Prince Ahmed was forced to his knees before his older brother, Prince Ali, who lounged upon Ahmed’s own throne.

 

“Long time, no see little brother,” Ali smirked condescendingly at him. “Between you and Hussein, I genuinely believe you were the more foolish one for involving yourself in this conflict. At least Hussein had the argument of seniority on his side.”

 

“Both you and our brother are unfit to rule our father’s lands,” Ahmed sneered.

 

“My, you’ve grown bold in five years.”

 

“No,” Ahmed gritted his teeth. "I just realized that seniority means nothing when it comes to who should rule a country. Our brother’s a fool and you’re a coward.”

 

“Really? Does a coward storm into his enemy’s lands and take his capital in a matter of weeks? Or does a coward sit and wait around for his enemies to come to him?” Ali frowned.

 

“A coward sells himself to the Nikan!” Ahmed spat.

 

“Oh, speaking of that, I’ve yet to introduce you to my betrothed,” Ali said. He gestured behind Ahmed as a woman confidently strode past him and up to Ali.

 

She was taller than Ali and ethereally beautiful in a way that made Ahmed wary. More so than he already was. She had the black hair and narrow eyes of a Nikan woman, but the glinting flecks of gold in her eyes that gave her away as a daughter of the Empress instead of one of the Emperor’s consorts. She wore green silk robes that were bound tight at her top, but allowed to flow loose below her waist.

 

“This is Gongsun Xiulan, Eighth Imperial Princess,” Ali grinned. "She’s who to thank for putting me at your doorstep so easily.”

 

“And the point of you showing her off is?” Ahmed raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well, you see, I heard you had also gotten married, brother. I must congratulate you, but I never got the chance to meet your wife,” Ali said. "She fled the scene before I could introduce myself. Quite rude, don’t you think?”

 

“What do you want with Shahla?” Ahmed demanded. "Or rather, what do you want with her?” He pointedly asked the princess.

 

“My business with your bride is my own,” Xiulan said imperiously. "But you will tell me where she is.”

 

“You say that like I know where she went,” Ahmed scoffed.

 

“May I, Ali? I don’t want to do anything that may offend you,” the princess smirked, staring at Ahmed.

 

“He’s been dead to me since he separated from my kingdom,” Ali muttered. "Do what you want with him.”

 

Xiulan flicked her wrist, calling the room’s attention to a small, double-edged metal spike held onto her middle finger with a ring. She caused the spike to twirl in her open palm as she slowly approached Ahmed, a gaze of pure malice and devilish intent on her face.

 

“Torture and kill me if you want, princess. I’d rather suffer through it than give you Nikan anything,” Ahmed growled.

 

“I call upon thee, Shedim of my will,” Xiulan chanted. "Manifest, Cruel Mistress of the Rainless Valley.”

 

Ahmed’s eyes widened as a ghost seemed to rise from the princess’s flesh. Its ethereal form was a sickly pale green, its skin a layer of chitinous armor with no face save for a pair of malevolent eyes. Its taloned fingers spun spikes on them in perfect synchronization with the princess. Long wispy hair flowed from its head as though it were floating in water.

 

With its fish-like morphology below the waist, the creature slithered through the air towards Ahmed. The prince tried to put distance between himself and the spirit, but it was too fast. He felt a sharp chill run through his body as the spirit stabbed his throat with one of the spikes.

 

He felt no burning or blood loss. There wasn’t even a wound.

 

But Ahmed understood once the ghost returned to Xiulan. Water streamed out of where he’d been pierced by the ghost and into a large ball hovering above Xiulan. Ahmed’s mouth abruptly went dry, his lips shriveled and sticky. He collapsed to the ground from a sudden wave of vertigo.

 

All the muscles in his body cramped up at once, but his throat was too dry for him to scream.

 

“Where did you send the princess?” Xiulan demanded.

 

Ahmed could do nothing but writhe and gasp like a fish out of water. She returned some fluid to him out of the large collection over her, allowing him to speak.

 

“Why do you care? Aren’t I your prize?” Ahmed groaned.

 

“You were. But then a little birdie told me she put three of my men to sleep without touching them. That makes her an infinitely more valuable target than you.”

 

Ahmed decided to, instead of saying another word, gather the fluid left in his mouth and spit at her.

 

“He will be a pain, but I think I’ll keep him alive until he decides to talk,” Xiulan said. "But only with just enough water to live.”

 

Some of Ahmed’s body fluids were returned to him, his muscles relaxing. He gasped in relief, though his mouth was still dry and his head still pounded.

 

“I look forward to our future meetings, Prince Ahmed.”

_____________________________________________________________

 

Bjorn tied off a second bola to bind the Nikan soldier’s arms before he stood and turned to look at Taya. He tried to keep his eyes off the stained dirt and the bodies that littered it.

 

“What was that you did with your Scars?” Bjorn asked as he cleaned himself up. "How were you so fast?”

 

“It’s called Shedim Mastery. The power people like us have access to. People who aren’t sick. It’s technically a form of magic, since it’s associated with Shedim, though academics rarely like to group it in with their ‘sophisticated arts’. Those few who haven’t forgotten, anyway,” Taya said.

 

Bjorn had heard of Shedim before. They were like minor gods...or spirits. His people never used them, but other lands had harnessed their power to make sailing easier or till the earth with less work.

 

“That was incredible,” Bjorn sighed in bewilderment.

 

“Wasn’t it?” Taya grinned.

 

Bjorn shook his head. There were more dire things at hand. Yes, more dire than god-like powers.

 

“Why would the Nikan attack this place? It’s just a bunch of sick people,” Bjorn said.

 

Taya shrugged, her head tilting to the soldier Bjorn had wrapped up with his bolas. "Ask him. I couldn’t say for sure, but remember how supposed ‘sick person’ just held off almost entire fleet of soldiers? Anyway, there might be survivors who can help us leave. Let’s grab our belongings from the storehouse and go look around first.”

 

Bjorn sighed. There wasn’t really anything else to do now but leave the island. He wasn’t quite unused to slaughter and the ugliness of battle, as clans and jarls in his land fought constantly. But Taya’s nonchalance seemed like either a ruthless sense of pragmatism, willful ignorance, or just apathy.

 

He used the bola ropes to bind his captive to a post, ignoring his pleas in a language from the other side of the world.

 

He followed by Taya, and pushed open the wooden door to the storehouse. The building was a short stone building full to the brim with crates of supplies and belongings of those on the island.

 

“A shame they didn’t bother confiscating any jewelry,” Taya sighed as she started rummaging through the clothes.

 

“Well, the weapons are still valuable. If we’re going to be in need of money, we have options. But we won’t be leaving for some time. The only way off the island is if we build another boat, given that our first one is a flaming wreck off the beach,” Bjorn said. "What was that, anyway?”

 

“They call them hand cannons. They use substance called blackpowder to make things explode. Or at least, I think. I’m not engineer,” Taya shrugged.

 

Bjorn grabbed a few other useful tools like a spear, a javelin quiver, a second axe and a bow. He also grabbed some of his other tools that he hadn’t gotten before the battle, specifically his utu. It was a flat, wedge-shaped blade with an unorthodox handle that could be used for anything from skinning to ship building.

 

“Ah!” Taya sighed in relief. "It feels good to get out of these itchy rags!”

 

Bjorn looked towards her before immediately averting his eyes. She was wearing a patterned skirt that had a slit cut up the side, revealing her Plague Scars, a dark green woolen cape and a leather sash around her shoulder to hold supplies and weapons. But that was it. She didn’t even have shoes on.

 

“Your chest is…”

 

“What about it?” Taya frowned.

 

“You neglected to put a top on,” Bjorn muttered.

 

“Aw, is big bad raider nervous about seeing a pair of tits?” Taya mocked him. "No Sklaveni covers up, especially when preparing for battle.”

 

“Well there’s also the fact that if you get stabbed even once in the chest, you die. I don’t yet trust that your magic is reliable and it would be a real pain in the ass if you got killed,” Bjorn said.

 

“Well...it is reliable. But fine,” Taya chuckled. "If it puts you off that much, I can fix...alright. You can look.”

 

Bjorn looked back at her and pinched the bridge of his nose. She had wrapped up her chest with some linen and cloth bandages.

 

“That doesn’t fix the problem,” Bjorn sighed.

 

“Hey, most Sklaveni fight completely naked,” Taya pouted. "Be grateful I covered up this much.”

 

“Whatever,” Bjorn said. "Let me take a look at what options I have.”

 

Taya stepped back as Bjorn started to rifle through clothing. He picked out a colorful, blue woolen tunic with red outlining, a pair of riding pants and leather boots. He half-expected his armor to have been stolen, but lo and behold, here it was safe and sound.

 

Bjorn donned his chainmail hauberk.

 

“Hm. Being warrior and hiding behind armor. You look like Koini twig,” Taya scoffed, as she strapped a knife of Qahtanad make that was likely not hers to her waist.

 

“That’s why Ascommani always live long enough to kill more enemies than Sklavenis,” Bjorn said. "Hence, why we’re more feared than you.”

 

“Are you saying young woman holding giant claymore rushing at you, nude and screaming bloody hell, isn’t as intimidating as merely biting your shield?” Taya asked.

 

Bjorn scoffed, "You oughta see what berserkirs are actually like.”

 

He found it odd that speaking with her had spread her sense of...well now that he was doing it himself, Bjorn couldn’t quite call it apathy. It was pragmatism, but not ruthless. What happened had happened. They both needed to keep moving forward.

 

Bjorn left the storehouse and started exploring the island, while Taya sat back and waited to see if anyone arrived on their own volition. The first lights of dawn were starting to rise in the east as they trekked through the forest.

 

Had he really been up all night? As Bjorn’s adrenaline wound down, he felt the impact of exhaustion hit him like a mace over the head. But he trekked onwards

 

He searched all through the forests and the coasts, even checking to see if any boats had been left behind. None had.

 

Bjorn walked up to the mine he’d worked in for the last few months and hesitantly took his first step inside it without a pickaxe.

 

The tunnels, barely held up by wooden posts, were dimly lit by smoldering torches.

 

“Hello?” Bjorn called out in Koini, the most likely language for a random person to have some concept of. "Is anyone there? The soldiers are gone!”

 

He could’ve sworn he heard footsteps.

 

“Hello?” He said again.

 

The response he got was a glint of steel in the darkness. Bjorn raised his shield as a spearhead clanged against the iron boss in the center. Bjorn swung his axe in the dark, stopping the blade just before it was embedded in a man’s neck.

 

The man dropped his weapon. Despite the low light, Bjorn could make out some detail. He was dark skinned and tall, though not quite as tall as Bjorn. He had a head of black hair and an unkempt beard. That inscrutable look on his face…

 

“Ruhak,” Bjorn muttered, dropping his blade to his side “Figures you made it out alive.”

 

“What in the hell happened up there, Stormtamer?” the man hissed.

 

“A massacre. But they’re gone now,” Bjorn said. "I know I’ve made it clear that I find your company distasteful, but come with me. I need extra hands if we’re going to build a boat before we starve.”

___________________________________________________________________

 

Bjorn arrived back at the settlement after scouring the island for another hour or two. Though, Ruhak was all he had found by the time the sun fully rose.

 

Since finding him in the mines, the Hikupti had been far more quiet than what Bjorn was used to from him.

 

Taya was patting down dirt, drawing his attention to the fact that all the bodies were missing. She must have buried them. It was a nice gesture. But what’s more, burying all those bodies in just a few hours was really an incredible feat, regardless of the grim circumstances.

 

Sitting on the steps to the storehouse, was a petite pale-skinned woman with brown hair. She was wearing a Sarfan man’s clothes rather than rags. Though it was possible Taya let her change.

 

“Bjorn! Who’s this?” Taya asked in Koini. She was particularly better at that language, which was to be expected. Koini was far more prevalent than Ascomanni.

 

“Ruhak. A fellow miner from Hikuptah,” Bjorn said.

 

“Name’s Taya!” she said to Ruhak. "Don’t forget it!”

 

Ruhak stepped back, off put by her energetic nature. "Er...alright.”

 

Put off? Maybe Bjorn was right and Ruhak really had been forcing himself to be all outgoing and whatnot.

 

Bjorn peered past her. "Who came to you?”

 

“My name is Cecile,” the woman said softly, rising from the storeroom stairs with a grace that shined through her movements, despite her very clear nervousness and disorientation. "I’m a doctor from Sarfait and a battlefield medic.”

 

“Did you come here with the guards?” Bjorn asked.

 

Cecile lifted her shirt slightly to reveal Plague Scars that wrapped around her lower torso and ribs. "Unfortunately, no.”

 

Bjorn nodded.

 

“You all speak Koini?”

 

He whirled around to his captive.

 

“Please, let me go!” the Nikan soldier cried.

 

Taya groaned. "Ugh, now we can understand him.”

 

“He’d be willing to tell you anything he has of worth if you interrogated him,” Cecile said. "He’s not a soldier. Not a professional one, at least.”

 

Bjorn frowned, "How can you tell?”

 

Cecile shrugged, "I’m good at reading people.” The Sarfan was soft spoken, but confident.

 

“S-she’s right!” the Nikan soldier said. "I’m just an engineer! I was forced to join the army! I’ll tell you whatever you want to know!”

 

“Quit whining!” Taya shouted. "If you’re going to betray your country, at least do it without whimpering and hold your head high like a man!”

 

“You said you were going to build a boat, right?” Ruhak asked. A bit of the pep in his step had returned within these few minutes. "I’ll handle the interrogation. You take Miss Claymore there and start working. The sooner we get off this island, the better. If another boat comes with people to drop off and sees that we’re the only ones still alive, only bad things could happen.”

 

Bjorn nodded, "Taya?”

 

“That’s fine with me,” the Sklaveni nodded and followed him into the woods.

 

They walked in silence for a bit before the quiet was broken.

 

"Is it true that every Ascommani knows how to build boat? I mean, I know you can, but what about others?” Taya asked, in Ascomanni once again.

 

“Why’d you switch back?” Bjorn asked.

 

“Can’t practice your language if I never speak it.”

 

“Fair enough. And yes, we all can. My father taught me to build a boat when I was nine. It was a bit earlier than other boys, but we all can put a longship together in a pinch. Though, I wouldn’t trust my boat building with anyone other than a master unless it wasn a absolute emergency. Like this,” Bjorn said, his eyes staring off to the trees around them.

 

He needed a sturdy oak, that was straight enough to be a keel. His eyes landed on the perfect candidate. It wasn’t too thick to cut down, but wide enough to be carved into a keel and stern.

 

And there was a second right next to it that would be good enough for planking.

 

Bjorn pointed to the other tree and tossed Taya one of his axes. "Go cut down that one.”

 

Taya took the axe and nodded, "Right.”

 

Bjorn drew his war axe and started to work at the tree he intended to use for a keel. His axes were made more for combat than for wood cutting, but the taper was gradual enough to do the job.

 

Almost twenty minutes or so later, Bjorn shoved the tree over. A minute after, Taya called out a warning to him before her tree nearly squashed him flat.

 

“We’re going to build a snekkja, so we’re going to need about eight more of these,” Bjorn said. "Look for trunks as straight as possible. I can’t cut planks from anything too curved. I’ll start on shaping the keel.”

 

“You’re leaving me out here to cut down trees?” Taya asked.

 

“Yes,” Bjorn nodded before grabbing hold of his log.

 

“You know, I could bring those logs back far faster than you could,” she said.

 

Bjorn pursed his lips, "Great. You can carry this back for me.”

 

“That’s not what I-”

 

“I insist. It’s probably been months since you’ve had a good workout,” Bjorn dropped the log.

 

Taya sighed, her Plague Scars beginning to glow violet again. She picked up the entirety of the felled tree with one hand as though it was a stick.

 

“You’ve still yet to really explain to me how all this works,” Bjorn said. "There’s got to be something more than just ‘oh, Shedim did it.’”

 

“I’m...bonded, I suppose, to special kind of Shedim called an Elder Shedim, who uses its power to make me stronger, faster and tougher than everyone else.”

 

“And can I do that too?”

 

“Not this exactly. Every Elder Shedim is unique. More often than not, their forms have been misidentified as gods in our past. Figuring out your abilities comes from first manifesting your Shedim in its spiritual form or just waiting to be under a highly stressful situation.”

 

“You say they resemble gods,” Bjorn said. "That have anything to do with the raven I saw last night?”

 

“Depends on what ravens mean to you, Bjorn,” Taya shifted her grip on the tree, but it still, somehow, wasn’t giving her any trouble.

 

“Death and war, mostly. Associated with the Maidens of the White Sea and the Seer of Blackest Nights. They carry the dead up the Great Hall when they meet their fate.”

 

“Hm...maybe your Shedim is this Seer of Blackest Nights,” Taya muttered.

 

“So...the Shedim don’t resemble gods, they are gods?”

 

“No, no. They aren’t gods. Our cultures just thought they were,” Taya said. "I mean I don’t blame them, since immortality and magic powers normally translate to god. But then again, the people who claim to perceive these gods are always high on some kind of concoction of drugs, so I wouldn’t put my full trust in them.”

 

That comment was clearly aimed at Ascomanni seers.

 

“Our seers aren’t-” Bjorn huffed. "Just go take the logs.”

 

“You trying to end the conversation just means I’m right!” Taya called out as she dragged the two trees with her. Bjorn scoffed and returned to the camp to start on the keel.

 

Taya gathered a total of seventeen trees that day and had dragged them back to the settlement.

 

Bjorn spent the late morning and, after a nap, the afternoon stripping each log of its bark with his utu.

 

Taya and Ruhak were helping with axes as Cecile made fire and started to scavenge for medical supplies.

 

Their captive remained tied to a post.

 

“So, what’d you get out of our Nikan friend?” Bjorn asked, hammering the handle of his utu with his sword hilt like a hammer and chisel.

 

“Well, his name is Liao Peng and he’s what’s called an Adept. He was drafted about three years ag-”

 

“I meant about the attack, not his life story,” Bjorn cut him off.

 

“Right. I think he rambles to cope with panic,” Ruhak muttered sheepishly. "Uh...the attack, he didn’t know too much about. Being a footsoldier and all, he only gets his orders. But there was someone or multiple someones here that they were supposed to kill according to rumors. They were also told to just kill as many as they could.”

 

Taya pursed her lips, "None of you have symptoms, yes?”

 

“If I had symptoms, I’d have died a long time ago,” Ruhak said.

 

“I’ve experienced none,” Cecile said. "But what exactly makes us worth killing?”

 

“Shedim Mastery, right? That’s what you told me last night,” Bjorn said.

 

Taya nodded.

 

“Shedim...Mastery?” Cecile asked.

 

“The Plague’s true nature. It is simply the force that bestows this kind of magic unto us gone berserk,” Taya said. "Those who can’t handle its power get symptoms and eventually die.”

 

Cecile frowned, "What kind of disease goes berserk and gives magic?”

 

“The Plague is not a disease, it's a trial of sorts. Those without symptoms have earned themselves the ability to use a type of magic,” Taya explained. "The unpredictable nature and inherent power of the abilities makes us dangerous to anyone who’s planning to say...conquer the world.”

 

Everyone present frowned.

 

“Nikan can’t conquer the world,” Ruhak said. "No empire has that much power.”

 

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try,” Taya said. "When I was last home, the Nikan were fighting with the eastern Sklavenis. So if nothing else, their reach is absurdly long.”

 

“Then we’ll figure out what’s going on once we get off the island,” Bjorn said.

 

Once they completed the boat, they’d be free. But who was to say if the world Bjorn saw would be the same as the one he left? If they could spare ten ships for a little middle-of-nowhere island for a potential threat, what kinds of forces did the Nikan have access to for their true campaigns?

_____________________________________________________________________________

 

Gongsun Guanyu, 17th prince of the empire, stepped onto the bow of his ship. The sun gleamed off his lamellar armor and the helmet under his arm. The salty breeze offended his nose, but the feeling of the gale and flecks of water on his skin made up for it.

 

Guanyu had always enjoyed sailing, but despite being out on the water, he was...irritable. That was how his underlings would put it.

 

Of all the people that the 26th fleet had to kill, they left the most important breathing.

 

And that’s why they needed him. To clean up a botched mission’s leftovers. How hard was it to follow the orders “Kill everyone. Leave none alive?”

 

“How long until we reach the island?” he asked.

 

“Another two weeks, sir. If the winds are with us,” his navigator said.

 

Guanyu nodded, "Good.”

 

“That maybe too long, brother,” a female voice muttered from behind.

 

Guanyu turned to Yahui, 3rd princess. They were far apart in age and in line for the throne. Yet, they two were the only offspring of Shegenoi Nai, the only concubine in the emperor’s court to come from the Aritadori tribes.

 

Like their mother, Yahui was taller than the average Nikan woman. And even some men. Guanyu included, actually. Her black hair was dressed up with imperial decorum, but she lounged on the deck in a silk robe one would wear around a private quarters to go to bed in.

 

“Sister, don’t you think you ought to put on something more professional?” Guanyu asked.

 

“Have you ever worn a dress, Guan?” she called him by a ridiculous shortening of his name she hadn’t let go of since childhood. "Because if you had, you’d share my sentiment. Besides, aren’t I already pretty enough?”

 

Guanyu frowned. "The point is that you put a slovenly image of us into people’s minds. Dare I even say immodest. But what’s this about not being fast enough?”

 

“I heard from a report there’s an Ascommani on that island.” Yahui said.

 

“And?” Guanyu asked. "How is his size going to change anything?”

 

“It’s not about his size, idiot. Ascommani are taught from childhood to build their longships, which are much faster and more agile than our junks.” Yahui said. "If they have access to wood, they’ll have a boat within two weeks. And that’s on the slow end.”

 

“Why didn’t you say this earlier?” Guanyu snapped.

 

“You didn’t ask.” she shrugged.

 

Guanyu clenched his fist, but decided against reprimanding his sister. “Captain!” Guanyu shouted at the captain on the upper deck. "I want the oarsmen rowing night and day! Pay and feed them double if you have to!”

 

“That’s a tad excessive, don’t you think?” Yahui asked. "We can still intercept them without rowing our oarsmen to death.”

 

“We don’t know if the Shedim Masters will come our way, sister. I’ve never allowed my prey to escape me. Not once. I refuse to start now!” Guanyu growled.

 

“Father just said to kill them. As long as they end up dead, you’ll be fine, right? Stop deluding yourself and trying to look at your job as some kind of great duty to the emperor. You’re on clean up duty,” Yahui scoffed.

 

“I didn’t ask for your input or your company on this trip,” Guanyu seethed.

 

“I thought you could use some sagely advice. And from what I’m seeing, I was right.”

 

“So what I’m hearing is that you’ll be fine growing up to be an old hag who just spouts nonsense to everyone around her,” Guanyu said. "You’ve already got it halfway down.”

 

“No need to be hurtful,” Yahui frowned. "I just have to find the right man…”

 

“Right man...I don’t get why you’re so obsessed on finding this ideal man. Let father arrange something for you so the rest of us will be spared from your swooning during feasts. I can tolerate it from our younger siblings, but you’re one of the Twelve. Act like it.”

 

Yahui rolled her eyes, “It’s because I’m one of the Twelve that I should be able to do as I please. Stop acting like my old tutor.”

 

“Prince Ali of Qahtan’s been getting antsy. A marriage could solidify our alliance with him,” Guanyu said.

 

Yahui gagged, "Prince Ali? No thank you. That man is a child locked in a man’s body. Besides, we sent Xiulan away for him a few weeks ago. Maybe you should try keeping up on court politics for once.”

 

“The court bores me to death. And you can’t be so picky,” Guanyu sighed.

 

“Can’t I? I’d rather be happy alone than be in a failing marriage,” Yahui said. “Like our dear little Yuhan. I don’t trust father not to set me up with a walking tub of lard thrice my age.”

 

“Still, you’re nearing that age,” Guanyu said. “The respect of the Twelve would plummet if one of them was a Leftover.”

 

Yahui had always had a rebellious streak, but everyone had to grow up eventually. And for women, there was a time limit.

 

“Like you’re such a ladies’ man. How many women have you been with that weren’t concubines or war spoils, huh? Let’s see ‘em,” Yahui smirked. "Oh yeah, you had that one affair with that Jambudvipi diplomat that ended in flames and almost caused a third Gongsun-Dvipan war.”

 

Guanyu thought to rebuke her for bringing up buried skeletons, but chose to focus his efforts back to his mission. He was done with this pointless conversation. "I don’t have time in my life for women right now,” Guanyu said. "Once father gives me my title, I’ll be more open to it.”

 

“You and your title…” Yahui muttered.

 

“Easy for you to say,” Guanyu said. "You have five! I don’t even have one and I’m about to come of age!”

 

“Well, they don’t call me the Goddess of Victory for nothing,” Yahui shrugged.

 

“If father would just let me lead an army…” Guanyu gritted his teeth.

 

“What? Only then could you prove to him that you’re worth his time?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” Guanyu said.

 

“Whatever,” Yahui sighed. "You’re going to fail one day, Guan. Everyone does. Stop betting all your happiness on father’s word.”

 

Guanyu furrowed his brow, "You threaten treason with those words, sister.” Guanyu waved her away. "Go...annoy anyone else. I have Shedim Masters to kill.”

 

As Yahui shrugged and walked off, a thought occurred in Guanyu’s head. Perhaps...perhaps he could use a wife. Or just...something that could help him. Anything to get him what he deserved. Yahui knew better than anyone that his father had held him to higher standards than the rest of his children. Guanyu would prove to the Emperor he was strong. Strong enough to meet his father’s challenge.