Mystic Syn

"Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

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  The cherry blossom trees of the Hijed Forest swayed, their pink petals flittering softly to the grass below. The trees exhaled, more petals descending to the forest floor, a few of them swirling in the wind before settling on the ground. The sweet scent filled her nose, causing a smile to tug up at the corners of her lips. She slipped her earbuds in and tapped them once, soft music playing in response.

  And she danced.

  As she glided across the forest floor, petals and the occasional leaves swirling around her. She spun, the forest laughing alongside her; just as happy as she was, maybe more. She threw in a few moves her uncle taught her: A spin with intricate footwork here, a barrel roll there, maybe a thrust of the hand. It almost looked like she was a part of the forest, but rather she was the raindrops that rolled off the leaves to the ground below. 

  Simple, yet graceful.

  The music swelled in her ears, her moves becoming more extravagant in turn, even though there was no one watching her create this art she called her own. She danced around roots and trees, all of it playing a part––even if it was small––in her routine. The forest may not be able to replicate the moves she was making, but it danced with her anyways; through the breeze, petals, leaves, and branches.

  Her smile grew as her mind wandered to memories of the simpler times of life. What fun she had with Ishido, running to explore every inch of the forest that was her backyard. It was so big to her, even now. The trees went on forever and ever, always a new secret to be discovered. She and Ishido ran barefoot through the lush green grass as their mother and father watched…

  Her smile faded, melancholy quickly smothered her joy as her dancing slowed.

  It’s been five years. Why did it still hurt?

  Her dancing didn’t stop, but it did lose the intricate moves she’d adopted, instead replaced with something that was deeper; something more personal to her rather than something that’s been taught. As she let her emotions control her body, her mind wandered again.

  Life became so different ever since the explosion. She could still recall when the shockwave had hit, then the news of who had been caught in it. She’d been told many, many times by the people around her that time heals all wounds, but she gave it as much time as she could and tried to let go of what happened, yet something always reminded her of them and of that day, years ago. Something always reminded her at some point each day that her life wouldn’t go the way she’d originally thought it would.

  If only she had prepared herself. If only she did something to help. If only she had made it in time. If only she was useful. If only…

  Yulong shooed the thoughts away, her dancing coming to a stop as the music faded. She smiled again, but it felt fake, pointless, wrong. Everything seemed to feel wrong at this point… 

  Was there even a point?

  She pulled back her sleeve as she brushed those thoughts away yet again, reading the time, then silently cursed. Yulong turned on her heel, then picked up the pace into a light jog as she made her way through the forest. Wuya wouldn’t let her hear the end of it, and that was something she didn’t want added on top of what was already being told to her.

  Twisting and turning, Yulong jumped over exposed roots, then ducked under some low-hanging branches as she burst through the petals. She wouldn’t say that she knew the forest well––after spending almost her whole life trying to explore it––but Yulong thankfully knew enough about it and where, and more importantly: How to get back home. After all the time she’d been spending there, there was a well-trodden path––made mostly by her––that let her back where she needed to be.

  Breaking through the forest line, she was met with the mossy cobbled road and the large imposing metal gates to the imposing Manor. 

  Her home. 

  The gates were closed, as usual. Some of the bars bent inward, creating swirling designs all over the metal surface. Vines curled around the lower parts of the gate, but not enough to overpower it; the gardeners and Qianshe’s made sure of that. 

  She walked up to one of the brick outposts on the left side, going on her tiptoes to peek into the guard’s office. The guard, Liao, was in his squeaky chair with his feet up on the desk, different sorts of electronic tablets thrown all over his desk. There was one of those small tablets in his hand as he read something that Yulong couldn’t quite decipher from her angle. His dark blue uniform was still well-kept, though the black tie was loosened a bit. He muttered quietly to himself as he swiped the screen, different colors washing his face as he turned to a new screen.

  Yulong cleared her throat, making Liao jump and immediately take his feet off the desk, sitting up straighter.

  “Hijed’s roots,” he swore quietly, placing his tablet down on the desk beside him. “We need to put a bell around your neck.”

  Yulong laughed, placing her chin on the windowsill. “Or we can get you hearing aids.” She leaned forward slightly, looking into the small office again. “Can you open the gates?”

  “Again?” Liao asked, exasperated, but he still pressed a couple buttons, the gate opening with a few creaks. “That’s the third time this week.”

  “Yeah, and I’m not going  to hear the end of it,” she said, cracking a smile and giving him a mock salute in farewell, then immediately dashed through the open gates.

  Yulong sprinted through the colorful courtyard, gardeners greeting her with waves, and she could only give a small smile. Many times, she desperately wished she could stop just once to see what flowers were growing and how they were treating her mother’s garden, but she forced herself to continue forward with her mad dash. 

  The hedges became blurs of green with dots of color. Statues turned into unrecognizable blobs of stone. Her lungs burned, resulting in panting, but adrenaline kept her going. She hopped over a small stone wall on the perfectly mowed lawn, then continued her dash up the marble stairs to the main Manor.

  The Qianshe Manor itself was a smaller version of the Qianshe Palace in Tiankong, except it being hidden from the public eye and more for the Qianshe’s enjoyment. It had the same architecture as the Palace: Long arcing roofs, constructed from dark oak and cherry blossom wood; sliding doors that held many beautiful handmade patterns that originated generations ago when the Settlers had arrived; and pillars that didn’t go as high as the ones in Tiankong, but she always liked to think that they did.

  Approaching the front door, she hastily tore off her shoes and brushed any twigs, leaves, and petals that clung onto her. Beads of sweat rolled down her brow as she looked up at the entrance, but Yulong already saw him there, scowling at her. She nearly came to a halt, but instead slowed her pace as she continued up the stairs.

  Her uncle, Wuya Qianshe––Emperor of Meide––towered over her, arms crossed as his sapphire eyes pierced hers. He was still wearing the dark blue and violet formal Emperor’s robes, draping off of him that made him look more regal than what Yulong knew him to be. 

  Obviously, he had just gotten here, or he would have more casual clothes on. He took note of the shoes in her hand and the petals and leaves that followed in her wake, and Yulong could only give him a weak smile and shrug. Wuya shook his head, sighing as he gestured for her to follow.

  A blush rose to her cheeks as she followed him inside.

  Compared to the Palace, the Manor felt more like home. The front area wasn’t screaming in her face to put on something nice, but gently nudged her to take her shoes off and relax. The first ten feet was lower and made of cherry wood, while the floor placed a step higher was made of a dark oak that the Manor was floored with. Yulong walked over to the little cubby shelf off to the right, placing her everyday shoes in its cubby hole next to Ishido’s, grabbed and slipped her indoor slippers on, then stepped up towards the hallway where Wuya went down.

  The hallways were larger than the average house, but smaller than the Palace. The floors creaked softly, but more comforting than eerily. She passed by the main living area, catching a glimpse of Ishido studying with their tutor at one of the low tables about something probably related to the Qianshe’s ancestry. The tutor gestured over to a vase kept on the mantle, depicting the Weida de Zhàndòu.

  Doesn’t he know that we’ve both covered that subject a billion times now? Yulong thought, turning away before they could notice her hanging around in the doorway. She passed by many doors that led to rooms that were left unused, but had once been filled with the family members, according to her parents, uncle, and even grandparents at one point in time. Yulong slowed and opened a door on the right to a room that was usually used for meditation.

  Wuya had already sat down at the low table as he tended to the tea set. He never cared about looking royal in his robes when he was in the Manor as he just let out another sigh, suddenly looking exhausted as he rubbed his face with both hands, then poured himself a cup of some dark red tea into a small ceramic cup. 

  Yulong knelt on the other side of the table on a pillow, feeling awkward. “Should… should I go join Ishido, now?” she asked apprehensively, her hands twitching underneath the table.

  Wuya shook his head. “No,” he said after a sip.

  “But… I should catch up––”

  “You should,” he interrupted, grabbing another cup and pouring tea into it, “but I want to talk to you first.” Wuya pushed the cup towards her, motioning for her to take. 

  “About what?” She grabbed the warm cup of tea, holding it in her hands for a second.

  “Your lessons.” Wuya looked her straight in the eye as he drank his tea. “Why won't you go to them?”

  Yulong’s lips drew into a thin line as she looked at the swirling dark liquid, lifting the cup up to her lips for a soft sip. The warmth of the tea made her feel comfortable, almost as if her mother was embracing her once again. A little Harmonizing by Wuya to make her feel better, even more comfortable around him, but it only reminded her of what could have been. She remained quiet, avoiding his gaze as she sipped again.

  Another sigh came from Wuya, this time calming. “Yulong, I know I’m not your mother or father,” he said gently. “But you have to tell me why you won’t attend your lessons.”

  Words wanted to escape her lips, but she held them back, if only barely. She raised her gaze. “Because…”

  “Because?”

  “Because…” No, he’ll laugh. “I dunno.”

  Wuya searched her eyes for a moment––as if he was seeing through what she told him––clasped his hands together, pondering her words for a moment, then quietly let out another sigh. 

  “Catch up on your lessons,” he said, placing the tea down and standing up, undoing the clasps on the dark blue robes’ cuffs. “You’re a Qianshe. Start acting like one and stop acting like a child.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, lowering her gaze to the swirling tea in her hands. “But, Uncle…”

  He turned back, raising an eyebrow.

  “What if I can’t be the Empress Meide needs?” Yulong asked, her voice soft as she lifted her head, this time right in Wuya’s eyes, holding his hard gaze. “What if I can’t do it?”

  His eyes softened, quiet sympathy showing through the once hard gaze. Wuya walked over, sat next to her, then clasped her shoulder gently.

  “You’re a Qianshe,” Wuya repeated, gentler. “There isn’t anything you can’t do about that part. If I, one of the Qianshe screw ups, can keep Meide from collapsing in on itself, then you can learn to be a ruler.”

  “But you made a plan with Ma.”

  “And following through with that hasn’t been easy, especially after what Meide is recovering from my father’s rule.”

  She found herself slowly nodding. Yulong heard the various stories of what her grandfather’s rule had been. He’d passed before she and Ishido were born––let alone form memories of what he’d been like to his family or subjects––so she never had the chance to meet him, but she heard the soft whispers her uncle and even the advisors, her instructor, and the groundskeepers every now and again.

  “Look,” Wuya said, catching her attention. “You’re not going to end up like your grandfather. You have these lessons and me to guide you.”

  Yulong gave him a nod, her emotions twisting painfully inside despite herself.

  “Alright,” he said, exhaling, standing up. “Dinner is in thirty minutes. I’ll see you then.”

  She nodded again, seeing him walk off this time, leaving the tea to grow colder and colder. Yulong looked down at her own cup, placed it next to Wuya’s, then got on her feet to stalk off to her room.

  Yulong sat on her bed, jotting down notes on the margins of the papers, then copied them in her notebook that was filled with random doodles and notes. She filled out the answers she knew were true, glazing over the ones she wasn’t so sure about for the time being. She may not be attending the lessons as of recently, but it’s not like the instructor made the answers too difficult. It was just boring history stuff she learned when she was younger. Some things her mother taught to her. The things she barely paid attention to now.

  As she wrote, a knock came from her door.

  “Come,” she mumbled, glancing up to see her brother slip in, sliding the door closed.

  Ishido strolled in as if it were his own room, looking around at the small pile of clutter on her actual desk that had grown since the last time he’d been in there. He plopped himself at the foot of her bed, running a hand through his dark hair. He leaned back, staring at her dresser and all of the assorted junk she’d thrown on there over the years.

  “Excuse me, dimlight,” Yulong said, looking up from her homework. “I didn’t say you could sit on my bed and bother me with your presence.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, your Majesty.” Ishido said in an exaggerated accent, bowing deeply. “Shall I wipe my boots at the door? Fetch you a drink? Polish your shoes? Turn the page for you? Help you breathe? Blink for you?”

  Yulong grabbed a pillow and threw it at his head. He gave a very manly, high-pitched yelp and jumped back, the pillow smacking him right in the face.

  “Lights!” he muttered, picking up the pillow, then sat back down. “I’m your brother, not your enemy.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Idiot.”

  “Dimlight.”

  Ishido laid back on her bed, breathing out a sigh as she continued to write away. “Uncle’s been giving you trouble?” he asked.

  “No,” she said through gritted teeth, writing faster.

  “Yuly,” Ishido said, exasperated as he sat up, leaning back.

  “I’m not lying,” she insisted, placing a sheet of paper beside her in its own pile. Yulong picked up another page, scribbling some notes down. “Not about him.”

  “Mmm, if you say so.”

  “I do, thank you very much.”

  “Of course, your Majesty.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Don’t call me ‘dimlight.’”

  “Stop being a dimlight.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Name one thing that makes me one.”

  “Just looking at your dumb face.”

  Ishido placed a hand on his chest, his mouth hanging open in mock shock. “My charming, irresistible, good-looking face?” he said, offended. “Never.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, dimlight.”

  He threw his hands up in the air. “What did I just say?”

  Yulong looked up from her notes, erupting in laughter when she saw his soured expression. Ishido rolled his eyes, then narrowed his gaze at her, folding his arms against his chest.

  “I have feelings, too, ya know,” he muttered as she continued to laugh.

  “Very fragile, it appears.” Yulong glanced up at him, wiping a tear. “Very much like your looks.”

  “Can we stop it with me? You’re just jealous of my handsomeness.”

  “With that mop of hair?” she said, giving him a smirk with raised eyebrows. “Puh-lease.”

  “Uncle thinks it’s handsome,” he mumbled, fixing his raven black hair.

  An eyebrow lifted. “You know,” she said, grinning, “when I was your age––”

  “Two minutes!” he interrupted. “By only two Lightn’ minutes. You don’t have to bring it up in every conversation we have.”

  She shook her head, exhaling as she placed a page down in her note pile. “Kids these days,” Yulong said dejectedly, pulling out another page of homework. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

  He growled quietly, but didn’t press. “How’s Huoyan?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “He’s doing alright, last I heard,” she said, glancing at him for a moment before getting back to her homework, writing down answers. “Says school over in Tiankong isn’t the same without us.”

  “Mm, and training?”

  “It’s training.” Yulong looked up at him, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Just thought I’d ask.” He shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that, right?”

  “No, nothing wrong.” Yulong lowered her papers, looking off, her gaze unfocusing. “I dunno,” she whispered. “It’s just that…”

  Ishido looked up, his head tilting to the left.

  “It’s just that… I don’t understand.” 

  “Don’t understand what?” he asked, suddenly interested. “If it’s a move that’s giving you trouble, I can help you with that.”

  “No–” She shook her head, avoiding his curious eyes “–it’s not that.”

  “Then what?”

  “Just…” Yulong looked down at her hands. “Why?”

  He tilted his head again, his brow knitting. “Uncle’s just preparing us, is all,” he said, shrugging.

  “For what, though?”

  Ishido shrugged again.

  Yulong opened her mouth, till she pulled her sleeve back, then silently cursed. She jumped to her feet, throwing her papers on the nightstand, not even caring that a few of them fell to the ground. She made her way past her brother to her door, holding it open for him with a motion of her head. Ishido tilted his head at her quizzically, then checked his own watch and grumbled out some curses. He stood up, following her to the dining area.

  A servant placed the last place on the table next to the rest, bowing deeply. “Enjoy your meal, your Majesty and Highness’,” he said, spreading his hands to the table, then promptly left.

  Ishido––who sat on the other side of the table from Yulong––let out a breath, then grabbed a small bowl of fish on rice. Wuya––at the head of the table, now in casual clothes––tapped away on a tablet as he subconsciously picked up a bowl and ate some of the same rice, looking over the documents displayed on the screen. Yulong sat with her own bowl, nibbling the fish quietly, enjoying the silence.

  Wuya placed his tablet to the side, glancing up to Ishido as he took a bite. “How was your day?”

  “Can’t complain,” Ishido responded, falling into their rhythm of dinner discussion.

  “And you?” Wuya asked, turning to Yulong.

  “Same as always,” she said instinctively, biting into the fish.

  He turned a somewhat disappointed gaze to her, then turned to Ishido, the expression melting. “What did you learn in your classes today?”

  “Just edicate and what to do if I were to become the Emperor,” Ishido shrugged, avoiding eye contact. 

  “And what would you do?”

  Ishido and Yulong shared a glance. “Well,” Ishido said hesitantly, taking another bite, “I would do the same things you and Ma have done and are doing.”

  Wuya nodded, and looked at Yulong.

  “I would do the same,” she responded without being told nor with much thinking.

  He nodded, looking down at his tablet. “When we’re done here,” he muttered, “both of you meet me in the courtyard in an hour for training.”

  Ishido nodded in acknowledgment, eating his food in silence, still avoiding Wuya’s gaze. 

  No one spoke, spare the clatter of the utensils against the bowls. They never met each others’ gazes, except for the occasional glance between Yulong and Ishido when Wuya wasn’t looking. It was generally quiet and peaceful. The birds sang outside in the bright, yet fading sunlight. The wind picked up in the branches, petals flying around the Manor. 

  It was normal.

  This was normal.

  Why did it not feel normal?

  “Why do we do those lessons?” Yulong whispered, picking through her rice bowl.

  Wuya blinked at the out of place comment, then turned his gaze back up at her. “Because you’re a Qianshe,” he repeated from earlier.

  “I know that,” she said, her voice growing slightly louder. “But why can’t I be normal, at least once? Ma let us be normal kids. She only gave the lessons about ‘being a Qianshe’ when it mattered, not every single day.”

  “You were younger then,” he responded, a cold glare forming in his eyes.

  “I’m still young.” She stared at him, silent anger setting her eyes ablaze. “We’re only twelve. We’re not up to this whole royalty business. Has it ever occurred to you that we’re too young for this? Any of what you put us through?”

  “You’re never too young to learn about your royal duties,” Wuya responded, setting his tablet down. “It’s best you learn now if I was assassinated.”

  “No no, I get that.” Yulong placed her bowl down in turn, continuing to stare daggers into him. “But have you ever had the bright idea that there’s more to our lives than being royalty?”

  “You don’t have the luxury to decide what family duties you have or don’t have.” Wuya placed his hands on the table, any sympathy from earlier gone. “You need to understand that. Is that so hard?”

  “No, you don’t,” she retorted. “You don’t understand that all I want is to live a normal life before my duty as a Qianshe comes into play. Why is that so hard for you to understand? Ma understood that, so why can’t you? Lights, why?”

  “Don’t you dare bring your mother into this, and do not compare me to her,” Wuya said, his voice rising as he scowled. “I’m not your mother, but––”

  “And you’ll never be her!” Yulong yelled, shooting up from her sitting position, the bowls around her shuddering. “You don’t even try to be like her!”

  “I’ll be having none of this,” Wuya said, ignoring her as he rose to meet her level, towering over her. “You’re a Qianshe, so act like one, Light it!”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be a Qianshe. Maybe all I want is a normal life,” she seethed. “Is that too much to ask? Is it too much to ask for someone like Ma?”

  “Yulong––”

  “No,” she shouted, her grip on the table tightening. “You’re not Ma, and you’ll never be Ma. You’re a speck compared to her.”

  “If I’m a speck compared to her,” Wuya bristled, his own anger coming to a head, “then you’re nothing.”

  Yulong felt her anger waver for a second as she was taken aback, unwanted tears blurring her vision, but she continued to stare Wuya down. He met her smoldering gaze, his eyes colder than the peaks of Mount Huo. Out of the corner of her eye, Ishido got up and slowly made his way over to Yulong, but she turned on her heel and stormed out of the dining area without another word. 

  She marched down the hallways, entering their lobby area. She whipped her shoes out of the cubby, tearing her slippers off to replace them. Yulong burst through the door and down the front steps, ignoring any call to her, whether by her family or the groundskeepers. She marched past the garden and the beautiful scenery, slipping through the gate to the forest.

  Not two seconds in the forest made her shoulders loosened. The night air calmed her a little, but her anger was still burning hot. She grumbled to herself as she paced the forest and jumped over the roots, going deeper and deeper into the forest, away from the Manor. Her emotions burned, clouding her mind. Yulong tried breathing in the cool air, but it still wasn’t enough. They were burning off, though very slowly.

  As her anger pulsed and slowly steamed away, those words came back.

  If I’m a speck compared to her, then you’re nothing.

  A phantom pain forced its way into her chest, paining her as she mulled the words over again and again, replaying it in her mind. His cold eyes seared into her memory, the words associated with them becoming louder by the second. Yulong wrapped her arms around herself, going deeper and deeper into the increasingly darkening forest.

  A small clearing branched off to the right. Her feet followed the path, continuing to grumble to herself.

  “You want your mother back?”

  Yulong snapped her head up, looking back and forth––trying, and failing to be alert––but she couldn’t see anything or anyone. She squinted at the darker spots of the forest, immediately suspicious of what could be lurking there.

  “Who’s there?” she called out, wishing she’d brought some sort of weapon.

  A figure walked out of the shadows, hands in the air. The girl wore a leather type of jacket that had seen some better days. Her pants were ripped every here and there, which was most likely because of the low brush in the Hijed. She scratched her hair, which was made of… wait, were those feathers? Did she have orange eyes?

  “Whoa there,” she said, noticing Yulong going into a stance. “I’m a friend.”

  Yulong stared at her––silently deeming her as not a threat––then rose silently, studying the person for any weapons. “What do you want to do with my mother?” she asked after coming up with nothing.

  “I only want to help,” she said sincerely, shrugging. “I know you miss her, and I so happen to have a way for you to talk to her.”

  “You do?” A little rush of excitement made her perk up. “How?”

  “Well, some Deathgranter voodoo whatever,” the girl sighed, bored, waving one of her hands in the air. “Either way, you’d have to come with me.”

  “Uuh, no thanks,” she said, backing away. “I’ll just––”

  “Oh, so you want to go back to your uncle?” She tilted her head at Yulong. “Especially after what he’s said to you? Tsk, tsk.”

  Yulong froze in her tracks. She looked over her shoulder at the older girl. “How’d you…?”

  “Do you want to go back to your uncle? I mean, c’mooon.” She started to walk toward Yulong, hands still in the air. “It’s obvious that he doesn’t care about you. Since when did he care about what you wanted to do?”

  “He’s…”

  “He won’t notice you leaving for a few moments.”

  “I–” She’s right. “–suppose. But what about Ishido?”

  “He’ll be along. You deserve to see her first, though.” The girl tilted her head again at her. “Nothing wrong with that, right?”

  Yulong looked to the girl, then in the direction where the Manor was. I suppose… she thought, the decision not seeming that overwhelming. She’s right. There hasn’t been anything for me to not trust her about. But…

  “I know how much you miss her,” the girl said, turning away. “I know how much you want her back. I know how much you want your life to go back to normal again. I can do that.”

  Yulong hesitated, but focused her vision on the girl. “What do I have to do?”

  The girl grinned, motioned behind her with her head. “Just follow me,” she said, going deeper into the forest, to places unknown.

  Yulong hesitated again, looking back in the direction where the Manor was. She set her jaw, then went after that girl who held the answers to her problems.

.  .  .

  It’s been literal years since Q had been in the Hijed Forest, but it still somehow made her feel calm and at home, but not as much as it did in times past. She’d been through so much that she didn’t know if there was anything that could fully calm her at this point––except the sweet release of death––but she’ll take what she can get. If a forest was it, then that’s what she was going to have to deal with.

  She came to a stop, exhaled and closed her eyes to breathe in that peaceful air, but only saw his dead eyes staring back at her, reminding her of her faults and why he had met that fate. 

  Q opened her eyes, gasping as she brought herself back into reality. Everything twisted painfully inside her. Her throat closed up. Her hands trembled violently. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe. Red dripped around her, staining the petals. Realization came over her again and again about what she had done over the past few years she spent––

  Yulong, Whisper said through the chaotic thoughts. Breathe.

  She did so, calming the chaotic thoughts a little bit. It wasn’t enough for it to be completely gone, just a bit more muted than before. The red receded a bit, but still in the corner of her eye.

  You’re going to see your family again, he said, sounding excited.

  “But… what if they don’t want me?” she whispered back, slowing.

  What… do you mean?

  “You know what I mean.” Q came to a stop, looking down at her hands as the stains began showing through again.

  Corpses materialized into existence around her.

  I think they’ll be happy you came home.

  “You… think so?”

  I know so, Whisper emphasized. Now go to them.

  Q felt a grin split her face as she broke off running through the forest, tripping on new roots, but she didn’t care. After all these years, she was going to see them again. She was going to tell them how sorry she was, and hopefully they hadn’t heard about what she did while she was away, but that wasn’t going to stop her. 

  Not this time. Not ever again.

  Breaking through the forest’s edge, she came up to the gate and her heart almost stopped. 

  The iron gate was bent and twisted in ways that only a Mystic could manipulate. Bodies were scattered across the gravel, most of them in black suits, others in dark blue uniforms. A handful of the sapphire uniformed people had their faces burned off, at the point where even if she tried, she couldn’t recognize them; not that she could in the first place. Most of the suited people were shot in multiple places, bleeding out on the gravel road, painting the small pebbles red. Some of them looked vaguely familiar, as if she’d seen them once in a dream.

  Q’s throat closed when looking over the bodies. It was becoming harder to breathe again, and no amount of Whisper’s words could calm her. She ran up to the guard’s outpost, lifting herself and looking in.

  “Liao?” Q tried, but…

  Liao was shot up to the point that he was almost unrecognizable. Dark red blood was sprayed everywhere, coating the whole outpost in a layer of sticky red. The only thing that she could tell that it was Liao was from the small nametag on his uniform; even then, the blood made it difficult to make sure that it was him.

  A stab of panic tore through her, her heart racing in response. Q dropped to the ground and broke into a dash through the mangled gates, zipping across the once beautiful and well-kept grounds. She didn’t take the time to take everything in, but she already knew what it looked like. They were only going to be reminders of the recent past.

  Nononononononono, her thoughts raced faster than her own heartbeat as she leapt over bodies of people in suits and uniforms, their blood decorating the garden and cobblestone.

  Coming up to the front steps, Q stopped and heaved, carefully inspecting the building. It was almost like nothing had changed, and normally she would be happy at the prospect, but she couldn’t. Not now. She craned her neck up at the building, seeing something move beyond the curtains in the Upper Southern room. Q stepped back, squinting hard at what was going on.

  The flowy curtain fell to reveal Wuya and Ishido tied back-to-back to a chair, fighting against their bonds. They took no notice of her. Their gags fell limp at their chins. Their mouths moved, but Q couldn’t hear them nor could tell what in Ko’ad’s good name what they were saying. Ishido grew to resemble what Q could remember about their father––tall, raven black hair cut a bit short––all save for the sapphire eyes, which seemed to be desperate as he talked with an older Wuya, who had a few gray hairs poking through in his hair and beard.

  They appeared to be alright. Everything about them seemed to be intact. It was going to be alright. She followed Ishido’s gaze to…

  Q’s eyes widened as she took a sharp intake of breath. The Threads whipped out immediately around her fingertips, ready for her command. She held her other hand out for Thyella as she began racing up the steps, getting closer… closer… close––

  BOOM

  The shockwave of the explosion sent her flying, rolling and hitting the stairs, scraping any bit of exposed skin and tearing what clothes she had. Q rolled down the steps and onto the gravel of the driveway, every tiny, sharp pebble biting painfully into her skin. The fire roared with delight as it engulfed the Manor, the wooden parts catching quickly, the drapery following not far behind. Rubble fell around her, luckily not hitting her.

  She shakily got onto her hands and knees, not even caring about what pieces of gravel were making their way into her open wounds. The ground spun underneath her, yet she still remained on her hands and knees.

  Her head pounded, fuzzy and unsure about what had just happened. Terrible high pitched ringing wailed in her ears, distracting her from her headache. Her throat grew sore, raw even. Her lungs ached, begging for air. Her vision blurred. Why was that so? She wasn’t doing anything besides sitting on the ground.

  But… she could hear something else besides the ringing in her ears and her pounding head. Was that… screaming? But who would be…?

  As the ringing faded away, the screaming became loud and clear.

  Yulong was the one screaming. 

  Raw pain escaped her lips as the tears dripped from her eyes to the gravel below. It was deep and guttural, paining her to the core. Yulong tried forcing herself to stop and compose herself, but she couldn’t. The pain-filled screams made their way out of her one way or another, whether she liked it or not. Long, dark tendrils sprouted from her, snaking its way in between each pebble in the gravel, causing every living thing that touched it to turn to dust. The tendrils grew as the screams became louder, withering what life that could be found in the place she once called home.

  Every thought and hope of her being a good person, turning her life around, and not being responsible over people’s deaths––especially loved ones––finally left her. They left through the screams, any spark smothered by harsh reality that was her life. Any emotion escaped her before she could grasp them through the screams and dark tendrils, leaving the broken figure behind.

  She tried to protect them, but she lost them in the end.

  There was no hope for her to be better. 

  She only made things worse.

  This was who she was.

  It was her fault.

  It was her fault.

  It was her fault.

  It’s my fault.

  It’s my fault.

  It’s my fault.

  It’s always been my fault.

  It will always be my fault.

My friends keep telling me that I should just keep the names as is :pp