Ren Walker
An hour before my dreaded celebration, I stood at the observation deck. Because it's farthest away from the pavilion and the harsh whispers, or because it's the last place I saw Kya, I don't know. But I need to stop worrying about it. And the others. It's time to push aside concerns of them and fill my role as the house's master and Japan's Dragon. As much as I tell myself this, it didn't stop me from resting my head in my left hand and watching my right one like it didn't belong to me; the one that meant to help but ended up hurting. That's just like me.
"Master Walker!" one of the Sages called down below. "It's chilly. Do you have your jacket?" My jacket? Father never bought me one. This was Xavier's jacket.
"I do," I confirm, walking to the other side of the deck and peering below at the Sage. The top of my vision is fringed by my overgrown hair, the red tips so obnoxious I could rip them out, or burn them. "Did you check the house, as asked?" I want to see if anyone's come back from their separate trips. There was no particular reason for it. It's my house and I should know who's in it.
"Yes, Master Walker. No one has returned yet. I've sent out one of the escorts who returned very recently. Reported, three are on their ways back."
I stare down at the Sage, the one who tended to be around me the most. The one who usually took care of my frequent errands and requests. I feel disgusted that I don't know his name, even though disclosing it to others is a disgrace in their culture. He claims that he's touched that I ask him about his personal identity so frequently – more than his previous masters – but it doesn't make me feel much better. I wonder now if he's withholding the identities of who is coming back on purpose because he's testing me. Three are on the way; one is missing. Is it Kya or Elektra? I know Leo and Sarah wouldn't go anywhere without the other, so...
"Thank you," I dismiss. A part of erasing my concern for these buffoons is to stop talking about them. Even to the Sages. "When must we part for the village?"
The Sage looks at the moon for a measure of time. "In approximately fifteen minutes, Master Walker." Walker. The name of my father and my brothers. The name of murderers and traitors and liars. It fits me well. "The people have arranged a parade and chariot in the Dragon's honor."
"My honor," I correct.
The Sage is a bit taken back, knowing I've despised the label for so long. "Yes, Master Walker. My apologies. Shall we begin descent? There's a vantage point to arrive at for your station at the parade."
"Fantastic," I bitterly snap. I've always hated the parties thrown in my name. I'm not a totem for Japan's luck; I'm a curse – a stain on humanity, like Father said. Funny. Xavier isn't here to mock me and haunt me, yet I can't help but think heavily on the past. Maybe because not much has changed between then and now.
I go down the ladder and let myself drop the last couple of feet, landing with a thud. The outfit I've been designated to wear is stuffy, heavy, and gaudy. A think kimono of red with golden embroidering. It trails behind me and the sleeves are extra roomy. "You're due for a haircut, Master Walker," the Sage tells me.
"Can we get it done now? Just a quick trim."
"As you wish, Master Walker. Then we should get going."
Something elates in my chest, as if I'm experiencing frenetic energy – wild, untamed, and joyous. I'm certainly feeling none of this, but I know where it comes from. Kya. I should feel glad that despite what I've said, she still manages to find the happiness in life. But it makes me wonder if, in the end, I really didn't mean as much to her as she meant to me. That my hurtful words meant nothing because I meant nothing.
It doesn't matter, I tell myself. I don't care.
On a balcony on one of the second levels, I patiently sit, watching small tufts of the red of my hair get carried away in the wind. One of the Sages guides in three fervently chattering individuals; a boy with wild curls, a girl with lightning markings, and a girl with cream-colored hair. Practically strangers, I think. Meaningless beings living in my home.
"Ren!" Sarah exclaims. "We just talked to the Sage about someone we just met and –!"
I hold my hand up, stopping her. "I don't really care."
"Dude!" Leo pipes up, nervously grabbing the suspenders under his shirt. "You've gotta-!"
"No. I don't. And don't call me 'dude' like we're friends," I request.
"Shut it," Elektra growls. "We have something important to say. Who the hell shoved a stick up your ass and made you douchier than usual?"
The Sages gasp at her choice of words, but those of us who know her aren't the least bit fazed. The Sage who brought them here clears her throat. "Master Walker, this is a matter you'll want to hear. It concerns the threads that make us special. Their very being is being manipulated."
Huffing a sigh, I make a show of rolling my eyes and flicking my hand in the air as a signal for the Sage to keep talking. Instead, it's Sarah who picks up the story. "Leo and I found a man with two different colored eyes. At first, we thought it was because of heterochromia, but his threads..."
Sarah trails off, getting caught up in her own story. Leo picks up the ropes. "They were destroyed. Severed, frayed, knotted. That jackass stole our medallion, too..."
Elektra sighs, aggravated. "They're missing the actual point. There were two different powers coursing through that guy's veins. I didn't see him, but these two yapped my ears off the whole time... Anyways, we don't know if it's the two energies ripping his threads to shreds, or if it's something else."
The Sage speaks next. "Having two powers is unheard of. There are sub-powers, but never two completely different ones. Either genetics of our strains are evolving, or..."
There's silence besides the snipping of my hair. In front of me, my three acquaintances shuffle their feet before my Sage. "Speak. I don't have time for uselessness."
The Sage takes a step forwards. "Master Walker, I have an aching hunch that someone may be experimenting our kind. Performing labs, mixing mutations, putting us through trials."
Shocked, I look over to see the Sage's face more clearly – to determine if what she speaks is a prank or the truth; if there's any possibility that this could not be the case. If that's true, and someone with that mutation is here, then people are either experimenting on us right here in Japan, or they're sending their mutated pets out to hunt us. And Kya is still out there. As I jerk my head, the scissors snip the top of my ear. This is what I get for reacting. Stop caring, Ren.
"Master Walker!" the Sage cutting my hair shrieks. "My deepest apologies, I'll tend to it immediately."
I touch my fingers to my ear. There's blood, but not much. "Don't worry about it. It's fine."
"But Master Walker, you'll want to look your best for the parade."
I snort. "It matches my robes, does it not?" Red for my hair, gold for my eyes. The colors of a twisted man who hails from a line of many like him.
The haircut ends with my injury and I brush past my guests. One of them snags my arm with hands so manly and calloused, it could only be the person who handles machinery with her powers all the time. My eyes snap down to her. She gives me a meaningful glare, as if letting me know she's noticed my change and she doesn't like it.
"Let me go," I demand, ripping my arm from her grasp as Leo and Sarah uncomfortably breeze past us, murmuring words like bipolar and pissed.
"What the hell's your problem, Walker?" she asks, not sounding as confrontational as I'd expected. There's the anger, but also underlying worry. "We've done nothing wrong."
"Since when has justification been your priority?" I bark. "I've been acting normally. My behavior hasn't changed since we met. Perhaps you're the one who's been different."
Elektra stares me down with a deadly glower, but I give her one of my own. The first one who speaks is the girl. "We've all noticed you've become harsher within the past twenty-four hours. But if you really don't think you've changed, then maybe you're right. You're still the prick in Asylum who's ready to blow at any moment and destroy everything in your path. Pathetic."
She starts to stalk away, but not before I call out to her. "If you think I'm so dangerous, then why even stay around here?"
Elektra pauses. "Staying here was never an option for me, Walker." There's hesitation in her voice before she speaks again, which makes me wary. Elektra never hesitates. I shouldn't know these things about people who mean nothing to me. "I plan on leaving soon, by the way."
"You, too?" I ask before I can stop myself. I hate my voice for sounding so tiny and frail.
Elektra finally glances back at me. "Too? Who else is leaving?"
Setting my jaw, I shrug, trying to act like the answer doesn't bother me. "I've a ceremony to attend to. I'd love to stay and chat with a manner-less barbarian like yourself, but I've got to run." Coolly, I brush past her. I march down to the pavilion, trot down the stairs, and make my way to the vantage point of the parade, where I will be undeservedly praised.
The chariot prepared for me was a thrown, hefted onto shoulders by those in the glossiest outfits. Drums reverberated through the village, dancers distracted my eyes, and the enormously trailing paper dragon circled through the crowd. People gather and clap to the beat, throwing golden coins, expensive beads, and flowers at me. They send prayers my way and offer bows so deep they'd be meant for kings. They thank me for their crop yields, or their daughters surviving illnesses, or their grandparents lasting another year. I'm not God, I want to tell them. I am a demon in the Dragon's clothing.
My eyes, when not enraptured by the lights and the gifts, search the crowd. They weave between faces of men and women I've never seen before, but have all worshipped me. They search for a flash of silver; a movement of white skin; the knowing glance of pale Athenian eyes. Stop it, I scold myself, clenching my fists. My nails dig into skin and I'm surprised. I forgot I had to relinquish my gloves for the night.
I focus on my bright red skin instead of the others around me. And the one who is not. The irritated flesh is bright and consuming – taking over the soft spots of my palms and finger pads. I've always worn the gloves because when I didn't people always asked if I had an infection, or a fever, or if I was overworking in a factory. I think as time went on, I wore them to forget who I was. Maybe I should keep them off...for good.
No, I'll keep them, I decide. These hands aren't red because of my heat, anymore. They're red because they've been drenched in my family's blood. The people don't need to see that.
During the march through the village, I notice that people crowd in tight packs, but they don't invade the space. Ever since I could remember, once I became the renown Dragon, people favored me but gave me distance. I suppose that's the logical thing to do when someone with demonic abilities called "the Dragon" is in the vicinity.
Shortly, I start to feel sick, and I don't think it's the swaying of this enormous throne. These faces look at me like some deity when I'm nothing more than a terrible son and backstabbing friend. But if I told them that, then all they grow excited for vanishes. The hope they cling onto when times are rough disappears. They're tightfitting a dishonest image, but the least I can do is keep it intact. These people deserve at least that, after respecting my privacy and throwing these extravagant events.
We begin to near the end of the parade. How much time has passed? 30 minutes? An hour? I know it was a while, but it's hard to believe when the feeling in my chest is still hammering. It hasn't given up. Not even relented all the way from the dojo and to this point. It's rather difficult to forget about somebody when their energy courses through my veins.
I try to muster up whatever euphoria Kya is feeling and use it as I get off this ridiculous chair. I attempt to manage a dazzling smile, but we all know how big on smiling I am. I've never been able to fake one, let alone preform the action in passing. I can feel how dumb I look. I drop my toothy beam to a thin grin and wave my hand to woo the crowd. There's an unspoken obligation between the people and I to make some sort of speech; to announce the reason for my abrupt departure, to explain why I've come back, to promise good fortune for the future. But we all also know that motivational pep talks aren't my thing, either. Those were more for -
Stop.
Elektra, Sarah, and Leo have waited for me at the end of the parade. They hold oddly dyed pastries and neon cups of sake, talking brightly as they consume the snacks. I want to divert from the group and go where I won't be noticed. They seem to be getting along, if not happy, and it would be rude of me to intrude on that when I have nothing in mind besides ripping that glee out from under them. Before I can move, Leo eyes me. He beams as if I never upbraided him on the balcony of the dojo.
Energetically, he waves at me, cheeks rosy with liquored pleasure. "Rennie-poo!" he shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth. As if Leo of all people needed something to make him louder. "Over here!" He nudges Sarah in the shoulder. "You think that guy hears us?"
Sarah frowns at Leo's dull query. "I'm going to have to say yes, you big goof."
"Then why isn't he coming over here?" he asks, almond-shaped eyes going huge. "If I get seen with him do you know how cool I'll look?"
"Still not at all?" Elektra supplies, crossing her arms.
Leo groans in angst. "That's when you're supposed to say, 'Oh, Leo, you're always cool anyways!'" He slings an arm around Elektra's shoulders and looks up at her, waiting for her to recite the words.
"Oh, Leo," she starts in a mockingly high voice. "You're always a pain in my ass anyways. Get off." She flings his arm away from her and shoots me daggers, as if it's my fault the loudest guy in Japan got ahold of sake. He's not acting much different or saying anything out of the ordinary (for Leo, at least), he's just really...really loud.
"You look like a king," Sarah coos when I get close. The scowl from Leo doesn't get by me, but what's new? "These people really love you. How did they learn you were the Dragon?"
I open my mouth to tell the story of how the flames blasting from my hands during training were hard to ignore. That Malakai and Xavier had constructed a story to make me sound like a blessing from above instead of the curse from down under. I was only 12 at the time, if that mattered. Instead, I say, "Why don't you ask the hybrid who stole my medallion from you?"
Leo pouts and looks away, down the block where the square has been used for a ceremonial dance. Lame. Things start to get interesting when Leo's mocha face goes slack, his jaw collapsing to the stony floor. In the state he's in, I just think he's eyeing a new flavor of sake. Uncontrollably, he taps on Sarah's shoulder, reciting her name as if her arm has gone numb and she has no idea her shoulder is being violently molested. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, M'lady, Sarah, Sarah, Sarah..."
"Jesus Christ," Elektra growls. "Sarah, would you acknowledge this ADHD fit?"
"Sometimes I think I'm his friend," Sarah sighs, gripping his poking finger with intense force for her size. "Other times, I think I'm his babysitter. Leo, what is it?"
He eases his fingers free of Sarah's death grip, and with a trembling index, he points to the crowd of dancing that could, at best, be described as "artfully interpretive." I think I came to one of these, maybe twice, before. Xavier, Malakai, and I would come out and have a blast. Xavier was always great at dancing, I was a stuttering mess, and though Malakai was inexperienced, he caught on quickly. These people need to learn what real dancing is. They're all terrible. Almost. There's one couple that blurs across the square with grace and elegance, with moves that resemble Xavier's. They pass too quickly for me to see any details of their face.
"C'mon, Leo," Sarah coaxes. "Use your big-boy words. What do you see?"
"Isn't that our thief?" he inquires, gawking into the crowd.
Sarah furrows her light brown brows and peers down Leo's skinny finger. Once she spots something, her face lights up with recognition. "That is! And it doesn't look like he's carrying his katana around for once."
Elektra squishes her head by Leo and Sarah's, spying on our culprit's activity. What kind of tested-on, thieving, katana-carrying hybrid freak goes about dancing? "Where?" Elektra asks, eyes narrowing as she searches for her target.
"That one," Sarah points. "With the brown hair and blue and gold kimono."
"Oh, I see," Elektra recognizes as I start to look for such a kimono. "Oh...wow. If it wasn't for him already dancing with a girl, I might actually feel inclined to approach him."
Sarah gives Elektra a curious look, raising one brow and dipping the other extra low. This is a look she's learned from Leo. "Is that your way of calling him cute?" Elektra remains mute. "That's adorable," Sarah giggles. "It's like I'm watching you grow up."
"Isn't having crushes on terrifying humans more like Stockholm Syndrome?" Leo nervously quips, taking a few steps away from Elektra. I have to admit, even when buzzed, Leo has a good point.
"Shh," Sarah orders. "You're ruining the moment."
Finally, I spot the shining kimono. It's the male who reminded me of Xavier. He even has the tall stature for it. Through his twirls, I make out the color of his eyes, using my hawk-like vision. It's usually better in the sun, but because there are lights everywhere, my eyes think it's daytime, anyways.
I don't know what I was expecting when I lay eyes upon him. Grotesque scars? Fangs, scales, and tentacles? Foaming at the mouth? Violent spasms? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't this. If pure joy ever took the form of a face, this man would be wearing it right now. He moves with unmatched confidence, his gait fluid and spinning graceful. I can't discredit his partner, either. She moves just fast and just as sophisticatedly.
"Ugh," Elektra snarls. "Of course, his date's perfect, too. Pretty people belong with pretty people."
Leo cringes. "Th-that's not always true, you know!"
Wow, this guy is helpless. And he'll continue to remain that way, because I'm not touching him or giving his any shard of advice. It's not my place, nor my job. Sarah's the babysitter; not me. "Focus," Sarah fusses. "What do we do?"
I speculate who his companion could be. Another hybrid? Someone as genetically fractured as him? Someone who despite the taught strings, boasts a brilliant smile? I scan her, starting from the feet – the way someone moves tells a lot about them.
This woman is light on her feet, but sure of herself; nimble, agile, swan-like. Her legs are shielded by the starts of a silver kimono, which looks incredulously expensive. My eyes trace up to her waist; thin, slightly curvy, supple. Next, I measure her shoulders; narrow but straight, the telltale sign of someone who doesn't let their dainty figure stop them from getting their way. Her kimono is a bit of a lower cut, exposing a bit of her collarbones; prominent, blue-blooded. Her neck is next; exposed, long, slender, and porcelain white.
The music slows, giving me a better shot of our bizarre culprit and his, admittedly, attractive date. Her back is towards us now, but there's no mistaking how smitten this guy is over her. There's a smolder in his eyes as she rests her head on his chest. When she does this, her face tilts in this direction.
My stomach ties itself in protuberances before flipping and inverting itself in 1,000 painful ways. Some sort of lump forms in my throat and I suddenly find it intensely difficult to breathe. Funny, I don't remember eating much today, so nothing could've wedged itself in my throat. My heartbeat rises and I feel myself grow hot in anger. This is ridiculous. Nothing is happening. Relax. For once, my body listens to me and cools down. In the absence of its fiery heat, there's an icy hallow in my chest that takes root as I feel something disconnect in my heart. All at once, I find myself uncaring about the scene before me. As if I'm watching two strangers. That's what I wanted, right?
That girl with her head on the man's chest may have closed her lids, but I don't need them open to know what color her irises are: the pale, pale gray outline in the darkest blue.
I tell myself I only got mad because I was worrying about if she was safe with a hybrid running amok, but find her here in his arms. She's fine and I got worked up for nothing. I should be okay now, but the ice in my chest starts to burn. I'm mad at myself because I worried at all, I lie. That's all. I've been wanting distance and I'm merely pissed at myself, alone, because I still wanted space.
"Should we do something?" Leo asks, scratching the back of his head. "I mean, we've got to talk to that guy, but nobody seems to be in any eminent danger, so maybe we should just watch and wait for the right time, or...?"
"Leave it," I instruct, voice coarse and uncaring. "He's not our problem, and if Kya wants to dance with death, then so be it." I turn away with sickness thick in my rolling stomach. I don't know why, exactly. Was it because casting my acquaintances aside was harder than I imagined? Or because deep down, I knew that something else was wrong?
In fact, two somethings were wrong, but I wouldn't learn either until it was too late.
I would only discover one issue tonight. And compared to the hell I'm going to have to face after that, this would be a cake walk.
But for now, I turned on my heels and paced away, ignoring the rubbernecked strangers. I head towards the edge of town, closest to the dojo. Obligation keeps me pent inside the traditional village. Yearning makes me imagine settling into bed at home. Something foreign makes me clench my fists every time I think of how fun I felt Kya have, and how safe she looked with someone she barely even knew. She's been surrounded by people she's known for years, but I've never seen her look like that.
Maybe because she's always surrounded by people chased down by Asylum. Where we go, conflict follows.
Something sharp makes me straighten with confusion. I pin down what that foreign feeling is, and I'm startled at what the answer is. It's something I felt when I first laid eyes on Kya – the surge of frustration I experienced when she was all that I wanted to be without lifting a pinky. As to why I would feel it now, I'm completely clueless.
Jealousy.
Besides the reasoning to such an irrational emotion, another question lingers in my head all night. This would be a prime time for my deceased brother to nag me about how weak I am, or claim he has the answers, dangle them in my face, then rip them away. Yet, he's nowhere to be found. I should be happy about this, but for some reason, it makes me uneasy.
For now, I'll tell myself it's because, although he's a demented version of the Xavier I grew up with, I still like seeing his face.
Comfort doesn't accompany tonight as I wait for the party end.