Rei's unremarkable baritone singing woke Christian from a very pleasant sort of reverie that involved Sebastian, a tremendous four-poster bed, and a crackling fire on a palatial sort of hearth. More disappointingly, Sebastian had left, and Christian felt more naked and chilled for it. He rolled over and stared at the window, which happened to be where Rei was standing, an angular silhouette against the stark white world. It suddenly made sense why Christian felt chilled. Rei had the window cracked open and was smoking a cigarette through the narrow aperture.
"How hard is it snowing?" Christian asked, fumbling for a robe or an extra blanket, anything to shield him from the draft. Rei made a noise of disgust. "That much, you say? Is this the first ciggy of the morning or the last one before bed?" He stumbled to the closet under his blanket, wincing as his balls drew up so quickly that he was amazed they didn't make a rubber-band snap as they retreated. It must be cold--even the things in his dresser were unpleasantly cool against his skin, he discovered.
"Bed. Be careful going outside. Nasty weather." Rei could not keep the scorn out of his tone. A native of Kyushu, Rei had never acclimated to the Pennsylvania winters. Snow was the most distressing thing in the world to him, followed very closely by icy winds, and Arcadia was in range to suffer Lake Erie's wrath throughout the winter, making heavy snowfalls a matter of course. Christian took his friend's advice with a small grain of salt, but still bundled up reasonably well. He was frail yet, and would need to take care not to make himself sick in new and exciting ways.
8:30 on a Saturday morning might as well have been the wee hours. The campus was almost completely deserted, the moderately heavy snowfall keeping all but the most venturesome in their rooms. Christian decided to forego the noise of the dining halls entirely and headed down the hill to the narrow street that had long ago earned its reputation as the haunt of night owls and early risers alike. Several cafes and coffeehouses crowded either side of the street, each a stronghold for the various departments and their students. After a moment, Christian decided to go to the one most likely to be nearly empty, and stumbled toward Red House.
As hoped, it was deserted except for Sean the manager and presumed owner, who, so far as anyone could tell, lived in Red House, or at least in the flat above the shop itself. More curious was that everyone insisted on calling it a "flat" instead of an apartment or loft. It seemed to fit better than any other descriptor. It made less sense than how the name "Shen Yuan" had been slurred and corrupted over time into "Sean." Christian assumed that had to do with drunken students, like most inexpiable things around the college.
Sean himself was something of a conundrum. No one seemed to know exactly how old he was or from whence he came. He was tall and rangy, somewhere approximately near 40, with long black hair and a long and rather wispy goatee. He glared at the world from one dark eye, the other hidden by an eye patch. Speculation was rampant as to how he had lost the sight in that eye, and campus lore had that he had been a pro-democracy protester in China. It didn't make sense as far as Christian was concerned; Sean spoke English like a native. Whomever he really was, he was leaning on the counter reading the paper, his hair pulled up into an untidy mass that couldn't decide if it was a bun or a ponytail. He barely glanced up as Christian pushed open the door.
Christian stopped dead in his tracks. He had been getting used to the auras around Rei and Sebastian, and the nonstop buzz of thoughts and feelings. Where most people had a vague nimbus around them, however, Sean had a raging inferno of light and color, an unceasing kaleidoscope of battle and blood, long struggle and loss. And time, so much time, endless centuries of living. Gasping, Christian caught the back of a booth and half-dropped to his knees.
"How old are you?!" he panted. Sean's gaze flicked upward, but then caught and became an intense stare as he hurried from behind the counter to crouch in front of Christian. He reached out as if to help steady him, but his hand froze a good six inches from Christian's arm.
"My God, what have you done to yourself?" Sean demanded, awe and caution mingling in his tone. His eye betrayed the internal conflict raging, but after a moment he caught Christian's arm and helped him to his feet. "Sit. We're going to talk." He helped Christian into the nearest booth, then disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with two cups and a pot of coffee on a tray. He set the tray in front of Christian, then went around the room, closing the blinds and flipping the "open" sign to "closed." Finally, he locked the door and slid into the booth opposite of Christian. Sean sat back and studied Christian, then poured them each a cup of coffee. "You have not been well."
"Er, no, I haven't been," Christian admitted as he added sugar and powdered creamer to his coffee. He squirmed under Sean's scrutiny, and felt his resolve to underplay the truth crumple. "I went without sleep for a week, and I ended up in the hospital."
"You can't go a week without sleep," Sean said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I don't know how many students I hear every year boasting that they went so many days without sleep. You go for a week, you die. Your body gives out."
"I know all that. Mine started to go. I don't know how I came back from it. I'm still not sure if it really happened, because it got really unreal there toward the end." What a relief, to be opening up to a near-stranger, one who was interested enough to listen that he had closed up shop to ensure their privacy. "The sky was bleeding, and the veiled woman. She kept calling me way-walker."
"The veiled woman?" Sean asked sharply. "Tall, all in black, spidery?" Startled, Christian nodded. "The sky was like blood and the veiled woman spoke to you. Did she say anything else to you?"
"She was sad that I had decided to move on, that is to say, die. She said 'no other creature from the world of light and water had come so far in a very long time, even by the standards of the ones who live outside time.'" Christian watched the swirling patterns in his coffee, trying to remember any of her other words. "She said I had done well."
Sean leaned back in the booth, arms crossed across his chest. His lips moved slightly as he stared up at the ceiling. He finally spoke aloud, though refusing to drop his gaze.
"You've done a very dangerous thing even for a well-trained and prepared magic user. Most go their whole existences and never even attempt to walk the ways. It's the most dangerous path to true immortality, certainly. Dominion over the chi of others is an absolute need on that path, and that takes decades to master. No raw boy of nineteen, maybe twenty, summers is going to have that skill. You're either blessed or reckless to have tried it and come through whole."
"What do you mean, true immortality?" Christian's stomach knotted horribly. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"True immortality. Those who walk the ways cannot die. You literally cannot die. Are you telling me that you did this in complete blindness and ignorance?" Sean did drop his gaze then. "You just traipsed along, carefree and absurd, and accidentally walked the ways and met Her Veiled Majesty and accidentally gained adequate dominion over the life-force of others and were able to thus conquer mortality?" His tone was incredulous. "Sheer stupid chance and luck, and you became this?"
"Hey now!" Christian snapped. "Don't act like I'm some stupid child! You obviously have some idea of where I went and what might have happened, so I don't get why you're so twisted up on this. Yes, I was flying blind, but give me a little bit of credit for getting through it, accidentally or not! I don't know how I managed it, but there it is. I managed it." The silence was as heavy as the snow outside.
"I apologize," Sean said at last. "That was out of line on my part. Of course it took skill to live through it, and I should not have belittled you for your own lack of understanding. There are those rare few who have innate skill with the ways, though even they would not risk this path. There are other paths to the same goal."
"It's okay. This whole business has been a mess, and the more I find out, the worse off I seem to be." Christian took a drink of coffee, then paused to pull off the silver ring and hold it out to Sean. "Does this mean anything to you?"
Sean took it from his outstretched hand. He scrutinized it carefully, mumbling a few words under his breath. Finally he shook his head and gave it back to Christian. "It's a plain silver ring. There's nothing magical or cursed about it, though granted I am not the best one to ask. My own knowledge of magic is sketchy at best, mainly a handful of wards."
"Well, then." Christian slid the ring back onto his finger, then tapped the table lightly. "You asked what had happened to me and I answered. Now it's your turn. How old are you?"
"Fairly answered and fairly asked. Very well. I am nearly two thousand years old, though this body is only fifteen hundred. Only!" Sean barked a hoarse laugh, though there was no amusement in his expression. "I was cursed by the sorcerer Chuko Liang, damned along with my lord cousin to atone for our sins, both real and perceived."
"Hsia-hou Tun," Christian half-mumbled. Sean's eye widened. "It's in your aura." He didn't dare admit he was more familiar with the time period from video games and manga. “Three Kingdoms Era of China. We touched on it briefly in Asian History.”
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