Prologue
Stay here.” Joon had ordered.
She listened. She did!
But a quick, fleeting, barely a second, glimpse of ginger fur-hair and quick as a hare, fog closes in, muffling the incessant noises of this infernal city part of Maika is relieved, it’s quiet. Her ears don’t hurt.
It swirls and coils around her brain, constricting it like a snake, swallowing up her thoughts and all hopes of normalcy, whispering broken promises and old memories she doesn’t want to revisit.
A guiding hand to show her the way. That trained and nurtured her as a cub.
A kind smile and crinkled eyes warms her from head to toe the cold marble halls.
A sparkling laugh that lit up the sky better than the sun ever could.
She swears her hands are heavier, caked in something metallic in stench.
She knows what it is.
It’s not real. It’s not. No matter how much she knows her hands had practically been scrubbed raw and chunks of fur ripped out in a desperate attempt to rid herself of the blood.
She hears his tinkling mocking, he’s mocking her laughter. The cap on her head feels tight.
Blindly, she rips it off her head and hurls it far, anything to relieve the horrible pressure pounding at her skull. Her arms are numb. She can’t even feel the rough, carnival quality stitching of her name on the side she knows Dawn got for her. he can’t feel the way her nails splinter and break as she digs them into her skull.
The sky blue cap disappears under the stampede of people walking past. Tears of a stranger is just water afterall.
Her eyes burn. She can’t help the acid that escapes it and corrodes lines down her face.
Thoughts swirl faster.
Elevated by his shoulders, sprightly and vibrant as he was in his youth, she was on top of the world. Lighter than air.
Open and inviting, she pats the seat next to her without the inhibitions she feels. Welcoming where the others aren’t, smiling all the while.
She remembers the way tales of his adventures flowed as easily as wine did his cup. And she’d drink up every word.
Like they’ve given up on holding her up, her knees buckle underneath her, sending her careening to the ground. Just barely does she manage to catch herself. There’s a smear of red on the pavement where her hands are.
She looks away.
Her hands find the crevices of the pavement, or at least she thinks it’s the crevices. It’s hard to tell. She lost feeling in her fingers some minutes ago and her sight is marred by tears. Nevertheless, with more strength than strictly necessary, she hauls herself into a more comfortable position. Back hitting and pressing tight against the cool brick wall, fingers clenched tight around her hoodie.
The rough texture digs into her shoulder blades. She smells something metallic. She presses harder.
Breathe.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Some oxygen was better than none at all.
The corners of her vision blurs.
Her thoughts press forward.
He wraps her knuckles tenderly, movements methodical, never faltering even as he admonishes her.
They sit with their feet in the water, talking for hours on end about everything and nothing.
His voice is loud and exuberant, obnoxious in the dead of night but nonetheless captivating.
Bile rises in her throat. It tastes like peaches.
The very air evades her, refusing to enter her lungs like she had been forsaken. Cursed by the gods above for impudence. Giving her such a wide berth she feared she may drown on land. Every inhale dragged in far too little oxygen. Every exhale released too much. The pounding of her skull spreads downwards and encloses her ribs, pressing in.
She focuses on the pain. The pain in her lungs, the pain in her head, her back. Anything to escape the thoughts that ensnared her.
The sting helped.
Her thoughts slowed.
He’s long gone.
She’s cold.
Maika wants him dead.
Her shoulders relax. Maika breathes again.
Maika walks alone through the market.
Her hoodie weighs her down more than it should. It’s sweltering in the afternoon sun.
The hoodie is blue, like her eyes.
She keeps it on.
Weaving through a crowd was a skill she never had so she kept to the shadows, trudging along alleys in hopes of avoiding bumping into people, no true destination in mind. Simply wandering. She had no home to return to anyways.
She senses it before she sees it. Her ears twitch minutely. If Dawn’s magic was an early morning sunrise wrapped in a dozen blankets, Wukong’s was hellfire incarnate.
Punishment, she thinks. A warning to those he nears.
She never heeded it then.
She ignores the warning again today, chasing the faint signature. It’s a little wonky feeling. Not quite right. Cooling almost. Fading.
She pays it no mind.
Rage boils her blood more than any samahdi fire could. It blinds her. Blinds her senses to the wrongness of it all.
Her claws cleave through the air. Or they would have. If she had won the battle, instead, red tinted claws slash through the air without so much as a whisper of power.
She sees his ear twitch and he whirls around. Yellow eyes wide and surprised.
She can’t help the curl of satisfaction in her chest. The great Sun Wukong, jumped. Sounded like the start of a bad joke.
“Wha-” He startles, jumping back deftly. Smoother than she was used to, like water. Or maybe she had just gotten sloppy. Both were very possible.
Her vision blurs for the second time that day. She’s in no state to start a fight.
But she can’t back down now.
He’s right here.
So what if he was stronger? So what if he could kill her? So what if he’s the wrong colour?
It all could end, right here.
All she had to do was slit his throat.
She says something that comes out muddled even to her own ears.
She sees his brows furrow, indignation curling at the corners of his lips.
The witty one liner she expects doesn’t come, instead, a black hole yawns open below her, Since when could he do that? threatening to swallow her whole. The floor beneath her disappears, she snags his scarf and drags him down with her.
He yelps loudly, stumbling into the- portal, portal he created. It spits them out in a place she doesn’t recognise, nor does she really care to.
“You ruin everything.” She seethes through her teeth from her spot on the floor.
She’s seeing double now. Drat.
Bushy black brows furrow together. The glamour he had on was sloppy, a single small braid of gold peeked out.
His lips part to speak. The ringing in her ears drown his words out. It sounds suspiciously like the sound of his laughter.
He approaches her slowly, caution written in every step.
A snarl curls at her lips and she swipes up.
He catches the arm with a small startle.
She shrieks and writhes in his grip, taking another, lethargic, swipe at him with her other hand.
He catches that one too.
He shouts something that could have either been “What is your problem, lady?!” or quite possibly “That is a prody!” she guessed it was the former. His voice didn’t sound right.
Either way, she bares her teeth at him.
And he… tosses her into a wall.
Colliding with the hard brick before landing on the concrete with an undignified groan, blinking blearily up at him- That’s not Wukong.
Her arms shake as she pushes herself up.
Two becomes one and something stutters in her chest.
“You’re not…” She trails off. Black spots dance in her vision. Fuck she was losing consciousness. “You’re not Wukong.” She slurs.
She hits the floor with a thud.