Page 30

CHAPTER 30

SUNHO

The Floating World

The Mithril Labs

THE LABORATORY MADE Heetae nervous. Sunho could tell because his left hand was shaking. It did that sometimes, usually before a battle, not stopping until either Sunho or Rohoon held it tightly. Rohoon reached out now, pressing his gloved hand to Heetae’s arm.

For the past three years, they’d been inseparable. It was as if, the night he left, Junho had put a blessing on them. You’ll form bonds with these fools. For Sunho, no one could replace his brother, but a bond had been forged, through pain, blood, laughter, and grief.

Shortly after Junho left, the three of them had been placed in a new regiment.

The Forty-Fourth. Their leader wasn’t a soldier but a man with silver spectacles who claimed he was a scientist. Call me Teacher , he’d said, for he would teach them about the new world he was creating, where the light belonged not to a single group of people but to everyone; in this new world, they would hold the power. As orphans from the Under World, the idea had seemed like a dream.

But there was a risk they had to take to join this new world. To become strong, they would be injected with a special medicine. Not everyone will be able to withstand the changes , Teacher had said, but those who do will be rewarded with all that their heart desires.

Sunho understood what Teacher meant when he saw the medicine for the first time. He recognized the bright blue substance floating within the serum. Even diluted, and at such a small quantity, that amount of mithril would mean instantaneous death. Except that the soldiers of the Forty-Fourth weren’t ordinary. They were from the Under World. They’d developed a natural resistance to mithril. Yours is a special regiment , Teacher had said. The boys were all around twelve and thirteen years old, the girls a little younger. The serum works best with adolescents.

If anyone were to survive such an injection, it would be them.

There was something Sunho wanted more than anything—freedom to leave the army and rejoin his brother, and so he took the medicine alongside the others.

That first year had been difficult. Many died, but those who survived changed . They became incredibly fast and strong. Rohoon could shoot an arrow through a raindrop from across a field. Heetae’s spear was like an extension of his arm, his speed rivaling lightning. And Sunho—it was as if the mithril called to him, singing in his veins. When he moved, time slowed, the world around him growing sharper, more beautiful in its minute details.

They were kept apart, secret , from the other regiments, fighting mostly deep in the northern country of Volmar, where they’d gained a reputation as demons. That’s what their regiment was nicknamed, the “Demon Regiment,” and it was a joyous day when they each received tattoos, for it meant they would always be together, a promise bound in ink and blood.

Sunho might have continued to fight alongside his friends for years, had they not been called by Teacher for the last and final stage.

On that day, Sunho, Heetae, and Rohoon had boarded an airship with the others from their regiment. They’d traveled through the day, packed like kernels of rice in a barrel, with Heetae in between Sunho and Rohoon, snoring lightly as he rested his head on Sunho’s shoulder. A few hours after sunset, they awoke to a great roaring sound. Sunho craned his neck for a glimpse through the small porthole, catching sight of a massive waterfall. Thick, frothy water spilled over the edge of a cliff, falling through the clouds to drum upon the earth. Not a cliff, the edge of the Floating World.

He thought that maybe the airship was taking them there, but then it descended. They went underneath, into darkness.

The soldiers of the Forty-Fourth were quiet as the airship glided silently beneath the mines.

After it docked, they were divested of their weapons and taken through a series of rooms, poked and prodded—a few of them were taken aside—their numbers dwindling as they ventured farther, with only a handful of them remaining by the end.

The last room was the largest of them all, containing dozens of scientists. A few were arguing, their hushed voices discernible to Sunho’s elevated hearing. “The Sareniyans are coming to shut us down. We must hurry.”

“I don’t think we should be here.” Rohoon stepped closer to Heetae. “Why did they take away our weapons?”

Heetae fidgeted with the band on his arm—each had been given a different color, though they didn’t know what they meant. Heetae’s was yellow, Rohoon’s was blue, and Sunho’s was black. “Maybe ’cause there’s nothing for us to fight?” He didn’t sound convinced.

Out of habit, Rohoon reached for his bow, the one he usually carried across his back. He was never without it, just as Heetae was never without his spear, and Sunho his sword.

This place frightened him. Where was Teacher? He hadn’t come to greet them when they’d arrived, and he recognized none of the scientists as the ones who had visited the camps to give them their injections—

Sunho blinked, unsure if his eyes deceived him: His brother stood among the black-robed men and women. “Junho?”

It had been three years since he last saw him, and Junho’s hair was longer. He wore it unbound, down his back. And he was taller. But that was no matter; Sunho was taller, too.

“Junho!” Sunho called his brother’s name, louder this time. Junho looked up. Their gazes met.

Sunho couldn’t be sure, but for a moment, Junho looked… stricken. Then his expression smoothed over.

“Sunho,” he said, closing the distance between them. “What are you doing here?”

Sunho frowned. His brother wasn’t dressed like a soldier, in the dark cuirass, with robes embroidered with the wings of Sareniya. He was wearing black robes, like the scientists, embroidered with a different symbol—a black wing, folded in half.

“Teacher summoned us,” Rohoon explained.

“An airship came to our camp to get us,” Heetae said. “What’s happening, Jun?”

“Wait here.” Junho left them, practically sprinting across the chamber.

“Sun, Tae…” Rohoon’s voice was low, uneasy. Sunho followed his friend’s gaze.

The others who’d come into the chamber with them were being led away, toward the tables spread around the chamber. When a girl protested at the iron cuffs clamped around her wrists, the scientist standing nearest soothed her. “It’s like the injections you received,” the woman said, petting the girl’s hair. “It’ll make you strong.”

“I don’t want to be strong,” the girl said. Her voice had lost the tinniness of fear; now she sounded… tired. “I just want to be free.”

Sunho didn’t hear the scientist’s response, drawn to the sound of Junho’s voice.

“I didn’t agree to this!” He was shouting at a man with silver spectacles. Teacher. “You said he wouldn’t be harmed. You promised .”

“We don’t have time to argue. Your brother’s strong, remarkably so. He’ll survive—”

“You can’t know that!”

Teacher grabbed Junho by the collar, and Sunho took a step forward, the mithril in his veins heating in anger.

“The Sareniyans are too strong. They won’t stop until they conquer the whole world. The children of the Forty-Fourth were always the key. Can you imagine? Your brother is strong now, but with the full power of mithril at his fingertips, he’ll be unstoppable. He’ll be a god .”

One of the Black Robes stumbled in from the corridor. “They’re here!”

A scream issued from deep in the belly of the mines. Sunho felt his blood run cold. Something was wrong. The tortured cry didn’t sound… human.

“Hoon!” Heetae shouted. Sunho whirled around to see four of the Black Robes dragging Heetae to one of the tables.

“Get away from him!” Rohoon sprang forward, but he was held back by three of the scientists.

Screams tore the air. The scientists injected Heetae with a serum, but it wasn’t like the ones from the camp.

The liquid was pure, undiluted mithril.

Heetae screamed, writhing on the table. Blue blood bubbled from his lips, slipping down his throat.

A few agonizing seconds later, he stopped moving.

“ Heetae! ” Rohoon ripped away from the scientists. His eyes flashed blue as he grabbed the syringe out of a scientist’s hand, jamming it into her neck.

From the corridor came a rush of movement. A creature barreled into the room. Sunho didn’t understand what he was seeing. It was human, but… not. Feathers covered its entire body. Grotesque wings sprouted from its back. Demon.

The room exploded into chaos, the demon attacking scientists at random, ripping out their throats.

Someone grabbed him. Teacher. His eyes were feverish behind the shield of his spectacles. He held a syringe. “This is the only way. Mithril is the answer.”

As it came down, someone shoved Sunho aside. He watched in horror as the needle sank into Junho’s chest.

As Teacher let go with a wail, his brother stumbled backward. The mithril spread out beneath his skin like the branches of a tree, glowing brighter and brighter.

“Jun…” Sunho couldn’t breathe.

The demon from the corridor reached him, knocking him to the side. His head slammed against a metal table and then he knew only darkness.

SUNHO OPENED HIS eyes, the screams from his memory echoing in his ears. Heetae. Rohoon. The others. He’d forgotten what had happened to them, and for that, he might never forgive himself.

Across the room, the demon waited.

He knew who stood before him now.

He wondered if he’d always known. The demon had followed him, watched him. Watched… over him?

Sunho removed his sword from his back. Holding it out before him, he slid the sheath from the blade. He then lifted his arms, sliding his foot back and gripping the handle with both hands.

The demon let out a harrowing scream, rushing toward him.

It was fast, as it had been on the train and on the bridge. But Sunho was different now. He had access to his memories, his abilities . He felt the mithril flow through his body, and he channeled the energy up through his arms, his hands. The demon’s claws collided with his sword, and the burst of mithril energy scalded it.

The demon screamed.

Sunho leaped forward, arcing his sword down. It caught the blade, but Sunho only released one hand to slam the demon with his fist; it went tumbling against the wall. Sunho sprang forward, his eyes sparking mithril blue.

He would kill the demon. He would tear it apart.

He felt his head roar with sound. The mithril pealed in his blood, loud, louder still—

Do you think we shine as brightly?

The memory came so swiftly upon him that he gasped, his heart wrenching.

He felt a soft hand upon his head, ruffling his hair. Then Junho was kneeling before him.

Sunho turned away, embarrassed he’d asked the question aloud.

“Yes,” Junho said. “I do. Though, I think, we shine a little brighter. How could we not? All this darkness surrounds us, and yet we still carry on. I think the stars, when they look down on us, see that spark in our hearts. It’s our will to live.

“Remember that, Sunho. Even in darkness, there is always light.”

“Junho,” Sunho gasped. He held his sword above the demon. It lay still beneath him, bleeding from a dozen wounds. One strike and it would be dead. One strike and it would be over.

Sunho lowered his arm. The demon didn’t hesitate, springing up to pin him against the ground. He only had time to lift his sword, the blade holding back the demon from tearing out his throat.

He couldn’t kill Junho, even if his brother had become a monster; if he killed his brother, how could he hold on to the light? His death would snuff out Sunho’s soul.

His arms were weakening; the monster’s weight bore down on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ren’s charm, a spark of red, dangling from the handle of his sword. With renewed strength, he surged upward until he was face-to-face with the demon. Inside the mass of feathers and fangs, he met its eyes, his heart searing with recognition. He knew, with bone-aching certainty, whose soul lay trapped within.

With a cry, Sunho threw the demon back, surging forward to plunge his sword into its chest.

He slid the blade from its body, watching as it began to transform. Its limbs shrank in agonizing slowness as the feathers molted off, leaving behind the broken body of a boy.

Rohoon.

Sunho sank to his knees, pressing his forehead to his friend’s.

“Sunho,” he whispered. “Don’t cry for me.” Though Sunho had a dozen questions, he asked none of them, wanting Rohoon’s last moments to be peaceful, at last.

“You were always soft, but that’s what made you strong. I won’t ask you to seek revenge. In the end, I’m just glad it was a friend.”

Sunho waited beside Rohoon for a long time. When his friend drew his final breath, Sunho dropped his head and wept.