Previously…

“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course, you are still going to Shanghai,” a voice echoed around the tomb. 

Thick ribbons of slate smoke enveloped the interior of the tomb. An odd, charcoal-colored cloud bloomed from the shadows, like an ink stain mistakenly dropped on a page. Khari’s incense stick crackled ever so slightly brighter as the smoke wove and writhed its way into a human figure. He was a stocky old man; squat and soft, like a mandu. His wrinkled brow offset the jubilant gleam in his almond-shaped eyes, and his bushy brows perked up in greeting. He was dressed in the traditional daopao, a Taoist robe, like the ones her father occasionally wore. His hands were wrapped around a teacup that looked pitifully small in his broad hands. Taking a large slurp from his tea, the man spoke softly; his voice like rich honey. 

“Hello? Can you hear me, Khari? Hellooooo!” 

“Um…h-hello?” Khari stuttered, unable to believe her eyes, “Who…who are you?”

“Why, I am only your great-great-grandfather on your father’s side! Don’t they teach you children about your ancestors anymore?” he chided. 

She glanced again at the gently smiling man before her and thought back to the rough, ancient portraits her parents had shown her. She was seven the last time they came out, and honestly, she hadn’t paid much attention. She squinted, hoping to notice some small detail that would jog her memory. His bushy eyebrows were familiar, but all the men in her family spontaneously grew bushy eyebrows when they aged. A-ha! Grandfather Zhao He! Now she recognized the old man.  

“Baba, how could she possibly recognize you from those old portraits? That artist lacked even the most basic understanding of anatomy,” a female voice sharply cut through the smoke. 

A powder-blue specter was hovering next to her shoulder. Khari screeched and nearly knocked her incense sticks over. 

“Easy now, I didn’t mean to frighten you!”  she laughed.

“Who are you!?” Khari demanded breathlessly, for the second time. 

“I am your Auntie Liu Jing.”

Liu Jing. Liu Jing. Ah, of course. One of three great aunts on her father’s side. Liu Jing was grinning as wildly as her great-great-grandfather. Liu Jing was younger-looking than her father, having died much earlier, Khari recalled. Her raven hair was drawn into an elaborate, traditional hairstyle, complete with precious jade and gold hairpins. She, however, was wearing asymmetrically cut silver cargo pants and what looked like a transparent bomber jacket with a turquoise turtleneck tank top.  

Liu Jing must have noticed the perplexed look on her face, “Ah, my outfit. Yes, I do try to keep up with the times, unlike some people,” she eyed Zhao He as he frowned at her teasing.

“My daopao is actually quite comfortable!” he retorted. 

Khari found her voice, “Forget about your clothes! What is happening? How is this even possible? I thought you were in the afterlife! Why are you here? And…wait, are you actually able to drink that tea?”

“Slow down, my dear, in time, your gift will make more sense. And yes, I can drink this tea. It’s an endless cup,” her grandfather said. “Anyway, seeing specters is the first sign of this gift.” 

“You mean there’s more!? Wait…what ‘gift’ are you talking about? My fire-weaving?” Khari gapped. 

And so Liu Jing explained the strength of fire-weaving. She shared untapped knowledge, lost to time and rot, and only the spirits of the dead bothered to remember them. She told tales of fire that could breathe life into the broken, heal mortal wounds like nothing, and create sunbeams that chased darkness away. She told of a woman who became a dragon to battle star-defying gods, of a hermit who combined water and fire to create the Lán Sè De Temple, of a man who merged with fire to protect his daughter. Fire-weaving was unpredictable, beautiful, and dangerous. It was bright, controlled, precise. Enternally loyal to the elementalist who wielded it. The elementalist, free and unshackled, whose magic obeyed no rules. They were untamable spirits, incapable of breaking, individuals who bowed to no one, who burned brightly among the masses. Khari’s gift was fire, in every sense of the word. Khari was fire, and she would burn brighter than them all.     

However…Khari couldn’t believe what she was hearing. One minute she was peacefully meditating in the temple, and the next her long-dead ancestors sprang to “life” and began rambling about some other “gifts” she apparently had. How was she supposed to leave her village now? Fire-weaving, that’s one thing. She could control her element in her sleep (and she had before). But this? No, this was uncharted territory. Magic, more magic, she could not wrap her head around. And who knew when the next surprise ability from her “gift” could manifest? 

“Khari, dear, are you alright? You look a little pale,” Zhao He disrupted her daze. 

“I…I’m fine. But I can’t go away to school like this! I don’t know what…I don’t understand…”

Zhao He held up a hand to stop her, “Khari, listen to me. I understand that this is scary. But you mastered fire-weaving, right?”

Khari nodded, “Yes, I suppose so…” 

“Then you can master this. Did your parents tell you that there is an on-campus elementalist?” Liu Jing asked. 

Kari’s jaw dropped, “What!? No!” That would have been helpful to know. 

Liu Jing and Zhang He’s specters wavered, like a ripple in a pool of moonlight. Their bodies of smoke and incense faded like a whisper of ash left from fire. The temple walls dulled to a harsh cornflower-blue as her vision went dark. Only the faint murmuring of a thousand voices filled the silence. You are fire. Bright, controlled, precise, they seemed to say. Liu Jing and Zhang He appeared before her.   

“We can’t linger much longer,” their voices spoke in tandem, “Khari, know you will find your way. You are a flame in this world that is meant to burn. The divine ones foretold your journey to Shanghai. When you arrive, yes, you will study, but there is another purpose you will find waiting for you.” 

“Another purpose?”

“The elementalist will guide you. She is the greatest seer I have ever seen. Find Hui-yeon. There is something terrible happening in a world beyond our borders. You will understand when the time comes.” 

And with that, the world came rushing back to Khari. Brilliant fire, amber, vermilion, marigold, lavender, turquoise, and hot white streamed into her eyes. The temple erupted in light, piercing the smoke of her incense as if it were no more than sheer water cascading down the mountain. The han carved into the stone, like morning sunlight cleaving the night, illuminated the names of her ancestors. 

He, Liu, Wong, Li.     

A silent chant of who she was. She felt her fire stirring, slowly, but roiling like molten glass and rock merging into something new. Something beautiful. 

As quickly as the light arrived, it vanished, leaving only shimmers as remnants. A subtle shadow of the light that filled the temple. Khari’s incense stick was out. The sticks had smoldered down to stumps in the sand. A warm sunset scalded the stone, turning the blue to lilac. It would soon be time for her to leave.

“Khari!” a voice cut through the silence, “It’s time to go. Where are you?” 

“Here,” she called back, faintly. 

She turned towards the stones with the names neatly inscribed. She completed the ritual with a customary bow, low and reverent. 

  “Thank you, Grandfather and Liu Jing. I promise I will fulfill what I am meant to do. I’ll find Hui-yeon and make things right. Wherever this world may be.”   

Khari scooped the remnants of her incense up. With a final bow, she departed the temple, a new confidence in her stance. Her head throbbed as questions swirled through her mind. Something terrible. She had only heard legends of otherworlds. Myths that her powers came from a primal source, scattered across time, and fragmented in reality. In time, her ancestors had said. She would be the biggest liar ever if she said she wasn’t afraid. Yes, she was afraid, but…it was that uncertainty, that mystery that intrigued her. Whatever it was she would find in Shanghai, she would face it with her sharp resolution. With the promise to her ancestors.  

 As night closed around the mountains, the shadows stirring and shying, Khari Li left her mountain village for the first time in 13 years. A new life and purpose awaited her among the urban streets of Shanghai. Whatever happened, she would hold her ancestors’ memory close, the ghost of a prayer on her lips. She was fire, unbreakable, calamitous fire. 

Her heart beating out a cadence, Khari breathed a whisper, “明亮, 可控, 精確.” (Bright, controlled, precise).