The first thing I remember is fire.
Flames dancing across the hillocks.
A scaley shadow crossing over the ranges, reigning hell and death upon my old home.
A Western Dragon: covetous and greedy.
Apparently, my father, whoever he might've been, died in those flames. Not that I knew him: my mother was a prostitute. It was her hand that guided me, took me from the outer villages to the greater mountains of Clan Adachi.
And it was there that I grew up, poor and destitute, alone and friendless. Until one day I met a hero: the prophesied Child of the Spirits, who would come to be known as Dragon Slayer.
And we became friends.
Now, ten years after I last saw her, she climbs my tower. Her thin form sways as she traverses the pillar—long white hair flowing in the wind.
Eternal imprisonment 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. What did I get? The task of guarding our orange pillar, the eldritch watchtower of Clan Adachi. Alone for ten years. Ten. Long. Years.
Safe to say, I grew a little bitter.
…
My legs dangle from the bone-antler precipice of the tower. Hui reaches her hand up. I grasp it, pulling her onto the antlered outlook, the wind pushing us ever so slightly. Off-balance she stumbles into me, nearly knocking us both off. Yet, my bare feet cling to the familiar grooves of the wood, keeping us steady. When her gray eyes stare up at me, my heart quickens a pace. I swallow my bile and even consider hugging her for a moment. She seems to be considering the same—before I pull away.
"It is good to see you, Raiten," she says. Despite all that 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. I fail. She is already winning this exchange.
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. Yet, things have changed. Hui looks war-scarred and muscled. She stands tall, confident, as if she is untouchable.
I no doubt look like a child to her, malnourished and starved despite my twenty years. Yet I have changed too; my eyes have gone red. My resolve has strengthened.
And my rage persists.
The sun peeks over the snow-capped mountains in the distance and the whites glisten, the gaps between the branches of Giant's trees glow—the horizon exploding with color and waves of light. But those trees are far from this sloping mountainside—this escalation of rocks and pebbles that make up my dominion and the broader territory Clan Adachi. We are a mountain clan, stony and immovable—or so I've been told, time and time again.
My orange Thunder Tower is a bright, loud contrast to the mundanity of the landscape it occupies.
"I might have the frozen dragon in my arsenal, but I still get chilly. Shall we enter your—" she struggles for a moment, not quite sure what to call this strange tower. She must remember it to a degree, but perhaps she forgot its purpose. To be honest, I don't know what to call it either. I've disliked the notion of considering it my home.
"My abode?" I prompt her.
She nods.
I nudge my head, motioning for her to follow me into the small orange house of wood, stone, magic and bone. She trails her hand along the hard grooves of the walls as I stir a stew pot over the fireplace, smelling its salts and adding more kimchi with rooted garnish.
"This is…" Hui trails off, looking around the interior. One futon in the corner, one rounded pot held over the eternal flame, one torch stump hanging along the right wall, two slits for windows, open and whistling with frigid air, assaulting us endlessly.
"Cozy?" I ask. She frowns at my attempt at humor.
"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 be let off? I wasn't born a noble little daughter like you, I was born a bastard and a concubine's son. 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. Some deeper part of me whispers that my thoughts have turned insane—that this path I walk will destroy me. I bury those thoughts with memories of my mother's hair flapping like a flag; her head pale and bloodless, stuck through with a stake; her eyes, bloated and blackened, dead and gone. I think of all the monsters I've faced and the nightmares they've left me with. I grind my teeth at the thought of Baroth, the mountain djinn, cackling while slicing me up, the thought of Afrasiyab leaving my maimed form to the crows, and even that damned wyvern who nearly spelt my end.
"Are the Elders still alive?" Long asks, breaking me from my trance. 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 youthful anger was more wild and immature—this seems tempered and controlled, like that of a warrior's determination.
My anger burns hot for them, for they are the ones who slew my mother. But, that fury has never been satiated. Can never be satiated. I am bound to this eldritch domain by them—unable to do anything except defend this accursed land. That is the truth of things. A truth I have accepted, for now, my anger is more economical. It burns for one person alone.
"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." She hesitates, as if searching her memory. So, she has forgotten even this. How fortunate for me.
"You don't need to 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 a slave to this tower; the wall against the beasts of the North. Whenever devs, war monkeys, half-giants and blood-crows came marching towards our clan, it fell upon me to slay them."
The amulet grows hot. Hui Long steps back. The fire spits, crackles, and cackles like an evil spirit watching our exchange unfold.
I smile for once. It is not a smile Long likes. Seeing her step back, a glint of fear in her eyes, hurts me. But, I endure nonetheless.
"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. She can feel the aura of my 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, 'Come back for me!' But for some reason, I expected you to do that anyway. 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 by Elder Kai. "It was the hope. I hoped you would return, even as the Elders 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 five years, even. I never faltered. I believed in you.
"And then, a week ago, a traveler comes and I let him pass. And he bids me news of your adventures. Your victories," I spit. My mind is pushing through now, working overtime to replay that image of my mother's head. Screaming at me to ignore everything else. The angel dust sends waves of thunderous power flowing through my veins, like a dam cracking, and I am unleashed once more upon this unfair world of mine. "He tells me he is your lover, your scout. Gareth Ratkar. He said that he had gone ahead and that you would visit me soon. 'Visit'. As if we were old friends, catching up."
And Hui Long is speechless. She doesn't even touch her sword, for she looks at 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 would—that they did kill your mother."
This takes me back a step. 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 get beaten bloody for it. When you pilfered wagyu, you were merely slapped on the wrist and still, you did not know?"
Her face stiffens. "We agreed—" she pauses, voice cracking, betraying her. "We agreed it would be worth the risk."
It is a weak protest, one that she seemingly has to force out. And I see the look of regret that passes over her face once she realizes what she just said.
I know she probably did not mean it.
Yet, I've been hungering for her to put up any sort of stupid defense.
"Did my mother's death," I begin, growling the words out now. "Make it worth a single damn thing?"
Now Hui Long puts her hand on the blue dragon-scaled grip of the modachi, drawing it from its scabbard with a metallic screech. Shaking, she holds it forward, a tear rolling down her face. I have never seen her cry.
"I didn't mean that, Raiten. I—I am sorry you have suffered so much. But please, we can talk—"
"What did you do Hui?" I cut her off purposefully before she can ruin this for me: this grand moment that I've dreamed of for years. "What did you do when I gave you that sword?"
"Please just—"
"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 to her, shattering it and letting through the full breadth of the cold, blaring wind. "Now is not the time for words. That was one, five, ten 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 the blade away.
There's a metallic ZING!!! 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 rain them down. My sparking knuckles crunch into her face, her chest. She takes the blows—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 Nodachi against my head.
Stars flash in my brain. My legs go wobbly. The impact deafens sound. I disentangle, falling away from her.
Then, I place a hand on my chest and, 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 the sea issues forth a rippling wave, upon impact, the lightning sends shivering sparks through the wisps of cloud, making it contract and harden. It becomes the anchor of my arc.
With that, I swing forth, the bolt going taut, heels grazing the ground, body flying 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 the 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, neither does it have a bulky body—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 me in the air, sword held outwards, arms shaking.
"We don't have to fight!" she yells. But surely, she must know this is futile. I coil lightning into a ball and lob it towards her as I pass by. 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; 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 of the Eastern dragon spirits, 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: the serpentine forms of fire and ice coil around her sword, molding themselves to the shape of the blade, enhancing its power.
The wood dragon takes the bolts of lightning I issued in stride, protecting Hui Long before it completes its formation below her, saving her from a mighty fall. The dark dragon of smoke magicks becomes one with the wood dragon, forming its armor. And thus Hui Long 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. Even still, I see her constitution shake. She does not want this.
But I crave it.
"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. 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 as fire and ice explode against the lightning, creating a cloud of dust and sending sprinkles of ash and cold blue ice shards into the air. She emerges, her wooden dragon snapping after my form.
It nearly snatches my leg before I swing to another cloud, slashing it away with my blade. The lightning rakes against the darkness and wood, yet the dragon flies on, unfazed. 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 gone. 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 golden splendor, illuminating the cream-colored topside of the clouds as if they are 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. Lightning. All of it matters now—I'll give every single piece of myself to end her.
It's been ten years, sure. But some traits are ingrained so deeply in our natures that they can never really change. So, I know her well enough to understand she won't dodge.
It's simply not in 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.
Surprisingly, once again, she hesitates. I know she can hit faster, but her sword pauses before slicing into me.
Mine doesn't.
My sword passes through her shoulder, leaving a deep black-scorched 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, quite like a bolt of lightning myself, through the spirits and crash into Hui Long once more. The impacts don't register—all is speed. All is momentum.
All is rage.
We break through the plane of sun and splendor, back into the weeping storm, my speed increasing.
From being drenched in orange light to falling with the rain—we must look like ants from afar, falling in the midst of a raging storm, lighting illuminating our wet backs, the sloping rock face edging closer and closer.
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, my kneecap stabbing into her belly.
The dust swirls. Then settles.
I kneel panting atop Hui Long, lightning slowly dissipating. My sword still remains though, one last crackling 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, now getting washed away by the rain. 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, 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. 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.
She didn't even finish the swing.
The lightning 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.
It would be so… easy.
The seconds last years.
But, in the end, I roll over and lay on my back.
She has a hacking fit of coughs. I stare blankly at the sky as the storm slowly 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. But surely, she must not believe that. In the time since our friendship, she has made lovers. Friends. Allies and comrades. Her own little family. They would be sad to see her go.
Her guilt is overcoming her senses.
And even though I hate her still…
I'm just too damn tired.
I shake my head. "No, Hui. Killing you would just be a 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. There's a certain grief building up within me now—spurned from the image before me. I have brought a great hero low enough to weep and beg. It feels wrong. There are others who deserve this more than her—bastards who live high and mighty in the clan. The Elders. They will not get the mercy I show today.
But that is a trite, useless sentiment; a desire that I've clung to for years, knowing its impossibility.
Slowly, I take a stand, turning away, face blank, eyes fluttering from fatigue. I muster enough strength to make it back to the tower—I could not have gone far from it anyway, thanks to my curse. My dominion is limited to 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 ten 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.