Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“A man cannot handle pitch and escape defilement.” — Mark Twain

Beneath a sky brushed in the soft vermilion of twilight, the Wushi Academy slumbered in solemn grandeur. Its spires pierced the heavens like the calligraphy of forgotten divines, etched against the canvas of dusk. Cherry blossoms pirouetted through the air, their descent slow and deliberate, as if time itself had grown contemplative. The wind whispered through bamboo groves, carrying the scent of sandalwood and the echoes of ancient chants—remnants of a thousand battles, a thousand prayers.

Yet, the serenity of the outer courtyard belied the storm brewing within.

As the path wound inward, stone steps led to the heart of the temple. A sanctum carved from the bones of history. Here, the architecture spoke in riddles. Dragon motifs curled around lacquered beams, and lanterns swayed like pendulums, marking the passage of fate. The furniture, aged and ornate, bore the weight of centuries, each table and scroll rack a silent witness to the rise and fall of champions—defenders of Earthrealm, warriors bearing the legacy of their predecessors.

And within the sacred Strategy Chamber, the air crackled. Not with lightning, but with tension.

Liu Kang, once the blazing Champion of Earthrealm and now the Keeper of Time, stood with an ethereal air. His garments, once bearing a humble theme of white, black, and red, were now changed into hues of a dying star: crimson and gold woven into divine silk, each thread pulsing with the breath of creation. A crimson sash cinched his waist, etched with symbols that danced like fire when he moved. His hair, once wild with youth, now flowed like obsidian water, and his eyes glowed with the quiet fury of a blue fire held in restraint. The iridescent patterns of sacred dragons he was affined to ran along strong arms, showing the power he possessed and commanded at will.

Around him, the air bent subtly, as if reality itself acknowledged his dominion.

Beside him loomed his loyal partner, Geras—the eternal sentinel of the Hourglass, carved from sand and stone. His presence was as immovable as destiny itself. The Overseer merely watched, but with an air of silent guardianship toward his creator. His cyan eyes observed their galled guest.

Me.

“Roxana, let’s not rush to conclusions. For the sake of old times, my friend, I summoned you for counsel. Not war,” Liu Kang prompted, trying fruitlessly—if you would ask me—to justify his follies.

Enraged and barely restraining my aggro, I stood in my demoness form, for I had lost the calm of my human gestalt in the face of implausible atrocities I had been witnessing over the past week or so.

“The risible series of events you’ve shown in your ludicrous New Era, were they not enough?” My voice, when it rose, was velvet laced with venom.

My crimson eyes burned with the scorching lava of Tartarus, untamable and ready to melt realms and timelines.

And a particularly inviting timeline was present: Liu Kang’s.

Hands fisted at my sides, my shoulders heaved with every slow, deep exhale. A valiant effort to withstand the tempests of wrath within me. Locking those itching hands behind my back, I turned, circling the ancient, sophisticated space that reeked of wood and ink.

The tail of my midnight-sheathed gown whispered against the wood. The pitch-black fabric hugged my form with reverent precision. No frills, no flourish—only the quiet authority of something that did not need to announce itself. The high collar framed my face like a shrine, and the sleeves—long and unbroken—were etched in rose-lace filigree, black on black, like thorns blooming in moonlight. My skin was veiled entirely, yet the gown breathed seduction through restraint, not revelation. Hair fell in waves of dark crimson, a waterfall of blood and fire that spilled past my hips, swaying with each step like a slow-burning flame. The corner of my vermillion lips frowned with the knowledge of secrets unspoken. I observed, watched, and assessed through my twin rubies that glowed with a quiet, infernal light.

“You have always walked in shadows, yet spoken of light,” Liu Kang’s voice resonated with a wisdom now ancient yet remaining raw and novice to me. “You must understand the burdens of great decisions, my friend. Preserving the light is never easy, but essential.”

I snorted derisively at that.

Raiden had succeeded in making a great Champion, an adamant warrior out of him, but failed to teach him how to lead. I surmised.

The Liu Kang I once knew, infatuated with the gem of Edenia, Kitana—my warrior sister—was but a humble monk, determined to bring peace to the realms, fighting for justice. After Kronika’s defeat, Liu Kang became the Keeper of Time—a truth soon shattered into a million revelations when the real Shang Tsung, in form of a Titan, invaded the Fire Master’s timeline, unearthing the secret of that eventful battle. Timelines had branched like endless streams, creating a wide canvas of interconnected threads and nodes ruled by one original warrior who, it was surmised, had also fought and defeated Kronika. Each became a Titan of their own Hourglass, the Keeper of their respective timelines, while designing countless worlds and fates in their own visions. However, not all makings were glorious and beautiful. Some drowned in eternal darkness, famine, or even destruction.

In short, it was chaos.

What baffled me the most was Liu Kang’s decision, as with other Titans, to restart history, painting his own New Era. There was no need. He ought to have continued where Kronika left of, built that so-called new era with the next generation of warriors, preparing them for any battles that might come.

If any at all.

After all, Kronika had been the greatest threat. And with her defeat, the Hourglass offered the possibility for its new owner to bend the arcs of time, to guide the descending sands toward a brighter future. That was all.

Or perhaps it was too good to believe such an outcome was plausible, possible, or a panacea.

The canvas, brushed with careful strokes, remained imperfect and stained. Well-crafted, yes, but raw and fragmented. Thus, it became a recipe for disaster, a vessel for uncertainties to brew trouble and unravel Liu Kang’s utopia. When the Fire Master first summoned me to his world to seek counsel, I was speechless. It took me several grave days to grasp the gravity of changes here, the weight of the aftermath unfolding, and the world he had re-created. Events were not the same. People were misplaced or amiss. Roles had changed, shifted, and been redefined. Whether things were for the better or worse, I mourned over many dire things regardless.

For instance, I kept asking after Takeda and Jacqline. In the original timeline, the pair was on the cusp of marriage. It had taken much persuasion from Fujin and me to earn Jackson’s blessing for the young Takahashi. Grandmaster Hanzo Hasashi, having restored the Shirai Ryu to its former glory, had promised to commemorate the couple's sacrosanct union in the beguiling Fire Gardens. Thus, preparations had been made—even the ceremonial kimono and yukata were sewn and refined.

Now…

Takeda was Kenshi’s cousin, and Jacquline was—if memory serves—merely an acting colleague of Johny Cage in that chafed Hollywood domain. Speaking of that buffoonish, narcissistic actor, the man had not even met Sonya Blade. Thus, Cassandra’s remained unknown.

Even Kung Jin’s history was obscured.

I missed them four.

Missed them dearly, especially Takeda and Jacquline, for whom I had prepared handmade gifts: elegant garments bearing the Shirai Ryu sigils. A set comprising a white and gold kimono for the bride, a yellow and black haori for the groom, and a smaller gold kimono for their future firstborn. As pathetic as it may have sounded, I had clutched that wrapped present for two days, weeping over the loss of never seeing them, the moment I would never have: the chance to give my heartfelt endowment at their wedding.

How I wish things ended there. But no. Things went south—quickly and direly.

Alas, it would be unfair to ignore some of the merits of this new timeline. Sindel’s dignified and benevolent nature, was a reminiscent of a distant past. Shao’s diminished role as a General rather than a Khan—still subversive, still cowardly though. Mileena’s tamed spirit and blood-bound sisterhood with Kitana. Tanya’s tamed spirit and softened affections—the Umgadi High Priestess warrior. And Outworld’s unprecedented flourish…

All a fresh breeze, a balm to my throbbing heart crashed with the waves of pain and shock I still endured.

Yet, I struggled to grasp the notion of a human Raiden. The mentor had become the mentee, although repeating an ill cycle of flawed tutelage. How well had the Thunder Master himself prepared Liu Kang during his time? The boy's actions affirmed his ill competency to wield such magnanimous power as a Keeper of Time. It was almost humiliating, a slap to Raiden’s millennia of ego and experience as Earthrealm’s defender. 

And now, I expected nothing better from the Fire Master for Raiden.

By the end of this, I wouldn’t be surprised if that human version of Raiden ended up as much of a tyro as Liu Kang was. Still is.

Perhaps Thor guy's mortal life ended too soon to leave the monk with sufficient knowledge. The Kentauride’s comment made me sigh through flared nostrils.

Yet, none of it justifies anything.

Surely there was still time, still means, to help equip Liu Kang and prepare him more properly. True, I conceded the impossibility of distilling eons of life and lectures in a handful of mortal years. But Raiden could have left notes, a text, a journal, or something to refer to in moments of need and adversity.

Then again, that Raiden was, and remains, shrouded in nebulium.  

Returning to Liu Kang’s New Era, I found solace in one familiar constant: Kung Lao. Rowdy yet endearing, his vanity had been humbled to a great degree, and I was certain the Great Kung Lao would have been proud. Ashrah was another, a great warrior who made me recall my own days millennia ago to find humanity amidst the darkness that followed me. The sight of Syzoth, as well as his proactive role fighting for Earthrealm and Outworld after Shang Tsung's betrayal, was both peculiar and refreshing. Even Kenshi's face filled me with both warmth and rue, aggrieved still that he lost his vision again even in this timeline.

Nevertheless, I began to see how Liu Kang’s Era favored a select few while neglecting the many.

And that negligence has cost him, and countless others, dearly.

The topic of today’s argument, huh?

Pausing by the open courtyard doors, carved with decorative flourishing, I watched the cherry blossoms glisten beneath a soft drizzle. The heavens had begun to weep in deep dolor.

“I walk in truth,” I broke the elongated silence, my voice laced with rue and ash. “And truth, Liu Kang, is colder than you can fathom.”

I could hear Geras shifting, the sands within his body pulsing in warning. The air thickened—not with hostility, not with the damp veil of petrichor—but with history and affliction. In this temple where time bent and legends converged, the past was no longer a memory, and the future was no longer a promise.

The Keeper of Time sighed as he approached, solemnity etched into every line of his face. “If you are aggrieved by Bi-Han’s current condition, he merely saw the reflection of his own misdeeds.”

My eyes narrowed dangerously, slowly revolving toward Liu Kang. Those cyan irises and glowing dragon patterns flickered with ambivalent emotion. I dare say the once-humble monk had grown vain. Or perhaps dulled to empathy. Either way, this version of Liu Kang no longer sat well with me. A small swirl of my ankles and I half-turned toward him.

“I assure you that the zany version of that Cryomancer of yours is the least of concerns to me at the moment. Although,” my gaze flickered away, contemplative, before returning, “if you wish to start with that…” I stepped forward, spine straightening into a hard line, looking down at the fire-wielder—he barely reached my chin, given our height difference. “If you had warned him well enough of Shang Tsung and Quan Chi’s evil, he would have never relented to their empty promises and betrayed the realms.” An accusation. A faux pas on Liu Kang’s part, I was certain.

His glowing eyes narrowed slightly, yet his voice rang with apathetic evenness. “As Geras showed you through the Sands of Time, I did instruct and issue warnings to Bi-Han and his brothers before sending them on that mission—”

“—They were not enough, Liu Kang.” I snapped, my voice cracking like a whip across the room as I loomed over the man, cloaked in vexation and dejection.

Those cyan eyes narrowed just a wee. How I hated the look he was giving, the way he watched with a hint of calm too passive to my liking. Snorting derisively, I pivoted away toward the rain-soaked courtyard. It was pouring now, the sound of falling droplets doing little to drown the echoes of my rising aggro.

“And speaking of those wretched snakes, how is it you failed to improve their characters?” I grumbled beneath my breath, eyes narrowing with considerable bile.

Liu Kang had managed a monumental transformation with a monstrosity like Mileena—though still afflicted by the heinous Tarkat plague, which forced her to bear the horrors of her original form. Yet through Tanya—herself an enhanced incarnation—love had wrought a profound change.

Then why fail with those two rascals?

“I ensured the paths ahead of Shang Tsung and Quan Chi kept them neutral,” Liu Kang murmured, his eyes following mine as we both gazed into the silver curtain of rain. “Or at the very least, kept them at bay from ascending the ladders of evil.”

A snort escaped me, followed by a dark chuckle, mirthless and chagrined. “You managed to devise a… purpose… between Mileena and Tanya, yet failed to craft suitable ones for those two ruminating schemers?”

Liu Kang inhaled deeply, his softened gaze lifting to meet mine. I assayed him from the corner of my eye.

“I assure you, what I chose were the best paths available. At least until Titan Shang Tsung’s tactful lies outmaneuvered even those sorcerers.”

I could scarcely believe how he justified his vices with such heedless rationale.

“If those two had a decent purpose in life, neither would have chosen evil to begin with.” I cast the Fire Master a dark side-glance while I countered. “You’ve forgotten. Villains are not born. They are made, Liu Kang.” I snarled, letting a silence knead the tension thicker.

Geras’ gruff voice rippled through the chamber behind us. “My Creator’s efforts were not in vain, Lady Roxana. Most alterations led to the same outcomes, with either sorcerer giving into—”

I shot a blazing glower over my shoulder at the Overseer, silencing him on spot. While the giant’s loyalty was admirable, it was unwelcome amidst this conversation. Liu Kang must account for his deeds and answer when questioned, alone. I noted the look of assurance the monk cast at his partner. Geras nodded as he withdrew with a step, hands behind his back as the giant watched in silence.

My glower dropped to the silent Fire Master, who stood with steepled hands before his abdomen and chin tilted just a fraction. I grimaced.

Was this not his era? Was it not a creation of his own making? Then he should have all the answers.

“Before all this mess, Quan Chi had been a servile miner, while Shang Tsung wandered as a charlatan healer, peddling fake potions and remedies to poor villagers,” I began. “Years of hardship rooted resentment and bitterness in their hearts, prepping the soil for evil to tempt them astray.”

“Are you suggesting I should have granted them lives of blessings and fortitude in spite of all they did?” Liu Kang countered, almost chiding in an even voice. “One must learn from the past to prevent repetitious mistakes.” His tone made my jaw tighten.

My glower angled harder at the naïve Keeper of Time. “You speak of learning from the past, yet the past you learned from, the one that shaped your visions and designs, was very narrow, Liu Kang.” Finally, those brows creased ever so slightly. The corners of my lips curled grimly. “Was this not a New Era? Then why still cling to the past if you were determined to change events and people altogether?”

In fact, his speech of lessons learned from history, yet actions taken to punish without present violations, reeked of irony.

My mind swarmed with scenarios, each more vivid than the last. “You could have forged a path for Quan Chi as a capable alchemist in Orderrealm,” I murmured, eyes narrowing with blight. “His sick mother could have been his purpose, serving a preservatory realm, and gaining fame lilted with humility.”

Instead, at one point, Quan Chi sought the favor of the mine’s owner where he labored. In doing so, he betrayed his companions, who had planned a strike. The rebellion ended in bloodshed—many deaths, including his mother’s. Those who survived vowed to kill him.

“As for Shang Tsung,” I continued enervated, “he had great potential as a healer. Making him a noble medic, a physician with a wife and child, would have instilled a valiant purpose in him. To heal the ill, to serve the suffering. Why?” I shrugged. “Because some kind old man once healed him from a fatal disease, inspiring the future he would aspire to walk: to become the greatest healer to ever exist. To live a life of honesty and dignity.”

The possibilities to regale anew or retell a story were many. What would it have cost to plunge a figure of kindness into their lives, to urge the good in Shang Tsung or Quan Chi? Perhaps, with a stroke of well-crafted tragedy, a great sense of empathy or desire for good might have been triggered in those rascals.

Oh, hoh hoh! How cruel of you! The demoness in me sneered.

Yet, such is life.

“There were still scenarios you could have employed, riveting ones, to quell the threats they might have become.” Because the boy had not tried them all, indulged only in the first few playbooks of his own making, Liu Kang had chosen the easiest way.

That’s why mortals should not play God.

In fact, no one should.

Even if by chance those two sorcerers had met under different stars, their deadly alliance might have become a prosperous one. Shang Tsung could have healed Quan Chi’s mother. Together, the alchemist and the healer might have worked to find a cure for the Tarkat plague beseeching Outworldians—earning the royal family’s favor for healing their people, including their eldest daughter.

Now, history repeats itself with dire outcomes.

“Their attachments and good alignments would have prevented them from ever glimpsing at an ounce of darkness, let alone brewing in the shadows with thoughts of destroying the realms.” I finished, letting a solemn, tense silence veil the room.

Liu Kang’s gaze remained steady, his eyes reflecting the flicker of firelight, but not its heat. He did not flinch, nor did he retreat. Instead, he inhaled slowly, the breath deliberate, as though drawing in the gravity of my words.

“I did not craft perfection,” he said at last, voice low and tempered like small embers. “I crafted opportunity.” His stance shifted subtly, sparing a side glance before resuming. “You speak of paths, of alternate destinies. I do not deny their merit. But I am no puppeteer. I gave each soul the freedom to choose, to rise or fall by their own volition.”

The lanterns and candlelight behind him cast a long shadow that stretched next to mine.

“Quan Chi’s betrayal was not born of poverty alone. It was born of ambition untempered by compassion. Shang Tsung’s deceit was not merely a reaction to hardship—it was a hunger for power that no kindness could sate.” A pause. His brows furrowed deeper now, not in anger, but in burdened reflection. Liu Kang continued, “I have seen timelines where mercy was abundant, and still, darkness bloomed. I have seen tyrants born from privilege and heroes rise from ruin. The soil matters, yes—but so does the seed.”

He turned slightly, his gaze falling on Geras, then back to me.

“You accuse me of narrow vision. Perhaps. But I did not forget the past—I sought to learn from it. And in doing so, I hoped to offer every soul a chance to be more than what they were.” His voice softened, almost mournful. “But even gods cannot predict the storm in a man’s heart.” Then, with a flicker of firelight dancing across his features, Liu Kang’s expression hardened—not in defiance, but in resolve. “If I have erred, then let me answer for it. But do not mistake freedom for neglect. I gave them a choice. They chose shadow.” He stepped back, letting the silence settle once more, this time not as tension—but as truth.

Beautiful words. But alas, still empty.

I tilted my chin upward, as if the solemn admissions of the Fire Master did little to sway my verdict. My voice echoed after a pause, low and colored with acrimony and accusation. “Yet, you helped Mileena and Tanya change, did you not?”

I was no blind fool. I had seen how most things had been shifted in favor of Kung Lao, Raiden, and the gem of Edenia, Kitana.

Hypocrite!

“You tactfully curated the most suited opportunities. Ones that bloomed attachments strong enough to hinder either woman from ever crossing the same fate as their original counterparts.” I grumbled.

Mileena, once a savage replica of Kitana, born from Shang Tsung’s grotesque experiments, and Tanya, once a treacherous ally to Mileena and a rebel during Kotal Kahn’s reign, were now mere shadows of their former selves in this timeline. Noble. Just. And...

Their connection, though frowned upon by many, had grown deeper than ever.

My brows narrowed in mock contemplation. “How come the ‘free choices’ you speak of benefited a select few… particularly those with whom you shared a closer past, hmm?” As the words left me, I cast a poignant glance over my dark shoulder at the Fire Master who walked to the burning hearth, challenging. “Even Raiden offered didactics to those in need or about to walk in shadows, regardless of friend or foe. Whether the listener heeded them was their call. Tell me, have you ever met either sorcerer in person?” I quirked a brow. “Or attempted dialogue to understand their pain? To offer words of comfort?”

The dejected frown that flickered across Liu Kang’s face, followed by terse silence, was an answer enough.

So, you merely watched, hoping they would never transgress on their own.

Slowly turning to face the Titan fully, I added, “I dare say, that folly and swelling vanity of yours have cost you a valuable warrior.” I scoffed. “Bi-Han was… is… a complicated man to remake. And you did poorly to understand him, let alone keep him on your side.”

Returning to the past Liu Kang spoke of, the once Champion of Earthrealm had met the original Sub-Zero during the Mortal Kombat tournament. Their conversations were sparse, if they existed at all. Bi-Han was slain far too soon, rather cruelly, thanks to Quan Chi’s vile machinations. Thus, Liu Kang had little familiarity with Bi-Han’s true character.

The Cryomnacer was a man who redeemed himself after being fouled by the sorcerer to retrieve Shinnok’s amulet. For years, even Raiden referenced Bi-Han’s efforts against Shinnok and the Netherrealm, reinforcing that Sub-Zero had historically fought to defend Earthrealm—even if his path was complicated, tangled in shadows. From an assassin to a protector, the original Bi-Han remained strict, disciplined, and intolerant of injustice. Yet he bore a heart for his clan, his brothers, and the very realm he walked upon. He was noble, gallant, and never hesitated to intervene when tyranny reared its head.

Traits that even the Bi-Han in Liu Kang’s New Era bore. However,…

I clicked my tongue. “Your interactions with the original Sub-Zero were always limited to secondhand accounts from Raiden.” My expression flickered with thought. “Although I’m unsure how much Raiden truly understood the Cryomancer himself. Or what he told you about him.”

How did I know Sub-Zero?

Amidst the animosity brewing between the original Scorpion and Sub-Zero, I had grown determined to uncover the truth behind the slaughter of Shirai Ryu, an atrocity Hanzo Hasashi claimed was Bi-Han’s doing. Chance encounters and sparring sessions led to fluke dialogues, brief but potent. They swelled mutual trust and respect between the men and I. At that time, I served alongside Kitana and Jade under the ruthless Shao Kahn, though my loyalty remained with Lady Sindel—until I discovered the darkness in her heart as well. I was raw, naïve, and blind to the truth of Mortal Kombat. I killed when ordered, never accepting rewards, never seeking recognition. It was simply a job done. And Shang Tsung exploited that—threatening me, extorting me, using Kitana and Jade as leverage. I accepted every task. Completed each one without fail. Clean. Precise. Merciless.

Yet my interactions with Hanzo Hasashi and Bi-Han exposed me to another side of combat. I learned from their ideals as warriors—lessons that forever changed me and laid the foundation for the honorable warrior I became. I grasped the truth of their hearts. Thus, both Grandmaster Hanzo and Master Bi-Han became mentors to me; paternal figures from many moons ago. My only regret? Failing to save them when I had the chance. If Shao Kahn’s hammer hadn’t crushed my skull in those blood-soaked hallways—killing me once—I would have stopped that needless clash between the two warriors. Stopped the tragedy before it unfolded.

Returning from my reverie, a sigh passed me as I focused on the fire-wielder. The flames of his own element danced over his complexion, gleaming as if wanting to offer solace but failing.

“The version of Bi-Han you drew in your timeline is fractured. Even the one about Tomas. Yet the closest attempt at success was Kuai Liang,” I observed, my chest heaving at the ludicrous truth that Liu Kang had reincarnated Kuai Liang as a Pyromancer, bearing the title of Scorpion. No Hanzo as the Grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu. And the clan itself? Still amiss. I quirked a brow at that broad back, continuing, “And that fruition was possible because you shared more with the original Kuai Liang and understood the last Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei by heart. Your knowledge of Bi-Han remained scant. Of Tomas, even less.”

The Keeper of Time sighed through sealed lips, his eyes dropping momentarily toward the warm wood beneath his feet. His glowing gaze lingered, as if searching for absolution on the ground we stood upon. Then, slowly, he turned—his voice low, tempered not by anger but by the weight of memory. “You speak of Bi-Han as if he were a monument. Unchanging, eternal. But I knew him as a storm cloaked in frost. A man whose silence screamed louder than any war cry.”

He raised his head, eyes glowing a moment more to cast a light upon his cheekbones. That face pivoted toward me with a solemn expression.

“Bi-Han was not merely complicated—he was carved from contradiction. Discipline without mercy. Loyalty without warmth. He walked the line between protector and predator, and I… I failed to see the path he needed, not the one I hoped he’d choose.” His fingers curled slightly, as if grasping at a memory too brittle to hold. “Raiden spoke of his deeds, yes. But deeds are echoes. I never heard the voice behind them. Moreover, the Lin Kuei transgressions even echoed in my timeline. He did, though, warn me of the darkness that always lurked dormant in Bi-Han.”

I rolled my eyes indignantly. Raiden, despite his commemoration of the Cryomancer’s efforts, still had lingering doubt about the warrior.

Or perhaps there is a lack of elaboration, an omission meant to obscure that ‘darkness’.

Regardless, Raiden should have informed Liu Kang, ensuring clarity of the nature of that darkness and how it could be impacted if tampered with wrongly. I frowned but held my tongue.

Liu Kang continued, “I gave Kuai Liang fire because he had already burned with purpose. Tomas… I gave him freedom but not guidance since he fared well with his brothers. And Bi-Han… I gave nothing, assuming his strength would carry him.” His eyes met mine, no longer defensive, but bare. “Perhaps I did curate destinies. Perhaps I did favor those whose hearts I understood. But understand this—If I could rewrite that frostbitten chapter, I would not temper his rage. I would listen to it.”

True, I too sensed great scorn and bile within this new Bi-Han. Based on what Geras showed me, from testing Kung Lao and Raiden at Madam Bo’s Teahouse to pursuing those ominous sorcerers that led to his betrayal of the realms, I sensed a deep, festering ire within the Cryomancer. It had slowly overflowed the cup he bore as Earthrealm’s defender. At first, I assumed this Bi-Han—like others I’d met in fractured timelines who behaved eerily—was afflicted by veiled madness. Yes, the man was proud as a peacock, stubborn as an ox, fierce as a leopard, and mighty as a dragon. But one glance into those lucid, molten browns, and I saw such lucency that mirrored any sane person.

It confused and intrigued me altogether.

A puzzle.

An enigma.

Perhaps a Pandora box?

One I wish not to open.

“You speak of listening to his rage,” I murmured, voice low and malcontent, my head tilting with a stare that bordered on mockery, “but don’t you think it’s a little too late?”

I had seen how Liu Kang treated the Cryomancer, not as an equal, but merely as a reliable ally. Another warrior to fulfill his bidding. His tone toward Bi-Han never bore respect, nor did it roll with gratitude. It was always passive. Even. Dry.

The fire-wielder’s jaw tensed, as if my words had struck a chord buried deep beneath eons of restraint. His eyes, once warm with the flicker of flame, now dimmed, like embers suffocated by ash.

“You say it is too late,” Liu Kang murmured, his voice like wind brushing through scorched ruins. “Perhaps it is. But time is not a healer. It is a mirror. And in Bi-Han’s reflection, I saw great ambitions.” He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, as if each movement carried the weight of a thousand regrets. “Do you know what it cost him to wear the mantle of Grandmaster?” I turned my head slightly to meet those cyan eyes, waiting, listening. “He let his own father die. Not by blade. Not by poison. But by silence. By inaction. Through complicity. He watched the man who raised him perish, believing that only through loss could he forge the steel to lead.”

A pause. Heavy. Reverent.

“That is not madness. That is pain weaponized.”

Liu Kang’s gaze lifted, meeting mine with a solemn fire. A scornful scoff escaped me.

Ah yes, the infamous Elder Cryomancer; Lin Kuang Bei, Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, and father to Bi-Han and Kuai Liang in this timeline. The revelation that Bi-Han had allowed his father to perish sparked the cliché animosity between Sub-Zero and Scorpion, driving the brothers apart and into the roles of arch enemies.

A heedless outcome that should never have happened.

Yet I could no longer stomach the Fire Master’s fatuous excuses. Liu Kang’s long negligence and incomplete knowledge of everyone’s history had rendered his New Era a tattered painting, marred by unrefined edges, muddled blends, and sketches that distorted the truth.

“You treated Bi-Han as a commodity, a weapon yourself.” My brows furrowed deeply at the Fire Titan. “You saw the storm, but not the sky it brewed beneath. You gave him tasks, not trust. Orders, not understanding, Liu Kang.” I countered vehemently, approaching the Titan with an air of renewed vexation. “Have you ever wondered why a man like him, who bears no madness, would still be willing to do such madness?” That confused frown in reply made me shake my head.

Still naïve!

In most timelines, the original Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei was no gentle soul. He was ruthless, cruel, and insatiably greedy. The initial Cyber Lin Kuei initiatives were often born under his command—mechanizing warriors, stripping them off morale, all for power. I was not defending anyone, but if Bi-Han bore such resentment toward his father, it was worth hearing the other side. What kind of man was Lin Kuang Bei? What character did he show outwardly—and what did he hide within?

Shame he is a dead man now. The demoness' comment made me sigh heatedly.

I searched Liu Kang’s eyes, my glower unrelenting. “How well did you know the Great Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei?”

The Fire Lord’s lips parted, but no words came. Not at first. The silence between us was not empty but brimming. Like a dam holding back centuries of withheld truths. He turned his face away from me and the pouring rain, letting the glow of the hearth kiss the edge of his robes again as if seeking absolution from the very element that defined him.

“I did not dine with him. I did not spar beside him. I did not mourn him.” If not for my keen hearing, I would have missed that low reply.

I blinked slowly, my head shaking in quiet disbelief. My fists clenched behind me so tightly that I felt my nails pierce flesh, warmth gradually pooling between my fingers.

“So, you judged a man upon baseless foundations?” I murmured, my voice colored with indignation and disbelief. “How come you pass verdict on the Cryomancer when you knew naught of his father? What if Kuang Bei was a cruel man? What if Bi-Han’s actions were justified? A hundred ‘what if’s… and you know not a single answer.”

The fire crackled, but it did not speak for its master. Not this time. Liu Kang’s shoulders rose with a breath that seemed to scrape against the walls of his soul. When he turned his face, the flicker of flame behind him cast his silhouette like a penitent monk; half god, half man, wholly burdened.

The edges of those lips frowned. “You speak of ‘what ifs’… and rightly so. But what if Kuang Bei was as fair and honorable as the realms knew him? What if Bi-Han’s betrayal was mercy in disguise? Or what if the frost he wielded was vengeance?” A pause. Then the Fire Master continued, “regardless, his action, the sole decision to let his father perish, was not approved.”

I averted my eyes, holding back a grim bite of retort.

Liu Kang spoke again. “I saw a man who let his father die. I did not ask why. I saw a warrior who turned his back on his brothers. I did not ask what he saw in the shadows. I saw a Cryomancer who froze his heart to lead. I did not ask what warmth he sacrificed to do so.” Then, with a whisper that carried more truth than thunder: “I did not mourn his father. But I mourn the son I never tried to understand.” He faced the hearth again, and for a moment, it seemed to dim, not from lack of fuel, but from reverence.

Same moaning. No solutions. 

It seemed like convincing the boy over a man whose name and repute was as a fleeting ghost was pouring water into a sieve. Liu Kang had already messed up with the Lin Kuei brothers, those he had different familiarities. Arguing with him over the Lin Kuei Grandmaster whom he never met or knew was running around the circles. With a heated sigh, I geared the conversation away from the Elder Sub-Zero.

“So, what now?" I gripped my forehead, pressing a thumb and a finger against my temples to ease the rising throbs. "What shall become of Bi-Han and Kuai Liang? Have you seen the Cryomancer? Spoken with the Pyromancer? Made any initiatives to mend the broken bridges between the brothers?” I prompted, lashing out with a flurry of inquiries.

Liu Kang did not respond immediately, his eyes focused on the dancing flames, bearing an air of rue and resignation. “I have spoken with Bi-Han and urged him to reconcile with Kuai Liang for Earthrealm's sake. He has refused to—”

“—Did you also urge Kuai Liang for the sake of their brotherhood?” I cut in, my voice flat, my glower deadpanned at those broad shoulders.

My jaw clenched. Earthrealm’s sake? That was the excuse he chose? As if the bond between brothers could be reduced to a diplomatic obligation. This wasn’t about realms or politics. It was about blood. Kinship. A sacred thread that should never be bartered for the sake of strategy. I couldn’t even fathom the audacity—no, the ignorance—of invoking Earthrealm as the reason for reconciliation. Did Liu Kang truly understand what family meant?

Though orphaned and without a family, Liu Kang was still raised by Raiden at a very young age. Had he learned nothing of familial bonding? What of his bond with Kung Lao—was it merely camaraderie, or had he ever come to see it as brotherhood? Had he ever come to look at Raiden and seen a paternal figure, or did things always remain in form of mentorship wrapped in lightning and riddles? Perhaps that was the flaw. Perhaps the Keeper of Time had never truly grasped the weight of love between siblings, the warmth of having a family, the aches when issues happen, and the silent hope for healing.

This was not a situation for one-sided outreach. Both brothers must be willing to reconcile. Without mutual inclination, there would be no ceasefire. And if this quarrel continued, it would fester—until it ended in tears. Or blood.

The fire-wielder sighed solemnly before he voiced, “I reached out to Bi-Han first, since it began with his aggression. Kuai Liang is heartbroken by his brother’s betrayal. Now, he is establishing the Shirai Ryu—”

“—Are they willing to negotiate peace or not?” My brows rose slightly, hand removed to watch the Fire Master when I interjected with a sharp and disdainful voice. 

“No,” came that final response.

And with that single word, the last ember of hope flickered and died.

I bristled, feeling a jolt of shock run through my nerves. A thunderclap boomed. The heavy rain resumed. But the storm had already arrived.

Now, now. Calm yourself. No need to—

—I cannot believe this inanity.

Swirling toward the courtyard, I approached the open folding doors once more, seeking refuge in the scent of petrichor that lingered in the air. Alas, the roaring thunder cracked through every fragile layer of peace I tried to build, to retain. I shut my eyes tightly, breathing.

Rumble!

A shaky exhale passed.

Rumble!

Dreadful images from past timelines began to ebb and flow. The drums of war between the two brothers—and their clans—were about to intensify. Two sons fighting over a dead man. A father whose true colors remained unknown. Pragmatically, they should worry over the battles to come, the losses, and the blood yet to be spilled. And with the Shirai Ryu forming anew, the horror of that dreadful event—Harumi Shirai’s death—surfaced like an ill epiphany.

RUMBLE!

That last merciless thunder made something inside me snap. The final vestiges of restraint were torn away, scattered like leaves in the wind now howling through the courtyard. My lids snapped open, ruby eyes blazing, hard, deep, and unrelenting.

“You doomed the future,” I seethed. “You salted wounds still festering and abandoned your own defenders of Earthrealm.”

Liu Kang’s dark brows creased. “Roxana, patronizing me will not help—”

“—Was the life of a single fool so important that it shattered years of brotherhood?” I rotated slowly, a grim sneer etched across my face. One hand emerged from behind, gesturing sharply in emphasis. “Or is this ludicrous grudge against Bi-Han—held by Outworld—truly worth holding him accountable for Sindel’s death?”

Another baffling matter. During the siege of Ying Fortress, when the brothers pursued the sorcerers, the veil of crimes unraveled. Kuai Liang had knocked Bi-Han unconscious and dragged him back to the Lin Kuei, rather than leaving him to the wretched hands of those rascals. Yet Mileena and Kitana decreed that Bi-Han’s complicity had wrought Sindel’s death.

“She died at the hands of Titan Shang Tsung during that battle. Bi-Han was not even there.” I barked.

Liu Kang stepped forward, one hand raised in a calming gesture. “I assure you,” he tried, “I am negotiating with Empress Mileena to rescind her edict for Bi-Han’s punishment.” 

“Punishment?!” I snapped, scoffing in disbelief. “Do you even realize how far this has spiraled? How far out of your control has it grown?”

Geras was not far behind, the giant approaching slowly, his presence like a mountain shifting. The thunder outside grew petulant, mimicking the tension within. Rain lashed the courtyard like a thousand whispered accusations. The fire behind Liu Kang sputtered, casting erratic shadows across his face; half martyr, half creator. His lips parted, but no words dared tumble forth. The fire flickered behind him, uncertain whether to burn or bow. His silence was not humility. It was hesitation. And that alone stoked the embers of my fury.

“You speak of compromise as if it were a balm,” I hissed, stepping forward, the rain slicing behind me like silver blades. “But you’ve bartered away reason for pride. You wear the mantle of Keeper of Time like a crown forged from self-righteousness, not duty.”

Those dark brows furrowed, the glow in Liu Kang's eyes dimming further, but I did not relent.

“Once, you were humble. Once, you listened. Once, you fought not for glory, but for peace and justice. But now?” I gestured toward the storm, toward the chaos that brewed not just in the skies but in the hearts of those who once trusted him. “While not inheriting the madness from wielding such power like Kronika,… you did gain the vanity that comes with it. Now you sit in your sanctum, weaving timelines like a child with thread, hoping the tapestry will mend itself.”

The Fire Titan pivoted toward me, the glow in his eyes sharpening, no longer dim with remorse but edged with dejection.

“You speak as though I chose this path,” his voice was low but taut. “As though I begged the Hourglass to bend to me. I became Keeper of Time because no one else could shoulder it.”

The storm behind me cloaked my fury like a mantle.

“Couldn’t? Or wouldn’t?” My voice was a blade, honed on years of watching realms fracture under the weight of pride. “You speak of burden, but you wear it like regalia.”

A muscle feathered over his clenched jaw. “You do not understand the burdens I bear, the sacrifices I had to make. The—”

I snorted, mirthlessly. “Oh, stop playing victim. If you were so indispensable, why take the role at all?”

Liu Kang’s jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing. “Then whom, pray tell? You?”

“Me?” My brows rose in mockery. A bitter laugh rippled from my chest before my face hardened once more.

“No. I never lived under such delusion, Liu Kang. Even now that I rule the Demonrealm, not once has the thought passed me to transgress beyond my role as a defender, as a shield, as a protector.” A pause before I added. “A Keeper should be a guardian who listens and offers guidance, not—”

“—I did what I had to,” Liu Kang snapped. “I’ve tried to mend what others broke. I’ve spoken to Bi-Han, I’ve reached out to Mileena, I’ve—”

“—Not enough, Liu Kang,” I cut in, my voice booming like the thunder outside.

This was all a mistake. This grand plan, this so-called utopia Liu Kang envisioned and tried to deliver—it was a mirage, a cruel joke played on those who dared to hope. I watched the New Era unfold like a tapestry woven from incompetence. Each thread, each promise, pulled tighter around warriors and groups until they could barely breathe. It was done involuntarily, but not invisible to not notice early. Liu Kang, the Keeper of Time, the supposed architect of salvation—he was nothing more than a dreamer with a god complex. And all those he reincarnated were the collateral.

At first, I held back. I waited and watched what Geras showed me through the Sands. I gave the monk the benefit of doubt, even as the timeline buckled and destinies twisted into dire parodies of what they once were; tragedies that were preventable. But patience is not infinite. Mine, once vast and enduring, began to fray with every paradox, every erased soul, every rewritten fate that left more broken than healed. And then came the final straw. The endless contradictions and misunderstandings that could have been forestalled but now unfolded and left to rot. That was when the last vestiges of my restraint snapped.

I may have not known the details of each reincarnated character but was aware enough, conscious and sensible to the characters' pains, losses, and silent cries. And those as the likes of Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas, and alike deserved better. Now, I stood in the ruins of Liu Kang's creation, fury coursing through me like wildfire.

“You should never have become Keeper of Time,” I spat, voice trembling with rage, hands balled into tight fists. “This isn’t order. It’s desecration.”

I don’t know what comes next. But I know this: I will not stand idle while the world and its people's fates slowly burn under the guise of rebirth. If Liu Kang won’t relinquish the loom, then I’ll tear the threads myself.

The storm cracked above us, a jagged bolt illuminating the courtyard in ghostly white. Geras shifted next to Liu Kang, silent, sentinel-like, though even he seemed to sense the unraveling. The face of the Fire Master morphed into a moment of surprise before he recoiled, wonder still coloring his eyes.

“You’ve let the realms splinter,” I continued, my voice rising like a tide. “You’ve let Bi-Han and Kuai Liang drown in their own grief, their own rage. You’ve let Outworld spiral into vendetta. And now you speak of compromise as if it were a salve for the wounds you helped inflict.”

The Titan turned away briefly, as if the fire might offer him counsel. But it only crackled, indifferent. In renewed attempt Geras spoke, "If not Liu Kang, who would have served as an appropriate Keeper of Time instead? Your ire is understandable, but we urge you to see beyond just the current and not fault Liu Kang for other's dissonance and pride."

I stepped forward, breath heaving, and my words spilled relentlessly. I growled, “Fujin was the best of us. He should have become Keeper of Time.” Those cyan eyes slowly turned to me, wide with disbelief and wonder. I nodded, pressing on. “He didn’t need to shout to be heard. He didn’t need to bend time to earn trust. He understood that power lies not in control… but in kindness and benevolence.”

My heels clicked with every step, each clank a punctuation to the truths I laid bare.

“He would never have let this rot fester. He understood the wind’s whisper, the weight of silence, and the cost of action. He would have encouraged the good in everyone… spoken to both brothers, helped them mend at all costs. Even Shang Tsung and Quan Chi would have found better lives under his guidance. He would have seen the storm coming and not waited for it to arrive.”

Liu Kang’s jaw clenched, but I saw no rebuttal, only the flicker of wounded pride. The storm outside howled, but it was nothing compared to the tempest I had unleashed within these walls.

“You never should have wielded the Hourglass.” I hissed, the words sharp as obsidian. “And now, the realm will pay the price for your ascension.”

A long interlude followed. Liu Kang remained still, his gaze lowered, fists trembling at his sides—not from fear, but from the weight of restraint. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting erratic shadows across his face, which bore the solemnity of a man unraveling. His breath came slow, deliberate, as if each inhale was a battle against the tide of emotion threatening to breach his composure. The wind outside moaned, slipping through the cracks like a ghost, making the candles flicker and sputter in protest. Finally, the Titan turned at last, his movements heavy, deliberate, like a statue forced into motion.

“I asked for your presence to seek guidance. Not to hear your spite,” the Keeper of Time murmured. “Perhaps I expected too much from a demon of darkness. It seems you have changed as well.” His shoulders sagged after a deep inhale, his voice firm and baritone. “All that gloom in your realm, wars across timelines, and the desolation after your departure from Vergil have empoisoned your heart.”

Then, another callous thunderbolt illuminated the chamber, casting shadows over my baleful visage.

I stood there, unblinking, locked onto the faltering firebender with a scorching grimace that hovered between scowl and shock.

Oh, no!

He did not bring up that name, did he? 

The utter of that name felt like the ground beneath me shifted. I wasn’t prepared for it—how could I be? That name carried the weight of every joy and every wound I have ever known. And yet, he spoke it with such indifference, as if that part of my past just another casualty. Would a true friend speak of another's pain so recklessly? No reverence. No sorrow. Just a cold, clinical mention, tucked behind a veil of blame.

It wasn’t just the apathy that stung—it was the implication. As if my grief, my choices, my pain were somehow responsible for the change in character in me. That hurt more than I can explain. I never tested Liu Kang with Kitana, despite Raiden’s constant murmurs of doubt. I stayed loyal to the balance, to the wishes of the lovers. And now, to hear Vergil’s name wielded like a weapon against me—it was unbearable. My heart ached, not just for the man I lost, but for the trust that was shattered in that moment with this man I once knew as a friend.

This Liu Kang had become an image worse than what Raiden was.

How. Dare. He!

A shift on my end and Geras stirred, his massive frame moving uneasily, but I didn’t glance at him. My fury was ancient, elemental. Shadows danced across the room, screeching against the floors and walls, hissing like unseen monsters roused from slumber. Liu Kang’s head tilted, sensing the shift. His face whipped toward me, wary. I tilted my neck, as if a veil of madness began to cascade over me.

My heels clicked with every measured, heavy step forward. “What did you just say?” I murmured, daring, challenging the bristling Fire Master.

Geras moved to shield the Titan. “Lady Roxana—”

The giant's warning was cut short. A flick of my hand and the swarm of shadows surged like ink, snapping through the air like a flood through a broken dam. They struck the Overseer with such force that Geras’ body flung into the open courtyard, grunting as he rolled across grass and stone.

“Geras!” Liu Kang exclaimed, jolting forward before halting at the ruined doors, turning back to me.

Another step. I watched him retreat with one of his own. I growled lowly. “Say that again, Liu Kang.”

The monk's gait matched mine, palms raised in placation. “Roxana, there’s no need for this. I mean you no harm.”

“Harm me?” I breathed derisively, eyes rounding in faux shock. A dark chuckle rippled from my throat. “Don’t mock me, Liu Kang.”

And I followed the backpedaling Fire Master into the pouring rain, ignoring the immediate soak and the clinging of my gown against my frame.

“How dare you speak of my past? How dare you judge me when you are so blind yourself!” I snarled. “You have no right to spit your incompetence into my face and dress it up as wisdom or adequacy.”

Those glowing eyes widened a fraction. “Roxana, I meant no ill—”

You should have never brought up that name.

“—You became nothing without Kitana.”

Something shifted in the air at that growl of mine.

The rain seemed to pause midair, suspended by the weight of my words. The wind recoiled. The fire behind him sputtered. Even the shadows held their breaths. 

I tried—God knows I tried—to keep Liu Kang and Kitana together. I was there to protect and fight beside them, ensuring the lovers would meet by the end of the day. I stood behind them, stitched their fraying bond with quiet support, even when the weight of timelines and Raiden's jabs threatened to tear it apart. I believed in their love, in the balance they could bring. Sure, I too shared the notion that Kitana was fitted with a better suitor, but seeing the lovers made me gradually believe that no one was better suited for Kitana than Liu Kang and vice versa. And I had looked forward to seeing them finally settle in peace while finally putting an end into the relentless cruelties promoted by meaningless Mortal Kombat.

But now, with the Fire Master scorching my trust with his callousness and veiled accusations, something broke in me. If he could wield apathy like a blade, then I would answer with precision. I won’t be the quiet guardian anymore. He no longer deserved Kitana—not this version of him, not this cold monk who’s forgotten the meaning of devotion. If Liu Kang rewrote the world without care, then I’ll rewrite the rules. And Kitana will be my ink. I adored her, respected my warrior sister, yet I could see she deserved far better now.

“I once held respect for you, trusting you, supporting the love you harbored for Kitana." My voice resonated low and dark. "Yet I never mocked you for what you’ve become, with or without her.” A pause, then a hiss, venomous and final: “Now... I became certain. You do not deserve her.”

Liu Kang’s breath hitched, and for a moment, I saw the monk again; the boy who once bowed before wisdom, not wielded it. But the moment passed. Yes, that face was more enjoyable to watch, colored with silent pain he tried hard to conceal but failing given the slight tremors between his lines. I frowned bitterly.

“You never deserved Kitana. Not her love. Not her loyalty. Not her belief in the man you used to be.” I scoffed bitterly.

And then, the final blow. The corners of my lips curled into a menacing smirk. My eyes never once leaving those cyan ones.

“Maybe the Raiden in this time, in his mortal form, proves as the better choice than you. He knows what it means to bleed, to falter, and to rise again. You—” I stopped a breath away from the monk, looming in, voice low and venomous while my eyes blazed, “—you’ve forgotten what it means to be human.”

The fire behind him extinguished with a hiss. The rain fell harder. And Liu Kang stood there, drenched, defeated. Not by power, but by truth.

The storm had spoken.

Rumble!

This time, the thunder that roared across the heavens blinded us for a moment. Those wide cyan eyes locked with my deep, glowing ruby ones. Shocked. Hurt.

A dam broke.

Something spilled. Irrevocably so.

I trembled with rage. Liu Kang trembled in both indignation, dread, and resignation.

Our shoulders heaved, our hearts beating like the very drums of war.

And then, that pale face slowly lowered, breaking the tension. A long exhale passed through my flared nostrils.

Well, now you’ve done it!

Ignoring the spite in my demoness tone, I glanced at the still-staggering Geras before turning on my heels. The giant worked himself up, heaving as he clutched at his abdomen given the impact he received. A long, tense pause veiled, lingering between the slashing rain. A final glance at the slightly hunched monk before I sighed, turning on my heels. Every languid, weary step echoed with bitter reflection. 

For so long, I had fixed everyone’s mistakes. Carried their burdens. Offered counsel that was sometimes heard, often ignored.

But this…

This was beyond my capacity to mend in mere moments.

I paused by the stone ledge of that racked strategy room. “You said you’ve made mistakes and are willing to answer for them,” my voice carried apathetically in the rain. “Good. Start reflecting. Acceptance begins with you. Then retry… until you clean your own mess, Liu Kang.”

I was about to open a portal, ready to return to my realm in peace when…

“Prove it to me.” His hoarse tone made me peer over my shoulder. Liu Kang's face was still lowered. “Prove that a man like him is redeemable in any timeline… just once… that I was wrong… and I shall undo what I did. At all costs.”

I frowned.

Where the hell did that come from?

Eh, who exactly are we talking about?

“What are you saying?” I growled under my breath, pivoting to face the quivering Fire Master.

The air shifted, its scent thickened, sandy, ancient. My eyes snapped around. Glimmers swarmed the atmosphere, dancing through the raindrops like embers caught in a celestial tide. A circle began to form around me, etched in light and heat.

My feet parted, stance tightening with wariness and alertness.

“Liu Kang? What the hell is—”

A fire roared behind the Keeper of Time. Twin dragons—one red, one blue—burst forth, raging, glorious, and utterly startling.

Lass, I think your tongue got us into trouble again! The Kentauride yelled inside me with a hint of urgency and timorousness.

My eyes narrowed dangerously, locking onto Liu Kang’s shifting expression. His hands moved with precision, summoning something ancient, something volatile. But it was his eyes that betrayed him, burning with pent-up emotion as he lifted them to meet mine. Rage. Hurt. And… guilt? All reflected in those glowing gems.

Wrath surged through me, igniting every nerve and vein. “LIU KANG!” My hand whipped upward. A swarm of shadows shot, but…

It happened in a heartbeat.

The dragons descended in a single breath, engulfing me. A melting heat. A sizzling sound. And then—ringing.

Then silence.

Finally, darkness.

~'*'~'*'~'*'~'*'~'*'~'*'~

Grunting at the sharp waddles and booming voices of men, I resurfaced from the realm of unconsciousness. My head throbbed, clarity still a distant shore. Slowly, I parted my eyes, blinking through the blur, trying to adjust. My ears rang like distant bells.

“Ugh…”

I clutched the side of my head, startled by the unfamiliar, soft clangs that echoed around me.

Confused, I glanced at my hands weighed with silk and jewelry. Bleary-eyed, I tried to make sense of the deep blue garments wrapped around me, the rich fabrics clinging to my form, the silver and gold adorning my wrists, and the wobbly, foreign environment that swayed beneath me.

A sudden, unfathomable cold stung the marrow of my bones, forcing a shuddering exhale. Mist clouded before me.

Shifting into a more upright position, I assayed my surroundings.

It resembled a vault but far too luxurious. Cushions of fine gold silk, embroidered with intricate patterns. Curtains of indigo and royal blue shimmered like tapestries of the night sky, speckled with a bazillion stars. Symbols of two wolves, stitched in fine silver thread, ran in a circle around a moon—half-lit, half-dark. The air smelled of jasmine and sandalwood.

Where in the seven heavens am I? My heartbeat spiked as I frantically perused the small space.

Is this… a sedan chair?

Another wobble, a sharp tumble, and I lost balance under the unexpected sway. My temple collided against a wooden frame with an audible thud.

“Ow!! Shoot!” I exclaimed, fumbling to steady myself with one hand while rubbing the sore spot with the other. "God damn it!"

Deep voices rang out from outside.

“Watch it, men!”

“Are you all right, Madam?

“Apologies, Milady!”

Milady?! Madam?!

Bristling, I continued to rub my temple as I shot forward. I yanked one curtain aside, almost tearing it from its rings, peering outdoors. A sharp gust of crisp wind slapped my face, wiping away the last traces of blurriness. Cold air rushed into my lungs, jolting my senses, sending a dizzying pulse up into my brain.

A landscape of endless white greeted me.

My eyes widened at the sight of snow-veiled ground stretching to the horizon, where sky kissed earth in a hushed communion of frost and cloud. A winter wonderland—barren, pure, and haunting—unfolded before me like a forgotten dream etched in ice. Frozen trees stood like solemn sentinels, their limbs cloaked in crystalline lace, whispering secrets to the wind. Each branch shimmered with a quiet dignity, as if time itself had paused to admire their stillness.

The mountains loomed in the distance, their jagged peaks piercing the heavens like ancient sculptures draped in alabaster robes. Mist curled around their bases, rising like breath from the lungs of the earth. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, catching the light in fleeting glimmers, each one a tiny miracle suspended in descent. The air was sharp, clean, and laced with the scent of pine and silence, an intoxicating blend that stirred something primal within me.

Even the wind moved with reverence, sweeping across the landscape in gentle sighs, sculpting dunes of snow into delicate waves. It was a realm untouched by chaos, where sound was swallowed by softness and every footstep felt like a trespass upon sacred ground.

A splendor. Breathtaking. Beguiling.

I exhaled sharply into the misty air, awed.

Pivoting, I noticed long lines of people in eccentric garments. Some moved barehanded; others—burlier—carried heavy chests. It resembled an entourage, but the variety in colors and fabrics suggested a mingling of groups. The trail of heads led toward a grand fortress, its walls besieged by white and grey stone. Hipped roofs, dark and red, rose tall, their architecture evoking a Midwest Asian aesthetic. Distant sounds echoed, too faint to decipher. Yet the sight of men in black and blue marching by the gates stirred a dreadful presumption.

A hint of worry sizzled in my gut.

I leaned out further, shifting my weight. The two men on the right of the sedan chair staggered, startled at the sudden unbalance, their grips tightening on the rails as their feet nearly slid across the frozen ground.

“Eh, eh! Oi!”

“Oh! Milady!”

“Madam, be careful!”

“Please don’t stick your head out, Milady. It’s dangerous!”

Their urgent exclamations fell on deaf ears. I pushed forward, nearly stumbling out through the window, gaping at the edifice awaiting us. My fingers dug into the frame like claws, disbelief etched into every breath.

Is that… …the Lin Kuei?!

My nails carved into the wood, feline and furious. My lips pursed. My chest heaved. I swore I saw red.

What in the seven Heavens...

Did Liu Kang teleport me to…

My voice rang out, slicing through the air, causing heads to whirl toward me with bristling alarm.

“GOD DAMN YOU, LIU KANG!!”