Search any place grasped by darkness and you will invariably find an even darker shadow lurking in the corners. The same held true for Luo Shan, land of the exiled, where all illicit practitioners of magic were banished to become unwilling protectors of the Crown Colony against the eldritch monstrosities that lay within the Abyss. Deep past the grand, limestone caverns of the Undercity whose very air was heavy with the breaths of the men and women who toiled daily against enchanted stones and deadly creatures, hidden behind the web of abandoned mines and tangled burrows where the earth lay soaked in blood, was the Nameless Town. Rife with crime, violence and exploitation, the Nameless Town was where the rejects of the rejects were found. Those exiled from the exiled, the reckless radicals, the ruthless outlaws, the practitioners of forbidden arts. It is here that you go to be truly forgotten and it is here that we find the protagonist of our story…
The paper talisman glowed softly in the darkness, its light flickering weakly like the whimper of a dying kitten. The candles had run out and while oil lamps were not luxury items, his father preferred to rely on magic where he could. A young boy sat crouched over a table on a wooden stool, squinting to read a book in the dim light. He held the talisman over the book, but it was still difficult to make out the messy writing scrawled on the yellow pages. Finally, the boy put the book aside and turned his attention to a dull copper coin set on the table.
Recalling what he had been taught, he put his hands over the coin and chanted the spell, “Mo.Yi.Chü.Ke, Zak.Tin.Yün.Mo.”
The boy stared at the coin anxiously. It remained completely still. Then, just when it seemed like nothing else would happen, a wobble.
The boy practically leaped to his feet when he saw the tiny, nearly imperceptible movement. He crouched down on the table, peering at the round metal and hoping it would move again. Perhaps make a full flip this time. The boy smiled from the bottom of his heart, joyful that he might finally see his father smile again. Smile like the way he used to from a time he was so young as to only have half-remembered. Smile like the father he loved so much and who loved him in ways that didn’t hurt.
Alas, crossed fingers and a prayer do not a spell make. The coin refused to budge again, but the boy was not deterred. He held his hands over the coin once more.
“Mo.Yi.Chü.Ke, Zak.Tin.Yün.Mo.”
“Mo.Yi.Chü.Ke, Zak.Tin.Yün.Mo.”
“Mo.Yi.Chü.Ke, Zak.Tin.Yün.Mo.”
His voice, beating a steady rhythm to the waning light.
His breathing, measured and patient.
The stool, scratching softly against the earth with every shift of the boy’s weight.
A whisper of a wind rushing down the long, twisting tunnels.
Until, at last, the talisman went out and darkness followed. And still, it kept going.
“Mo.Yi.Chü.Ke, Zak.Tin.Yün.Mo.”
“Mo.Yi.Chü.Ke, Zak.Tin.Yün.Mo.”
“Mo.Yi.Chü.Ke, Zak.Tin.Yün.Mo…”
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His father was very late this time. It happened sometimes, and the boy could tell when he could no longer find any food scrap in the cupboards and he had already brushed all the crumbs off the table. He didn’t dare to go outside without his father. He had always been told about the horrors of Nameless Town, of the child slavers who trussed up children like chickens and whipped them with metal chains, of the cannibals who chopped up little kids like himself and put them in a stew, bones and all. He had seen them for himself, the few times his father brought him outside, the bony orphans marching in a line towards the mines, flies sticking to their shriveled skin while the slaver, fat and oily like a pig, groaned and grunted at them. His father promised the same would happen to him if he wandered off on his own. He also promised he would break his legs.
The boy held the coin in his palm, muttering the spell again, partly as a distraction from his rumbling stomach. Some faint part in him believed that his father would only return when he had mastered the spell. It was a terrifying thought, but an oddly reassuring one; it gave him a sense of certainty, gave shape to the formless darkness all around him, like he could will his father into existence if he simply tried hard enough. And so the boy redoubled his efforts on the coin. He chanted the words, hoping it would move in his hand.
Dozens of futile attempts and a shallow nap later, the boy woke to the sound of footsteps unfamiliar to his ear. It came from the distance as an echo, but there were too many of them. Too many steps. He recognized his father’s step—a firm thud, followed by the shuffling sound of his bad leg being dragged across the ground. But there was someone else.
White light poured in from the gap beneath the door. The wooden door creaked open, revealing two men’s silhouettes. His father stepped into the house first, walking past the boy while dragging some sort of bloodied beast into the kitchen by its leg. The other man looked vaguely familiar to the boy, perhaps because he looked like a slightly older, more tidy version of his father with his hair cut short. He was holding a light talisman in his hand, which he promptly set down on the wooden table.
“Ru Meng, do you still remember me?” said the man as he got down on one knee and reached with one hand to stroke the boy’s face.
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Ru Meng didn’t know who this man was, but he instinctively drew back and raised his hands to hide the black and blue marks on his neck. This only drew the man’s attention to them.
“What happened?”
The man looked surprised at first, then sad and resigned as realization dawned on him. He turned to Ru Meng’s father and scowled as he said, “What did you do to him?”
The father faltered for a second, his long, matted hair covering his face.
“It was an accident. But that’s none of your business. Why are you here, brother—”
He set down two cups and a crude iron kettle on the table. He touched the metal and recited a simple incantation. The kettle immediately glowed bright red with heat.
“—after so many years?”
Ru Meng's father gestured at one of the wooden stools by the table and pulled a seat for himself by the wall and the shelves, putting himself between his brother and his son.
His brother glared at him furiously, hands balled into fists. He reluctantly took a seat across from him.
“I’ve come to take the both of you back to Undercity with me. It took me a few years, but I’ve worked my way up to a place where I can get them to overlook your…more radical sentiments, as long as you—”
“We’re not going with you,” said the father.
“You would rather stay here? Here in this goddamned place? People have already tried to rob me twice in the time I was roaming around the tunnels looking for you! There are no laws down here, no order or peace.”
“Better than the false laws, false order, and false peace up there. How does it feel, Chia Song Teng, to be a guard dog for the very people who took everything from us?” said the father through clenched teeth as he slammed his fist into the table.
Ru Meng shrunk into his corner of the room. The kettle’s whistle cut across the room.
Ru Meng's father took a deep breath. He waved his hand over the kettle to dispel the magic. Song Teng watched in silence while his brother poured tea for the both of them.
“It’s not about what was taken from us. It’s about what we have left.”
“Easy for you to say. How’s my sister-in-law doing?”
Song Teng took a sip of tea and paused to look into his younger brother’s eyes, but he couldn’t see past the dark brown eyes, flat as a stagnant pool. He sighed and said, “She’s doing fine. We have a kid now. It’s a girl—”
Ru Meng's father started laughing, “A kid? In a place like this? Have you gone mad? Have you forgotten where we are, brother? Sealed under a mountain before the gates of the Abyss. Doomed to live out the rest of our existence in darkness and despair, and you bring a child into a world like this?”
“It’s the best we can do under the circumstances, Song Yu. That’s it. The best we can do. We make do with what we have left and for me, that includes you. Please, come back. Your sister-in-law would like to see both you and Ru Meng again. All we have left is each other.”
“No. You abandoned me when you stood by and watched while my wife slowly died in her bed.”
“I wished I could have saved Hui Jun, believe me, I do, but what could we have done that even all the witch doctors down here couldn’t?”
“She would have had a chance outside. You could have taken my side, convinced everyone to fight back.”
“And be shot to death one by one?”
“Better if we had all died than live out our miserable lives down here.”
Song Teng stared at his younger brother in disbelief.
“You haven’t changed at all, have you? Not in seven years. How do you live with so much hatred and resentment inside you?”
“It’s the only thing that keeps me going.”
“Look at yourself! Look at what you’ve done to your own son!” said the brother as he gestured at the boy in the corner, “I don’t care what you do to yourself, Song Yu, but your son doesn’t deserve this! I’m taking him back with me and you stay here to rot for all I care!”
Ru Meng's father fell deathly quiet as Song Teng got up to leave, marching towards the boy.
“Brother, do you still remember that song our master taught us? Mo.Yi.Chü.Ke, Zak.Tin.Yun.Mo…” he suddenly said.
“What?” asked Song Teng, confused at the change in subject.
From where he sat, Ru Meng could see an iron dagger rising from the shelves. His eyes widened in horror as he realized what was about to happen. He only barely remembered this man who seemed to be his uncle, but he didn’t want to see him die.
The dagger shot toward Song Teng from under the table.
Ru Meng quickly lifted his hand towards the dagger and muttered his own incantation, “Mo.Yi.Chü.Ke, Zak.Tin.Yün.Mo.” He poured all his focus into this one spell, hoping that it would finally work now.
The dagger wobbled slightly, the tip of the blade angled just an inch lower as it impaled the older man in his stomach.
The shock of betrayal flashed across Song Teng's face, but the veteran sorcerer responded instantly. Ignoring the pain, he placed one hand on the table and quickly chanted a simple Spell of Verdant Growth.
A mass of branches and leaves sprouted from the other end of the wooden table, pushing Ru Meng's father back and pinning him to the shelf.
Song Teng lunged at Ru Meng, wincing at the pain throbbing through his abdomen. Then, as he dragged him out of the door by the wrist, he turned back and uttered another short incantation. Fire engulfed the talisman, burning it to ashes. Utter darkness engulfed all of them.
His uncle’s labored breathing. The sound of their footsteps. Far away, his father’s voice, chanting fast and soft. A momentary flash of magical light burst forth from behind them. The sound of wood being sliced to pieces.
All of a sudden, Ru Meng felt his uncle’s grip on him loosening, before his weight came bearing down on him. There was a loud groan as the both of them crumpled to the ground.
“Shit! The tea!”
Ru Meng could feel his uncle’s warm body on him, limp but heavy. He didn’t know what was happening anymore. All he knew was that everything was bad. Everything was wrong. This shouldn’t be the way things were. It felt like everything that had happened tonight was finally hitting him, and his body started shaking involuntarily.
“Hey, hey, Ru Meng, it’s gonna be okay, alright? Don’t worry,” said his uncle. Ru Meng had been with his father enough to hear when someone was lying, but he felt his heart settle just a little bit.
His uncle started chanting an incantation in vain. His tongue fell numb and his words became slurred. Then, a whisper. A small fire dispelled the darkness, hovering above someone’s palm.
Ru Meng's father stepped into view. His already raggedy robe had several new tears in them. He held a shortsword in his hand.
“I’m sorry, brother,” he said as he plunged the blade into Song Teng's throat. Warm blood splashed across Ru Meng's face. There was a strange gurgle coming from his uncle’s throat. His uncle’s body suddenly tensed up and trembled violently in his arms. He could see his uncle’s eyes go wide open, veins flaring on his temple, his fists clenched. Until, at last, nothing.
Ru Meng sat there in silence while his father retched and gagged and threw up on the floor. He buried his face between his knees. Why did this happen? Was it his fault? Was it something he said? Or something he did? Why? Why? Why?
Suddenly, he felt the weight of all-too-familiar arms tighten around him like a pair of sinewy pythons threatening to grind his bones to dust.
“I’m sorry, Ru Meng, I’m sorry,” muttered his father, as he buried his head in Ru Meng's hair.
“But it had to be done. For you, Ru Meng,” he said between strokes of the boy’s hair, “You see what happens to the people up there. They become soft, weak. They forget where we are, who we are. Always stay ahead. Always pursue more power, so no one else can take anything away from you. I love you, Ru Meng, and I won’t let the same thing that happened to me happen to you again.”
Ru Meng listened in silence. All he could think about was the iron dagger and the voice of his dead, dead uncle.