Mai was supposed to die today.

She had been informed, by none other than Savel himself, that the ship was to arrive at the Amzu port of Brajon in a few hours, at high noon. Slytherayaim had told her that she was going to die when the ship reached port.

And Mai did not doubt that Nari for a second.

She sat on her bed, reading Fallen Humanity. She had been reading much in recent days, and now, she was almost done with the book that revealed so much about the trappings of the mind.

But, in a book of this size, almost done meant that she had a hundred pages left. She would never get all of that done in a few hours.

It brought Mai a sting of annoyance, that she would never get to read the end, before her life was snuffed out.

To another, it might have seemed odd that the strongest emotion she could muster was annoyance. But the truth was the truth. Mai had been living on borrowed time ever since Broken had freed her, kicking and screaming, from the burning Imperial Palace. According to the Codes of Sara, she, in disgrace, should have killed herself by now. Since Broken was gone, she could no longer borrow time from him. And so, Mai knew she was as good as dead.

And why fear the inevitable?

There was no reason to, no more than she should fear the sun rising in the east, and setting in the west. There was no more reason to fear death than to fear her ever constant heartbeat, fear the fact that fire burned you, if you touched it.

And so, Mai was oddly at peace. She wondered if perhaps the meaning of her long journey throughout the Empire had been fate’s way of preparing her for her end. Back at the Imperial Palace, Mai had been ready to die, but she had been afraid of death, terribly, terribly afraid.

Now that she had seen the world, had reached a form of inner peace, things were different, in almost every possible way. Maybe she could not die, until she lived. And now that she had lived, now that she could accept the fact that she was going to die, perhaps it was her time.

Mai wasn’t completely sure about that last part, that it was her time, but she was sure enough, that there wasn’t another way.

Slytherayaim was an immortal. What could she, a mere girl, do against him? Perhaps Broken could have done something, but he was, in Mai’s frank opinion, the greatest warrior who ever lived. The term mortal did not apply to him quite as much as it did to the rest of humanity. But Mai was most definitely mortal.

After learning the things Broken had taught her, Mai knew she would never need fear for her safety, if she traveled down an empty street at dark, but Slytherayaim was much more powerful than a common street thug.

There was nothing Mai could do against him. Slytherayaim was more or less a constant, himself.

Mai heard noises through the hull, noises of the ship slowing down, anchoring in Brajon harbor. There was a steady clank-clank-clank noise, as well as the sound of shouting men.

Why do they have to shout? Mai wondered.

In truth, she knew the reason; the officers had to make the seamen aware of what to do where, and choreograph a variety of things all across the deck, simultaneously, with little margin for error.

But, a part of her mind, that refused to accept the fact that all of the crew believed she would be alive for a long time coming, wished the noise would stop, so she could have quite in her last moments. Was that too much to ask?

Probably.

The clanking noises became grinding, and the grinding noises became grating. Mai had been on ships before, but only when she had been very young, and she hadn’t realized quite how noisy an affair this would all be.

Mai wondered if part of the reason for the excess noise was due to the fact that the ship was hardly in good condition, as a quarter of the deck was blown off.

In any case, the crew of the Ascendant seemed finally ready to dock, and the noises slowed, and calmed. Perhaps Mai was imagining things, but she could have sworn she heard a tiny voice call, “Extend the gangplank!”

The words may well have been said, for a moment later, Mai heard a tiny thump, perhaps that of the gangplank.

And then, the ship was docked.

The Ascendant was now fully in the port of Brajon. Mai heard things being unloaded, and she wondered when someone would come, to unload her, too. She held no illusions about Savel and the crew of the ship thinking her any more than cargo.

And then, a knock came on the door.

Mai half expected it to be Slytherayaim, not wasting any time in coming to kill her, but, as the locked door opened, Mai saw that it was Savel.

He walked across the room, clad in the finest white garb. Then he came over to Mai, and roughly manhandled her to her feet. Mai didn’t try to resist, and yet, Savel acted with such force that Fallen Humanity dropped from the bed and onto the floor. Mai noted the irony.

Savel took Mai to the deck of the ship, where, for the first time, she could truly see the extent of the damage Eton’s blast had wrought.

Twisted and charred metal writhed over much of the center of the deck. Even now, after the wood splinters had been cleared away, after the main cabin, which had been just brushed by the blast, had been made accessible again, from the deck of the Ascendant, it looked as if the ship would fall apart at the slightest additional damage.

From the looks on the faces of passers by, on the docks below, they seemed to be thinking similar thoughts. Mai thought she smelled charred wood, but couldn’t imagine how that smell had managed to linger for days.

But regardless, the state of the Ascendant hardly mattered to Mai, in her condition. She would not return to it alive.

As Savel grasped one of her arms tightly, but twisted, to yell at some of his crew, for one reason or another, Mai folded her hands in front of her chest. She calmly waited for him to return his attention back to her.

There was an odd solace she took in her death: at least Savel would get no reward for her delivery from Ehajdon.

Done yelling at his subordinates, Savel motioned for two of his guards to follow him, and again, began yanking Mai, this time, down the gangplank.

They passed from beneath the Ascendant’s massive, tired sails, and down the sturdy wooden bridge, to the wharfs of Brajon.

The wharfs teemed with people, and ships. The second greatest port of the Amzu stood untouched by the war that wracked the mainland. Here, people walked the streets with wide smiles on their faces.

The docks were packed with ships of every sort, and kind. Many of those ships dwarfed the Ascendant, but none were as damaged as she.

Past all this, Savel walked Mai, with the two guards flanking them. Mai tried to look as dignified as she was able, under the less-than-dignifying circumstances.

The four passed from the wharfs, and into the section of the city that seemed to have been built solely for the purpose of entertaining and lodging those stopping in the city, from a ship.

Savel paused, outside the door of what seemed to be a high class inn, named the Wrathful Waters.

“Fahtil,” he told one of the two guards, a tall woman. “Go check on the others. See if the crew’s acquisitioning supplies, and getting shipwrights to fix the Ascendant, like I ordered them too, instead of going off to revel with this city’s entertainment. Report back here, at this inn.”

And the guard rushed off.

Savel, Mai, and the other guard, entered in inn.

If the servant at the main counter made note of Mai’s hampered condition between her two companions, he said nothing of it. After he had been paid for the rooms, the servant waved over a pair of porters, to take the baggage the remaining guard carried, and to direct them to their quarters.

The rooms were upstairs. Having done their jobs, the porters disappeared, and Savel directed Mai to her room, mockingly.

The room within was substantially larger than what Mai had had on the Ascendant, and had a window, with a nice view of the bustling port street below.

But she did not have the luxury of being able to look out, in contentment. Savel’s cool stare into her eyes forced her to respond likewise.

“You have been quite the model prisoner, these past few days,” said Savel. Oddly, for a moment it seemed as if he would strike her, but then, Savel thought better. “It seems,” he said, “that you have realized hope is an idle thought.”

“Hope is never an idle thought,” Mai replied. “Hope is what drives us, in the dark times, to continue onwards, so that we will still be there when the light returns.”

Savel seemed taken aback. “Did you come up with that yourself?” he asked dryly, covering up his surprise, as quickly as he was able.

“Quite,” said Mai, defiantly.

“Well, no matter,” said Savel, continuing on from his slow recovery. “It’s not like you can do something about your situation, anyway, and it’s not like you’re even going to try. Actions speak louder than words, my dear.”

Mai glared at him.

“You and your talk of hope,” said Savel. “You are but a pawn, a slave in this great game of life. I think it’s time you are reminded of what you are.”

He put a hand behind his back, and reached for an object he carried. Grasping it, he brought it into view.

It was a set of manacles.

“It is a disgusting sight,” said Mai, “to see the look of glee enter your eyes, as you fondle the prospect of putting those on me.”

“Everyone is entitled to their own perversions, girl.”

Savel reached out, grabbed Mai’s right wrist, and locked it in place, with the manacles.

Mai was oddly shocked. Her father had done things to her, but never like this. He had confined her, but even he would not use an instrument such as the manacles to imprison his own daughter.

Despite the sudden rush of feelings, however, Mai remained a façade of calm. She would not allow Savel to see her weakness.

Savel shoved her backwards, onto what might have been a comfortable, padded chair, in the corner of the room, but one that did not feel comfortable, or padded, at the moment.

He locked the other side of the manacles around the right armrest, and stepped back, observing his handiwork.

Mai formed herself neatly in the chair, finding a way to work around the status of her right wrist.

“I am going to leave you now,” said Savel, after a time of watching her, silently. “One of my guards will be in the hall, so I trust you to behave yourself, least he come barging in.”

Savel looked at Mai for another moment, carefully examining the expression on her face.

Then he turned, sweeping his off white cloak in her face, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

And, now, though guarded from the outside, Mai was alone. Looking about her surroundings, she stood. She tested the weight of the chair against her arm, and pulled. The heavy object made a horrible grating sound against the floor, and Mai knew she could never lift its weight.

As the door started to open again, Mai quickly sat back down. The guard Savel had mentioned entered. “Is something going on here?” the soldier asked, fingering the hilt of his sword.

Mai’s eyes narrowed into slits. “No,” she said. And, as it would be impossible to escape manacled to the heavy chair, the word she spoke was the truth.

“All right then,” said the guard. He left, and once more the heavy door was shut.

Realizing how trapped she truly was, Mai found her eyes gazing upon a small bucket of water, placed in the far corner of the room.

Considering the inn’s theme, Mai knew the bucket and its contents had been doubtless placed there for art value, to add to the theme.

And yet, she could not help but recall that the last time Slytherayaim had tried to kill her, he had tried to kill her, by drowning her in water.

Mai had a sudden burst of fear that by the end of the day, her head would end up face down, in that bucket.

But in short order, she calmed herself. She would not be weak. Never again. That trait had been purged from her, and would remain purged. Even if she had little control on the events that swirled around her, she still had her mind.

No matter what the situation, she would always have that, if she chose. And so, Mai would not allow herself to lose her wits due to fear.

Again, the door opened.

And this time, it was not the guard. But still, the thing which came in was an expected visitor.

Looking around the Nari, looking around Slytherayaim, features mostly hidden in his dark monk’s cloak, Mai saw the body of the dead guard Savel had posted crumple to the floor.

Slytherayaim shut the door, and pulled back the hood of his monk’s cloak. There he stood, in front of a bound Mai, in all of his Immortal Nari glory.

Standing six and a half feet tall, the snake person towered over the seated Mai, even as his head brushed against the ceiling. His six-fingered, elongated, clawed hands flexed, and unflexed, and the golden scales that covered his body glimmered in the light of day.

What was eerie about Slytherayaim, most of all, though, was how much his head and neck looked exactly like those of a snake. Larger, of course, but the way that animal head cocked with intelligence, it was enough to incite terror.

How did Mai know this was Slytherayaim, when, for all she knew from gazing into that face, it could be any other Nari?

Because she didn’t believe Slytherayaim would hand off the job to another. Mai knew she was worth his attention, and his alone.

As Mai looked at the Nari, purging herself of fear, Slytherayaim’s tongue hissed in, and hissed out. He opened his mouth wide, revealing massive, razor fangs, before snapping it shut.

Before her, like this, the Nari looked larger than life, utterly and completely surreal. And yet, this was no dream. Slytherayaim had come to her in dreams before, but this, here, now, was no dream.

“Princess,” hissed the Nari. “It is your time.”

Mai said nothing, her heart blazing defiance. But there was nothing she could do to stop the inevitable. It pained her so, so much, to want to save herself so badly, and yet, be unable to.

The Nari paced to the far corner, and picked up the bucket of water, just as Mai had dreaded. He then returned to her, and placed it on her lap.

“Put your head down,” said the Nari. He extended a clawed hand, with grasping fingers. “My hand will guide you, hold you.”

But Mai did not bow her head.

“This can be painful,” said the Nari, “or this can be a great relief, for you, Maiako. It is your choice. You have nothing left in this world.”

“Broken…” Mai whispered.

“The one you call Broken has returned to his roots,” said the Nari. “He calls himself by his true name, once more.”

“Tell me.”

“I can see no harm,” said the Nari, “if this knowledge will help you die. Broken’s true name is…Casari.”

Mai knew Slytherayaim meant the demon, without needing to hear the last name. All the pieces fit, all of Broken’s strange obsessions. The first name he had ever called himself to her was Casari. She had thought he meant it in jest, but, reflecting, she realized she should have known.

Casari is Koranor, Lord of the Fallen Host, had wanted to use her for his ends, and then discard her, just like everybody else. Mai had no idea how he had managed to escape his crystal prison, but frankly, that was not her most pressing concern.

For oddly, even after learning that the man she had grown to trust was no man at all, she did not feel hopeless, resigned.

In fact, learning that he was no hero, that there was no chance he could save her, lit a fire within Mai. She had no one to rely on but herself, and so, she would not let herself down.

She remembered all the things Casari had taught her. He had been using her then, no doubt, but still, Mai could not help but feel that his words had been true.

And what else did she have against the divine power of a Nari, but the words, the maxims, of a demon? What was more apt?

“I have told you,” said Slytherayaim. “And you know I can speak no lies. Now, let yourself end.”

“If you want to do as much, you’re going to have to force my head down,” said Mai. “I will not go willingly into the night.”

“So be it,” said the Nari.

He grasped Mai’s head, and forced it down. Her strength was nothing against his.

Mai’s eyes were open, under the water.

She could see clearly, for the light streaming through the window was enough to illuminate all, even here.

\Try to breathe, and end this pathetic mockery of a life you live, came a voice. It was not of the Nari. It was of Mai. A portion of her mind told her such.

And yet, Mai did not breathe.

She recalled a statement Broken had said once. Even though he was a demon, even though he was a monster, even though he was Casari, he was Broken too, and Broken, the man Casari had pretended to be, had been a good man. A conflicted, tortured man, but a good man, nevertheless.

At the Holy Citadel, when all things had seemed bleak, when a giant gash was ripped across his chest, Broken had come to Mai. She had been frightened for him, and he had told her that the cut pained him as much as it would any man. The only difference was, he forced his body to overcome the pain, to continue to live. He lived, because he presented himself with no other option.

Knowing Broken was the demon Casari, Mai was fully aware that he didn’t need inner strength to continue to live. He lived because he was a demon, and, as so, nearly invulnerable.

But perhaps, there was something to his statement.

When all hope seems lost, force yourself to overcome.

All hope did seem lost.

And, as Mai had said to Slytherayaim, she saw no reason to go quietly into the night. She would not allow herself to die; she would not allow herself to take her final breath.

Mai had never been able to defend herself, in the past. She was weak, she was a female, and more than that, she had never really tried, because, from an early age, she had been taught that she was not one who could make her own decisions.

But things were different now.

Broken, or Casari, he had taught her things. He had taught her things about herself, things about the world, that she had never really put into practice.

Perhaps he was a demon. Perhaps he really did want to bring the world down in flames. But did that mean that everything he said had to be a lie?

No.

I have power within me, thought Mai. If only I can think of a way quickly enough, I can escape this.

But, as her lungs felt like bursting, as all instinct told her to breathe, higher reasoning began to evaporate, replaced by pure rage.

She would not let herself die.

She was no demon, she was no Broken, she was no Varsis, she was no Eton. She was merely a girl. And yet, Maiako as Arathou del Tachen would not let herself die.

As her rage smoldered in the water, she remembered a different last name, one Slytherayaim himself had called her, in a dream. Sarathorn. Maiako as Arathou del Sarathorn. One who scorned the Codes of Sara.

Suddenly, that House name seemed much more apt than Tachen. Tachen, the decrepit House Mai had been born of, that had no chance of regaining the throne, now that their champions, the Arathou, the family for which the dynasty was named, were scattered to the winds. Tachen represented stifling tradition. Sarathorn was the new. Mai was Sarathorn.

And her own rage burned her.

I WILL NOT LET MYSELF DIE!

And Mai breathed, as her lungs could take no more. As her mind raged, her body faltered.

Water flooded her lungs.

And Mai was greeted with the curious sensation of not being dead.

Everything she saw was red, literally.

And then, there was the noise of a distant rumble, and the bucket exploded around her. Water spewed forth from Mai’s mouth, until she could breathe again. Then, she looked up.

Slytherayaim still stood before her, but he had stepped back a pace. His hand no longer held her head down. Mai’s arm was still chained to the chair, but there was something different now, something very, very different.

Somehow, she had endured. All over, broken chunks of the wooden bucket were scattered across the floor.

Mai didn’t know how what had happened happened. But she knew that she was still alive, and would not allow that fact to change.

Slytherayaim seemed about to say something. What, Mai didn’t know.

But she was not about to hear it.

Whatever had come before, exploded from her once again. The world was red, and all around, the bed, the floor, the open curtains: they all burst into flames. Even the Nari was not immune to the combustion. His cloak caught fire, even as everything else within Mai vision did the same.

Mai didn’t understand it. She didn’t understand what was happening. But a part of her didn’t care.

The floor exploded beneath the Nari’s feet, and great tongues of flame licked him. He was thrown backwards, out through the burning wall, down to the street below, even as he let forth a horrible, inhuman scream.

And thus, he was gone.

Good riddance.

And yet, the fires continued to spread, culminating in explosion after explosion. There was a great burst of wind by the window, and the Nari, again came through, naked now, and carrying a great double scythe, in all of its gruesome glory.

Slytherayaim rushed to her, raising his weapon, trying to end it all, trying to end whatever was happening, trying to complete his mission.

But Mai knew that his attack was doomed. She knew little else, but she knew that.

The world exploded into flames, red, and blackness, pierced by one last horrible scream.

And as Mai faded into unconsciousness, she knew only one thing for certain.

She would wake up again.