DYNASTY - BOOK I: COURSE OF EARTH
A Ranma ½ Fanfiction
By Sydney Kyle

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Chapter Eleven: Confessions of an Oracle

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“O cord of life!
Threading through the jewel of my soul,
If you break, break now:
My strength will go if this continues,
Unable to bear such fearful strain.”

—Princess Shokushi, “Hidden Love”

* * * * * *

      “Are you all right, Ryouga-sama?” Akari asked him, concerned.

      Ryouga gingerly laid a hand on his still-tender throat. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He scowled. “No thanks to a certain deranged redhead.”

      The girl across from him mirrored his glare. She’d toweled herself off and was decked out in one of Akane’s old white tank tops and a worn pair of cutoff denim shorts. At present, she was sitting in a rather tomboyish fashion, her arms tucked in between her crossed legs.

      It had been a virtual madhouse when Ranma and the others had discovered her trying to throttle Ryouga in the bathtub, dressed in the little yellow towel she’d swiped from him. Akari had screamed; Genma and Soun had skittered about blindly and ended up knocking their heads together; Akane, Ukyou, and Shampoo had promptly jammed their hands in front of their faces (though a couple of them couldn’t resist peeking); Nabiki had snapped a couple of pictures with her ever-present camera (at this point, ‘Onna-Ranma’ had sought refuge from the gaggle of voyeurs by jumping into the tub with Ryouga—without taking her hands off his neck); Cologne had stared; Mousse’s glasses had fogged up so badly that he’d needed a squeegee to scrape off the frosty film on the lenses. It was only Ranma and Kasumi who’d had the presence of mind to break up the scene.

      It took several minutes for the two of them to pry ‘Onna-Ranma’ away from a blue-faced Ryouga.

      It was now an hour after, and everyone seemed to have calmed down somewhat.

      They were all now back in the main room. The atmosphere was one of apprehension and scarcely-disguised awe, most of it directed toward the red-haired stranger who sat in their midst. Genma and Soun continued to throw furtive glances at her out of the corners of their eyes, even while seemingly absorbed in their snacks of mochi. Shampoo, Ukyou, and Akane watched her with wary eyes, while in a corner Cologne was shaking her head as she contemplated this latest development. Mousse kept on appraising first the male Ranma on one side, and the female one on the other. Ranma, on the other hand, seemed to be observing his female form with something akin to fascinated disbelief. She in turn only had dagger-filled eyes for Ryouga, who glared back at her with equal hostility.

      “So...” Akane cleared her throat. Be delicate about this, she thought. This girl was a complete stranger to them. Sure, she looked like Ranma in girl-form, but she couldn’t help but feel that there was something more to her. “So...uhm, how’d you get here?”

      The girl broke her glaring match with Ryouga long enough to give Akane a slightly perplexed look. “I walked here, of course,” she said matter-of-factly. Her voice was sweet and lilting—so much like Ranma’s had been in his female form. It was the first time she’d spoken since she’d screamed that bone-chilling scream upstairs when Ryouga had found her, so to speak.

      “You walked here?” cut in Ukyou, uncertainty edging into her tone.

      ‘Onna-Ranma’ fixed her with a blank stare. “Yeah. I sure didn’t fly here all by my lonesome.”

      Akane’s eyes narrowed. The sarcasm that was so reminiscent of Ranma was barely perceptible in the redhead’s voice, but it was there. But then again, her diction and pronunciation were a little more refined than Ranma’s usual lopsided articulation. Peculiar, that.

      “You walked here...from where?” persisted the young okonomiyaki chef.

      The redhead shrugged. “I dunno. I can’t remember exactly where.” At the other girl’s skeptical expression, she retorted, “Hey, it was night. I couldn’t see anything, okay? All I remember was that I was wet, cold, and hungry. Those aren’t exactly things a girl likes feeling, so I split. Big deal.”

      At this point, Kasumi wandered over and wordlessly handed her a piece of mochi. Without preamble, the other girl grabbed it and began to scarf it down. “Hey, thanks, Kasumi,” she mumbled between mouthfuls.

      The others exchanged glances at this, and Soun couldn’t resist voicing what was on everyone’s minds.

      “You know...” he croaked. He lowered his own piece of mochi and wiped his mouth. “You know who Kasumi is?”

      The girl didn’t even glance at him. “She is Kasumi, isn’t she?” she shot back, still concentrating on her food. “You didn’t think I forgot who she was, did you, Mr. Tendo?”

      Akane watched as her father dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. “Ahhh...no,” he stammered. “Not at all, I suppose.”

      “Still,” interjected Genma, “I still don’t understand why you came here, of all places...”

      “Homing instinct,” the girl replied in a perfunctory tone. Then she paused. “Let’s just say that I knew that this was where I had to go. Like I said, instinct. Plain and simple.” She gulped down the last of her mochi and licked her lips. “Mmm, this is good. Can I have another?”

      Kasumi beamed at her. “Why, yes, of course.” She passed her two more generous chunks of the bean-paste dessert.

      ‘Onna-Ranma’ dug in lustily, and Akane observed her intently. Here was another difference. It was common knowledge that Ranma usually ate his meals like a starving horse—no matter whether he was in his male or female form. This incarnation, however, consumed her food in such a way that managed to look ladylike despite the fact that she was obviously famished.

      “Amazing,” Genma murmured to Soun, just out of the stranger’s earshot—but not quite out of Akane’s. “Her physical similarities to Ranma are remarkable, but at the same time she doesn’t seem to resemble him at all.”

      “Indeed, Saotome, indeed. It’s as if she retains some of Ranma’s memories, but at the same time she’s a whole separate person.”

      Akane was brooding over this when Ryouga’s acrid tone invaded her thoughts.

      “And what’re you staring at?” he demanded.

      This was apparently directed toward the red-haired girl, who promptly rejoined with, “Me? What’re you staring at?”

      “I wasn’t staring at you!” Ryouga growled.

      “Yes, you were!” she shot back.

      “No, I wasn’t!”

      “Yes, you were!”

      “Was not!”

      “Was too!”

      Several pairs of eyes swiveled back and forth during this heated exchange, confused and clueless as to just what had sparked it, and totally at a loss as to how they should diffuse it.

      “Was not, you half-girl!” shouted Ryouga. As soon as the insult left his mouth he realized that somehow he’d developed an insult-reflex, one specialized in Ranma-barbs.

      A vein pulsed dangerously at the girl’s temple, signaling to everyone that she had heard quite enough. “Was too—PIG-BOY!” she yelled.

      Ryouga rocked back on his heels as if he’d been slapped.

      The girl smirked a little, enjoying his expression. Priceless.

      Their audience, however, seemed to overlook that little hint she’d so graciously dropped in their midst—except for Ranma and Akari, who looked just as confounded as Ryouga.

      “Don’t...call...me...that,” snarled Ryouga through gritted teeth. His entire frame was taut with barely restrained fury.

      His red-haired adversary flickered her gaze over him, still smirking. “Served you right,” she retorted. There was a slam as she plunked her palms flat on the table and leaned over so that she could level her gaze with his. “You stared at me first.”

      Ryouga mimicked her action, slamming his own hands down on the table, drawing his face closer until his nose almost grazed hers. “What’s your problem, anyway?”

      “You are.” Her sapphire eyes sparkled fiercely.

      “Good,” he snapped, his emerald eyes just as malignant. “We’re even, then.”

      There was a stupefied expression on Ukyou’s face, while on the other side of the table Ranma remained mute, a small grimace twisting his mouth.

      For the space of half a minute, there was a gelid silence.

      Mousse coughed loudly, and they both oscillated their heads toward him. “Much as I hate to interrupt this touching moment,” he said gravely, “I’m still in the dark as to where exactly you—” He gestured toward the girl. “—came from.”

      The two of them grudgingly settled back onto their seats.

      Akane frowned. If anything, this little spat only strengthened her convictions. Ryouga’s attitude toward the girl was nearly identical to the way he acted toward Ranma, which was nothing new. Normally, Ryouga was detached enough when it came to girls who were merely his acquaintances, but this girl, at least to him, was nothing more than a female Ranma-clone.

      The girl, however, was another story. While Ranma maintained a relatively healthy rivalry with Ryouga, it was mostly harmless, with only a few instances where it ventured into ominous territory. The girl’s hostile disposition toward the lost boy, on the other hand, seemed more deep-rooted than that. There appeared to be an underlying anger inside her—one that was directed toward Ryouga—that baffled Akane. Was it perhaps because she was still mad about what the bathroom incident? Akane wondered. It seemed nearly trivial now. Akane herself had experienced nearly the same situation with Ranma, and it didn’t bother her now as much as she’d once thought.

      Their red-haired visitor shared one last scowl with Ryouga before resuming her meal and shifting her attention toward the long-haired Chinese boy. “Fine. Ask away.”

      Mousse bent forward. “This...place you came from,” he ventured. “Were you able to see, even a little, how it looked like?”

      She polished off the first piece of mochi, then started on the second one. “I’m not sure, really. I toldja, it was night.” She stuck her thumb briefly into her mouth, sucking away at the last of the crumbs. “Wait a sec—yeah, I remember these weird blue-green lights all over. And water. Definitely water. ’Fact, I climbed out of it.”

      “You climbed out of water?” echoed Mousse.

      “Yup,” she confirmed. “That’s the first thing I remember. What happened before that’s all a blur to me. I climbed out and scraped together some leaves for clothes ’cause it was freezing cold. I decided to drop by here for a bit and maybe steal a peaceful bath—or at least I hoped.” Here she speared Ryouga yet another unfriendly look, one which he was only too eager to return.

      Shampoo, who had been quiet up to now, spoke up eagerly. “That place you come from—could place be Cave of Yasakami?”

      The redhead took a bite of mochi, twisted around to face the purple-haired Amazon, swallowed, and assumed a thoughtful look. “Maybe,” she conceded, returning to her dessert. “Can’t be sure. It musta been way up in those mountains near Nerima, though. It took us a hell of a time getting here.”

      Ranma nearly choked on his snack. “ ‘Us’?”

      “Uh-huh.” The girl nodded carelessly. “I had some companions. Actually, they’re sitting outside watching me eat right now.”

      Without another word, they all swiveled around toward the ajar shoji doors. Outside on the patio, emerging into the group’s line of sight, were the familiar forms of a giant panda, a plump white duck, a lavender-colored cat, and a little black piglet.

      For about the second time that day, the contingent was struck speechless.

      In the end, it was Shampoo who summed it all up in one word.

      “Ai-yah,” she said softly.

* * * * * *

      “Oh, how adorable!” Kasumi exclaimed.

      She giggled as the Shampoo-cat hopped on its hind legs and clawed at the ball of yarn that she suspended above it. Behind them, Shampoo watched in awe, while Ukyou and Nabiki’s eyes were fixed on the Genma-panda as it wolfed down green after green on its bowl.

      “Incredible,” Soun commented. He let out a chuckle. “He even eats like you, Saotome.”

      “Tendo, old friend, you are sadly mistaken,” remarked Genma. With that, he went back to stuffing mochi into his mouth at a pace that matched the panda’s.

      Meanwhile, Mousse and his former alter ego—the duck—continued to regard each other in wonder, with the duck squatting on his knee and Mousse adjusting his glasses at regular intervals to make certain that his poor vision wasn’t playing tricks again. The spell was shattered at last as Cologne poked experimentally at the duck’s feathery rear, causing it to explode into a series of indignant quacks.

      At the other side of the table, Ranma was still marveling at his the sight of his female counterpart sitting across from him, licking daintily at her fingers as she finished off her mochi.

      And as for Akane...

      “Ryouga!” Akane called out happily. “Over here! I want you to meet someone!”

      The lost boy turned slightly dazed eyes toward her, his features frozen in a combination of fear and exhilaration. “Y-y-yes, Akane?”

      Beside him, Akari pursed her lips in discontent.

      The next thing Ryouga knew, he was nearly smacked in the face by the little squirming mass that Akane had lifted up for his inspection. “I don’t think you two’ve been formally introduced,” she explained. “Ryouga, meet P-Chan. P-Chan, this is Ryouga. And you’ve met Akari, right?”

      “I believe so, yes,” Akari replied politely, with a pointed glance at Ryouga.

      Akane snuggled the piglet back to her chest, laughing delightedly. The animal let out a bwee, and she began to coo at it. “Mommy hasn’t seen her pwecious widdle P-Chan in a long time now—where were you?” Then she stopped. “That’s funny. I could’ve sworn you had a little yellow bow around your neck...you must’ve lost it, you poor thing...”

      Ryouga sneaked a frantic glimpse over in Ranma’s direction, but he seemed to be in the middle of an animated conversation with his female self.

      “Oh, look at that! I think he likes you,” squealed Akane.

      The lost boy glanced down at the little black piglet that had mysteriously appeared on his lap. He stared, and it stared back at him, its tiny black eyes dancing with hidden mirth. It was quite the peculiar feeling to be looking at oneself, Ryouga thought. Now he knew how Ranma must have felt the moment he laid eyes on ‘Onna-Ranma’.

      “No, I—I think it’s scared of me,” Ryouga declared, quickly scooping up the piglet and handing it back to Akane. Come to think of it, Ryouga realized with some irony, he was the one acting scared of it. “See, I don’t really like pi—”

      “Aaarrrgghh! No! I don’t wanna touch it!”

      The trio whipped around to the sound of Ranma screaming.

      “Oh, come on, Ranma,” Nabiki said reasonably. “It’s just a little kitty-cat.”

      Akane rolled her eyes. “What a baby,” she murmured as she got up and marched over toward Ranma.

      “That right, Ranma,” Shampoo was saying. “It no hurt you.”

      “That’s what you think! Aaahhhh! Get it away from me!”

      “But she really seems to like you, Ranchan!” Ukyou protested.

      “I don’t care! I don’t want it near me! Gaahh!”

      To the onlookers’ shock, it was ‘Onna-Ranma’ who came to her male counterpart’s rescue. “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she muttered, reaching over and gathering the confused-looking cat in her arms. “She just wants to be friends, Ranma.”

      Ranma clutched at his neck, his eyes goggling. “You—you don’t have any phobia of cats?”

      The red-haired girl scratched at the back of the animal’s ears. “Of course,” she said evenly. “I’m not you, remember?”

      This caught Ranma, Ukyou, Nabiki, and Shampoo off-guard. Akane felt little, if any, surprise.

      “O-of course not.” Ranma rubbed the back of his neck, appropriately chastised. “I knew that.”

      “We’ll have to get a name for you, sugar,” Ukyou told her staunchly.

      “Otherwise, dear, we’ll keep referring to you as ‘Ranma’,” Nabiki informed her.

      The girl frowned.

      Akane tapped her chin reflectively. “Let’s see...how’s Megumi sound to you?”

      The redhead considered a bit. “Megumi...hmmm. Where did you get that name?”

      “Honestly?” The youngest Tendo daughter crinkled her brow. “I don’t remember. It just popped into my head. Think I heard it on TV or something...”

      “Megumi. You know, the pop singer?” Nabiki offered.

      The girl wrinkled her nose. “Uhh...in that case, no thanks.”

      Shampoo bounced up and down enthusiastically, clapping her hands. “Shampoo know! Shampoo have lots of names!”

      “Oh, no, you don’t, sugar,” stated Ukyou, her tone flat. She swiveled back toward the other girl, shaking her head. “Coming from someone named after a bath product, I don’t think you’d even want to hear her suggestions—”

      Shampoo huffed. “For Spatula-Girl’s information,” she declared haughtily, “Shampoo not Shampoo’s real name. It come from translation of Shampoo’s Chinese name, Xiam Pu. It only sound like Shampoo named after bath product, but Shampoo—”

      “All right, all right, I get your point,” grumbled Ukyou. “But still, I think you’re gonna name her something totally dumb like ‘Deodorant’ or ‘Hairspray’...”

      “What wrong with Deodorant and Hairspray?” Shampoo demanded. “They two great Chinese Amazon warriors! They kill—”

      “—everyone and everything,” Ukyou finished, sarcastically twirling her index finger in the air. “I know, I know. Big whoop. Ai-yah and all that.”

      Shampoo was positively riled up now. “That it! You make fun of Shampoo and great Chinese Amazon tribe! We fight now, yes? Shampoo want to beat up Girl Who Looks Like Boy!”

      “What did you call me?” The young okonomiyaki chef leaped to her feet.

      “You Girl Who Looks Like Boy! You no have Ranma, so you go with Boys Who Look Like Girls!”

      “Hey! Now that was a low blow there, sugar!” yelled Ukyou. “And for your information, I do not ‘go’ with Konatsu or Tsubasa! They’re just not right...in the head!”

      “Ai-yah! So that explain you!”

      “Why, you Chinese bimbo—!”

      Nabiki sighed as the two girls commenced a round of swiping and ducking. “And to think, all this over a name. Oh, well. At least things are back to some kind of normal around here.”

      “We still haven’t found you a name,” Akane remarked to the red-haired girl.

      “That’s okay.” She shrugged, stroking Neko-Shampoo’s velvety pink fur. “It’s no big deal, really. I’ll just have to stick with being ‘the red-haired girl’ or ‘the redhead’. But I swear, if any of you start calling me ‘pig-tailed goddess’—”

      Ranma snapped his fingers, being careful not to get too close to the loudly purring cat in his female counterpart’s arms. “Hey, I got it!” he exclaimed. “What ’bout ‘Ranko’?”

      The girl graced him with a soft half-smile, complete with one elegant raised eyebrow. “Not being original there, are you, Ranma?”

      He reddened guiltily. “Well...” he faltered. “I was just thinkin’, you know—it’d be easier for you if you went by ‘Ranko’ ’cause then you could be like an honorary Tendo and—”

    “ ‘Ranko’, huh?” The redhead interrupted his rambling and tipped her head to the side, a pensive expression on her delicate features. “Well, it’s not the worst name I’ve heard. Better than Deodorant or Hairspray, I guess.” She flashed Ranma and Akane a radiant grin. “Okay. Until I decide that I want to be named for some idol singer or voice actress or something, for better or for worse, it’s Ranko. Nice to meet you.”

      Akane giggled a little. “Akane Tendo. Hi.”

      “Ranma Saotome. Nice to meet you, too.” Ranma couldn’t help smiling back at her. It was certainly peculiar to be looking at his now fully separate female half across from him—something he was going to get accustomed to, he admitted to himself. Still, he had coaxed a smile from her. That was a start, wasn’t it?

      Behind him, Ukyou and Shampoo smashed chairs on each others’ heads.

* * * * * *

      By this time Cologne had completed her abuse of the poor duck, and she, along with Ryouga, Akari, and Mousse, were now eavesdropping on the conversation from the other side of the room.

      “Well, well, well.” Cologne’s voice was low. “Now that is rather interesting. The existence of separate dual bodies—this I did not expect.”

      At this, Ryouga and Mousse oscillated to gape at her. Akari took it upon herself to rescue a boisterous Muu-Muu Chan—a nickname coined by Akane in the tradition of P-Chan—from the old woman’s poking, pulling the frazzled animal into her lap.

      Cologne went on, obviously unaffected. “Of course, no one—not even the elders of my tribe—has really seen the results of the Cave of Yasakami. But still, it all makes perfect sense now...”

      “In what way?” ventured Mousse.

      “It is simple, really. The Magatama, which, as I mentioned, is the curved jewel that formed the Cave of Yasakami, symbolizes the individuality of opposites. Thus it is only sensible that the cave purges curses by separating the afflictions from the victims.”

      “Oh, I see. So that’s why Ryouga-sama and P-Chan are now in their own individual bodies,” Akari mused, absently smoothing down the duck’s mussed feathers. “The cave got rid of the dual-body curse by separating the original forms from the secondary ones while keeping the latter intact, right?”

      Ryouga shifted in his sitting position, and was fairly surprised to see that Neko-Shampoo had taken up residence on the spot behind him, having vacated the red-haired girl’s arms.

      “Precisely,” agreed Cologne. “It would be fairly easy for the cave to relieve one of a handicap, or bad luck, or a miserable fate. But relieving one of a whole different body is another thing entirely.”

      “Is that so,” mumbled Ryouga, who was peering clandestinely over at the piglet Akane was cuddling. Despite his best efforts to stifle it, he was appalled to feel a pinprick of envy toward his former alter ego.

      “Young man, that curse of yours came to you when you fell into a pool where a piglet had drowned many years ago,” Cologne reminded him. “Think about it. Whenever you transformed into ‘P-Chan’, you assumed the body of another living thing with its own traits and characteristics, and so forth. And now that cave has relieved you completely of that form, and now you exist separately. That’s certainly something to contemplate, isn’t it?”

      Mousse thought this over, then nodded in the direction of the red-haired stranger. “Does that have anything to do with the fact that the ‘female Ranma’ is so different from Ranma himself?”

      Cologne coiled her sleeves round her staff. “Perhaps, Mousse,” she responded, looking off toward the crowd on the other side of the room. “Perhaps.”

      Ryouga shook his head. As far as he was concerned, the world didn’t need another Ranma.

* * * * * *

      “So...Ranko.” Ranma brushed his fingers through his hair, more confident now that his female counterpart had sent the cat on its merry way. “There anythin’ more you know ’bout me that I need to know?”

      The red-haired girl only turned up the wattage on her smile a notch higher. “Oh, a lot of things,” she said, toying absently with her pigtail. There was an impish glitter in her teal-blue eyes. “Like, say...that secret you’ve been hiding from Akane...?”

      Akane’s head perked up immediately. “What secret?” she asked, properly intrigued.

      Ranma lunged quickly into their midst. “Ahhh...nothin’ important, Akane...really.” His countenance was going through an interesting spectrum of reds.

      His fiancée leveled him a sideways glimpse, and was pleased to see the uncharacteristic bashfulness in his demeanor. “Why, Ranma...you’ve been keeping secrets from me?”

      “Ahhh, no...no, not at all, Akane...heheheh...” The pig-tailed martial artist chuckled feebly. Then he twisted his head around to give a mock glare at the other girl. “That’s what I get for askin’ dumb questions,” he griped good-naturedly at her.

      Ranko lifted her shoulders. “Hey, you asked me, buddy. I delivered.”

      “Oh, yeah.” Ranma observed her carefully, scratching the back of his neck. “And boy, did you deliver. Big time.”

      Akane, for her part, couldn’t stop grinning. A secret that Ranma was hiding from her? Interesting...

      “We’ll have to talk later,” she told Ranko, giving her a mischievous wink.

      Her fiancé coughed awkwardly. “Uhm, I don’t think there’s any need for that. Lissen to me, Ranko. Don’t talk to Akane. She’ll just bore ya to death or else feed you that stuff she calls foo—*ack*”

      Akane removed her elbow from Ranma’s ribcage. “Pay no attention to him,” she informed the other girl. “He’s just scared that I’ll find out his secret.”

      Ranko grinned as Ranma made a noise that was a cross between a snort and a sneeze. “Ahem. Don’t mind her, Ranko,” he told her, ostentatiously feigning nonchalance. “It ain’t like I care if she does find out ’bout that dumb secret. And anyway, ya ain’t interested in her life story anyway.” He pointedly ignored the scowl Akane speared him with, instead inclining toward Ranko in a conspiratorial manner. “But I do wanna know ’bout you.”

      She stared at him while Akane tried to overhear scraps of their conversation. “Me?”

      “Yeah.” Ranma grinned at her—that tooth-twinkling, we-have-a-secret grin of his that had never failed to net him points from Kodachi, Shampoo, and Ukyou. “I mean, what’s the stuff you like? Stuff you don’t like? I mean, I know that we’ve been sharin’ the same body for a while and stuff, but...” He indicated her with his index finger, then pointed to his own face. “You’re not me. An’ I ain’t you.” A tinge of discomfort filtered into his blue eyes.

      Ranko swung her pigtail over her shoulder. “And...?”

      “I just...wanna know who you are, I guess.” His grin returned, though reluctantly. “I mean, who you really are.”

      Her mouth curved in a coquettish manner. “Yeah, well—”

      Whatever Ranko was going to say was rendered insignificant with the intrusion of a strangely familiar humming noise drifting in from the backyard of the Tendo dojo.

      The sound seemed to be emitting from the transparent figure above the Koi pond.

* * * * *

      As if propelled by the same underlying urgency, they all rose as one—Soun, Genma, Kasumi, Nabiki, Ranko, Ranma, Akane, Ukyou, Mousse, Shampoo, Ryouga, Cologne, even P-Chan, Neko-Shampoo, and Mousse-Duck—and filed through the shoji doors. One by one, they sprinted out into the back yard, approaching the ghostly intruder with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

      It was a woman, at least in the vaguest sense of the word—a woman with blank eyes, silvery skin, and long blue-green hair that cascaded past her waist and dissolved into a shimmering mass just above the water of the pond.

      She was floating, her hands clasped prayerfully together and robes flowing about her like a nimbus. An ethereal, threadlike aura streamed from her entire being, causing a good portion of the Nerima night sky to turn into an eerie green-blue color.

      When she rose higher out of the pond, it was all they could do to keep from gasping in dismay.

      Her lower body was nonexistent; in its place was a sinuous, serpentine thing rippling with millions of what looked like green-tinted fingernails.

      She had the tail of a dragon.

      It was an observation the assemblage below did not particularly enjoy noting.

      “Who are you?” roared the boy in front, he of the pigtail and the Chinese shirt. “Whaddaya want?”

      The apparition’s eyes alighted upon him, and he struggled to keep from drawing back in the face of that pallid, pupil-less gaze.

      “I mean you no harm.”

      Her voice was a study of contradictions: soft yet resounding, calm yet tempestuous—qualities reminiscent of those disembodied whispers that had plagued the most recent dreams of the previously Jusenkyo-cursed. It was another observation the onlookers did not enjoy noting either.

      “Oh, yeah?” challenged the longhaired youth in the white robes and enormous spectacles, patently nonplussed by her seeming quietude. “That’s rather hard to believe, especially since you’re obviously one of them.” He indicated her dragon’s tail with a flutter of his sleeves.

      She did not take offense at the cynical reply. “I am on no one’s side—not humankind’s, not the Dynasty’s. I cannot hold preference on either, nor can I interfere in either one’s affairs. It is both my blessing and my curse as Tenkei.”

      “Tenkei...” mumbled the pretty girl with the pink-streaked hair, mentally translating the name while the boy in the patterned bandanna regarded her quizzically. “That’s...‘warning from heaven’...”

      A ghost-smile tweaked her colorless mouth. “Fitting, is it not? I have been called that for so long that I have all but forgotten the meaning. Nevertheless, I do not go by any name, and yet I have always been referred to as Tenkei, the oracle of the Dynasty of the Dragon.”

      At this, the gathering below traded portentous looks, and the boy in red elected to speak up for all of them. “So...if you ain’t here to harm us, then what are you here for, anyway?”

      “I am here to deliver a message.”

      “A message?” echoed the girl in the bob-cut, somewhat uneasily. “You mean, from the Dynasty?”

      “In a manner of speaking.” Tenkei fixed her vacant gaze on the speaker and bent toward her, as if detecting some abstruse singularity she had not seen before. “And you, child...you are...”

      The shorthaired girl took an involuntary step back, clearly disconcerted by the phantom’s attention. To her left, the boy with the bandanna tensed, ready to shield her if need be, but it was the boy with the pigtail who sprang in front of her, as though spurred on by some protective intuition.

      “Whaddaya think you’re doin’, lady?” he snapped.

      To his annoyance, she didn’t appear to hear him; in fact, she fundamentally ignored his presence, instead concentrating on the girl behind him. Then she swept her scrutiny over the others as if contemplating them for the first time, finally coming to a stop as she rested her gaze upon the spatula-carrying girl at the far end.

      “There. It has begun,” she mumbled in bemusement, her tone one of someone who had just unearthed the answer to some crucial puzzle. Her next statement came out so low that those below had to strain their ears to hear her. “At last.”

      “Yo, lady—you talkin’ to us or yourself?” piped up the boy with the pigtail, exasperation flickering across his countenance. “What’s begun?”

      Tenkei swiveled her head, her gossamer hair cutting a frothy wake on the surface of the Koi pond. “This is far beyond coincidence now,” she said, more to herself than him. “The pieces have begun to fall into place. Just as the Prophecy decreed.”

      “Huh? What ‘Prophecy’? Will ya quit talkin’ in riddles already?”

      The diminutive old woman clipped the pigtailed boy’s knee with the twisted end of her walking stick. “I assume, son-in-law, that she is referring to the prophecy I warned you about—the rebirth of the Shoryuu Dynasty.”

      “Yes,” the apparition confirmed. “As it is, that time draws nearer as we speak. Thus the message I must bequeath to you is this: before this prediction will come to pass, there will be a sequence of occurrences, each of which will help pave the way for the Shoryuu reemergence. One of these signs is your discovery of the Cave of Yasakami, a place that has remained hidden for centuries, and the subsequent use of its water to cure the dual-body curses. In doing so, you have not only purged your alternate forms, but you have also put yourselves at risk for obtaining the Yasakami curse.”

      An aura of dread promptly settled on the assemblage, former Jusenkyoites and non-Jusenkyoites alike.

      As if in anticipation of the plethora of questions swirling about in their minds, Tenkei elucidated. “If the Yasakami curse does take root in any of you, then the Dynasty is one step closer to its repossession of humankind. With this curse in effect, a bond will be established between the victim and the Dynasty, entwining their destinies together regardless of whether either side approves or not.”

      “And what’s that supposed to mean?” demanded the girl with the spatula strapped to her back.

      The oracle examined her carefully, tilting her blue-green crown to the side in a supercilious fashion as she did so. “That means that if the curse manifests in a human, then the Dynasty has reason to fear him.”

      “Why’s that?” pressed the girl.

      The expression that the dragon-woman graced her with was strangely mild in nature. “Because, child, the Yasakami has identified that human as Chosen-Born.”

      “Chosen-what?” the boy in the bandanna exclaimed.

      “Chosen-Born,” echoed Tenkei, schooling her features back to their usual stoniness. “Destined to battle the Dynasty on behalf of all humankind.”

      Far in the back the two middle-aged men fell on their faces with a resounding crash, while a conglomeration of varying emotions paraded through the teens’ countenances: shock, confusion, and most of all stark, overwhelming disbelief.

      She did not blame them: mortals were so accustomed to viewing the world in their own petty, limited scopes that they had lost the ability to grasp the complexity of the greater scheme, the interweaving of all things, animate and inanimate, palpable and intangible.

      And perhaps, speculated Tenkei, that was partly the reason humans, for all their talk of knowledge and sophistication, had been relegated to earth.

      “I do not expect you to comprehend all this,” she went on. “Not while you all are not fully aware of magnitude of your predicament, and not while you still do not understand the true power of the Dynasty. But make no mistake: we now stand on the verge of an epic war—a war that will surpass that first clash between human and god. It is a war that may result in a future similar to a past where mankind lay decaying underneath the Dynasty’s suffocating heel. Some centuries ago, a handful of humans—ones with dual forms—were able to vanquish the Shoryuu half-gods, at least temporarily. Now, as the fruits of their labor start to unravel and the Dynasty prepares to reclaim their sovereignty, the only hope now for humankind is the Prophecy, which was made in the wake of their defeat and exile. This prediction dictates that, when the time is ripe, there will rise a new Chosen-Born, one with the power to put an end to the Dynasty—once and for all.” The sudden stillness that had descended upon the attendance was broken by a series of splashing noises as the snakelike tail coiled and uncoiled within the pond. “And the Chosen-Born shall bear the curse of the Yasakami upon him.”

      A brief exodus ensued, which was broken by the girl in the pageboy haircut. “So...let me get this straight,” she intoned calmly. “Let’s just say that someone does get the curse of Yasakami. How can we tell for sure if that’s the person who’s destined to take down the Dynasty?”

      “You cannot,” admitted the phantasm. “The Prophecy says all that needs to be known, and nothing more. But take heed: the curse of Yasakami is a two-edged sword. For each side it grants both advantages and disadvantages. By acquiring this curse, not only does the victim become a threat to the Dynasty just by having the potential to destroy it, but in the process he bargains his soul to them as well.”

      The pigtailed boy’s eyes widened in sudden realization. “Just like what they did to the other Jusenkyo-cursed,” he whispered. “They sucked out their souls, locked ’em in those damned tama-tebakos...”

      He wasn’t able to finish, not under the restraining glare the oracle lobbed at him. “Fortunately for anyone under the Yasakami curse,” she continued brusquely, “their souls will not be taken away as abruptly. Rather, the soul is siphoned out slowly, over a course of many days, until the very essence of it is but a memory, and there is nothing left of that person but a cold empty shell. It is in that manner that his soul will belong to the Dynasty.”

      “Belong to the Dynasty?” the spectacled boy croaked.

      “You mean...” the purple-haired girl began, horrified.

      “I am afraid so.” The response came out brutally straightforward. “Once the entire soul is leached out, the Dynasty lays claim to it. At any rate, the body cannot live without the soul, and the victim will die.”

      Discouraging as those words were, the pigtailed boy didn’t seem to be particularly devastated; instead he clung tenaciously to whatever scrap of hope the phantasm could provide them. “And what about the cure?” he wanted to know. “I mean, for every curse there’s gotta be a cure...uh, there is a cure for this, right? Right?”

      For some reason, the apparition seemed faintly amused by the undercurrent of desperation in his question. “There is a cure.”

      A palpable sense of relief coursed through the assemblage. The only exception to this was the boy in the bandanna, who eyed the ghostly form askance.

      “What is the cure?” he asked succinctly.

      The phantom assayed him for a moment, her gaze one of vague condescending. “It is quite simple, really.” She uncurled the fingers of her right hand, the movement sinuous and graceful. “You must retrieve the Yasakami-no-Magatama.”

      This revelation produced an incredulous snort from the old woman. “The Jewel of Yasakami? But that is ridiculous; in order to retrieve one of the three imperial treasures of Japan, one must go—”

      “—to Takamagahara, yes,” the woman finished for her. “Only in Heaven will you find the true jewel—and the Shoryuu Dynasty.”

      A smattering of distressed murmurs followed her pronouncement, and the oracle lifted a pale hand to silence her distraught audience.

      “However, there is still a possibility that none of you will acquire the curse. Although the alternate forms have already been fully separated, that is simply a side effect of the water, not the actual curse itself. If the Yasakami curse fails to affect any one of you, then you are all free.”

      “So...if Yasakami curse not work on any of us, then Dynasty leave us alone, yes?” ventured the purple-haired girl.

      “Yes. There is nothing further they will want with you, especially since they cannot take advantage of your cured states.”

      The girl hesitated, then plunged on with, “But...but how we know if we under curse or not?”

      This time Tenkei’s smile was full-fledged—pale crescent lips drawn tight across milky triangular teeth. The resulting facial cast was both bewitching and disturbing. “You know where the word ‘Yasakami’ comes from, do you not?”

      “It’s the name of that jewel, right?” stammered the rotund middle-aged man with the head kerchief and glasses. “The one you mentioned earlier...”

      “That’s right, Saotome!” blabbered the longhaired, mustachioed man beside him. “Like she said...the Yasakami-no-Magatama.”

      “Precisely.” The oracle nodded in insouciant approval. “The Tailed Jewel of Yasakami. That is all you have to remember. That, and the fact that the temporary reprieve the Dynasty has afforded mankind is nearly at an end.”

      Ranma knitted his eyebrows together. “At an end...?” he repeated.

      “In other words, upperworlder...” There was a twitch at the corner of her bloodless lips. “...your three thousand years are up. And when it is all over, it will be seen whether you can destroy the Shoryuu Dynasty...before it destroys you.”

      No sooner had the words escaped her mouth the end of her tail began to shimmer, then fade. That was when it occurred to the audience that the oracle had said all that she had been sent to say, and there would be no further elaboration.

      “Hold it!”

      Whether it was because of the sheer authority in those words or the fact that this particular voice had not spoken before, the oracle’s attention was snared. The source turned out to be the redheaded girl with the pigtail, whose petite form had been concealed behind the boy with the bandanna. At the moment she was elbowing her way past him, effectively planting herself in front of the crowd.

      “We’re not through here yet,” she gritted out. “Not while you’re leaving us with more questions than answers. If one of us does get the curse, then how’s he supposed to get to Takamagahara? It’s not like there’s a map around that can show us how to reach this ‘Heaven’, or whatever the hell you call it. And if we do somehow by some miracle reach it, how are we supposed to take the jewel from the Dynasty? They’re not gonna trade it to us for a ramen and okonomiyaki platter, that’s for sure. And what’s up with their obsession with taking souls? You gonna explain that or what? Just a hunch, lady, but I don’t think you’re telling us everything, and frankly I’m starting to wonder just how much you know about all this.”

      Her speech was rattled off in rapid-fire mode, and as she stopped to take a breath, the oracle assessed her. With her chin raised high, her eyes sparkling in proud defiance, her strawberry hair almost black in the blue-green luminescence, the little redhead made an impressive sight.

      But instead of offering her some sort of riposte, Tenkei simply glided over toward the girl, positioning her near-transparent upper torso squarely in front of her.

      For her part, the redhead didn’t even as flinch as she felt the apparition’s deathly cold breath upon her skin. Flanking her protectively was the pigtailed boy, his fists clenched and his frame taut: her would-be white knight.

      Tenkei evoked another of her enigmatic little smiles. “How strange,” she remarked to the girl, slowly and deliberately, all the while totally disregarding the pigtailed boy at her side. “I was just wondering the same thing about you.”

      And to the spectators’ bewilderment, she stretched out a wispy finger and stroked the redhead’s cheek. The girl barely smothered a gasp as she recoiled, but it simply skimmed past her face, instigating within her the unsettling sensation of icy butterfly wings beating against her skin.

      A millisecond later the pigtailed boy was lunging forward, presumably to bat the offending hand away from the girl.

      He wasn’t fast enough.

      There was a sharp crackling sound, like that of flames licking at the edge of an inferno, and before anyone could react, a dazzling explosion of blue-green filled their visions.

      By the time the onlookers had finished blinking the glare spots out of their eyes, the back yard was dark once more, and there was no one hovering above the koi pond.     

* * * * * *

      “Are you okay?”

      “Yeah.” Ranko scrubbed at her cheek, wincing as she recalled the chill of the woman’s touch.

      “Are you sure you’re okay?” Ranma asked again, and Ranko heaved a patient sigh, which was echoed by Akane, who was sitting across from her.

      He had been peppering her with the same query over and over ever since the group had retreated back indoors. For the moment at least, a period of relative tranquility had fallen over them as they sat in the main room mulling over the significance of the Shoryuu oracle’s ambiguous missives.

      Genma’s panda counterpart was visible through the partially opened doors, lounging outside near the Koi pond with Neko-Shampoo curled up on his furry rump. Muu-Muu Chan was perched on the fence, his white feathery head tilted to the side as he watched the sleeping cat. Soun and Genma sat near the porch, for once forsaking their customary round of Shogi—not that it was any big mystery; with the weight of Tenkei’s words looming over their minds, there was no way they could concentrate on the game. Nabiki stood off to the side, elbow propped up on the phone console, sipping a glass of water. Cologne had isolated herself in one corner of the room, eyes closed as she mulled over this newest transpiration of events. Kasumi was in the kitchen tidying up, and Akari was out in the front hall using the phone to check on her grandfather and Katsunishiki. Shampoo, Mousse, Ukyou, and Ryouga were gathered in the middle, forming a semi-ring around Ranma, Ranko, and Akane, who cradled P-Chan in her lap. The entire room was unnaturally silent, almost serene.

      Subconsciously they all knew that the serenity was an illusion.

      It was also a serenity that was screaming for a disruption, and Ranko was prepared to provide one if Ranma didn’t stop badgering her with his incessant demands on her condition. Still, she couldn’t blame him for being worried. After all, the disinterested, almost dispassionate manner in which the so-called oracle had bequeathed the message to them had left a rather adverse impression on Ranko as well.

      “I’m fine, Ranma.” She permitted herself a small smile, attempting to placate him. “Her hand went right through my face. Like a ghost. I don’t think she poisoned me or anything.”

      “Uh-huh.” The pigtailed youth studied the girl beside him. His opinion of Tenkei wasn’t any more favorable than that of the others’, but what he could not shake off was the feeling that, as maddeningly cryptic and evasive as the dragon-woman had been in her narration, the warnings she had dispersed to them were not to be taken lightly. Simply brushing them off would be a rash—not to mention implicitly deadly—decision. “She sure seemed fixated on you for some reason, though,” he persisted.

      The girl lifted her slim shoulders in a simulation of indifference. “Maybe she was just trying to unnerve me or something, you know, for mouthing off to her and all.”

      He was not entirely convinced. “But she—”

      “Really, Ranma.” Akane shook her head, a tad annoyed at his obstinate and seemingly pointless interrogation of the other girl. “Leave her alone already. She just happened to be the nearest one to Tenkei, and I’m sure she would’ve done the same thing to any of us if we were in her place.”

      Ranma abandoned his intent scrutiny of the pigtailed girl, instead focusing his gray-blue gaze on her. “She was kinda surprised by you, too,” he murmured slowly, as if the notion had just crossed his brain.

      “Huh?”

      “Are you saying you didn’t notice the way she treated you, little sister?” Nabiki queried round the rim of her glass.

      Akane gaped at her, then Ranma. She remembered the oracle being inexplicably focusing on her, sure, but she didn’t think of it as anything relevant. Instead, all she could recall was Ranma jumping between her and Tenkei, an almost—dare she think it—possessive gesture...

      “Well...” she hedged.

      “Yes, that oracle did seem to be rather affected, didn’t she?” said Soun, stroking his moustache in rumination. “Hunh...I wonder why she seemed so taken aback by my little girl.”

      As usual, Ranma showed no qualms about jamming the axiomatic foot into his mouth. “Heh...maybe she just got all nauseated from her sheer lack of cuteness—”

      The mallet manifested itself out of Hammerspace and administered its brand of justice upon its usual pigtailed victim.

      *WHAM*

      “Care to repeat that, Ranma?” growled Akane, her manner one of false calm. From the confines of her lap, P-Chan bukeed, garroting her erring fiancé with its most resentful glare.

      Ranko tilted to the side to inspect the quivering, pummeled form of her male counterpart, a kind of amused sympathy tingeing her features. “You’re never going to learn, are you, Ranma-sama?” she teased, ruffling his mashed hair.

      Ranma’s eyelids emitted a “piku-puku” sound as he gawked at her, while around them the inevitable storm of protestations rose up.

      “Crazy violent girl! You no hit Shampoo’s airen like that!”

      “Saotome, how dare you make Shampoo angry!”

      “You had better apologize to my little girl right now, Ranma!”

      “How could you address your own fiancée like that? I thought I raised you better than that, boy!”

      “Ranchan! Are you all right, Ranchan? Ohmigosh, I think she left a dent in his skull this time!”

      “A dent in his skull? What’re you talking about? He’s fine! He always looks like that when I hit him! C’mon, Ranma, tell ’em!”

      “Urk...no way...now I’m seein’ six fiancées...”

      Ryouga watched the fracas unfolding before him, for once not feeling obligated to join in despite the fact that Ranma had insulted Akane yet again in his presence—normally a major incentive for the lost boy to inflict some punishment upon his rival, usually in the form of physical pain.

      Days spent in solitary travel had sharpened Ryouga’s intuition, rendering him quite capable of pinpointing otherwise mundane details with a keenness that would no doubt have surprised his Neriman acquaintances. It was probably because of this that he found his brain relentlessly replaying snippets from the earlier conversation between Ranma and Akane, and in doing so, he found his gaze straying toward his beloved.

      Akane...what could that dragon-woman have seen when she looked at you?

      He leaned back, inspecting her as she disputed with her baka of a fiancé. For once, Ranma hadn’t been exaggerating about Tenkei’s behavior; Ryouga himself had been standing close enough to Akane to witness the barely camouflaged curiosity blooming on the oracle’s translucent features when she’d beheld the shorthaired girl. There must have been something in the youngest Tendo sister that had intrigued Tenkei so—something other than her beauty, or her kindness, or her...

      Then again, that hadn’t been admiration on the oracle’s face. It hadn’t been rapture either, for that matter, or licentiousness. Her look hadn’t been one of propriety, or even of scant surprise. No, Tenkei’s interest had been more complex—and more inscrutable—than that.

      It had been one of a young child struggling to decipher an unfamiliar character in the katakana. Or a puzzle dilettante poring over an enigma. Or a mother rediscovering a favorite daughter.

      Which, Ryouga concluded in exasperation, didn’t make any sense. At all.

      Tenkei’s interest should have been centered on the five former Jusenkyoites—him, Ranma, Shampoo, Mousse, and Genma—since they were now potential carriers of the dreaded Yasakami curse. And if that were so, she should have deemed the others beneath her attention. Instead, the dragon woman had barely spared the five of them a cursory glance, fixating solely on someone who hadn’t previously possessed a dual body and hadn’t even touched the Yasakami water.

      No, not solely...

      Ryouga’s mind did a mental turnaround. Akane hadn’t been the solitary recipient of the oracle’s attention; there had been someone else besides her and the Ranma-clone, he was sure of it...

      He raised his head and peered at the girl to his right.

      Tenkei seemed fascinated by her, too, didn’t she?

      True, the oracle had been less subtle in her interest in Akane and the Ranma-clone, but she had taken notice of her as well. He’d seen the way Tenkei had swept her eyes over the crowd, pausing only as she caught sight of the girl loitering at the fringe of the multitude.

      The oracle was being tolerant toward her, smiling at her like she knew a secret, while being aloof toward the rest of us, he mused, continuing to watch her as she gesticulated and yelled something at Shampoo. He couldn’t hear what she was saying—for him, the sounds of the entire altercation might as well have faded away into background static. I wonder why no one else noticed that...?

      Dimly he noted that the girl had swiveled toward him, her mouth working up and down as she said something. Being in the reflective state that he was, he simply tuned it out.

      Then again, maybe I was imagining things. After all, why would Tenkei be interested in—

      “Ryouga, you jackass, I said quit staring at me!”

      —a really loud okonomiyaki chef.

      At this point his nerve connections picked up the dull throbbing radiating out from somewhere near his cranium, and it was with a detached sort of surprise that he realized that there was a substantial coating of steel wrapped around his head.

      Check that: a really loud and violent okonomiyaki chef.

      His train of thoughts promptly chugged off the metaphysical cliff, and he peeled Ukyou’s oversized spatula off  his scalp. “Whuh-what the hell was that about?”

      She reclaimed her weapon, her expression a mix of irritation and discomfiture. “You tell me, sugar! What I’d like to know is why you were staring at me with that...that...weird dark look on your face!”

      He rubbed the sore spot, shooting a swift glance at the rest of the assemblage. Mousse had glomped onto a perturbed Soun, Shampoo was prying him off, Cologne was still meditating, Ranma was yelling at his father, and Akane and Nabiki were talking. No one appeared to be paying attention to him and Ukyou. “I was just thinking!” he retorted in response to the latter’s words.

      “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” the okonomiyaki chef remarked dryly, ignoring the scowl he pelted at her. “But that doesn’t explain why you were ogling me like that!”

      “I wasn’t ogling you!” A blush diffused through his complexion in spite of himself. “If you really want to know, I was wondering why that oracle woman seemed interested in you.”

      Ukyou looked at him as if he’d told her that Konatsu and Tsubasa had run away together to elope. “In me?”

      Even as she said it the idea began to lose whatever merit it had initially embodied. “Didn’t you see the way she was looking at you?”

      The brown-haired girl surveyed him, her countenance deadpan. “She was looking at all of us, sugar.”

      “But that was different! She looked at you the same way she looked at Akane and Ranma’s girl-half. I saw her.”

      “So? Big deal—for all I know, maybe she just hasn’t seen anyone carry around a battle-spatula before.” She gave her wrist a pococurante flick. “You must’ve been imagining things. Besides, don’t you think I would’ve noticed if she was looking at me funny?”

      Her incredulity wasn’t helping; already the last of his conviction was crumbling away. The matter seemed inconsequential to him all of a sudden. “I...guess,” he conceded reluctantly.

      “Well, there ya go.” Ukyou nodded, sensible as ever. “Really, Ryouga, next time you decide to creep me out with your staring, try to at least have a good reason for it, all right, hon?”

      Ryouga frowned. “What do you mean, creep you out with my staring?”

      “In all honesty, Ryouga...well, your stare’s kinda disturbing. Too intense, you know? Now if you had Ranchan’s eyes, that’d be a whole different story. No offense, sugar.”

      He didn’t see how he shouldn’t be taking offense at this—his eyes had been compared to his rival’s, and unfavorably so, at that. Ryouga was by no means vain, but this little putdown, however partial it had been, nagged at him. “Is that so,” he said flatly.

      “Mm-hm.” Ukyou’s own pupils grew starry as she started her transition into one of her Ranma-induced daydreams. “Ranchan’s got the most gorgeous eyes, don’t you think?”

      “Do you really expect me to answer that?” Ryouga mumbled, hoping that she’d pick up on the fact that he wanted to sulk instead of listen to her ramble on about Ranma Saotome’s pretty eyes.

      Ukyou summarily ignored him, gazing admiringly at the oblivious pigtailed youth at the other side of the room. “So clear and deep and blue...like an ocean I could drown in...” She giggled self-consciously. “Yeah, I know, that sounds incredibly corny, but it’s true.”

      “Why exactly are you telling me this?” blustered the lost boy.

      This brought her back to reality, and she patted his arm. “Oh, don’t worry, hon. Not everyone can have nice eyes.”

      He was more irritated now than insulted. Frankly, he didn’t see any use for such things, unless they could be used to pacify bears, wild boars, and cantankerous homeowners. “I don’t want nice eyes!”

      “Why not? Wouldn’t hurt. If you ask me, it’d be an improvement. Yours’re so dark and serious. If you had eyes like Ranchan’s, maybe Akane wouldn’t mind looking at you more often.”

      Ryouga instantly stopped fuming. This possibility was something he had not considered. “A...Ak...y-you really think so?”

      “You better believe it, buster. Who knows, maybe she’d put been off by your staring, like I was, and she was too polite to say so. Maybe that’s why you haven’t been able to score any points with her yet, ne?”

      The very notion of himself causing Akane unpleasantness, however indirect, was like a dagger scraping his chest. “I...I never—maybe you’re right...maybe if my eyes weren’t so damned repulsive...maybe if they were blue like Ranma’s instead of this accursed green—”

      He didn’t get to finish. Without warning, Ukyou clamped her palms on his cheeks and yanked him forward. His arms shot up, flapping wildly to keep himself from pitching face-first into her chest.

      His exclamation of protest died on his tongue as she peered critically at him, her face scarely an inch from his.

      “Ryouga,” she breathed, “you are a genius.”

      “Whuh-what?”

      She released him, but he remained canted toward her, too shocked to withdraw. “For a genius, you sure aren’t very articulate, though,” she added with a smirk. There was an expression of self-congratulatory delight shining on her visage, one Ryouga recognized easily.

      Ukyou Kuonji had hatched yet another break-up-Ranma-and-Akane plot.

      Ryouga re-marshaled his oral abilities. “But I thought you already had a plan—”

      “I did, but you just gave me an idea for the finishing touch!” She was practically bouncing on her seat. “Ryouga-hon, it’s perfect! This’s gonna be our best plan yet, you’ll see!”

      There was absolute certitude in her declaration, and her excitement proved contagious—so much so that he felt a new glint of hope for his eternally unrequited love. It was a sensation he hadn’t permitted himself to feel ever since after the aborted wedding.

      “Thanks to your brilliant input, not only are we gonna win the ones we love, but we actually get to practice!” bubbled Ukyou, hugging herself with barely contained delight.

      His grin wavered, then froze as her words sunk in. “Wait a minute...what do you mean, prac—”

      He trailed off as she cast him a warning glare. For the first time he awoke to the fact that the sounds of squabbling had subsided, and a collective gaze had locked onto him and Ukyou.

      “So...wanna share with us what you and Ucchan’re chattin’ about, Mister P?” quipped Ranma, obviously relieved at the reprieve from the wrath of his rivals and fiancées.

      Ryouga traded glances with Ukyou—hers carefully vacant, his confused—before he realized that he was still on his hands and knees in front of her, his gaze level with hers. He straightened up quickly, retreating back to his place and safely away from the young okonomiyaki chef. “Nothing,” he sputtered. “It’s nothing important.” Inwardly he wondered how much they had heard.

      Ranma held up his hands, a placating motion. “Yeesh. No need ta get all defensive, man. If you and Ucchan wanna whisper sweet nothings in each others’ ears, then don’t let me stop ya.”

      “That’s not what we were doing!” Ryouga and Ukyou screamed in near-perfect unison.

      “For two people who don’t like each other much, you certainly like to chat by yourselves,” remarked Mousse, surveying the two of them doubtfully.

      Ukyou seemed totally appalled by the insinuation. “For your information, Ryouga was just telling me some silly idea of his about that oracle lady checking me out.”

      The lost boy winced at her phrasing. “I didn’t say it like that—”

      “ ‘Checking you out’, huh?” echoed Nabiki, skimming the pad of her finger over the condensation decorating her glass. “And you took special notice of this, Ryouga?”

      “No—it’s not that!” He flushed uncontrollably. “She—I mean, Tenkei—was looking at Ukyou like—I don’t know—like she was trying to figure out something about her...”

      Shampoo slammed her fist into her palm, brightening. “Ai-yah! Shampoo know! Maybe oracle try figure out whether Spatula-Girl boy or girl!”

      “Excuse me, but did I ask for your opinion?” snapped Ukyou. “And who’re you to make guesses about what other people’re thinking? I mean, you’ve got more air between your ears than the Goodyear blimp!”

      “You one to talk about Goodyear blimp!” retorted Shampoo. “You no look in mirror lately, yes?”

      “Why, you...!”

      Ranma was still mulling over Ryouga’s revelation. “Naw, I don’t remember her lookin’ at Ucchan. Maybe all that pigslop’s makin’ you hallucinate, Ryouga.”

      “Why the hell would I eat pigslop?” roared the lost boy, acutely conscious of Akane’s proximity.

      “Funny. I could’ve sworn that was your favorite dish, ne?”

      “Ranmaaa—!”

      Genma cleared his throat. “Not to distract you from your arguing, but am I the only one here who’s worried about this whole Curse of Yasakami thing?”

      That put a stop to the four-way squabble, at least for the time being, and an aura of solemnity re-settled itself upon the group as their minds returned to the one subject they had all been reluctant to breach.

      Until now.

      “Well,” Mousee ventured timidly, “Tenkei did say that only the—what did she call it—”

      “Chosen-Born,” supplied Akane.

      “Right. Whoever’s destined to be the Chosen-Born gets the Yasakami curse. So if none of us turn out to be the Chosen-Born, then we won’t have to worry about getting the curse, right?”

      “That’s a big ‘if’, Duck-Boy,” Ranma pointed out, ever the agnostic.

      The Chinese Amazon youth tossed him an irate glimpse. “Look, I’m just trying to be optimistic here! We could be worrying over nothing! The only reason Tenkei showed up was because that Prophecy of hers said that the Chosen-Born would carry the Yasakami curse, and we just happened to fit the requirements!”

      “So, in short, you’re saying that the oracle’s coming here was just because she was obligated to do so, regardless of whether we have the curse or not...” A hopeful, hysterical look stole over Genma’s face. “Yes, yes, I like that theory! It makes sense...a lot of sense! Don’t you all agree? Eh? Eh?”

      Ranma rolled his eyes in disdain. “Pop, you only like that theory ’cause you’re afraid of gettin’ the curse!”

      Soun mopped up the perspiration from his temple. “Still, it does have some credibility,” he digressed. “Didn’t Cologne say that you five had a fifty percent chance of the curse passing you by entirely?”

      “That’s right. Thus you also have a fifty percent chance of acquiring it as well.”

      So saying, the aforementioned Chinese Amazon matriarch hopped into the center of the circle, having roused herself from her cogitation in the corner.

      “Great-grandmother?” queried Shampoo, as if knowing in advance what the old woman was about to say.

      “Curses are strange things,” theorized Cologne. “Most have instantaneous effects, like the Jusenkyo affliction. Bizarre as it may have been, it is a common one, and thus bound by laws, both in its nature and cure. The curse of Yasakami, I’m afraid, is much more complicated than that, simply because by getting it, you not only suffer its effects but also shoulder a fate you may not have the strength to face up to.”

      Akane bit her lip. “So you really believe what Tenkei told us? About the Chosen-Born and battling the Dynasty and all that?”

      “I cannot think of any reason she would lie.” The Elder leveled an austere gaze at her. “Can you?”

      “N-no, but...” The shorthaired girl made a frustrated motion. “She was going on about how this Chosen-Born with the Yasakami curse was going to become this great defender of mankind! I mean, that’s kind of...unbelievable, don’t you think?”

      “I have to agree with her there,” asserted Nabiki, setting down her beverage. “That is kind of stretching the borders of believability, even for you people.”

      Ukyou shrugged. “Okay, so it’s a bit far-out. So maybe she was exaggerating. But I think she was telling the truth about the curse.”

      “From what Shampoo understand, dragon-woman say that whoever get curse is Chosen-Born,” offered the Chinese Amazon girl. “If that true, then there only one who get curse...”

      “...and that would leave four of us without the curse!” finished Mousse, his tone one of awe.

      It took a half-second for the implication to sink into their heads, and when it did the chattering immediately ceased.

      Ranma piped up first. “So only one of us gets to be saddled with the Yasakami curse, eh?”

      “Uh-huh,” Ryouga confirmed in a monotone. “And that’d be the Chosen-Born.”

      “It’s really a one in five chance,” seconded Mousse, equally solemn.

      “Is not bad odds,” commented Shampoo, suddenly finding the toes of her shoes immensely interesting.

      “If you’re not the Chosen-Born, that is,” clarified Genma.

      “Yeah.”

      “I guess.”

      “Definitely.”

      “Shampoo live with that.”

      There was a pause as ominous looks were darted back and forth between the five candidates, as if each were expecting the other to have the words “Chosen-Born” tattooed over their faces in gaudy neon lights.

      “Soooo...anyone wanna bet who it’s gonna be?” Ranma chirped, his tone falsely blithe.

      “Now there’s a good idea...”

      “Nabiki!” Akane exclaimed.

      “Fine, fine. No bets.”

      Shampoo cocked her head archly to one side. “Whoever Chosen-Born, must be great fighter if bring down Dynasty, yes?”

      Mousse didn’t like the path her observation appeared to be heading down. “Shampoo, surely you aren’t implying that—”

      The girl pinned him with a steadfast glare. “That Ranma is Chosen-Born? Yes, is what Shampoo imply.”

      Ranma goggled. “Wha—? You think I’m gonna be the Chosen-Born?”

      “It make lot of sense,” contended Shampoo. “Airen best fighter, even beat Shampoo good. Airen strong enough to bring down Dynasty!”

      There was a twinkle of approval in her Cologne’s beady eyes as she considered her great-granddaughter’s hypothesis. “You have to admit, son-in-law, what she’s saying does have merit.”

      Akane ran her thumb nervously over P-Chan’s left ear, causing it to twitch. “You guys seriously can’t be thinking that—”

      “What else is there to think?” shrilled Soun. “Akane, you just can’t dispute the sheer logic of it!”

      “Indeed!” howled Genma. “Such an unforeseen development: imagine, my son, destined to defend all mankind from the Dynasty! Now where am I going to find someone to replace him as heir to the Saotome Anything-Goes Martial Arts—”

      *WHAM*

      His son removed his fist from his skull. “You’re just glad ’cause that’d mean you ain’t gonna get that damn curse! Look, I ain’t even got it, and I sure ain’t gonna be defendin’ mankind from the Dynasty or whatever! That’s ridiculous!”

      “But Ranchan,” argued Ukyou, “even if it is kinda ridiculous, don’t you think that maybe you oughta take it a little more seriously, especially if you might be the Chosen-Born?”

      Ranma crossed his arms, affecting an aggravated expression. “Why’s everyone so damned sure that it’s gonna be me?”

      Nabiki smirked knowingly. “Since when has everything not centered around you?”

      The pigtailed boy groped for any fault in her reasoning—and failed. He then turned appealingly toward Akane, who avoided his gaze. Disheartened, he scanned the rest of the assemblage before realizing that they had no answers for him either, and his shoulders slumped.

      But...but...why does it always have to be me?

      Part of him had already resigned himself to the possibility. Commingled with his sense of resignation were consternation and anxiety, and perhaps even an inkling of fear.

      But, if anything, Ranma Saotome was a born risk taker, and did not take kindly to sitting on the sidelines. Even as he recognized the danger and acknowledged the futility of defying a monarchy composed of half-gods, anticipation began to surge through his blood like wildfire.

      Ryouga glanced over at him, cracking a mirthless smile. “Well, congratulations, Ranma—looks like you get to be the champion of humanity. Maybe you ought to get yourself a diamond tiara and a magical scepter to fight the Dynasty with, ne?”

      “Ah, lay off, Pork-Butt!” barked Ranma, irked by the lost boy’s casual treatment of his impending quandary. “You know, I think you’re just jealous ’cause you wanna be the Chosen-Born!”

      “That Yasakami curse must already be mucking up your brain, Ranma,” scoffed Ryouga. “You think I want to be the Chosen-Born? I get some nutty curse on my head, become a death-target for ancient half-gods, and—oh, wouldn’t you know it—I also get to have my soul sucked out in the process! Oh, yeah, Ranma, that sounds like something I could really get into!”

      “No need to get sarcastic, you jackass.” Ukyou frowned at him. “Ranchan was just asking you a question.”

      “Well, Ranma should’ve kept his big mouth shut instead of accusing Ryouga-kun of wanting the Yasakami curse,” harumphed Akane.

      Ranma scowled at her in displeasure. Dumb tomboy—always defendin’ him... He centered his attention on his rival, narrowing his eyes as he finally understood what the other boy was thinking. “Spit it out, Mister P. You don’t think I’m the Chosen-Born, do ya?”

      The bandanna-clad youth glowered at the matted straw of the tatami mat. “Maybe I don’t,” he said shortly.

      Shampoo puckered her lips in petulance. “Stupid Pig-Boy! Airen right, you just jealous!”

      “But...but Shampoo,” protested Mousse, “maybe he has a point there; after all, it might not be Saotome—”

      “Ai-yah!” She peeked at him out of the corner of her eyes. “You jealous also, Mousse?”

      The longhaired boy floundered. “N-no! I—I...”

      “I am not jealous!” Ryouga bellowed in response to Shampoo’s accusation. “I just think that we shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions just because it suits us, that’s all.”

      That was when Ranko, who had been quietly attentive for quite some time, decided to give her own unbiased opinion on the matter.

      “That is such bacon-crap.”

      Ryouga glanced at her as though acknowledging her presence for the first time. “Huh?”

      The newcomer knotted her fingers through her crimson bangs and gave them a contemptuous flick. “You heard me,” she sniffed, injecting an ample amount of derision into her voice. “I mean, how lame can an excuse get? Call me nuts, but I think you’re covering something up.”

      The lost boy pursed his mouth, displaying a hint of fang. “You’re nuts.”

      Ranma looked curiously back and forth between them, his pigtail whipping against the back of his neck. “Huh? Whaddaya mean, somethin’ he’s coverin’ up? That true, Ryouga?”

      “Of course not!” denied the lost boy, incensed at the insinuation. “I don’t even know what she’s talking about!”

      “Oh, but I think you do, pig-boy.”

      The others watched apprehensively as Ranko hunched forward, bracing her hands on her folded thighs as she did so, almost as if she were preparing to spring into a physical battle. Had she a tail, it would be twitching back and forth.

      “I have no idea what you’re saying!” snarled Ryouga. “What the hell is the matter with you? Your pigtail too tight or something?”

      If looks could kill, Ryouga thought, he would be dead a thousand times over—and then some.

      “Listen,” she spat, “you can deny it till your face turns green, but I’m onto you. I know you’re hiding something, and I intend to find out what it is!”

      He honestly didn’t know what exactly she was rambling about, although he suspected that she was referring to the break-up-Ranma-and-Akane scheme he and Ukyou had been machinating just some minutes ago. Big deal. It wasn’t like telling her that would do anyone good.

      Still, she had the audacity to make it sound like he was involved in some subterfuge with the Dynasty itself. Ryouga felt his temper escalate at that. Why in Heaven’s name did this girl insist on aggravating him so?

      “Don’t hold your breath,” he answered her coolly. “There’s nothing to find out.”

      “That so? Well, I got three words to say to that.” The redhead slapped on a wicked smile. “Oink, oink...oink.”

      In retrospect, Ryouga still wasn’t sure whose Ranma-reflexes had been faster, his or Akane’s. But in the end it didn’t matter, because the next words that tumbled inexorably out of their mouths had the same fundamental gist.

      “Ranma, you’re going to pay for that!”

      “Ranma, stop picking on Ryouga!”

      Akane caught her blunder just after she had finished her sentence, but by then it was too late: she saw the distress on Ranko’s face, an emotion that was there one second, and then gone. She was immediately contrite. “I mean...Ranko. For a second I forgot you were—sorry. It’s kind of a routine thing,” she offered sheepishly.

      “Don’t worry about it, Akane.” Ranko’s voice was breezy and noncommittal as she reverted back to her cross-legged sitting position. “Anyone could’ve made that mistake.”

      Though her smile was sincere, the animation had gone from her movements, her once-spirited eyes now stoic and passive. It was an something that Ranma did not miss, however, and he quickly scribbled a mental note to himself to discuss this with her later in private.

      Ryouga managed to mumble out a similar apology; as far as he was concerned, however, this only strengthened his opinion of the Ranma-clone being one roll short of a sushi platter.

      His mind was quickly jarred back to the business at hand, however, as Cologne rapped the bottom of her staff authoritatively against the floor.

      “Enough of this prattle,” she commanded, quite curtly. “I realize that this oracle has given you all cause to doubt yourselves and those around you, but there is nothing to be gained if we bicker amongst ourselves over the most frivolous matters.”

      “She’s right,” Genma announced. “For now we must focus on what to do once the Yasakami curse manifests in Ranma.”

      At that a shadow descended across Akane’s countenance, and she averted her gaze. The motion was imperceptible to the others, but not to her father.

      “Is there something on your mind, Akane?”

      “No—well, sort of.” She hesitated. “It’s just a hunch...actually, it’s a long shot. It’s probably way off mark anyway...”

      “Tell us, Akane-san,” urged Ryouga.

      The others watched her, awaiting her opinion on the subject, but before venturing one she cast a circumspect glance in Ranma’s direction. He was facing away, arms folded in a display of classic Saotome apathy. But that was all it was—a display.

      He really does want to know what I think...

      “I was just thinking that maybe...well...” Akane expelled a breath. “...the Chosen-Born isn’t Ranma. I think...it isn’t among any of you at all.”

      There was a pause. Then Shampoo shook her head, the bells in her forelocks tinkling reproachfully.

      “Ai-yah! That no surprise to Shampoo,” she announced. “Violent-Girl no have any faith in Ranma.”

      Indignantly, Akane whirled on her. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

      “What she means, sugar, is that you never believed enough in Ranchan’s abilities,” elucidated Ukyou, her expression one of disapproval.

      “W-wait a minute!” the other girl cut in. “That’s not what I meant! I just said that I don’t think Ranma’s the one—”

      “And why is that?” Genma wanted to know.

      Akane lowered her gaze. “I—I don’t know.”

      “That prove it!” declared Shampoo, jabbing her finger triumphantly at the youngest Tendo daughter. “You no think Ranma is good enough to be Chosen-Born!”

      “That’s not it! I’m not crazy about the idea, sure, but there’re other reasons—”

      “You mean you don’t want Ranchan to be the one to fight the Dynasty?” interjected Ukyou.

      “No—I mean, yes...no, I don’t want him to be the one to fight the Dynasty.” An angry blush colored the bridge of her nose at her confession. “I mean, if we don’t even have a clue about who the Chosen-Born’s supposed to be, then we shouldn’t be acting like we’re going to send him to some far-off kingdom and never hear from him again—”

      “You don’t think I can do this, can you?”

      There was a general turning of heads as Ranma spoke up. His eyes were peeled to the floor, his voice constricted and oddly quiet.

      His fiancée appraised him, surprised at his interruption. “Ranma?”

      “That’s it, isn’t it?” He lifted his head, and on his face was an unreadable look she had never seen him direct toward her before. “You really don’t believe I can do this.”

      “Ranma, that’s not what I—”

      He didn’t appear to hear her. “It’s always the same thing, ain’t it? Back when I was tryin’ to learn the Hiryuu Shoten Ha, you were so sure I wasn’t gonna do it. When I went off to fight the Musk Dynasty, you didn’t think I was gonna come back. When I went to China and fought Saffron, you didn’t think I could make it.”

      In all their verbal battles, Ranma’s barbs had all been dealt out in the same manner: fast, flippant, with just a sprinkle of disdain thrown in for effect. But they were all products of reflex, and more than half the time it was obvious that he didn’t even pay attention to the insults he tossed at her.

      But there was no sign of those usual insults: this was no ordinary spat, and the others knew it. Which was why none of them attempted to play mediator, being too transfixed by the proceedings as it were.

      Akane tried again. “I never—”

      “Well, that was what you were really thinkin’, wasn’t it?” The passiveness was melting away from his façade, and taking its place was a rapidly growing rage. He didn’t know where it was coming from, or why it was even there in the first place, but right now he was too fatigued and stressed out to care. To top it all off, the slight throbbing in his forehead that had plagued him not long after the oracle’s departure was growing progressively worse: it had blossomed into an all-out migrane. “It’s always been that way, hasn’t it? You always held me back, never believin’ in me, never thinkin’ that I could succeed, that I could win...”

      “That’s crazy!” she cried, trying to ignore the sound of her heart thumping hysterically in her ears. He’d never spoken to her like this before, and she didn’t like it. P-Chan bweed plaintively on her lap, as if distressed by the entire argument. “Ranma, you know that’s not true!”

      “Yeah?” he sneered. The throbbing had become a concentrated spot of stabbing pain in the middle of his forehead, with each resounding throb sending quakes of agony through his skull and stirring up even more previously untouched vestiges of anger. “You know, I can’t believe my pop engaged me to some dumb bullheaded chick...”

      Ryouga could take it no longer. “Ranma, don’t you dare speak to Akane-san that wa—”

      “Aw, shut yer piehole, Ryouga! Like I was sayin’, I can’t believe I got screwed over by being engaged to some bullheaded chick who doesn’t even believe in me! Ya know, sometimes I wonder why I’m settlin’ for this when I could engaged to someone who actually understands what it’s like to be in my position, like—oh, I dunno—maybe a real martial artist?”

      In spite of herself, Akane felt the moisture well up behind her eyelids.

      Damn him. Damn him for knowing which string to pull. For knowing which button to push. For knowing all her vulnerabilities, for knowing how to hurt her the most.

      And damn her for caring in the first place...

      Coming from anyone else, the declaration would have been a sufficient enough affront to the youngest Tendo daughter. But this—the mention of her adequate but still-less-than-stellar-abilities—had been delivered to her by no other than her fiancé: her uncouth, stubborn, egotistical, insanely skilled—but ultimately significant—fiancé.

      That being the case, those words were like a cannonball smashing through the brick wall she’d built up around herself: something to protect her against whatever rain of barbs he sent her way, keep them from getting to her lest he think she was weak or vulnerable.

      But now, with that protection shattered, there was nothing left for her to do but lash back—in the only way she knew how.

      Akane got to her feet, carefully easing P-Chan off her lap and sending him skittering into a flabbergasted Ryouga’s arms. Mustering as much dignity as she could, she addressed her fiancé, and was shocked at how calm she sounded.

      “Well, Ranma...thank you for telling me that. If that’s how you feel, then let’s do something about it. Since you so obviously believe what you’re saying, then I refuse to be married to someone who won’t even let me explain my side. Let’s call off our engagement. Right here. Right now. And to hell with all our stupid obligations!”

      The reactions were instantaneous: Soun and Genma reeled backwards as if they’d both been clocked right on their collective kissers by a roundhouse special. Cologne clutched at her staff and gaped. There was a circle of slackened jaws all around them; neither Shampoo nor Ukyou knew how to react; Ranko, Ryouga and Mousse were simply stunned into silence, and even Nabiki seemed taken aback.

      For his part, Akane’s outburst had appeared to have the strangest effect on Ranma: he blinked, over and over, as if her reaction had been the last thing he had expected.

      “You’re serious...you can’t be serious...” The words came out a croak.

      “Oh, yes I am. Is that what you want, Ranma?”

      “I...” He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, uncannily resembling one of the koi outside in the backyard pond.

      She wrapped her arms around herself, willing her voice to keep steady. “Is it?”

      “A-Akane...”

      Ranma stopped, cringed, and tried to scramble to his feet.

      He didn’t make it. Instead his legs buckled underneath him, and he slumped forward in a boneless heap.

      Instinctively Akane rushed forward. “Ranma?”

      Shampoo and Ukyou immediately flanked their hapless fiancé, concern flooding across their faces. Cologne wasn’t far behind.

      “Airen!”

      “Ranchan!”

      “Son-in-law!”

      “Oh, my—Ranma!”

      Kasumi was standing in the entranceway to the kitchen, aghast. Akari emerged from behind her, hands clasped anxiously together.

      “What’s going on?” demanded Soun, shuffling over toward the teens.

      “What’s happened to him?” cried Genma, trying vainly to see through the gaggle of girls clustered around his ailing son.

      Akane’s mouth worked up and down, but no sound came forth. Somewhere in her peripheral vision, she could see Ranko scurrying over anxiously toward her male counterpart. Mousse and Ryouga had materialized on either side of her, the latter holding a distraught P-Chan in his arms with Akari clutching at his elbow. 

      Just then, Ranma came to life in her lap, emitting a groan as he cradled his head in his hands. “Argh...”

      “Ranma?” Akane whispered. “Are you—”

      “M-my forehead.” Ranma let the two words out in a hiss. “Feels like...it’s on fire...”

      Akane swallowed hard, and, as if seized by a sudden impulse, ran her hand ever so tenderly across the shock of hair that fell across his brow. And then she felt something.

      She parted his bangs, her heart in her throat.

      There it was.

      A tiny, perfect jewel, no bigger than her thumbnail and shaped like one half of a yin-yang, was nestled there in the middle of his forehead, glowing turquoise as it pulsed.

      And with every pulse, Ranma’s pain seemed to grow, and he tightened his grip on his head.

      “Ranma.” Akane tangled her fingers in his hair. “Oh, Ranma.” And for some crazy, inexplicable reason, her eyes swam with unexpected tears.

      Finally Cologne hopped back and oscillated on her stick, facing the dumbstruck assemblage.

      “Well, now.” Her words were draped with grave finality. “It appears that there is a Chosen-Born after all...”

* * * * * *

---

End of Chapter Eleven

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AUTHOR’S NOTES:

      Hmm...you know what, I just might get accustomed to adding these footnotes to the end of every chapter. Kind of like a way to elaborate on the raison d’etre behind certain scenarios and characterizations, on the progress of the plot in general, and on things yet to come.

      This was probably the most frustrating chapter to rewrite, mostly because I wasn’t satisfied with the way the original Chapter Eleven unfolded (I’m referring to the one that suffered an untimely and sorely lamented death on my hard drive some months ago). In the year I abandoned this fic to concentrate on my “evolution” site, my writing style—if I may call it that—changed somewhat, and when I perused the previous “Dynasty” chapters, all I saw was a plethora of diction and grammar errors that badly needed correcting.

      As such, it took more than three drafts before I created one that didn’t strike me as overly bad. The original confrontation with Tenkei was a bit more contrived—a deus ex machina in the making—and the dialogue had, for the lack of a better term, all the cheesiness of a B-grade movie.

      I know, I know, there’s quite a lot of dialogue in this chapter, but you guys are fortunate: this’s actually the shortened version. Yup, there was even more yakking in the original draft. So although it doesn’t seem obvious, I cut out all the irrelevant conversations and left the more important ramblings. It’s just a matter of deciding which.

      Lastly, my apologies for this piece’s tardiness; I didn’t expect it to be this long. I’ve been working on this part in tandem with Chapter Twelve, which is about three-quarters done. Chapter Thirteen will probably wrap up the first book of “Dynasty”, and Book Two will either be continued in its usual fanfic vein or be carried out in a risky (albeit ambitious) graphic-novel format. We’ll see.

      Well, that’s it for Chapter Eleven (whew!). Now that I’ve gotten the pesky segments out of the way, the real fun can begin... ;)

Ja ne,
Sydney Kyle

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