28. Heart
The runes gripped Syaoran's arms like phantom hands, pinning him where he stood.
Fei Wang Reed watched his struggles with apathy, seeming more interested in the clone he'd created.
The image, Syaoran thought in horror, as magic constricted him.
He could think of only one solution. It would hurt. But he had to be sure.
Magic rushed to his fingertips, pressed against his eyelid. Agony lanced through him as half his soul split away. Intense pain. But it was the all he could do.
It was the only thing that might enable his clone to grow a his own heart.
29. Fragments
Fragments.
A demon raising its eyes to his, something hanging from its mouth. Red fluid dripping down . . .
A sword in his hands, his knuckles white with the force of his grip.
Flashes of white as one demon after another invaded Suwa.
Fire everywhere, consuming paper walls, singeing Mother's shrine . . . The shrine drenched with her blood.
Demons coming from every direction, relentless, lethal. Not as lethal as him.
A sword—the sword with the bat-shaped hilt—lodged in his mother's heart. A pair of once-black eyes fading to gray as time passed.
Fragmented mockeries of his nightmares.
30. Memories of the Body
Syaoran always thought that Sakura was most like her old self when she was startled. So when the ceramic plate shattered against the linoleum floor in the Cat's Eye Café, her hand shot out and wrapped around his without a conscious thought.
"Oh my goodness!" she shrieked, not realizing that she'd latched onto his hand. Syaoran smiled, pretending for just a moment that her reflexive movement had been intentional, that she wouldn't pull away the moment she realized what she'd done.
Moments like these were often rare and fleeting. Sometimes it was just better to cherish them when they happened.