The mist was thinner than usual tonight, drifting around Sumit's feet like it was bored of him.
He stood in the dream world with one hand pressed against his chest. There was no pain here, and no wound, but he could still feel the exact spot where Avin's claw had cut through his aura and opened him up.
"So," a familiar voice said from the fog. "How does it feel?"
The black Cat-man strolled out of the mist, tail swaying lazily. For once there was no smirk on his face. He just studied Sumit with his head slightly tilted.
"How does what feel?" Sumit asked.
"Losing. To someone way above your league."
Sumit thought about it for a moment. "Not too bad, actually."
"Not too bad?"
"Avin has more aura than me. More in quantity, and better in quality too." Sumit looked down at his hands. "And he has more experience with it. He has probably been using it since before I even knew it existed. His understanding is just deeper than mine. When I think about it like that, it makes sense that I lost. It would have been stranger if I had won."
"Hm." The Cat-man's tail flicked. "And?"
"And now I understand the gap between mid-level and high-level." Sumit closed his fist slowly. "Jack told me about it, but I didn't really get it until I stood in front of that lion. Even when I drained his aura, it was too much. I couldn't hold it. I had to push most of it back out before it tore me apart."
"Mm. That is what happens when you swallow an ocean."
"That's what I wanted to talk about." Sumit looked up. "Right now I absorb aura and then throw it back out, like I did with the dark tree. But what if I could compress it? Squeeze it down inside my body and keep it, so I can use it later instead of just passing it through me."
The Cat-man raised an eyebrow. "Compress aura that isn't yours. Inside your own body."
"I know it will be difficult."
"I was going to say it is either genius or a very creative way to die."
"Probably both," Sumit admitted. "But I want to try. I have a feeling it can be used in other ways too, not just for storing."
The Cat-man didn't answer right away. He only gave a small, thoughtful hum, which from him was close to approval.
Sumit hesitated, then asked the question that had been sitting at the back of his mind for days. "One more thing. Do you think I will still be able to use aura when I get back to my world?"
The Cat-man blinked.
"Who knows?"
"That's it? That's your answer?"
"I am a storyteller, kid, not the thing that dragged you here." The Cat-man shrugged. "Ask the watch. It is the one that made the rules." He turned and began walking back into the mist. "And if you are done talking, you can leave."
"Wait, I still have--"
A fist landed in the center of his chest, exactly where the scar was.
The dream shattered like glass.
...
Sumit woke up staring at a white ceiling.
Soft light filled the room, and the air smelled faintly of herbs and clean linen. Somewhere beyond the walls he could hear the muffled sound of the crowd, rising and falling like distant waves. The medical section, then.
He sat up slowly and pulled his shirt open. A long, pale line ran across his chest, thin and pink, almost closed. The priests of life had done their work well. It no longer hurt when he breathed.
He sat there for a while, looking at the scar. Then his gaze moved to his wrist, where the dull metal watch still clung to his skin like it had always been there.
"Hey," he said quietly. "I took part in the tournament, just like you told me to. I fought. I even lost. So send me home now."
The watch clicked once. Then its flat, cold voice answered.
"The user has yet to take part in the tournament."
Sumit stared at it. "What? I have been fighting in front of thousands of people!"
"The user has yet to take part in the tournament."
"What does that even mean? Hey! Answer me!"
The watch said nothing more.
Sumit let his hand fall onto the blanket. The hope that had been quietly growing in him ever since the Cat-man told him he only needed to take part slowly drained away, leaving something heavy and hollow in its place. He thought of the kitchen, of his mother's pancakes, of his father's tired smile at the dinner table. Those ordinary mornings he used to complain about felt very far away now.
"...Sulking won't change anything," he muttered after a long moment, rubbing his face with both hands.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood up. His body felt stiff but whole. He wanted fresh air, and a chance to think. He took two steps toward the door.
Then he noticed two figures walking down the corridor, straight toward his bed.
One was a tall man with the head of an owl, his feathers a mix of dark brown and gold, his large round eyes calm and sharp at the same time. He wore a plain cloak that did nothing to hide the weight of the way he carried himself. Beside him walked a crow-man in a long black coat, his glossy feathers neat, his small dark eyes darting over Sumit as if he were reading a page.
Sumit's body tensed on its own. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"
"Oh, you are awake," the owl-man said, as if Sumit hadn't spoken. "It took you long enough. It is almost evening now."
"It is normal for a mid-level user to take this long to heal," the crow-man added in a smooth, careful voice. "What is not normal is for a mid-level user to use a mysterious technique and almost stand toe to toe with a high-level."
"Yes," the owl-man said. "A technique that resembles that of our headache, the black trees. Which also appeared out of nowhere." His eyes settled on Sumit. "Just like him."
The air changed.
It turned cold, as if someone had opened a door onto a winter night. Then something enormous pressed down on Sumit from every direction at once. His knees tried to buckle. He tried to step back and found that he couldn't move his legs, his arms, or even his fingers. The only part of him that still obeyed was his mouth.
"I will only ask this once," the owl-man said quietly. "Are you, in any way, connected to the sudden appearance of the black trees?"
Sumit's heart hammered against his ribs. He had fought a black tree. He had drained one, and broken it in two with his own fist. But connected to why they existed? To why they were appearing?
He forced his jaw to move. Every ounce of strength in his body went into that one word.
"No."
The owl-man turned his head slightly toward the crow-man.
The crow-man studied Sumit for a few long seconds, then gave a single, slow nod.
The pressure vanished.
Sumit's legs gave out and he dropped onto the edge of the bed, gasping like he had just run across the whole capital.
"Forgive me, young warrior," the owl-man said, and his voice was gentler now. "There are things that must be done, as king."
Sumit looked up, still breathing hard. "...King?"
"Yes. You may not have noticed me in the stands. I am the king of Taou." The owl-man inclined his head. "I apologize for this, and I thank you for telling me the truth. As a token of my apology, please accept one hundred gold coins."
Sumit's eyes went wide at the number, but a different thought cut through it first.
"Wait. How can you tell I told the truth?"
The king gestured toward the crow-man beside him. "This is my close friend, and one of the Elders, Simi. He has a special gift. He can sense truth from lies."
"Greetings, young man," Simi said with a polite nod. "You fought bravely today. You should be proud of that." He took a heavy pouch from inside his coat and set it on the bed beside Sumit. "Here are the hundred coins, as promised. We should go now, my king."
"Yes." The king turned to leave, then glanced back over his shoulder. "Rest well, Kaali Billi."
Their footsteps faded down the corridor.
Sumit sat alone for a while, looking at the pouch. He picked it up. It was heavy, much heavier than all the silver he had ever carried. His hands were still shaking slightly, and he only noticed now.
"A hundred gold coins," he whispered. "Jack is going to cry when he hears about this."
Then, more quietly, he looked toward the empty corridor.
"...Was that really an apology?"
...
In the hallway outside the medical section, the king and Simi walked side by side, their footsteps echoing on the pale stone.
"What do you think of him, sir?" Simi asked.
"He has potential," the king answered without slowing. "He gave a good fight to Avin, the hidden sixth Elder. That alone says something."
Simi was silent for a few steps. "Sir, may I ask why Avin is taking part in the tournament at all?"
"It was my personal request." The king's voice dropped. "I still do not trust the Temple. If I want to find out what is happening inside it, I need someone on the inside." He paused, and his round eyes narrowed. "Speaking of which, what happened to the one Elder Gaja sent?"
Simi's steps faltered for just a moment.
"We have lost contact with him, sir."
The king stopped walking.
For a long moment he stood in the empty hallway, staring ahead at nothing, his cloak settling around him in the quiet.
"I have a bad feeling about this," he said.