A/N:
"The Days" is a story that I've been working on for an embarrassing amount of time (most of which I'll kindly attribute to procrastination), and after many months spent agonizing over numerous elements of it, it's finally ready to start being released. I'm quite happy with what I have so far, all things considered.
My only request is that you all keep in mind as you're reading that this story is not intended to mimic the films in any way. There are aspects that would not fit within the canon of either the overall franchise or individual characters and I'm well aware of them. "The Days" was written for fun and it's just that—not too serious and not meant to reach the franchise's levels of either ground-breaking or philosophical themes.
Constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged, as always, and I truly hope that you all have as much fun reading "The Days" as I did writing it. Please feel free to leave any and all thoughts in the comments and reviews as I truly love to read about them.
Without any further ado, please enjoy the story!
A young rabbit girl tightly clasps her mother's hand as they spiral down the night-ridden backstreets. While the navy sky is star-dappled and clear, it is still quite dark and the young rabbit girl is not as brave as she prefers to seem. She is clutching a doll; a white rabbit, like her, clad in a red dress.
The rabbit girl had forgotten her doll at a friend's home and had refused to sleep in the doll's absence. The rabbit girl's mother had ultimately taken pity upon the girl and ushered her halfway across town to retrieve it. Their journey had been at the expense of a comfortable evening, however, because walking through the backstreets at night is not safe for a mother with a young daughter.
The rabbit girl's mother briefly fumbles with the door when they reach their townhouse, but they are treading on the polished flooring and latching themselves inside within seconds. The rabbit girl watches with nervous eyes as her mother fusses about the home, tidying things that don't need to be tidied and dusting surfaces that aren't dusty.
The rabbit girl's mother picks up her daughter and carries her to their bedroom—they had begun to share after the girl's father had taken up the night shift at the sugar mill. The rabbit girl curls into her mother's embrace as they settle onto the bedding, tucking her doll under her arm for safekeeping.
The rabbit girl's mother, as she does every night, unfurls a scroll from the bedside and starts to read her daughter a story. The story tells of legendary warriors, adventurous bringers of justice, and heroes who fight for goodness simply because it is right. They are bathed in gold in every vision, and in the rabbit girl's eyes, they might as well be the only warriors to have ever lived.
In her mother's story, the fighters defend their village from bandits and their nobility prevails over evil every time. The rabbit girl enjoys entertaining the idea of such an idealistic and worry-free existence. She especially likes to imagine her doll dancing in a ruby-red dress among the warriors after they've saved the day. She imagines the music and the crowds as they spin and tangle together, dancing long into the night without a care in the world. She longs to be as careless as the dancers in her fantasies.
Despite her insistence upon hearing the story nightly, the rabbit girl feels somewhat envious of the villagers in the story. Unlike her, they do not fear the dark, and they do not tremble when they hear either a ship docking or heavy steps in the sand. They certainly do not quiver in their homes at a singular, specific sound.
One might not typically imagine the creaking of a wooden vessel accompanied by the thumping of unfurling rope ladders when asked about their most dreaded sound, but the rabbit girl and the workers at the Jiangsu port know the implications of such rackets all too well. All kinds of hell tend to break loose when bandits take to the seas and build foundations atop the waves.
Piracy is an increasingly prominent issue at the Jiangsu port, especially considering a particularly notorious crew's frequent visits. While they may be fewer in numbers, the crew—sporting a new vessel presumptuously dubbed The Fifth Peril—is not one to disregard. The mysterious captain of the ship is rumored to be as charismatic as he is pitiless, his reputation preceding him as the toughest pirate to ever sail along China's coast.
The port at Jiangsu has always been regarded as an efficient shipping dock. While its inhabitants haven't garnered any type of notoriety based on negative perceptions, the harbor's recurring visitors tend to scare off travelers and merchants alike—by association, most would advise avoiding the city of Jiangsu altogether.
The locals know this to be quite a shame. Jiangsu, despite its reputation, contains numerous attributes and wonders that many citizens of China fail to witness. The city boasts a vast expanse of gardens, impressive architecture, and a wide array of cultural foods and customs.
As if the city itself weren't vibrant enough, there is a mountain-top temple owned and operated by kung fu masters, the Topaz Palace, visible from the port. While the palace isn't necessarily close by, it's near enough to see somewhat clearly, and its students have defended Jiangsu and the harbor for decades. The palace also boasts an impressive collection of ancient artistry; an exhibition that many thieves have eyed in the past.
Regardless of the city's beauty, when the sun ultimately falls, an empty port is nothing short of routine. Such is the case tonight; the port is void of most activity, and only two security guards strut along its edges. They converse sparsely, cracking jokes here and there between bouts of silence.
The guards, two sheep, dutifully tread over the dampened planks of the dock. Upon reaching the barren landing, they pause in their march to inspect the horizon. Nothing is out of the ordinary, they quickly decide, and simultaneously turn to repeat their cyclical rounds.
"I'll regret humoring this," one sheep mutters. He asks, "If they're so large in number, why have I never laid eyes on a single one?"
"Demons don't make a habit of concerning themselves with the affairs of our realm," the second sheep explains, "That's why they aren't running amuck throughout China."
"Or, could it be—and stay with me, here—maybe they don't exist?" the first suggests, tiredly, "I think it'd be wise to consider the possibility."
"There are spirit warriors, are there not?" the second sheep inquires, "I can't see the two bearing many differences."
The two sheep take a right turn, swiveling in sync. They continue to march along the dockside, their hooves in stride and clicking rhythmically against the wood planks.
"Spirit warriors aren't real, either," the first sheep argues.
"Nuh-uh!" the second retorts, "They're totally real—remember the headlines from a few months back, the ones about the Dragon Warrior?"
"The one that detailed his untimely death? Don't remind me," the other replies, "It's a shame."
The second sheep furrows his brow at his fellow guard's words.
"How many times must I tell you that he's very much alive?" the second sheep says, "Well, alive in the sense that he's in the realm. I don't know the specifics, of course."
"Are you certain? The sailors who delivered the news seemed fairly confident," the first recounts.
The word of a sailor at the Jiangsu port is not usually one to be trusted; spreading misinformation seems to be a shared hobby of many of the seafaring young men.
"He's alive, I'm telling you! I hear there's even a celebration being hosted in his honor at the Jade Palace," the other explains.
"Fascinating."
"Indeed."
"Do you know what it is they're celebrating?" the first sheep inquires.
"I don't know these things," the other says. He pauses, then adds, "Come to think of it, someone said something about a wedding, I believe."
A lengthy pause ensues and the sheep looks at his companion, expecting a riposte of some sort.
The first sheep is about to respond to the idea when the other abruptly halts, his wide eyes locked on something in the distance. The first traces the other's gaze to the previously clear horizon, its thin line now choked by a grim sight.
A faint shape is gliding across the water, silent in the night, the craft's only giveaway being the stars that it briefly obscures as it progresses. Its size and speed are telling and the sheep know its traits all too well.
"I-Is that—?" one of the sheep stutters, while the other only nods.
Even with their inability to see without adequate light, the sheep waste little time in scrambling from the dock and across the port, clumsily sprinting away in a state of panic. One stammers something about calling for help, but his words are incoherent and breathy as he dashes as swiftly as his feet will carry him.
The port, now in the surreal absence of a single soul, is awash in silence.
The ship, distantly coasting parallel with the shore, bathes the scene with an eerie sensation. Its dramatic presence is increased tenfold when the glimmer of a flame is sparked onto a torch, casting a spear of light over a portion of the ship.
The vessel's adornments could only be described as overtly theatrical. The hull bears calligraphed messages of misfortune, and the lanterns that sit atop numerous surfaces glow an unsettling shade of violet—a bold choice, for lack of a better word.
A figure, one just as ominous and imposing as the vessel itself, raises the torch to another; the second torch catches fire as quickly as the first, this time shining a dim light onto its handler's black-striped arms and apathetic expression.
His eyes, orange to sharply contrast his stark white fur, scan the port, perhaps in search of a witness to his presence. A collection of sampans and junks splay out from the docks, all of which sporting dark cabins and lonesome decks. The shoreline is equally as bare and lifeless. When the tiger sees no one, he clicks his tongue and looks over his shoulder toward the ship's center, where his crew is assembled in a line.
It is said that the pirate captain is responsible for the burnings of coastal villages all throughout China. Writings of his pillagings and artistic renditions of his raids have been especially stirring as of late, the gruesome nature of his ways sparking a morbid curiosity amongst Chinese citizens everywhere.
Those who have been in his presence and survived to tell the tale—a miracle, really—have described him in fantastically horrific ways. They speak of white-hot fire, black magic, horns and spikes, glowing eyes, and a horrendous howl that pierces the sky whenever he is drawing near. Perhaps some of the accounts are a bit dramatized.
"Captain Qiong," a she-wolf says. She is standing just apart from the other crew members, clad in similar garb to the tiger—his first mate, no doubt. "We await your command."
Qiong hums in acknowledgment and turns once more to the sparse dock. The tiger considers the surrounding area with a slight air of distaste, almost as if he had been expecting something aside from an empty port. The security guards running away in cowardice had been a nice touch, he supposed.
His eyes lift to a mountain in the distance; its frame is tall and almost slender, jutting out of the earth like some sort of natural obelisk. Atop its summit is a yellow temple cast near-green in the night, and while the pagoda's details evade the naked eye, anyone could deduce that the structure is quite lavish.
Qiong tilts his head at the sight, to which his first mate conspicuously tries to trace her captain's gaze. The captain in question turns as she does so and she straightens when he looks her way.
He is still shrouded in a fittingly foreboding darkness as he speaks to his crew.
"Out there," Qiong beckons to the coastline, to which his crew pays close attention. The tiger continues, finally tearing his glare from his first mate, "Do you see that point?"
Qiong gestures to a small cape reaching out into the sea; despite being a fair distance away, it is evidently dense with forestry and rocks.
"Do you see that point?" he reiterates, his tone significantly fiercer.
"Yes, Captain Qiong," his first mate replies, hastily.
"We will sail to the other side," Qiong instructs, "at which point we will come across a large grotto—Wangliang, you know the one—anchor the ship, and commence our trek to the palace."
The first mate nods and a boar from the crew lineup rushes off to obey Qiong's wishes.
"We must gather the hiking supplies—the cliffs will prove to be a nuisance, especially upon our return," Qiong continues.
A sun bear nods once and retreats into a darker corner of the ship, seemingly busying herself with a series of hooks and ropes.
"We must also collect the appropriate equipment that will be required to deal with the rapids," Qiong says, "I'd rather not have to renounce any spoils because of ill planning—again."
A stork merely takes to the air, flapping his wings as he launches himself to the opposite end of the ship, the general direction in which the sun bear had gone.
Qiong watches the stork flee, an air of something akin to satisfaction encompassing him. His engagement drifts to the cape he had pointed out moments before as the vessel lurches in its direction.
"Captain," Qiong's first mate says, "What needs to be done? Whatever it is, it will be so once you say the word."
Qiong eyes her, perhaps in consideration, and spares a glance to the remaining few members of the crew. He exhales sharply and his tail flicks the floor.
He smiles, but it's a controlled, practiced expression that isn't so much a smile as it is its own response. He retrieves a torch from a nearby sconce and extends the flame in her direction—not an offer, but a boast, of sorts—and it casts both of their faces in light.
"We, Yue," he says, "need to concern ourselves with only how we will go about transporting all of the takings to the isle—gold is quite heavy, as I'd imagine you're aware."
"I am, Captain," Yue confirms.
"Very well, then," Qiong says, "In that case, you will have no trouble in taking on a more significant role in this particular excursion?"
Yue's posture falters and she sucks in a breath, at which Qiong raises an eyebrow. She composes herself within mere seconds, holding her head up high once again.
"I will have no trouble, Captain," she declares, "none at all."
Qiong only nods. He does not appear to be fully convinced, but in truth, it is difficult to decipher his perceptions in any case. The tiger returns to the sconce from which he had retrieved the torch and positions the thing into its place. He opts to watch the coastline, leaning onto the ship's railing.
"Are there tasks I can complete to prepare?" Yue inquires, "Anything at all?"
Qiong eyes the torch perched by his shoulder, focusing on its glare and heat. The flame's shadows dance about his arms, mimicking the stripes on his arms in the way they stretch and contort.
"Do not fail," Qiong tells her, "and all will be well."
Yue does not reply.
As those on board fall silent in favor of preparations, the vessel continues to careen through the waves, streaking a direct route to the Wangliang grotto. The famed pirate captain, of dark magic, supernatural powers, and horrific howls, only looks on.
A/N:
There are many different pronunciation guides for Qiong—look into them if you feel it would be helpful! The one I've found to be the most widespread so far is [tsh-ung], but if anyone knows that pronunciation to be incorrect, please let me know.
I hope you've all enjoyed the first chapter! Please do not hesitate to leave a review/comment if you feel so moved, as I love to hear readers' thoughts regarding my work. I'm also open to criticism, as I've found that it has helped me pave my road to success in the past (as silly as that sounds).
Chapter 2, with any luck, will be upon you very shortly (and it will be a bit longer and more in-depth than this one; it will also feature the characters we all know and love!). Until then, thank you for reading!