by W. J. May
It listened, crashing into his chest, melting into his bare skin, disappearing from the world. He pulled and pulled, demanding every last source of heat obey his will.
Lord of Fire.
That's what Rhen was—what he had always been. But now the world would know it too.
He opened his eyes and stood, meeting the amazed expressions of the royal guard, all paused with disbelief as water sloshed from the buckets in their unsteady hands.
Not waiting, Rhen spun. He had to check if his family was safe, that Whyllean remained untouched.
As he opened his mouth to ask the question, a gasp escaped his lips instead.
Rhen clutched his stomach.
He looked down at the knife hilt protruding from his skin, at the blood spilling onto his fingers, at the hand—the delicate, feminine hand—forcing the blade deeper.
Rhen's gaze traveled upward, slowly, disbelieving, until they met his mother's eyes.
His mother's empty, white eyes.
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19
Jinji
Rayfort
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As soon as Jinji reached the castle, she knew that something was wrong. That she was too late. That the shadow had beaten her there.
While she ran up the white stone steps, countless ladies ran down—formal dresses bouncing, elegant hair falling. Screams filtered into her ears, screeching over the dull sound of her heart thumping wildly in her chest.
For every step she climbed, Jinji was pushed down three more. Her feet slipped on voluminous silk skirts, her face was pelted by wild elbows and whipping jewelry. Trying to swim upstream would be easier and far less painful. Dressed as a commoner, she was invisible to these women.
But looking into their frightened faces, Jinji had a feeling the entire world was invisible to these girls—their vision was too clouded over by fear, by the desperate need to escape.
Why?
What has happened?
Jinji's heart continued to pound. Was Rhen alive? For some reason, she felt as though she would know if he were dead, that she would feel it, a sinking pit in her stomach, the same way she had felt when Janu had disappeared.
He was alive.
He had to be.
Using her own strength, Jinji pushed the approaching ladies aside, not caring if she injured someone. Her will to enter was stronger than any of their wills to leave.
Luckily, she didn’t need to push for very long. Behind her, men started to shout, to make way, to part the madness. An avenue opened up and Jinji sprinted, her short legs soon overcome by men in shimmering bronze armor and red leather overcoats.
She recognized the symbol on these men's chests. It was the same stallion that Rhen had on his ceremonial garb this morning. The symbol of Whylkin. Better to be a soldier in these halls than a commoner, that much she had learned already. So, in the midst of the chaos, Jinji wove a new illusion around her body, hoping no one saw but not really caring—there was not enough time to be worried.
After tying the spirit strands into a thousand firm knots, Jinji held her breath for a split second, waiting for one of the men to shout, or yell, or hold a knife to her throat. But nothing happened. The trick had worked, she looked exactly like a king's soldier, and now her greatest challenge would be keeping in stride with these men towering at least a foot over her head.
Together they ran.
Soon after entering the main doors of the castle, the stream of women ended, replaced by an eerie silence only heightened by the constant pound of boots on stone. By all counts, the men should sound thunderous in these vaulted halls, but they didn’t. Small and powerless was more like it.
Still, Jinji preferred it to the ghostly sound that followed. A ringing. Subtle at first, but growing louder. Clangs. Vibrations. Shouts. Cries.
Somehow, something that had seemed so foreign months ago had become recognizable to her ears. The sound of battle haunted these hallways. And though it made the men around her cringe, Jinji's heart lifted ever so slightly.
War.
Just as Rhen had described, just as he had predicted. The Ourthuri had come.
It was horrific. Horrible.
But it also wasn't the shadow, which meant she still might have time to save the one person she was worried about losing.
As they rounded a corner, everything stopped.
Jinji's jaw dropped. The men around her gasped.
It was a bloodbath.
The pristine white stone walls dripped maroon, were stained pink. Bodies lined the floor, writhing, moaning—not dead but wishing to be.
Men in the same uniform Jinji now wore stood surrounded, circling, keeping men in fine clothes at bay.
And then Jinji gasped too.
These men were not Ourthuri. They were newworlders. They were just like Rhen, pale skinned and rich, dripping in sparkling fine clothes.
She looked closer, unable to tell friend from foe. Lords stood with the guards against their equals, fighting their peers.
What had happened here?
But Jinji's question would go unanswered as the men around her jumped into action, leaping over the bodies littering the floor to confront the rebellious lords now turning in dismay—having just realized they were outnumbered once the fresh round of guards appeared.
"To the king! To the king!" Men shouted around her in confusion.
"The door!" More answered.
Jinji searched, eyes widening as they landed on two towering doors at least four times her height.
Her heart sunk.
Hoping it wasn't true, she searched the crowd, through gleaming swords and lunging bodies, through swinging arms, looking for his face.
Please, she thought, please don't be just out of reach.
But he was.
Rhen was nowhere to be seen.
Jinji glanced back up at the door, eyes following the middle seam all the way to the ceiling. There was no way that would break down. No way to open it unless it wanted to be opened.
Still, ignoring the fight around her, Jinji ran as fast as she could and slammed her shoulder into the thick wood, not at all surprised at the pain that shot up her arm and the cry that escaped her lips.
Cutting off her senses, refusing to acknowledge her hurt, Jinji charged again, willing the wood to bend at least a little under her might. But it didn’t. Hard as stone, it remained strong, immobile. Undefeatable. But still, Jinji threw her body against it, again and again, until her side went numb and she could no longer command her muscles.
Her mind urged her body forward, but her legs would not listen. Instead, they crumpled and she collapsed at the base of the door, even smaller than before, as though submitting to its greatness.
After all of this, after coming so far, this could not be the end.
Sluggishly, she knocked her head back, still refusing to give in, welcoming the headache that invaded her senses because it meant that she was still fighting.
The shadow would not beat her.
Not this time.
Her life was defined by being too slow—too slow to wake and find Janu, too slow to dress and save her village, too slow to run and save Leoa, too slow to act and save Maniuk—to tear the knife from his hands before he made one fateful final kill.
Now this.
Too slow to leave the castle, too slow to return, too slow in a world where everything happened far too fast.
Flipping over, Jinji struggled, bending her knees and raising her fists so her hands at least could still beat against the door—softly, but with all the strength she had left.
Other men appeared around her, thinking she was wounded, dying or bleeding out, but they didn't offer to help. They stood with her, beating the door, trusting their companions would protect their backs as they fought to reach their king.
With her cheek pressed against the wood, Jinji felt the rumble of their strength—felt how little it did against the door. But she also felt something else.
Weak at first, but growing stronger, until her face began to burn.
Brows furrowed, she leaned back, watching the splintered surface as if it would reveal a hidden secret.
Looking.
Waiting.
Then bang, the doors catapulted inward and a blast of hot air singed her face, making Jinji fall backward in surprise. Her eyes stung, immediately watered. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. Swords rang anew in her ear, shouts.
"Fall back."
"To the king."
"Retreat."
"Find water."
Clashing, conflicting opinions shouting over one another.
Her vision returned, but still, she saw nothing but the angry orange wall before her.
Rhen was lost.
Jinji sat down, unable to move a muscle to help, not caring if the wave of fire curled out and dragged her in.
All was lost anyway. The shadow must have won.
Rhen was dead.
Staring into those flames, she knew it for a fact. Her heart froze over, a frost she knew would never thaw.
If he were alive, he would have stopped the fire. He would have smoldered it, pulled it inside of him the way she had seen on the ship.
He would have...
Jinji looked around, unsure how anyone else could be moving when the world seemed to be crashing down. Lords were retreating, some guards were following, others ran to the flames with buckets of water, trying to control something that was not meant to be contained.
Coughs spewed from her lips, forced her stomach to bend, her arms to catch her as she fell forward. Lit from the flames, shadows danced into her vision, expanding along the floor, taunting her.
Jinji closed her eyes, but still the fire flickered behind her lids, undulating, making black shadows appear and disappear from her mind.
Someone knocked into her, dousing her with a splash of cool water as he stumbled by, enough to make Jinji jump up in shock despite the protests of her muscles.
Eyes opening, she stopped.
Stopped moving.
Stopped breathing.
Stopped blinking.
Everything about her just paused.
The fire was shrinking.
Jinji stood. Her cramping muscles screamed, ripping as she stepped closer.
The flames kept lowering, sucked in by an invisible force, moving backward in a way that looked unnatural, forced. The smaller they appeared, the more her heart lifted.
No one else could do this—nothing else could.
Jinji stared, eyes widening as if it would help her see more.
A faint outlined popped into view, white behind the flames—a man.
Jinji grinned and strode forward as the fire disappeared entirely, replaced by Rhen—shirtless, covered in blood and sweat—alive. The entire room inhaled together, waiting for him to open his eyes. When he did, the green burned, sparking, as though the flames had fused with his irises.
Rhen stood, but a movement over his shoulder caught Jinji's attention. Huddled behind Rhen, were other people, shaking with disbelief. Breaking away, a woman stood—his mother. Her dress was singed with holes, her hair frazzled. Saved by her son.
Jinji smiled, waiting for the woman to turn and hug Rhen, to give him the thanks he had deserved for so long. It was enough for Jinji to know he was alive, to know he was safely within her eyesight, out of the shadow's reach—so she stopped walking forward, crossed her arms, and waited for him to share a much needed moment with his family. Maybe now they would honor him with the love and respect he deserved. Maybe now...
A glint blinded Jinji's eyes. A bright light, like metal catching the sun.
Jinji looked up. Windows lined the upper rim of the room, swords were scattered all around the floor. It was to be expected.
But then it happened again, hurting her irises, making her blink.
This metal was moving, was—
"No!"
Jinji shouted and ran forward, too slow once more. The queen looked up—her stare blank, her eyes white and emotionless.
The shadow.
Rhen turned. His back hunched. His hands flew to his stomach. Even with his back to her, Jinji saw the knife dig into his gut; she felt it sink into his stomach as though it were her own skin.
Blood dripped to the floor.
The queen pulled back. Rhen collapsed. She raised the knife to her own throat. And Jinji sprang forward, biting her lip to keep from crying out as the realization of Rhen's imminent death sunk into her bones.
The queen looked up. Looked into Jinji's eyes.
Panic.
The shadow was afraid. The queen stepped back, farther away from Jinji. The knife pulled quickly, closing in on her throat.
But before the job could be finished, Jinji was there. She slid around Rhen, careful not to harm his still body but also not stopping, not wasting time.
In one heartbeat, everything that had happened in the past few months fluttered into view, memories flashing faster than her mind could process. Her father was there. Her mother. Leoa. Maniuk. Janu. And now Rhen.
Eyes narrowing, lips pursing, anger brimming to the surface, Jinji dove for the queen's arm and wrapped her fingers firmly around her thin wrist.
As soon as they touched, Jinji's eyes rolled into the back of her head.
Her vision went black, disappeared.
All self-awareness vanished.
She didn't see the queen stumble back, blinking rapidly, eyes clouded over with confusion but color returned to normal. She didn't hear the windows above their heads shatter, fall into the dining hall, and crash into a thousand pieces. Jinji didn't feel the lightning bolts pierce her skin, bend her back almost in half, and lift her off the ground.
She was beyond that. Beyond the world. Beyond feeling.
Trapped within the confines of her own mind, back in the shadow dream, Jinji was drowning. Claws gripped her skin, her teeth tasted blood, large wings pushed against the water and stretched for the surface. Jaws gripped her neck, tightening her airway, making her lose all breath. Her talons stretched out, fighting, tearing thick skin with their razor-sharp edges.
This was the moment in the nightmare where she always awoke, the endless struggle, this battle.
But this time, her eyes didn’t open.
No awareness came.
She was no longer Jinji. No longer an Arpapajo. No longer even a human. Jinji had left her body behind, to lay deathly still on the palace floor. Now she was pure spirit.
This time, it was not just a dream. There was no waking up. And if she did not escape, she would die here—in this otherworldly realm her mind had been catapulted into. An ether between the spirit and shadow realms.
All she needed to do was break the surface of this dream water—to return to the spirit realm, and leave this endless, death-enshrouded abyss. One gulp of fresh air and she would live.
But she was not strong enough. The darkness overtook her, removed her strength. Jinji was being pulled under, below the water, deeper and deeper, until the world changed, warped, and twisted.
She had entered the shadow realm, a different plane of reality.
No light pierced her eyes. No life.
Limbs weakening, she forced tired muscles to keep fighting, refusing to let herself drift away in this eternal midnight where even stars refused to shine. Still, they sank farther. The shadow pulled her slowly, steadily down.
Her last reserve of energy gave out.
What more could she do?
Nothing.
But she would not die without seeing her home one more time. She could not die in this lifeless place, this place that her soul rejected, this place where the elemental spirits seemed untouchable.
So Jinji released her hold, let her claws ease apart, her long jaw release. She closed her eyes and envisioned her home—the spirit realm that she had brought to life.
Wind caressing her gliding wings. Great, white mountains disappearing into the
startling blue sea. Green land sprouting, stretching as far as her eyes could see. Glittering gold sunlight hitting red-walled cliffs, making the earth spark and flame.
As she imagined, she wove the elemental spirits. Life suddenly sprang into being in a place where it didn’t belong, a place of death and destruction that had never before seen the beauties of her world.
The shadow released her, fell away, blinded by the images of a realm it couldn't imagine. It jerked, covering its scaled face with ebony wings, pushing away from the light.
Moving on their own, Jinji's wings flapped against the water, pushing her higher and higher, climbing closer to the surface. Unable to wait any longer, Jinji's eyes drifted open. The water was no longer black, but blue, shimmering with sunlight.
It lightened. And lightened. Her eyes were drenched in ivory.
And then she was free, breaking through the surface to breathe in fresh air, floating through the sky, wings light without the heavy weight of water.
It felt good to stretch her muscles. To dip and glide and soar. To weave through trees, rise over snow-capped peaks, plummet into crashing rapids.
The longer she flew across the spirit realm, her otherworldly home, the more she forgot.
Forgot the body left cold on the floor in the human world.
Forgot her human self.
Forgot Jinji.
But remembered other memories, of lives gone by, of pasts being reawakened.
The spirit dragon had returned.
Reborn for the first time in millennia.
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20
Rhen
Rayfort
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Rhen fell to the ground, hand pressed tightly against his stomach, trying to hold in the blood forcing its way out.
He looked up at his mother, desperate, pleading for mercy.
She stepped back, lifted the knife to her own throat. And suddenly, something clicked into place.
This was the shadow.
Jin had tried to tell him, to warn him, but Rhen had never really believed the boy until that instant—looking into his mother's empty, soulless eyes. Something had taken control of her body. Something had ripped away her will.
That same thing wanted Rhen dead.