But what Leishan wanted was not Amari.

Rattling metal followed the bare soles of his feet—a chain dragging beneath simple silver robes. Cold, tawny brown skin reflected icy and dull as he walked. Chains upon chains upon chains snaked through every room—his ankles lurched with rhythmic yanks as he pulled the harsh weight forward. Floors of cold concrete. Towering weighty pillars. Endless, caged ceiling.

"Now, Caller."

Brown eyes refocused on the silver uniform. The features of the man had no relevance to him. He looked away—to what stood at the cross-path of the temple. He traced the stony scales weaving in and out. A long, swimming mane—a fierce growling roar. The dragon lorded over him, as if about to dive down and drag him to the floor. An impatient foot-tap hammered away into the ground.

His lips twitched into a frown, as he closed his eyes. The delicate, pale string of water spun beneath the blindness. The water ran through the infinite path of his mind. No matter where his line of sight went, the veil of water always ran behind. He reached his hand out, carefully inching close, his fingers barely about to graze its flowing path.

"Amari, I missed you."

His hand paused at the low, silken voice scratching his ears. The dragon statue shook its body and leaped off its pedestal in the darkness of his mind. It coiled up his torso with an energetic curl, before twisting around his feet.

"Leave me. I must focus."

"How can I leave," he laughed lowly, "it is my power you call upon. You are still here, in this temple?"

His frown was evident through the cold tone of his question. Amari closed his fingers into a tight fist.

"So what if I am?"

"Let me save you—you don't belong there. Just tell me where you are."

Amari barked a scoffing laugh, "Spare me your pity, Leishan. Or do you really find so much joy in trying to raise me up in wake of our past lives?"

Leishan fell silent. But the presence—the graze of cool, slicked scales swept past his elbows. The mixing of fur, rubbing against Amari's side—was painfully delicate. The temple guard's foot banged away in his ears.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The reverberation of hard soles tore away at his concentration. His eyelids trembled. His hand crashed into the gentle stream—its soft-streaming slither betrayed by a harsh spray of water. A loud, thundering boom clapped. The temple floor rumbled beneath them, as if the earth awakened from a deep, repressed slumber. Rainwater soon followed, dripping down through the roof in large drops.

He opened his eyes, thin lips pressed together. The dragon was once more stone.

"I called down a storm," Amari said.

The guard's face contorted with dark, ugly rage. He threw Amari to the ground by the shoulder—chains slamming against concrete and stars flying with his every blink. His back throbbed. Pooling water seeped through the thin fabric of his robes. Chitin patterns dimly ran up his legs, revealed by the water's sheen.

"A storm is not what was asked of you, Caller. A monstrous deception—you want to bring down all of Nanjie with you!"

Amari coughed air back into his lungs. The guard stomped out, his footsteps splashing through the shallow, puddled floor. Amari pushed himself up. Shaggy black hair plastered to his neck and forehead. His clothes stuck to his skin. Amari leaned up against the base of the dragon statue, eyes raised to match the dragon's protruding snout above.

"My quarters are soaked by now, I'm sure."

No one responded.

Amari ran a hand through his hair with a weighty sigh.

'I missed you.'

He draped an arm across his eyes, letting the cool, damp water wash away the alluring words. Words, perfect for Amari's ears—jigsaw pieces slotted into his mismatched heart. Leishan knew it was what he hoped to hear. Leishan hoped to get a reaction—Leishan wanted him to reciprocate.

But what Leishan wanted was not Amari. He chased after what they were. The lifetimes of reunion—of sparks ignited and endless careful love. A mirage of amber and silver flickered through the void of Amari's mind. His chest tightened. An undesired warmth filled his cheeks. Melting tenderness brushed invisibly against his neck—the ghost of the past. The touch dissipated with a cool dribble of water pattering down his forearm, before rolling down his cheek. All that remained was the cool scent of rain.

Low rolling thunder calmed Amari's endless stream of consciousness. He breathed. In and out. Each exhale carried the sands of Time away, trickling into the ground below. Amari did not know how much time had passed. But the opportunity to call down the rain was rare, and rarer still, to be left alone to enjoy the resonant sounds tapping at every surface.

A cacophony of voices startled his eyes open. Guards adorned in their uniformed silver spoke curt at him. They prodded him up and forward, a cautious glint never leaving their faces. Amari obeyed and tuned out whatever words came next.

Amari thought stepping out of the temple would cause an emotional uproar in his spirit, yet the ink clouds and whipping rumbles only stunned him. He paused every chance he could—so long as a guard wasn't cursing away at him from a distance. The shrubbery ran taller than he remembered. Flower petals, displaced by the wind, warbled in muddy pools. Loose branches littered the paths. The capital of Nanjie embedded in the mountainside stood proud amongst the rainy fog of the valleys, far beyond his reach.

Only then did Amari realize the rhythmic tug disappeared. The unclasped chains were now lazily coiled up at the entrance with a clambering ring of metal. He asked the guards where he was headed. They did not respond. Perhaps listening, he thought, would have been a wise choice earlier. As if on cue, the guards directed him into a hefty carriage led by two horses, one spotted white and the other fully chestnut.

Amari sunk down into the pillowy cushions. To his further confusion, the guards had already been left far behind with the lurch of movement and the clopping trot of hooves. No others but the coachmen remained. The interior was foreign—the wood held a soft gleam and the curtains chaotically crossed with patterns unlike the solid shades of light palm that Nanjie so loved. Upon asking the coachman where they were headed, Amari's nonchalance crumbled away.

"To the capital of Beijie," he gruffly answered, "where your services have been purchased, and your life annexed."

The words fell out the coachmen's mouth without so much as turning to face him. Amari could only laugh in disbelief. "You're joking. Just tell me, already. Which temple will I be chained to next? I'd hope one with windows, at least."

The man shook his head. "There're no chains in Beijie. It's but a kingdom in need of the Caller of Lightning to save the folk. I myself volunteered to ensure you'd safely arrive."

Amari did not believe his words. He absolutely refused to bring himself to conjure a wisp of a naïve dream. But then, Amari could only blankly stare out as every temple crept forward, only to be lost far behind the carriage as they weaved through every valley. And only after he awoke from a rare, dreamless sleep, did he realize this carriage held no intention of stopping.

The man was not lying—for they were far from any large city remotely within Nanjie.

Amari could not let himself believe. Yet, his eyes followed the hills flattening down to high, grassy plains. Light pierced through the broken clouds. The scent of earthy rain lingered atop the wooden scent of the interior fabrics.

His chains, struck down by lightning of a stormy tempest, now spread along the gust over the endless fire of the setting sun.