Finally updating! So yeah, hopefully this chapter isn't too bad...don't forget to review.

Enigma

I close my eyes, remembering that day in Arizona. It's been two years since the third tournament, and for now my mother and our medallion are safe at home. I remember finding her, weak and exhausted, but alive. I remember feeling relieved and overjoyed knowing that my mother was safe…and I also recall the terrible loathing in my heart for the man named Heihachi Mishima. He had changed my life forever, had almost taken from me the one person I loved more than anything in the world. I had no idea until that third tournament that someone like me could harbor such incredible hatred for another person. Like they say, there's a first time for everything, right?

"Hatred is not the answer. Do you remember why I taught you the powers to fight? It was to protect Mother Earth, not to destroy…"

I remember my mother's words, repeat them everyday in my head like a mantra, over and over to try and keep the hate and bitterness from my heart. Hate never got anyone anywhere after all, and I tried hard to move on and not have secret fantasies of ripping off Heihachi's head.

But soon, I eventually pushed that old bastard to the back of my mind and focused on college and my new studies: archeology and forest restoration. After high school, I never took up my paintbrush again; I was simply too busy with my schoolwork and with training for the tournaments. The fifth one had just ended half a month ago, and I was still recuperating from my last humiliating defeat. After all that training I'd managed to lose anyway.

But besides that defeat the fifth tournament hadn't been that bad. I'd gotten my first glimpse of Kazuya's son, Jin Kazama. I remember how beautifully he'd fought, but I'd only caught little glimpses of him; the man was elusive, but merciless in the fighting ring. I never got to see his face close up, but from the adoration on the faces of his female fans Jin Kazama was probably handsome. He never did show any interest in the girls however, though I remember him casting occasional, quick glances toward a small, bubbly Asian girl. She was really fond of pink, and I remember how she seemed to never stop smiling...it disturbs me that I have such a vivid memory about complete strangers.

I also remember Jin's most aggressive match had been against some red-haired man from Korea. The match had lasted for a very long time, but finally Jin managed to defeat the poor guy in the last round. Sad for Red-Hair Guy, but I hadn't been surprised; Jin was clearly the better fighter. I'd noticed that he'd been in every tournament I'd been in, but we'd never spoken to one another. I remember how much trouble he got in with the authorities, that little punk, how every other word that came out of his mouth was an obscenity, and he annoyed everybody, including me. However, the girls there didn't seem to mind and, unlike Jin, the Korean guy let them hang all over him. When he left after his match with Jin it was no big deal. I was actually sort of relieved—almost everyone was. He'd caused so much trouble with his presence.

Little did I know that someday we'd meet again…but that's another story.

However, all of this doesn't matter that much to me at the time, because it was in the fifth tournament that I saw my friend. After three years we met again, Christie and I, and she was here to compete as I was. Luckily, the judges never did match us up as opponents, and we'd spent our leisure time catching up on the years lost. She hadn't changed much: the clothing was still very suggestive, she was still as beautiful and tan as ever, but there was a new determination in Christie that hadn't been there before. Maybe it's because she's finally matured, or maybe its just because she's fighting to help her ill grandfather. When she lost, Christie had disappeared, and hours later I'd found her in the locker room with her face in her hands, weeping about failure and knowing that without the money her grandpa was as good as dead. And for once my attempts at consoling her failed.

When we both lost, it was time to say good-bye again. It was brief and emotional, but we parted ways once more, this time unsure if we'd see each other again.

So, my life has been pretty normal so far. I was no damsel in distress, tragic heroine, suicidal drama queen or substance abuser; I was just your average woman trying to create a living for herself, a person who didn't really know how Life worked yet (psh, who does?) but was trying to learn. You know? For now I was a normal gal, life-loving, curious, overall pretty content—but don't worry, that tragic heroine crap will come soon enough. Tragedy never fails to make life "interesting" does it? Sorry, I'm rambling. On to my life story…

Anyway, I don't concern myself with Heihachi or his family anymore now that Michelle is finally safe. Now, I only compete in his tournaments to keep up my skills, and, if I did ever win, the prize money would be great for forest restoration. An oncoming desert is slowly devouring the land, and I'm doing everything I can to stop it. It's not only that I'm Native American either; I really do love the earth and its creatures, Navajo or not.

"Mitochondria, as you all should have learned in high school biology, is where the energy ATP is stored…"

Digging out my pen, I begin to frantically take notes as Mr. Kurtis lectured, pointing to various diagrams on the black board, his gold-rimmed glasses shining every time he moved.

"…notice the mutation here, on the cell membrane…"

My pen stopped midway on the paper. This guy, no matter how much I respected him, was wasting my time. I'd been sitting here for half an hour listening to him drone on about useless information I already knew since the tenth grade…so why was I putting up with this? Setting my pen down, I closed my notebook and slid my belongings into my backpack. Besides, I had a ten-page paper due in three days in psychology, and I was only half way done. Pushing my glasses back into place, I got up from my desk and exited the class. Mr. Kurtis didn't seem to notice or else didn't care, but it doesn't matter anyway. I was already pulling an A in that class, and his tests were easy. That's the good thing about college: you have much more freedom, and class attendance is optional.

In the library, I settled myself down in front of one of the computers and continued my research for my Psychology class. Since I've always been analytical and good at reading people, the class was fun, and Ms. Hiroyuki was impressed with my abilities. That didn't mean the class was easy however.

As I typed in my password, I noticed just how quiet the library was. It smelled old, a comforting, good kind of smell, with windowpanes slightly dulled, corners yellowed with age, the glass slightly tinted, warping the sunlight. Some of the librarians were ornery old bitches, but besides that, this place was my perfect little haven. If I could, I'd stay here all day.

"Hello, Julia."

I glanced up into the face of my archeology professor, Mr. Vega, one of the best teachers I'd ever had. His voice was gentle and soft, his dark eyes friendly, and I smiled up at him.

"Hi, Mr. Vega," I replied, "how are you?"

"Fine, and I know you are doing well. Psych homework huh? I've heard great stuff about you from Ms. Hiroyuki. Keep up the good work, Ms. Chang. Anyway, it's a good thing you're here because I was going to ask if you were interested in going on a field trip."

My eyebrows raised. "Depends on where to."

He smiled, and asked, "Are you still interested in forest restoration?"

"Of course," I replied.

"Well, I've decided to take twenty of my students to Mexico for my class, and I think the trip will help with your research. We'll be studying some of the ancient ruins there as well, so it won't be too boring."

Wow, going to Mexico? Hell yes.

"Really? That sounds great! I'd love to go."

"Good. It'll be nice to visit my own home country again, won't it?" he said chuckling slightly, "I thought you'd want to come. Sign up is today though, so be quick. Lots of students want this as well, but I know that you'll especially enjoy it."

"Thanks, Mr. Vega."

"De nada. See you later, Julia."

With that my archeology teacher left, and I couldn't stop the smile that came onto my face. Mexico! I couldn't wait. Lucky for me, I was almost fluent in Spanish. Since Arizona was full of Mexican-Americans, I'd picked up the language quickly, and communicating in Mexico would be no problem.

Here in college, I felt at home. I felt like I could do anything; I learned to be independent and think for myself. The crane had finally learned to use her wings. There were no more nightmares about eerie red-eyed boys from paintings, no more whispers in the dark, no more worry for my mother, no more strange encounters with animals. There were no more fears about acceptance and loneliness; here in college, I was somebody, I had a purpose. Life was bliss.

I was only twenty, and I thought that I had it all. A great education, a loving mother and family, good grades, I was healthy, a good fighter, and I was happy. The hardships of my past were behind me. With the Mishimas gone from my life, with Michelle safe at home, I could finally move on and see what this world was really about.

At least, that's what I thought.

Did I know that the moment I stepped off that plane into Mexico that everything would change yet again? No, I had no idea. I was too busy being happy, too busy enjoying life.

Well, She had other plans for me. Life would not allow me to get too comfortable just yet.

Mexico was a lively, wonderful place. My class had arrived in time for El Día de Los Muertos—the Day of the Dead. The streets were crowded with people preparing for the festivities, the aroma of grease and sweets permeating through the air, street vendors overflowing with bright marigold flowers—the special flower for the Day of the Dead. Inhaling the smells, I sighed in happiness and smiled at the people as they passed me by. They stared at me strangely, knowing I was a foreigner, but they returned my greetings kindly. Little children played in the streets, passing a little plastic ball this way and that, and I gazed in awe at their innocence, almost envious. Mothers held their children to their breasts, fathers smiled and dealt with customers interested in their trade. They were such a happy people. At that moment I felt such a longing for my own mother, wishing she could be here with me to see Mexico, and I swallowed hard to keep my emotions concealed. Two years of independence was getting to me.

"Isn't this place amazing?" one student named James asked me, his eyes shining. He was tall, handsome, blonde, and he'd had a crush on me the moment he'd laid eyes on me in class. James was nice, and I would have gone for him too, but something in my heart told me no, told me to wait a little…I dunno why, but I listened, and my feelings for James never went beyond simple friendship.

"Sure is," I replied.

A small man then popped out of nowhere, smiling wide, combing a brown hand through his hair.

"Hola, chica bonita. Me llamo Eduardo. ¿Cómo estás?" He flashed me a wink.

It's the culture here in Mexico. Men flirting with women—piropos—is quite common, no matter if they are complete strangers or not, and tourists and foreigners are their biggest targets, such as myself. It's best just to ignore the sleaze bags. It wasn't the first time a Mexican male had given me a piropo, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed James flash the man a steely glare. Ah, James. If only he knew that I didn't need any protecting.

After an hour of exploring the nearby cities, my classmates and I hurried off to the small university where our studies would begin. Mr. Vega was there of course, and he smiled at me when I entered the room. After a couple hours of lecturing, the class finished, and we were again free to do as we liked. I thought I was in heaven.

"Julia, wait up."

I stopped and watched as James hurried to catch up to me, his blonde hair getting into his eyes. He really was attractive, smart too…but there again was that nagging in my heart. Wait, Julia. Be patient, Julia…

"Hey," I greeted once he was next to me.

"Hi. You need help with that?" James asked, gesturing towards my backpack. I fought the urge to roll my eyes; he was trying way too hard.

"I got it. But thanks for offering," I replied, unable to suppress a grin.

James flashed me that smile of his, the smile all the girls fell for, but it had no effect on me. Of all the girls in his class, why had he chosen me? I was so ordinary, so boring, and he was only wasting his time. If Christie were here, she'd yell at me for being so uptight and cold about guys. She'd tell me to ask James out, and I'd do it too, just for her happiness.

But Chris isn't here anymore. It's just me. And my heart tells me not to waste time on James no matter how sweet he is.

"So I was wondering, Julia…I heard from Mel about this awesome restaurant downtown called Juanita. A couple of us are going down there tonight for some dinner. W-wanna come?" he stammered, his cheeks reddening.

From the hopeful look on his handsome face I almost caved. However, I'd had enough people contact for a day, and I needed some alone time. Usually this would be the time I fled to my little rock cave, but this wasn't Arizona and I was no longer a child. Still, I needed to be alone. I may be all smiles and laughter during the school day, but in the end I liked my privacy.

"You know, James, that sounds really great, but…I need to rest a little. I'm kind of tired," I said, feeling so bad when the man's face fell.

"O-ok, Julia, I understand. Uh, maybe tomorrow then?" he asked, forcing a smile to his face.

I nodded. It was no promise, but I hoped the gesture would make him stop looking so goddamn depressed. "Sure. Tomorrow."

"K, sounds great. I'll walk you to your room then."

Nobody was around and night slowly descended down over the world. The air was still and silent, heavy and damp with the sweltering heat, and any other person would have had to stop and catch their breath. But I grew up in Arizona, so I welcomed the heat, and wiped the small beads of sweat that had formed on my brow. I loved this time to myself; this was exactly what I'd needed after a long, hectic day in the streets of Mexico. Lifting my head, I gazed in awe up at the great Mayan temple, cracks lining the stone edges, the ancient hieroglyphs faded and dull, but still beautiful all the same. The ancient ruins have always fascinated me, and I ran my hand over the old stone.

The sunset cast crimson and plum shadows across the temple, playing across the hieroglyphs, seeming to make the figures move and dance with the light. There was something about this temple, something powerful and frightening at the same time, as if the past still lingered within its walls. Instead of going to a restaurant or some cramped dance club like most of my classmates, I was here at the ruins, where Mexico truly began.

It was then, as I was studying the carvings in the stone, that I noticed a narrow opening on the side of the temple. Curious, I approached the opening carefully, looking over my shoulder anxiously to see if anyone was watching, unsure if I was allowed to explore like this. Seeing no one, I continued onward. When I entered, it felt like the ancient Mayan temple itself pulled me in, devouring me into its jaws, trapping me within their world.

Fear suddenly gripped me as the unexpected darkness swallowed me up, but I fought the urge to turn back. I noticed lighted sconces on the walls—the tourist guides probably forgot to put them out after their last showing—and the golden flames flickered, casting jittery shadows against the stone. I sensed the awesome majesty of the place, the power, and as I stared harder at the walls, I noticed the intricate paintings on it, colors of the deepest scarlet and most vibrant of blues…

Gently, I brushed my fingertips over the surface of the beautiful paintings. If a tourist guide were here, I could get in serious trouble. But I was alone, and I hadn't painted in years, so what the hell. Nobody needed to know.

"Pretty, aren't they?"

I gave a startled cry that was so loud I thought the temple would collapse over my head. What the hell! Wasn't I alone?

From the darkness of the room, a place where the light of the sconces had managed not to reach, a man emerged, tall and handsome. He looked familiar. His skin was pale, his features dark, the lines of his mouth so sad it nearly brought me to tears…

My mind struggled a little, but in seconds I had the puzzle put together and knew why he looked so familiar. The painting, the goddamn painting...but wasn't he fake, just a dream? But here he stood, real as ever, and except for the red eyes, this man was the spitting image of my painting. He was the "man of my dreams," though not in the exact way girls usually meant when they said that phrase, and I almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. But right then I was so afraid and instead of laughing, I swallowed my voice and I clutched at the wall. Without warning, the scar on my left hand began to burn, the pain trailing all the way up my arm. It had never hurt before, but at the moment it was just as painful as when the coyote had first bitten me. I could almost see the scarlet trailing over my hands, down my forearm…

"I apologize. I've frightened you. But you're not the first," he sighed. He had a lovely voice, soothing and low, and to my confusion, he shrank back into the shadows, disappearing into the darkness. I had thought for sure that the moment he emerged he would hurt me, a vulnerable woman on her own, but all he'd done was shy away, hide in the shadows like a lost child. And, oddly, that struck something in my heart, something deep…

Perplexed, I did not know what to make of him. He had scared the hell out of me no doubt, but he didn't want to hurt me at all. He seemed withdrawn, was possibly just as afraid as I was, and slowly I regained control of myself and straightened my body. Ignoring my uncertainty and the throbbing pain in my left hand, I took a step forward towards where he had once stood.

"Who are you? Come out where I can see you," I murmured softly, hoping the man heard.

When he didn't move, I tried again, louder this time. "Come into the light. Why are you here?" I even considered holding out my hand, but then that would have looked odd.

It felt like forever, but eventually the man emerged once more, his eyes penetrating my own, half his body still cloaked in shadow. And, looking at him for the second time, I realized that indeed he was the exact man from my painting. It was the same mouth, the same haunted eyes, the same ebony hair…

My heart leaped up to my throat as our eyes met. God, he was beautiful. But what was he doing here? He remained silent but our gazes did not move from one another. He had on a worn black T-shirt and ragged jeans, his hair spiky, and I could just make out the bulge of biceps and the outline of his muscled body. I was grateful for the flickering candlelight because it hid the sudden blush that came to my cheeks. Now I knew why I had rejected James.

"H-hi. W-what are you doing here?" I stuttered nervously, keeping a good distance away from him. The room was very narrow, and was probably not a good place for combat. Even though he seemed harmless, I had to keep up my guard.

"This place is nearly forgotten. What are you doing here?" was his reply.

I didn't answer, slightly annoyed that he'd skirted my question, but the man gave a sigh, as if reluctant to respond to my inquiry.

"I needed to be…alone," was his simple reply, and his words stole the breath from my lips.

"Oh. Well, m-me too," I said quickly.

The man looked at me closer, his eyes narrowing, and then his mouth curled up slightly, as if beginning to smile, but he left the expression unfinished. I wished instantly that he would stop looking at me like that. It was like he saw right through me, into me, knew my thoughts, and it sent unexpected shivers up my back. I thought only I was capable of making people feel that way.

"Are you afraid of me?" he whispered.

I decided not to respond, seeing how he knew very well that I was scared mindless. But what astonished me was that his inquiry was genuine and innocent, not arrogant or meant to intimidate. There was no threat, no bitterness or hardness; just the soft, tentative voice of someone wounded.

Had he lived all his life in darkness, like he stood now in the shadows?

Remaining silent, I avoided his gaze and pretended to study the temple paintings again. The silence was unbearable. I felt his eyes on me as if it were physical touch, and I wanted so much to flee, to run, run from the man from my painting. But I remained rooted to the spot, half frightened yet awed and curious, half fascinated that this man, a creature I had thought made only of dreams and acrylic paint, stood skin and bones and blood before me.

Finally, breaking the long silence, I said softly, "I feel like I know you." It was an odd thing to say to a strange man, but it was the truth. I had stared into his face everyday in high school and in my dreams.

"You do? Then you must know my name as well."

"See, that's the funny part. I know your face, but your name…why am I even saying all this? Are you even real?" Another dumb thing to say, but hey, when you're Navajo and an ardent believer in the spirit world, anything can happen.

It was possible that I was just hallucinating. Maybe being away from home so long was taking its toll. Julia Chang had finally lost her mind. It was almost funny, a dark, cruel kind of humor.

"I don't know. You tell me what's real."

I hadn't been expecting that response and for awhile I was tongue-tied. For the first time in my life, I could not read him. Usually in the first couple minutes of contact I can tell somebody's feelings, I know what kind of person they are, but with this phantom, this man standing in the shadows, my mind came up with a blank. He was my first mystery, an enigma, and that only attracted me more to him.

At first I refused to accept that I couldn't read him like a book, like I was used to. My mind kicked into action, flinging out all sorts of possible answers that could maybe match this man. Perhaps he was shy, introverted, misunderstood, and maybe daydreamed a lot. He probably liked to read, liked to be by himself mostly, maybe watched the sunset at night or watched the moon rise through his window. The girls loved him but didn't know how to approach him 'cause he was so distant and quiet. Guys his age kept away from him.

I kept trying to figure him out, but it was no use.

Now that I look at him again, there's something else there too, another side that I can't quite describe. It was like a shadow across his face, the forlorn smile morphing into a malicious sneer, his sad, dark eyes turning into crimson orbs that burned through my skin…or maybe it was just a trick of the light from the sconces. Yeah, must be. Whatever the case, I couldn't figure him out.

"What's your name?" I whispered, taking a tiny step towards him. He didn't answer, and I was beginning to get frustrated. Why was he so damn quiet? His silence was unnerving. I'm a quiet person myself, but this kind of silence was just plain frightening. The "calm before a storm" type of quiet…

When I thought that he'd never answer me, the man finally spoke.

"Jin."

"What?" Had I heard right? Was he—

"My name is Jin."

I stared at him a second longer before stuttering, "Um…Jin…K-Kazama?"

"So you do know my name."

"No, I—"

"It's ok. Lots of people know who I am."

Not like I do, I thought. A distant look came over Jin's face, as if he were off in his own world. He'd been through a lot perhaps, seen many things…

Unable to help myself, I looked at him once again. The description fit his name: the strong, muscular build—the body of a fighter; dark features and brooding eyes, Kazuya's hair and nose…and man, he was good to look at too. No wonder the girls at all the tournaments had been sick with adoration.

"As long as he's related to the Mishimas, he's no friend of ours…"

My mother had warned me to stay away from the Mishimas, even Jin, but at the moment I didn't care what my mom said. Jin hadn't hurt me; rather he had shied away from me; he looked hurt, like he needed help, and I wanted to find out why. How could he possibly be dangerous? There was still the uncanny fact that he shared the face of the man from my painting, and there was still the possibility of him carrying the notorious Devil Gene—but that only further lured me to him.

"I'm Julia. Julia Chang."

"…The Mishimas are cursed, and God forbid they hurt my daughter…"

"Are you afraid of me now, Julia?"

His eyes, hard and cold, peered into mine.

"I…don't know." It was the honest truth.

Jin kept staring at me, but with new eyes. I liked the way he looked at me this time, and I took a few steps closer…

Instinct told me to run but my heart rooted me to the spot. Right then I wasn't sure what it was exactly: genuine attraction or just plain curiosity. I just knew that I was caught in his gaze and wasn't planning to look away any time soon.

"…it wasn't Heihachi or Kazuya that I should have worried about."