We went alone, the two of us, because you determined it would be more like a story that way.
“Only the two of us are necessary,” you said. “We will bring back this demon’s head, and that will forever bind these men to our service. How could they be disloyal after that?”
So we left. So we came to the empty temple. The sun hung just above its peaked roof. Our shadows were tall as trees when we dismounted.
“Careful,” I whispered. “It disappears sometimes.”
You walked with your sword drawn. I remember this; you never unsheathed first in duels. We made our way to the first cracked steps.
“My love,” you said, as if you were a woman grown, and not sixteen years old, “we walk into the first chapter of our lives. Together.”
You pressed your palm to mine. Our scars aligned. For a brief moment, I felt … light. Like the sun shining within me, as if I’d swallowed a star whole. The intensity of it staggered me.
It staggered you, too. You gave me a slow, shocked nod.
Together we walked into the temple.
You remember the stillness of the place. Temples are never still, no matter how hard they try to be bastions of peace. Whether it be the monks and priestesses going about their duties, the worshippers going about theirs, or the birds outside, drinking from the water fountains, temples are not still.
Yet here, books lay open on tables. Here, robes lay on the ground as if their owners had dissipated with the morning dew. Here, nothing lived, not even insects. Here, the sound of my heart was louder than war drums.
Where I’d seen only the statue of the Daughter earlier, together we saw the entire Heavenly Family. Gathered around the shrine they were: the Father holding his books; the Mother, a sickle in one hand and a baby basket in the other; the Son, clutching his own severed head; the Grandfather with his clock; the Grandmother, cloaked in clouds; the Sister, with her scrolls of regrets. All of them were missing limbs—more than the usual severed head and leg in the Son’s case.
But only the Daughter was untouched. Only the Daughter stood tall and proud and joyful, with flowers in her hair and a wreath in her hand. Only her smile had not been ruined with a chisel. The dust feared her; she shone softly green in partial light.
You bowed to her as you walked past.
Looking back on it, I think that is what angered Leng. For it appeared in the darkness behind you, with that heavy sword hung high, poised to chop down on you like firewood. Crimson flames consumed the pits where its eyes should be.
I expected it to shout. Warriors throughout Hokkaro shout to show their spirit; Qorin do it to frighten people. But Leng made no sound as it brought its sword down.
“Shizuka!” I shouted.
With your sword, you parried its attack. You shouted so loud, I think you must have been trying to make up for its silence.
A sharp thrust countered its next stroke. How perfect your form was! Your old tutor would’ve died of joy had he seen it. It pierced Leng’s lightly armored underarm.
And the demon laughed. “Virgin Empress,” it said. “How honored I am to make your acquaintance.”
I drew, fired, drew, fired. Arrows shot right through him and clattered against the stone ground.
Just what did we plan on doing if our weapons didn’t work?
“We’ve been watching you grow,” it said. It reached for you with its off hand. Talons on its gauntlet gleamed. “How beautiful you are now. And more beautiful, you will be, when grown.”
“Silence!” you said.
Another cut from you, this time aiming for its arm. Again, your sword went through it. Again, it laughed. Again, I loosed and loosed and loosed. Fear dampened the base of my neck. Nothing was hurting it. Nothing was hurting it and it just kept making that sound like rattling bones and what if this was it, what if you were wrong, what if we were going to die here—?
Cold metal around my throat. My feet lifting off the ground. The smell of day-old corpses left out in the sun. I gasped for breath but felt none coming; I kicked and kicked but didn’t connect.
But I could see you, Shizuka. I could see the rage on your face, see your sword hand shake like a teacup in a storm.
“Steel-Eye, the adults are talking. Cease your interruptions.”
And then …
Oh, you remember the sight better than I do.
It impaled me. I don’t remember how it happened or where the blade pierced me, but I do remember my vision going white.
Then it dropped me.
I wish I could say I stood fast. I did not. I fell flat on the ground. Dust choked me. Blood gushed from me so quickly, I felt as if I’d jumped into ice water.
But I saw the flash of gold light, and I heard your voice.
“You come into the home of the gods and you presume to hurt my beloved?” you roared. “Leng! I name you! May your shadows be made flesh!”
How did you know that name? I’d never told you. To this day, Shizuka, I do not know how you did it—but I am grateful you did.
And it was then that Leng made a sound—a soft gasp. I forced myself to my knees. The room was spinning, but I did this anyway. I could see him: his skin like spoiled milk, see his plain black eyes.
“So you have learned that trick!” it shouted. “It will not save you, Empress!”
You came at it. Steel met steel. I struggled to my feet and reached for my blood-soaked bow. I could get a shot off, I think.
Draw, loose. Watch it soar.
Just as Leng raised its sword again, my arrow landed in his neck, near his shoulder. The swing was ruined.
I staggered forward. This was not so difficult. I could hardly feel anything anymore. Any second now, the world would cease to exist, but while it existed we were together, and while we were together we would fight.
Draw, loose. Another solid hit, this time piercing its hip. It screamed; you sliced off its hand. Gouts of black blood spattered across your armor. I thanked the gods we stopped and got it for you.
But Leng caught sight of me again, and the fury of a hundred lifetimes burned in its eyes. In its marrow-sucking voice, he snarled: “Steel-Eye, must you continue pestering me?”
In one hand it held that massive sword. And perhaps the loss of blood did not affect it as it affected me, because it charged toward me with all the ferocity of an animal. A wounded animal.
A tiger.
It started its slash, but never finished.
A thin gold line separated its head from its body.
Behind him, you stood with sword in hand; demon blood staining the Daybreak blade.
And for that small fraction of a second, you were so proud of yourself.
But then the demon’s head came off, and it fell forward onto me. And it bled and bled and bled.
I screamed. I screamed and I tried to push it off me but it was so heavy, and then you came, and you screamed, and you pushed it off.
“Don’t look down,” you pleaded. “Promise me you won’t look down.”
But I didn’t need to.
Because my wound burned like a hot brand rammed into my gut.