Song carefully examined the hilt of his knife, trying to judge if the tip was properly centered over his heart. Then he double checked the rope he’d looped around his arms and bed to ensure it was tight. He really really hoped that the furniture he’d put in front of his door flap would keep any inquisitive siblings or cousins out.

  Especially Mae; she’d probably misunderstand.

  He looked sardonically around the room. To be fair, anyone would misunderstand. He lay stripped nearly naked on his bed, his arms and legs tied to the bedposts. From the ceiling, a long rope with a knife on the end of it hung over his body such that if he tore his restraints free and leapt from the bed in a blind demonic rage, it would pierce his heart. His Sign shone with a feeble light, illuminating it all.

  Various other deathtraps lay scattered around the room. From caltrops on the carpet to spearheads under his chair. If the worst didn’t come to pass, it was going to be a real pain to clean it all up. He went through his mental checklist one more time to make sure he wouldn’t forget any of his more deadly traps, then closed his eyes.

  It was more difficult than usual to enter the calm quiet of meditation. Likely due to the pounding of his heart.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

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

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  After a few minutes, he finally slipped away from the waking world and into the silent night of his mindscape.

  Well, what should’ve been silent.

  “Hey there, Kevin McCalister!” Cyrus’s grating voice emerged from the mirror nearly the instant Song arrived. “You know I can see everything you do, right? Those are some amazing death traps, kid. Anyways, glad you’re here! I was going a bit – ha! – cuckoo with no one to talk to, y’know? What’s up!”

  Doing his best to ignore the strange Inner Demon who shared his face, Song walked around the mindscape, trying to see if there’d been any changes from the last time he’d been there.

  A faint blueish-white light shone down from a constellation far overhead, filling an empty dark space with a solid black floor. It looked much as it had back when he’d been stuck in the mirror. Song’s mind shied away from that memory, like a spooked horse. It’d been like watching a puppet play, but with his own body as the marionette.

  “You, uh, just gonna ignore me, then?” Cyrus called, tapping on the inside of the mirror. “Is that how we’re playing this?”

  “I’m trying to see what you’ve done to my body, Demon.” Song said, walking deeper into the darkness.

  “Oh, we’re back to Demon are we? Well screw you too, Mr. High and Mighty.” Cyrus grumped. “I was going to teach you some of the secrets of the universe, but now I guess I won’t.”

  Song ignored his Inner Demon’s whispered temptations and continued outwards until he came to an invisible wall. He touched it, then gave it a smack, but it refused to budge. He ran a hand along the wall as he circled his mindscape, counting the paces as he went.

  “What’re you doing?" Cyrus asked.

  “A cultivator’s mindscape is tied to the strength of their cultivation,” Song explained, continuing his walk. “I want to see how large it is, and what the rules are.”

  Cyrus rolled onto his side and kicked out his feet. “How strong are you? Your body packed a lot of power while I was in it.”

  “I’m just a refinement level novice,” Song admitted with chagrin. “There are four levels of cultivation. Refinement, foundation, core, and nascent soul. Within each level there are four steps – novice, adept, and expert, and peak. Father is a foundation level adept, and Juwon is approaching the peak of refinement.”

  “And how strong is that?”

  “As Li Zhui says, ’A novice can reach the peak, but none can overcome the mountain of levels’.”

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  “I don’t speak kung-fu, what’s that mean in math?”

  Song sighed. “Peak is twice as strong as a novice, and each level is twice as strong as the level before.”

  “That would be.. two to the eight?” Cyrus did some quick mental math, and his jaw dropped. “A Nascent Soul is two hundred and fifty-six times stronger than the average human!?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way, but yes. And when one has fully completed cultivation, they can ascend from the mortal plane and join the ranks of the True Immortals in Heaven.”

  “Like heaven heaven?” Cyrus choked. “With God? And angels??”

  “I know not of God, or ‘angels’.” Song frowned. “What’s wrong with your manner of speech? You’re supremely odd.”

  “My speech?” Cyrus touched his mouth. “I talk completely normal. You’re the one talking like an old man.”

  “I’m thirteen.”

  “Hi thirteen, I’m Cyrus.”

  “... you truly are a fool.”

  “Nope. Just lost, and bored. If you’re going to lock me in here, you could at least do something more interesting than just fumbling with a bow for days on end.” Cyrus mimed nocking an arrow and shooting a bow. “Don’t you have friends? Hobbies? A life? If I’m stuck watching a kung-fu flick at least have some action, man.”

  “I have friends,” Song muttered, then blinked. “You know how to shoot a bow?”

  “Sure? I mean, I shot a few arrows in my time at summer camp and scouts. Enough to tell that you’re really, really, bad at it. I could at least hit the target within my first day.”

  “My elbow gets in the way, and my arms are too thick.”

  “Nah, the problem is that you’re rotating your shoulder too far, and it's turning your elbow in.” Cyrus demonstrated, showing how Song usually held the bow, then twisting his shoulder so that the crook of his elbow was parallel to the ground. “You need to do it like this.”

  His initial fear and reservation forgotten, Song quickly took up his shooting stance once more. “Like this?”

  “No, turn your shoulder more and your wrist less. And spread your legs wider.”

  “How’s this?”

  “No. Man, I don't understand why Wook doesn't get frustrated with you.”

  Song fell out of his stance. “Don’t you speak of my brothers, Demon!”

  “Hey, whoah, whoah!” Cyrus held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Cool your jets, kid. You have good brothers, alright? I never had any, but I know they can be hit or miss. All I had were sisters.”

  “Demons have sisters?”

  “I keep telling you I’m not a demon! I’m Canadian!”

  “Sounds demonic to me.”

  “Only if you make us mad,” Cyrus chuckled. “Things from my life before are a bit fuzzy, but I’m pretty sure I had sisters. And parents. And grandparents.”

  For the first time, Song was actually a little interested. He leaned closer to the mirror. “Life before?”

  “Yeah. I don’t remember a lot, but I know I was a human, on a world called Earth. I was born in Kitchener, Ontario. I was twenty-one when I, uh, died. What’s this world called, by the way?” Cyrus gestured around.

  “Murim.”

  “Weird name.”

  “Your world was named after dirt.”

  “Har har. I was going to college…. I think. I was in the dark there for a really, really, long time, y'know. But I do remember lacrosse.” Cyrus’s face broke into a smile. “I was really good at lacrosse.”

  “Is lacrosse a form of martial arts?”

  “What? No. Um, I mean, it could be. It’s a sport, with a ball that you catch with a net on a stick. I mostly played box lacrosse, which was six on six. You cradle, run, and pass the ball upfield then try to get it past the goalie and into the opposing goal.”

  “Like football?” Song mimed kicking a leather ball.

  “Why am I not surprised that there’s football here,” Cyrus muttered. “And assuming it's the same? Sure, like football. But with high impact tackles and stick checking. Do you play?”

  Song shook his head. “Between my lessons, my chores, and my martial arts training there’s no time. Sports are for young children, or peasants.”

  “Wow. Harsh. And don’t knock it till you try it. You’d probably do pretty well in lacrosse.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure! I mean, you’ve already got the run down! Almost an exact copy of my own style; just like coach taught. And I was only in your body for a short while, but it felt really light and easy to move with plenty of power. You’d make a great midfielder.”

  Song’s mouth snapped shut, his Inner Demon’s words repeating in his skull. Almost an exact copy of my own style. So it was the Inner Demon. Was it leaking into his subconscious? Or was it because it’d briefly had control over his body? What else had it done in the short time it’d run rampant.

  With effort, Song snapped out of meditation, vanishing away from the mindscape with nary a puff of smoke.

  Leaving Cyrus to stare confused out of the mirror. “What’d I say?”