I scoured the forest again, alert for any trace of immortal energy or danger, following the path along the river until it wound toward a village. Only then did I turn around, making my way back to the hill. Beneath the lightening sky, before my father’s grave, I knelt upon the stone. The faded paintings upon the marble were the mortals’ renditions of my father’s heroics: aiming an arrow at the ten crimson suns in the sky, riding at the head of a great army, battling a monstrous bird. A heaviness stole over me as I sank back onto my heels, tucking my hands into my lap.

“Father, I wish I knew you.” I was unsure why I plucked these words from my heart and spoke them aloud. Perhaps it was the break of dawn, the moment despair is edged with hope. Or perhaps my guard was lowered, comforted by my father’s presence even though it was just his bones that remained.

A twig snapped. I leapt to my feet, dragging the bow off my back, suppressing the urge to draw an arrow. Its magic might attract unwanted attention, and besides, there was little that could hurt me here.

A mortal stood at the bottom of the hill, long past the prime of life. His hair was the soft shade of ash, bound with a long strip of cloth. His skin was weathered and lined, bitterness reeking in the curl of his lip. Yet his shoulders were broad beneath his black robe, and he carried himself like a cypress. His steps toward me were measured, with a seasoned warrior’s grace. As his eyes fell upon my bow, they widened visibly.

“Who are you?” Few came here these days. Perhaps when my father’s deeds were fresh in their minds, the mortals had come in droves, bringing offerings of flowers and food. It was how the Black Dragon had learned of this place. However, mortal memories were short-lived. I did not doubt they still told the tales of Houyi in the teahouses, a fine legend to stir the crowds—but who would make the lonely trek here to honor a hero long fallen?

The man did not answer, his gaze startlingly bright as he stared at me. His chest heaved, his throat worked, though I could not tell whether he was trying to speak or stifle his words.

“Daughter, you are full grown,” he said at last, his voice breaking with emotion.

I froze, forcing back that cresting lightness within. It could not be true. Oh, I wanted to believe him, I had dreamed of such a moment so many times before, until the Black Dragon’s news had crushed my hopes. But I had learned deceptions could be uttered with a straight face, a warm smile might conceal malice, and that the most dangerous lies were those we most desperately wanted to be true.