Her earliest days at THE ASYLUM frightened Fuji in a way she’d never been before, which was not saying much because she remembered virtually nothing of her life before her time among the snow monkeys, the hot springs, and similarly lost WITCHES.

She remembered when she’d first come to consciousness, as new to the world as a newborn babe. Everything was so unfamiliar and nothing made sense; she’d stared blankly when the monkeys had offered her roughspun robes to ward off the winter chill, hot tea in earthenware cups, and yuzu to sate her hunger after the exertion of the ritual. She’d barely understood what those hard things in her mouth were for, until she’d seen one monkey bare his own teeth to separate the plump fruit from its rind, juice dribbling down his chin.

Even her own face was foreign to her; the first time she’d seen her own reflection in the spring waters, she’d panicked at the sight of inky black streaks and jagged markings where she’d expected smooth, uniform skin. Her screams had sent the nearby snow monkeys scattering for cover. Afterwards, another of her lost sisters had had to explain to her what those mysterious patterns meant, which was difficult since she herself knew little of OCCULTISTS and even less of their customs.

So, I’m an occultist, Fuji told herself. Or was.

Not that the word meant much to her at the time. Among the fruit-laden yuzu trees and pleasingly babbling creeks, it was easy to forget that beyond these mountains, there was a vast wilds filled with creatures and environs that seemed as fantastical as they were distant.

Fuji spent her days learning again how to fend for herself, and at night she slept on a slab of rock by the steaming waters. As she slept she dreamed, and saw fresh horrors — the rock faces of the hot springs misshapen by half-cooled magma, all the surrounding greenery blasted and charred, ash falling from the sky instead of snow. When she lifted her eyes to the heavens, she saw cratered stone gaping back at her instead of snow-capped peaks, glowing lava still flowing like ichor.

Fuji spent her days learning again how to fend for herself, and at night she slept on a slab of rock by the steaming waters. As she slept she dreamed, and saw fresh horrors — the rock faces of the hot springs misshapen by half-cooled magma, all the surrounding greenery blasted and charred, ash falling from the sky instead of snow. When she lifted her eyes to the heavens, she saw cratered stone gaping back at her instead of snow-capped peaks, glowing lava still flowing like ichor.

In these nocturnal visions, the monkey guardians of the ASYLUM were nowhere to be found. Instead her only company were the mostly female faces in the ruined pools of water, some jeering, some beckoning, some marked with colored scripts or framed by curving horns, some not human at all. All unfamiliar and terrifying.

The first time she’d discovered a face in a dream-pool, she’d scrambled backwards and in her panic, lost her balance and slipped backwards on the water-slick rock. Fuji’s head hit the floor with a sickening crack, so that the pounding, pounding, pounding in her temple now pounded in time with her heart in her chest. What fresh hell is this?

Eventually, she worked up enough courage to investigate further. On her hands and knees, she ventured gingerly towards the water’s edge.

The face locked eyes with Fuji as she approached. Come back, sssSister-ter come back to us. Although the woman in the pool seemed to hold Fuji’s gaze, her stare was unfocused and her words repetitive, senseless. Come back.

Who are you? Who am I? What am I to you?

To that Fuji had gotten no reply, just a repeated refrain.

What she saw in that nocturnal vision left her drenched with sweat and blearily restless at dawn. For a time she drove sleep away by endlessly wandering THE ASYLUM’s paths barefoot, purposely taking the routes with the roughest gravel and clenching her fists so hard her nails left red crescent-shaped welts in her palms. The skin on her heels cracked and grew bloody. Fuji herself grew thinner and grayer.

On the sixth sleepless day, too drained to resist further, she let a concerned monkey lead her to a mat to be lulled to sleep near the trickle of a waterfall. How can you ask me to sleep when you know what frights await me when I do? she’d demanded of those who brought healing salves for her feet and tipped cups of honeyed tea to her parched lips. Her voice cracked with frustration and anguish.

Those who are LOST shelter here to calm their fractured minds, answered the same kindly WITCH from before. But we are the confluence of our minds, bodies, and spirits. You will not find peace by refusing rest. She passed a cool hand over Fuji’s eyes, and when the darkness lifted the dreamer found herself again in that familiar blighted landscape.

This time she didn’t linger at the first dream-pool. She walked with unsteady but unblemished feet towards another, this one fed by rivulets of water tinged orange by the surrounding glow of embers and molten stone.

In this way Fuji explored a dreamscape that soon became as familiar to her as the ASYLUM was during her waking moments. She learned which dream-pools held which faces, and which faces seemed more kindly than most, and which ones would strike fear into her heart with unnatural features that melded ceaselessly into one another — demons, she thought. Some of these faces spoke, entreated, beckoned. Others were silent, as if deep in thought or meditation. One — belonging to a massively bulbous form that lay coiled deep underwater, like ribbons of ink made semisolid — mocked her in a voice like grinding stone:

Not regretting your decision, are you? You know where to find me if you have second thoughts. A bubble rose and popped lazily on the water’s surface as a trio of murky slits morphed into a single guileless cerulean-blue eye. A mind is a precious thing, as I’m sure you’ve come to realize. Surely the loss of your own would outweigh that of many others?

Fuji didn’t bother to correct its assumption that taking her mind had left her memories intact. Begone from here. You have no power in this place, she spat, hoping that the monkeys’ confidence in the ASYLUM’s protective wards were warranted.

Dark coils shifted in the pool’s depths as the demon tittered. Of course not, dearie. Its plump crimson lips split in a mirthless grin to reveal a bloodred gullet and concentric rows of needlelike teeth like a lamprey’s. As if I’d want sloppy seconds from a WITCH who’s already given up one of her most valuable assets. I’d much rather discuss any deals in the waking world, anyways. Not in this… whatever you’ve created here. It sniffed, although it only had twin gashes for what Fuji supposed was a nose. Just reminding you you have options, that’s all.

After that, she avoided the deeper pools with their ever-shifting faces. Instead she committed to memory the locations of pools with faces that beseeched and called, and those with faces holding austere expressions, as if deep in prayer. She learned which pools contained faces that chanted in syllables too erratic or tones too profound to comprehend. Each night, she inspected a new area of the shelves of rock arrayed along the mountainside and peered into its waters. Each night, she examined cheekbone and chin, temple and tear duct, noting that she sensed a strange kinship with some, although she couldn’t say she’d ever seen any of those faces before.

Fuji continued her exploration during her waking hours. She clambered over stone and waded through basins hazy with vapor — from steam or sulfuric gasses, she could not say. She swam through waters hotter than anything she’d ever known, and shivered as she lifted herself out of the scalding liquid to traverse ledges, tree branches, a cluster of chittering monkeys. Her limbs swelled with muscle and the soles of her feet grew leathery and supple. Although the demon’s words weighed heavy on her mind and her body ached with exertion, each time she submerged herself in the hot springs she could feel the tension and fear she’d carried deep within herself since that first day lessen and slip away, at least a little. At the end of each day, she welcomed sleep with a single-minded resolve.

Some nights later, Fuji found herself in a pool at the charred base of a yuzu tree on a ledge about halfway up the rock face — one of the few in this dreamscape that was not already occupied. The changed contours of this world no longer terrified her as much as they had in the beginning: she had found that the hot springs here, formed as they were by volcanic activity, were as relaxing and restoring as the ones she frequented during the day. She sighed deeply as the steaming waters sent tendrils of warmth deep within her core, her forehead dampening with a sudden flush of sweat. Then, holding before her mind’s eye the faces she’d come to know so well, she leaned back to douse herself up to the neck in heat and stilled her thoughts to listen.

Arranged in a circle around her, in pools up and down along the mountain peak, were her sisters, she was sure. All these nights, she had heard them calling to her, although she hadn’t always known it was her they were summoning. Now she placed herself in the middle of that intentionally created space, her hands turned up to the sky, face and chest open to the mountain air. She might have sacrificed her mind and sealed away her power, but Fuji’s pack wouldn’t give up on her so easily, and their calls had reached her in the one place she could wholly call her own. As she breathed in the scent of wet rock and sulfur, she thought she could hear that now-familiar refrain in the space between her heartbeats: come back, come back.

She might have sacrificed her mind and sealed away her power, but Fuji’s pack wouldn’t give up on her so easily, and their calls had reached her in the one place she could wholly call her own. As she breathed in the scent of wet rock and sulfur, she thought she could hear that now-familiar refrain in the space between her heartbeats: come back, come back.

For a moment, she thought she could feel a trickle of her sisters’ power flow through her, as a current flows through a wire.

Several days later, the kindly WITCH found Fuji as she sipped a cup of tea by the water’s edge. She watched as Fuji drained it to the dregs, and delicately cleared her throat before speaking. Her tone was consoling but firm. You know what it means to have gained entry to the ASYLUM, and what it means to stay. This cannot last.

My mind is stolen, and my power is sealed. Anything that was done, was done by others of their own accord.

She gave Fuji a wry smile. You know as well as I that you’re speaking in technicalities.

Fuji accepted her judgment with a silent nod. She’d known this was a possibility, and she didn’t begrudge the other LOST witches and monkey guardians their peace. I understand. I’ll prepare for the descent tomorrow at sunrise.

That night, she dreamt again of THE ASYLUM, though not for the last time. In the nights since she first laid eyes on its newly formed rock faces and reflecting waters, the magma had cooled and started to break down into a sandy volcanic loam. On the charred stumps of the fruit trees surrounding the hot springs was a slight green dusting — moss and new growth, emerging from among the ruins of older vegetation. The landscape of her dream-ASYLUM might be irrevocably altered, but hot water still sprang from the cratered mountain peaks, and their cleansing heat was unchanged. All around, she could hear the faint susurrus of her sisters’ voices.

Fuji smiled to herself in her sleep.