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I’m crying as the bitterness of the leaf fades from my tongue, the memories vanishing like mist, the rawness of her emotions still sweeping through me like a torrent.

“You were Mother’s favorite,” she says hoarsely.

“I was younger; I just needed more attention.” My voice trails off. “The day you were waiting… was it when we were taken?”

Dian nods slowly. “We’d been playing. It was your turn to hide. But you ran too far, leaving the shores of our island, crossing into the wilderness of Thorn Valley. It was then the Iron Mountains soldiers seized you. I chased after, but Mother was faster. She ordered me to find help.”

As she speaks, my head is whirling, filling with patches of memories like a picture ripped apart and cobbled together. Something catches at my mind like a loose thread pulled, beginning to unravel… like my sister’s words or the herb I’ve eaten has unknotted something tangled tight.

“It was cold, the skies gray,” I begin haltingly. “I was hiding when I saw the kite in the sky. Beautiful, shaped like a bird, with a tail of red and gold.” My voice is frail, it shakes—for a moment I feel like the girl I was with my family, sheltered and loved.

“What else do you recall?” Dian asks softly.

“The air was fragrant—the scent like mandarins, but sweeter.”

Dian frowns. “The fruit of the Radiant Sky Trees. But it was winter then, none of the trees bearing fruit. It must have been a trap the Iron Mountains soldiers laid to lure the Sun Dragon.”

“The dragon was flying toward the kite.” Awe creeps into my voice at the recollection of the shining creature. “He went too far—across the water, where Mother warned us never to play. I chased him, calling out, but he didn’t hear. I ran down the shore, and then… I was in the water. I wasn’t on our island anymore.”

My throat closes as the shadows of terror descend. “The soldiers in iron armor caught me—then Mother. We were crying but she was holding me; I was afraid, but with her, I felt safe. Once we were in the palace, they separated us.” My words break, tears sliding down my cheeks. “I remember her calling my name. I never saw her again.”

There is a kind of grief that swells like an endless gulf upon hearing a tragedy unwind, that one is helpless to stop. Its weight presses so hard on my chest, I cannot speak, I can barely move or breathe.

“I remember,” I say at last, pushing through the hurt. “Though I almost wish I didn’t.”

Dian hesitates, then hugs me. I don’t recoil this time, leaning against her as she strokes the back of my head with such tenderness, more tears crowd my eyes. I hate crying, I hate others seeing me this way… yet with her, I don’t mind.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again and again, like somehow it will ease the loss. It doesn’t; nothing ever will. But I’m glad she’s here… that we’ve found each other.

“We tried to find you, to bring you and Mother back. But they knew we were coming, they prepared for our attack.”

Rage crystallizes in me alongside a shattering remorse. “Mother was caught because of me.”

“You were trying to help the dragon. You were so young, you didn’t realize what was happening.”

She tries to comfort me, but if I hadn’t chased after the dragon, we’d all be in our home now—together. “How did Mother die?” I force myself to ask.

“They told us she died from exhaustion. The Iron Mountains used her well, extracting what they could from her,” she says bitterly. “Back then, they were careful not to allow any outsiders to enter the palace, even delaying the alliance negotiations with Thorn Valley. She was alone.”

Anguish punctures my heart. A thin line, between knowing and imagining, yet each reality is a world apart. Until now, there had always been a flicker of hope, a spark of possibility—now, forever extinguished.

I close my eyes, cursing at fate for ripping me from my family, for my mother’s suffering, her death. But what use is regret? It wouldn’t bring back all we lost. I’m angry—at myself, at Jin, at his people, at the world and how cruel it is, how a moment can tear our lives apart. But I won’t ever forget who the real enemy is, the one who broke my family apart like a fist smashed against porcelain.

“The Iron Mountains—they will pay.”

Dian’s eyes blaze. “We will make them, Sister.”

She doesn’t take my hand, nor do I reach for hers. There is no tenderness in this moment: just the wrench of grief, the stab of vengeance, a wretched gnawing fury that is a breath from hate.

“All the time we’ve lost,” my sister sighs. “All the memories.”

“We’ll make new ones,” I promise.

I don’t think, I don’t question, hugging her now. Her breath catches, and then we’re crying again, not in the delicate way but raw, ugly, racking sobs. Nothing else exists right now, just my sister and me, wishing our mother were still here. But I’m not alone anymore, I have my sister—and while life might be cruel, here, it’s been kind. We hold each other for a long time, until it feels like the space between us folds away, our years apart shed like autumn leaves, making way for new ones to sprout. As I draw back, she brushes my cheek just like my aunt used to when she was alive.

It makes me think that though the Iron Mountains is a world away from Mist Island, its language of love might be the same.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR