¯ I call them. Yet Catolica used to be my home. Your home that now steals from plague-bearing free villages, I remind myself.

    ¡°What about the elk¡ª¡°

    ¡°Leave it, let¡¯s go!¡± That snaps Umbrahorn out of his fear spell, for a moment at least. We ride up and off towards the hillock, my eyes fixed back on that dead elk. There¡¯s something so¡­ wrong about it. Even its corpse is menacing.

    As soon as we reach the crest of the wooded hill, I spot Catolica troops moving into the clearing that we left. About two dozen men filter in, dressed in drab kilts and red gambesons. Front-runners ¡ª scouts. I recognize the regiment type from my father¡¯s old troop.

    They hold their weapons out to the elk and prod it with their metal, poking some new holes into the beast. One of the men kicks it. Nothing. Then, an angry looking woman shoos the men away and kneels down next to beast. We can¡¯t hear them, no matter how much I strain my wind senses.

    The woman spouts some orders. The men snap into motion ¡ª a dozen of them go and pick the beast up, heaving it over their shoulders. They struggle to place it on a wagon of sorts.

    Then, I spot something even more worrying.

    ¡°Umbrahorn, you see that, right?¡± I ask.

    He nods. ¡°They have him.¡±

    In the wagon, slumped over the side railing, is the bloodied form of Raiten.

    And Catolica has him in chains.

 XXVIII: Live With Petty War

    Raiten:

    I think I am dead. I certainly feel dead. My body is a mess of blood and tearstear, wound and wear. My soul is tired and dim. My eyes have certainly lost their luster. Everything goes in and out of darkness.

    When I feel my body break against the ground, there is little pain. Only peace.

    Short-lived peace.

    I awake in a scorched field. A forest of stumps and black roots. A rocky valley spreads out below me, littered with dead souls. Men. Women. And of course, many, many children.

    Ahead, on the bluffs of a green mountain, an army lies in wait. It is a sea of rot and boils ¡ª the plagued. They have swept over the land.

    At their head, a feminine figure sits upon a steed. She looks young, dressed in a fine blue and maroon brocade accented by a white scarf. Though, she does wear an oddly dull wooden mask to accompany that outfit. Her steed is what grabs my attention more ¡ª for it is the elk I just vanquished, back in its full glory.

    The woman is looking at me ¡ª some sixth sense of mine tells me so. Even through the wooden mask, I meet the piercing gaze of her blood red eyes. They are quite beautiful, in fact.

    At her side, she carries a silver sheath. From it, she draws forth a raw, unadorned, unguarded and unhilted blade. She grasps it from the iron stem and points the blade-end at me. It is a long arms blade of Western-make ¡ª unfinished, yet sharp as all hells, glinting in the orange light of a rising sun that seems all too close to the world itself.

    ¡°You think you can hunt me?¡± a voice whispers. It is seductive and menacing all at once ¡ª like a lover giving their voice a hard edge. And it is a tingling voice that travels up my spine.

    I grimace, but don¡¯t turn away from her gaze.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I say. I recognize what this is now. I won¡¯t let her intimidate me.

    Laughter carries through the wind. High and mocking, like a noblewoman.

    ¡°Oh please, you¡¯re nothing but a slave foolish enough to turn against his masters,¡± she says. Then, she kicks the elk forward, riding it towards me. Not that it matters ¡ª in whatever place this is, her voice carries to me all the same.

    When she reaches me, she extends her hand rather than her blade. ¡°I can help you in your journey ¡ª I am not so unmerciful as to turn away a fellow struggler.¡±

    I slap away her hand, which is gloved by a delicate white leather.

    The elk gives me a side glare. I return that glare with a smile.

    She shrugs. ¡°So be it.¡±

    Then, slowly, she takes her mask off.

    ¡­

    I wake up in chains ¡ª hands cuffed and hanging by a hook. My body is bloody and grimy, hair matted and dirty. My wounds have not yet healed fully. My jaw and inner mouth have fully regenerated, but I suspect my bodily innards are still stabbed through slightly. Or broken.

    I¡¯m going to be shitting out antlers, I muse. Well, at least it''s over. But by the heavens, that was my toughest battle. Ever. Never had I fought a more formidable opponent or been taken to such lengths. In fact, it was almost like a repeat of my first battle with Baroth ¡ª both times, the djinn pummeled me through and through, up until the end where I won by¡­ a fluke. No other way to put it really. A tooth of all things, imbued with lightning. Sometimes, I surprise myself. Hells, I didn¡¯t even know I could imbue enamel with lightning like that. Thankfully, my quick-thinking and desperation worked.

    At the cost of two amulets.

    So, now I¡¯m down to four.

    Speaking of which¡­ Where is my amulet sack? I don¡¯t feel the thing jingling on my side as I raise myself on the hook, trying to escape. Unfortunately, I cause quite a ruckus. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    The door to the small, firelit room I¡¯m kept in is slammed open.

    I stop struggling lamely as some soldiers waltz inside. Four men surround me, each carrying large halberds. They stand at attention at the four corners of the room ¡ª sentinels in the firelight. Then, a fifth man walks in the room, commanding some presence. The soldiers snap to attention.

    The fifth man is their commander. He wears fully kitted armor ¡ª a morion helm, a breastplate, vambraces, and shin armor. The man takes the morion off and sets it down below me. Sweat rolls from his black, short-cropped hair. Wrinkles crease his forehead. He seems like someone who''s perpetually stressed. That¡¯s¡­ not good for me.

    ¡°Prisoner,¡± he addresses me simply. ¡°You can call me Captain Riddeck.¡±

    I don¡¯t answer him at first. He sighs. ¡°You know, when someone greets you with their name, you should reciprocate in kind.¡±

    I look between him and then shake my chains for a bit of emphasis: ¡°does this look like a formal setting to you?¡±

    He chuckles. ¡°No, I suppose not. Apologies for that¡ªyou gave us all a bit of a scare.¡±

    ¡°What does that mean?¡±

    ¡°We were scouting out the forests for any signs of the enemy. I was leading my men firsthand. And then,¡± he starts walking around me, behind me. ¡°I see red lightning clash with blue fire. The sky drains of color. And I wonder to myself, ¡®Ah hells Riddeck, what have you gotten yourself into?¡¯¡±

    I stay silent. I¡¯d rather let him play this out ¡ª I have no idea who these people are, though I have guesses.

    He continues: ¡°Then, I see you falling about one thousand feet from the sky. I thought ¡ª surely, he must be dead. But no, you lived. Not only that, your wounds began to heal as well. And I think, surely, I must have stumbled upon some deity. Or,¡± he comes around now, face to face with me. ¡°Some daemon.¡±

    I scoff. ¡°I¡¯m no daemon.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be the judge of that.¡± He backs away, reaching for his belt. From it, he produces the amulet sack. I try not to eye it too greedily. ¡°Why were you clutching these so hard?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I answer simply. Obviously, he doesn¡¯t buy it. He starts tossing the sack up and down. ¡°Careful ¡ª don¡¯t play with those.¡±

    ¡°At least keep your story straight: first you say ¡®you don¡¯t know¡¯ and now, you¡¯re telling me¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m being serious, stop tossing it up like that,¡± I tell him. You might just break one and kill yourself.

    Something in my voice gives him pause. He catches the sack and opens it, taking a peak inside. Then, with a shrug, he laces it back up and puts it away.

    ¡°Fine,¡± he says, making a dismissive gesture. ¡°That¡¯s not really all that important anyways. I have one question for you ¡ª answer it properly, and you might just live.¡±

    ¡°What makes you think¡ª¡±

    ¡°Are you a scion of Sorayvlad?¡± He cuts me off. The question baffles me. What is it with people thinking I¡¯m from Clan Sorayvlad?

    ¡°You lot can¡¯t be this racist to think that every Eastern looking man you see is of Sorayvlad,¡± I mutter.

    ¡°Say that again?¡±

    ¡°I said, no, I¡¯m not from Clan Sorayvlad.¡±

    He raises an eyebrow. ¡°We¡¯ve heard rumors of a boy from Sorayvlad wielding lightning like you do. Apparently, he does it by crushing amulets. Amulets like the ones in this sack of yours.¡±

    Interesting. So they have a Thunder Watcher of their own then? Or maybe, some poor fool who just tries using angel dust at the cost of his own health. Regardless¡­

    ¡°I can assure you, that person is not me. I am from a different clan, though I no longer associate myself with clans. I quite despise them, in all honesty.¡±

    ¡°How am I supposed to believe you? We¡¯re at war with Sorayvlad and all of a sudden, a lightning wielding bastard starts causing a ruckus in our territory ¡ª it seems a bit suspicious, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡±

    War with Sorayvlad? I file that information away for later.

    ¡°Look,¡± I begin. ¡°I¡¯m from ¡ª was from Clan Adachi. Now, I reside in a little village uproad, down South. Takemeadow. Surely you¡¯ve heard of that?¡±

    He sneers. ¡°Sure. And I¡¯m from Germanica.¡± He¡¯s being sarcastic.

    ¡°I¡¯m telling you the truth!¡± I hiss, frustrated now. ¡°You lot are all Catolicans, right?¡±

    If he¡¯s surprised at my guess, he doesn¡¯t show it. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°I know one of your old princesses ¡ª Sorina. The one you married off to Sorayvlad. She¡¯s the mayor of Takemeadow.¡±

    His face contorts in confusion. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Sorina is dead. She has been for sometime ¡ª this much is known. Hells lad,¡± Riddeck starts chuckling. ¡°Why else do you think we¡¯re at war?¡±

 XXIX: Live With Cruelty

    ¡°Riddeck, I¡¯m telling you that she¡¯s alive,¡± I plead for about the fourth time. But once more, he shakes his head.

    ¡°It''s not possible. She was lost in the insurrection ¡ª when Sorayvlad had their great Shogunate race. Her husband was killed and she was killed. Hells son, they sent us the proof. Three fingers.¡±

    The torchlight flickers, cracking against the walls. I mull over what he¡¯s told me. It is understandable that they might think she¡¯s dead ¡ª after all, it''s not like Sorina got in contact with them after the civil conflict within Sorayvlad. But war? Wasn¡¯t Sorina just a Princess ¡ª one far down the line at that? And didn¡¯t her supposed ¡®death¡¯ happen a long time ago? If so, why are they just now playing into this conflict ¡ª now when plague sweeps the lands of the South.

    Is there some political opportunity to be gained that I¡¯m missing?

    You¡¯re thinking too much about this. What does it matter?

    It''s just another obstacle in your way. Let them have their war. It does not concern you.

    ¡°Alright, look,¡± I begin again. ¡°You want to know my name? It''s Raiten. And at the end of the day, the one thing I can assure you, is that I have nothing to do with Sorayvlad and your war. So, would you kindly let me go and be on my way?¡±

    Riddeck says nothing, narrowing his eyes. He stares at me like that for quite a few moments. I meet his gaze, unwavering.

    Then, with a sigh, he says, ¡°I think I believe you, Raiten. Even about the whole Sorina thing. You don¡¯t look as if you¡¯ve got something missing from your noggin. Or,¡± he scoffs. ¡°Perhaps that fall you had is still affecting you. Regardless, I don¡¯t really care to check ¡ª I¡¯ve got too many other things to worry about.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ you¡¯ll let me go?¡±

    ¡°Unfortunately, that¡¯s not for me to decide. However, I can at least take you to the one who will have the displeasure of making that decision.¡± He grasps my cuffed wrists and raises me above the hook with surprising strength. Unhooked, he drops my hands and I shake them gingerly.

    ¡°Who is it?¡± I ask, in reference to the ¡®decision-maker¡¯.

    Ignoring my query, he simply says, ¡°Follow along. And please, don¡¯t try anything stupid. You¡¯ve made a good impression ¡ª it¡¯d be better to not waste that.¡±

    ¡­

    It takes a while before I realize, with some amusement, that I am at the checkpoint along the road to Havenmarch: the very same checkpoint I was meant to raid with Kara¡¯s band. It is erected under the canopy of dark trees that make up what must be the Blightbriars. A palisade of stakes is raised on the ground, parallel to the dirt path. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Watchtowers loom high above the gates and are populated with guardsman yawning about their tasks. The gates themselves are splayed below us as we cross the the walls ¡ª they are utilitarian to the highest degree, a mere amalgamation of iron and chain that lifts and falls to the tune of a pulley system ¡ª an unsavory maw for even more unsavory fortress.

    The road ahead grasps my attention for it is laden with wagons and horses, carriages and supplies. People moving their lives away from Havenmarch. A mass migration ¡ª tolled and taxed by Catolica. A troop of soldiers inspects each caravan, wagon, and family unit  ¡ª whispering some grim truths or threats to them. Most families give up half of what they own at the least; this much grants them passage through the fortress, through a narrowly built corridor of makeshift wooden materials that cuts through the center of the campgrounds.

    A few families, however, opt to keep their things and venture into the darkness of the woods.

    ¡°This is cruel,¡± I hiss.

    Riddeck looks at the thronging masses and nods. ¡°War is cruel.¡±

    I scoff. ¡°What war? Sorayvlad? This is not their doing ¡ª this is plague. And you reap from Havenmarchers like thieves.¡±

    ¡°I tend to disagree. This is merely an exchange. We will deal with their plague ¡ª but they must pay their dues. If not, they can face the plague themselves ¡ª out in the Blightbriars. See how they fare.¡±

    ¡°Surely you don¡¯t believe this is right.¡±

    He chuckles lowly: ¡°Raiten, right? I¡¯ve learned long ago that there is no such thing as right. There is only what you can do right by your people ¡ª everyone else be damned.¡±

    I try seeing if there¡¯s a way for the unfortunates to venture only a few shrubs deep into the woods. Unfortunately, this fortress spans long-ways into the Blighbriars with smaller walls stretching forth into the thorny blackness. Men patrol those walls too, though those ones seem of harder make. Veterans perhaps.

    Makes sense. Especially if the Blightbriars are filled with plagued and turned ¡ª I¡¯d put my harder soldiers out there as well.

    We come to the mid-section of one tower. Its maroon door is closed and a large, silver knocker hangs half broken from its center.

    Riddeck goes to it and gives it a slam. The knocker nearly falls off, but the door itself opens in response. I turn around only for one of the four soldiers trailing us to butt his leather wrapped spear-head into my back, pushing me forward.

    I stumble into the room and Riddeck closes the door behind us. Then, he takes a knee, bowing his head in reverence. I look around. Firelight flickers from the upper reaches of the tower ¡ª torches built around the circular staircase going up.

    A figure works at a desk, hooded and scribbling over some documents. Lamplight illuminates their back. The room should smell musty ¡ª but rather, it gives the whiff of perfume. Spiced, expensive perfume.

    ¡°I have brought the prisoner,¡± Riddeck simply says. The figure keeps scribbling, dipping their writing utensil in some ink.

    I stand next to Riddeck for a few minutes, studying the figure in front of me. They are lithe and thin and I have strong suspicion that they are feminine.

    That suspicion is confirmed when they speak in a female voice ¡ª though, it is modulated to the lower baritones of a noblewoman: ¡°What do you think Riddeck?¡±

    He clears his throat. ¡°I think they are honest, if a bit misinformed.¡±

    The figure sets their papers down and stands, producing a white handkerchief with which they wipe their fingers delicately.

    Then, they pull back the hood.

    Her hair is blonde and braided in a complex weave. She pulls up the sleeves of that oversized brown robe to reveal bracelets and rings adorning each hand.

    Dark green eyes ¡ª even darker ones than Sorina¡¯s, judge me.

    ¡°I see the resemblance,¡± I mutter.

    She ignores my patter: ¡°My name is Pamela. I am Queen of Catolica. And you, prisoner, will answer my questions honestly. Otherwise, I will send you to the Blightbriars myself.¡±

 XXX: Live With A Red World

    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯ve already answered your Captain¡¯s questions.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but unfortunately, once he takes a liking to someone, he tends to go easy on them. I, on the other hand, don¡¯t,¡± Pamela says. She¡¯s all business.

    I give Riddeck a glance. He scratches his head, cheeks flushing a little out of embarrassment. If he¡¯s the one who goes easy, how much is she going to ask of me here?

    I sigh. I hope that Sorina is doing her best to find me ¡ª or maybe she thinks I¡¯m dead. No, Umbrahorn should have my scent. They¡¯ll find me. And¡­ maybe they¡¯ll spring me out of here.

    I just have to stall a little while longer.

    Pamela walks around me, circling my form. ¡°What clan do you hail from?¡±

    ¡°Adachi.¡±

    ¡°Good. I recognize you now, actually ¡ª Thunder Watcher.¡±

    That surprises me. ¡°What, did you ever cross into Adachi lands?¡± I try remembering her from my time at the tower, but nothing comes up.

    She shakes her head. ¡°No, but I was camped outside of Adachi once. That was when Catolica and Adachi were on the brink of war.¡±

    Right. The Galley Incident five years ago.

    I chuckle: ¡°Your father brought you to the battlefield?¡±

    ¡°Of course. He taught me that true monarchs lead from the front. That way, they don¡¯t get stabbed in the back.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to understand,¡± she says, coming in front of me now. She narrows her dark green eyes. ¡°What were you fighting out here, Thunder Watcher? And¡­ how have you left the Adachi lands?¡±

    ¡°I was facing¡­ an old enemy.¡± I don¡¯t elaborate on purpose. Instead, I eye the amulet sack on the Captain¡¯s side. If I could just reach that¡ª

    ¡°Don¡¯t try anything. I¡¯m not your enemy. In fact, I think we can be allies.¡±

    I scoff. ¡°Tempting, but I think I¡¯ll pass. I don¡¯t like thieves.¡±

    She stays silent for a second, as if gathering her thoughts. I consider kicking her and headbutting Riddeck, but then she starts speaking again: ¡°You know, I¡¯ve taken a great risk bringing you to me directly. After all, very few people know I¡¯m here.¡±

    ¡°Not my problem.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so combative. I¡¯m trying to help you.¡±

    I shake my chains. ¡°If you want to help me, free me and leave me be.¡±

    She shrugs. ¡°Free him, Riddeck.¡±

    ¡°And if you don¡¯t, I¡¯ll ¡ª wait what?¡±

    Riddeck stands, head hanging low in respect, while he produces the keys from his belt and uncuffs me.

    I open my palms in and out, gingerly caressing my wrist. Then, I give the Queen a dark stare. What trick are you playing?

    ¡°Oh, and give him the amulets back. They¡¯re his after all.¡±

    ¡°But, my Queen ¡ª¡±  Riddeck begins before she cuts him off. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    ¡°Riddeck, don¡¯t question me.¡±

    ¡°Apologies.¡± He hands me the sack. I take it¡­ hesitantly. I look inside just in case. All four amulets remain untouched.

    ¡°You may leave,¡± the Queen says.

    I look to the door and then back to Pamela¡¯s blank face.

    Gripping the amulets, I walk slowly to the door, wary, watchful, eyes wide and strained.

    ¡°You don¡¯t agree with our methods, is that correct?¡± she says suddenly. ¡°You don¡¯t agree with the way we toll Havenmarchers? It is cruel, I do agree. But, it is necessary. We need all the resources we can muster to combat Sorayvlad. After all, they have a master strategist on their side.¡±

    I keep walking, though I slow my pace. What is she getting at ¡ª

    ¡°Does the name Masaru ring a bell?¡±

    I freeze.

    Then, slowly, I turn to her.

    And for the first time in our entire conversation, the Queen makes an expression.

    She smiles ever so slightly, as if saying ¡®I have you now.¡¯ And she does. And I don¡¯t care if I¡¯m being played anymore.

    Because everything is going red.

    ¡­

    On the day of my mother¡¯s death four elders initially sentenced me in the judgement ring: Renji, the head elder whose presence was like that of a giant. Kai, stalwart and commanding, which was to be expected of the clan¡¯s military leader. Hikaru, diminutive and cowardly ¡ª the pathetic lorekeeper and negotiator. Daichi, contemptuous and ever-vile. I still don¡¯t really understand his role amongst the Elders. Perhaps he¡¯s just an evil old bastard who stayed on the council through grit and venom.

    Masaru was initially missing from the procession.

    He was Kai¡¯s mentor, in a way. The oldest strategist of Clan Adachi, wisened and virtuous according to the people. When they beat me in the rink, the elders talked of how Masaru was in prayer to the spirits ¡ª more distraught than the others about the theft of the Dragon Blade. The Scaled Nodachi was, after all, promised to his son.

    When Renji said, ¡°Let him stay. He can watch his mother die,¡± a primal panic seized me. I bit and screamed, but the guards held me down and the warrior beat me some more, till my eye was swollen and my ribs ached.

    ¡°Please,¡± I pleaded. ¡°Please, she has nothing to do with this.¡±

    Daichi scoffed. ¡°Kuragami has everything to do with this, boy. After all, the whore spawned you. And you have dishonored us all.¡±

    ¡°Then kill me,¡± I said. I was trying to be brave ¡ª as brave as a ten-year-old could be. But piss trickled down my pants and I was weeping like a babe. ¡°Please ¡ª she¡¯s my mother.¡±

    ¡°Quiet his rabble,¡± Daichi said dismissively. When I opened my mouth to speak once more, a warrior kicked my jaw, breaking loose a few baby teeth. I yelled in pain, but another kick to my sternum stifled that wail.

    Maybe it took an eternity or maybe it took thirty seconds, but when they brought my mother I could not bear to look.

    Renji spoke up: ¡°make sure he watches.¡± And Kai saw to that personally, standing up from his seat in the judgement rink and sitting on my backside. He tugged my head up by the hair and pried my eyes open.

    My mother looked beautiful, in her own way. Sure her hair was matted with dirt and grime, her clothes were but simple robes and her skin was blemished ¡ª however, she always looked so confident. Even then, there was a quiet defiance to her gaze as she glared daggers at the elders.

    ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± She asked. My eyes crossed over Masaru finally ¡ª the elder that led her to the rink. He was a strongly built man, though shorter than the other elders. His hair was short cropped and his red and blue robes were wrinkled. Yet there was an awesome rage that burned in his eyes for both my mother and I.

    He clasped my mother¡¯s wrist and yanked her to the center of the rink, making her yelp.

    ¡°I have done nothing wrong. Let my son go¡ª¡± she began, before Masaru struck her. Once with a stinging slap across the face, bloodying her nose. She crumpled to the ground at that ¡ª confidence gone. When she tried to raise her eyes to meet the elders, Masaru delivered a backhand, raking his knuckles across her other cheek. She fell to the stone glyphs.

    ¡°Enough Masaru,¡± Renji said. ¡°We¡¯re killing her anyway.¡±

    ¡°I should have the pleasure of silencing the bitch,¡± Masaru spat. At the time, I couldn¡¯t understand why he of all people was so angry at her and not me.

    Still, seeing my mother lying on the stones like that, whimpering, made me the angriest I¡¯d ever been in my life up to that point.

    My world went red.

    Just as it does now.

    ¡°Where. Is. He?¡± I ask Queen Pamela.

    Her smile just broadens.

 XXXI: Live With Mancers

    Souta:

    When lightning sputters across the horizon, for the first time in my life, I see Masaru afraid. His face pales at the sight of that crimson flashing. He yells some orders for us to halt our pace and, the soldiers along with our throng of plagued watch the ensuing light show. It is quite pretty ¡ª- if not a bit strange. It gets even stranger when blue fire enters the mix.

    ¡°Souta?¡± Masaru calls.

    ¡°Yes uncle?¡± I stand next to him, watching the clashing colors.

    ¡°Remind me, again, what your tenants of lightning and dust are.¡±

    Right. This exercise. It¡¯s been a while since he¡¯s tested me on it.

    ¡°Speed. Malleability. Weaponry. And¡­ uh¡­¡± I look at him sheepishly, the last tenant slipping my mind.

    ¡°Think Souta. Simplest one. What¡¯s wispy and misty?¡±

    I cringe at the old song lyric. He used to sing that to me, to help me remember the answer. It does the job now though.

    ¡°Clouds,¡± I say.

    ¡°Good Souta. Very good,¡± he responds, though he doesn¡¯t look at me. He¡¯s still entranced by the crimson in the sky. ¡°Now, tell me how each works.¡±

    I rattle them off like a marching beat: ¡°Speed for lighting strikes, malleability for the way I can manipulate lightning energy. Weaponry is a subtenant of malleability because I can shape my angel dust lightning to become a sword, a spear, and, your favorite, daggers. Clouds because angel dust allows me to interact with and give cloud¡¯s mass.¡±

    ¡°Which allows you to¡­¡± Masaru prompts.

    ¡°Swing?¡± I finish hesitantly. He nods.

    ¡°Good job Souta. You are the ideal student. And I know,¡± he spits, as if trying to convince himself of something. ¡°I know it in my bones that you can beat that!¡± he says, pointing at the sky. I look at him, confused. He¡¯s scaring me now ¡ª never before have I seen him so baleful and fearful all at once.

    ¡°Uncle, what do you mean?¡±

    ¡°This red lightning ¡ª it is like yours.¡±

    ¡°There is another with angel dust?¡± I ask.

    ¡°A slave who is not worthy of it. You, however,¡± he says, placing his hand on my shoulder and shaking me. ¡°You are worthy. And you will show him. Oh Souta, you will show him just how worthy you are.¡±

    The light show finally ends. But, in my Uncle¡¯s gaze, I can almost see what he envisions.

    Green lightning crackling against crimson.

    ¡­

    Raiten:

    I sit in a room prescribed to me, tapping my foot on the creaking floorboard. My thoughts have gone a bit numb. Anytime I try to remember purpose, everything is blotted by single word. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Masaru.

    Like a black sun, his is the name that swallows all. Even Dandy, sickly little Dandy coughing in her bed and whispering my name like a prayer, has no place right now. She can wait a little longer. After all, the man in Kara¡¯s band said it would take a month for her to turn.

    And I¡¯ll kill Masaru in a day.

    Then I¡¯ll kill the witch.

    Then I¡¯ll kill the rest of them.

    I¡¯ll kill and kill until I¡¯m done.

    A knock comes from the door. I don¡¯t say anything, but Riddeck enters anyways. He tosses me a folded pair of clothes ¡ª a Catolica uniform.

    ¡°Congratulations Raiten,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯re part of the Mancer troop now.¡±

    I say nothing, simply staring ahead. Staring East, towards where Pamela told me he lies. He drags Sorayvlad from their ranges and takes them through the Giant¡¯s Glade now, according to Pamela¡¯s scouts. And, he¡¯s issuing forth a body of plagued refugees, meaning to use them as a wall of fodder against Catolica.

    It sounds just like him.

    ¡°When do we move out?¡± I ask before he leaves.

    He shrugs. ¡°Catolica is still gathering its armies. Sorayvlad has beaten us in that game. But, the Mancer troop will meet tonight and, if I guess correctly, I think our Queen will deploy you guys soon after.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± I say. I never deign to meet his eyes though.

    For some reason, I thought when the enemy was right in front of me, my mind would clear. Evidently, that isn¡¯t the case.

    Maybe you just need to get closer, I think. Close enough to rip his head off.

    ¡­

    The meeting happens on the base campgrounds. Riddeck leads me to the barracks in the corner of camp and we skirt around the refugee pathway cutting through the camp center. It is marked by stakes and barricades that isolate the Havenmarchers passing through from the rest of the soldiers. I¡¯ve counted them up though: about two hundred fighters cramped up in this base. It''s a strange checkpoint for operational purposes, but I guess Catolica doesn¡¯t have many options. The Blightbriars limit their positional efficacy.

    In the barracks ¡ª a well-to-do shed filled with weapons, maps, and low torchlight ¡ª Pamela stands at the center table. Once more she is hooded until Riddeck closes the door behind me.

    Three other people stand around the table. When Pamela unveils her hood she looks at all of us ¡ª that same, knowing look she gave me when she spoke of Masaru¡¯s position.

    I should be stopping to think how in the hells Masaru climbed the Sorayvladian ladder like that. But, I don¡¯t really care to ask questions at this point.

    The three other members of this Mancer troop look ¡­ interesting to say the least. Two seem to be twins, one girl, one boy both bald and fitted with tight soldier¡¯s clothes that dangle green tassels from the arms and legs. One older man has his one remaining eye trained on me: had he retained his other eye, I fear he¡¯d stare a hole through my skull. Instead, all that remains is an eyeless socket.

    I look away reflexively. I think he starts grinning.

    ¡°Good, now that we¡¯re all here, let¡¯s begin, shall we?¡± Pamela says. Riddeck leaves then, giving us some privacy. So then this mission is something even above his clearance? Great.

    ¡°You all, my four mancers, will traverse the Blightbriars and the Giant¡¯s Glade, face the plague and the wealth of Sorayvlad¡¯s armies to ultimately assassinate their young shogun: Souta Matahashi,¡± she continues. ¡°Oh, and you will allow Raiten here to kill Masaru as he pleases.¡±

    She smiles, her lips colored a bloody red: ¡°Any questions?¡±

 XXXII: Live With A Warlock

    ¡°Raiten right?¡± One-Eye asks. I give him a curt nod. He smiles: ¡°Name¡¯s Saegor.¡± He holds out his hand, expecting me to take it. I don¡¯t. Shrugging, he places the hand back in his brown coat pocket. ¡°You know, it¡¯ll be easier to work together if we get¡­ comfortable with one another.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± I respond. It''s not that I hate the man or anything. Right now, I¡¯m just too angry to make new friends.

    ¡°You will soon enough. I do right by my comrades ¡ª trust me on that.¡± Its like a sales pitch almost. The man confuses me.

    Thankfully, the twins don¡¯t even bother to greet me. They stick to each other like glue and in the corner of the barracks, they start admiring some swords and spears. Guessing their make.

    ¡°Halberd.¡±

    ¡°No dumbass, that¡¯s a spetum.¡±

    ¡°A spetum? Are you right in the head Zyla?¡±

    ¡°Are you? Look at the prongs ¡ª it''s obviously a damned spetum. Or¡­ hold on. Maybe it is a halberd?¡±

    ¡°Alright now you¡¯re being stupid.¡±

    ¡°You were the one that said it was a halberd originally dumbass!¡±

    I watch the two bald-headed idiots bicker. I think I would¡¯ve cracked a smile, had it been yesterday. Yesterday. That feels like forever ago.

    ¡°Raiten,¡± Pamela calls sharply. I turn to her and she beckons me to the map. ¡°Listen. These Mancers know the Blightbriars well enough. You don¡¯t. Let me show you what you¡¯re about to face.¡±

    I nod. She pulls the map down slightly, hovering over the white text outlined above the black blotches meant to represent the vast briars.

    ¡°Show me our path,¡± I say.

    She puts a finger on the Old Road. ¡°This is our checkpoint. From here, on to the East, forest gets thick, then thin, then muddy. Past that is swamp and gatorland. Marshes. Then¡­ we don¡¯t know.¡± She picks her finger up about halfway through the forest.

    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Aren¡¯t the briar¡¯s mapped out?¡±

    ¡°Yes. From what we understand, the marshes should dry up about three quarters through and then, it''s a straight shot till the glades. But, any scouts we¡¯ve sent to that point have never come back. Which makes us suspect that ¡ª¡±

    ¡°The turned and plague are most dense there, correct?¡± I guess. She nods.

    ¡°Our position is precarious. Catolica mobilizes slowly because my damned fiefs bicker and bark well-before deployment. And we move from the West, slow and steady, a fractured army. Reinforcements will come. But not soon.

    ¡°Meanwhile, Sorayvlad moves swiftly from the East, and no doubt, they are already halfway or further along the Giant¡¯s Glades. And according to my spirit mages and their wind whales, they herd a number of plagued in our direction ¡ª meaning those bastards are going to blitz us with a number of people, dissolve our lines, and then come up on us like a pack of wolves.¡±

    ¡°For what it''s worth, I can confirm that for you,¡± I say. ¡°I met some people along the road who saw the Sorayvladian army.¡± A question lingers in my mind: how did the war even start? Now of all times? But according to Riddeck, its partly because of Sorina¡¯s supposed murder. I wonder how Pamela would act if I mentioned that I knew Sorina. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Nothing would change. The war still goes on, some deeper part of my intellect whispers. And I think it''s right.

    ¡°I know you disapprove of our stockading methods, with the villagers. But, we aren¡¯t cruel for the sake of cruelty ¡ª I know whats at stake. My armies, though larger, are ten times as green as Sorayvlad,¡± she spits. ¡°They have one singular force. One army of killers. I¡¯ve been begging my financiers and barons to deploy, but they thought, in their hubris, that Sorayvlad would not be a problem. Then, we lost our fief at the ranges. Five thousand soldiers vanquished in a night.¡±

    She lets the words settle with me. Then, she places a hand on my shoulder. ¡°You have no allegiance to me. In fact, I¡¯m sure you must dislike me to a degree. I must seem like a monster to you.¡±

    ¡°Not just to me,¡± I mutter. She ignores my prattle.

    ¡°Listen. I¡¯m giving you a straight path to vengeance. You and my mancers might be our only avenue of ending this war swiftly. Are you with me?¡±

    I look her in the eyes. Meet that determined, green glass stare of hers. ¡°No. I¡¯m not with you. But, I¡¯ll kill Masaru for you.¡±

    She exhales slightly. ¡°That¡¯s all I need. Now, before we go, let¡¯s try and increase your odds of success, shall we?¡±

    ¡­

    Saegor whistles something bleak as we exit the barracks into sun-bleached fortress grounds. The first thing that draws my attention is a pyre of wood, upon which Baroth¡¯s corpse lays at rest.

    I turn to Pamela. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°Ah. I figured this is the thing you fought. What is it exactly?¡±

    ¡°A djinn, reincarnated.¡± It''s not an inaccurate description, but it is then that I realize how little I know of this¡­ elk creature that Baroth inhabited. Only one thing really matters though: ¡°Did you check that it''s dead?¡±

    ¡°Oh its dead alright,¡± Saegor says from ahead of us. ¡°But we want it alive.¡±

    What?

    ¡°What?¡± I ask. I turn on him, hand going to my amulets.

    ¡°Oh calm down kid, I ain¡¯t gonna bring it back as it was.¡± He licks his lips as he approaches the elk. ¡°I can smell the eldritch on you big boy. Let¡¯s have a taste ¡ª¡± he approaches the beast''s neck, which has been slit open, leaking a slow, viscous purple. He swabs his finger in the blood and puts it to his tongue. His eye rolls up in ecstasy.

    I look at Pamela. ¡°What is this devilry?¡±

    Instead of answering, one of the twins, the girl named Zyla, strides up next to me. She puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles: ¡°trust old Saegor, Raiten. He¡¯s a weird pervert, sure, but he taught my brother and I. He¡¯s the best warlock around. And besides, I want whatever that¡­ thing is on our side.¡±

    Trust me, you don¡¯t. I swat her hand off and approach Saegor, whose one eye has gone to the back of his skull.

    ¡°Don¡¯t do this,¡± I demand, grabbing his hand.

    His eye rolls back down and he snarls. ¡°Don¡¯t interrupt. I¡¯m getting a feel for the beast.¡± He twists out of my grip, caressing his wrist. ¡°Look, I meant what I said. Whatever monster inhabited this vessel won¡¯t be able to do so once I revive it. Revitalize it.¡±

    ¡°How do you know? How can you be sure?¡±

    ¡°Trust me.¡±

    ¡°Saegor, I don¡¯t even know who the hell you are. I¡¯m not trusting you with this.¡±

    ¡°Kid, let me show you something,¡± Saegor says. Then, he whistles. The ground rumbles, and for a moment, I am reminded of Umbrahorn and think it is him. But no, instead of a great hammerhead shark bursting from the ground, a young colt ¡ª one of wood and dirt, roots and mud ¡ª emerges in the field. It whinnies and sniffs Saegor¡¯s hand with its muzzle. The old man scratches the beast under its chin.

    ¡°This is Nancy. We picked her up along the trail. Wild spirit. Must¡¯ve ran from the Brightbriars before the blight came.¡±

    The horse is, admittedly, beautiful. But it doesn¡¯t prove any¡ª

    In the next moment, Saegor slits the spirit¡¯s throat with one slice of his hand, as if it is a blade. The spirit leaks mud and golden essence before its eyes go dark and the wood goes wet and the horse crumples and falls, like a toy done-away with.

    It''s such a useless kill.

    And so fast.

    I stare in shock, watching as Saegor comes around the young horse and drinks of its muddy essence. His eye once more rolls to the back of his head but I don¡¯t move to stop him this time.

    Because this time, after a few moments, the horse begins to move again.

 XXXIII: Live With Shame

    I back away from the deer as its legs kick out, its eyes wander and look crazily about its surroundings. It stands itself up by sprouting a small branch from its flank, which has gone dark and decayed along with the rest of its body. Mushroom growths and detritus line its legs, its flanks. Worms peek out of the horse''s nostrils.

    This is an abomination.

    ¡°Nancy,¡± Saegor says. The horse looks at him, eyes setting stiff. ¡°Kill Raiten.¡±

    ¡°Saegor!¡± Pamela yells, apparently shocked by his actions.

    I¡¯m not.

    The horse turns to me and starts charging my way, snorting some fury. I grimace. Of course I shouldn¡¯t have trusted this man. This damn necromancer ¡ª

    I raise my hands in Eternal Spring and ready myself to flow against the beast when Saegor calls out another order.

    ¡°Stop!¡± and Nancy goes still right in front of me, stuffing her legs into the ground to halt her charge.

    I look down the worm-leaking muzzle of the raging beast.

    Then, I look at Saegor. He smiles toothily. ¡°What do you think?¡±

    I can¡¯t help but chuckle darkly. ¡°Do what you want I guess.¡± I don¡¯t know why I give him leeway now of all times, considering he just ordered his beast to kill me. Perhaps its some part of me accepting the compromises I will have to make ¡ª the sacrifices I¡¯ll have to abide by.

    Perhaps it''s my guilt, telling me that, if I¡¯m abandoning Dandy and the rest of Takemeadow for a while, why not abandon my morality? What¡¯s one more thing to lose?

    After all, Masaru bloodied your mother. Dragged her from our home. Beat her.

    And that cannot go unpunished.

    ¡°Great, then I¡¯ll¡ª¡± he stops, pausing for a moment.

    Then, the ground begins to rumble.

    But, Nancy¡¯s already emerged. Which means ¡ª

    A hole opens in the earth beneath the revived spirit horse. It sinks halfway into the ground, whinnying and shrieking before a large, wooded, great hammerhead shark spirit explodes out from the ground beneath, swallowing the horse nearly whole in one bite.

    Umbrahorn has arrived.

    He hoots as he soars into the air, slamming back to the ground and spraying dust all over the mancers.

    Saegor, Zyla, and her brother ready themselves while Pamela backs away.

    Then, a voice calls out to us.

    ¡°You are threatening my dog,¡± she says. I turn to find Sorina standing close to Pamela, dagger to Riddeck¡¯s throat, anger coloring her eyes. ¡°And only I¡¯m allowed to do that.¡±

    Shit. I look at Riddeck¡¯s bruised face. One of his eyes is purple with swelling.

    ¡°I told you,¡± I say. ¡°I told you she was still alive.¡±

    He sneers. ¡°I noticed.¡±

    Sorina gives me a confused look. As if asking, ¡®why in all the hells would you need to tell him about me?¡¯

    Pamela, meanwhile, overcomes her initial confusion and calls for her guards.

    Immediately, we are surrounded by a troop of Catolicans.

    Great. Now I have to play mediator.

    What is it with Catolican¡¯s and their misunderstandings? It''s almost damn genetic.

    ¡°Everyone,¡± I raise my hands out. ¡°Calm down. I know these people.¡± And so do you, at least.

    ¡°Raiten!¡± Sorina hisses. ¡°What are you doing? Hop on Umbrahorn and let''s get out of here¡ª¡± Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    ¡°Sorina, please, put Riddeck down. And Umbrahorn, don¡¯t think I don¡¯t see you trying to inch your way towards the twins ¡ª stop.¡±

    Umbrahorn and Sorina look at each other. With a sigh, surprisingly, Umbrahorn complies first. Hesitantly, Sorina follows, releasing her dagger grip on Riddeck and pushing him forward.

    He falls to his knees in front of Pamela. ¡°I¡¯m sorry my Queen, but ¡ª¡±

    Pamela waves her hand dismissively. ¡°Later. Now, will someone please explain to me what is going on here.¡± That someone must be me, for she glares daggers at me.

    She¡¯s Sorina¡¯s cousin alright. Through and through.

    I rub my eyes. This is going to be a long day.

    ¡­

    I sit at the head of a coffee table hastily placed behind the pyre. While Saegor and his lot try reviving my old nemesis, I am forced to mediate and explain my situation to both Sorina and Pamela, who haven¡¯t stopped staring at one another for the past five minutes.

    Sorina has light green eyes, dark hair let loose, and she now wears a Sorayvladian war uniform of green and blue.

    Pamela has dark green eyes, blond hair curled tightly into a bun, and wears more elegant robes that retain a military quality, though hers are the drab grays and browns of Catolica.

    They haven¡¯t said a word to each other yet.

    I clear my throat.

    Neither looks to me.

    ¡°Look,¡± I begin. ¡°Why don¡¯t I start by ¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been a while, cousin,¡± Pamela cuts me off. ¡°I thought you were dead. We all did.¡±

    Sorina shrugs. ¡°In a way, I was. I thought you were seventeenth in line for the throne.¡±

    ¡°In a way, I was,¡± Pamela sneers. ¡°You should address me with some measure of reverence, Sorina. What, now that I rank above you ¡ª¡±

    ¡°I have no allegiances to Catolica anymore. As such, I have no need to address you as anything other than Pamela, Pamela.¡±

    Pamela chortles. ¡°Snide as ever. You still look down on me. Unbelievable.¡±

    ¡°I''ve never looked down on you, cousin. I only tell you the truth, because no one else seems to be willing to.¡± Sorina smiles a devil¡¯s smirk. ¡°I think my advice has stuck though. In a weird way, I¡¯m almost proud of you.¡±

    Pamela leans over. ¡°Don¡¯t give me that bullshit ¡ª none of what I accomplished was because of you, bitch¡ª.¡±

    ¡°See, there¡¯s your problem. With me you lose your composure¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t interrupt your queen.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not my queen. I¡¯m of the free villages now. Mayor of Takemeadow.¡±

    Evidently, telling her this is a mistake, for Pamela gapes at Sorina for a moment before laughing. ¡°You? High and mighty Sorina, running a small time shithole like the meadows? You, who couldn¡¯t even walk the gardens without some servant fanning your every step?¡±

    Sorina remains composed. ¡°Things changed in Sorayvlad.¡±

    ¡°You know, the third happiest day of my life was when I heard that you were getting whored off to Sorayvlad. They told me initially it would be me.  And I knew you deserved that fate more than me.¡±

    ¡°What¡ª¡± I begin before pausing, trying to gather myself. The sheer amount of hate that emanates that this table eclipses mine for once, surprisingly. It¡¯s nauseating. But this conversation gets us nowhere. I need to pull this back: ¡°what was the happiest day of your life then?¡± It¡¯s a pathetic question and they promptly ignore the query. I feel like a child sitting at the adult¡¯s table.

    ¡°Oh yeah, I nearly forgot about that day: what was it you said to me? ¡®I hope your husband treats you well!¡¯ That truly was the first time I¡¯ve ever seen you smile,¡± Sorina comments.

    ¡°And how was your husband? Did he take you on your first night? Parade you around like an exotic trophy?¡±

    Now Sorina seethes. ¡°Do not talk about my husband.¡±

    There¡¯s an edge to her voice that gives Pamela pause. But, unwisely, she continues digging her grave: ¡°Oh, so he did make you his slut ¡ª¡±

    ¡°My husband was ten times the person you or any other Catolican could ever dream of being. Don¡¯t disparage his good name.¡±

    ¡°Ten times the man, yet he couldn¡¯t even get the damn shogunate.¡±

    ¡°You bitch.¡±

    ¡°There she is. There¡¯s the Sorina I knew¡ª¡± SMACK! Sorina delivers a stinging slap across the Queen¡¯s face. The surrounding soldiers immediately look at her, angry, but she holds up a hand and rubs her reddened cheek.

    ¡°You truly have become a barbarian. I¡¯m ashamed to be related to this¡­. Thing you¡¯ve degenerated into. No sense of propriety or shame.¡±

    I put my head in my hands. Why am I even sitting here?

    ¡°Shame? You want to talk to me about shame?¡± Sorina asks. Then, for once in this conversation she turns to me. ¡°You¡¯re trying to take advantage of my dog.¡± She says it so possessively that it frightens me.

    ¡°Your dog? Your dog? Raiten is a free man. Isn¡¯t that right Raiten?¡± Pamela says, looking at me. Despite saying those words, she tugs my sleeve, as if that is supposed to send some secret message to me.

    ¡°Uh¡ª¡±

    ¡°Raiten is my friend. And I won¡¯t let my friends be coerced by people like you.¡± Sorina snatches my other wrist, clinging onto it so tightly I think it might just pop off. I wince.

    ¡°That¡¯s pure irony coming from you,¡± Pamela spouts. ¡°What is he? Your toy? Your pet? He¡¯s a human being, he can do whatever he wants. I thought that''s the philosophy that you and your free villages ascribe to.¡± She tugs my sleeve more, kicks my leg as well.

    I am getting sick of this. ¡°Do I have a say in any of this¡ª¡±

    ¡°No!¡± both of them yell simultaneously.

    I sigh.

    If there¡¯s a God up there, I¡¯m sure he¡¯s laughing at me.

 XXXIV: Live With Selfishness

    ¡°Let him go, he¡¯s a free man ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes, he¡¯s free from you Pamela you damn ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Alright!¡± I yell, shutting them both up. My head is exploding. ¡°That¡¯s enough!¡± I withdraw my wrists from both women and stand. ¡°Sorina? Let¡¯s talk. Alone.¡±

    She smiles at first, thinking it''s her victory in this stupid rivalry of theirs. But, when she studies my expression further, her smile dims.

    It''s like she can already tell what I¡¯m about to say.

    Pamela catches this interaction and grins broadly.

    I do not like adding more fuel to this bickering. But, I have my own goals, my own motivations. I will not be swayed.

    I will not let Masaru escape my grasp.

    ¡­

    Sorina enters the empty barracks and I close the door behind me, muffling the sounds of Saegor¡¯s cursing. Apparently, his resurrection of the elk isn¡¯t going so well. Good. I think, remembering that dream I had of the Witch and her armies spreading over the land, with her riding the revived elk. At least that won¡¯t come to pass.

    Sorina approaches me and starts looking me over. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    ¡°Mostly,¡± I say. Though, much like my early battles in the Tower, some of Baroth¡¯s wounds will scar. Especially in the chest. However, they are mostly healed now. ¡°What about you? Any trouble getting into the fortress?¡±

    She smiles. ¡°Who do you think I am? I¡¯m the one that taught you stealth.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± I sigh. ¡°That¡¯s very good, Sorina.¡± I don¡¯t know how I¡¯m going to tell her this, so I¡¯m stalling for time. Luckily, she also seems to be skirting around the topic.

    ¡°What were you fighting out there?¡± she asks. ¡°The big elk creature? What was that? It even had Umbrahorn scared.¡±

    ¡°Umbrahorn? Scared?¡±

    ¡°The useless spirit hid behind me.¡±

    Well, that says a lot. ¡°He was¡­ an old enemy of mine. From back when I was the Thunder Watcher.¡±

    She leans against the main map table. ¡°Elaborate.¡±

    ¡°A djinn named Baroth. I think he¡¯s been hunting me ever since we left Takemeadow.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    ¡°Where is Kara and her band by the way? Did they sneak in with you or¡­¡±

    ¡°They are waiting outside. I told them to hold out for me, though now our situation is a little more complicated,¡± Sorina says, muttering her last words. A silence passes between us. Sorina looks straight into my eyes, my soul, reading my depths. I look away.

    ¡°What did she offer you?¡± she asks.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°What did Pamela offer you? I know she must have offered you something. After all, you¡¯re not in chains, you¡¯re wearing a Catolican uniform, and you were talking with that warlock of theirs.¡±

    I stay silent. She stops leaning and struts forward, coming face to face with me. I back away, but she keeps pushing.

    ¡°What was it?¡± she asks again.

    My back hits the wall. I sigh. No getting around it then: ¡°Masaru is leading Sorayvlad.¡±

    Her face contorts in confusion. Then, she puts name to memory: ¡°Your Masaru? The Masaru of Clan Adachi?¡± Stolen novel; please report.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°That''s¡­ how is that possible?¡±

    ¡°According to Pamela, after the civil war for the shogunate in your clan, Masaru defected from Clan Adachi and swooped in to bring a young shogun to power.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. But why would he ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Does it matter?¡± I snap. She backs away slightly at this outburst. Eyes flickering with fear. That makes me feel bad, for a moment. But I press on. ¡°Does any of it matter? I¡¯m tired of asking questions. I¡¯m tired of planning and mulling and thinking it all over. I want to act ¡ª not react. And all I¡¯ve been doing is playing this stupid game by the whims of my enemies. The Witch, Baroth, Sorayvlad, Catolica ¡ª I don¡¯t care and I don¡¯t want to care!¡±

    Sorina gulps. ¡°What about ¡ª Dandy? Us? The villages, the plague, Takemeadow?¡±

    I push forward, backing her into the map table. She leans away as I sneer: ¡°What about it? I thought you of all people would understand.¡±

    ¡°Raiten I¡ª I do understand. I know how it feels to be stuck¡ª¡±

    ¡°He killed my mother. He and the rest of the elders. And I had to sit for ten years and defend them as a slave! You know this! You¡¯re the only one that knows this.¡±

    ¡°Raiten, stop yelling. Please.¡±

    ¡°I mean, you told me ¡®You¡¯re the only friend I¡¯ve had in a long time.¡¯ Well guess what? You¡¯re the only friend I¡¯ve had in ten years. Do you know how maddening that is? Ten years of me defending the people who killed my mother right in front of me?¡±

    ¡°Look, whatever it is you¡¯re about to do, it''s a mistake.¡± She stands taller now, eyes peering up at me.

    I don¡¯t back away. ¡°No, for once in my life, I¡¯m doing what I need to do.¡±

    ¡°You know that¡¯s not true. I can see it in your eyes. Raiten, we need to be going after the witch.¡±

    ¡°How could you even say that? If you knew you¡¯re husband¡¯s killers were out there ¡ª¡±

    ¡°They are out there Raiten, in the Giant¡¯s Glades. All of Sorayvlad killed my husband. But I know what''s at stake. I know I can¡¯t be selfish ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Selfish? You think this is selfish?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I ¡ª¡±

    ¡°For once, I¡¯m doing what I have to, and you think that¡¯s selfish¡ª¡±

    ¡°Would you stop interrupting me!¡± she yells. Her eyes are glistening now. I realize that I am huffing and puffing from exertion. My face feels red hot. ¡°God, you''re so¡ª so ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Angry,¡± I mutter. It''s the same thing that Hui told me after I refused to join her party at the Tower. And here I am, repeating my mistakes.

    I shake my head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. But I can¡¯t let him go.¡±

    I turn to head towards the door.

    ¡°So what? Is that? You¡¯re going to throw it all away? Give up? That¡¯s not like you, Raiten. I know you.¡±

    ¡°No. You don¡¯t.¡±

    She runs around and blocks the door, hands outraised. ¡°I won¡¯t let you run from this.¡±

    I glare down. ¡°Make me.¡±

    She doesn¡¯t move. One second. Then the next. Her eyes are actually tearing up now, because she sees that I won¡¯t budge. I feel a stabbing pang of guilt, watching one of the only person I somewhat care about start to hold back tears in front of me.

    I sigh. ¡°Sorina, please. Move.¡± I put a hand on her shoulder to gently push her to the side.

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me!¡± she slaps my hand away. She sniffs. ¡°I won¡¯t let you make this mistake. I won¡¯t let you abandon everyone else.¡±

    Now the anger bubbles again. ¡°What do you expect from me? Do you expect me to be some hero? I¡¯m not Hui Long. I¡¯m not anybody ¡ª I¡¯m just a slave. I don¡¯t know why you and everyone else seems to expect this of me.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not about being a hero Raiten, its just ¡ª¡± she groans in frustration, struggling to find the words. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to help you.¡±

    ¡°You can help me by moving.¡± When she doesn¡¯t, I shove past her, opening the door.

    Saegor is still cursing at the elk and the twins are watching. Pamela stands sentinel above us. She seems to have overheard some of our argument, for she gives Sorina a subtle smile.

    ¡°Saegor!¡± I yell for him. He turns back to me. ¡°Forget the Elk, let¡¯s just go!¡±

    ¡°But, we wanted to move out tonight¡ª¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re leaving. Now.¡± Something in my voice makes him nod, though I suspect it''s not out of fear.

    One of the twins, the boy, protests: ¡°I only follow Saegor¡¯s orders¡ª¡±

    ¡°Nah let him be Kiren. I like his energy right now,¡± Saegor says. ¡°Let¡¯s go then.¡±

    Sorina grabs my wrist from behind. I turn around and twist out of it. She¡¯s actually crying now, and I force myself to look away.

    ¡°Umbrahorn!¡± I yell. The shark emerges next to me.

    He doesn¡¯t look too pleased. ¡°I heard everything,¡± he says, crossing his fins. ¡°I¡¯m thinking that I¡¯m going to stay with Sorina for now.¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°Erot entrusted you to me. That means, you¡¯ll listen to me.¡±

    ¡°Erot did that under the assumption that you¡¯d save his granddaughter. And, as much as I sometimes dislike the old man, his granddaughter feeds me fish every now and then. So¡­ fuck you Raiten.¡±

    ¡°Is that your final answer?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely.¡±

    ¡°Good. That makes this next part a bit easier.¡±

    With that, I deliver a solid kick to Umbrahorn maw. He reels back, my shin smashing against his wood, sending splinters exploding outward. I don¡¯t do much damage, but the shock of it confuses him.

    Then, his eyes go mad with anger.

    Good. Very good Umbrahorn, I think, readying myself.

    I need something to hit.

 XXV: Live With Honor

    <h2> </h2>

    A few minutes later, and Umbrahorn and I are crashing against the walls of the fortress, soldiers screaming at us, villagers outside and in all staring and chattering and gasping. The shark chomps on my arm and burrows its enormous hammerhead into my stomach. But I grab at its leash and pull it taut, keeping control of Umbrahorn through the magical properties of the rope. He squirms and curses, tackling me into the wall pillars, toppling a stairway to the battlements.

    My back takes the splintering wood. I set my feet in the mud, pushing against the shark. Then, I grab onto the end of its head with my free arm, and deliver a knee to its jaw. Much like Sorina¡¯s knees to my stomach, is devastating. My kneecap breaks through the underjaw of Umbrahorn, smashing the wood up and into his maw. Umbrahorn yowls in pain, freeing my left arm.

    I extract it and punch a hole into his eye, grabbing onto the blackwood that makes up his iris. I squeeze. It breaks. With a roar, Umbahorn spins around and whacks his tail into my side, sending me sprawling across the campgrounds.

    ¡°BASTARD! I¡¯LL TAKE YOUR EYE FOR THAT RAITEN!¡± he yells. Then, his remaining eye settles on me as I stand up, dusting myself off. I wear a dark smile like a trophy. This serves to only elevate Umbrahorn¡¯s vitriol.

    He dives underground and his fin peak through the earth, sending mud and dirt sprawling out as he heads for me.

    ¡°Both of you, stop!¡± someone screams. I think its Sorina. I don¡¯t care.

    The soldiers of Catolica seem to be taking my side on this thankfully, though they are slow. They only just got to where Umbrahorn had just dived.

    He surfaces right next to me, snapping up at my right foot. I expected it. Lifting my leg up, I smash down upon his gnashing maw, stomping on his nose. He pushes up nonetheless and my leg stretches high, pushing my body offbalance. I stumble back, flail my arms, catch myself from a fall, roll away as he snaps down, grab his leash once again and pull.

    The fin cracks.

    Rips off.

    I stare dumbly at the triangle at the end of my leash. The leash made to control Umbrahorn.

    He laughs. ¡°You stupid shithead, do you have any idea ¡ª¡± I sling the fin against his face, cracking wood on wood, issuing forth an explosion of splinters. He reels, falling sideways. I pounce.

    Grappling with the shark should be harder. But, as I saw in its previous battle against Sorina, when Umbrahorn is belly up, he¡¯s like a turtle ¡ª it takes a while for him to upright himself.

    So I wail on him without consequence, all while he roars in pain.

    From the corner of my eye, I see the soldiers stop moving, standing at the frayed edges of our battle. Sorina watches from the periphery of the circle that forms around us. Tears glisten in her eyes.

    I focus my undivided attention on Umbrahorn: ¡°You know, for all your grand talk about being a great spirit, this is pretty damn pathetic.¡± I punch through his underjaw again. My knuckles bleed, go numb. A large gash from a nasty branch sluices up my left arm. I can see bone. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Not that it matters.

    ¡°You think you have any say in this?¡±

    I kick out his teeth.

    ¡°You¡¯re just a slave, Umbrahorn. You are me. And right now, your duty is to me. No one else.¡±

    ¡°You dare compare me with you? You¡¯re just ¡ª¡±

    I cut him off with another viscous blow that echoes off the very walls of the fortress. There¡¯s a distinct silence now from the crowd. And Umbrahorn. It is strange. Eerie.

    ¡°I¡¯m just, what? Finish what you were saying. Go on.¡±

    Umbrahorn doesn¡¯t speak.

    I grab him by the head and put a knee on his stomach. The shark is twice my size, but I¡¯ve beaten him without even touching my amulets.

    ¡°You are my dog. And you will hunt for me. Hound for me. Not for Sorina, not for Erot, for me. Is that understood?¡±

    Umbrahorn looks as though he might protest, but I catch him glimpse at Sorina, who shakes her head. Still, he opens his mouth to speak.

    I raise a hand.

    ¡°I understand!¡± he squeals. Pathetic. Some great spirit you are.

    Silence reigns.

    Then, a slow, rhythmic clapping. It is Saegor, pushing through the crowd, laughing as if he had just shared a fine joke with some friends at a bar.

    ¡°Kid, that was a fine show. A mighty fine show indeed. Now, how about you let me kill the spirit?¡± he smiles, his one eye already reaching up in pre-meditated ecstasy. ¡°After all, he killed my horse. And he would listen better if I brought him back to ¡ª¡±

    ¡°No Saegor,¡± I tell the warlock. ¡°He¡¯s cowed enough already. Besides, I need him to talk ¡ª he can lead me to Masaru.¡±

    Saegor shrugs. ¡°Well, offers on the table, if you ever want to take it.¡± He looks to his underlings, the twin mancers Zyla and Kiren. The bald-headed siblings are packed and ready to go. He nudges his head to the fortress exit. ¡°Shall we?¡±

    I look down at the damage I¡¯ve wrought upon my beast. A tinge of guilt seeps through, but I snuff it out quick-like. ¡°How soon can you heal?¡±

    ¡°It ¡ª it will take me a day at least.¡± Umbrahorn¡¯s words are slurred, mostly because I broke off a majority of his teeth.

    ¡°Nose still work?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he responds all too quickly, his high pitched, fearful.

    I look at Sorina one last time. But she¡¯s gone from the crowd, arguing with a smug looking Pamela once more.

    I sigh. That is one regret you will never, ever be able to take back. You idiot.

    But whats done is done.

    Let¡¯s do what we¡¯ve always needed to do.

    ¡°Well then Saegor,¡± I tell the warlock. ¡°Let¡¯s go butcher an old man.¡±

 XXXVI: Interlude III

    Hui Long:

    Sometimes, I am gifted with dreams, being the Child of Spirits and all.

    The dream I receive tonight is not a gift.

    I awaken in a scorched field. A forest of stumps and black roots. A rocky valley spreads out below me, littered with dead souls. Men. Women. And, to my horror, many, many children. I have seen the way a battlefield transforms into a graveyard before, but never have I witnessed the dead in this quantity. Never in these droves.

    Ahead rises the sweeping bluffs of a green mountain, upon which a sea of blackness and boils conglomerate. People: farmers, soldiers, bakers, farmers. Wrong people. They are sickly and emaciated, drooling red saliva and staring off into the distance, as if no soul remains behind their eyes.

    At their head, a feminine figure sits upon a steed. She looks young, pretty even, dressed in an azul and maroon patterned brocade, quaintly accented by a white scarf.

    And she wears a simple, plain, smooth wooden mask. Contradictions, contradictions.

    That mask¡­ I remember it from somewhere. It is not a pleasant memory.

    Her steed is a great and terrible beast. An elk like creature with six legs, six eyes, large imposing antlers, and  the asymmetrical wings of an angel and a devil. It too sports boils and rot dribbling from its maw. Black worms peek through its nose.

    The woman is looking down at something ahead of me. Someone. His face is obscured by his long mane of crow-black hair.

    At the woman¡¯s side, she carries a silver sheath. From it, she draws forth a raw, unadorned, unguarded and unhilted blade. I recognize that too¡ª The Blade of Meteors. It is one of the twenty great blades of our world, a distant cousin of The Dragon Blade. But¡­ why would she have it? Why not Asterion?

    She grasps it from the iron stem and points the blade-end at the man ahead of me. It is a long arms blade of Western-make ¡ª unfinished, yet beautiful in its own right, glinting in the orange light of a rising sun that seems all too close to the world itself.

    ¡°You think you can hunt me?¡± a voice whispers. It is pure evil.

    I unsheathe my blade and walk forward.

    ¡°Yes,¡± the man in front of me says. And I know this voice ¡ª it is a voice that haunts my other, less prophetic dreams. The voice that calls me a liar, a thief, a traitor.

    A forsaker.

    Laughter carries through the wind. High and mocking, like a noblewoman.

    ¡°Oh please, you¡¯re nothing but a slave foolish enough to turn against his masters,¡± the voice says. Then, masked woman kicks the elk forward, riding it towards the man. I sprint now, trying to reach Raiten before this¡­ thing can take him.

    But in this plane, I am too far.

    When she reaches Raiten, she extends her hand rather than her blade. ¡°I can help you in your journey ¡ª I am not so unmerciful as to turn away a fellow struggler.¡±

    Thankfully, Raiten slaps away her hand.

    I see him turn now. His face is so different ¡ª so full of life and defiance. Back at the tower, when we fought, he looked so¡­ malnourished. Like a boy trying to be a man.

    Now he looks like a battle-scarred warrior.

    The witch shrugs. ¡°So be it.¡±

    Then, slowly, she takes her mask off.

    ¡­

    I wake up, sweat dripping from my brow. Gareth snores like a bear next to me. The campfire crackles under the cloud-laden sky, where stars shine through the grayness, illuminating the pointy shadows of the Boar Ranges far ahead of me.

    And now, I have a choice to make.

    Do I continue on my path, pursuing Basilbane? Or, do I find out who this thief of Asterion is? This woman that menaces my oldest friend.

    My oldest friend, who hates me now.

    I sigh, running my hand through my hair. My more prophetic dreams, like that one, have inklings of truth buried in their folds. An army of the sick. A field of the dead. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    I don¡¯t know.

    I don¡¯t know whether this is some trick of Basilbane or a real threat that deserves my genuine attention. I don¡¯t know which conflict to endure.

    So, I sit and wait, muddling it over through the night.

    And come morning, I make my decision.

    ¡­

    Erot:

    I watch my granddaughter heave and wheeze, her sickness boiling out of her in puss and blood.

    I watch my daughter follow suit for staying in Dandy¡¯s room too long. Now, I listen to them talk to each other, back slumped against the door, head in my hands.

    Every day is torment. Every waking moment is torture.

    Takemeadow apparently, has just received its first turned. Some poor child who got infected much earlier than Dandy ¡ª apparently, it took five men to kill him. Things will only get worse from here, that much I¡¯m sure about.

    News of the plague spreads like wildfire. Pigeons and passing traders warn of its slow-march towards the South.

    I sigh. My old bones are now tightened, muscles coiled. I feel a rage that has not sparked within me for a long time. Dormant was my inner flame. Now it sparks again, cold and whispering.

    You must rally Fangshade. It tells me. You must see your wife once more.

    And that terrifies me, more than anything else.

    I am frozen by indecision. My mind tires of hearing Dandy cough and talk like she¡¯s dying. My heart bleeds.

    But for now, I must rely on Raiten. That young man and that damned shark are my only hope.

    I pray that he slaughters the witch.

    ¡­

    Sorina:

    I can¡¯t even bear to look at Raiten as he beats up Umbrahorn.

    He knows what he¡¯s doing is wrong. Surely, he knows.

    But perhaps that is what I¡¯m telling myself to cope. Perhaps he was right ¡®I know you!¡¯ I told him.

    ¡®No. You don¡¯t,¡¯ he responded.

    My mind is hazy and I¡¯m losing my voice. It''s the first time I¡¯ve cried, truly cried, in a long while. It''s pathetic. I¡¯m pathetic. I couldn¡¯t even save my one friend. I shake my head, watching from a watchtower as Raiten leaves with the Mancers.

    My second argument with Pamela didn¡¯t go well. Greedy bitch wouldn¡¯t change her mind.

    My eyes start glistening again as I stare at Raiten¡¯s back. Angrily, I wipe the tears away with my robe.

    Now is not the time to mourn.

    I clench my fist.

    The least I can do is help the people of Havenmarch get through this checkpoint without being tolled. But to do that I¡¯ll¡­

    ¡°Princess Sorina,¡± a voice calls to me from behind. I turn to find Riddeck of all people, bowing down to me. His eye is still swollen from when I ambushed him.

    I look upon him with some measure of caution. He looks like Pamela¡¯s dog.

    ¡°I no longer have any claims to Catolica,¡± I tell him. ¡°So you can just call me Sorina.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I must insist on calling you Princess,¡± Riddeck says. Then, he unsheathes his sword. I back away, hands going to my dagger blades, but rather than attack me, Riddeck holds his blade out like a gift.

    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°What is this?¡±

    ¡°Forgive me, Princess. You may not remember me, for you were very young. But before I joined the royal retinue of soldiers, I served your father.¡±

    ¡°You were Maddox¡¯s soldier?¡±

    ¡°His military advisor, Princess,¡± Riddeck says, not without a tinge of pride. ¡°Maddox Nunez is the greatest man I¡¯ve ever known. Leaving his service was a tragic mistake of mine. A mistake that I want to remedy.¡± He extends the blade further, holding it reverently. ¡°Please princess. Accept me into your service.¡±

    Shocked, I keep a straight face while trying to think through this offer. Maddox. My father. Brutal, disparaging, and abhorrently committed to his own strange code of honor. I always disliked the man. But, if memory serves me well, his soldiers liked him well enough.

    I try to remember Riddeck¡¯s face, but I can¡¯t for the life of me. Its been too long.

    This could be a trap of Pamela¡¯s, I think for a moment, but then I dismiss the thought. She¡¯d be more direct. She¡¯s tactful enough to realize I don¡¯t have to be dealt with by lies and deceit. She¡¯s Queen. She could banish me for all she cares, especially since I¡¯ve distanced myself from Catolica.

    But this¡­ this could be an opportunity. Still, I remain wary.

    ¡°This would be treason, betraying your Queen,¡± I tell him.

    He shakes his head. ¡°No, my princess. A soldier of Catolica must serve all of Catolica, not just the Queen.¡±

    ¡°You say you served my father,¡± I tell him. ¡°What was my father¡¯s favorite saying then?¡±

    Riddeck smiles. ¡°Ashes pave the road to peace.¡± He says it with an air of nostalgia, as if remembering the very conversation in which he first heard it.

    I sigh. Then, I take the sword from his hand and press the flat of the blade against his head. ¡°With this I name you, Riddeck of Catolica, Riddeck of Nunez, serve me and be me my blade, my steel.¡±

    ¡°These words I do accept,¡± Riddeck says. With that, I give him the blade and he rises to his full height, towering above me. ¡°Your orders, Princess?¡±

    I look at Queen Pamela, who''s too busy issuing orders in the campgrounds to notice our interaction. ¡°I¡¯ve got some ideas.

 XXXVII: Live With The Blightbriars

    Raiten

    ¡°So, how has your day been thusfar?¡± Kiren asks me. I give him a good enough glare for the poor mancer to finally give up on his attempts at small talk. Ours is a quiet party. Zyla tails a whistling Saegor, whose eye roves the dark trees. We have yet to pass the extended walls and stakes of the fortress, even passing by a couple of poor guardsmen stationed this far out into the briars.

    Yet the further we move in, the quieter the briars get.

    It is as if the forest itself is aware of the horrors it beholds. The trees, straight and column-like along the Old Road, now twist and bend into each other. I reach my hand out and feel the curves of some rotted, mossy bark.

    Umbrahorn moves in front of me, half of his body surfaced. The other half remains underground, getting preferential healing. Apparently, being underground helps him recover faster, which makes sense considering he¡¯s a wood spirit.

    At the beginning of the journey, he pouted and whined, but I threatened to clart him once more and his prattle soon after ceased. His black eyes turn around often to steal a glance at me¡ªas if he¡¯s afraid that I¡¯ll rip into him once more. I don¡¯t blame him.

    That fight was simply another one of my petty indulgences.

    Finally, we reach the end of the fortress¡¯s extension. Saegor stops there, staring out into the thickening, twisting woods that splay out before us. He turns around and gives us all a wide smile.

    ¡°This is it! Now, a few rules for our¡­ newer members,¡± he says, giving pointed looks at both Umbrahorn and I. ¡°Rule number one: I am your ally. Don¡¯t let my dastardly charms fool you ¡ª I am your staunchest friend in this troop and as such, you should always listen to me. Always. Especially if anything magic related occurs. Don¡¯t ask too many questions, don¡¯t ask too many favors ¡ª just follow along, and we¡¯ll get through this in one piece.¡±

    Kiren nods along fervently to each and every word. Zyla stares at me, blank faced, as if studying my response. I don¡¯t really mind if Saegor takes this lead¡ªmagicks are his territory.

    ¡°Understood,¡± I say. Umbrahorn gives a hmph! But eventually, after I deliver low kick to his back, he nods his assent.

    ¡°Well then, my terrible little mancers,¡± Saegor says, rubbing his hands together. ¡°Follow me. Hopefully, we can pass through this devilish place without attracting too much attention. And then, we can give our Sorayvladian friends a nice, big surprise.¡±

    We pass through the denseness. Whenever our root-filled path is blocked by twisting, knotted branches, Saegor raises his hand and yawns out some magicks that bloom forth and carve through the trees. A simple light of flame or pure energy is sufficient most of the time. Once, he even freezes a larger blockage, though that takes some time.

    ¡°Is ice not his specialty?¡± I ask Kiren afterwards.

    The boy shakes his head. ¡°Nay. Old Saegor¡¯s a warlock, sure, and he¡¯s formally studied ice. But, it exists outside of his personal circle of magicks, so he has to reach forth into the wells and ¡ª¡±

    ¡°What does any of that mean?¡± I mutter, cutting him off.

    ¡°It''s awfully hard to explain to someone not familiar with magicks. So¡­ don¡¯t think about it for now, I guess? It''s not like it matters for you anyhow. You just want to kill your damned quarry ¡ª what was his name again?¡± Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°Masaru,¡± I spit.

    ¡°Right. That one,¡± Kiren shuffles his feet, slowing down. ¡°What do you hate him so much anyways?¡±

    This was a mistake. You¡¯re not here to make conversation or friends. ¡°You know what, you¡¯re right. I¡¯m not familiar with magicks, so I won¡¯t ask about them. In turn, you¡¯re not familiar with me, so don¡¯t ask about me, or my past, or¡­ just, don¡¯t ask me anything at all really.¡± I turn to look at him, meaning to glare. But, instead, he imitates some sort of kicked puppy, moping with wide eyes. I sigh. Saegor¡¯s dog wants to be friends with me I suppose.

    ¡°I was just¡­ you know what? Nevermind. Sorry Raiten,¡± he says, before scampering off on ahead, traveling next to Saegor. Thos two strike up a conversation pretty fast and I catch tidbits here an there ¡ª murmurings about magicks, academies, training methods.

    ¡°You¡¯re quite the ass, you know that?¡± A feminine voice says to my left. It''s Zyla, the other bald headed twin. She¡¯s got brown eyes and a hollowed face, pretty in a strangely masculine way.

    ¡°I do my best,¡± I say in a dismissive tone. I¡¯m not trying to have this conversation right now. Clearly, she doesn¡¯t care, because she strides up next to me, green tassels snapping against the black of her uniform.

    ¡°You know, whatever shit is going on with you, I hope you can get it under control before we face Sorayvlad.¡±

    ¡°Focus on yourself.¡±

    ¡°See!¡± She says, pointing at me now. ¡°That stupid arrogance of yours will get us all killed.¡±

    I don¡¯t rise to her bait, instead, walking on further.

    ¡°There¡¯s no getting through to him right now,¡± I hear Umbrahorn tell her behind me. Traitorous fish. ¡°He¡¯s got no thought of what he¡¯s doing. Just let him be¡­ and I guess try not to get in his way.¡±

    Sound advice.

    Anybody who does get in my way today will regret it. I¡¯ll make sure of that.

    ¡°Yes but¡ª¡± I hear Zyla begin behind me, before she cuts off abruptly. I turn, ears perked, eyes flitting. But she¡¯s just standing there, unmoving. Umbarhorn also looks at her with confusion.

    I squint and notice that her eyes have rolled up.

    ¡°Saegor!¡± I yell. ¡°I think we have an issue.¡±

    ¡°What is it¡ª ah shit, already? Kiren, your sister is at it again. Ready yourself.¡±

    They run back to us, with Kiren approaching his sister cautiously, hands outstretched and ready to cast magicks of his own. As if his sister is a threat.

    Is she?

    My worries are availed when her eyes roll back though and she stumbles, nearly fainting, falling into her brother¡¯s arms. I look at Saegor, confused.

    He doesn¡¯t even give me a glance, but he can tell what I¡¯m about to ask.

    ¡°Zyla is a seer. If her eyes go up like that, she must¡¯ve been warned of something. Meaning ¡ª¡±

    ¡°The Turned are heading our way!¡± Zyla spouts. Her voice is high pitched, different than before. It is as if something, some other entity, has possessed her. ¡°They are coming, coming, coming, running, jumping, sprinting, raking their way over, run run run RUNNING¨C¡±

    To my surprise, Kiren slaps his sister hard across the face. I step forward out of pure instinct but Saegor grabs my hand. Zyla blinks away a few tears, displaced, like she¡¯s just finding her way back into the world.

    ¡°Are you back?¡± he asks.

    She nods slowly.

    ¡°Where are they coming from?¡± Kiren follows up.

    She points to the North.

    And that is when the forest itself begins to rumble.

 XXXVIII: Live With The Turned

    I purge the instinct to fondle my amulets, instead, raising my hands and rolling up the sleeves of my uniform. Catolica¡¯s grays and blacks look good on me. And they feel good too ¡ª light and flexible. I can move freely, and hopefully, fight freely.

    We take positions next to each other. Saegor outstretches his hands, forming from them a ball of hovering flame that sparks and crackles against the blackness of the forest. Zyla holds her hand out sideways and, blue mist flows forth from her palms, formulating an aether spirit: a blue, ghost-eyed wolf whose transparent form luminates like liquid night. It is my first time seeing a spirit from the aether realm ¡ª I can¡¯t keep my eyes off the damn thing. It¡¯s so¡­ hypnotic.

    ¡°They¡¯re coming!¡± Kiren yells, breaking my trance. He employs a long chain with a kunai dagger on its end, whipping the metal about in a whirlwind. It is a strange looking weapon, for a mancer. I quite like it.

    A roar steals my gaze. It comes from the cracking of trees of ahead, where a smattering of birds flock away, taking to the skies as their homes come crashing down. The enemy is a blur of motion ¡ª fast and far, blending in with the darkness.

    When they approach, I catch my breath.

    They are children, eyes pussed and glazed, mouths half formed or drooling, tentacles and spider legs protruding from their backs, carrying their unwilling bodices towards us. The children are wrought upside down, maws open in a perpetual scream, black worms wriggling from their ears and noses, mouths and eyes.

    So these are the turned.

    I count three children in total. Their bodies are paraded by an amalgamation of spidery limbs, tentacles, insectoid appendages. They have no soul behind their eyes. Only traces of who they once were remain ¡ª and even those are hard to grasp.

    ¡°Do not hold back!¡± Saegor yells, startling me. ¡°They may look like children¡¯s bodies, but those things will rip you apart! There is no saving them now. It is kill, or be killed.¡±

    Right.

    But I can¡¯t help but stare, and even shake slightly. Children. Dandy. This is what I¡¯ll leave her to become?

    This¡­ thing?

    One child bolts my way, its mix of pincers and giant spider limbs raking across the rooted grounds of the forest, tearing up mud and bark. It roars a shrill, monstrous scream, mouth agape and upside down, eyes staring through me.

    The aether wolf of Zyla roars back.

    I hear Umbrahorn whimpering behind me. I turn to him, stare at his beady black eyes and put a hand on his head.

    ¡°Let me ride you. Let me ride you and we can both make it out of this.¡± I say it without anger, without a commanding, oppressive tone. For the first time in a long while, I am more afraid than angry.

    He hesitates at first, but then nods and I take a straddling seat behind his upper fin, slapping his flanks to ready the shark.

    ¡°Go for the legs,¡± I tell Umbrahorn. The first child is almost upon his, pale and black haired, one-eye gone the other spewing yellow liquid. ¡°Avoid the pincers.¡±

    ¡°Rig¡ªright!¡± he says.

    ¡°Come on Umbrahorn, come on!¡± I say slapping his flanks again, more aggressively this time. ¡°Fucking kill them. They are nothing. COME ON!¡± I say it not out of anger, but desperation. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°RIGHT!¡±

    Then, the first of the turned is upon us.

    His mantis-like pincers snap at Umbrahorn and I. Just before they pinch, Umbrahorn leaps up and forward, roaring, mouth open wide. He clamps down on the boy¡¯s upper body ¡ª completely ignoring my previous advice to go for the legs. The boy¡¯s body wriggles and shakes and his other appendages sprawl out wildly, thrashing the trees, the grass. His back, the nodule from which all his maleficent proportions extend from, now cracks bloody as Umbrahorn bites down harder, splintering bone until the boy¡¯s upper body tears some. I hold on tight to the beast ¡ª broken leash rope tied around his right fin, other hand grasping his wooden belly.

    Finally, there is a wet crunching of bone and blood spills in thick, sticky gouts.

    And Umbrahorn falls from his suspended biting, having ripped off half the boy¡¯s body. Only the stem of the spine from his upper torso remains, wriggling along with his other limbs.

    Yet still, impossibly, the thing moves. At first, I think it is some death dance. But when three spidery legs, black and sharp, rise up to strike at us, I tug on Umbrahorn¡¯s leash and he dives obligingly half underground, jerking me away.

    There¡¯s a whiplash ¡ª a great twist in my chest. My muscles are stretched, abused.

    We are not going to make it.

    I realise that when the sharp ends of those legs are above me, snapping down, skimming my hair.

    Then¡­ they are gone. Blasted away, stumbling back. I crane my head to see Saegor cackling, casting pillars of pure, twisting, raging flame at the turned boy. The boy¡¯s half body, dripping with blood, now burns black and even screams ¡ª from where or how even, I do not know and do not want to know.

    And still, despite half his body getting torn off, despite Saegor¡¯s relentless flame which licks up the spider legs and pincers ¡ª the boy. Still. Moves.

    I don¡¯t understand it. Umbrahorn doesn¡¯t seem to either.

    We just stare together, unmoving, dumbfounded.

    The burning creature snaps forward at Saegor, forcing the one-eyed old mancer to dancer back, still flaying with flame. He¡¯s literally whipping it now, fire lashing across the boy¡¯s body, yet still, he keeps surging forward.

    But he¡¯s slowing.

    Stumbling.

    And then finally, Umbrahorn and I slam into him from the back, making him fall. His spidery limbs are crushed beneath and turned into an ashy, powdery dust. The turned reaches forward one last time, pincer snapping weakly at Saegor. The old man doesn¡¯t even use magic; he simply lifts his foot up and places it upon the dark green of the pincer carapace.

    The turned stops moving. A litany of black worms exits from its pores, moving with frightening speed towards Saegor. He burns them without hesitation.

    Soon, all that¡¯s left of the monster is a pile of ash.

    I almost breathe a sigh of relief, but I hear a roar of struggle and cast my gaze over Kiren and Zyla. They are currently engaged in a tumultuous assault against another turned, this one a girl with blonde-matted hair and mandibles extending from her upside down face. The third turned is limping away, trying to escape, but Zyla¡¯s wolf is on it, jumping and latching onto the main body of the creature.

    Saegor and I share a glance before nodding to one another and joining the fray.

    This second one dies easier.

    Zyla sallys forth a great gang of spirits that lay siege to the creature¡¯s constitution,  while Kiren uses his chain-whip to destroy the turned¡¯s foundation, breaking off her ant-like legs. Umbrahorn and I get up close and personal, risking infection to keep the beast at bay. Saegor doesn¡¯t join in on our assault, instead helping Zyla¡¯s aether wolf spirit to dispense of the other turned.

    Eventually, we stand triumphant over the children. Their bodies twitch and writhe when they die, exuding those sickly black worms which we must burn. As angry and dark as my feelings have become, I still cannot stand the sight of these¡­ monsters the witch has made of them.

    ¡°Well my fellow mancers,¡± Saegor says, huffing with effort as he spurts more fire to kill the last of the worms. ¡°Welcome to the Blightbriars.¡±

 XXXIX: Live With Great Spirits

    I watch as embers of blackened skin and rot rise into the night air, becoming dust as a gail of wind sweeps through the forest. The group is quiet. Recovering. None of us were touched by the skin of the turned thankfully, though Kiren was nipped in the shoulder by a pincer. Zyla tends to him now, healing her brother with deft fingers. Saegor is seeing to the full burning of the corpses. He holds his arm out and casts spurts of flame to feed the ongoing blaze.

    Silence cuts the wind. Umbrahorn and I don¡¯t say a word, don¡¯t move. We have nothing to do but stare and ponder, hear the crackle of embers, the small grunts of pain from Kiren.

    Whereas I came into this forest with anger drawing every muscle taut, now I feel an odd sense of¡­ peace. I don¡¯t know why: perhaps the hate is colder now, more clinically charged. There¡¯s a numbness about us. A feeling of dismay at the realization that this will be the task of our journey ¡ª navigate these cursed briars and kill a child.

    And Masaru.

    And Masaru.

    His image is drawn to perfection in my head ¡ª his face a purity of purpose.

    ¡°You know,¡± Umbarhorn says suddenly, low enough for only me to hear. ¡°I wasn¡¯t always Erot¡¯s little scarecrow.¡±

    ¡°I figured,¡± I say, grunting the response, imitating the old farmer himself. It''s unconscious, but I do miss the old man. He was hard and honest ¡ª a man of a different, better time perhaps. Well, better than this old mancer who raises dead spirits.

    ¡°I was, different I guess,¡± Umbrahorn continues, as if I¡¯m not there. His black eyes stare far off, past the flames, into the parallel blackness of the briars. ¡°Stronger. More¡­ arrogant. More¡­ reckless.¡±

    More arrogant? I think, with some measure of amusement. If he sees my smirk, he doesn¡¯t mention it.

    ¡°Back then I had more parts: shadow, ice, wind, to name a few. I was special ¡ª a man-made spirit. My master was an inventor and I was his greatest creation. He set me upon the wilds, the mountains, the lands of Fimbul, the seas of Katal. I did as he bid always. I loved him, my master. He didn¡¯t love me though. I was his tool, his weapon to bludgeon.¡±

    My smirk disappears. I look at Umbrahorn now, but his gaze is still faroff.

    ¡°What happened?¡± I ask.

    He shrugs. ¡°He died, as all men do. And then, I had nothing to do. I was a wild spirit. So, I went about killing other spirits. I don¡¯t know why I did it¡ª it was not for any sense of justice or vengeance. And I wasn¡¯t¡­ crazy. I think. I was just lost. Then, one day, I attacked a guardian spirit of a small hunting village. Fangshade.¡±

    I search my memory for the name, but only remember vagaries of it from my first conversation with Sorina, back when Erot introduced me to her in the village.

    ¡°The guardian spirit was the strongest thing I¡¯ve ever fought. Did some good damage to my armor, my pride as well,¡± he says, chuckling at the memory. I can tell he¡¯s replaying the battle in his head ¡ª its the way his eyes light up and search the air, as if drawing forth images from the wind to animate the duel.

    ¡°But you killed it?¡± I prod.

    He nods. ¡°Killed it well and good. Then, as I was withdrawing, a whole village of angry Fangshaders attacked me. I fought back, injured a great many of them, but my injuries and their leader¡¯s tactics granted me my first loss,¡± he looks to me now for the first time in this conversation. ¡°Guess who their leader was?¡± The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    The pieces are clicking. The old farmer always seemed like he was hiding something.

    ¡°Erot.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Erot.¡± Suddenly, Umbarhorn is shaking his head once more, chuckling. ¡°I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m telling you all of this. If anything, you¡¯re the last person I should be telling any of this: you¡¯re so petty and vain.¡±

    I¡¯m surprised at his boldness. Earlier today, I don¡¯t think he would¡¯ve made a comment like that. Especially after the beating he took. But now, he says it without fear: an assessment. It makes me uncomfortable.

    ¡°Says the great spirit of Erot¡¯s farm,¡± I mutter.

    ¡°Ah but that¡¯s different Raiten,¡± he says, clicking his tongue. ¡°That¡¯s in my nature. It''s not in yours.¡±

    Huh. That¡¯s¡­ I don¡¯t know what to make of that. An awkward moment of silence passes between us before I clear my throat.

    ¡°Erot beat you, then what?¡±

    ¡°Well, his village wanted to kill me. They tore me apart, their shaman experimented on me for a bit. Nasty business. Tore away what made me¡­ me. My other parts. They rendered me into a nor¡ª normal spirit.¡± It pains him to say that one, I can tell.

    ¡°Ah. I see,¡± I scratch my chin, remembering how Erot promised Umbrahorn his shadow spirit before our journey. ¡°That must¡¯ve been tough. Losing pieces of yourself like that.¡± I can relate to some degree. Every day at the tower, I lost a piece of myself.

    ¡°Yes. It wasn¡¯t pleasant. But I think they were punishing me ¡ª those villagers loved that guardian spirit. Yet, one person, only one, stood up for me at that time: Erot. I don¡¯t know why, but he argued that the villagers treated me cruelly. Argued that they should¡¯ve just granted me a merciful death. Of course, no one listened.¡±

    ¡°So¡­¡±

    ¡°So, Erot came by my iron prison one night and just¡­ talked to me. Treated me like a human, infuriating as that was. However, it was better than being tortured by that shaman.¡±

    ¡°Seems like something Erot would do,¡± I say, smiling at the thought of a young Erot talking down to the shark spirit under the twilight.

    ¡°Eventually, after a few nights, he freed me. No explanation, nothing. I took my chance¡ª ran off into the wilds again, searching for my other parts. But, after a year of desperate wandering, I had no luck. Instead, I simply ran into Erot again ¡ª except now, he was alone. He¡¯d been excommunicated from his village or left of his own accord ¡ª he still hasn¡¯t explained that to me really. But, he captured me, bound me to his land. Told me if I behaved myself and did right by him, he¡¯d do his best to locate the other spirit parts of mine.¡±

    And now, everything makes a whole lot more sense.

    I shake my head at the thought. Erot, freeing Umbrahorn, probably got him into some trouble with his village. But for him to leave his home like that and settle into completely new lands is¡­ well it''s strange. I have to ask the old man about that myself.

    ¡°So, you really were a great spirit then,¡± I realize.

    ¡°Yes. I was great. Powerful. Could take on anything. Even that Elk creature that you fought.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s not get ahead of ourselves ¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m being serious, I would¡¯ve wiped the floor with that thing, chomped his head off.¡±

    ¡°Sure buddy. Sure.¡±

    ¡°Alright, you know what? Fuck you Raiten.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you too Umbrahorn.¡± He¡¯s muttering more curses to himself, but he doesn¡¯t realize that he¡¯s actually gotten me to smile, for the first time in a long while. Albeit, the smile is brief.

    Because I remember my mission.

    And all the sacrifices I make for that mission. Yet still, it must, it must, be upheld. No matter what.

    No matter what.

    Right?

    ¡°Right?¡± I whisper, to no one in particular.

    The only response I get is the final crack of flames. And then, we¡¯re continuing forth, trudging deeper into the doom.

 XXL: Live With Saegor

    ¡°How¡¯s the shoulder?¡± I ask Kiren. He grants me a wry grin while ducking under a long branch.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Nothing too bad. I¡¯m just glad it didn¡¯t get infected.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± That would be a nightmare ¡ª dealing with one of our own being plagued. Lucian said it spread by touch, by flesh. After Kiren got cut by the pincers, Saegor and Zyla had to run multiple magick-based tests to see if he was infected. But¡­ he seems fine, even two days later. So he is fine. Probably.

    We walk in silence for a bit longer. Zyla is discussing something pretty fervently with Saegor, gesticulating angrily ahead of us. I open and close my fists, feeling the muscles go taut and loose. Practicing Iron Winter on my own, while troublesome, has allowed me a greater control of my body ¡ª I can stiffen up before taking a blow, and I know the perfect angle at which to smash my shin against an enemy. But, none of that is all too useful against the plagued ¡ª an enemy we are not meant to touch.

    I will definitely need an alternative. Something besides relying on just Umbrahorn.

    ¡°Raiten?¡± Kiren asks.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± he says, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish flush to his face. ¡°About earlier ¡ª I didn¡¯t mean to pry into your personal life. I overstepped.¡±

    Oh. He¡¯s still hung up about that? I had forgotten the matter. I look at Kiren with a more critical eye now. He¡¯s an awfully¡­ well-manner mancer. Nothing like Saegor¡¯s overbearing presence. Kiren¡¯s the exact opposite of the mancer type.

    So why the hell is he part of this troop? I ask myself, not for the first time.

    ¡°It''s fine,¡± I tell him, waving a dismissive hand. ¡°I was also being unreasonable earlier.¡±

    ¡°Sorry about my sister too. She just, gets angry like that sometimes¡ª¡±

    ¡°I said it¡¯s fine, don¡¯t worry Kiren.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡±

    We walk for a little more, the dirt turning muddy beneath our boots. We squelch through the forest now, the briars widening, the distance between trees growing. This must be the second trek of the journey that Pamela described to me. Soon, we¡¯ll reach the marshes. Then gatorland.

    I eye the chain-rope-dagger curled around Kiren¡¯s waist for an inordinate amount of time, lost in my thoughts.

    He notices, shaking the chains: ¡°You like Meteorfang?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the weapon¡¯s name?¡±

    ¡°Well, no,¡± he says, unwrapping it now. ¡°It¡¯s a Catolican alteration of the Kurasigami ¡ª ditches the scythe for a raw kunai blade and keeps the metal-balled end.¡± He tosses the finger-scuffed sphere-end of the chain in the air for some emphasis. Then, he lobs it over to me. The chains clink in the air as I catch the ball, its weight surprising me slightly. I turn it over in my hand, rubbing my thumb across its top. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    ¡°You look like you¡¯re in love Raiten,¡± Umbrahorn says, startling me as he emerges from the ground next to us, black eyes examining the weapon as well. ¡°I¡¯ve seen weapons like this before. None of them were chained though ¡ª why is that?¡± He turns his attention to Kiren, who stares at the hammerhead shark with caution.

    ¡°Uh, I requested the forger to make it like that. I had a roped version earlier, but that snapped often ¡ª especially against fiercer foes. This one is magically reinforced: each chain is strengthened by bonds of metal and the smallest of runic inscriptions.¡±

    ¡°Runic?¡± I ask, more to myself than anyone else. I¡¯ve heard that term tossed about so much, but I still have no idea what constitutes runic magicks and what separates them from regular magicks. Magicks ¡°inside the spiral¡± as Sorina would so often and so poorly explain.

    ¡°Runic magicks are crafter¡¯s or forger¡¯s magicks. Real complicated, dead-language based inscriptions. I¡¯ve only ever met a select few who could do anything more than light up a room with runic,¡± Kiren explains.

    ¡°I see.¡± I nod to myself as if I understand, but to be honest, this thing still confounds me. I hand the ball-end back to Kiren and forge on ahead.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Kiren says, jogging a little to catch up with me. One of his shoes sinks deep in a strange divot in the mud, hidden by a foliage of roots and brush. He groans as flecks of wet brownness splatter over him. With a sigh, I come back to help him, allowing him to grab my shoulder as he pulls on his boot. It pops out with another splatter, this one getting on Umbrahorn, who doesn¡¯t seem to mind.

    ¡°I showed you mine,¡± he says, hopping on one foot to shake the mud off. ¡°Now show me yours!¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­¡± I back away, his arm draping off my shoulder. ¡°I appreciate the offer but ¡ª¡±

    ¡°No not like that!¡± Kiren says, flailing to stay balanced. He puts the boot down again and fits his foot through, lacing it up while looking at my waist. The sack at my belt.

    ¡°Oh.¡± I consider not giving it to him, but I don¡¯t think he would do anything too malicious. I unwrap the amulet sack and hand it to him when he stands.

    Curiously, he opens it and delicately takes out an amulet, examining the red gem inscribed in the metal. ¡°What is it?¡± He finally asks.

    ¡°I thought you wanted to see it because you knew what it was.¡±

    He shakes his head.

    With a sigh, as we walk on, I explain to him the mechanics of angel dust and lightning. He listens with rapt attention, asking questions like an overachieving schoolboy. Sorina used to call me a dog, but he¡¯s truly a puppy ¡ª all he needs is a tail to wag. It would be endearing, if it wasn¡¯t so annoying. But, I do my best to fight against the asshole within and keep trudging on.

    We walk for a little more, the dirt turning muddy beneath our boots. We squelch through the forest now, the briars widening, the distance between trees growing.

    I frown. This is all looking awfully familiar¡ª

    My foot falls into a strange divot in the mud, hidden by foliage and brush. What the¡ª

    ¡°Saegor!¡± I yell out as I extract my boot from the mud. ¡°I think something¡¯s wrong! Saegor?!¡± I look up ahead, but find that Saegor and Zyla are nowhere in sight. ¡°Kiren something¡¯s ¡ª¡± I turn to look for him, but he¡¯s gone too.

    ¡°Umbrahorn?¡± I call out.

    No response.

    Shit. What magicks are these briars playing at now?

    I clench my fists and turn in place, searching the forest for any sign of movement. Then, I start cursing myself because I gave Kiren my amulet stack, so all I¡¯m left with is my martial techniques.

    There comes a creaking, loud and echoing throughout the woods.

    Then, every single tree begins to move.

 XXLI: Live With Trees

    What is it with this hells-damned forest?

    I back away from the tree closest to me, which twists and unroots itself from the ground, rumbling something low that shakes the ground. It and its brethren are animating themselves, coming to life, their branches forming their limbs, their trunks becoming bodies, their roots like skittering legs.

    And they move damn fast for trees.

    It all happens so fast.

    The tree closest to me swings a great clump of its branches like a hammer, bringing them down upon my head. I roll out of the way, diving and rolling in the mud as the air from the blow sweeps my back. I feel a rush and pump my legs up, jumping away as another set of thorny branches comes slicing at me horizontally. I clear them, feeling the leaves tickle at my feet.

    Then I¡¯m running, sprinting deeper into woods, weaving around and under the swinging wooden giants.

    Where did the rest of the mancers go? Umbrahorn? They sure would¡¯ve been useful right about now. But, their disappearance is probably due to the magicks at play here ¡ª whatever they might be. It doesn¡¯t matter. I can¡¯t fight these¡­ things. I just have to survive¡ª

    A crooked looking tree cuts my path. It raises three sharp branches, unadorned with leaves or brush, looking pale and blade-like. I skid to a stop on the mud and scramble back as Crooked slashes forth. Just as I turn my back to it, the middle branch smacks into my back, lengthwise at first. When I stumble forward, its edge slices a cruel line across my spine.

    I scream and fall.

    The pain burns and distracts. And I know another million swings are coming, so I pound my fists into the ground and slip forward, running off again.

    THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! Goes the woods.

    All creaking and cracking and rumbling, a briar-made hell.

    A smaller tree blocks my path, only a head or two taller than me. Two giant oaks converge on my flanks. I must go forward.

    So, I push off my back heel, fly forward, and raise my right knee up to smash against the gangly tree¡¯s center. Kneecap cracks against wood, sending an explosion of splinters outwards. The tree stumbles back, falling over in a very¡­ human way.

    Hardened and numbed by days of kicking trees, my knee remains intact, albeit a bit bloodied and red-raw. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    I push forward.

    I can¡¯t keep this up.

    The more I run and evade, the more their numbers conglomerate.

    ¡°RAITEN!¡± A voice calls. Zyla? My eyes search for her, only to find Crooked sprinting around its other brethren, trying to cut me off once more. Gritting my teeth, I slide under the slow swing of a giant tree and grab hold of one of its larger roots, pulling it hard. Surprisingly, its constitution does not hold ¡ª the lumbering tree crashes down, tripping some of its pursuing brethren.

    ¡°Raiten, it''s an illusion. Kill the node-creature and you¡¯ll be free! Either that, or find the exit! If you don¡¯t, you¡¯ll die!¡± Again, Zyla¡¯s voice calls out, but I don¡¯t see her at all.

    ¡°Where are you lot?!¡± I ask.

    ¡°The others are dealing with the same thing. I got out first¡ª¡±

    ¡°Forget that, what is the node-creature?¡±

    ¡°The strongest looking monster in illusion-scape!¡±

    I take one look at Crooked, who hurdles over the tree that I felled with ease. It practically skates across the mud.

    ¡°Of course it''s you,¡± I mutter, eyes now searching for an exit instead. I can¡¯t take that thing on. Maybe if I had my amulets¡­

    But if this an illusion, would those even matter?

    Focus. Where is the exit?

    ¡°Zyla! What does the exit look like?¡± I ask.

    No answer.

    I search the skies, as if her voice would be there. Yet, the sky has gone red. Bleeding crimson, dotted with maroon clouds.

    Looking ahead, I am forced to stop once more. The trees have formed a wall, impenetrable and thick. Cursing, I cut right, only to find the very same wall being formed there. Left, back, East, West ¡ª it doesn¡¯t matter. They encircle me now, forming a great ring by interlocking their roots and branches, their crowns and brush.

    Turning around, I spot Crooked¡ªthe only tree not part of the wall¡ªstriding toward me on root-shaped legs. Its left branches coalesce and form into one giant, bludgeoning arm. The three right branches remain bladed, white against the darkness of the rest of its wooden body. Like snow against ash.

    The sky roars before issuing forth the first drops of rain.

    I extend my hand and feel the droplets. They score crimson along my skin.

    I can¡¯t help but laugh. Whoever made this illusion obviously has a flair for the dramatic ¡ª for blood rain now splatters against me and Crooked as we face each other in an arena of dark briars.

    I suppose it can¡¯t be helped. I¡¯ll have to kill it.

    ¡°Well come on then!¡± I call, egging the tree on. ¡°Let¡¯s get on with it.¡±

    Crooked seems to tilt its head ¡ª or whatever the top part of its crown might be called ¡ª before flicking its three sword-arms out and giving me a¡­ bow.

    I scoff. ¡°What the hell are you?¡±

    The tree doesn¡¯t answer.

    Instead, it stands straight and raises its left hand. From it, five twigs sprout forth and curl inwards. Like fingers.

    It repeats the motion, as if trying to tell me to come here.

    Smiling, I approach the tree as blood drapes across my back and the sky screams out in some eldritch language of old.

 XLII: Live With The Crooked

    Crooked starts by walking. I match her gait ¡ª I don¡¯t know why I call it a her, but it seems appropriate. It assumes a lithe, feminine figure, quick and slim. Reminds me of Sorina almost.

    We circle each other, the blood rain building in intensity, drenching me in sticky viscosity. It smells of copper and runs over the mud like a great purifier. I don¡¯t know why she hesitates ¡ª Crooked was defeating me well-enough earlier. Maybe she¡¯s just taking her time.

    I think I surprise Crooked by moving first, breaking our circling flow, sprinting across the ring of mud, blood, and trees. My feet slosh and slush along the wetness of the ground, but I am balanced enough to turn missteps into skids, propelling my momentum along nicely. I have to play the hare ¡ª attack, get out. So, I slide around Crooked and try pulling at one of her loose roots. It snaps off too easily ¡ª no change in her balance. Instead, she spins around on her trunk¡¯s torso, the wood of her center splitting slightly as her bludgeoning arm lobs my way.

    But I am gone, maintaining distance along the side of the ring of trees, simultaneously feeling my way along the ring of trees for some sort of opening. No chance of that ¡ª they are wound up tight.

    If my ten years at the Thunder Tower taught me anything it''s that, sometimes you just have to fight. So, that¡¯s what I¡¯ll do. I¡¯ve survived worse than this: I¡¯ve fought daemons, half-giants, warmonkey, ravens, wolves, an eldritch elk with a djinn within. Hells damn me, I even once fought an injured wyvern that tried passing into Adachi lands. I can win. I can do this.

    Then, the sky rumbles with something else.

    And blue lightning strikes frighteningly near where I was about ten seconds ago. What? That can¡¯t have been by chance, right?

    Crooked chases me, her right bladed branches slashing after my legs. I jump and twist, making another slide around the ring to avoid her blows. Lightning strikes once more, searing the mudded area from where I slide. Yet somehow, it completely avoids Crooked ¡ª as if this arena of hell couldn¡¯t get any worse.

    So it is deliberate ¡ª another machination of whoever created this plane. I scoff. It¡¯s ironic that they chose lightning.

    I have to keep moving, so I push off the ring¡¯s tree wall and slide under Crooked¡¯s thick, stumpy legs. Grabbing onto one of them, I deliver two knees, smashing against the wood with as much hip-thrusting force I can muster. Wood cracks and splinters, yet Crooked¡¯s constitution holds strong. She kicks back, flinging me into the tree wall. My back smashes against the ring and I slide down with an unceremonious thump.

    Great idea, idiot. Let¡¯s knee her back leg, I¡¯m sure she won¡¯t just kick me back like any sane creature would!

    I groan and pound the mud-blooded ground, taking a stand. Then, realizing my mistake, I jump out of the way just in time to avoid another lightning strike ¡ª the force of which sends me flying across the ring once more.

    This time, when I get up, I meet a tri-bladed slash that comes chopping my way. Yelling, I sprawl and let my body hit the ground. One of her blades skims my hair. I roll away and scramble to make some distance between the two of us.

    Another lightning strike, barely missing. It''s like clockwork. And it''s getting faster ¡ª the time between strikes lessening. I feel burns across my flanks, my thighs. I start keeping a mental track of the time between the strike itself and the thunder that follows, as well as the times between strikes.

    Honestly, I could probably handle a few lightning strikes ¡ª without the angel dust, it''s hard to channel and control, but I¡¯ve tested it during my time at the tower. Yet, if I go overboard, I¡¯ll die. And, besides, I can¡¯t afford to get blasted while this tree is hunting me.

    She¡¯s pushing now.

    Crooked hounds me across the arena, slashing and thrashing, not giving me any room to breathe. This fucking tree is relentless.

    ¡°Raiten!¡± a voice calls. It''s not Zyla though.

    ¡°Kiren?¡± I ask while leaning forward, the tip of one of Crooked¡¯s blades grazing my shoulder. Some of the wood sticks and blood slicks down my shoulder blade, to the small of my back.

    BOOM! Another lightning strike, followed even more closely by the sound of thunder. This one singes my back, propelling me forward slightly.

    ¡°Yes!¡± Kiren confirms, his voice coming from all around me, like the wind itself. A big clump of blood rain drips down my hair and into my eyes, so I waste precious time wiping them clean and find myself veering towards the ring-wall. I slide and press off the wall, avoiding another hammer smash from Crooked¡¯s left arm, which breaks through the trees. There¡¯s an opportunity to escape but it only lasts a damn second ¡ª before I have time to think, the wall is reformed and Crooked is re-balancing herself, crown craning towards my blood-drenched form. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°Raiten, have you killed the node-creature yet?¡± Kiren asks, his voice worried.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Alright, listen to me: I can see that your body in the mortal plane is taking actual damage. Zyla is doing her best to heal you, but whatever damage you take in there is reflected out here. I¡¯m going to do my best to help you¡ª¡±

    ¡°How?!¡± I yell, backing away as Crooked struts forward once more. Panic is leaking into my voice because I¡¯m realizing something ¡ª unlike most of the enemies I have faced, Crooked won¡¯t get tired. I can¡¯t just outlast her because my blows don¡¯t seem to do any damage whatsoever.

    ¡°I killed mine using Meteorfang. I¡¯m going to hand it to you now, all right¡ª¡±

    ¡°Just give me my amulets then!¡±

    ¡°It won¡¯t work Raiten, I can¡¯t alter the runic magicks on those because there are none ¡ª with Meteorfang, if I bind the weapon to you instead of me, you should be able to use it even in the illusory realm¡ª¡±

    His voice is cut off when, as I¡¯m skidding along the walls, I finally do slip. Desperately, I try clawing my way up but before I can even get my face out of the mud, pain eclipses all else and I scream out.

    But it''s not the lightning, for that struck only about two seconds prior.

    Instead, Crooked¡¯s three blades pierce my left leg.

    I am making animalistic groans now, like a wolf caught in a bear trap, snarling and growling as I try to fight off the pain.

    Then, Crooked starts dragging the blades back, tearing my leg asunder.

    Not like this. Not like this¡ª

    With a sickening, wet tear, I hear bone and muscle snap like cords as Crooked drags her blades free, cutting down my leg like I¡¯m some piece of meat to be stripped to the bone.

    My vision blackens as I look at my leg.

    So I start cursing and screaming and pounding my fists ¡ª anything to stay awake. I need to let the regeneration do its work, as slow as that may be. That might be my only shot.

    Crooked stares at me now, not deigning to raise her hammer-hand to just end me. Instead, it''s as if she¡¯s admiring her work, her invisible eyes no doubt tracing the contours of my raw, fleshy strips.

    I¡¯m going to murder this fucking tree. I¡¯m going to break you piece by piece, I swear. I swear.

    ¡°I swear¡­¡± I say, but my voice comes like a whisper. My body is shutting down.

    Lightning strikes. Blinding pain. My flesh burns.

    I expect myself to yell once more, but I can only groan. Lightning is a familiar pain ¡ª when I was first getting accustomed to the angel dust, I had to learn to contend with it. To channel it ¡ª bend it to my will. This might not be my crimson lightning, so I can¡¯t exactly tame it. Yet¡­ at least I can manage to live through it.

    Barely.

    I sit up on my elbows and turn, trying to drag myself back.

    When suddenly¡­ a black dust, granules of essence, form around my opened palm.

    Meteorfang forms from the black essence, the ball and chain-roped dagger falling limply into the wetness.

    There''s a deafness to my ears now, a constant ringing. I never used to have it while using angel dust, so the feeling is odd here.

    It brings the whole situation into focus. My leg is cut through. My body is scorched and broken. I am awake only through luck, will, regeneration, grit, and my previous experience with lightning.

    And there, in all that blood and mud ¡ª with all that screaming storm and Crooked, now edging closer and closer, finally raising her blades once more ¡ª there, is where I find enough hate, enough spite, to do one last thing.

    I lob the metal ball-end of Meteorfang towards Crooked. It arcs over her shoulder, the chain hooking around her hammer-arm while the blade arms strikes down.

    Having timed the lightning strikes in my head I grant her a petty grin.

    Then, I snap my fingers.

    Lightning hits me once more, this time not only traveling through my flesh but also  conducting along the chain of meteor fang.

    And when the ball end curls around to hit Crooked¡¯s back¡­

    The lightning surges through Meteorfang, exploding Crooked¡¯s trunk with a deafening crack. Her bladed limbs thrash wildly before they splinter and collapse, flames devouring her crown as she stumbles backward into the wall, leaving a trail of burning branches and cinders in her wake.

    I lay my head down, watch the red angry sky, feel the blood rain drip.

    Drip.

    Drip¡­

    ¡­

    I open my eyes to find myself looking up at a normal, blue, cloudless sky. No blood rain assaults me, but pain still rules my thoughts. Craning my head forward, I see Kiren, Zyla, and Umbrahorn all giving me frightened looks. I take one glance at my shredded leg and, right before blacking out, I spit hard.

    ¡°I think I hate trees now.¡±

 XLIII: Live With Fantasy

    I awaken to a humming sound, lulling and harmonious. At first I think it is my mother, but no, the voice is more familiar, less steeped in nostalgia.

    There¡¯s a fluttering white curtain ¡ª air coming in from an open white windowsill. A blue bird perches on that sill, craning its head to look at me. My head is resting on something soft. Not a pillow¡­

    I try sitting up by a hand gently pushing my head back down, shushing me softly.

    ¡°Rest, Raiten, rest.¡± It is Sorina¡¯s voice. It is her lap I rest on, her voice that serenades me with a lullaby ¡ª the very same lullaby she sang when I wept in her basement. The world is drenched in perfection, in light and blinding whiteness. Even the bed I¡¯m on is white-sheeted ¡ª not a wrinkle in sight.

    This is just some fantasy.

    But, it is undeniably peaceful. I am tired. I want to rest. I want to lay my head down and forget all that I have witnessed, all that I have suffered.

    I close my eyes again and curl my body up, letting the muscles relax. For once in my miserable life, the tension seeps out of me. I am snuggling up with the only person I might call a close friend in this entire world; the only person who I would even dare allow to coddle me like this.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t this nice?¡± she asks. Her voice is motherly now ¡ª no hint of its usual flair or playfulness. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to stay like this? With me?¡±

    All sincerity. All emotions laid bare and thin.

    That is not like Sorina.

    ¡°Who¡­ are you?¡± I ask, eyes fluttering open.

    ¡°Aw, is poor Raiten confused? Does this not suit your needs? Should I be more mean, more flirtatious?¡±

    I crane my head up to look at her face. Her green eyes stare down at me, mouth curled into a cruel smile.

    She¡¯s dressed in a silky thin white gown, a matrimonial underdress.

    Everything about this is wrong.

    I try pressing up, but her hand pushes me down more forcefully now. Her smile widens and she leans down, as if about to bite my ear off.

    ¡°Or would you prefer something less comfortable? Perhaps something more¡­ visceral,¡± she whispers.

    ¡°What do you ¡ª¡± I begin, but then, I blink and my world is different.

    Now, I am back on the all too familiar plane of the Thunder Tower, whiteness and peace replaced by jagged rocks and a gray sky. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    My knee is atop of a broken Hui, the two of us at the bottom of a crater.

    This is after our battle, I realize, looking at my thinner, sicklier body. It feels like an age ago that I was here, but it''s only been a matter of weeks. So much has changed.

    My spidery hands are twitching, itching to squeeze Hui¡¯s neck.

    However, that¡¯s not me. It''s as if the limbs are being compelled by some darker force ¡ª some universal pull that begs me to kill her.

    Hui coughs beneath me, white hair dirtied by rubble, gray eyes glistening.

    Then, she smiles that same, evil smile which Sorina plastered moments before.

    ¡°Do it,¡± she says, snatching my wrists. I twist my left one away, but she manages to pull my right to her neck and, like some magnet, it clamps on her jugular and starts squeezing. ¡°It''s what you want, isn¡¯t it? Kill her Raiten, oh please kill her. She¡¯s so desperate. Look at her eyes.¡± The words come softly, from Hui¡¯s mouth, but now I am sure it is not Hui that is speaking, nor was it Sorina who was speaking prior.

    I yell out and try pulling my right hand back, but it doesn¡¯t budge. My left drifts towards her neck now too.

    I¡¯m not going to kill her. She doesn¡¯t¡ª alright she might deserve it, but ¡ª hells damn me, I¡¯m not going to do it.

    There are others far more deserving of my wrath.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse a glinting metal. So, I wrench my left hand back, reach for the Dragon Blade on the ground near us, and grasp its blue-scaled handle.

    With as much willpower as I can muster to fight this invisible force, I raise the sword up, watch Hui¡¯s smiling face turn purple as my right hand squeezes further.

    Then, I cut the right hand off with one clean swipe.

    I stifle my yelling by biting down on the sleeves of my tunic before pulling away from Hui, scooting back up the crater.

    I hear her sigh with disappointment before standing up and dusting herself off.

    ¡°You¡¯re no fun Raiten. Such a simple man. Really, even Kiren was more interesting to toy with than you ¡ª actually, no, he was also a bore. At least you gave me a good show of things.¡±

    ¡°What,¡± I gasp through the pain ¡°no, who are you?¡± I know the answer though.

    It''s obvious.

    ¡°Come on Raiten, don¡¯t be silly,¡± Hui says, stretching up now, hand reaching to the sky like a cat. She yawns some before snapping her gaze back to me.

    And slowly, her features begin to shift.

    Her muscled warrior form softens, turning more feminine, her hair grows out longer and changes color from white to bleeding red, she grows taller and thinner. It''s all very seamless. Natural, even.

    It''s her face that draws my attention the most. Her blood-red eyes pierce into me, framed by ghostly beauty and tanned skin. Her clothes change too ¡ª a blue undersuit and a shiny chain-linked dress, form fitting. At her side lies that same silver-sheathed blade she wielded in our previous encounter.

    She tilts her head at me, smiling.

    ¡°My enemies have called me Cradle-thief, The Bloomless One, Ash-Mother, Valley-killer, Mountain-feller, and of course, my personal favorite, ¡®The Bitch of the West¡¯,¡± she says, giggling at the moniker.

    Then, her laughter abruptly ends and she extends forth a white gloved hand: ¡°I prefer the Witch of Plagues of course: but you, my dearest Raiten, can call me Thraevirula.¡±

 XLIV: Live With Thraevirula

    I think there¡¯s a clear distinction between fear and dread. You can feel fear cloud your mind, anchor your body, freeze your soul. Dread is its quieter sibling: more subtle¡­ more inevitable.

    Dread is what comes now as I back away slowly from the red-haired witch. She fixes me with a look of longing ¡ª a look that would make any lesser man fall to his knees. I¡¯m not greater than other men by any means, I think I¡¯m just angrier. She hit the nail on the coffin with me: I¡¯m simple. Boring, really.

    She approaches, hand still outstretched.

    ¡°Come now Raiten,¡± she says. ¡°I only wish to extend my thanks.¡±

    ¡°And I only wish for this dream to end. We don¡¯t get to all have what we want though, do we? So whatever offer or trick you are trying to pull, kindly retract it, find a nice big cliff, and go throw yourself off it,¡± I spit.

    ¡°Aw, but that¡¯s not very nice, Raiten. Besides, why would I do that?¡±¡±

    As I back up, my back hits cold stone. Turning around, I find myself pressed against the walls of Sorina¡¯s underground basement. When I turn back, I see the familiar diagram-filled table and weapon-lined walls. The Witch still maintains her own form though.

    And she edges closer.

    ¡°After all,¡± she says, hand pressing against my chest. ¡°You have something I want.¡±

    Angrily, I push her away, then look at my hands in shock to find that both of them still remain. She laughs at my reaction, giggling like some high-born schoolgirl.

    ¡°How are you doing this? Any of this?¡± I shake my hands for emphasis. ¡°Was the illusion in the forest you?¡±

    ¡°Hmm, partly,¡± she answers, walking around me now. As she does, she trails her hand along my back. I move to swat it off but before I can, she pushes me forward and I¡¯m stumbling.

    Just before I trip and hit the ground, the rocky basement floor breaks away and suddenly, I¡¯m falling from the clouds, body flailing, catapulting down to the forest below. It is the same fall that I took after killing the elk.

    ¡°I mean, most of this is you technically,¡± Thraevirula says. She¡¯s falling next to me, legs criss-crossed and head giving me that awfully teasing tilt¡ª as if she¡¯s perpetually mocking my existence. ¡°This is your mindscape. Your dreams. Your memories. I¡¯m just pulling a few strings. It''s how I created the illusion-trap ¡ª bravo on getting out of that by the way. But honestly, why the blood rain?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± I yell. I feel queasy, flinging about in the air, getting tossed around from setting to setting.

    Sighing, Thraevirula snaps her fingers. Then, our falling ceases. We are suspended midair, floating without weight, without the ground pulling us down. No wind sweeps us. It is a strange floatiness ¡ª something I can¡¯t quite describe.

    ¡°That¡¯s much better; but yes, back to my question.¡±

    ¡°I have no idea what you mean,¡± I tell her.

    ¡°The hell-storm Raiten. Honestly, when I saw that, I couldn¡¯t help but laugh ¡ª you¡¯re quite the melodramatic person aren¡¯t you?¡±

    I¡¯m about to respond when I pause, gathering myself. I thought she formulated the blood rain. So, perhaps she is right ¡ª maybe there are some parts of this I can control. Maybe I can get out of here.

    Or maybe, I can kick her out.

    I try putting my hand out, aiming at her, as if I¡¯m about to spew forth fire from my palm. She raises an eyebrow.

    ¡°What exactly are you trying to do?¡±

    I sigh. ¡°Nothing, I suppose.¡± You just look foolish. I retract my hand, but even that slight motion sets me twisting in the air. It''s like I¡¯m swimming through the sky.

    ¡°If you''re trying to control your dreamscape, I¡¯m afraid it doesn¡¯t quite work like that. You aren¡¯t exactly a lucid dreamer Raiten ¡ª I can tell.¡±

    Well, at least she hasn¡¯t killed you or anything. She¡¯s just toying with you.

    ¡°What do you want Thraevirula?¡± I ask.

    ¡°To make a proposition.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Oh come on, don¡¯t be like that,¡± she swims above me, kicking her feet to match my float speed. The forest yawns beneath us, the valley sloping down slightly as if cut by the river that runs through it. ¡°I¡¯m offering something you want too.¡± Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing you have that I could want¡ª¡±

    ¡°A cure? Right? Isn¡¯t that what you¡¯re after?¡±

    That shuts me up real quick. I think of Dandy. I think of her sickly form, coughing up blood. I think of how I so quickly abandoned her for my vengeance. How selfishly I gave her life up.

    That is the thing I regret the most about my falling out with Sorina: the fact that I told her, in my stupid anger, that I don¡¯t care about her or Takemeadow. That¡¯s a lie. I just¡­ I need to kill Masaru. There¡¯s no question about it. He takes priority.

    But, this is also an opportunity.

    ¡°Give it to me,¡± I growl.

    She clicks her tongue and wags a finger, like a mother disciplining their child: ¡°Now now, that wouldn¡¯t be fair would it?¡±

    ¡°Was it fair of you to cast forth a plague that claims the bodies of children and puppets them like some parasite?¡±

    ¡°Of course. That is an exchange. I give them beautiful new forms, they become my soldiers.¡±

    ¡°You really are a witch.¡±

    ¡°Oh please, don¡¯t throw about your morality. Look at who you travel with ¡ª Saegor is a far worse person than I could ever be.¡± When she mentions Saegor, it is with the most anger I¡¯ve seen from her throughout this conversation ¡ª it''s scary, how intense the loathing in her voice is for him. The sheer disgust. Does she know him? It could be possible, considering he¡¯s a warlock.

    Before I can prod, she finally gets to her point: ¡°I¡¯ll make a trade. Your amulets for my cures. The more amulets you give me, the more cures I give you.¡±

    This surprises me. It almost makes me happy, even. If she thinks she can use my angel dust amulets, then she¡¯s dooming herself to death. All my problems would be solved. Except¡­

    ¡°Why my amulets?¡± I ask. ¡°What are you planning on doing with them?¡±

    She puts a finger to her lips. ¡°A witch never tells.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯m never giving you anything.¡± I suspect that she¡¯s not a fool ¡ª that she somehow knows everything about me, whether it be through my memories or some other magicks. I think she¡¯ll dissect the angel dust ¡ª use it in another one of her schemes. I don¡¯t want that to happen.

    But if I gave her one¡­ would it really be that bad? With one cure, I could at least save Dandy.

    I shake my head, cursing slightly. ¡°What guarantee would I have that the cure works anyways?¡±

    ¡°No guarantee, but we will make the exchange through a contract if you so desire. Ask your mancer friends for the particulars of that if you don¡¯t trust me.¡±

    I think about it for a long time, closing my eyes. When I open them, we are no longer floating in the air. Instead, she sits across from me, sipping on tea from a porcelain cup. Biscuits and scones lay on a white clothed table, under the shadow of an umbrella, set on top of a hill overlooking a glade. Giant swords lay in the distance, tassels flapping about their hilts in the high wind.

    ¡°Is this ¡ª¡±

    ¡°The Giant¡¯s Glades, yes. Your destination, I take it?¡±

    ¡°But, I¡¯ve never been here before.¡±

    She shrugs, setting the tea down. ¡°We¡¯ve been in here so long that my dreamscape is starting to merge with yours slightly. Nothing will happen of course, but oddities like this are inevitable.¡±

    I scoff at all the sweets. ¡°Why the tea and biscuits?¡± It''s an idle question, however I¡¯m trying to get her talk, buy myself some time to think.

    She doesn¡¯t seem to mind: ¡°I once read a story where a poor little boy is helped by some greedy witch. They often sat like this ¡ª had little tea parties together. She would be his confidant.¡±

    Thraevirula flutters her eyes at me. ¡°I can be your confidant if you want,¡± she adds.

    ¡°Stop doing that.¡±

    ¡°Doing what?¡±

    ¡°You know exactly what.¡± I glare at her.

    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s a pity.¡± She leans back and stretches. ¡°It works so well on other men.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not like other men.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m starting to see that now. Well, no matter. I suppose our relationship can stay transactional. Have you had enough time to think it over? Work out all the ways I can betray my word and back out of the deal, or use the amulets to conquer the world? I assure you, I have no such aspirations. I¡¯m a very reasonable witch.¡±

    ¡°Stop talking.¡± I rub my fingers against my forehead. All of this is too much ¡ª the ever-changing scenery, the dreamscape, the trade, the past and present and future all colliding into some heaping, hellish mess. But I have to make a decision.

    And I can¡¯t let this opportunity slip.

    ¡°Fine, let¡¯s ¡ª¡±

    Before I can finish that sentence, the table in front of us is blown back, cut through with a slashing wind force. I scoot back and stand, looking to the direction from which the force came.

    And at the bottom of that green hill, a figure stands, sword drawn.

    ¡°Is this part of the dreamscape too?¡± I ask. When I look at Thraevirula, I¡¯m surprised to find her biting down on her nails, other hand grasping the silver-sheathed blade at her side.

    ¡°No, this is an interloper,¡± she spits.

    ¡°What ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Raiten! Do not trust her! Don¡¯t even speak to her!¡± the warrior calls. And it is then, when I squint my eyes and make out her form, that I can¡¯t help but sneer.

    For it is none other than the person who started me on this path.

    Hui Long aims her nodachi at the Witch and gives me a wry smile.

    ¡°Hello Raiten, it''s been a while.¡±

 XLV: Live With The Pain

    ¡°Hui,¡± is all I can manage to say. I open my mouth, but words do not come. My last encounter with Hui Long was so planned ¡ª I knew exactly what I wanted to say to her, how I wanted to break her.

    But now¡­ I don¡¯t even know if this is the real her.

    It certainly seems like her as she stalks up the hill, ruining the witch¡¯s tea party. Thraevirula glares down at Hui, drawing her own sword now. It screams out the scabbard like some unholy beast wrenching forth from the gloom, iron raw and yearning for the taste of blood.

    ¡°Get out,¡± Thraevirula says. Her intonation is slow ¡ª no hint of flirtation or playfulness. All business, all menace. ¡°Get out of my dreamscape.¡±

    ¡°Let my frie¡ª let him go first,¡± Hui responds. I sniff. She was about to call me her friend. Well, good on her for recognizing the truth.

    Stop. She¡¯s here to help.

    Is she though? Or is she just trying to use you?

    How is she here in the first place?

    Too many questions, and no answers, as usual. I¡¯m getting off it to be honest. I stand and hold my hands out.

    ¡°No,¡± I order. ¡°This is not happening. I need both of you to explain this to me ¡ª either that, or back the hell off. And don¡¯t get in the way of my mission.¡±

    ¡°Sit down Raiten, the adults are talking,¡± Thraevirula says, not even looking at me. Then, her eyes widen, as if realizing she made some type of mistake. She turns to me, all smiles once more: ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it like that dear Raiten. What I meant was¡ª¡±

    Before she can answer, the dragon of wind spurs forth from Hui Long¡¯s blade and slams into the witch, wrestling her into the sky. I watch with muted disdain as the two are carried off far into the field of giant blades and spears, battling like some ancient primordials.

    ¡°Raiten,¡± Hui says, putting her hand on my shoulder. I shrug her off and scramble away, glaring daggers at her. ¡°Raiten I¡¯m here to ¡ª¡±

    ¡°How in all the hells are you even here?¡± I ask. ¡°Is this even the real you? This isn¡¯t some¡­ dream-copy of you is it?¡±

    ¡°No, no, it''s the real me. My actual body is with Gareth right now, taking a nap in a forest near the pass to the Boar Ranges.¡± She holds her left hand up, palm flat out, as if trying to negotiate with some villain. Of course she sees you like some threat, you idiot. You¡¯ve only shunned her help, scorned her, mauled her. Why should she treat you any different?

    I take a deep breath in.

    Forget the past for just a single second.

    Focus on the now.

    ¡°Thraevirula said this is a dream-scape. So, if my dreams and hers are merging, then how ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Look, we don¡¯t have much time. I¡¯m here because my affinity with spirits and destiny grants me visions and dreams and other such magickal insights like this. I even saw your fight in the illusion-trap that she set. This is less dangerous than that¡ªyour real body won¡¯t emanate the damage you take in these dreams. But, you shouldn¡¯t stay long regardless. She¡¯ll get in your head ¡ª affect your psyche. There¡¯s a chance she could even trap you in eternal sleep. We need to leave,¡± Hui says, talking at a rapid, worried speed.

    From her sword, three more dragons are released: the dragon of darkness, the dragon of light ¡ª pure white and shimmering like some phantom ¡ª and the dragon of aether, blue and somewhat translucent. They swim into the air and trail after their wind dragon brother, no doubt to stall Thraevirula off further.

    The revelation shocks me; makes me feel violated, to a degree. She saw me in such a vulnerable state of defeat and I didn¡¯t even notice. But I don¡¯t have time to be embarrassed or annoyed.

    ¡°Alright, how do I get out?¡± I ask.

    ¡°If we were still in your dreamscape, it would be easier. However, now that both your dreamscape and Thraevirula¡¯s have merged¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Oh, but I certainly do know,¡± a voice intrudes. Thraevirula lands back in front of us with a sonic boom that rips across the sky. The dragon of darkness hounds after her, but she swats it away with her sword like some fly, making it dissipate. ¡°I¡¯ve got to say, you surprised me for a moment. But, as impressive as your dragons may be in the mortal plane, here, you¡¯re in my world. So both of you are going to play by my rules.¡± Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°As if, you child murdering bitch¡ª¡± Hui begins to say, before she¡¯s cut off. At first I think she¡¯s been hit or noticed something strange, but when I turn to her, she seems fine. No injuries, no blood.

    Only, her mouth is gone.

    I stare in horror at Hui as she tries talking, but the voice comes muffled through a flap of skin that replaces the part of her face where her mouth should be.

    ¡°Now Raiten, what do you say? Any number of your amulets for an equal number of my cures? You get to save that little girl, rid your conscious of any guilt, and continue on with what really matters. Killing every,¡± she vanishes in the blink of an eye, her form phasing out. Then, I hear her voice right next to my ear: ¡°Last.¡± When I turn to the sound, she¡¯s gone, this time, breathing down my other ear, speaking slowly: ¡°One of them. Every last Elder. Masaru, Kai, Daichi, Renji.¡±

    She touches a freezing finger to my neck, making my skin crawl and tingle. I stumble forward and turn to her smiling form. And once more, she extends the white gloved hand.

    ¡°I¡¯ll even help you kill them ¡ª an added bonus for your purchase. So, what do you say?¡±

    I look at her hand, considering. It''s tempting to be sure. But rather than the offer, only one thing she said echoes through my mind right now:

    ¡®If you''re trying to control your dreamscape, I¡¯m afraid it doesn¡¯t quite work like that. You aren¡¯t exactly a lucid dreamer Raiten ¡ª I can tell.¡¯

    So, if her mindscape and mine are merging, and she¡¯s able to bat away Hui Long¡¯s all-powerful dragons like they¡¯re some bugs, then¡­

    I don¡¯t even realize I¡¯m laughing until Thraevirula¡¯s own grin falters slightly.

    ¡°Is that a yes Raiten?¡± she asks.

    I stride up to her, ignoring the muted, horrified protests of Hui Long.

    ¡°You were right Thraevirula,¡± I begin, extending my hand. ¡°I¡¯m a simple man.¡±

    Her confidence surges with that. She knows she has me, just as Pamela knew she had me when she mentioned Masaru.

    So I reach my hand out to hers¡­

    And slither past her grasp, instead snatching her wrist. Her smile falters, and she tries pulling her hand back.

    ¡°What are you¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a simple man, Thraevirula,¡± I begin, cutting her off. ¡°I can¡¯t dream lucidly like you do ¡ª can¡¯t make myself a Primordial within my own dreamscape.¡±

    She eventually gives up on wrenching her hand away and instead presses her blade into my chest, drawing blood. I shrug, then step into the blade, feeling the pain blossom.

    She looks at me as if I¡¯m mad.

    I gasp the raw metal with my other hand, pulling it deeper, pulling her closer to me.

    ¡°Do you know,¡± I begin to whisper. ¡°Why immortality is a curse?¡±

    ¡°Are you ¡ª what is this?¡± she asks.

    My grip on her hand tightens. ¡°You think you know everything about me, don¡¯t you? I don¡¯t blame you. You¡¯ve no doubt perused my memories, my past, my visions. What, with all your magicks and dreamscape violations, you must think you have me figured out. But Thraevirula, can you even begin to fathom what immortality truly means?¡±

    There¡¯s a flicker of something in her eyes. Fear. She doesn¡¯t know what I¡¯m talking about, doesn¡¯t know what I¡¯m about to do. She tries backing away, tries escaping. My grip is too tight ¡ª I¡¯m learning the twisted logic of this dreamscape as well. As long subconsciously, I believe I¡¯m stronger than her, than in this merging of our minds, I am stronger than her.

    ¡°Let me go!¡± she hisses.

    ¡°Answer the question.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about!¡±

    ¡°Then, allow me to demonstrate.¡± Suddenly, the darkness encroaches upon the glades. A complete and utter void black colonizes the giant swords, the spears, the grass, the little scones splayed about the broken table ¡ª until all is consumed, except for Thraevirula, Hui, and I. I glance back to Hui, and see the look of shock in her eyes. She¡¯s not trying to speak anymore through that flap of skin ¡ª I can¡¯t willfully undo it and I don¡¯t try to. I just want her to watch.

    Because none of what I¡¯m doing is lucid. Deliberate.

    I¡¯m just letting go.

    ¡°You see, oh mighty witch of plagues, I may not be able to dream lucidly. But for ten years, the only company I had in the dark were my nightmares.¡±

    From the crevices of black come forth daemons and djinn, half giants and eldritch wolves, war monkeys and wyvern. Even Baroth flies high above, as if commanding the beasts from my past.

    ¡°For ten years, from boy to manhood, I fought monsters. Was ripped apart by daemons, had my guts feasted upon by wolves, had my limbs crushed by half-giants and devs ¡ª now, witness my retinue of horror.¡±

    Thraevirula¡¯s eyes go from beast to beast, monster to monster. Her mouth hangs agape.

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be able to do this. You¡¯re not skilled in dream magicks,¡± she mutters, as if trying to cope with what she¡¯s seeing.

    ¡°Of course I¡¯m not. This is just the only way I know how to dream. Now, Thraevirula, answer the question: do you know why immortality is a curse?¡±

    ¡°You bastard Raiten, we could¡¯ve had a deal,¡± she spits. Finally, she is able to twist her hand away and pull her sword from my chest. She stumbles back, waving the blade around. ¡°I won¡¯t let you free of this dreamscape. I swear.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the wrong answer Thraevirula.¡± The monsters come forth now, drawing their attention not to me, but to the witch. They can smell her fear in here.

    ¡°Stay away!¡± she yells. She tries holding her hand out, and for a moment, the darkness of this realm retreats. However, it comes back just as quick and she¡¯s left staring at her hand, wondering how my dreamscape overpowers hers.

    ¡°The answer, Thraevirula, is pain. Now, let¡¯s see if you can handle even a fraction of what I endured over the past ten years.¡± With that, I snap my fingers: ¡°Hunt.¡±

    There¡¯s a cacophony of roars, screeching, and screaming hell before every single monster of my past hounds after the Witch of Plagues.

    I smile just as she begins to scream.

 XLVI: Live With Peace

    She does not last more than thirty seconds before the dream ends. I know it is her will that gives out; her command that cuts the dreamscape. I see the very moment she surrenders: the way the light drains from her eyes.

    The hate that sparks behind them, for me.

    Well good, hate me. It''s better than trying to play nice with me.

    I prefer things to be more honest like that.

    Before the dream ends, I look at Hui, whose mouth has come back in all the confusion. Perhaps Thraevirula lost control of everything ¡ª or perhaps there is no reason as to why Hui¡¯s mouth returned. There¡¯s no real logic to this place. There¡¯s just death and horror now.

    Hui just stares at me. Eyes wide and reflecting the terrible scene behind me.

    ¡°Raiten¡­¡± she begins. ¡°I¡­I¡¯m sorry.¡± Even though it''s perhaps the hundredth time she¡¯s told me that, it feels different. There¡¯s more weight behind it this time ¡ª now that she witnesses the sheer breadth of beasts I¡¯ve had to contend with over the past ten years; now that she hears the shrill screams of the plague witch, she finally seems to understand.

    I feel like I¡¯ve let it all out. And that feels good.

    Surprising even myself for once, I do not respond with anger. Instead, I give her a nod.

    ¡°I know,¡± I tell her. Then, hesitantly, I put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°It''s¡­¡±

    Not your fault.

    I can¡¯t even believe I¡¯m about to say that.

    But, before the words can come out¡­

    Everything disappears.

    ¡­

    I wake up to the orange glow of a firelight. A small campfire crackles in front of me. The forest chirps with sound: crickets and frogs, birds and the low growling of gators.

    I turn on my back, feel the cot of wool twist, stare up at the sky. Stars peak out in the night.

    Kiren snores besides me, curled up into his own cot. The mancer looks so innocent ¡ª so peaceful. I have to thank him later. Had he not given me Meteorfang, Crooked might¡¯ve been my end.

    The great Thunder Watcher, felled by a tree.

    I scoff.

    Then, I allow myself laugh, heartily, fully. I laugh so hard that I have to bite down on the wool to muffle myself.

    I¡¯m alive.

    I survived.

    ¡°What¡¯s so funny kid?¡± a voice asks, breaking through the night. I sit up, startled, only to find Saegor sitting by the fire, stoking it with a stick. Zyla sleeps soundly by his log. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    The one-eyed mancer doesn¡¯t look at me. He¡¯s lost in the flames.

    ¡°Nothing. Sorry if I woke you,¡± I tell him.

    He waves a hand. ¡°It''s fine. I¡¯ve been awake. I¡¯m glad you¡¯re alive at least¡ªpoor Kiren thought you died. But, I told him you¡¯re made of tougher shit than that.¡± He grants me a look now. ¡°How did it feel?¡±

    ¡°What? The illusion-trap?¡±

    He shakes his head. ¡°I had my own version of that kid, I know how that felt. No, I¡¯m talking about you getting visited by the witch herself.¡±

    One of the fire-logs slips, sending a volley of sparks careening into the starry night-sky.

    I squint at the warlock.

    He just smiles. ¡°Don¡¯t worry kid, I¡¯m no traitor. I¡¯m just curious, that¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°How do you know?¡±

    ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t know until now. When you just confirmed it.¡±

    ¡°Alright, then how did you suspect?¡±

    He shrugs. ¡°I cast mental alarms on all of us after the illusion-trap. Not my best work, but it at least lets me know when someone tries invading one of our dreamscapes. And who else would have the power to do that besides the witch.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± I shrug off the cot and carefully step over Kiren, taking a seat on the log opposite of Saegor. He¡¯s a wiry old man, but there¡¯s a quiet strength to his bones. A different sort of strength than Erot ¡ª its older, darker strength that lends itself to whispers and blackness.

    ¡°She mentioned you, you know?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure she did.¡±

    ¡°Said you were a ¡®far worse person than¡¯ she could ever be. Why is that?¡±

    He stokes the fire calmly for a moment, as if he didn¡¯t hear the question. Then, he shrugs.

    ¡°Don¡¯t know kid. Maybe she had a peak at my memories. Those affected my illusion-trap a lot.¡±

    ¡°What was your node-monster?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather not say. Not that it matters ¡ª I escaped without killing it, through a backdoor. What was yours again? Trees?¡±

    I grit my teeth at the thought of them. ¡°Yes.¡±

    He looks as if he¡¯s about to laugh, then shakes his head. ¡°I don¡¯t even blame you kid. This forest is getting to me too.¡±

    ¡°Was it based on our fears?¡±

    ¡°Nah. I don¡¯t think so at least. Maybe partly¡­ but, it was probably just whatever she felt like giving us.¡± He cranes his head up, sitting back on the log now. ¡°She¡¯s a right powerful mancer; more powerful than I thought. It takes a whole lot of skill to even conceive the trap that she set for us.¡±

    ¡°Are you thinking that the other soldiers that Catolica sent got caught in them?¡± I ask, almost guessing.

    ¡°No, but now that you mention it, that could be possible. Or she might¡¯ve just sent the plagued after them ¡ª who knows? Who cares? She can throw all she wants at us; we¡¯ll come for her anyway.¡±

    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°She¡¯s not part of the mission.¡± I say it as a reminder of his own mission more so than any feelings of loyalty or duty I have¡ªlike him, I¡¯d gladly kill her.

    ¡°Well, she¡¯s part of my mission.¡±

    The way he says ¡°my¡± is not possessive, like some long lost lover. Rather, it is¡­ familial. I scratch my head. Maybe I¡¯m reading too much into this. Should I even ask?

    But I am tired all of a sudden.

    ¡°How long was I out in total?¡± I ask him.

    ¡°For the day. Don¡¯t worry, you haven¡¯t missed anything. Come first light, we¡¯ll continue onwards.¡± He assesses my body now, his one eye focused on my leg. ¡°You alright?¡±

    ¡°It should be healed enough I think.¡±

    He chuckles darkly. ¡°Ah, what a terrible thing. Immortality, eh? I pity you Raiten.¡±

    I¡¯m surprised he of all people understands. He seems the type to want immortality, not scorn it.

    ¡°I used to pity myself as well. But, then I figured that pity is pretty useless.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll drink to that,¡± he says, raising a skin of wine. He takes a long swig before handing it out to me. I refuse, and he shrugs before taking a longer swig and just going back to staring at the fire, as if our conversation never even occurred.

    I fall asleep once more.

    Thankfully, it is a dreamless rest.

    [End of Volume I: Part I]

 XLVII: Interlude IV

    Gareth Rathkar:

    The first thing I remember of that day is fire.

    Flames dancing across the city.

    A scaley shadow crossing over the castle , reigning hell and death upon my old home.

    A Western Dragon.

    Covetous and greedy.

    I was fifteen¡ª that age when you start thinking yourself invincible. I thought myself a hero already, having beat up some of my little brother¡¯s bullies just last week. So, what¡¯s a dragon then?

    I soon figured out that a dragon¡­ well a dragon is a hells-damned dragon.

    ¡­

    ¡°In here! Now!¡± I yelled, cracking open the pantry room door. The kitchen maidens in their grease-stained aprons filed in one by one, some whimpering, some crying.

    I didn¡¯t understand why they were so scared. All I could do was smile; this was everything I ever wanted. Everything.

    My mother came in last. She looked at me, my axe bearing hand, my stupid smile, and I could see the realization come to her.

    Her face went dead: ¡°Gareth, no,¡± she begged.

    Her hand reached out to mine. I withdrew and sprinted down the halls, waving her goodbye. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine!¡± I told her as I ran off.

    She yelled something ¡ª I didn¡¯t hear it. I was too busy careening down the castle halls, laughing to myself while my eyes searched for the orange glow of dragonfire.

    I knew the castle like I knew every contour, every carving in my axe. I was the son of a battle commander and I grew up surrounded by a wealth of heroes. My education was of war and legend.

    I thought myself ready. I thought myself a prime warrior.

    I took to the North Tower, climbing two steps at a time. From one of the windows, I saw the snarling, drooling maw of the fat dragon that bellowed about, spewing flames that licked up the throne room.

    ¡°Aragor!¡± I yelled just as I came to the battlements. The dragon didn¡¯t hear me the first time, so I yelled his name again and again.

    ¡°Aragor! You fat stinking bastard! You petulant little¡ª¡±

    ¡°ENOUGH WORM!¡± The dragon roared, his brown scales rattling as he turned, eyes narrowed and blazing fury.

    Good, I thought. The heat from the smoking castle-grounds vented up to the tower¡¯s top as well, making me sweat my nerves off. Let¡¯s end this. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    I took a step on one of the half stones. The dragon¡¯s bulbous neck craned out, leveling with the tower a few feet away from me. He regarded me with that black-eyed and smiled, yellow fangs glistening in the light.

    ¡°WELL, YOU AREN¡¯T EVEN A GROWN WORM! YOU¡¯RE JUST A LITTLE BALL-LESS WORM! NO MATTER, I WILL MAKE IT QUICK WORM. I HAVE A CASTLE TO BURN.¡±

    ¡°And I have a dragon to kill!¡± I roared. Then, I planted feet down, and pushed off my heels, arcing high in the smoke-ridden wind.

    I raised my axe.

    Aragor fluttered its wings mockingly and grit its teeth, a trail of smoke and burgeoning fire forming from the seams of his gums.

    ¡°HAVE AT IT THEN WORM!¡±

    ¡­

    Two minutes later, I lay half burnt, back broken, against the crumbling walls of the throne room.

    Aragor laughed at me, swinging his belly fat around while swishing his tail across the battlements, cracking stone in his uproar.

    ¡°OH THAT WAS FUN, THAT WAS GREAT FUN LITTLE WORM. YOU PROVED MORE ENTERTAINING THAN I THOUGHT. BUT ALL FUN MUST COME TO AN END WORM. WHAT IS YOUR NAME? I WILL GIVE YOU THAT HONOR AT THE LEAST.¡±

    Well this wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to go, I thought. I was supposed to be a damn hero. I was supposed to save everyone. But there I lay, half dead.

    ¡°Go,¡± I coughed up some blacked blood. Burnt blood. ¡°Go to hell.¡±

    ¡°WHAT A WASTE OF WORDS WORM. I SUPPOSE YOU ¡ª¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, I thought his choice of last words was perfect,¡± a voice called, cutting through the battlefield. The dragon spun slowly, eyes searching for the caller.

    ¡°IS THAT YOU BIG WORM?¡±

    ¡°Yes, it''s me, Aragor.¡± The response sounded annoyed, as if meeting some casual acquaintance.

    A feminine figure dressed in a Western war uniform and dawning an Eastern, red-black cape landed in front of me. The cape flapped in the smoky wind.

    Even through the pain, I could see how beautiful she was. How strong she was.

    ¡°OH BIG WORM. I MISSED YOU. COME FOR A REMATCH?¡±

    The woman turned to me, and I saw a face unlike any other I¡¯ve seen throughout the Western lands. Her hair was white and cut to her shoulders.

    She smiled at me. ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± Then she drew forth a sword that pulsed with energy. From its tip, came forth a sleek, snake-like dragon of wood that curled up around me, almost protectively.

    ¡°She will heal you,¡± the girl said.

    ¡°BIG WORM? ARE YOU IGNORING ME?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the girl said, once again acting as though the dragon was no big deal. ¡°Just give me a second.¡±

    ¡°I DON¡¯T LIKE SECONDS, BIG WORM. I EAT FIRST, NOT SECOND.¡±

    ¡°No dumbass, that¡¯s not what¡ª¡± she sighed. ¡°You know what? Fine Aragor. Let¡¯s just end this quickly.¡±

    ¡°VERY GOOD BIG WORM. I HOPE YOU¡¯VE IMPROVED SINCE LAST TIME. IF YOU HAVEN¡¯T YOU WILL SURELY¡ª¡±

    In a flash, the girl was gone.

    She¡¯s was running across the castle grounds, sword outstretched. Aragor snorted and flapped his wings, backing up on his stumpy feet while spewing fire to scorch the castle grounds beneath. But the girl summoned another snake-like, wingless dragon ¡ª this one of ice. She leapt upon it and the beast swam into the air, circling around Aragor. Before the big bastard could spew more flame, the girl leapt off the dragon of ice and made a clean, swiping cut.

    Then, Aragor¡¯s fat-neck was sliced through and his head fell to the ground, eyes dead, maw curled into an eternal smile.

    And that is how I met Hui Long. The love of my life.

 XLVIII: Interlude V

    Durest:

    I clap at the end of Gareth¡¯s story. I don¡¯t really know why, but it seems like the right thing to do. He raises an eyebrow.

    ¡°What?¡± he asks. I¡¯m about to answer, but the caravan bumps up and the cart shakes violently.

    I grimace, then write something on my notepad:

    ¡®Nothing. Good story.¡¯

    ¡°What, that¡¯s it?¡±

    I write again: ¡®What do you expect Gareth, some standing ovation?¡¯

    ¡°I just poured my life out to you,¡± he argues, anger lilting his last words.

    I shrug. ¡®Sorry.¡¯

    He reads as I write and grunts: ¡°Elaborate.¡±

    ¡®Look I get it,¡¯ I write, using short script now. The words come out muddier, but he¡¯s smart enough to understand. ¡®You keep telling me about Hui, I understand she¡¯s supposed to be great. You don¡¯t need to keep reminding me.¡¯

    Gareth reads that last note outloud and looks as if he¡¯s about to protest, but he¡¯s cut off before he gets the chance.

    ¡°He¡¯s right Rathkar!¡± Cozo calls from the front of the party. The Spirit Child of the Bulls now hangs from the cart¡¯s side and gives us an amused look. Well, he always looks amused ¨C it¡¯s a perpetual feature of his scrunchy face. ¡°You¡¯ve been harassing the poor lad ever since the journey began. Let him be.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just¨C¡± Gareth cuts himself off, taking a deep breath, as if calming his own temper. ¡°I¡¯m just,¡± he hisses now, ¡°trying to ingratiate him with us further.¡±

    ¡°Well you¡¯re doing a piss-poor job at that.¡±

    ¡°Fuck off.¡±

    ¡°Love you too, Rathkar!¡± Cozo answers, all smiles and laughter. I smirk, once again finding myself perplexed and amused by this group¡¯s dynamics. The Great Heroes of the West ¡ª the Dragon Slayer Troop. I shake my head at the thought: how did I end up here in the matter of a few days? It feels surreal. But then again, my journey has been¡­ tumultuous to say the least.

    We ride on the open road, through a rolling hillside sparse with grass topped with remnants of yesterday¡¯s snowfall. The sun casts its mighty gaze over the land, vanquishing the whiteness for the green.

    ¡°Was the story good at least?¡± Gareth asks, almost pleading for some praise. He¡¯s quite the earnest man really. Almost to a fault. He would never survive in my business, my industry of liars and cut-throat mercantile dealings.

    ¡®I have a few gripes.¡¯ I scribble, before wiping away the marks and starting again on the same, well-used page. My sufter quill presses down on the page, pausing as I think of a response. He watches me with rapt attention ¡ª as if I¡¯m some master of this craft. I¡¯m really not, but Gareth likes my stories and fancies himself a writer.

    ¡®For one, what happened to all the knights? Who else fought the dragon? Where¡¯s your father? This whole fight between you and Aragor feels contrived: you make it sound like you fought it alone. And the way you tell it makes you look stupid¡ª¡¯

    ¡°Hey, that¡¯s real harsh you know ¡ª¡±

    I glare at him. ¡®Listen. Don¡¯t interrupt.¡¯If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Right. Sorry,¡± he says, shrinking away.

    I sigh and tap the quill against my chin, trying to remember what I was saying. ¡®Look. For one, why did you think, as a fifteen year old boy, that you could take on a Bronze Dragon?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ uh, had an overly inflated opinion of myself. And well¡­¡± he looks as if he¡¯s about to elaborate but then pauses, considering me.

    ¡®What is it?¡¯

    He sighs, rubbing his neck. ¡°I always wanted to be like my father ¡ª The Gray Army Commander. He killed his first dragon a year younger than me. And that one was silver.¡±

    ¡®See? That¡¯s interesting. That¡¯s grounding. Next time, put that it in the story ¡ª it helps me understand why you are such an idiot ¡ª¡¯

    ¡°You have quite the attitude for someone who can¡¯t talk.¡±

    ¡®And you have quite the attitude for someone who jumped from the top of a high tower to strike at one of the most infamous bronze dragons to ever have terrorized the goddamn western¡ª¡¯

    ¡°Alright alright, I get it. Don¡¯t cramp your hand just to insult me.¡±

    Reflexively, I try using knuckles, but then I remember he doesn¡¯t understand the secret language. So, I just grin and give his shoulder a conciliatory pat.

    ¡­

    Hui Long:

    After I woke up from the witch¡¯s dreamscape, I was a right mess. Not only did interfering in her dreamscape fatigue me greatly, the whole situation left me confused. I remained in my tavern room for a few days, taking some rest while Gareth went off to rendezvous with our other party members. Our remaining party members.

    Meanwhile, I draw up routes and battleplans for when we pass through the Boar Ranges.

    Oh how I miss Tuvol and Maria. They truly were the mid-rangers of our group. Now we are left down to our bare parts: Cozo, who fights in his bull forms up close and personal. Gareth, another close-ranged brawler and seer. And of course, our archer, Nimra. Maria¡¯s loss has especially been felt: she used to be our healer. Now I am the only one capable of that.

    I¡¯ll make Basilbane pay for cutting off her head and tossing it to me, like some play ball.

    Then, I¡¯ll finally be done.

    No more after this.

    I sigh, stretching out and leaning back on my chair. Raiten. He was about to tell me something, before the dream ended. I wonder what it might¡¯ve been.

    He seemed calmer, after letting it all go. Like he was at peace.

    But how can anyone be at peace after¡­ that? All of that hell and horror? I shiver at the thought of those masses, those hordes that came from the depths of his nightmares. I left him to that.

    The West is wrong. I¡¯m no hero.

    There are no heroes. Not anymore.

    There are only soldiers, marching against one another, in an endless, fucking endless war. There¡¯s always another thing to kill, another beast to maim, another villain to destroy. First it was the Gold Dragon General, then the Dragon Prince, then the King, and now, Basilbane. Well, so be it. This will be my last campaign regardless¡ªand at the end of the day, its just a revenge tour. After this, I can finally go¡ª

    Go where?

    You have no home.

    The thought is sobering.

    Before I can ponder that further, however, I hear the clomping of hooves and whistle sound from outside. Setting the chair down, I wave off the dusty air and go the window, peering out to see Gareth waving his hand to me.

    I wave back. I suppose he is my home.

    Nimra rides the horses upfront and Cozo leans from the side of the caravan cart, wearing his all-too mischievous grin. But oddly, there¡¯s another, dark olive-skinned passenger sitting besides Gareth. I scrutinize the young man. He has this far off, haunted look to him¡ª a look that I recognize, because I see it in my own reflection often. But with him, it''s amplified.

    Who is that? And why, of all the times, is he with us now?

    Eerily, as if sensing my gaze, the man looks up to me. And, all of a sudden, he¡¯s smiling and waving as well¡ªthe switch is jarring.

    I shrug and wave back.

    Well, now I know he¡¯s a damn good actor.

    And that makes him dangerous.

 XLIX: Interlude VI

    Souta:

    The Giant¡¯s Glades are quite expansive. So expansive, that to travel across them with just a single caravan might be a two week endeavor. With an entire army¡­

    Well, it''s slow-going to say the least.

    I expect the horde to slow us down, but no, they march along even better than our soldiers. It''s as if they¡¯re¡­ compliant. I don¡¯t know why.

    I watch them now, that rotting mass, heads hung low, feet shuffling forward, no thoughts, no prayers, no soul to their movements. Even the ones that are only half-sick already look dead. The transformed children lead the pack, moving the fastest. But they too follow our prodding orders.

    ¡°Souta!¡± A voice calls. It is distant and hard to hear, but I know it is my uncle. I sigh and walk to the other edge of the cloud, sticking my hands to the underside and letting my green lightning hang me from the wisps of water and air. I find my uncle on a small hilltop below. He makes a fist with his hand and raises it.

    Enough warming up then. Training begins.

    I wait for him to call the drill. He holds up a single finger.

    Easy. I smile and hold one hand, summoning forth a large bolt of verdant lightning. It thrums with crackling energy and at times, it creates little branching sparks of lighting.

    I aim for field away from our army. Then, with a heaving throw, I send the bolt shimmering down. In the blink of an eye, the lightning strikes the field of grass and weeds.

    When thunder follows, the field begins to bloom.

    The grass extends, the weeds grow taller, the roots become sparse, small trees. One particularly large tree forms in the center of that field ¡ª a tree unlike any of the few sparse saplings that mark the glades. It must have been a seed blown away from the Brightbriars ¡ª or now the Blightbriars I suppose. Green lightning can grow and shape nature, but it can also disrupt it with overgrowth, such as in a situation like this. That dark, twisting, knotted tree doesn¡¯t belong in this field of green.

    I summon forth another bolt and strike the tree. It grows even taller, stretching to my cloud, wood creaking and bending in the wind.

    I step on one of the outstretched branches and let the tree take me down to my uncle, who looks particularly pleased.

    ¡°Wonderful Souta. Wonderful,¡± he commends, clapping. I step off the tree, trail my fingers on the branches, and feel through its bark and its grooves, the already deep sense of absolute loneliness it feels.

    So, as a mercy, I strike it again. My bolt explodes against it this time, sending burning splinters of wood scattering into the air, falling like ash.

    Masaru frowns. ¡°Why did you do that?¡±

    I hesitate, shuffling my own feet. ¡°I uh¡ª it didn¡¯t want to be here.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°The tree. It didn¡¯t want to be here.¡±

    ¡°The tree didn¡¯t want¡ªhmm,¡± he looks at me. He always forgets that I can feel what they feel, know what they know. We¡¯ve broached this topic before; had this conversation many times, but still, I can tell it bothers him.

    However, my uncle, being my uncle, just gives me a smile. ¡°I understand, young shogun. But, surely, you must understand this is an¡­ unnecessary mercy to divulge.¡±

    ¡°Unnecessary?¡± You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    ¡°Yes young shogun,¡± he says, now coming around to my back and slapping his hand on my shoulder. My angel dust runs thinner by the second, but I don¡¯t worry too much about wasting it: we have sackfuls. ¡°You must understand, Souta, that you do not need to bend to nature.¡±

    He points to the black line of the Blightbriar¡¯s tree-line in the distance: ¡°What do you see?¡±

    ¡°The briars,¡± I respond.

    ¡°It''s not just the briars. They are your briars. Your nature. Your world.¡±

    Back to this destiny lecture again. I sigh.

    ¡°What?¡± he asks, voice still light. ¡°Don¡¯t believe me?¡±

    ¡°It''s not that uncle, I just¡ª¡± I just don¡¯t want to force nature to bend to my will. I don¡¯t really want to lead armies against armies. I don¡¯t want war.

    I want¡­

    I look at him. He prods me encouragingly. This is Masaru, the man who protected me as a child, saved me, secured my right to shogunate. This is the man who came from another clan and climbed our ranks for the sole purpose of serving me, of helping me.

    He was my teacher when I had none.

    My martial instructor when no one would take me.

    My father, when my real father died during my childhood.

    What right do I have to refuse him? It would be selfish.

    ¡°I want to please you,¡± I tell him confidently. This surprises him, I think. His face nearly breaks down into tears¡ªI didn¡¯t know such a proclamation would have that great of an effect. But it''s only a flickering moment; then, he¡¯s back to normal, rubbing my shoulder.

    ¡°You do not need to think that Souta; I¡¯m already very proud of you. I just want you to understand what is rightfully yours. The woods, the mountains, the grasslands, the kingdoms¡ªall of it.¡±

    ¡°What about that red lighting man?¡±

    He pauses. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°The mancer, the other thunder watcher. If me being a thunder watcher makes the world mine, does that mean for him, the world is¡ª¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Masaru hisses, startling me. ¡°No, it is not. He is an interloper. A slave who tries to rise above his place. His angel dust belongs rightfully to you.¡±

    ¡°If only I could make him give it over,¡± a sultry, feminine voice speaks, breaking our conversation. Masaru looks away from me with a different sort of smile¡ªa smile of older men who desire different things.

    I look at the woman who has ingratiated herself with Sorayvlad over the past few months. She is beautiful: no doubt about that. But I don¡¯t like her beauty. It makes me uncomfortable. There¡¯s something about her dark red hair and maroonish eyes that disturbs me.

    She struts up to Masaru now, dusting off flakes of tree ash from her brocade.

    ¡°Thraevirula! Oh how I¡¯ve missed you over the past few days,¡± Masaru says. I look away as the two of them share a kiss.

    I don¡¯t like her one bit.

    My angel dust runs out at that moment, distracting me slightly. No longer can I hear the fading call of nature. I feel empty without it¡ªlike some primal sense of mine is missing.

    I might not particularly like uncle¡¯s lectures of destiny, but I much prefer it to watching him fawn over¡­ that woman.

    I turn around when they''re done, only to find Thraevirula whispering something into my uncle¡¯s ear. At first I think it is some lover¡¯s thing¡ªbut that conclusion is proven wrong when Masaru begins to frown.

    Then, he sneers in anger.

    ¡°Oh Souta! Come over here for a bit, would you? I¡¯ve got a task for you,¡± Thraevirula says. Masaru is walking away slightly, muttering to himself. I look at my uncle for a moment too long before finally, reluctantly, stepping towards the woman. She greets me with a bright white grin, as if baring her fangs. ¡°Don¡¯t be like that, Souta. If you listen like a good boy, I might even give you a reward.¡±

    ¡°What is it Thraevirula?¡± I ask. Her name has always sounded odd to me. As odd as her place in our army at least. She¡¯s Masaru¡¯s lover, yet she advises him like a general counselor. It worries me. I don¡¯t want her taking advantage of my uncle.

    But I listen regardless, because Masaru would want me to.

    ¡°There are some rather¡­ problematic people making their way through the briars right now. I don¡¯t have a particular handle of their location, but I will soon. When I do, I''ll need you and that angel dust which you wield so valiantly.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± I ask.

    She smiles before putting her finger to her lips: ¡°A lady never tells.¡±

 L: Live With A Smile

    Raiten:

    ¡°I never got to thank you, ya know?¡± I say as I smash down on the gator¡¯s head. We have finally arrived in swamp territory, where alligators, snakes, and pythons lay in wait. They strike at us intermittently¡ªmostly because we step into their territory. But their territory might as well be the entire damn area, so dense is their population.

    I can¡¯t take one step without nearly stumbling over the scaled hide of a croc, the soft fleshy body of a snake, or just the hard bone-like roots of these new high trees that cover our heads in a canopy. The forest has opened up, but murky water and monsters fill the gaps.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Kiren asks. He¡¯s too busy whipping Meteorfang against a Python that dangles above our path. The dagger-end of the chain-whip cleaves the long, bulbous, yellowed python in two, and its guts spill like a curtain in front of us. Saegor, the weird bastard, swipes at some of the falling blood with his index finger and takes a long, sensual lick of it.

    ¡°I really hate when he does that,¡± Umbrahorn says next to me. He¡¯s been doing well actually¡ªbetter, considering that this is more familiar territory for him. He spends most of his time swimming in the thin, swampy water and challenging gators. I think he¡¯s gaining some of his confidence back, which is both a blessing and a curse.

    ¡°Tell me about it,¡± I mutter back.

    Kiren walks over to us now. ¡°What were you saying earlier Raiten?¡±

    I sigh. ¡°I was saying¡­ thank you. Back when we all got stuck in the illusion trap, you willingly gave me your weapon. It saved my life.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Of course I did, no need to thank me,¡± he says, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. ¡°We¡¯re a team after all.¡±

    ¡°Yes but¡­ I¡¯ve been an¡ª¡±

    ¡°An ass? A bastard? An ungrateful little human shit?¡± Umbrahorn interrupts.

    ¡°You wanna go for round two?¡± I ask.

    Suddenly, his gaze is faroff. ¡°As tempting as that offer sounds, I think I see another gator.¡± Before I can taunt him further, the shark dives underground and I watch as his fin surfaces in the brown water to our left, trailing after a shark that sits on one of the small marsh isles.

    ¡°I like that shark,¡± Kiren remarks, watching with me. ¡°He¡¯s funny.¡±

    ¡°I think you¡¯re the only person I¡¯ve ever met that likes Umbrahorn,¡± I say, chuckling slightly. Then, I turn to him and look him in the eye. ¡°Seriously. He¡¯s not wrong. I have been an ass. And you¡¯ve only treated me like a friend¡­ so, I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    It feels good apologizing. It took me a few days to work up the courage.

    To my surprise, Kiren just laughs: ¡°You aren¡¯t an ass Raiten. Trust me on that, I¡¯ve met people that are real bastards.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡±

    ¡°Look, I get it, you¡¯re dealing with your own stuff. I shouldn¡¯t have prodded so much in the first place. But that¡¯s in the past. Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±

    He smiles with that same, youthful innocence that I thought to be foolish once. Now I think he¡¯s strong for it. Stronger than me at least.

    ¡°Alright then,¡± I say. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°Are you two done flirting or should we leave you behind for the gators?¡± Zyla says ahead of us. She still looks at me coldly, suspiciously, as I¡¯m going to stab her brother in the back.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Kiren looks at her and holds up his middle finger.

    I follow suit.

    She rolls her eyes and mutters something about the stupidity of men.

    And then, Kiren and I trail along, laughing our heads off.

    ¡­

    THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! Goes the tree, every time I smash my leg against it. I¡¯m implementing my hands as well, throwing straight, fast punches at the ridged bark. I never got to fully learn Iron Winter from Sorina, but I learned the basics. It''s truly a fundamental martial art¡ªone from which multiple other arts have spawned from. I wonder often why she didn¡¯t teach me this first instead of Eternal Spring. I think it''s because she wanted to teach me patience with Eternal Spring. Learning that art might not have been as physically demanding as Iron Winter, but technique wise, it''s far more complex and requires a lot of damn focus. Iron Winter is more my style; simple, painful repetition. Hit trees, strengthen your shins and knuckles, break your enemies.

    It does leave me right bloody though.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Kiren asks. He¡¯s come away from the campfire, watching me from the shadows of another tree. The night is dark and cloud-laden today ¡ª the only light we are afforded is the faint glow of the campfire.

    ¡°Practicing,¡± I huff, before throwing another round kick at the trunk. I pivot on my front foot, bring my back leg up and chop it down, keeping my left hand close to my face while swinging my right arm out for momentum. Chest high, body twisting, my leg smashes against the tree and comes away with splinters. I¡¯m numb to the pain now though: constant repetition of this kick, coupled with my healing factor, has made my muscles harden quicker than any normal person¡¯s would. That¡¯s another reason why Iron Winter is perfect for me: my regeneration makes me a fast student.

    He winces at the wound. ¡°Does it hurt?¡±

    ¡°Not really. Not anymore.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± he says, still staring at my leg. I wait for him to say something else, but when he doesn¡¯t, I go back to kick the tree.

    After a while, he interrupts once more: ¡°Might I make a suggestion.¡±

    ¡°Go on,¡± I say, wiping some sweat from my eyes. I take a seat on a log and shake off some bloodied wood from my scraped skin.

    ¡°Look,¡± he begins, coming out of the shadows now and taking a seat next to me. ¡°You obviously train hard. You have good martial skills, you ride Umbrahorn well, and you have your angel dust amulets should you ever need them.¡±

    ¡°But¡­?¡±

    ¡°But, I think you could be doing more. No offense.¡±

    I¡¯m about to scowl, but I hold back the instinct and sigh. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Think about it Raiten: we¡¯re mancers, going on assassination mission where we have to contend with a witch''s magicks, her plague, her turned, and of course, our real enemy, the shogun of Sorayvlad. Pamela sent us on this mission because she¡¯s desperate and she needs time. But, this isn¡¯t a suicide mission: we can win. Because we are mancers.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I knew all of that already.¡±

    He shakes his head though. ¡°You¡¯re not seeing my point. I can use Meteorfang to keep our enemies at bay and, should I need to, I can use defensive magicks to shield us. Zyla can summon forth spirits from the Aether and she¡¯s a seer who can warn us of any enemy incursion. And Saegor¡¯s¡­ well Saegor¡¯s good at nearly every magick, especially the darker ones.¡±

    I realize what he¡¯s getting at. ¡°And I am just some idiot who rides a shark, kicks trees, and fondles amulets.¡±

    ¡°Well, I wasn¡¯t going to put it like that but¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, you have a point,¡± I say, standing and stretching. ¡°I¡¯m listening. I shouldn¡¯t be this useless without my amulets. It became a problem in the illusion-scape and it will be a problem in the future, should I run out of angel dust.¡±

    ¡°Good. I¡¯m glad you understand.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ what? What should I do?¡±

    Kiren ruffles around his belt before pulling out a long, thin rope cord tied around a handle. He tosses it to me and I catch it.

    It''s a whip.

    ¡°I can¡¯t teach you real magick¡ªthat takes years to learn, and we don¡¯t have years. But, I can teach you what I know: Meteorfang.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t a Kusarigama.¡±

    ¡°No, but it''s what I used to train before I commissioned Meteorfang to be forged. And besides, you like my weapon, don¡¯t you? Wouldn¡¯t it be nice to learn it?¡±

    Well, he¡¯s got a point there. ¡°Alright then, sure.¡±

    Kiren smiles, all boyish and giddy again. ¡°Great! I¡¯ve been meaning to pass on the art for a long time¡ªtrust me, you¡¯ll love it. And, maybe if you get good enough with it, we can get you your own Kusarigama. On me.¡±

    I let the whip fall and test its weight, its feel. Then, I snap it against the tree I was beating bloody earlier; the whip strikes hard against the bark. Sluggish, but hard. Some rotted bark flecks off the trunk.

    I smile. ¡°I¡¯ll hold you to that.¡±

 LI: Live With A Whip

    ¡°You¡¯re a lot better at this than you should be,¡± Kiren says as I lash at his shield once more. He holds his hand up, palm forward, emitting a misty bubble of translucence around his front body like an aegis. Whenever my whip strikes at it, the mist flashes white for a moment, before the rope itself is reflected off. But it weakens as I lash the same general area, over and over.

    ¡°Thank you?¡± I respond, not sure whether to take Kiren¡¯s comment as a compliment or a polite jab. ¡°But why do you say that?¡±

    ¡°Well, you have a weirdly good sense of how to lash. Especially for a beginner.¡±

    Huh. I guess it comes from all the cloud-lassoing and Umbrahorn riding that I¡¯ve done.

    ¡°Yet, I feel as though I¡¯m missing something,¡± I say, as I bring the whip back and, like a bat, I cut horizontally at the shield with all the strength I can muster. My body twists and burns with the effort, sweat wringing off my head, dripping into my eyes, down to the handle itself.

    The arc is slow, long. There¡¯s no real power to it. It slams limply against the shield.

    Despite putting all of my power into it, this blow is somehow my weakest.

    I sigh.

    The sun beams down bright through the canopy, and cicadas harmonize on this musty day. The air is dry, my tongue flaking. Saegor and Zyla have gone to filter water through magickal means, leaving Kiren and me to practice at the camp.

    Kiren dispels the shield with one swipe of his hand and comes up next to me, holding his arm out. I hand him the whip and he rubs his finger along the diamond-patterned leather handle.

    ¡°You feel as if the more you try, the less impact you have, correct?¡± he asks.

    I nod.

    ¡°There¡¯s some nuance you''re missing here. It takes time to learn,¡± he says. ¡°I could just explain it to you, but it''s better if you see it first.¡±

    Then, with a shrug, he points to a far off tree. Bending to his knees and centering himself, he takes a long, deep breath, before fluidly engaging the muscles of his shoulder, his arm, his wrist, transferring his momentum through them to the whip itself, letting it fly at the gangly oak. Just before the whip lashes against the bark, he twists his wrist and ever-so-slightly, flicks the handle up. The motion travels through the rope like a wave and, when the tree is lashed, it is as if thunderclap has sounded off. A satisfying CRACK echoes through the briars and sends a plume of blue birds squawking into the sky, their peace disturbed.

    I stare in awe at Kiren. That is what I need: that cracking blow.

    ¡°How did you ¡ª¡± I pause, trying to search for what he specifically did, technique-wise. ¡°How did you transfer your momentum like that?¡±

    Kiren rolls his shoulder and tosses me the whip handle. ¡°I¡¯m glad you noticed that¡ªyou¡¯re right. It''s not about power. No real weapon is solely about power.¡±

    I¡¯m about to protest this, thinking of hammers, but then I shut my mouth. Even those unwieldy stone-blocks probably have some nuance to their usage.

    ¡°So, there¡¯s a subtlety to it I¡¯m missing,¡± I conclude.

    He nods. ¡°I think of it as the harmony of three things: your shoulder, your arm, and your wrist.¡± He flexes each part of his body for emphasis. I roll my eyes at the mock bravado. He chuckles as he strains to flex the wrist in particular, his veins popping blue as he makes a fist. Then, he exhales. ¡°Well, you get the idea.¡±

    ¡°Shoulder first then?¡±

    ¡°Shoulder first. It¡¯s a wave of motion: you engage your shoulder, then your arm, then, most importantly, right before the whip lashes against the target, flick the wrist. That will give you the cracking motion.¡±

    I give it a shot, trying to lash the same tree he lashed. I feel an immediate difference when partitioning the movement like Kiren said, taking it in steps rather than one fluid arc. It seems counterintuitive to most combat rules I know ¡ª all other weapons and arts require flow, whereas this whip seems so deliberately piece-meal. But, perhaps that is merely just a sign of my experience.

    I get a better snap against the tree, but not the same crack that Kiren had.

    He pats my shoulder. ¡°Better. Much better, actually. But, it takes time.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± I mutter, somewhat disheartened. I don¡¯t know why I expected it to be easy. I suppose nothing ever really is.

    ¡°You¡¯d best be careful giving him compliments Kiren,¡± Umbrahorn says as he emerges from the ground next to us. ¡°He¡¯s got too big of an ego already. Besides, I think Raiten is more used to brutalistic training, in the vein of young women sitting on his back and calling him a mutt.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Kiren begins, before I nudge him aside gently.

    ¡°Umbrahorn?¡±

    ¡°Why yes Raiten?¡±

    I haul the whip towards him, its tip slicing through the air like a whistling sword. The shark gives a yelp and dives underground.

    I realize my mistake when the whip comes ¡®round and stings my back.

    Ironically, this is the shot that finally makes a cracking sound.

    I wince and hop on one leg, leaning forward, all while Umbrahorn¡¯s laughter echoes in my ears.

    Even Kiren starts laughing, to my surprise.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to kill that damn hammerhead,¡± I hiss.

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    ¡°What was that Raiten?! Couldn¡¯t hear you over the sound of your self-flagellation!¡± Umbrahorn hoots.

    ¡°Come here you little shit!¡± With that, I spend the rest of the day chasing Umbrahorn around with the whip, trying to strike at him before he dives beneath the ground.

    It becomes a game between the shark and I. And we go at it for surprisingly long, into the dark hours of night.

    Not only does it make for good practice, but it also means I finally get an excuse to wipe that stupid, perpetual smugness from Umbrahorn¡¯s maw. He¡¯s gotten too raucous, too confident over the past few days. All because he took down a few crocodiles.

    I don¡¯t realize Saegor and Zyla are back until I hear their chuckling from behind, turn to see their shaking heads, waterskins bloated in their hands.

    When I finally do manage to score a lash on Umbrahorn, he stops running and the two of us get into another brawl.

    The mancers begin rolling with laughter at this.

    Even I can¡¯t help but smile as I headbutt the idiotic spirit.

    Things are finally looking up.

    For the first time in this dreadful journey, our group of mancers feels like an actual team.

    ¡­

    ¡°You¡¯ve lightened up a lot over the past few days,¡± Zyla tells me by the fire. Saegor is humming to himself while roasting some nasty looking fish, all while Kiren makes defensive wards around our camp for the night. ¡°Why is that?¡±

    I give her a shrug. ¡°It''s hard to be angry all the time.¡±

    ¡°But you seem like one of those people who could pull that off.¡±

    I chuckle. ¡°True.¡± There¡¯s a lot more I could say, a lot more I want to say, but I don¡¯t really have the words for it. I can¡¯t articulate this strange sense of¡­ ease¡ªthis relief that has eclipsed all else. Ever since my encounter with the witch, my release of nightmares, I¡¯ve had no dreams of my particular monsters. It''s as if I¡¯ve conquered them. If only, I begin to think. After all, Masaru still persists.

    Yet, even he is no longer my sole focus. Other things cloud my judgement, war for space in my subconscious¡ªDandy, Hui, and Sorina namely. My nightmares of monsters have been replaced with nightmares of myself, of how I acted towards both Sorina and Hui in the past.

    It''s not a pleasant image.

    Yet, even all of that bubbling conflict cannot keep me down. We are making electric progress through the briars. Just yesterday, we faced three more turned and disposed of them without injury.

    And I can¡¯t deny the effect Kiren has had on me.

    Despite Saegor¡¯s perverted darkness and Zyla¡¯s ever-prevalent suspicion, he has treated me kindly. He never expects anything in return for it either. I almost admire him for it¡ªhe¡¯s certainly a stronger man than me.

    I stare at his back now as he works the shields.

    ¡°Become fast friends with Kiren, eh?¡± Zyla asks.

    ¡°He¡¯s a good man, you¡¯re brother.¡±

    She scoffs. ¡°Too good for you.¡±

    ¡°Probably,¡± I answer. I won¡¯t rise to her bait. It''s as if she wants me to snap, to show any sign of malfeasance. She¡¯s been doing that a lot recently.

    When she stares a hole at me now, I meet her gaze with a level head. ¡°I know I was an ass,¡± I begin carefully. ¡°And I¡¯m sorry. He didn¡¯t deserve that.¡±

    She doesn¡¯t react to this, making me think that she¡¯s about to berate me regardless. But then, surprisingly, she sighs and shakes her head.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what he sees in you. But, I don¡¯t think you¡¯re taking advantage of him. Not anymore at least.¡±

    I frown. ¡°He was the one who offered to teach me.¡±

    ¡°My brother is a dunce at times. Wants everyone to like him.¡±

    ¡°Why is he a mancer then?¡± I ask. ¡°He¡¯s a bit too good of a person for this occupation.¡±

    Now it''s her turn to shrug. ¡°What can I say? We¡¯ve both had a natural aptitude for magicks and killing. And, wherever Saegor goes, we¡¯ll follow.¡±

    Saegor, Saegor, Saegor. It always comes back to him. I know next to nothing about this one-eyed mancer, yet it seems both my enemies and allies love or hate him to some capacity.

    I think of what the witch said about him.

    ¡°Don¡¯t take this the wrong way, but what in all the hells is it about Saegor that you both like?¡± I ask.

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°Humor me and pretend that I would.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, but no,¡± Zyla says, standing up now. ¡°Unlike Kiren, I don¡¯t care to befriend you Raiten. And I don¡¯t want to.¡±

    She¡¯s frustrating me now. I can understand holding contempt for me for the way I treated Kiren at the beginning of our journey, but this strange hatred goes beyond that.

    ¡°What have I done to you?¡± I ask, trying to remember any sort of slight or way I could have offended her.

    ¡°Nothing. I just know men like you.¡±

    I grab her wrist before she goes. ¡°What does that even mean?¡±

    She¡¯s getting angry now. It''s the way her voice pitches that startles me: ¡°Men like you, they drag everyone else down with them in their stupid pettiness. Their selfishness.¡±

    She twists her wrist away and stomps off to the opposite side of the fire.

    I watch her go and furrow my eyebrows. There¡¯s something that I¡¯m missing with her; something very crucial. I just can¡¯t tell what.

    My gaze eventually meets Saegor¡¯s, who seemed to have noticed our reaction.

    He just shakes his head and gives me a sympathetic smile.

    ¡°Don¡¯t mind my sister Raiten,¡± Kiren says, slapping my back as he sits next to me. ¡°She¡¯s a bit antsy on missions like this.¡±

    ¡°¡®A bit,¡¯¡± I snort. ¡°She hates me.¡±

    ¡°She hates everybody,¡± he says dismissively.

    ¡°But she really hates me.¡±

    ¡°Well, then maybe you¡¯re special. That¡¯s a good thing.¡±

    I sigh. There¡¯s no raising concerns with Kiren. He finds a way to spin everything positively.

    ¡°No use dwelling on it too much. Get some rest,¡± Kiren says. ¡°After all, tomorrow, we finally delve into the unknown.¡±

    Right. I think, my mood turning grimmer. We will soon be past the marshes, venturing into the areas that Catolica¡¯s scouts never came back from.

    The areas where the plagued are probably most dense.

    Not for the first time, I think of the horrifying appendages that protrude from the turned children¡ªthe black worms that wriggle from their noses, that spread their rot, their disease.

    Hui was right. Thraevirula is a child-murdering bitch.

    After I kill Masaru, I¡¯ll be sure to pay her in kind. That dark thought makes me oddly giddy.

    I hope my nightmares still haunt her.

    Because if they don¡¯t, I¡¯ll just have to revisit and remind her of their horrors¡ªpersonally.

 LII: Live With A Whisper

    <h2>LII: Live With A Whisper </h2>

    Souta:

    ¡°This should do just fine,¡± Thraevirula says, dusting her hands off. I look at her, gaze upon the armies that swallow the land, look to the South, where the giant blades of the glades now veer out of sight, covered by low clouds and fog. We are nearing the end of our march through the Giants Glades.

    I am more fidgety nowadays. My foot taps, my arms shake, and I sweat in my sleepless nights, dreaming of that great, terrible destiny which my uncle promises.

    I am starting to realize, day by day, that I am a coward. Young soldiers around me valorize the war to come. I, who have seen civil war destroy my father, my family¡ªI fear the slaughter.

    The thought is sobering.

    A white-gloved hand waves in front of my face.

    ¡°Souta? Souta? Is there any thought behind that little noggin of yours?¡± the witch asks teasingly. I call her that now because I hear whispers of Thraevirula from our men. I now understand that the plagued are not just being herded by our army; rather they are being compelled.

    Compelled by her, the progenitor of this scourge.

    I don¡¯t understand at times. At times, I almost think it is wrong. But Masaru, when confronted, reminded me of the enemy¡¯s evil. Of their imperial tendencies, their inclinations to genocide and chaos.

    Still, the way this woman pokes me now, mocks me with her every smile, step, fluttering of eyebrows¡ªI do not like her. In fact, I think I¡¯ve finally learned to hate.

    Yet, she is my uncle¡¯s lover, so I must abide by her will.

    And thus we stand upon this small hill, she turning my chin to look at the treeline of the briars, edging ever closer.

    ¡°What do you see, Souta?¡± she asks. I sigh. When Masaru asks this, it is charming. When she does it, it is calculated.

    ¡°A forest.¡±

    ¡°Good, you can make out the treeline from this distance. That makes aiming a lot easier.¡±

    I frown. I was expecting her to, like Masaru, wax on about some vague notions of destiny. Yet¡­

    ¡°Why are we here?¡± I ask.

    She cocks her head and holds up a finger. Then, she pulls from her embellished leather purse, a single, small, silver stick.

    She holds it up between her fingers. ¡°Do you know what this is?¡±

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    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°It is a spear.¡±

    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Smallest spear I¡¯ve seen.¡±

    At this small observation, Thraevirula cackles with laughter. It is so fake, so annoyingly tinged with her seductive mockery, that I must¡¯ve made a face for her laughter cuts off without preamble.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be like that, Souta. I assure you, this is well worth your time.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say anything.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Well, you are right to be suspicious of this weapon. However, it is magically enhanced. And, not by runes, but rather, by old magicks, beyond the scope of the modern spiral.¡±

    ¡°Meaning?¡±

    ¡°Meaning, very few people know what it is. Or how to use it for that matter,¡± she sighs, bringing the stick up to the light of the sun, which peaks through the iron clouds. She seems to drift into a nostalgic remembrance of some event, some time long gone. I could recognize that look from anywhere¡ªUncle makes it all the time.

    I clear my throat: ¡°You were saying?¡±

    She snaps out of her state, and, for a moment, I regret speaking. That was the first genuine emotion I¡¯ve seen from this witch. But when she turns back to me, its all fake smiles and lilting voice once more.

    ¡°This took me a long while to find. And it took me even longer to learn how to use¡ªyou see, I had a very horrible teacher. I¡¯m hoping to pay him back in kind now.¡±

    ¡°Alright. What does this have to do with me¡ª¡±

    She puts a finger to my lips. ¡°Patience child. Patience. First, allow me to pay that old man a visit.¡±

    Before I can swat her hand away, she withdraws, and without warning, drops the stick into my palm. I fumble with it for a moment before securing it in my grasp. It truly is miniscule. I don¡¯t know how this will work¡ªnor do I have any inkling of what she wants me to do with it.

    But, as soon as I think to ask her, I find the witch standing very still.

    Her eyes have rolled to the back of her head, and slowly, very slowly, she begins to count down.

    ¡°3.¡±                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  ¡°3.¡±

    ¡°2.¡±                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           ¡°2.¡±

    ¡°1.¡±                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      ¡°1."

    Her smile broadens as her voice impossibly echoes, doubles.

    The air goes cold and still, blighted and raw. The stench of death wafts high¡ªfrom where, I cannot fathom.

    Everything is wrong now.

    Then, she whispers.

    ¡°Found you, Raiten.¡±

 The Hiatus Will Only Be A Little Longer

    yeah. As the title says, the hiatus will only go on for a bit longer. I''m busy revising all the chapters and will reupload the revised versions. These will include some major and many minor changes that will hopefully enhance the story. I would recommend giving everything a reread (i won''t make a habit of ever revising like this again). If you don''t have the time for that (understandably) then I will also be posting a list of things that have been majorly changed.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Thank you for reading and sticking by Raiten''s journey thusfar.

    Enjoy!