I moved quickly, slipping into Mai's grandfather's clothes before turning my eyes on the twelve-foot walls of Yuki. The gate loomed ahead, a window cut into its stone. Behind the shutters sat a middle-aged man with brown hair, one blue eye, and one pale and clouded.
I knocked.
He leaned forward, voice gravelly. "How may I assist you?"
"I need entry into Yuki," I said.
His tone hardened. "The gates are closed. War stirs outside these walls, and they won't open anytime soon."
For a moment, I faltered. Eqihr… did you lie to me? Why send me here if Yuki barred its doors? My only hope was to show him who I was.
"Sir, it's urgent. I carry a mission too important to ignore."
He raised a brow. "And what mission is worth exposing this town?"
I met his gaze. "I am a Yang user. I need to be inside these walls."
His face shifted from weary to intrigued. "Yang spirit, eh? Then show me your prowess."
I asked about his eye. He told me he'd been blind in it since childhood, a scar from battle. My chest tightened—he hadn't seen a full world in decades.
"Then open the window," I said. "I'll prove it."
Suspicion narrowed his gaze. "You think I'm a fool? Why would I let you close enough to strike?"
"Because I'm not lying," I replied. "And because you want to see again."
A long pause. Then the latch clicked, and the window swung open.
I placed my palm against his forehead. "Close your eyes."
Reluctantly, he obeyed. I closed mine as well, siphoning energy from deep inside, pressing it through my hand and into his ruined eye. The strain rippled through me, draining, but when I pulled back, I whispered, "Open them."
The man blinked. And for the first time since boyhood, he saw with both eyes.
His breath hitched. "I… I can see."
I stepped back. "Proof enough?"
He seized me through the window, arms wrapping tight, tears spilling down his weathered face. "The spirit returns!" he shouted, kneeling inside the gate.
The city stretched beyond, but before I could step forward, three armored men blocked my path.
The left bore silver hair and diamond-plated armor. The right had broad shoulders, brown hair falling past them, his gear solid and functional. The man in the middle stood apart—armor humming with faint magic, a lizard-handled sword on his hip, golden hair flowing to his back.
"Who are you," the golden-haired man demanded, "and why did the gatekeeper let you through?"
The handler shouted from behind me, voice cracked with joy. "He is the Yang spirit! He healed my eye—look, I can see again!"
The leader's expression remained grim. "Nonsense. The Yang spirit was reported across the region, not here."
The man to my right stepped forward. "If it's true, he must prove it."
I studied them. "Do any of you bear wounds that cannot be healed?"
The silver-haired one spoke first, voice heavy. "My younger brother is sick. But… that may be beyond you."
"I only heal mortal wounds," I admitted. "I can try, but no promises."
The golden-haired leader lifted his hand. "I lost a finger. Can you restore it?"
"Come closer," I said.
He extended his hand. I pulled harder this time, energy rushing like a current. Wind whipped my hair, blue light flaring around me. When he pulled back, his finger was whole again. His eyes widened. "Incredible. I haven't seen power like this in my lifetime."
The third man raised his arm. His hand was gone entirely. "This one's worse," he said quietly. "But if you'll try, I'll accept whatever happens."
I cupped both palms around the stump, focusing deeper, harder. The aura burned brighter, wind surging until my skin tingled raw. When I pulled away, a full hand rested where there had been none.
He stared. Then he laughed, wild and free, gripping my arm like a brother.
The others exchanged glances, awe tempered with caution.
I swayed on my feet, the exhaustion settling heavy in my bones. "Where is your brother?" I asked the silver-haired man.
He studied my face and saw the drain. "Later," he said gently. "Rest first."
They offered me lodging, food, and warmth, though they warned the town's leader must be told of my arrival. I agreed and allowed them to lead me to a modest home.
Inside, the room was simple, but something about it reminded me of Nova 1C—of Amoi's room. His bed, his laughter. His absence.
Grief came in like a tide. My chest cracked open. Tears streamed, heavy and unrelenting. I curled into the bed and shook, my sobs breaking into the dark.
I hadn't felt this hollow since he died. And even now, with everything I'd gained, I couldn't escape the truth: he was gone, and nothing could fill that void.
But a mission still waited. Two worlds needed saving. That thought alone pulled me up from the mattress.
I walked to the window, wiping my face. Outside, a cluster of townspeople stood, staring at the house. Their faces were not afraid. They were hopeful.
And they were looking at me.