Not the Afterlife

Gripping his fishing rod, Cy stood at the water's edge with a disgruntled scowl marring his features. The feeling was a foreign one, and he disliked its sour taste.

Had he possessed any real foresight into what leading a clan entailed—namely, acting as a mediator for fifty disparate personalities—he might have reconsidered accepting the position. Then again, knowing his own impetuous character, he probably wouldn’t have.

And the undeniable truth remained: he still couldn't grant Perla the one thing she truly desired.

He trudged toward his preferred fishing spot, located at the confluence where four rivers merged into one. For reasons no one in the clan could articulate, the prism-fin—a favorite catch for both him and Perla—seemed to congregate here in great numbers, and the thunderous roar of the adjacent waterfall felt as if it scoured the very air clean.

Despite the acrimonious turn his conversation with his sister had taken, a peculiar sense of tranquility began to settle over Cy. He watched the torrent of water crash against slick, ancient stone and felt the familiar darting of fish around his legs. The elders maintained he should have no recollection of his own arrival in this world, but standing in this exact spot, he was always reminded of it.

He possessed a faint, fragmented memory of an icy plunge followed by a blinding shaft of light. The sheer velocity of his descent from the heavens should have annihilated him, yet a member of the clan had been there to catch the five-year-old boy in their arms. He would later learn that the old sage, Carmine, had foreseen the entire event.

A strange prickling sensation washed over him, and Cy let his fishing rod fall from his grasp. His gaze shot upward instinctively, just in time to catch a tell-tale shimmer in the sky. The last time a new soul had arrived was three years prior, not long after Kariken’s death. The clan's sharpest minds had formulated a theory that their world had achieved a delicate equilibrium; if they were to accept one more soul, another would have to be expelled.

A long time had passed since anyone had died, but if the disturbance in the sky was any indication, that was about to change.

Cy braced himself, extending his arms in preparation. Even so, he was caught entirely off guard when a warm body, only slightly smaller than his own, plummeted directly into him. The force of the impact sent him staggering backward, and before he could find his footing, they both toppled unceremoniously into the churning river.

His arms screaming in protest, Cy forced himself upright and offered a hand to the girl.

He wasn't certain it would be of any use—the previous arrival had been entirely mute—but he gave his name regardless. "I'm Cy."

Acutely aware of how disorienting the entire ordeal was, he added in a softer tone, "Welcome to Reverie."

The girl pushed a sodden lock of dark hair from her forehead. "I—I…" she began, her voice a stutter. Her clothes were utterly foreign: a thick green shirt, leggings that stopped abruptly at her knees, and shoes crafted from a bizarre, smooth material that looked like polished stone.

Cy tore his focus from her peculiar attire and met her gaze. "Yes?" he prompted, his already limited patience beginning to fray. He should have been on his way home with the fish by now. The thought was an irritating burr under his skin. Wading into the shallows, he snatched a wriggling prism-fin from the water and smashed its head against a rock. One had to be cautious with their razor-sharp fangs.

The girl flinched at the sharp, brutal motion. He was not a patient man.

"Just follow me," he said, the frustration he was trying to contain seeping into his voice. "I'll get you some food and dry clothes. What's your name?"

She remained frozen in place, her eyes filled with a deep-seated wariness.

He waited a moment longer, then bent and dispatched another fish with the same cold, practiced efficiency. By the time he had secured a fourth, he was all but glaring at her. "Come on. It's getting dark. You won't last the night out here alone."

Wrapping her arms around her torso as if to hold herself together, the girl stammered, "How can I—why am I here—I shouldn't be—"

He cut off her protests by taking her arm and steering her toward the village. They kept to the main thoroughfare, passing the tavern where Perla worked and a row of shuttered storefronts. She followed now, albeit with a grudging reluctance, her eyes silently sweeping over her surroundings. He recognized the look instantly. She was calculating, almost certainly mapping out an escape route. He didn't care to know the specifics. If she made a run for the boundary, he would simply stop her.

For now, her silence was a welcome reprieve. Something told him she would be staying, so he led her down the trail reserved only for clan members. She could be a janitor, perhaps, or a nurse, if she wasn't suited to be a fighter. A flicker of defiance in her eyes suggested she wasn't ready to surrender, regardless of what horrors she had already faced.

The path wasn't particularly long, but her slow, hesitant steps made the journey feel interminable, as though the ghosts of her past were physically restraining her. A wave of gruff impatience washed over Cy, and he nudged her forward. Tending to others in this manner always made him feel ancient, burdened by a weight far too heavy for his years.

"Can't you walk any faster? It's almost completely dark."

The sun had finally sunk below the horizon, and the wind rustling through the canopy overhead cast deep, dancing shadows across their path. He could have navigated this trail backward on his hands, but he knew that any second now, the girl would be stumbling over an exposed root.

Readjusting the sack of fish slung over his shoulder, Cy willed his right hand to ignite. A rich, orange glow bloomed from his palm, illuminating the trail and deepening the violet tint of his hair. He grabbed the girl's arm again, pulling her forward despite her resistance.

She cried out at the sight of the fire, wrenching her arm from his grip and shaking her hand as if she'd been burned.

The sack of fish dropped to the ground. Cy's left hand shot out, clamping over her mouth. His face was a taut mask of tension. "Be quiet!" he hissed.

After a few tense seconds, he appeared to regain his composure.

"What is it?" he rasped, his voice still rough with irritation.

The girl took a shaky, uneven breath but remained silent. His flash of anger hadn't helped matters. He could see the distrust in her eyes hardening into something more permanent.

He hazarded a guess. "You're afraid of fire?"

Her wide, unnerved eyes stared at him as if he were some kind of freakish creature, but she offered no response.

"Well, don't be," was the only reassurance he could muster. The flames he commanded couldn't harm him, but he supposed the fear was a natural response. To capture fire, to harness it as both a tool and a weapon, was an extraordinary feat.

He noticed her gaze was fixed on his right hand, which still burned with a soft, unwavering light.

"Surprised I'm not burned?" he presumed. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, revealing a tattoo that coiled around his neck like a serpent. "I'm from the Ignis Clan. Fire is what we do."

The simplistic explanation would have to be enough. They walked on, passing through a final copse of trees that opened into the clan's main settlement. His stomach rumbled loudly, and the sound startled a small, involuntary laugh out of the girl.

He shot her a withering glare and kept walking.

At last, they stood before a massive boulder that sealed the mouth of a small cave. Cy swept his flames across the stone's surface, and the rock began to shimmer before turning completely translucent. He stepped through it as if it were nothing more than water, then reached back to take the girl's hand. Sensing her hesitation, he gave it a reassuring squeeze before extinguishing the fire in his palm.

Inside, the cave was not a cave at all. It was a grand illusion, meticulously woven by the sages to conceal the clan village from any prying eyes.

Cy led the girl past the overgrown bushes and toward one of the more prominent cabins situated on the hill.

"Sis! Got the fish!" he announced, pushing his way through the cloth flap that served as a door and kicking off his shoes. He tossed the dripping sack onto the dining table.

Perla emerged from the kitchen, an unimpressed expression on her face. "It only took you an eternity, little brother," she drawled. "Getting faster every day. All that training must really be paying off."

Ignoring her barb, Cy gestured for the girl to take a seat. He retrieved the four fish and began to deftly skin them with a razor-sharp knife.

Perla’s snarky demeanor dissolved the moment she took in their guest. "It's been a long time since we had a new arrival. What's your name?"

"Cera," the girl murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

"What did you go through to get here?" Perla’s voice was softer now, but her gaze was no less perceptive.

Cera's eyes met Perla’s, and Cy saw the same thing his sister did: there was still a fight left in this one.

"Can I trust you?" Cera asked, her voice hushed.

"Well, I don't know," Perla responded with a wry twist of her lips. "Can I trust you?"

"I'm dead, aren't I?" the girl stated, a strange, quiet note of acceptance in her voice. "And this is the afterlife."

Perla was silent for a long moment. She moved to sit beside Cera and gently placed an arm around her shoulders, a gesture that seemed as much for her own comfort as it was for the newcomer's.

"You remember that much, then?" she said softly. "I don't remember who I was, or how I died." She nudged her brother with her elbow. "Most are like me. He's the one who remembers everything. Uses it as an excuse to be a jerk half the time."

"It's not the afterlife," Cy cut in from across the room. "It's another world. Just as real as yours was, just… somewhere else. A different dimension. And this one has magic."

"But I'm not dead—" Cera insisted, pulling away from Perla's embrace. "But I saw my body—I—" She choked on a sob, the memory surfacing as a fresh wave of agony. Her heart gave a weak, desperate squeeze in her chest.

"Shh, shh," Perla soothed. She offered no empty words of comfort, only a sad, serene smile that was simultaneously beautiful and devastating.

"I saw my own funeral," Cera whispered, new tears tracing paths down her cheeks. "My dad… he was crying. I've never seen him cry before."

Cy and Perla exchanged a significant look. A traveler's memories were typically fractured by the tumultuous journey between worlds. The fact that Cera's were so perfectly intact could only mean she possessed some kind of conduit, a core that had maintained its integrity against the immense strain. She would have to undergo Carmine's grand examination tomorrow, to discover the full extent of her abilities.

For the moment, Cy finished skinning the last of the fish. He dropped the fillets into a large cauldron, touched a single finger to the kindling beneath it, and a clean flame sprang to life. He seasoned the fish with salt and pepper, gave the contents a quick stir, and placed a heavy lid on the pot to let it simmer.

"Is the tofu heated?" he asked Perla. In response, she placed the tray on the table, her hands protected by thick oven mitts.

While the fish cooked, Cy set a pot of rice to steam.

"Dinner's ready," he finally announced with a note of satisfaction.

Cera's stomach rumbled audibly. Startled by the sound, she pushed herself to her feet. "How can I help?"

Perla waved her away. "You're our guest, dear. We've got it covered."

As a final touch, Perla added thin slices of venison to the tofu, a savory complement to the fish.

"Now it's a true northern meal," Cy said, his eyes shining with an almost childish delight. "Thanks, sis."

Perla set out chopsticks and scooped generous portions of rice into three bowls. "Let's eat. I'm starving."

They all were. Cy dug in immediately, carefully picking the sharp, needle-like bones from his fish. Prism-fin were delicious, but notoriously treacherous to eat, even after being cooked.

After dinner, Cera insisted on helping Perla with the dishes, despite her protests.

"Feeling any better?" Perla asked, observing Cera carefully, as if she expected her to shatter at any moment.

Cera managed a small, weary smile. "Watching you two bicker… it reminds me of my friends on the North Shore. The way we all used to talk to each other."

"You're from the North Shore?" Cy piped up from the other room, his tone laced with an unmistakable pity. "That's rough."

"Idiot!" Perla snapped, moving to physically shield her brother from Cera's line of sight. "Don't pay any attention to him. He's a complete moron."

Cera, however, seemed unfazed. "Wait. You know where the North Shore is?"

"Yeah," Cy said, shrugging off his sister's grip to look at Cera directly. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up again. "Guess we were due for another Terran around here."

"You're… from Terra, too?" Cera looked at him as if he were a long-lost brother.

"No, I fell off the moon, stupid," Cy retorted, not liking the hopeful way she was looking at him. He had no intention of becoming her cuddly teddy bear.

He ignored the filthy look Perla shot in his direction. Her brother's callousness was sometimes astounding. She was accustomed to his abrasive personality—she had long ago concluded it was his way of coping with the immense weight of his duties—but taking his frustrations out on a guest was a new low, even for him.

Cera, however, was just as unimpressed. "Probably," she shot back, a hint of color returning to her pale cheeks. "You clearly cracked your skull on the way down, dumbass."

Perla burst into a peal of laughter. Cy's expression turned murderous. The torches mounted in the living room flared violently. With a casual flick of her wrist, his sister extinguished the excess flames and rolled her eyes.

Cy's eyes widened in disbelief. "How did you do that?" he demanded.

Perla hesitated.

"So, where am I sleeping tonight?" Cera cut in, looking around the cabin with an air of deliberate boredom.

"On that cot right there," Cy answered automatically. Before either of them could utter another word, he stormed out of the cabin and into the night.

Once they were alone, the adrenaline seemed to drain out of Perla. She stretched languidly and sank into a nearby wooden chair. "He gets more difficult by the day. I'm blaming puberty." She took a deep breath and offered Cera a small, genuine smile. "I appreciate you saving me back there. I'm not quite ready to tell that little brat my secrets just yet." A shadow flickered in her eyes, but her smile remained firmly in place.

In the warm, flickering candlelight, Cera thought she looked beautiful, if a little weary.

"Could you… could you teach me how to do that?" Cera asked, hating the feeling of imposing on her. "How to control fire?"

Perla looked surprised for a fleeting moment, then her expression softened into something that was half a laugh. "Yes, of course. But only if you pass Carmine's grand examination."

The younger girl twisted a strand of her brown hair around her finger, a nervous habit. "What's that?"

"You'll find out in the morning." Perla's smile was gone.