The creature that shook the ground when he spoke, that bellowed fire into the sky; the very serpent that visited my dreams haunted my very thoughts as we proceeded towards the city. I'd dreamed of dragons from the very moment that I'd discovered my abilities, but I chose not to tell her of any of this. For the moment, she seemed content, and I didn't want to shake her of that. Still, what she said left me all the more curious, and my suspicious mind pushed at my doubts, which left me wondering if she had even more secrets she had yet to reveal.

When we finally came to the capital, I was bombarded all at once by the immensity of my surroundings. It was as if I were a newly hatched beach turtle, facing the vast, roaring sea for the first time. Buildings of wood, paper and stone hugged the cobbled streets like towering giants huddled against each other. Shops of different shapes and sizes, some colorful, some plain, some like mansions, others like humble shacks, all lined up in never-ending rows. In all my life, I had never seen anything so orderly, so neatly fashioned.

Back at home, there were only ragged shops haphazardly littered about. The roads were nothing more than uneven dirt trails that zigzagged between buildings, but here, there was a sea of civilization, a vast blanket of human life upon the earth, sparkling vibrantly against the night within a sea of gleaming paper lanterns and street lamps woven deep into its fabric.

The streets were chaotic and noisy, filled with peddlers and merchants. The steamy smells of fried dumplings and incense wafted the air.

The driver tossed into our laps two large bamboo hats, adorned with gold braids on the rims and a large, single flowery crest I had never seen before painted across the top.

He ordered us to put them on quickly, and to make sure the brims covered our eyes. When I asked why, he stopped the carriage and climbed to the back. He adjusted our hats and made sure our chin straps were tied snuggly against the meat of our jaws.

"You are not common children," he said. "From now on, when you are in public, you are forbidden from displaying your faces or your eyes. The veil of secrecy must be kept."

It all seemed so strange to me, like traveling back in time. Hundreds of years ago, during the age of the Middle Dynasty, royalty and members of the upper class wore the same hats, adorned sometimes with elaborate decorations of gold and brass and even tiny, chiming bells hanging from their wide, circular rims. It was considered taboo to gaze upon the face of the aristocracy unless their permission was given.

These days there were still a few, rare people that wore them, to include the Emperor and his family as well as a few conservative magistrates.

As for children like myself, we were made to respect the same, ancient traditions as no one from the outside was allowed to gaze upon the eyes of a chienkuu ko; at least not up close. During stage performances, like the one that was held in my village, people were only allowed to admire them from afar and wonder as to the mysteries behind their oddly colored eyes. That was the way these things were presented, for it was this very aura of wonder and mystery that commanded a great amount of respect.

Kassashimei and I kept our heads low and most of our faces hidden as people stopped to gaze at the two regal-looking children rolling steadily by on an imperial carriage. I suppose I should have felt honored to have garnered so much attention and respect. Even a few people bowed, confused as to the prospect that we were perhaps royalty. But in fact, I was disappointed. With my hat obscuring most of my sight I could no longer admire the vast inspiring visions that the city had laid out before me.

Without hardly any warning, an air vessel appeared from the darkness and rumbled slowly overhead. Painted across its underbelly, was a sprawling oak tree with branches that stretched from one edge of the hull to the other. Large, bulbous electric lamps lit its underside, showing off its painted crest to the world below. Hardly anyone paid much attention to the spectacle above as this must have been a common daily event for them. But as for me I watched with an upward, captivated gaze, ignoring the driver's warnings about keeping my face hidden. I told myself that there were children just like myself, inside such vessels, leading it along across a sky wrought with the turbulence of an invisible sea.

Suddenly, Kassashimei's palm darted in front of my eyes and grabbed the brim of my hat. She yanked my head downward. I gave a sharp grunt and turned a glare in her direction, but she immediately looked away, as if she were pretending she'd lost interest in me.

She had kept a glum silence about her ever since we entered the capital. I asked if she was alright.

All she said was, "I hate the city."

It was called the Tiger Lily Tea House, and as we approached, I noticed the same circular flower crest painted on the sign outside as the one that appeared on the brim of my hat. A wall of stone and red-painted wood surrounded the building.

When the carriage stopped, an anxious servant dressed in pale green robes helped us down and lead us through the gates and past a small rock garden, bridged by a wide piece of wood. The building itself was three floors high, with wooden walls that were patched in some places with mismatched planks here and there. Some of the wooden pillars that held up the first floor porch and its tiled roof were terribly chipped and the paint looked dull and worn. The steady light that loomed from inside, seemed to give the outside a tired, old look.

And yet, when the servant woman slid open the main door, took our shoes and led us inside, everything seemed to spark instantly to life. There were guests everywhere, laughing and cheering. In the main room, there were about twenty men, kneeling at various tables, chatting happily, while geisha sat patiently beside them, pouring their sake and dancing gracefully on a tiny stage at the far end of the room.

Other sliding doors led to smaller tatami rooms, reserved for private meetings and certain important occasions.

We went upstairs to the second floor where the loud festivities below was reduced to a low hum. We stopped at the end of a long, narrow hall where the servant woman reverently slid open a door and waved us in. Inside, was a study with a small desk accompanied on either side with shelves and tables, each decorated with various trinkets and animal carvings shaped of wood and metal. Immediately, I recognized the decorations and watched with earnest, the familiar stern woman who gazed back at us as she approached from the far end of the room. It was Miss Nishio.

"I sold you to the Imperial Temple for a lot of money," she said in her typical, high-pitched, broken voice. "And already you cause me trouble by getting kicked out."

The servant removed our hats before Miss Nishio reached out to clasp my chin. She turned my head from side to side, examining my eyes carefully.

"They're not even green yet," she said with a scoff.

"Where is my sister," I demanded, swiping her hand from my face. "You lied to me. You made up that story about the storm coming to my village. You stole me away from my family so you could make more money."

The servant woman, hearing my bout of disrespect rushed back into the room, clasped my shoulders and pulled me back a few steps.

"Terr, I did not lie to you," she said. "It was your sister who did. I told both her and Mister Takaya about the plague sweeping the island. She knew about the Imperial verdict that kept anyone from entering or leaving. As an official with a certain amount of power, I was the only one allowed to leave. I would have left you and those other two children behind, had it not been for your sister's and your friends' parents' pleading. It took me days to convince the government that you were too precious to the empire and that you were worth saving." She must have read my face and seen that I was hardly convinced, because she shook her head, as if taking pity upon my arrogance. "I heard what you did to Master Lu. Hate him if you must, but remember, it was his influence, even if he only used it to save his daughter, that finally convinced the government officials to come get you. Your Sister wanted you to be safe. She did not care about anything else. She probably made up that story about the storm so that you would not worry about her."

"What about Han and Kiddou's parent's? They told me that their parents were safe, that they left the island."

"Also a lie. It's a parent's duty to make sure their children are protected from sorrow and pain, at least until they grow a few years in age. You and those other two children should be grateful to have people that care for you so."

I was so taken aback by her words, that I'd barely begun to realize that I was breathing hard and my hands had balled tightly into fists. I could hardly look at her. How could she say such things without sympathy, without regard for my loss? How could adults be so cold?

"So they're still on the island, dying?" I said, my voice starting to choke.

"They're already dead." She was silent for a moment, allowing her words to sink in. Then, after carefully looking me over, she took a few steps forward and slapped me hard across the face.