As the King Rail crossed into Kowloon’s capital district of Yu, its dark windows lit up with scattered orange dots of light. The towering groundscrapers of District Chau Liu fell away, replaced by the acres of airspace above Yu’s shorter eight-storey buildings. Square terraces glowed under bright langers, and the streets below bustled with the sleep-cycle markets.

  Inside the carriage, the embassy workers from Ho Man Ting were sprawled across the benches, some on the floor. These were Central Kowlooni civilians, employed by the Yaozhi to staff their embassy in Ho Man Ting. Most of them were fast asleep, heads slumped and dark office uniforms loosened. After hours of captivity at the hands of the Yang, exhaustion had taken hold.

  Yutai sat between them, leaning back on the bench, his shirt stiff with dried blood and his long, wavy hair clumped with sweat. Unlike the others, he hadn’t slept at all during the two-hour journey, eyes unblinking and unfocused.

  All he could do was remember.

  The Ibilis pressing a palm against his chest.

  The moment that demon spoke his brother’s name aloud.

  The slow, inescapable realisation that he was truly powerless…

  A few minutes later, the windows went dark once more. They had entered Yu Tower’s docking port on the 15th level. As the carriage slowed to a halt, Yutai saw a crowd of Kingmakers waiting on the platform through the windows he was facing.

  The doors across from him slid open with a soft hiss, and there stood Generals Qin Shi and Han Xi, shoulder to shoulder among the gathered Kingmakers. Most looked to be praefects from his own cohort.

  Kingmakers flowed around them towards Yutai. They quickly laid out a stretcher on the floor. He recognised the protocol immediately.

  They’re going to check me for physical and emotional injuries, he thought as he watched the floating rectangular bed rise into the air. But these civilians need medical attention first, not me. I’m a Kingmaker!

  However, before he could utter a word, he was gently laid flat on the stretcher and rushed to the lifts. Yutai tilted his head back to see who was following, first spotting the upside-down image of Han Xi keeping pace. The general was absorbed in conversation with a nurse. Next to him strode General Qin Shi, his eyes locked on Yutai with unblinking intensity, followed by all the other Kingmakers in a length procession.

  Yutai turned his gaze to the ceiling and sighed.

  I know that look. The look people give a fragile survivor.

  ‘…he’s the one who got captured.’

  ‘Careful. They put him through South Kowlooni torture tactics…’

  ‘Think he cracked?’

  Yutai’s sharp hearing picked up whisper after whisper from the thirty or so Kingmakers behind him and the generals. They moved in formation, escorting the stretcher line and carrying the fatigued embassy workers. Yutai spotted some high-ranking legates and lieutenants among the praefects, veteran Kingmakers that Yutai looked up to as mentors and idols. And now they get to see me like this, he thought.

  He kept his eyes shut as they carried him through the lifts and sterile corridors leading to the emergency wing. When they finally arrived, two nurses eased Yutai into a dark examination room, took off his boots, helped him into a light, white gown, and laid flat on the narrow bed. Every hand that touched him did so with caution, nurses and Kingmakers alike.

  It’s as if they think I might shatter.

  He lay still as his body slid inside rings of softly glowing machinery. Behind the glass observation panel of the small room stood the lead doctor, General Han Xi, and General Qin Shi.

  Yutai watched them through the pane between his feet as flashing lights rotated around his body, wondering what they were talking about. The machine stopped, and his body slid out again.

  Two nurses stepped inside and helped him up, but through the doors they had forgotten to close, and with the diagnostic machine now idle, he could hear the Dragons speaking with the lead doctor.

  ‘Physically intact. No signs of foreign implants or trackers,’ the doctor murmured.

  ‘He’s stable. He’s a skilled praefect after all.’

  Yutai recognised General Han Xi’s voice. He waited for the Elder Dragon to say something as well, but there was silence.

  A nurse shone a bright light across both of his eyes, moving it left and right. ‘Follow the light,’ she said calmly. Yutai obeyed, his eyes dry and stinging.

  After a request for conset, the second nurse slid a pencil-like black device into his mouth. A soft purple pulse lit the back of his throat, and he watched the glow bounce off the sheen of her eyes before the tool retracted with a quiet click. Neither of them spoke further and stepped out, the door sliding shut behind them. Yutai was alone in the small room. Despite it being his first time there, it felt familiar.

  It was the stillness.

  The silence.

  The tower’s ventilation hummed louder with each breath he took, a low drone that started to drown out everything else. Yutai’s gaze flicked left, then right, as a cold prickle crept across his skin.

  The walls blurred, a gentle distortion at first, before exploding into a violent haze that swallowed all definition. The hum of the ventilation roared in his skull, its low vibrations warping and swelling until it felt as though the sound were clawing inside his ears.

  He saw flickers of the room in which the Rioters had held him captive for twenty straight hours.

  No, I’m not in the south anymore!

  A lamp started swinging from above.

  He felt the cold seat beneath him again, the bite of restraints returning to his skin. His breathing rose in sharp bursts until it tipped into panic.

  Is someone standing behind me? Mogwei?

  The room flashed back to the present as the door slid open. One of the lieutenant Kingmakers who had carried him on the stretcher stepped inside, pushing a wheelchair.

  A wheelchair. Great.

  He refused to believe he needed that. Under any other circumstance he would never sit in one unless both legs were completely crushed. But today, pride felt pointless. After everything, being seen in a wheelchair would barely register on the scale of humiliation. The Kingmakers seeing me in a wheelchair will probably be the least embarrassing thing that’s happened to me so far.

  Still, he would not let the lieutenant lift him onto the chair like some paraplegic. I can stand. I can get in the damned chair myself, he told himself, planting his palms against the bed.

  He pushed up and his legs gave out the moment they touched the floor.

  The lieutenant rushed around the chair and lunged down to help him up. ‘Praefect! What the fuck are you doing?’

  He hauled Yutai up and eased him onto the chair. ‘I’m here for a reason, brother! You don’t have to prove shit to anyone; you’ve been through enough!’

  As he was wheeled out of the room, Yutai’s head slanted to his side, resting limply against his left shoulder. His posture sagged in the chair.

  I can’t even feel my legs. Why is this happening to me?

  In the next room, the lieutenant helped Yutai into a reclined armchair bolted to the floor, its cracked leather patched with stitching. The seat faced a raised section where a tall, brass-trimmed podium stood beneath strips of white lights that pulsed gently. Overhead, narrow ducts exhaled a faint, stale breeze that carried the scent of antiseptic and rust. A cluster of screens was built into the podium, their dull screens flickering with pale green readouts. A doctor stepped up to it and looked down at Yutai.

  ‘Let’s see here…’ He swiped a hand across the podium’s surface. ‘Captured patient. Torture. Exfiltrated,’ he murmured to himself.

  Yutai squinted as the ceiling lights blazed into his eyes.

  ‘How are you feeling, Shehui Yutai?’ the doctor asked.

  He kept staring at the light. The doctor’s words felt distant, muffled. The glare was dragging him back again.

  ‘Are you able to focus your vision on me, Shehui Yutai?’

  He felt Hung lift his chin.

  ‘Can you hear me, Shehui Yutai?’ the doctor asked again. ‘Do you recognise the crimes of your people, Shehui Yutai?’

  That voice wasn’t the doctor’s anymore. It was Hung’s, deep and accusing.

  ‘What?!’ Yutai snapped harsher than he intended.

  ‘That’s better. You zoned out for a second. I’m here to make sure you’re not doing that for reasons that concern us. Trauma assessment.’

  ‘Trauma?’ Yutai echoed.

  ‘Yes. Do you see the screen above your head?’

  Yutai looked up. There was a large screen set into the ceiling.

  ‘It tracks your eye movement,’ the doctor explained. ‘I’m going to run a series of flashing patterns. When a pattern ends, you’ll see a plain image. Just react as you would under normal circumstances.’

  The test began with sharp, rhythmic bursts of light flickering across the ceiling screen, each strobe sending a cold pulse through Yutai’s skin. Shapes formed and dissolved in quick succession: spirals, grids, jagged lines, forcing his eyes to track them while the doctor’s voice urged him to focus. After the bursts of light, still images flickered onto the screen: a shattered window, a terrace packed with kids playing, and a food stall where the chef and his customers stared into the camera. Into Yutai. The next few struck him as even more disturbing. A long clothesline stretched between two groundscrapers, with only a little girl’s dress pinned up in the middle. An arcade street stood frozen in time, its shopfronts lit and goods neatly arranged, yet the street lay deserted as if the crowds had vanished mid-cycle. Rows of dormitory beds, but every pillow had a faint depression in the centre, as though someone was just lying there moments ago. A man sat alone at a table in a dim room, fingers interlocked on the surface, looking nervously at the camera. Behind the man, through the narrow gap of a doorway, another figure watched, face shadowed, eyes round and motionless, staring at Yutai. The machine beeped after every image and he gripped the sides of his reclined chair hard while the doctor jotted notes onto his pad.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  The screen eventually went black. He glanced at the doctor, who gave a brief shake of his head before slipping out of the room. Through the thin walls, Yutai listened to the doctor’s footsteps circling the corridor outside the room, then entering an adjoining chamber. Muffled voices followed. Although his cochlear implants could not fully make out the sentences, he recognised the voices immediately: the doctor and the two Dragons.

  ‘Acute trauma response… Needs to be monitored… Tested further… Slipping in and out of dissociative episodes. A part of him is still inside that room… Ease with time.’

  The lieutenant Kingmaker returned with a wheelchair. Yutai stayed motionless until the King guided him into the seat.

  ‘Time for your report,’ the lieutenant said. ‘Apparently they think you’re fit to give it now.’

  As Yutai was wheeled from the room, it felt as though every thread of his mental strength was being pulled taut in different directions. I keep seeing shit. Hearing things I know I’m not supposed to. Am I… Broken?

  ‘If it were up to me, I’d give you more time,’ the lieutenant muttered. ‘The Dragons clearly aren’t thinking straight, you’re not fit to give a report. I mean, look at you! You’re not even in fucking Kowloon right now!’

  Yutai remained silent, head leaning to his left like he was paralysed. He was taken on a lift down to the eighth floor, the administrative heart of the tower, where assignment reports were filed. He’d been here a thousand times, but Yutai kept his eyes shut, relying on the sounds around him instead. He had no desire to face the world head-on right now.

  …

  …

  A door hissed open. He was in the reporting room. Normally a lieutenant, perhaps a captain, would be the one waiting to take his statement. But when Yutai opened his eyes, adjusting to the low light just enough to make out the figure across from him, he saw General Qin Shi seated behind the plain black table. He sat perfectly straight, hands folded on the table, posture carved from discipline rather than strenuous effort. The lieutenant wheeled Yutai into place before the desk, then left without a word.

  ‘How are you, Praefect?’ Qin Shi asked. His voice was calm, but there was no warmth in it, just like the dark eyes behind his circular glasses.

  ‘I’m fine, sir.’

  A faint crease appeared between Qin Shi’s brow. ‘Not according to this psyche report I just read. Those Rioters clearly did things to you that I’ve yet to understand. You know how this works, Shehui. I will ask you a question. When the light on the wall pulses blue, you answer. Understood?’

  Yutai swallowed and nodded.

  ‘What were you doing inside Fort Ho Man Ting?’

  Yutai looked up at the dark wall behind the general. A small circular panel pulsed a deep blue.

  ‘Praefect Tao and I chose to help our brothers collect Yang intel. Plant communication taps in the Tien Tao Rioter headquarters to gain an edge in the field. It was all… unsanctioned. I had a contact on the inside who would give us a guided tour. A Senior Rioter. I was to plant the communication taps during the tour.’

  ‘And how were you captured by the Rioters?’

  Yutai looked up again. The light pulsed blue.

  ‘I was inside their communications centre, slicing into their routers. The room was dark, but they were already there, waiting. They had been tailing us the entire time we were there.’

  ‘All right. Where did they hold you afterwards?’

  Yutai looked up. Blue flash.

  ‘An interrogation room. About the size of this one. Bright lights overhead. The Senior Rioter supervised.’

  ‘Do you know the names of those involved, Praefect?’

  Yutai shifted in his seat. ‘Hung. Phan Hung. Ming. Tsoto. Katsui. Jachi, sir.’

  ‘And did—’

  ‘There was one more.’

  The general stopped mid-sentence, shaking his head before gesturing to the wall behind him.

  Yutai looked up. Flash.

  ‘There was one more. The Ib—’ He drew in a slow breath.

  ‘Mogwei.’

  The muscles in General Qin Shi’s forehead tightening. He gave a slow nod.

  ‘Describe the interrogation in full, including any intel you may have given away.’

  Blue light.

  ‘At first, there was just the four Rioters. They demanded to know what our intentions were for being at the fort… If I planted anything else. What I’d already heard. They beat me. Electric shocks, chemically induced cramps, sensory deprivation, waterboarding. They locked me in the dark for hours, sir. Then Mogwei came. He didn’t ask me any questions. He just spoke my family’s name. My brother’s name. Warned me of another suicide bombing in Yu. General, how did he know their n-names?’ Yutai’s voice cracked.

  ‘I don’t know, Shehui. That information is classified. The implications are grave. But how did you escape?’

  The next flash took longer to come.

  ‘Mogwei, he let me go. He undid my bonds and told me to leave. I found the embassy and fought my way inside, and there I find the workers shielded from the mob on his orders. By Yangs. Why would he do that, General? Nothing makes sense to me anymore, s-sir,’ Yutai swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. He fought back the urge to cry.

  ‘He’s playing a sick and twisted game,’ Qin Shi said quickly.

  As tears pricked at Yutai’s eyes, he looked to the right corner of the room. It was dark and shadowy.

  ‘And he preys on confusion and vulnerability,’ the general’s voice faded into the background of Yutai’s thoughts as he stared at that one corner. It was so dark that a man could stand there completely unseen.

  ‘No Kingmaker should’ve endured what you had to experience, Shehui.’

  Is someone hiding in that corner? Is it the Ibilis?

  ‘I will arrange for your family to be relocated. I will work on punishing the Rioter’s for what they did to you.’

  Yutai’s gaze drifted to the far corner of the room, fixed and unfocused. Qin Shi followed the movement, frowning as he turned his head to look at the same empty space.

  Then, at the same moment Qin Shi looked, Yutai tore his eyes away and faced him again.

  ‘Sir, am I done?’

  Qin Shi returned his attention fully to him, checked the time on his holocommunicator, and gave a short nod. ‘Yes, Praefect. Rest. I will summon you when you are needed. Do you require assistance, or can you walk?’

  ‘I’ll be okay, general.’

  Gritting his teeth, Yutai pushed himself up from the wheelchair. His legs didn’t give out this time, but they threatened to. Trembling, he walked out of the room and the door closed behind him. He was alone in a long corridor. The silence felt cold, and the thin medical gown did nothing to stop his bones from settling into shivers.

  His stomach rumbled as he limped along the corridor – until a hand gripped his shoulder.

  ‘You’re finally out?!’

  He turned to see Shing grinning at him. ‘Light, do you have a story to tell me!’

  They embraced, Shing holding him tight as he spoke into his ear. ‘You had me shitting my pants, brother. I was ready to start the next district rebellions to find you.’

  ‘I know,’ Yutai said. ‘That’s why I got back as quickly as I could.’

  ‘You sound awful. Have you eaten yet?’

  ‘No. I need to change first. Not letting any more Kingmakers see me like this.’

  Shing shook his head with a smile. ‘Hopefully they didn’t starve the muscles out of you and you still look good in my coat.’ He started to slip his trenchcoat off, but Yutai tried to push it back onto him. ‘Brother, it’s fine! I’ll just head up to my dorm and grab my spare!’

  ‘No brother of mine is going to worry about what he wears while starving,’ Shing insisted. ‘Take the damned jacket and follow me to the mess. I’m going to put you in a food coma.’

  Reluctantly, Yutai let Shing shrug off his trench coat and put it over his shoulders.

  ‘I can do it myself, you know.’

  ‘I saw your ass being hauled around on a wheelchair. Just shut up and take the help.’

  Yutai snickered as he buttoned the coat. He looked odd, with the skirts of the trenchcoat going up to his shins, leaving the lower half of his legs and feet bare. But the lingering warmth inside the coat, left by Shing’s body, had already begun to steady his shivering. Shing strode ahead in just his shirt, protective vest, and a red sash. Yutai followed by his side.

  They passed other Kingmakers as they navigated the hallway. A pair of centurions saluted them. Others nodded with frowns but didn’t say anything more.

  Is it pity? Disgust? Do they think I’ve dragged down our reputation?

  In the lift, Yutai caught his reflection next to Shing’s. His friend looked as he always did: brash, unbroken and confident. Yutai always felt he matched that energy when they walked together. But today, he couldn’t recognise the man staring back.

  This isn’t who I was. This isn’t who I was meant to become…

  Kingmakers were already crowding the long rows of tables in the mess, where built-in grills hissed with cuts of meat and steaming pots of fungal curry. Chrome vents hung low from the ceiling, sucking up smoke before it could choke the hall. The air rang with clattering plates, sizzling pans, and the rumble of conversation, a rhythm Yutai was used to three times a day.

  Before he could even glance about for a seat, Shing stepped forward, cupping his hands around his mouth.

  ‘LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, YUTAI’S BACK!’

  The hundred or so Kingmakers gathered inside froze. Those mid-step with trays of food halted; others twisted in their benches to stare at the doorway, where Yutai stood with Shing’s coat draped over him.

  A wave of cheers broke out. Some rushed forward from their tables, calling his name, but Shing threw out his arms to block them, guiding Yutai through the crowd. ‘Stand back! The lad needs to eat! I’ll answer all your questions about his capture in the lounge later!’

  Yutai kept his head low as Shing steered him towards an empty table. A few Kingmakers tried to sit with them, but Shing dissuaded with a firm shake of his head.

  ‘Another time. What part of “I’ll answer your questions later” don’t you lot understand? Oi you, Centurion! Move. Find another table. Praefet Yutai needs space!’

  After fending off more than ten Kingmakers eager to speak with Yutai, Shing clapped him on the back. ‘Sit tight, I’ll get us both some food.’

  Yutai nodded. He knew Shing wouldn’t let him plate his own food.

  As Shing disappeared into the crowd, a tap landed on Yutai’s shoulder. Two Kingmakers on the bench behind him had turned in their seats, one glaning around, clearly worried about Shing, and the other leaning closer.

  ‘Praefect!’ Tribune Ding whispered. ‘Are you all right?!’

  Beside him, Tribune Qiang ducked his head. ‘What happened, brother? Did the Tien Tao really take you?’

  Yutai forced a crooked grin. ‘Oh brother, don’t remind me. Caught me with my pants down. Still haven’t found them yet.’

  Yutai shivered his bare legs below the table and both men stifled a laugh.

  Next to them, a third Kingmaker to their side, previously fixated on his meal, twisted in his seat too. Tribune Pol shot a quick glance around, then leaned forward.

  ‘Yutai!’ he hissed. ‘I heard Praefect Tao was there with you. How did you guys get into the fort in the first place?’

  ‘Had an inside man. Well, he was inside, just wasn’t my man.’

  At that moment, Shing returned with two trays piled high. The three tribunes snapped back to their meals as if nothing had happened. Shing dropped into his seat, muttering ‘One of these days I’m going to end up in a reeducation course for slapping a Tribune.’

  Yutai was often astonished at how boldly Shing stood up to higher-ranking Kingmakers. Yet he knew why few ever pushed back against him. His friend commanded too much respect. He was the finest shot the tower had seen in generations, a marksman whose exam scores smashed records, striking pinpoint targets across kilometres, threading bullets cleanly between the stacked heights of LED-draped groundscrapers. If the Kingmakers respected anything, it was raw ability, whether born or earned, and Shing’s abilities were unquestioned.

  As Yutai devoured the food on his plate, Shing nudged him and reached into his trouser pocket. He handed over a compact metal device, its black casing worn smooth and cool to the touch.

  Yutai turned it in his hands. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It was Dad’s. My brothers gave it to me when I came of age.’

  Yutai frowned. ‘Your dad? This is Kingmaker kit. Rebellion-era tech. Was he a King?’

  ‘No. He was part of a unit led by a Kingmaker. Died during the heights of the conflict, long before I ever got to see him. My brothers always said he was close with his captain, and that this was his tool. Maybe it was that captain’s gift to Dad, maybe my old man stole it and my brothers lied to me. They did that a lot, found it funny because I was the smallest. But the truth is, I don’t know. At the end of the day it’s a vintage Yaozhi multipick tool and I want you to have it.’

  Yutai pressed a button and a blade flicked out. An inscription was etched into the flat of the steel:

  無痕行

  ‘Leave No Trace, King,’ Yutai squinted as he spelled out the characters. He looked up at Shing. ‘This slogan was used in the old era. Didn’t think it was still current.’

  Shing gave a nod. ‘Most don’t. The Dragons hate it. Makes us look bad and untrustworthy. Didn’t stop a few bold Kingmakers from branding their multipicks with it. I always admired that. Thought it was the most honest phrase we had. No mess, no mercy, and no higher authority to account for any of it. We did what had to be done to keep the balance, and we did it clean. Have it carved on my PAW12 as well.’ He paused with a grin. ‘Figured you’d get it.’

  Yutai stared at the inscription, and it stared back at him, like it was making an accusation. He recalled his talk with Tao in Gweimin restaurant, and how the Kingmakers had orchestrated massacres around East Kowloon in the name of maintaining stability. They had erased any trace of themselves so well that he would never have known, had Tao not been there to tell him about it all.

  ‘Maybe next time you’re sneaking into some fort, that reminder will actually save your sorry ass,’ Shing joked.

  Yutai turned the tool over again, its plain side catching the light. His voice dropped, hesitant. ‘This is a rare item, brother. I think you should keep it.’

  Shing frowned. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t like it?’

  ‘Does it still work?’ Yutai asked quietly.

  ‘No, it’s just a sentimental thing!’ Shing snapped. ‘Fine, just give the fucking thing back—’

  But Yutai pushed his wrist away. ‘I’m sorry, brother. I’ll keep it. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’m still shook from everything that happened. Hard choosing the right words for my thoughts. I meant to say I’ll take care of it as you have.’

  Shing pulled back and took a deep breath. ‘Right. Have you seen your family yet?’

  ‘No,’ Yutai admitted, setting the multipick down beside his plate.

  ‘You should. Especially your brother. The kid’s not well.’

  ‘You’re right. He should’ve been the first person I saw. I’ll go after this.’

  ‘He called me yesterday. We spoke for ages. Scared stiff and wanted me to promise you’d be okay. After a while, I think he forgot he wasn’t talking to his older brother. Called me Gor-gor a few times by accident. Didn’t even bother correcting him after the fifth time.’

  Yutai laughed softly despite himself. Gor-gor. His cute little nickname for me.

  He finished his meal quickly and rose, picking up the tool.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘For the tool?’ Shing asked, looking up.

  ‘Yes. And for reminding me there are still people I need to protect.’