Till The Ryu Tree Blossoms

** (Prologue)

Xu-Ri Mountains, The Beginning of the Dark Ages

GIMHORI WAS ON FIRE.

Once a peaceful village, it was now reduced to little more than disaster and chaos. Pillars of thick smoke spiraled into the cold autumn skies as thatch roofs caught fire. Buildings burned and succumbed into rubble and ruin. Women dragged their children behind them as they ran, wild with no sense of direction; men bellowed orders as they tried to tame the fire that seemed to have a mind of its own, not knowing that it actually did; babies wailed, dogs howled and all the birds had fled. Though the skies beyond the lake were clear and bright, the skies above Gimhori were ominous and angry, black clouds swirling every which way like an angry artist's paintbrush.

While the people of Gimhori ran, one group of men stayed, tightly-knitted and cautious. There were thirteen of them in total. Twelve of them had on silver armour, polished till it shone, with the emblazoned rose on their breastplate the only patch of color. Out of the twelve, one looked slightly more feminine than the rest. His nose was sharper, the cut of his jaw more delicate, but the ice and fire in his eyes left no doubt that he not only knew how to wield a blade, but wield it well.

The thirteenth warrior was the one leading the group, and was also the one whose appearance was most arresting. In their kingdom, men and women were not allowed to cut their hair upon reaching adulthood, and so the men had theirs tied up in stringent top knots, while the women did as they pleased. But the thirteenth warrior had his hair loose, and it now fluttered in the breeze, an endless wave of silver. Unlike the others who wore armour, he had on only blue and white silk robes, fastened by a sash around his waist. There was also the way he carried himself; the others were tense, bodies snapped taut, but sparks danced in the thirteenth warrior's eyes, and his lean, athletic frame quivered with barely contained excitement.

Swords out, they moved silently, approaching a single tree that grew at the tip of the lake. It was a colossal specimen, branches old and widely spread out, a viridian mosaic against the sky's blue canvas. Not much flora could survive the coldness of the mountaintops, yet this tree still flourished vibrant green.

The thirteen men walked, footsteps scattering soot and ash. From the tree till the end of the village, piles of rocks had been arranged along the sides of the lake, too orderly to be nature-made, with a gap between each that was too uniform to be coincidence. Already some had fallen over in the chaos, but more still stood at attention, silent and monotonous, like a strong reminder.

Carefully, the thirteen men stepped over the piles of rocks. They continued shuffling forward, until their leader held a hand up, palm facing out, eyes skimming the landscape. As one they halted.

"She's here," the silver-haired youth whispered.

As if on cue, the waters of the lake shifted, almost as if they were splitting down the middle, and a figure flowed like liquid onto the grassy bank. It distorted and contorted, taking on some semblance of a dark, heavy mass, before features grew and bones hardened, and a woman emerged, her garments pooling and unpooling like the lake waters around her feet. She hissed, revealing double sets of teeth that sat astride one another, and a reptilian tongue.

Her lips clamped shut and didn't move, but the warriors all heard her speak.

Who dares infringe on my terrain? The voice was inky blackness, a thousand shrill bats.

"Witch!" The silver-haired youth called. "You have broken the treaty of trust! You have stepped over the boundary and befouled the village! I hereby declare the people of this village, free from the bonds of whatever agreement they were once tied to, and free to strike upon you any action they see fit!"

From the silver-haired youth's left side, the feminine-looking warrior stepped up. The bladesmith had made for him a sword different from the rest; his was slimmer, like a rapier that curved upward into a sharpened tip. He pointed at the piles of rocks.

"Fifty years ago, Eseo, the founder of this village, came here to the banks of Lake Gimhori, and made with you a pact. And so it shall be; that this pile of rocks and this body of water set on end, will remind us of our agreement. That I will never go past this pile to hurt yours, and you must never come out the water to hurt mine. For fifty years the people of this village have obeyed that treaty, even gifting to you harvest from their farms and fresh chickens from their coop. For fifty years peace has reigned upon these mountains. Yet one month ago you decided to set loose a pestilence of locusts on their land, robbing them of their sustenance; two weeks ago you kidnapped seven of their children, starving them for three days and cutting off all their hair, and today, at sun-dawn, you have turned their homes into flames."

The warrior flicked his sword at his side, and the blade whistled as it sliced the air. "I will ask of you, Witch, why?"

Next to him, the silver-haired youth snorted. "Don't even bother, Yue. There's no point in asking why. She's a witch. She thrives on death and destruction." The youth turned his attention on the dark entity. "I bet you were envious, weren't you? Did you grind your teeth in frustration as you watch all these lovely people go about their lovely lives, while you rot under the waters? Did you drool out this entire lake while watching them munch on roasted pheasant and steamed fowl, knowing that for the rest of your miserable life you'll only be able to eat slimy worms and decayed snails? Is that what you made you snap? Seeing people enjoy what you couldn't have?"

The witch said nothing. Instead she rose, like the pillars of smoke rising from the village behind them, and spread her arms wide. Instantly all thirteen warriors spread out, swords up and ready, bodies hunched in a fighter's stance.

"Ready, men!" the silver-haired youth yelled.

The witch's mouth opened impossibly wide, and black gooey substance spewed. The warriors took off, running. Several droplets hit the old tree and the bark began to wrinkle and decay immediately. More blobs hit Yue's right gauntlet. He stripped it off and dropped it to the ground before the liquid could find skin.

Then the witch screamed again, and monsters made from nightmares dropped from the angry clouds above. Claw clashed against steel as the warriors swiped and slashed at the winged beasts. Agile on his feet, the silver-haired youth led his beast in a wild dance, his robes whirling around him in easy grace. Bending his knees, he jumped. The beast snarled and howled as the youth vaulted over it into the air, before landing on its neck.

He slid his sword into flesh, and beneath all the muscle and tendons the blade seemed to glow a radiant color. The youth yanked left, and the entire head came clean off before toppling onto the ground, rolling into the lake with an almighty splash.

He jumped down and cast a swift glance around his fellow warriors. One of them had taken refuge behind the old tree, his face green and white. His left hand was pressed down hard on his right shoulder, and blood seeped an endless trickle out between his fingers.

"Yue!" The silver-haired youth barked, urgent.

Yue pulled out his sword from a beast of his own and turned. One look in the direction of his leader's eyes and he understood immediately. Crouching low, he ran toward the wounded soldier by the tree and knelt down, dropping his sword.

"Let me see," he said.

Eleven men now left on the battlefield, with three more winged beasts to face. They split three-three-four, leaving the silver-haired youth alone to deal with the witch, which he did with relish. There were more sparks dancing in his eyes now, and the blade of his sword seemed to hum with pleasure.

From five feet away the witch began throwing shards of something black and metallic at him, all of which he parried, the blade swinging so fast it was almost a blur. Slowly but surely the witch began backing up to the lake.

From his position at the tree, Yue looked up at the silver-haired youth, desperate. The wounded man was now trailing blood from his lips, except it was a tad more viscous than what was normal, and also darker. His eyes, as they sought Yue's, had now dilated so much the sclera was barely visible.

Yue looked back down. Painstakingly slow, the wounded man shook his head. Yue's grip on his armour went tight.

"No," he hissed. "I am bringing you home."

Placing both hands on the man's wound, Yue closed his eyes and began to mutter. Strings of foreign language slipped from his lips. Underneath his fingers, a dim light glowed.

The witch was now flicking amber crystals from her fingertips. Several struck the silver-haired youth's blade and flew off, where they embedded themselves into the old tree. A heartbeat later the crystals exploded, and the bark caught fire.

"Get out from there!" someone yelled. "Yue! Ryuki!"

But Yue was lost in his enchantment, and Ryuki had slipped into unconsciousness.

The silver-haired youth ducked low, then cut high, and suddenly a jagged wound opened up along the witch's cheek. She screamed, and staggered back. A pause, and then the youth heard -

Why is it not healing? What have you done?

The youth smirked, and waved his sword, once. The witch's eyes widened as they followed the blade.

You!

The youth smiled, almost, and then his face closed off and everything down to his jaw hardened.

"Yes. Me," he snarled, and then he was gone from sight, tearing forward in a lunge. A new form of ferocity now guided his strikes; gouging and cutting the witch apart in all places.

Panicked, the amber crystals flew wilder and wilder, and more and more hit the old tree, until one side of it was completely ablaze. Having dispatched the final winged beast, the other ten warriors now ran forward, half going toward the silver-haired youth, half running toward Yue and Ryuki. But before they could even reach Yue, tongues of flame leaped off the bark and toward them, driving the five warriors back.

Hearing their shouts, Yue finally opened his eyes. Already the magic had taken its toll on him, and his face was drawn and exhausted. Seeing the inferno on the other side of the tree he swore, and that one sound seemed to draw the fire's attention. Lashes of orange and yellow whipped around the curve of the bark, trying to reach him. With a gasp and a heave, Yue dragged Ryuki toward him and they toppled backward, down onto the grass.

Yue looked up, and his eyes were rimmed red with helpless tears. Through the flames he screamed,

"It's not working! Ryuki isn't healing!"

For a moment the five warriors only stood there, stunned. But the pause only lasted half a second, and then someone yelled, and the others followed, all repeating the same thing.

"Leave him!"

"Just leave him, Yue! He's too far gone!"

"The fire's going to burn the whole tree down, leave him, Yue!"

A tug on his armour, a clinking sound. Yue looked down. Ryuki's eyes were opened, and his pupils had now completely occupied his eyes. No trace of whiteness was left. A shudder ran through Yue as he realized Ryuki's eyes now looked exactly the same as the winged beasts'.

"Leave me," he whispered. "Go."

Yue looked from him, to the other five warriors, then to the distance, to the silver-haired youth. He hesitated.

On the other side of the tree, the silver-haired youth had cornered the witch against the lake. Parrying the last of the amber crystals, he drew a high horizontal arc with his blade in the air. Sunlight reflected off the steel and into the witch's eyes, who shrieked and held a hand up. In her temporary blindness, he planted his feet against the ground then jumped, landing on top of her and pushing her down. With one hand wrapped around her throat and his knees pinning her to the ground he raised his sword high, tip kissing her throat. The witch felt the steel burn and stopped moving.

"Game over. You lose." He smiled, irritatingly smug.

Up close, the witch's face was not a pretty picture. Her skin was a crusty white, cracked in many places, like a jigsaw puzzle that didn't quite fit. Her eyes were too wide, her nose almost non-existent, and her two sets of teeth grounded and grated like a milling machine. Still, despite having a sword poised above her throat, with five warriors standing by her head and another one keeping her powerless on the ground, she let out a laugh - a maniacal, hysterical laugh.

Fool. You think yourselves capable of victory? You think this to be the end?

A few feet away the flames began to lick the branches of the old tree, and the whole thing groaned.

You have let me look into your eyes. I have seen your fear.

The silver-haired youth scoffed. "I have no fear."

Everybody has fears. Even you, swordsman. The witch's eyes flickered to the pommel of the sword. Even you, Excalibur.

On the other side of the tree, Ryuki let out a strange sound, something between a gasp and a hiccup, and exhaled. His chest stopped rising.

The inferno on the tree kept growing.

I will die, today. But that does not mean I will lose.

"No no no," Yue whispered, as he squeezed his eyes shut and continue chanting out more enchantments, more spells. If he had looked up he would have seen the tree swaying from side to side.

He did not look up.

"Shut up," the youth growled, as he adjusted his hold for a better killing grip. "You will take no more lives."

A sharp ache stabbed at Yue's chest and he fell backwards, eyes opening with a gasp. He let out a sob. His body was telling him that he was done. That there was no more magic left to expend. That Ryuki was dead.

Clutching Ryuki's lifeless fingers, Yue wept.

"I'm sorry . . . brother . . ."

The witch's eyes seemed to expand with glee. And all around them her laughter began to ascend, like an orchestral crescendo, climbing higher and higher, the volume knob turning further and further. Like accompaniment to melody, the tree's groaning grew longer and louder, until it finally tilted, precariously, to one side.

Yue's side.

No. I will take more. One more. The witch's voice rose until it was a nigh unbearable screech.

I will take her life!

Three things happened all at once. First the tree, its trunk eaten away from the fire, began to keel over in slow-motion, gradually accelerating as it obeyed the laws of gravity, its huge size casting a shadow that reduced both Yue and Ryuki to miniature figurines. Secondly, the wind picked up, suddenly and strong, tugging the ribbon of Yue's top knot loose. In that second it became very clear that this warrior was not a male at all, and that she had looked feminine because she was, in fact, every inch a woman.

Thirdly, the silver-haired youth looked up just in time to see all of it happen right before his eyes.

"Yue-Lin!" he screamed.

Yue's eyes and the silver-haired youth's eyes met, black to blue-grey, for a split second before the tree came down and set the whole place raging in fiery conflagration. Grass blackened. Flowers wilted from the heat.

And both Yue-Lin and Ryuki disappeared, forever out of sight.

An inhuman sound tore out of the silver-haired youth's throat as he plunged the sword down and wrenched. A shrill scream broke from the witch before dying off into a choked gurgle. The youth leaped off and began to run toward the fire, which had now burned its way through a perfect circle, five feet in radius and growing.

It took the complete strength of five men to restrain their leader, and another five to drag him bodily away, as the fire began to decimate whatever that was left of the village, and whatever that was in its path. Fifteen minutes from now the entire area would go up in flames, and nothing - nothing, would be left.

No village.

No body.

Only the lake.

And all through it, the silver-haired youth was screaming and screaming, the same words, the same name, over and over again.

On the grass the witch was dying, and as she died, she began to utter her curse.

You have slain my body, so I will slay your soul.

For the warrior Yue-Lin, I gift to you mortality. Your soul will pass on, as a normal human does, and when you enter the Gates of the Otherworld, you will drink the Cup of Forgotten Sorrow. Thus, shall all your memories be wiped, and you will leave behind your past, to paint a new future, with a new body, as a proper human being should be. So it has been spoken.

But you, my silver-haired youth.

To you, I gift immortality. The Cup shall never touch your lips, and you will remember all your lifetimes, and you will have plenty of it. To each lifetime I give you pain, and tragedy, and sorrow; to each lifetime I give you the blessing of meeting your love, only there will be no happy ending, none! She will pass on before you, she will not remember you, but you will know her every caress, every kiss, every touch as if you had felt it only yesterday. She will find you, she will love you, but on the brink of happiness she will leave you, and that is how it will be, and how it will always be.

The witch would have liked to stop there, but the rules of magic do not condone an infinite spell, and so, with a glance at the burned and ruined tree she added,

And there will only be one way for this curse to break, and that is for the ryu tree to blossom again. The ryu tree on the banks of Lake Gimhori, burnt and hollowed by flames.

Till the ryu tree blossoms again, you will live your lifetimes with pain and regret, haunted by your greatest fear - the loss of your one true love.

With my last breath, I seal these words.

With my last breath, I curse you; silver-haired youth, Wielder of Radiance, Keeper of Excalibur, Crown Prince of Ice -

Ahn Jimin.