Hanging Vines crackled with excitement: laughters barked, tankards hammered against the tables, drinks spilled. It was a party thrown by the Bald Brutes indeed. They had a thing for flashiness.

Even to this bustling inn, Ray had a mind to bring a book. He couldn’t read it though, thanks to Crov, the good old crow, who started torturing crowd with his singing. Crov’s voice was a scrape of rusty copper plates. Nobody could muster some peace of mind once the old crow got into the mood of singing. Even Ray couldn’t. 

Throwing a resentful glance at the old foggy, he begrudgingly put down the book on the table.

“Reading hard as always, huh?” asked a voice from behind. Ray didn’t need to turn back. He knew Kein came to fleer at him. 

Kein circled in front of him with his shaved head shining like a moon under the chandelier, showing off the goblet in his hand as if it were a city worth. Ray cast a flat gaze at him and said nothing.

“Aye, the booze is heavenly. No wonder many are willing to die for it. Want a sip?” He sat across from him, uninvited. “Oh, sorry. I forgot you can’t taste it yet. You haven’t become a man yet.”

Ray felt the stab, but he didn’t have a comeback for that. 

One wasn’t called a man until he made his first kill. Kein had his first kill ereyesterday and became a man before Ray could, which he would boast for the rest of his life for sure. 

“It is only a matter of time before I make my first kill,” Ray said, straightening his spine, trying his best to look assured. 

“Oh, is it? Are you sure you can make a kill with that sickly body of yours? You should look for the oldies with a half foot in the grave, perhaps. Or feeble women.”

Ray fought down a flinch. If Kein came to poke his sore spot, he wouldn’t let him know he succeeded.

“Act tough all you want, bookworm. The brain alone won’t carry you to a higher position; you need brawn to back it up. Dada will soon realize that. When that time comes, I’ll see if he still favors you then,” Kein sneered and walked away, stirring his goblet. 

Those words hung over Ray like a guillotine. Ray couldn’t shake it off. It was only a matter of time it gets untethered. 

His sixteenth birthday was drawing closer, and so was his spirit awakening day. Anyone else would’ve longed for that day, but not Ray. For he knew that his spirit had already awakened. And he despaired at the fact that he couldn’t communicate with it. Without his spirit’s assistance, he couldn’t cultivate. 

Given the special care Dada had shown, many of the Bald Brutes had high expectations for him. If they knew about his condition, they’d give him a cold shoulder. Without cultivation, he was no good for anyone. Pity and compassion weren’t things in the business of gangs. Only the abled was valued here.

But not Dada.

Then, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. “Where’s your mind wandering off, kiddo?” 

His head whipped up to see the bald man guzzling the booze in a tankard big as his torso. Runnels of the booze trickled down into the forest of a bushy beard. When he was done with it, he sat down, smashing the tankard against the table. Ray felt the tremors the table sent as it rattled. 

“Dada,” Ray smiled. 

“Aye, damn these tiny things,” Dada cursed as he adjusted to the chair wobbling. “Didn’t we tell Gondu to make them big last time? If they gave away in front of outsiders, I’ll be embarrassed to death.”  

Ray stifled a chuckle. “Well, he did have them made larger. But nothing is quite big enough for you.”

“Cheeky boy, want some spanking?” Dada pinched his ear. 

Ray pulled a face and begged for mercy. But he wasn’t lying though. Dada was as big as a bear. Customary designs weren’t meant for him. 

“Hmph, cut your acting. Were you studying about spirit nurturing?” Dada nodded at the book on the table. 

All the smiles left Ray. He dipped his face. 

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Oh, come on! There are all kinds of weird things in this world. Heaven is fair to all. There must be a solution to your problem. Just keep on looking. Even if you can’t find the solution in this saint forsaken island, you can go out and search in other places. The world is vast.”

“But… but my sixteenth birthday is upon me. Everybody will expect me to awaken my spirit. We both know that’s not going to happen… then… then…”

“Then what? They’ll throw you out? No such thing will happen on my watch. I’m the leader of the Bald Brutes and I shall decide who stays and who leaves.”

“But—”

“No buts! If the sky falls, your Dada is here to hold it for you. Now, let’s go out. My ears are ringing.” He threw a pained look at the old man Crov, who was croaking in a bid to sing a breathless line of the song ‘I Saw the Sun’. 

“That is your favorite song,” Ray remarked.

“Not anymore.”

Dada and Ray wove their way out of the inn through the maze of tables. 

Hanging Vines was built on the edge of the island, over a big bedrock that floated. They sat at the lip of it, their feet dangling. The setting sun died the sky in pleasant orange. The dimly lit moon was ready to sneak out of the clouds. 

Ray closed his eyes for a moment. The roaring of the sea suppressed his inner turmoil. A cool breeze blew through them, tickling the roots of his grey hair. 

Taking a deep breath, he asked Dada, “What is your dream, Dada?”

“My dream?” Dada paused. He laid back on a damp rock and gazed at the glittering stars. “Well, up until now, I had it too easy to pine for something. But if I’ve to say, I’d like to form a gang and roam around the world. Do some adventures of sorts. And see the sun.”

I Saw the Sun was indeed Dada’s favorite song. Even his dream sounded like its rip off.

“You already have a gang, haven’t you? Then why would it be a dream?” Ray was puzzled. 

“Gang?  You mean Bald Brutes?” Dada barked a laugh. “This flimsy mob is no gang. A real gang is a group of people who trust others with their lives. They’re friends. Companions. Protectors, even.”

Trusting others with their lives?! That sounded so stupid to Ray. Even a thumb-sucking child on the island knew trust and such things were pure fantasy.

“What is your dream, Ray?” Dada asked.

Ray wished he could say some grand things, but he couldn’t. He sighed ruefully. “With a nightmare greeting me every day, I can’t afford to dream.”

“Urgh, you’re going at it again! I told you it’ll be fine.”

“I’m not so sure Dada. Everyone is supposed to awaken their spirits on their sixteenth birthday. Then why did mine had awakened as early as four years ago? And worse yet, why can’t I communicate with my own fucking spirit?”

“Because you’re exceptional Ray. You know how you ended up with me in this damnable island? You aren’t native of this island. You descended from the sky. You hear me? You descended, Ray, blazing like a meteor. That’s how you came to the island. Don’t compare yourself with those louts. You’re different from them.”

Ray had lost his memories before twelve. Ever since he could remember, this island Gintura was his world. Dada was his godfather. 

Dada told this story many times. But his sickly body and unresponsive spirit told him otherwise.

“Cheeky boy, you got so big that you doubt your Dada, huh? Fine.” Dada whisked out a scroll. “There’s a grotto marked on this map. You might find a solution in that cave. But be warned: unless you don’t have any other choice, don’t step in there.”

Ray was perplexed. He took a good long look at the scroll. Would this scroll have the key to his problem that had been gnawing at him? 

Skeptically, he took it and secured it inside his vest.

Dada stretched his body. “Well then, I’ll be get going. Need to jot down some things for the alliance with Blood Teeth Gang.”

Ray cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure about this Dada? Now that the Mad Hounds had gone down, it leaves only our two gangs on Gintura Isle. We’re bound to be at each others’ throats. At such a sensitive moment, making an alliance with them makes no sense.”

“It’s them that proposed alliance, not us.”

“Which is exactly why this is fishy,” Ray stressed.

“Look, Ray, when we can have peace, we should have it. Mad Hounds, as they went down, did a number on the island. Let's not fester it. Anyway, don’t bother about the affairs that are beyond you,” said Dada as he walked away. 

Ray didn’t share the same view. Dada saw the need for peace, but Blood Teeth might not. They might see a chance to drive a silent knife in the back of their long-standing opponent.

Ray shook his head. As Dada said, these things were beyond him. He sprang up to his feet and made his way home.

His home was a stilted hut that leaned against an oak tree. It was small and squarish, light with the wood it was made of. One wouldn’t call it grand, but it was good enough for him. 

Unlatching the door, he went in. A feathered bed lay at a side. Opposite to the bed sat a black-stoned hearth.

He fed a log to the hearth and hung his robes to a hook at a corner. Taking a deep breath, he stood in front of the mirror. He wasn’t there to look at his scrawny body, sharp contours of his face, the sparkling blue eyes or the wavy grey hair that crowned his head. 

Instead, he turned around and saw his back in the mirror. Under the flickering lamplight, he saw — on his back — a dragon was facing off against a turtle. They hissed and spat at each other. They were dark as night. 

And they were his spirits. Though they were two entities, somehow they felt like one and the same.

Typically, a spirit manifested itself behind its bearer in the air. In the later stages, as one cultivated, it could be injected into the body.

But Ray never cultivated. And there was never a precedent that a spirit would appear on the skin like a tattoo. Neither was there ever a spirit its wielder couldn’t communicate.

All these abnormalities unnerved him.

Massaging his temples, he collapsed into his bed. The hut swung along the branches of the oak tree, like a cradle. Sleep embraced him right away — all the worrying had taken its toll on him. And soon, he found himself in a familiar dream. 

There were no colors to his dream. Only darkness. He could make out silhouettes that cursed: ‘Demon’. And then there was a silhouette that snuggled in his embrace, crying, clutching him tightly. The silhouette called him: ‘Brother’.

He felt warmth and pain at the call. He wished to summon the sun and see the person that could light up his heart even in such darkness. Other than Dada, only this silhouette made him feel like family.

He took into the warmth of the call, ignoring the silhouettes that were shouting, ‘Demon’. All his worries went away. Even as he slept, a smile bloomed on his face.

A day could be longer, but a night could never be. Ray cursed Zelard under his breath as he roused him from his sweet sleep, hammering his door like a mad boar. 

“RAY!” Zelard screamed atop of his lungs. Something about his tone sat oddly with Ray. He took a distinct note of anxiety and agony in his call.

Ray stirred on his bed. “What is it, you dullard?”

“Ray, wake up!” He suddenly broke into sobbing. “Dada… he…”

Ray shot up to his feet and went for the door at once. “What happened to Dada?”

“Ray!” Zelard squeezed him in his arms. “Dada… he… he’s dead.”