Chapter One-Hundred Fifty-Two

Magic prickled along Kurogane's skin, raising hairs on his arms. He tightened his hold on the kid, freeing one hand to grab Ginryuu. But no one attacked, and a profound silence filled the hazy glass prison where he now stood.

"What happened?" he finally asked.

The boy peeked up at him through disheveled bangs, his dark eyes uncertain. "We . . . I think we were transported into the device Fei-Wang was holding."

"That tiny thing?"

The boy hesitated, then nodded. "There was likely a pocket dimension inside the capsule which allowed for the storage of larger things. It's . . . not unlike what Mokona does when she stores our belongings."

Kurogane blinked. "Wait a minute: You're saying we're stuck in a tube?"

The boy flinched, misery shimmering in his eyes. Awkwardly, he slid out of Kurogane's embrace. "It wouldn't be the first time," he murmured, so quietly that, if it weren't for the stifling silence around them, Kurogane wouldn't have heard it.

"Kid . . ." Damn it. Why did I have to go and open my goddamn mouth? His lips twisted into a grimace, a sick feeling settling in his gut. He caught the kid's hand and lifted it to his chest. Syaoran looked back at him, his lower lip trembling. Fuck. Why couldn't he have just punched me in the face instead? This is so much worse. "I didn't mean to remind you of that. Shit, I wasn't thinking."

"It's not that." The boy took a tremulous breath. "It's just . . . You're stuck here with me this time. I shouldn't have . . . I shouldn't have let this happen."

A fissure opened up in his heart. He cradled the kid's hand between both of his. He'd have done anything to drive away the pain in the boy's expression. "Don't. Don't feel guilty over that. It would be worse for both of us if we got separated."

The kid's eyes widened, and he started to step back before freezing where he stood. "Kurogane-san . . ."

"I told you it would be all right. I'll make it all right."

Love replaced the guilt in the boy's eyes, and Kurogane felt the little fissure in his heart seal itself shut. He pressed his lips to the kid's forehead, surprised as the sense of wholeness, of peace, he felt at the touch. The boy slung his arms around Kurogane's neck, raising his head so their mouths met. Battle-worn and bleeding from dozens of cuts and scrapes, Kurogane nonetheless forgot about the fight outside the tube. The pain of his body gave way to a desperate hunger, and he raked his fingers through the kid's hair, wanting, needing . . .

"Um . . ."

He stiffened, then swung around with a growl, hand going to Ginryuu before he recognized the deeper, slightly more mature voice. Slowly, he straightened, looking the kid's father in the eye as he let his sword arm fall to his side. His cheeks colored, partly from annoyance at the interruption, but mostly from embarrassment.

"I . . . We're . . ." the kid began, sliding between his father and Kurogane.

The blank shock on the boy's father's face made him look a decade younger. "This is . . . unexpected."

Kurogane's hackles rose. "That going to be a problem?"

Syaoran nudged his side, looking up at him with a pleading expression and shaking his head. Reluctantly, Kurogane stepped back, listening as the kid addressed his father. "It's not something you need to worry about."

The man's puzzlement shifted to suspicion. "Isn't it?"

"Hey, hold on a second," Kurogane said, stepping into the space between them. "If you're looking for a villain, try the bastard who trapped us in here. Because I don't care how many problems you've got with me right now—you've got a hell of a lot more to sort out with him."

Syaoran's father regarded him for a moment, his face unreadable, then turned back to the kid. "Very well. Our first priority is to devise a way out of here. Your mother and I spent many years within this dimension, waiting for the moment we would be released, but we did so under the condition that our time here would act as payment for our ability to join this battle at a crucial moment. However, being trapped within a copy of the same prison was not part of the plan. Nor were several other revelations." He gave Kurogane a hard look. Before he could retaliate, however, a flurry of light alerted him to something happening beyond the plane of glass bisecting the tube. He unsheathed his sword, preparing himself for a fight, but within seconds, the swirl of light resolved into two familiar figures.

"Princess!" the boy called, pressing his hand to the glass. Neither his mother nor Sakura responded to his cry at first, though when they saw the three of them standing on the other side of the glass, they rushed over, pressing their hands and faces to the barrier. Sakura slammed the palm of her hand against the glass, producing a dull thump, but though she was quite obviously shouting, not a single word penetrated the barrier. There must be some kind of spell on the glass, Kurogane thought, feeling a stab of pity for the older kid and his princess. To be trapped here for years, unable to touch or speak to each other . . . It was almost unfathomable.

"There has to be a way out of here," the kid said at last, stepping back from the glass.

"This capsule was crafted for the purpose of keeping souls from escaping," the older Syaoran said. "It will not be a simple matter to leave."

"I can't accept that." The kid looked to Kurogane, then back to his father. "So many of the universe's rules have been broken today. It may be dangerous to break another, but there has to be a way. And after spending so much time in this place, you would know best how to do that."

His father's eyes widened, then narrowed in concentration. "Perhaps . . . Yes, between your mother and the original princess . . . perhaps it could work."

"Mind explaining your plan?" Kurogane asked, annoyed.

"It's not a plan so much as an idea. But Fei-Wang said himself that both Sakuras possessed immense magical power. It should be impossible for us to escape without Fei-Wang letting us out, but if the two of them focus that energy outward . . ."

"You're saying they could shatter the capsule," Kurogane guessed.

"Would that work?" Syaoran asked, leaning forward. "Would we be able to escape, or would we be transported elsewhere?"

"I can't say for certain. Hold on." The older Syaoran walked over to the glass dividing their half of the tube from the half where the Sakuras were imprisoned. He waved his wife over, then started moving his hands in a complicated series of motions. Sign language? Kurogane wondered, frowning. He'd never seen either Syaoran using sign language, so evidently it was something he'd picked up between his almost-death at Fei-Wang's feet and his return later on in the battle. Or maybe he and the princess had devised their own sign language in all the time they'd been trapped here. As empty as this place was, there would've been little else to do.

On the other side of the glass, the boy's mother nodded solemnly. "She says they can try," the older Syaoran reported, turning back to them. "It may work, now that the two of them are together. It may work . . ." He turned back, pressing his hand against the barrier. Syaoran's mother did the same, until the only thing separating their hands was the thin pane of glass between them.

The kid curled his fingers around Kurogane's palm, seeking reassurance. Kurogane took his hand and held it between them. "You all right?"

He looked down at their joined hands and nodded. "I will be. Thank you."

"I love you," he said, and warmth flooded the boy's eyes. "I should have told you that more often, and sooner."

The boy shook his head. "It's enough to hear it now. I love you, too."

Kurogane laced their fingers together. "Ready to get out of here?"

The kid nodded. "Ready."

Threads of magic spun through the air like spiderwebs caught by the wind.

"No!" Fai shouted, his voice lost to the roar of battle. The last wisps of sorcery faded as everyone save for himself, Mokona, and Fei-Wang Reed were captured in the tube. "No!" Fai lashed out with his magic, his training so ingrained that even that impulsive strike came out as a tightly wound web of energy, folded in on itself and bound in place by a string of runes. It shot toward the tube in an arc, moving so fast that Fei-Wang had no time to counter it. But instead of shattering the glass prison, his spell dissolved, reduced to nothing more than a few lingering strands of energy.

"That capsule!" Mokona cried, bouncing across the rubble as she bounded toward Fai. "It's the same capsule Yuuko had—the capsule that Clow made."

A magical object, then. Fai's eyes narrowed. And a very powerful one, at that.

"The one who places items within this device is the one who controls it!" Fei-Wang said, voice echoing through the reservoir. "It cannot be destroyed without my permission!"

Wonderful, Fai thought, breathing hard as he traced a ribbon of runes through the air with his fingertip. They glowed bright, like blue fire etched into the air. Around those runes, he wove a lattice of magic—a circuit which, when wrapped around itself, would act like kindling, fueling the spell. It was a trick Ashura had taught him before the madness had taken him, a trick which, while not capable of increasing his magic potential, allowed him to maximize the effects of more defined spells.

He imagined the web twisting around itself, like a dishrag being wrung out, then affixed it to the bind points of his rune string. The spell shot forward, a whip of light and energy that could have cut through steel and stone. If I can just damage the capsule . . . , he thought, already preparing his next spell. If I can just leave a crack so that it can be destroyed from the inside, then maybe they'll be able to escape.

"Fai, look out!" Mokona squeaked. Fai spun, reworking the spell he'd been weaving just as Fei-Wang's magic lashed out at him. The two forces collided, knocking him backwards, exacerbating the myriad scrapes and bruises he'd acquired throughout the battle, but Mokona's warning had given him enough time to deflect the brunt of the attack. Good thing, too, he thought, because that probably would have killed me.

"You will not interfere!" Fei-Wang shouted.

A veneer of bravado colored Fai's reply. "I think you'll find that interfering is what I do best!" He readied another spell, incorporating several rune sequences that would compress and explode on impact, then sent it shooting toward the capsule. As he followed the spell with his eyes, he noticed a faint light within the tube, pulsing weakly. They're doing their best to break free. I just have to give them a chance.

But when his spell hit the center of the tube, it dissolved. It's like trying to break into a vault, he thought, dodging several magical missiles by propelling himself through the air with his magic. Even my most powerful attacks can't smash the door.

He dodged another attack, maneuvering himself closer to the device. Brute force had never been his most prized skill. Granted, with his magic, he could cause incredible destruction, but it was the subtleties of magic that had always fascinated him. Details, as insignificant as the tiny flowers painted onto Ruval Castle's dishware, or the minuscule differences between certain runes that could destroy hours of careful preparation if written incorrectly. For years, he had studied those intricacies, learned which spell-matrices worked well with which rune strings. He had learned how to weave and pick apart spells with the precision of a surgeon. He had mastered six different types of magic and used that interdisciplinary knowledge to create hybridized spells. But more important than any of those things, he had figured out which threads to pull to radically alter a spell.

Why destroy the capsule when you could just unlock it?