"Everything that happens stays inside you. Even if you can't remember it." ~ Zeniba in Spirited Away
Dreams come when they shouldn't, dreams of rice paddy frogs and shrimp spilling over little muddy feet. At least, that's what she thinks they are.
Seamless yellow dust materializes like a billowing sheet. She's standing on a—a sand dune. It slopes upward, moving and unmoving, forged of wind and solid fire in the epicenter of one vast powdered ocean.
Her lips are cracked. This place is as thirsty as she is, and more desperate. Heat laps at her feet, dragging sweat down her back unrepentantly. Her palms shrivel, her legs cramp, her head spins; the sun knows no mercy and she cannot order it to back off.
In this shapeless furnace of sand clouds and cloudless skies, a figure moves toward her.
It's a boy.
The noise of a crumbling dungeon reverberates along the walls of Sinbad's stolen domain.
Something's wrong with the rukh, and the consequences span beyond brainwashing-induced worldwide suicide. The tiny firefly-bird things zip back and forth, agitated by some unseen force that trickles from the ceiling of the Sacred Palace. What's going on— flashes in Alibaba's mind as he is whisked away from Zepar's presence to meet up with his comrades.
"The universe is squirming," the magi replies.
He didn't say that aloud, did he?
Hakuryuu squints – oh, so that was meant for Hakuryuu – and tries to pinpoint that huge distortion in time-space that got Judar looking unusually sober.
"Over there!"
There's a small bubble—a growing bubble—a huge bubble of something dipping downward from the whirlwind of glowing sparrows.
"What is that?" Hakuryuu asks.
The bubble flickers and morphs into a shimmering oval. A mirror? No, a pool. An illusion of some sort. Prismatic light converges right above the surface like an upside-down waterfall. The ripples clear to reveal sweeping roofs and bamboo fences, grinning stone dragons in a fall of ginko leaves.
A mirage.
Dumbfounded, Alibaba raises one finger to the image hovering above them.
It lunges at him.
Alibaba wakes up to burn scars and sullen, mismatched eyes.
"Hakuryuu?"
The dark-haired prince doesn't answer right away. Alibaba wonders how the lanterned hallways seem to swallow up his friend's figure, and why the puckered flesh around his eye looks more ragged than usual.
"Do I know you?" asks the boy who is about three haniwas tall, in a voice too girly for comfort. Alibaba inspects Hakuryuu's hands and feet, compares them with his own, and concludes that his fellow dungeon conqueror has shrunk.
Somehow—he blames that anomalous blob thing for this—he's seeing a flashback of Hakuryuu's childhood, and the Five Dragons Screen right ahead belongs to the northern entrance of the recently constructed Hall of Benevolence of the Imperial Palace.
And if he's in Kou, then somewhere around here should be—
"HIMEGIMI!" someone shrieks-shouts-screams, "Where on earth are you?"
He doesn't have to turn to recognize the huffing mess as a panicking Ka Koubun. A slightly younger Ka Koubun, in fact.
So Hakuryuu's not the only one who de-aged, huh? Or maybe I'm just stuck in the past or…
Stuck in the past…stuck in the past…
Stuck.
Okay. Deep breath. Three fingers.
One, he's on a race against time to figure a way out of this mystical place and prevent a universal genocide from occurring.
Two, he needs to stay out of sight before the guards get their hands on him.
Three, since he's here already, he might as well catch a glimpse of the Kou siblings in their childhood. Maybe he'll even get to see Kouen without a beard.
Or a cuter version of Koumei.
Or, yeah, Kouen minus the beard.
That would be fun.
The boy looks at her. His features resemble Alibaba's, about a decade and half younger.
"Alibaba-chan?"
It is him, right? He's got the same hair, the same eyes, the same—
"Who are you, Onee-chan?" says the boy to the lady who is not yet his friend.
For he does not know her. He does not recognize the girl who wiped her tears with his handkerchief, who beat up a monster for hurting him, who mourned his death for three years, who swam through an enormous library with him by her side. She is neither princess nor empress nor even Kougyoku in his sight.
The stranger from the future gently pats the boy's child-sized shoulder. It's thin and bony. Malnourished. There are bruises in his arms, and she's certain the moving brown dot plowing through gold strands is one of many itchy lice nesting in his dirty hair. Very gently, she takes his two scabbed hands and trembles with this newfound knowledge of what her best friend has gone through.
"Where do you live, little boy?"
"In the slums." He pulls away, curious and suspicious at once, and the reflex action is so similar to how she envisions an Alibaba who has not yet learned to wear his masks.
"What is your name, Onee-san?" he asks again, as if her name were the key to his trust.
"I'm…I'm a friend."
"Tomo-da-chi?" he repeats, face scrunched up with despair. Something she said must have triggered a memory, and now he's on the verge of a breakdown.
Please don't cry, she wants to tell him, but her voice hitches. The Alibaba she knew never flaunted his sorrows; she won't burden him with her tears, either.
So she hugs him instead. The boy stiffens for a moment before a flood of heart-rain dissolves into her shoulder.
"Ha...hu…so…sorry…"
She's not good at this, not good at comforting, and especially not good at hugging people. Dead mothers don't embrace their daughters; neither do court-appointed guardians or the hundreds of palace staff whose names disappeared from the roster before she could commit them to memory. Judar's solution to her sobbing fits was to pester her till she'd convulse with laughter.
"It's okay. It's okay." She's wiping tears like their lost mothers would have, if they could have done, slowly rubbing his back until the volcano in him calms down.
Once the spasms have gone, he pulls away, scrubbing redness and amorphous salt. She notices the fading ash-blue mark on his cheek and forgets that her robes are damp with snot, preferring to smooth out the wrinkles on his shirt, counting rips and the cost of her own lavish wardrobe. He mumbles an apology for the brine-soaked cloth.
Kougyoku shakes her head. "Oh, this? This is nothing." I would gladly sell my finest robes so no child would have to beg for a mother's love ever again.
She knows what's coming next. He'll tell her that his mother is dead and that he has no real home to speak of. He'll talk about his brother and his sister who he cannot care for because he is too young to look after himself. And she wishes she has learned enough, has become strong enough, to grant him the answers that only seem to come from dreams or ancient people.
For now, she gives him silence.
Kouen's face is clean-shaven. It makes him look a little less Kouen-like.
He left Hakuryuu at one of the northeast corridors. Much as he wants to offer comfort and company, something in the despondent set of the younger prince's jaw tells Alibaba it's not his place to pry.
So far, he hasn't encountered any of the creeps of Al Thamen (except Judar, who he stopped counting as one of them a long time ago) and he sincerely hopes he never will. He spotted the magi a while back, and immediately ducked behind a vat of fermented rice. He doesn't know how well-versed the kid is in dimensional stuff at that age, but instinct warns him to stay hidden.
"Oi, Old Hag, where are you? I want my peaches now!" he whines.
Really, Judar, you know she hates it when you call her that.
He finds Kougyoku in the garden watching butterflies. A plop of salmon fabric and wind-blown petals in the diving sun, a sniffle, and he knows the person before him is princess who chases stars at noon.
"You're always crying," he says and settles down on the grass, awaiting her reaction. It must be scary to hear that from someone she's never met.
She gasps and faces him with wet seashell eyes. He smiles.
"Y-you are?"
"A cricket-catcher." He doesn't know what made him say that, but crickets come with dreams, right? And isn't that what all this is? One strange, peaceful, dream of childhood within a dream of death. Maybe the stress of rewritten destiny has gotten to him, but now all he wants is to relax with an old friend and pretend the lives of millions won't vanish at sundown.
But this Kougyoku doesn't know all this. This Kougyoku doesn't even know him.
"Eh?" She rubs her eyes, letting the last of her tears water the damask rose patterns of her dress.
"Hold on a second." He gets up and begins kicking at a clump of weeds. Before long, something jumps, and he runs after it. With careful maneuvering and swift reflexes, he captures the bouncing insect and presents it to his companion.
"Here. I caught a grasshopper." If this were any other princess, he'd have smacked himself in the head by now. A squirming pest is hardly a proper token of friendship for a young lady, but, he reminds himself, this is the woman who silenced a crowd of nearly a million.
"Th-thank you." She gingerly reaches for the unconventional gift, firm enough to prevent it from escaping as it pushes against her thumb with its strong hind legs, yet careful to keep from squishing it. It's a tricky balance, and reddish-brown liquid stains her knuckles in the struggle, but she doesn't let go.
"Eewww."
He laughs. Yup, that's our Kougyoku alright. "You're not afraid?"
"No. I think it's cute."
She studies it for a minute longer before releasing it and discretely wiping her fingers on a dry leaf. A serene breeze flutters over them, filling his heart with all things serene and nostalgic, and neither of them feels the urge to leave. He lies down and lets his eyelids fall.
Minutes pass before he hears her speak. "Ne, Cricket-catcher-san, are you a nice person?"
"Maybe."
"Do you have friends?"
"Yes."
"Many friends?"
"Yes, I do have many acquaintances. It's a side-effect of travelling so much."
"Oh." She sighs again, a year's worth of loneliness in one breath, so very, very similar to one of his own. Back when he was a brat getting lost in the palace. Back when dungeons and metal vessels were a faraway dream and Sinbad was the most splendid creature in existence and the fate of the world had not yet dumped itself on his half-broken shoulders.
"I wish I were like you," she continues. "No one but Judar-chan and Ka Koubun ever talks to me. Everyone thinks my mother is a very bad person and I'm bad, too, because I'm her daughter."
He gets it. This is the tragedy of the palace. It's a place where little girls learn to put on dragon faces and little boys are taught the murderous art of hierarchy. But Kougyoku will survive, as he did.
When this is over, I'm taking her on a dragonfly hunt. And then we'll go fishing. Ka Koubun's the bait.
Yeah, let's do that.
"Kougyoku?" he calls, tentative, hopeful, seeking assurance that they'll meet again, that the tag team of magi and king candidates will win this battle and those to come.
"Y-yes! How-how did you know my name?"
"It's easy. You're dressed like royalty. That makes you one of the princesses, and all I had to do was guess your age and recall the name of the youngest." He's lying. He'd know her anywhere, even without that trademark hairstyle. "Listen, I have something I must face, and people I must save. They depend on me, so I must be brave for them. I can't give up, not now, not even when everything seems hopeless. Promise me when the time comes, you'll do the same. Let's be strong together, okay?"
He plucks a handful of clover flowers and drops them on her lap. She stares, and thinks. Soon her smile widens and she beams at him. "Okay!"
He hears the rumbling of gongs in the distance. The sound vanishes, and so does everything else.
The light grows weak as they navigate the shanties, fingers intertwined. Who's escorting who, she isn't sure.
"I'm running away," he declares.
She's torn between encouraging him to return and wanting to praise him for his boldness.
He keeps talking, little words and outbursts that frame the story of his life. "I heard the guards. They were laughing. 'Why go through all this trouble to retrieve an illegitimate?' They were right. The king has two sons already. He doesn't need me."
"Don't you want to meet your father?"
"Why should I?! My father abandoned us."
"But-"
"I DON'T WANT TO! I hate him! I just want to be with Kassim and Mariam! This is where I live! This is my home! Kassim told me to go, but he doesn't understand! I CAN'T! I don't belong there!"
She understands. She knows how he will be treated. He will suffer pain, rejection, isolation. She wants to spare him the heartbreak, but she also knows that, had the situation been reversed, he wouldn't coddle her. She knows what she must do.
She stops walking.
Alibaba feels the tug of the hand gripping his own and spins to face her. "What's the matter, Nee-san? Are you alright? Ah, I'm sorry I shouted at you! Please forgive me!"
Kougyoku isn't hurt. She isn't sad, even. She's reliving her past, hearing her own pleading, frightened self before time and trials forced her to toughen up.
What would she say to that little girl?
Keep going.
You'll make it.
Hold on.
Don't run.
"Ask him," she advises.
"Huh?"
"You want to know, right? Ask him if he really loves you. Ask him why he abandoned you. Talk to him, please, while you have the chance." While he's still alive. While he still cares. While he still recognizes you as his son. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. You're strong enough."
"I'm not," he says, struggling with reddening eyes.
"You can do it. I believe in you."
"What if I won't be able to come back? I won't see Kassim and-"
"Oh, you will. You'll surely come back. You'll see him again. I promise."
"How do you know?"
"I just do," she says, winks, and tries not to make a fool of herself. Alibaba does that often; maybe it will do the trick.
Confusion, grief, and resolve tumble around in his eyes. Finally, he straightens up and makes his decision. He'll be visiting the king of Balbadd after all.
"Alright. I'll be going, then. See you!"
"See you, Alibaba-chan. Take care!"
The desert swallows him up.
The empress is awake, yet not awakened. The chains of whitewashed rukh jingle on her wrists and blind her, and she cannot feel them, and she cannot break free.
There is a sound somewhere. There is a memory she needs to remember.
Someone.
"Oi! Ha-ni-Alibaba!"
The vision has ended; Alibaba is pulled back from the vivid trance with a stinging blow to his face, courtesy of Judar-the-most-insufferable-magi-ever. He wonders if he should wonder why he's the one Judal singles out for this abuse.
"Heeey! Stop. Slap. Ping. Me! Creepy Magi!"
"Worthless Brat!"
"Potato Monster Feed!"
"Love-struck Glob!"
"Whiny!"
"Annoying!"
"Useless!"
"Weak!"
"You're awake," states Hakuryuu, amused by their bickering. "What happened?"
"I don't know. I was dreaming, I think? I don't remember anything," is Alibaba's groundbreaking explanation.
"Look, Weirdo, it's almost sunset. No time for slacking around," Judar cuts in and an epic glaring match commences.
"Hah! You can't beat me this time! You're not a haniwa anymore!" the magi taunts, resorting to old tactics because Alibaba is Alibaba, and the Haniwa Boy he knows can stare for three days straight without blinking.
"You're gonna lose! You're gonna lose!" he chants. "Ha-ni-ba-ka!"
"I won't lose, you hear me?"
"Just give up!"
"Never!"
"Ever?"
"Ever!"
Hakuryuu shakes his head, deeming it best not to interrupt the little squabble. When this is over, he muses aloud, we're hiring a new babysitter. Maybe Nerva can be trusted to keep an eye on these two?