Taryn’s eyes slowly fluttered open. Almost immediately he noticed that his mouth was incredibly dry, to the point where it was difficult for him to swallow, and it felt like his tongue had grown three sizes too large. He tried rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth to get some moisture, but even that failed. His mouth felt like it was full of dirt, and the simple act of moving his tongue caused him pain.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, he felt disgusting. Sitting up made him feel like he was peeling his skin off of the smooth rock of the pit. As it turned out, he was peeling himself off the floor. Around where his shoulders and upper back would’ve been, Taryn saw a surprising amount of blood. He lightly touched the back of his head and felt that his hair was sticky with the dried blood, and his neck felt slimy.

Taryn shivered as a cool breeze drifted in from the hole above. The air acted like tiny needles, stabbing him in every pore; looking down at his chest, he realized that the skin there and on his stomach was red and tender—the same was true for his arms.

Taryn couldn’t understand why he felt as if Rala had burned him. He’d only been asleep for… He realized that he didn’t know.

He looked skyward, and Rala’s light was still coloring the sky in shades of orange, purple, and green. However, the light was coming from the opposite direction. But surely he was mistaken. He hadn’t been in the pit that long.

Without warning, Taryn felt pain in his brain like nothing he’d ever felt. Like a spear had been shoved through his skull. Taryn fell backwards and let out a high-pitched moan, the pain temporarily removing his ability to scream.

Visions flashed across Taryn’s eyes: war, death, destruction. It all came across as a big, jumbled mess that he couldn’t make sense of. Luckily, it didn’t last long, only a few seconds, but it felt much longer than that, and the pain rendered him almost catatonic for several minutes afterwards.

Eventually, Taryn managed to gather enough of his wits to move again. He didn’t feel like sitting up—he couldn’t remember what he ate last, but he had a feeling it would end up on the floor if he felt that pain again. So, he slowly rolled himself onto his stomach and pushed to his knees, being extra careful not to jostle his aching body more than was absolutely necessary.

He sat there for a few moments, unable to move or even think due to an onslaught of nausea. Was anything broken? No, he didn’t think so. He was sore, sure, but it was an ache that came from lying on stone for several hours without moving.

Was he hungry? Taryn certainly felt like he should eat, but it was currently the last thing he wanted to do.

What he did really want to do was find whoever dug the pit and shove a spear so far up their backside they could use the blade to pick their teeth clean.

Something from the corner of Taryn’s eye caught his attention, and he recalled the events prior to passing out.

The journal was lying on the ground a few feet away from where he’d fallen. Now that Rala’s light was coming from the other direction, Taryn could see that the journal wasn’t his. It wasn’t even the same color. Taryn’s journal was a rich brown, while this one was dull gray and covered in scratches and other signs of damage: a burn mark here, an indent there, and right in the center was a thin hole, like the kind a rather large blade would make.

Taryn struggled with what to do for several moments, before finally giving in to his curiosity and picking up the book… Nothing happened. The journal just flopped open in his hand, landing on a page somewhere in the middle of the book. There were three images there, or rather a single image from three different angles: the page depicted a faceless man with his left leg extended out in front of him, right leg bent into a crouch, and both arms held out in front of him with clenched fists.

Though the page didn’t say what the drawing was, Taryn instinctively recognized it as the first movement in a set of fifty techniques: the movements revolved around a punching style that valued speed and positioning over force—normally used as a means to dodge strikes and unleash devastating counterblows from unexpected directions. He could see the way to perform the technique in his mind, each step acting like pieces of a puzzle being shifted into place until the whole image became clear.

Taryn knew he could perform the technique easily… Or rather, he could perform a version of it. He’d have to remove the steps that required Eco to perform, leaving a technique with thirty fewer steps.

Taryn snatched up the book and tucked it into the front of his pants. First thing he needed to do was get out of the pit and get cleaned up. Then and only then could he even attempt to figure out what in Aurelia’s name was going on.

As if to protest the fact that it’d been forgotten, Taryn’s stomach chose that exact moment to let its presence be known. Okay, Taryn allowed. Get cleaned up, eat, then figure out what’s going on.

Taryn’s first thought was to try to climb out, but the relatively smooth walls of the pit made that difficult. He could get a few feet off the ground, but then his—admittedly poor—arm strength would fail him, and he’d fall off the wall.

His next thought was to call for help, but that idea was immediately squashed, shoved into a box, and lit on fire. Calling for help was about the stupidest thing he could do right now, ranked only after falling into the pit in the first place.

Teng De had been quite clear about what would happen if Taryn was found in the training fields again, and Taryn didn’t know him well enough to know if he was bluffing or not… Actually, thinking on it again, Taryn was sure he wasn’t bluffing. He could still feel the stone-like grip that so effortlessly held him off the ground and see the anger burning just behind Teng De’s eyes. No way that was a bluff.

From the state of the ground where he’d been lying, it appeared as if he’d lost approximately ten percent of his total blood supply: enough to make him feel faint and weak, but not nearly enough to kill him… Taryn wasn’t sure how he knew that, but something in his gut told him that was correct.

“Well, look what the Nyarin dragged in. Looks like Mask has gone and gotten himself into trouble.” Taryn’s body jolted at the voice. His head tracked up and to the left, only stopping once his eyes landed on a group of boys his age. They were all wearing the standard Ukata training garb: white pants, a black undershirt, and a blue robe.

Taryn wasn’t offended by the nickname, though he probably should have been. It was always difficult for him to discern whether it was meant to be an insult, or because the person hadn’t bothered to remember his name.

Most didn’t.

Taryn heard a sigh filled with annoyance from directly behind him. Before he could react, he was flying through the air. His trip was rather short-lived, as he landed on his back approximately twelve feet from the pit.

A shadow passed over Taryn’s face. It was unfortunately not enough to block all the light shining in his sensitive eyes.

Not that Taryn was willing to ask the shadow to move over. He already felt half dead, no need to sprint the rest of the way just yet.

A pair of vibrant blue eyes stared down at him. The owner of the eyes looked beyond annoyed: her eyebrows furrowed in consternation, her jaw muscles were flexed to the point Taryn could practically hear her teeth grinding against one another, and her lips were pulled into a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

If all of that wasn’t obvious enough, the wooden sword tip sticking into his forehead was a pretty striking clue. One Taryn didn’t even need all of his faculties to pick up on.

“Erm… Hi? I didn’t realize today was the fifteenth.” Taryn showed a nervous smile as he slowly moved the sword tip away from his face. His hand was smacked with the flat end of the sword, and the tip was returned to its place.

“The lot of you get home now. And you...” She pressed the sword tip into Taryn’s forehead hard enough that he just knew it was going to leave a weird mark, even through the mask. “You’re going to explain why you’re here, and you’re going to do it now.”

“Yes, Grandma…” Taryn sighed. He ignored the snickering of the boys around him and waited until they were alone to begin relaying an altered version of his story to Fan Shun, the woman who found him in the forest all those years ago and raised him as her own.

Though she was in her eighties, eighty-seven to be exact, Fan Shun looked to be no older than fifty, with short black hair and a face that was tanned and beginning to wrinkle from long days in the sun. She wore clothes similar to Taryn’s, though her green robe lacked sleeves and her breeches were rolled up to just beneath her knee. Understandable, considering she was under Rala’s light all day. Her rather youthful appearance and strong body was thanks in part to the Ukata genetics, but also to her own hard work and effort in cultivating her Eco.

Though she’d had to leave the clan in order to raise Taryn, she was still highly respected.

Fan Shun was a once-in-a-decade genius who managed to reach the body refining stage at the age of sixteen and was on the cusp of reaching the spirit rising stage—something that could only be claimed by a handful of other people in the entire city—when she found Taryn and “retired.”

As such, she was too valuable to let go completely. So, a compromise was reached, and she spent her days training the new generations in how to perform the basic Ukata clan techniques.

Taryn once had the bright idea of asking her to awaken his Eco and train him as well, only to find out the true price she’d paid in order to raise him

The only way they would allow Fan Shun to raise him within the city was if she willingly allowed them to seal her core, completely separating her from her Eco and preventing her from using most of the skills she’d honed over decades of training. All to ensure she would not teach the Ukata clan’s secret martial techniques to the outsider.

As his story began to wind down, Fan Shun pulled the bandage she’d wrapped around the crown of his head a little too tight, causing Taryn to wince. “Hey, easy on the head.”

“Easy? You’re lucky I was the one who found you. If it’d been any of the other instructors—”

“I know, I know. I’d be tossed out on my rear,” Taryn said dismissively. “I’m guessing you’ve already talked with Teng De?”

“What do you think?” she asked, practically spitting the words at the back of his head. She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet in a show of strength that didn’t match her size. “Actually, this presents me with a good opportunity to tell you about your punishment.” Fan Shun clapped her hands twice and smiled, something that disturbed Taryn even more than if she’d just started screaming.

Fan Shun didn’t smile when she was angry: screamed and ranted, certainly. But smiling… That was new. And Taryn didn’t like “new.”

As Rala finished setting over the Western Wall, Taryn and Fan Shun returned home. The six-story stone building they called home was located in the first residential district, near the agricultural district.

Due to the severe overpopulation crisis plaguing the common folk of Haven City, especially those living in the first residential district, Taryn and Fan Shun lived with hundreds of other people inside this one building.

Luckily, they were given one of only fifteen private apartments thanks to Fan Shun’s reputation. Their home was the size of the closet Fan Shun had used growing up in the Ukata clan compound.

Taryn knew he didn’t have the right to complain though. Most people lived in communal dwellings, with up to twenty-six people being forced to live in a shared dormitory.

They passed through the front door into a narrow lobby packed with people either leaving for work or arriving home. Each dwelling was granted a steel box inset into the wall of the lobby; as some of the last people to acquire space in the building, Taryn and his grandmother had a box near the entrance.

The private boxes were approximately two hands tall, two hands wide, and a hand and a half deep. By necessity, the communal dwellings had boxes three or four times larger.

Emblazoned with the number 326, their box was on the lowest row—nearly touching the floor. Taryn and Fan Shun placed their shoes inside—as was mandated by the building owner.

This suited Fan Shun fine, as she didn’t like wearing shoes inside their home anyway because of the smell that often accompanied them after exercising all day.

After shutting the box, they shuffled their way through the crowd of people. It took some work, as most people didn’t like being inconvenienced, especially by him, but Taryn managed to shift and sidestep his way through the crowd without any bloodshed.

At the rear of the lobby was a set of stairs just wide enough for two people to traverse at a time. This wasn’t the only staircase in the building, but it was the one closest to their home, and was usually the most convenient one to take.

With Fan Shun’s help, Taryn reached the third floor and their small apartment.

He fished an iron key out of his bag and stuck it into a small hole on the wall beside the door frame. The locking mechanism was something the Qiao clan invented several summers ago. Until then, simple deadbolts had been used. But for anyone above the channel building stage, those were all too easily broken. They didn’t do so well at keeping those in the channel building stage out either. With the new locks, the only way someone would be able to budge the door was if they destroyed the very wall the door was connected to. If someone could get through that, the door was useless anyway.

Like most of the private dwellings in the building, Taryn’s home was barely big enough to be called such. It wasn’t much to look at, none of the rooms in the building were, but for most of Taryn’s life it was home. It was his escape from the world, from the knowledge of who he was, or rather who he wasn’t. In this apartment, Taryn was no longer “Mask” or “the Clanless,” he was just a boy living with his grandmother.

The main living area was only large enough to accommodate a few people. A two-person table was crammed against the far wall, and a diminutive coal burning stove was positioned just behind the door, small enough to be completely concealed by the door whenever it was fully open.

There were no seats to be found inside; instead, small cushions were placed on either side of the table to allow Taryn and Fan Shun some measure of comfort while they ate.

Apart from the stove and the table, there was only one other piece of furniture to be found in the main living area, a small rectangular cabinet positioned above the table that held utensils and plates whenever they were not in use.

On either side of the living area was a door: one led to Taryn’s bedroom, while the other led to Fan Shun’s. The bedrooms were an almost perfect mirror of each other, both only containing a single mat for sleeping, some blankets, and a single white cushion to be used as a pillow.

However, Taryn’s room also possessed a small bookshelf at the foot of his mat. This bookshelf held all manner of scrolls and books that Taryn had collected over the years. Even from where he was standing in the living area, he could see a half dozen scrolls lying on the floor, exactly where he’d left them.

Fan Shun and Taryn had a code, a simple set of rules put in place to ensure they could live together in harmony. And the rules were thus: clean up after yourself, don’t go into the other’s room without permission, and do your best to let the other know if you were going out.

Fan Shun unceremoniously dropped Taryn onto his mat just in time for a wave of dizziness to overtake him. He’d done well to make it back to the apartment on his own two feet, but now all he wanted to do was crawl onto his mat and sleep for about six days.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Fan Shun sighed. “Hang on, I’m pretty sure I still have some elixir left over from the last time.”

Taryn was in the process of removing his mask when he reflexively winced at her casual reminder of the last time he’d been injured. Granted, it was his own fault, and his pride was hurt far more than his body was.

He’d fallen off one of the dividing walls while trying to impress the girl he’d met at the New Year’s Festival. Her name was Yawen. Taryn had never gotten to know her family name, if she’d even had one… Who was he kidding, she wasn’t like him. Of course she had a family name.

Taryn had stupidly believed that they’d become friends, and though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he had secretly hoped to be more than friends with Yawen. She was smart, courageous, and more gorgeous than any other woman in the city.

However, only twelve days after their meeting, Yawen suddenly stopped showing up to their usual meeting places. She vanished from his sight so thoroughly, it was as if she’d never existed in the first place. She’d left Taryn with only a bittersweet memory… And a convenient excuse to sneak out.

“There, drink.” Fan Shun thrust a half-full glass bottle into Taryn’s chest. It held a faintly glowing blue liquid that stuck to the inside of the bottle like slime.

Taryn inspected the blue liquid with a raised brow. “Doesn’t this stuff only have a shelf life of like, a week?” he asked while shaking the bottle in Fan Shun’s direction.

“As long as it still glows, it’ll fix your woes. Now, shut up, drink every last drop of that, then get to sleep. You’ll heal faster that way. I’m going to see Teng De first thing in the morning and try to convince him not to exile you.” After saying her piece, Fan Shun slammed his door on her way out.

“Thank you! For everything…” Taryn finished in a quieter voice. He was exhausted, more so than he’d ever been before.

He pulled the cork out of the bottle then held it over his open mouth. The liquid oozed out slowly, then fell into his mouth in one big glob of slime. He swallowed it without thinking about it. It tasted like someone tried to make it taste like fruit, but instead it tasted like iron with an extremely sour aftertaste.

Taryn’s body shook at the awful taste, and he wanted to spit it back up. Instead, he set the bottle aside, folded his body into the fetal position, then pulled his blanket over his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

If he was lucky, he’d fall asleep before another wave of nausea hit and he really did throw up.

However, sleep didn’t come easy for Taryn. His dreams were filled with people he’d never known, battles he’d never fought, wonders he’d never seen, and visions of a dark-haired woman with the most breathtaking eyes Taryn had ever seen; they were pools of the deepest red with a tiny golden freckle in each eye.

In his dreams, the woman looked distraught, and she ran towards him, yelling something too faint to hear.

He woke up before she could reach him, before he could understand what she was trying to tell him.

Taryn never got back to sleep after that. As he lay awake on his mat, he tried to understand what was going on with him.

All of his thoughts inevitably went back to the journal.

He crawled over to his bag and retrieved both the journal and his lantern. He’d hidden the journal from his grandmother, pushing it to the bottom of his bag while Fan Shun was busy looking for a bandage to wrap his head with.

Taryn unlocked the hinge on his window and pushed it open as far as it would go, then he returned to his mat and by the light of his lantern, he turned to the first page of the journal and began to read.

Hello, successor. If you’re reading this, then one of my wishes was finally granted. By now you should have realized that things are changing. You now know things you shouldn’t and are dreaming of places you’ve never been. I would just like to assure you that this is nothing to be afraid of. I would never harm you. However, to prevent history from repeating itself, I have taken steps to ensure that you do not make the same mistakes that I have.

Within these pages are my observations of the various worlds I’ve been to. Some of them may even relate to yours. But within the journal, the very binding that you now hold, are my memories. And even now, you are absorbing them.

In a few days, you will have taken in every bit of experience I acquired over my four thousand years of life. What you do with it is entirely up to you—when I did things my way, I failed, so I’m not going to tell you how to live your life. I don’t have that right. However, I would ask only one thing.

Live with no regrets.

— The Mourner.