jorgepratt@prodigy.net.mx Song of the Phoenix: Aria, by Jorge A. Pratt The door closed with a slam, and she ran. She had so very little time. Even though she knew they would still be sound asleep, she was sure they would find out in a matter of minutes. Already they had thwarted her several times, and she was not going to let anyone stop her now. The patter of her bare feet was the only sound in the darkened streets. Sunrise would arrive soon, and with it, she hoped, a new chance to set things right... to make sure everything was back to the way it was so many years ago. In light of this, despite the dread of almost-certain death that plagued her, she couldn't help but feel giddy with expectation, grinning a bit wider with each of her strides. A light, almost imperceptible drizzle descended to cleanse her as she arrived at her destination. For one instant, she felt an overwhelming chill wash upon her --she knew, at that moment, that she was alone. No one would be near to hear her cries if anything went wrong. No one would assist her with the slightest encouragement, or even a whispered cheer. And for that brief eternity, she felt truly afraid. But the fright was swept away by the rain, as quickly as it had come. Even if she were alone, all for the better: no one would try to stop her, to keep her from her goal... and, if she succeeded, sharing this solitude would be a reward for both of them. Elated by this knowledge, she armed herself with all the courage she could muster and stepped into the vacant lot. Every step she took forward, her feet oblivious of the ground beneath them, increased her confidence. How she wished to see that person again, to say that everything would be all right now, that she had no more doubts about anything anymore... As she reached the center of the lot, she spared a final glance around the vicinity to make sure nobody was near. Satisfied, she spread her arms, dropping the small satchel she had brought. With a huff, she fastened the sash around her waist and rolled up her sleeves, pausing only to run her fingers slowly over the inch-wide bracelet of gold that hung from her left wrist. With a sigh, she dismissed whatever thoughts had passed through her mind and knelt, opening the satchel. Carefully, almost in reverence, she retrieved a worn, dog- eared photograph --a picture taken at the Tendou Dojo, before it all started going wrong-- along with a small harp that seemed to have been fashioned out of sunbeams and starlight. She knew it to have been that person's most prized possession --and hers as well, for the past few weeks. But the instrument would not evoke music from the past anymore: it would only help her bring forth a new dawn. She set the harp on the ground before her, the photograph at its base, and stood up. Its strings glistened: shimmering tears suspended in gossamer threads. With one last nod of reassurance, she stepped back and closed her eyes, invoking that song she knew by heart. It was almost instantaneous. The music flowed around her, through her; she could immediately remember the voice, the scent. The magic of the song, bolstered by the echo from the harp, suffused her entire world, turning it into a golden radiance of potential and possibility. She grasped it tight and then, with her memories as a backdrop, she let her own inner light surge out from her body in the shape of a majestic aura of chi. Everyone in the family, awake or not, would have noticed that. Time to hurry. The aura that spread from her figure soon illuminated the entire lot. The harp rose from the ground, causing the photograph to flutter in the intense winds caused by her vital forces. Then, as though the music itself took material form, soft breaths of every shade of the spectrum spread out from the strings. They spiraled around her, tugging at her clothes and hair; pulling her arms this way and that; pulling her free of gravity and lifting her face to greet the heavens. Distantly, she could feel Ranma's presence. He and her sister had finally realized she was missing --no doubt they would be here any moment. And? _she_ was with them, too. But it didn't matter... she was so close to the end, she could almost touch it... There was a soft rumble that shook the vicinity, and she grimaced in discomfort. Her forehead throbbed like a second heartbeat as the chaotic strands of magic tried to ground themselves there. Instants later, her shirt burst open as a radiant flame burned from her chest, and she cried out in pain as if she were being torn asunder. It was so intense! She never thought it would be like this. Her body almost failed her then, and she faltered in her confidence, yet it was too late to stop now. Something deep in her soul shrieked, and her voice could no longer sing but scream, her mind a world of endless, burning pain. But then, as the... was it a technique? Or a spell...? No, it was neither. It was simply a call. A call devised to pierce through the veil and that which lay beyond the ether. A call meant for one person alone. And she was the Caller. As the Calling reached its critical point, its energies could no longer remain confined to the mere spectacle of light and matter. She distinctly heard Ranma arrive at the vacant lot, his voice almost breaking as he cried out to her. And at that precise moment, the harp dropped like a stone and all sounds, all light, and all energy surged back forcefully into her small, frail body, igniting it like a small Sun. She screamed out yet again, every cell that composed her crying in unison. Only Akane's shriek of horror matched her own. A great column of blinding incandescence erupted beneath her feet, reaching far beyond sight and flinging all those around like leaves in a storm. There was one final shout of "NO!" of voices male and female, but she no longer heard it. She heard nothing more, as the spark upon her chest consumed her in a bonfire of golden flames. And thus, with the first lights of aurora, a bird of pure fire rose upon the ward of Nerima.