The three argued for some time about what would best jog Song’s memory.

  They settled on some good-natured brotherly ribbing.

  “And then you fell flat on your face, right in front of Jo Harin.” The one called Wook pantomimed a face crashing into the training ground floor. “The flower of Changpo! And, I joke you not, you bleated like an actual goat!”

  The other two burst out laughing. Wook had been telling the tale of Song’s attempts at completing the first few moves of the Lee family’s Goat Stance, and how it hadn’t gone quite to plan.

  Cyrus laughed weakly as well, but his heart wasn’t in it. None of this sounded familiar. Not the good moments, the bad, or the monumentally embarrassing.

  At least this Song kid seemed to have come from a good place. He had a loving family, if a bit overbearing, and from what Cyrus could tell he was forthright, kind, and a hard worker.

  But he clearly had no luck.

  Not born with the tall, well-muscled physique of his third brother.

  Not born with the smarts or wisdom of his first brother.

  Not born with the beauty of his second brother.

  The rock-hard abs of the surprisingly flexible body he now inhabited were the result of pure hard work and dedication. As a semi-pro lacrosse player and aspiring Olympian, Cyrus could respect that. Laud it, even.

  And Cyrus had replaced him. Or body snatched him or something. He wasn’t sure. God, I’m sorry kid.

  “This just isn’t working,” Cyrus sighed. “Can you think of anything else? I don’t even understand what ‘cultivation’ is.”

  Wook and Taeyang both immediately looked at Juwon, who sighed.

  “Cultivation is the act of drawing in the qi of one of the Great Ones,” Juwon explained. “And then using it to reshape the body and soul. Much like one ‘cultivates’ a flower, or a relationship. Proper cultivation leads to great strength and a longer life.”

  Cyrus considered his body. He didn’t look like a flower. “And this ‘qi deviation’ you say I experienced?”

  “Any mishap with qi is called qi deviation. You did a ritual for the Verdant Mother, but ended up with the Dark Dreamer’s qi – that’s deviation.”

  “If you ate a mushroom with too much Wood qi, and your body exploded into cherry blossoms, that would be qi poisoning leading to qi deviation,” Wook added unhelpfully.

  Cyrus shuddered. What kind of world was this?? “How do I, uh, avoid having that happen to me? And can someone tell me what the heck the Verdant Mother or Dark Dreamer are?”

  “No need to worry, little brother, you’ve already escaped that fate. At least for now.” Juwon patted Cyrus on the back. “The Great Ones are the ancient and mysterious beings that form the foundation of all creation. Each embodies one of the five Elements and a cardinal direction. The Western Verdant Mother of Wood, the Southern Crimson Hunger of Fire, the Northern Azure Scholar of Water, and the Eastern Golden Emperor of Earth. Then there’s Heaven above, and Man below, thus forming the Sphere of Creation.”

  An image flashed briefly in Cyrus’s mind of a vast, tentacled, thing. He held a palm up to his forehead. “Ugh… my head. Sorry, I’m still not seeing it.”

  “Have you tried meditating?” Juwon asked. “Reaching deep into your mindscape and seeing what it evokes?”

  Wook exclaimed excitedly. “Oh! Yes! You haven’t meditated since forming your dantian, right? The mindscape of a cultivator looks so much different from a regular mortal’s. Maybe something there will jog your memory!”

  “Or it could fully release the Inner Demon that now resides within your soul,” Tae whispered menacingly. Then yelped with pain as Wook thumped him on the head.

  Cyrus sat upright and pulled at a chin blessedly free of stubble. “Can’t hurt.”

  “Can!” Tae groaned, but they ignored him.

  “Do you remember how?” Juwon asked, sitting up as well.

  “Not really.”

  “First you enter the lotus stance.” Juwon adopted a crossed-legged position, and Cyrus copied him. “Next, breathe deep and free yourself from earthly worries and desires. As the Patriarch always says – “

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  The three intoned as one, with only a hint of sarcasm.

  “Breathe in, breathe out.

  Head of stone. Heart of steel. Hold your tongue. Hide your thoughts.

  Breathe in, breathe out.”

  Cyrus did his best to follow along, repeating his “ – breathe out” a beat behind the rest.

  “Close your eyes. Remember where you came from, who you are, and where you want to be. Let your past guide your present, and come home to us, little star,” Juwon’s voice seemed to come from far away.

  Cyrus closed his eyes, and remembered the past.

  —

  “Hey man, just this one game and we’ll be in the finals! If we win that, you’re a shoe-in for the National team!” His team captain clapped Cyrus on the shoulder pads.

  Cyrus shook his head. “These’re the first Olympics with Lacrosse in them for over a hundred years, Jack. I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy. And I’m one of the smallest in the league.”

  “Come on, you know as well as I do how good you are. Who cares about height? You’re the fastest in the Eastern Canada conferences, and your stick handling is second to none,” Jack shot back.

  “It’s all that ancient kung-fu he practices,” Pete, their team’s star midfielder added from across the locker room.

  Cyrus rolled his eyes. “It’s not mystic kung-fu, it’s bojutsu. Staff arts. And it only helps a little.”

  “What-eeever, not all of us have mystical ancestral martial arts to help aid our lacrosse journey.”

  “Dude, bojutsu is Japanese. My grandma’s Korean. And anyone can go do bojustu. You want my sensei’s number?”

  “Hell no! I’m gonna finish up my MBA and then I’m retiring. It’s too high impact, and I’m not getting any younger.”

  The locker room laughed, then got back to putting on their equipment. The Kitchner-Waterloo Junior A Lacrosse team was all-jokes-all-the-time in the locker room, but they took their lacrosse seriously. Half the team had serious plans to go professional, and others, like Cyrus, were hoping to make it into Canada’s first Olympic Lacrosse team for the 2028 games.

  At 21, Cyrus was about to age out, and his best shot at continuing his favourite game was either making it to pro, or getting into the Olympics. As a mixed race Korean-Canadian, Cyrus was on the small side, especially when paired up against some of the more massive players, but he put in the effort and he’d found his niche by mixing in bojutsu with his stick handling.

  So he practiced. And practiced. And practiced.

  His grandma called him a lacrosse deokhu, and constantly begged him to put down his stick and pick up a scalpel to become a doctor.

  But Cyrus couldn’t. He had a love of the game.

  Thankfully, mom and dad supported him. Dad said it was ‘the maple-syrup in his veins’ coming through, even if he did take more after his mom. With spikey black hair, almond eyes, and a short stature, just about the only thing Cyrus had gotten from his dad was a whiter complexion and denser muscle mass than his fully Korean cousins.

  “Suit up, boys!” Coach called through the locker room door. “Let’s show these Quebeckers why the Juniour A’s are the best team on this side of the Saint Lawrence!

  The team cheered, Cyrus the loudest of them all.

  The game had gone well. At least… it had until that bad hit into the boards.

  Then darkness.

  The Spheres.

  And the Dance.

  —

  Cyrus snapped awake, and groaned. There was a sharp pain in the space between his eyes, and for some reason his belly-button ached.

  Three horned men stared at him with wide eyes.

  “Anything?” Wook asked.

  “No. But… maybe. There was something there at the end.”

  Cyrus shivered from the chill wind, and noticed for the first time what time it was. The sun was no longer high in the sky overhead, but setting low in the distance. He’d been meditating for hours.

  And Song’s brothers had sat with him the whole time.

  “We should go inside and get warm. Maybe a hot cup of tea would help? Or wine?” Tae said nonchalantly.

  Wook poked Tae in the side. “You just want to drink. And little Song is still little Song.”

  “Little Song is a man now,” Tae scoffed. “Besides, even if he wasn’t, Mother says that alcohol is perfectly fine for children as medicine. You always got some when you were injured.”

  “I was twice Song’s size!”

  “No, I think Tae’s right. Song’s not going to be able to properly meditate if he’s cold,” Juwon said, but Cyrus held up his hand.

  “No. The cold is helping. It… reminds me of something. Let me try again.” Cyrus took another deep breath, repeating the mantra, and dropped back into meditation.

  The three brothers watched their youngest with shared looks of consternation. Wook chuckled. “At least we know that’s definitely Song in there.”

  “Do you think… he’ll be okay?” Tae asked, his hand reaching out to his little brother before dropping helplessly back to his side.

  “If you ever came out for morning practice, you wouldn’t be worried.” Wook proclaimed, a note of pride in his voice. “Song tries harder than anyone. He made it through my training regime. He can make it through anything.”

  “Made it through that awful concoction you drink, you mean.” Tae rolled his eyes.

  “It’s a medicinal elixir.”

  Juwon sighed and stood, then stretched and cracked his back. “You two keep watch. I’ll go get a blanket.”