Nocte Yin: Anti-Villain, Anti-Hero and Anti-Everything Else

Chapter Twenty-Two

Startled, she took another step back just as a cold wave hit her calves, a sudden crash that sent a chill running up her back. She squeaked, cringing at the impact, thankful that the sun was full enough to make the sudden cold more refreshing than painful. Drawing in a breath, she swept her long bangs aside to look at the old man and Měi Fèng, trying to gauge their reactions. But instead of taking note of her, or fleeing from the wave, they simply stood facing each other with sombre expressions. The bottoms of their clothes were mildly wet; it was the only evidence of the water surge when neither seemed to register the wave at all.

She was disturbed by their inattentiveness (or what concerned them enough not to pay attention), but any investigation on her part was soon cut short by the elder.

“A great evil has returned to our world,” his said gravely.

Měi Fèng frowned, and she (the one soaked thoroughly) hesitated.

“The villains are eager to prove themselves,” he continued, placing his hands inside his sleeves, “and to each other. Even now, they are marching.”

A mixture of fear and wariness flashed across Měi Fèng’s face, a short and succinct moment of weakness before she closed herself off with a slight tightening of her lips. It was a reaction not lost to the two in her company.

“What must I do?” the Xonese Empress implored, barely above a whisper, the wind snatching her words almost before they could leave her mouth.

The elder cast a quiet look over the young woman, not quite of pity, but something similar to sympathy. “Defend your throne, Your Imperial Majesty. Defend your birthright.” The man’s eyes sharpened. “Gather your most loyal followers, choose your heroes with caution, remember your allies. And,” his gaze shifted to the Empress’s left, to the girl ankle-deep in the ocean and her dress wet and clinging, “prepare for war.”

She, the girl ankle-deep in the ocean, swallowed with care, her throat dry and roughened with sand.

Měi Fèng turned to face the waters, an action to hide her uncertainty and fear from the old, wizened man. Her old habit, a habit the girl in the ocean was familiar with, of playing with her jade bangle resurfaced, but was put to a quick stop once she noticed her own behaviour. Quietly, she confided, “I do not know where she is.”

The elder’s eyes have yet to leave the girl in the ocean, who in turn was unable to tear her own eyes away from his.

“Who?” the elder enquired, as if talking to the ocean girl. He knew who the Empress was speaking of.

“The night,” a hushed answer — reminiscent, concerned… hopeful and tragic.

The elder said nothing, turning to face the ocean as well, a vast blue that masked the death and destruction swirling below.

“The moon rises from the east,” he commented. “She will bring the night with her. Watch the horizon.”

Měi Fèng became desperate. “And if she were to never show?”

“She will come,” the elder said with certitude.

“But if she was not to?”

“She will.”

“But-”

The elder slid a heavy, weighty stare onto the young Empress, both silencing and stilling her in an instant. A loud heartbeat later, his eyes, pale and dark, slid onto the girl in the ocean, the one Měi Fèng has yet to acknowledge, and said, “She will come.”