Chapter One-Hundred-Seventeen
Syaoran fell.
At least, if felt like falling. His stomach lurched, and his heart quickened as the ground disappeared beneath his feet. An invisible current pulled him away from Nihon, away from the physical world, and for a time—seconds, hours, months, years—he fell, his mind blank, all aches and pains abandoned. When he broke through the wall of the dream world, sensation returned, and all the scrapes and bruises he'd endured a moment—an eternity—ago became real again. He felt the bandages coiled around a wound he'd sustained during the roof collapse, as well as the puncture wounds Seishirou had inflicted only a few moments ago; those continued to bleed sluggishly, enough to cause him discomfort, but not, yet, enough to disorient him.
He staggered forward, falling to his knees. Where am I? He tried to order his jumbled thoughts. I fought with Seishirou . . . Then the feather appeared . . . The tree came alive . . .
Am I dead? It felt strange to wonder such a thing—surely he would not be conscious if he were dead—but he was in a strange frame of mind. He blinked, looking up as a pale figure materialized in front of him, draped in a dress that rippled as if stirred by the air currents. His eyes widened. Sakura!
With the realization came clarity. Touching Sakura's feather had somehow propelled him into the dream world. I'm here to bring Sakura back. He met her eyes, searching for some sign of recognition in them. But rather than looking joyful at his arrival, she looked terrified. I've stepped into a place where I don't belong, he realized. And I don't know how to get out. "This is the dream world, isn't it?"
Sakura didn't answer, but a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention. He turned to see Watanuki rushing over to them. What's he doing here?
Soft petals moved about in the darkness, defying gravity just as they did. The void curled around Syaoran's body like mist, suspending him in the air and giving him a bizarre freedom of movement. Rather than turning, he rotated. Rather than taking a step, he floated in the direction he wanted to go. It's like that night I dreamed of Watanuki, he thought, several things clicking into place. How long has he been here?
Something rippled in the darkness nearby. Syaoran spun toward it, automatically taking a fighting stance, though the position felt odd since he had nothing solid to stand on. The ripple became a wave, and something pushed through the darkness, emerging from it like a crocodile rising from a river. A tan hand appeared first, followed by an arm spattered with blood. Syaoran moved in front of Sakura as cold recognition surged through him.
He supposed that a confrontation with the Other had been inevitable since they'd parted in Tokyo. He just couldn't think of a worse time for it. Wounded, he was in no state to keep fighting. Worse, he could feel the energy rolling off the Other's body as he subtly controlled Fai's magic. He'll be a lot stronger now than he was in Tokyo, and I barely survived then. If I get into a fight with him now . . .
No. He inhaled slowly, poised to defend himself, to defend Sakura. I have to survive. Kurogane told me not to give my life away in a pointless battle. I have to make it back.
Watanuki gasped suddenly, drawing Syaoran's attention away from his clone. A whirlwind of sakura petals spun around Watanuki's body, and with a jolt, Syaoran realized that Watanuki was dissolving, breaking into thousands of petal-shaped pieces. Watanuki looked to him, his eyes desperate. He's being pulled out of the dream world, Syaoran thought. Before Watanuki could be swallowed up by the vortex, Syaoran spoke. "Remember: No matter how much pain I seem to suffer, I'm only doing what I must. So make sure you head down the path you believe in, too!"
Watanuki's eyes widened, and Syaoran wondered if his words meant anything. They sounded hollow to his own ears. Believing in the path one followed didn't guarantee success or happiness. It didn't guarantee a cessation of pain. Even when fulfilling a duty—in his case, rescuing both Sakuras—a dangerous path could not be made safe by belief alone. But maybe his words would mean something to Watanuki, even if they didn't mean anything to him.
As Watanuki disappeared, Syaoran returned his attention to the Other. He hadn't changed much since Tokyo. Empty mismatched eyes; a cold, unfeeling expression; blood dripping down his skin, most of it from someone else. Syaoran sought some indication of change, some hint of humanity, but he found not a single spark of emotion in his clone's eyes. One more thing I failed at, he thought, reaching for Sakura's hand. As soon as he touched her, he knew she wasn't his Sakura. He hadn't been certain before, but it didn't feel like her. It hurt more than he wanted to admit to realize that, even now, he could still feel guilty for wanting to see the princess he had fallen in love with so long ago.
"Syaoran-kun," Sakura called, moving toward the Other. Syaoran winced, loosening his grip on her hand without letting go. It surprised him how much it hurt to hear her calling for the Other, even knowing she wasn't the one Syaoran had been hoping to find. But of course she's here. Yuuko told us that her soul had gone into the dream world before we left Infinity.
"You have a feather," the Other said, his voice flat as his eyes settled on Syaoran.
He lifted a hand to his chest, feeling the warmth of this Sakura's soul. He supposed the feather had integrated with his body somehow when he'd snatched it from Seishirou's hands in Nihon. Hopefully getting it out would be easier than slicing his body open to reach it, although that seemed to be what his clone had in mind, given the way Fai's magic pulsed in the void around him.
"The feathers aren't important anymore!" Sakura cried. "You don't have to—"
"I will return to the feathers to you," the Other said. "No matter what." He drew Hien, and Syaoran felt a pang of longing for the sword he'd admired through his clone's eyes. No reason to be jealous, he told himself, calling his own sword to his hands. It was never my sword to begin with.
The Other darted forward, and Syaoran matched his movements, not wanting him to get too close to Sakura. Flames erupted from Hien, circling around his clone before shooting toward him. Syaoran lifted his own sword to block, sending a wave of magic through the blade so it would repel the technique. It felt strange to use his magic again—he'd barely used it in Infinity, save for that last chess match, and with the exception of his fight with Seishirou, he hadn't used it in Nihon at all.
But being out of practice didn't mean he'd lost all his skills. The Other's attack glanced off his sword, repelled by the magic Syaoran had stored in the blade. At once, the Other called a string of runes to his fingertips, forming a ring of light. Several fireballs erupted from the center of the circle, heading straight for Syaoran. He leapt to the side, drawing on his magic once more to create a shield of wind to protect Sakura. "Fuuka Shourai!" he called, locking the spell in place. The fireballs bounced off the barrier protecting the princess, allowing them both to escape unscathed.
Separated from Sakura, Syaoran now had the Other's full attention. He shot forward, holding onto his sword, thinking of the lessons Kurogane had given his clone since Outo.
Steel met steel in a grating crash. When their swords separated, they both leapt back, staring each other down, their stances almost identical. Once, you had everything I wanted, Syaoran thought. Love, friendship, optimism. And you gave it all up when you lost your humanity. Is there any part of you that would understand? Is there anything human left to connect with? He studied the Other's face, searching for that spark, for anything except the dull look he'd worn since Tokyo. And still, he saw nothing.
"You are me," he said softly. You are what I might have become if things had turned out just a little differently. You are what I might have become if I had allowed all my emotion to seep away after Tokyo. "That's why, with my own hand, I will end this."
He raised his sword and struck.