Cyrus tapped on the full-length mirror with his knuckle.

  “Hey, Song. You gonna come out? I don’t have all day.”

  The boy was facing away from the mirror, his arms wrapped around his knees much like Mae had sat this morning. He didn’t answer.

  “Are you… sulking?” Cyrus asked incredulously. Is he seriously having a teenage tantrum?

  Vague memories of standing at his sister’s bedroom door and trying to soothe her tears surfaced in Cyrus’s mind before scattering like raindrops.

  He frowned, then shook his head to clear it. So much of his life from before his time in the Void still felt like it was behind a veil.

  “I don’t see why I should bother coming out,” Song whispered. “They all love you. Why not take over and become famous for me. I can at least be proud knowing that the world considers ‘Lee Song’ a great hero. Just swear you won’t hurt my family.”

  Cyrus chuckled. “You saw all that, huh? I thought maybe you were knocked out.”

  “I saw everything!” Song’s voice cracked. “You killed the grasswolf. You drank my coming-of-age airag. You even managed to get Uncle Seok to acknowledge me!”

  “That jerk? Screw that guy, you don’t need his acknowledgement. You’ll learn that some people just aren’t worth your time, Song.” Cyrus scratched at his smooth chin. “And it’s not like I wanted to do any of that.”

  Song whirled to face the mirror and glared at Cyrus. White salt tracks ran down his cheeks, and his face was raw and red. “But you did!”

  Cyrus took a step back. “Whoah! You’re a wreck!”

  “Of course I’m a wreck!” Song sobbed. ‘That grasswolf killed me! I was dead! Or I would’ve been if you weren’t here, stuck in my head. I owe my life to an Inner Demon!”

  “I accept both credit cards and all major currencies,” Cyrus quipped. “But a thank you would also suffice.”

  “I don’t understand you,” Song mumbled, wiping his arm across his face. “What’s wrong with your head? Why’s my Inner Demon so weird?”

  Cyrus sighed as he lay down with his back against the mirror, staring up at the constellation in the sky. “I keep telling you, Song. I’m not a Demon.”

  “Then what are you?”

  “I don’t – I don’t know,” Cyrus groaned. “A twenty-one year old lacrosse player from Ontario? A Korean-Canadian? A dancer in some inter-dimensional monstrosity's daydreams? Some kung-fu main character’s spirit guide? One of those things isn’t quite like the others, by the way.”

  “What’s a spirit guide?” Song asked, quelling a sniffle.

  “That’s what you got from all that? It’s a disembodied animal or old master who teaches you the ways of the world, before dying tragically in act three in order to spur you into fighting the villain. Like master splinter, or shifu.”

  “Like… a fortuitous encounter?”

  “Y’know, I heard your dad mention that. What is it?”

  Song came close to the mirror and laid his back against it as well. “It’s when you come across a treasure of the Gangho. Like a ten-thousand year old ginseng filled to the brim with The Verdant Mother’s qi, or a demonic blade that feasts on blood. I’ve read stories of cultivators who found ancient realms or gained the inheritance of a True Immortal, like the great hero Lee Lin.”

  “The Gangho? Is that the name of the country?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “You don’t even know that!?”

  “Not. From. Murim. Song!”

  “Then let this Lee Song explain it to you,” Song proudly declared, his voice growing more and more excited as he spoke. “The Gangho is the greater world, as it relates to the lives and deeds of cultivators. It’s the tales of people and places that build the myths and legends of Murim. A king might live in a castle their entire life and never touch the Gangho, while a beggar on the street may find himself swept into the epic adventures of the Beggar Sect before rising to become a Heavenly Immortal. That is the Gangho! It’s both all around us and yet impossible to touch.”

  “Ah, you’re a romanticist!” Cyrus chuckled. “I can appreciate that.”

  “It’s real!”

  “Hey, I’m sitting in a pocket dimension talking through a mirror to a boy who looks like a no-name brand version of me. I’m not judging.”

  “No-name? My name is Song. Wait! You’re not calling me ‘kid’ anymore!”

  “I’m not? You sure, kid?”

  “Hey!”

  “You’re fun to tease, I can see why your brothers do it. But I’m serious, Song. I don’t want to live your life! It’s yours! But,” Cyrus turned and looked at the back of the young man’s head. “I’m happy to help in any way I can. I’ll be your fortuitous encounter, or whatever.”

  “You?” Song asked incredulously. Then he began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. He nearly doubled over with the force of it.

  “It’s not that funny,” Cyrus muttered, nettled.

  Song wiped tears from his eyes once more, then stood and turned to face the mirror. “Oh, it is. Truly, you’re exactly the kind of fortuitous encounter that I would expect to appear before, I, Lee Song.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m following or like all the implications there, but are we good?” Cyrus asked, rising to his feet and gesturing between the two of them.

  “You truly don’t want my body?”

  “I’m giving it back, aren’t I?”

  Song laughed again. “Yes. Let’s start from the beginning, oh mighty spirit guide. I’m Lee Song, son of Lee San of the Changpo Lee’s.” He bowed at the waist, a student to a teacher. “Would you accept this one as your pupil?”

  Cyrus scratched his chin, then nodded his head, a teacher to a student. “And I’m Cyrus Park, son of, uh, Pete, of the um, the Fourth Street Parks? And, sure, just don’t get me killed in act three.”

  “I’ll try. This doesn’t mean I fully trust you, though,” Song’s lips thinned. “You’re still a strange being from the Dark Dreamer’s mindscape.”

  Cyrus shrugged. “Eh, that’s fair. Stranger danger.”

  They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment, before Cyrus gestured with his hand at the mirror. “We gonna swap now?”

  “Oh, yes, sorry,” Song shook himself and placed his hand against the mirror.

  —

  A moment later, Song was patting his body to make sure all the pieces were still there. The face within the mirror was once again that of an older and stockier him, with slightly too pale skin and too round green eyes.

  “Oh. I forgot to mention,” Cyrus called. “I left you a surprise out there, to help you with your hunting exam.”

  “I saw. That ridiculous stick thing.” Song frowned. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to do it with a bow.”

  “Ah, ah, ah! Your first lesson, my young padawan,” Cyrus tutted, wagging a finger, “is that when it comes to things like contracts and deals, the letter of the law matters just as much as the spirit. She said you needed to hit it at range, not with a bow. Trust me, she’ll be impressed with your ingenuity. And the lacrosse stick – uh, sling-staff – is a time honoured hunting weapon.”

  “I’m not sure Hunter An will share your enthusiastic disregard for her intentions,” Song replied. “But I’ll consider it.”

  “You do that.”

  As Song turned to leave, Cyrus caught his attention once more. “And Song? You killed that grasswolf. It was on its last legs when I fought it; I just finished it off. You herd horses, play a mean guitar, and fight monsters. I don’t know if I could've done any of that when I was thirteen. You have nothing to be ashamed of, so hold your head high out there.”

  Song’s lower lip quivered as he nodded his head. “Yes, Teacher.”

  “I told you to call me Cyrus, remember?”

  Song nodded again, and then he vanished, leaving Cyrus alone once more beneath that endless night sky.

  “And make sure you come visit sometimes!” Cyrus called after him desperately. “Wait! Are you already gone? Soooong!”

  —

  The sun had just barely risen to its highest point as Song emerged blinking from his tent. His face was thoughtful as he plodded his way to the training grounds.

  He spent a minute considering the mess on the bench, before picking up a long sling-staff bound with a red leather grip. Choosing a few scattered stones, he made his way to the fifty pace mark. He plopped a stone into the leather strap, and then stood with one leg in front of the line, and the other behind. With a flash of motion, he whipped the stick in an overhead arc. It made a faint whine as his Void infused body spun it faster than any base mortal ever could, and the leather cracked like a whip as it launched the stone through the air.

  Song’s eyes easily tracked the projectile in its arrow-straight path. It impacted directly in the center of the target and exploded into a dozen shards.

  Slowly, he smiled, then strolled off to see Hunter An Iseul.

  Patreon!