Panic tears through me.
“What is this?” I ask. “What’s happening?”
Jyn takes my hand and pulls me to her nest of pillows. She has them piled up high, creating a fort of sorts out of the soft silks and blankets. “I’m not sure,” she admits. “It’s never come back before.”
“Whathas never come back?”
Before she answers, Jyn pauses and sniffs at the air, her tongueflicking out to the corner of her mouth. Satisfied that no one is too close by, she whispers, “Your magic.”
My mind swirls. The revelation comes as both a shock, and not a shock at all. I think back to our encounter with Emperor Róng’s crows out in the Western Wastelands. I remember not being entirely myself, overpowered by a feral instinct to devour and protect. I think long and hard about the encounter with our unfortunate friend underground—how I lost control, consumed by rage and bloodlust. Is this the magic Jyn is referring to, or perhaps side effects of it?
I think back even further, drawing upon a memory that feels more like a dream. I was a boy, playing by the water despite my mother’s warnings. One moment, I was safely on the riverbank. The next, my head was beneath the water’s surface. Did I slip in? I can’t remember precisely how it happened.
I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. “You’re not making sense. I’m not capable of magic. I can see threads, but that’s it.”
“That’s the Sight. In every life that you have returned, that is the only power you have ever retained. But your ability to transform… I thought you’d long since lost it.”
“Transform,” I echo. “You mean… into adragon?” I stare at her in disbelief for several seconds before remembering how to speak again. “So Iamthe red dragon of old, and those visions were no coincidence. But how—how is this possible?”
Jyn looks me firmly in the eye. “The third tapestry in the Lost Library. What story did it tell?”
“The monks’ tale of reincarnation,” I say, my face surely betraying my bewilderment. “But that… It’s impossible.”
“It’s fact, Sai. The legends are true. You can see red threads of fate, you’ve come face-to-face with a fei beast, your Fated One is the last dragon in all the lands, yet you believe the concept of rebirth is impossible?”
“Forgive me, mooncake,” I mumble weakly. My attempt at a joke to ease my own trepidation falls flat. “This isn’t exactly easy for me to process.”
Jyn sighs. “Please never call me that again.” She throws a cautious glance over her shoulder, no doubt keeping an eye out for Feng-shaped silhouettes keen on eavesdropping on our conversation. The last thing we want is for Feng to overhear this conversation. When she looks back at me, I can sense that something has changed—a part of her wall has crumbled away.
“These visions I keep having,” I say. “They’re my own memories from a previous life?”
“One of many, yes.”
I frown. “You mean to say this isn’t the first time I’ve been reborn? Should I guess how many?”
“No.”
“Is it my third time?”
“Sai—”
“My tenth?”
Jyn mutters impatiently, “Not your tenth.”
“Well, then? How many lives have I lived through? I can keep guessing, should it please you.”
The silence that follows is deafening. A sob bubbles past her lips, her pain overwhelming our bond. She begins to cry in earnest, her shoulders trembling as she struggles to swallow the sound.
I reach out gingerly, afraid she might crumble beneath my touch. I want to bring her comfort, do whatever it takes to soothe her mind. But when she allows me to caress her cheek, to comb my fingers through her long hair, I can’t help but wonder…
“Why is it gray?” I ask.
Jyn cries a little harder, her body shaking against mine. “I made a mistake.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was a mistake. Amistake. You have to understand, I—”
