Bloodlines of Archaea I. Afira
Epilogue

“They’re all gone,” Afi said from her quiet corner. She had lost everything now, but she was the strongest of us all, our only chance of survival and I feared she would never be the same. I watched Akuma try to comfort her quietly. I knew she was going to be okay, I knew all too well how it felt to lose everything.

“Zanshi?” I called.

“Yes?” she responded, she seemed surprised to hear me away from my meditations this late at night. To be fair, so was I. My meditations took up the only time I had where I wasn’t haunted by the spirits of the dead. This ability was considered a gift, although I would disagree. If only they understood how it felt to constantly live with the voices of the gone in your head, they wouldn’t call this a gift. If they understood what it was like to be ridiculed for having a face like mine, they would realize that what plagues my blood is not a gift, but they use my powers like they are some kind of game. The spirits of the lost try to use me as a channel to get back into the realm of the living. I manage to fight them off most of the time, but sometimes I can’t. Sometimes they take control, and when they do, it is not only extremely dangerous but almost impossible to come back. Thankfully though, I have Zanshi, the one in the ancient songs to balance the death with life.

“Do you think it would help if she talked to her Grandmother?” I asked quietly, attempting to shake myself free from my thoughts.

She looked back at Afi. “Yes,” she said. “I think that’s a great idea,” at this, I began walking towards her. She grabbed my arm. “But not right now, give her some time.”

I nodded, retreating back to my room to continue my meditations, hoping that the spirits of the dead would leave me be tonight, but there was always a chance. I was tired and my bones ached. I could fall asleep, but allow us to pray to the gods that that may never happen.