Kinslayer

EPILOGUE

Now witness the beginning of the end.

A ghost-pale boy, seventeen years old, tendrils of blue-black vapor and drying scarlet scrawled across his face. A motionless figure, swathed in black, the boy’s fate held in the palm of his hand. The pair speaking in the chapterhouse bowels as countless hours swirl and dance in the gulf between them. And the Inquisitor finally nods, and opens his mouth, and speaks the words the boy has longed to hear.

“Welcome home, young brother.”

So here I sit. Back again. The Lotus Guildsman who betrayed all he knew, and all he was. Who gifted his brethren with the leader of the Kagé cabal. Who helped a lone girl undo the rebellion, and drag this nation back from the tempest. Traitor is the name I will wear in the histories. Kioshi was the name I inherited after my father died.

But in truth, my name is Kin.

I remember what it was to be encased in metal skin. To see the world through blood-red glass. To stand apart and above and beyond and know there was so much more. And even now, here in the depths of the chapterhouse that birthed me, the only home I have ever truly known, I can hear the whispers of the mechabacus in my head, feel the phantom weight of that skin on my back and on my bones, and part of me misses it so badly it makes my chest hurt.

I remember the night I learned the truth of myself—my future laid bare in the Chamber of Smoke. I remember the Inquisitors coming for me, swathed in black and soundless as cats, telling me it was time to see my What Will Be. I try to recall the certainty I felt as I walked from that chamber, try to recall what it was like to be proud of who I was. To feel the flesh tingle beneath my skin as I accepted my Truth. Stepping into a new life. A bright and gleaming future.

The What Will Be.

My What Will Be.

Thirteen years old and they call you a man.

I had never watched the sun kiss the horizon, setting the sky on fire as it sank below the lip of the world. Never felt the whisper-gentle press of a night wind on my face. Never known the feel of her skin against mine, the touch of her lips lighting fires on my own. Never known what it was to belong or betray. To refuse or resist. To love or to lose.

But I knew who I was. I knew who I was supposed to be.

Skin was strong.

Flesh was weak.

I wonder now, how that boy could have been so blind.