“A wagon to Skyward? No. That route is forbidden high country, and I’ve no death wish.” Kan waved a hand at the errand boy and returned to shining his sword.

The errand boy stared at Kan in disbelief. Fifty taels of silver for a two-week escort trip, all food and lodging covered out and back, why would anyone turn down such an offer? Especially the boss’s new favorite, Kan. He talked the least and killed the most. Unbefitting his seventeen years of age, the look in his eyes could make the most seasoned bounty hunters in town shudder with fear.

Kan, out of everybody, wanted to decline a dangerous job?

“You should take it, big brother.” The errand boy wrung his hands nervously on his rugged tunic, trying his best to persuade Kan. “Contracts like this don’t come by every day, and Boss must’ve thought really highly of you to make this arrangement.”

“Tell him to think highly of someone else then.” Kan flipped his sword and checked both sides of the blade one last time. “I won’t change my mind.”

“I’m afraid you will,” an unfamiliar voice came from the shadow beyond the door. The errand boy jumped and let out a little screech. A black-robed stranger in his mid-thirties stepped across the threshold, a short dagger on one side of his belt and a white jade flute on the other. “Your gang has good folks, young man, but none willing to take this job. I don’t blame them. They won’t live long enough in those forests up north to even see Skyward.”

The stranger’s words alerted Kan, and the tone displeased him. His eyes narrowed. “I’m the newest in the crew,” he said. “You are mistaken if you think I’m the best we’ve got.”

“Is that so?” the stranger smiled. “Either way, your boss has signed the contract. It is settled. We leave at sunrise tomorrow.” He lowered his head in a tiny nod and vanished before Kan could say another word.

The errand boy threw Kan a worried look. This mysterious customer didn’t seem like a pleasant one to deal with. “Good luck, big brother,” he offered his best wishes and bowed his leave.

Kan sat alone in the newfound silence of his chamber. He ran his thumb over the blade of his sword, his most faithful companion from the old days.

Four years ago, he would’ve never expected to set foot in Skyward. But times had changed.

* * *

Despite his reluctance, Kan waited by the stables the next day at sunrise. He didn’t want to go to Skyward, yet neither did he want to raise any suspicions with his decision. Hopefully, it would be a smooth trip and everything would return to normal once he came back in a month.

The black-robed stranger finally appeared, followed by two porters carrying a small wooden crate. It was a plain and simple container, built with common timber and painted a dull brown, but the way the porters staggered on their feet with such a seemingly light item caught Kan’s eye. He watched closely while the porters loaded the wagon and glimpsed a sheet of talisman sealing the top of the crate.

The stranger noticed Kan’s gaze, though neither of them spoke. Kan clucked to the horse once they climbed into their seats, and the two set on the road.

Autumn was early this year, with leaves already turning colors in late September. The breeze on their faces was cool at first, then grew chilly as the wagon rattled farther north out of town and deeper into the woodlands. The black-robed man produced a flask out of his sack and took a few big gulps. He offered it to Kan, “Wine?”

Kan shook his head. He knew better than accepting drinks from strangers.

“You are cautious.” The man said approvingly. “How long have you been a sword for hire?”

“A couple of years,” Kan said. “Though you probably already found out every detail about me before you made the offer.”

The man laughed. “No need to probe me, young man. All I know is what everyone else knows, that you are the best in town. But where you came from and what you did before turning up at the gang’s doorsteps? No one knew. You covered your tracks well, and your past remains a mystery.”

For the second time, the stranger’s tone made Kan uncomfortable. He wasn’t afraid to let out his past—nothing would be hurt, except his pride—yet the stranger’s casual confidence made it seem he knew much more than he had claimed.

“And I suppose I should introduce myself as well.” The man continued. “You can call me Meizo, or Master Meizo once we get to the Temples. I don’t like formalities but the old chaps there make a big deal out of it.”

Kan made sure his face was devoid of expressions. “The Skyward Temples?”

Meizo nodded. “I see you’ve heard the name before.”

Of course Kan had heard of it. Everyone had. The Temples on the Skyward Mountains were as old as the Continent itself, and legend went that it was the gods who built those as their earthly abodes, long before men walked this land. Their divine Aura filled the pagodas and lingered long after they were gone, guiding and protecting generations of worshippers until this day. It was also said the Aura can awaken Ichor—a rare gift allowing mortals to wield elements of the universe like gods—and the shamans at the Temples were so powerful that they could bend fate to their will. People had always turned to them in times of need. For thousands of years, Skyward was the beacon of the entire Continent.

Things changed five hundred years ago when demons started roaming the earth. Some said they were fallen gods. Some said they were spirits returned from death. Whatever they were, they wreaked havoc and killed every living being that crossed their path, leaving empty ghost towns and villages in their wake. People flooded the Temples, praying and begging the shamans for help, but the shamans were few in numbers and couldn’t defend southern lands far from the Temples.

The southerners despaired, and their faith in the Temples shattered. The nightmare only ended decades later when the Goddess, an immortal scion of the ancient gods, descended in the sun-kissed Crescent Valley. She slew the demons and taught southern men her own ways of wielding Ichor. Since then, the Continent had been divided into two irreconcilable regions: the South, venerating The Shrine in the Crescent Valley dedicated to the Goddess, and the North, keeping to the old ways and following the teachings of the Skyward Temples.

The town where Kan lived was right on the northern bank of the Red River, the divider between North and South. Had he been an ordinary youth born and raised there, he might have been thrilled at a chance to pay his respects at the Temples. However, given his nonordinary situation, the name only bothered him, and he silently cursed himself again for accepting this escort mission.

“I grew up in the South,” he said. “The Temples don’t have a good reputation down there.” He wasn’t sure why he mentioned it—he hadn’t told anyone about the South since he left his old life behind. Maybe he wanted to annoy the customer who brought him on this bitter trip.

Meizo didn’t seem to mind. “Shamans aren’t gods. There are limits to what we can do. One day you might find out that the same goes for your priests at the Shrine.”

Kan thought he would be offended by the words and was surprised to realize he wasn’t. He wondered idly if, with all that happened, his loyalty to the Shrine had dwindled just like his ancestors five hundred years ago. After all, a Southerner devoted to his Goddess wouldn’t simply cross the Red River to live in the North.

He had little interest in continuing the conversation, but a suspicion tugged at him. “If you are indeed a Master shaman at the Temples,” he asked, “why hire me? Whatever your limits are, they are not something a group of bandits can challenge.”

“Because those old chaps pay me too much, so I might as well buy myself a pleasurable companion.” Meizo chuckled and ignored Kan’s stabbing look. “Besides, bandits aren’t the only ones lurking in these woods. Do you Southerners really believe demons have been driven out of this Continent for good?”

Kan’s expression turned into astonishment. “What do you mean? Nobody has seen one of those in four hundred years—”

He stopped midsentence. A sudden sense of dread climbed up his spine. Something was wrong.

It’s just a madman's words, he reassured himself, but he pulled back the reins nonetheless. The westering sun cast shafts of golden light through the thick foliage, dappling the horse’s brown coat. A fog rose slowly from the undergrowth, gathering upward and shrouding the forest in a pale gauze. Too soon. Kan strained his ears and heard no bird chirps or the rustling of leaves. Too quiet.

His right hand moved to the sword hilt. The creepy sensation called to him again from behind, and he swirled around.

A creature was approaching them fast, barely twenty paces away. It had the vague outline of a man, but its shape was fluid, shifting and swaying like a rippled reflection in the water. Sunlight glared off its translucent skin, frosting its body with a milky haze, and Kan caught a glimpse of its black heart hanging against the backdrop of the orange speckled woods.

“It can’t be,” he whispered.

The thing shrieked and leaped at the wagon.