The Last Fallen Star, Graci Kim [books to read in your 20s .TXT] 📗

a Miru guard. The Miru clan are protectors descended from the Water Dragon Goddess. They have either superhuman strength or speed, which make them ideal for protecting our secret portals and entrances.

“Hi there. Could I interest you in some K-fry today?” he says brightly.

In response, Eomma and Appa each rub their wrists together, and their Gi bracelets reveal their gifted marks.

“These two are with us,” Appa adds, nodding at Hattie and me.

The Miru protector checks out the gold symbols on my parents’ wrists, and then he nods toward the swinging door to his left, which leads to the kitchen. “You may pass.”

We push through the door into the bustling kitchen and immediately smell the delicious waft of sweet-and-spicy fried chicken. But it doesn’t last long. As we continue over to the walk-in fridge and step into its chilly belly, we are transported to the lobby of a grand building with high ceilings and marble floors.

I come here every week, but the temple never ceases to take my breath away. At first glance, it looks like a super-fancy hotel. The Miru guards protecting the lobby could pass as doormen, and there’s always soothing music playing in the background. A sandalwood fragrance lingers in the air, like those signature perfumes some hotels have.

But it’s so much more than that. Once you jump into the elevators, you get a sense of the temple’s true scale. There are eighty-eight levels, and so many rooms on each floor that no one can keep track of what’s behind each door. Most of the rooms aren’t accessible without the right keys, but Auntie Okja says some doors are portals to the various gifted temples around the world, while others house mythical creatures visiting from the Godrealm. They say there’s even a door that takes you to the Spiritrealm (the place we go when we die), which, frankly, blows my mind.

“Hurry, girls,” Eomma urges, pushing us out of the elevator at level 88 and toward the big bronze doors. “Mr. Pyo is going to make us pay for being late.”

And she’s right. As soon as we enter the sanctuary through the heavy wooden doors carved with animal heads, Mr. Pyo’s booming voice calls out.

“Well, well, well. Good of you to join us, Oh family of the Gom clan. You’ve interrupted the service, but I’m sure you have a very important reason for being tardy. Please, why don’t you find a seat while the punctual members of the congregation sit and wait.”

We lower our heads and quickly sit in the Gom pews while hundreds of eyes follow our every move.

“Absolutely mortifying,” Eomma mumbles under her breath.

“Ugh, he’s the worst,” I whisper.

“Agreed,” Hattie and Appa echo.

Mr. Pyo turns his attention back to the service, and I eventually get the nerve to raise my eyes from my lap and look around.

The large hexagonal chamber is full to the brim today, with witches from the Gom clan, the Samjogo clan, the Miru clan, the Gumiho clan, and the Tokki clan all sitting in their respective pews, which fan out from the center. Each block of pews ends with a polished bronze plaque brandishing the clan’s motto, beneath a tall statue of their patron goddess. The icons are made out of materials that match their clan’s colors—jade for the Tokki, blue lapis for the Miru, gold for the Gom—that kind of thing. Of course, the Horangi clan’s pews are empty. The sixth clan hasn’t been allowed at temple for years.

As per custom, the five elders are standing in the raised center of the sanctuary next to the Gi cauldron, which is basically a large black urn with clawed feet. It has the symbol of the two suns and two moons branded on its side and is filled with sand from the beginning of time. Sticks of incense poke out from its top, reminding me of candles on a birthday cake.

The elders are all wearing hanboks in their respective clan colors, including Auntie Okja, who’s in gold. She’s my mom’s older sister, and the Gom elder on the LA council. I give her a small wave when her eyes meet mine. She winks back in response.

“Now, as I was saying,” Mr. Pyo continues, “today is not a normal Saturday service. It is a momentous day for my family and the entire Samjogo clan, as my granddaughter Mira turns one hundred days old today!”

The congregation claps enthusiastically, but my family all glance nervously at me.

Let’s be clear—I love going to temple, I really do. But the one thing I hate about attending each week is the number of Gi ceremonies I have to endure.

When a gifted child turns one hundred days old, the Gi cauldron assesses the witch’s elemental balance and forges her Gi. Parents then keep the Gi safe until the child is old enough to start training for her initiation ceremony on her thirteenth birthday.

Auntie Okja once explained it to me like this: The world has five sacred elements—wood, earth, water, fire, and metal. If a witch can harness the perfect balance of all five, he or she can channel the power of the goddesses and wield the specific magic of their clan.

The catch is that witches are born with only four internal elements. Which is why they must wear the fifth element—the one they lack—around their wrist. A Gi is kind of like a car key. Each witch needs their fifth element to start their car, but the particular car each clan drives (i.e., the type of magic each clan can do) is different. It’s in their blood. For us, the Gom, it’s healing.

Mr. Pyo takes baby Mira from her mom’s arms and carries her toward the cauldron. I instinctively shrink into my velveteen pew cushion, wishing I could melt into its softness and disappear.

“Mago Halmi, mother of the three realms, mother of the six goddesses, mother of mortalkind and all creation,” Mr. Pyo starts, holding Mira up into the air with both arms outstretched. “Today I humbly present to you this