Bellum Numang (War Of The Sky)

Korou couldn't remember how long it took for the old lady to complete the speech, but it was enough time for the reincarnated historian to recite the Roman Empire's king names with their most embarrassing deeds backwards. It felt therapeutic. Especially with Julius Caesar, imagining his assassination but backwards made him feel disoriented. But even that wasn't adequate to stop his mind from playing with his imminent doom. He was about to be sacrificed.

Korou squirmed at the grey-eyed lady's embrace catching a glimpse of Atla who was latched to his mother on the periphery. Her expression was ghastly. Maybe she, too, was fooled by the adults.

The old lady's speech ended in a thunderous applause as Korou was raised. He felt a cooling sensation over his chest; her fingers curled into a trifecta that touched him.

The mark that was burnt over his shoulder smoldered in pain, his eyes bulged as he let out a piercing wail. Tears welled up as he pursed his lips shut. He didn't want to cry, not here, in front of the entire village.

After what felt like a ceaseless pause, his vision returned. His breath was shaky as he lowered his gaze. Over his chest, he saw the magenta-blue butterfly emerge. It was the first time since his birth that he encountered them. It swayed up and down as if greeting him. Korou replied with a strained smile.

The old lady opened her palms and brought them over the butterflies. Her eyes were closed as she recited another chant. This one was slow, each word was clear, syllables held weight like an arcane scroll being opened after centuries wait.

The butterfly's wings distorted as it morphed into a ball of energy. Then, with a roaring whistle, it shot up. Trails of magenta-blue pierced the night sky as the cyan trails followed it. There was thunder, then a bellowing cry.

Korou felt his stomach sink, his legs quaked as he frantically gazed. Everyone was restless. He could hear the unison of a hundred hisses as Shamans, warriors, and hunters alike unsheathed their swords.

The old lady raised her arm, a gesture, a command. Everyone bowed. She gazed behind, waving her hand. Atla scurried, and a sound of chime came from her ankle, cutting through the mob. Soon, Korou was handed to her, and he felt her arms. It was familiar and safe.

Atla then took a few steps back. Leaving the old lady—the priestess—and her grey-eyed companion alone by the pier.

Curious, Korou glanced at them. Their lips moved, chanting a poetic verse. He wondered if it was a spell or a hymn. Soon he saw the Cyan trails. They hovered over the canopy, gently sweeping below their feet. Drifting in circles, they erupted in a silent storm. The gale of autumn numbed. Voices drained out until all Korou could hear was the cackle of fire.

Atla muttered a prayer. The earth shook, winds returned, and the two screeched into the sky.

Above, framed from within the canopy of a tree, he saw a sea of stars. Each flickered, draped in a blanket of red-magenta. Over them were silhouettes of the old lady and her companion. They moved in an elongated curve, covering the skies in cyan light.

Korou raised his brows and expanded his vision. In the corner was a sextant-winged beast draped in shadow.

A beam of cyan cut through the night, its glow briefly stabbing the beast. It screeched, the sound shrill, making his ears bleed. That was the beast, he knew, they had to slay. His theory of sacrifice stood debunked, Korou wasn't a sacrifice, simply a means to an end.

Soon, the sky erupted in myriad colours: magenta-green-olive-teal, each more vibrant than the last. The stars hid behind the hues. Below, Korou felt Atla's arm tremble, he craned his neck, she was crying. He glanced around, everyone, even the proud Shamans; stood still. Their mouths agape.

In this theatre of night, where aerial warfare dominated the show, all the mob here could do was view this majestic reverie of two worlds.

Clang

The sword had been drawn. A golden arc sailed, the night ablaze. Korou, caught by the glaring shimmer, blinked frantically. It was painful. A second later, colours returned, his brows raised. The beast's wing was cut. It thrashed its limbs as it revealed its serpentine head. Unclenching its jaw, it shot a cry, sending ripples through the air.

This was it. The last attack. Korou could feel the urgency, and both parties took their final stance.

The beast's jaws conjured an orb of Vermilion-black. Its glint was so bright that dawn broke in.

In that moment, Korou could finally see. The old woman, adjacent to it, raised her staff. Trails of cyan gathered above her in a circular storm. Meanwhile a few feet above, her companion with her sword drawn spiraled downwards. Her aim was on the beast's neck.

Each side met in a fury. There was a brief darkness, a quiet breath. Korou felt his heart stop. And then it bloomed in a crimson burst.

The crowd erupted in a cheer of relief. Some rested in embrace, others wept in joy. The drums thundered once again. The beast was slain. The ritual was finally complete.

It won't be until three years later that Korou would come to understand the significance of the ritual and his subsequent role in it.

As the cheer died down he was returned to his family, Atla brought a spherical vial with a liquid shining in cyan. She repeated the instructions given to her by the old lady as she handed it to his mother. She then took Korou in her arms and sat within the confines of the Pagoda.

She carefully cradled the crown of his neck, raising it slightly. His mother then opened the vial and pressed the mouthpiece to his lips.

Korou, after the barbaric ritual he had just experienced, was in a daze. The reality of his subsequent reincarnation and the truth about this alien world seemed to have finally caught up with him. His heart hadn't rested ever since the mesmerising aerial show from before.

He was dead. He was no longer alive in his previous world. This new world, as enigmatic and fantastical it may seem was hostile and he was to call it a home. He won't hear Ayano's voice, her pristine cacophony, Director Okinomiya's complaints, and Dr Schneider's gossip. His weekend escapades into Tully's cafe by the Hongo-Dori avenue were stolen, and his chance to reconcile with his mother was lost, too.

As he gulped the liquid in one full sweep, his vision dimmed. Was it an anti-anxiety agent or poison, Korou wasn't aware.

Even his name, Korou, gnawed at him.

He was Anu until a month ago, then he became Korou. But who was he really?

The outline of his mother and Atla's face blurred as he drifted off into an erratic sleep.