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Chapter 5: Family and Ferocity

5th Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

“This what we're resorting to? Some shit-stain of a village with crow and rabbit people? There's gotta be something wrong with the place."

“That's the point; yatagha are usually stuck with important or rich folk, and maybe that inousa's rich? We've got plenty of people to butcher that rabbit. Or take her. I've never fucked an inousa before, so maybe we can take her alongside the younger girls after we raze the village to the ground."

Two bandits out of what had to be a camp of a dozen. Sota sucked on his teeth and flipped his jutte over and over in his hand, catching and tossing it up as he pondered the absolute filth before him as he observed them from behind a lightning charred tree-stump.

Violence wasn't an ideal solution to most problems, but in Samsara it was the primary response. It was so common that it was quantifiable in how it was meted out to solve anything.

Sota's master in the Ministry told him that conflict, both great and petty, was like water or fire; too little was a wasted effort, and it either let people freeze to death or would let them succumb to thirst. Too much would cause tremendous harm, like burning the house down, or soak and flood and ruin everything, or outright drown a person.

There was the right level of violence, and Sota wasn't one to use it flippantly. Against these monsters, though, he would make an exception.

Chihiro hopped from foot to foot, punching the air with her tonfa. “We can take'em! I'll bop-a-bash and crack-a-smash!"

“No, Chihiro, not by us, and certainly not without backup, especially with Hana being... not yet quite herself. We need a better plan. We need to think like the Ministry: neutral, effective, efficient and ultimately _very_messy to leave a message."

“So... no bop-a-bash?" Chihiro said and croaked in disappointment, her tonfas slipping and dangling from her loosened grip. “No crack-a-smash?"

Sota smirked. “I never said that. We just need to be crafty. Strike at the right time for the most impact... c'mon, let's head back to the village for now. I need some supplies."

His vision flashed.

Pain.

The world spun. Distant sounds... cawing?

Sota hit the blacked tree face first, but the back of his head hurt most. He turned and saw a tall figure approach, sharp movement... a kick to the gut. He gasped and coughed as he lost all his air. He sucked in what he could and tried to cover his body. He took another blow. Less intense. It still hurt.

“Hey, Jubei! I've found a sneak! Give us your blade!"

Death was coming. He had to act. He had to move. He needed time.

“W-wait," Sota wheezed.

Hands on his wrists. Bodyweight and pressure on his back. Wasted air for words. He was a fool for thinking they would listen after hearing their intent for Kyoba village. Sota drew another ragged breath. He had to clear his mind. He had to remember and utilise his skills. No, he had to stop thinking and act. Muscle memory. The village didn't matter. Hana didn't matter.

Only Sota himself mattered right now. He had to survive this. He couldn't save anyone dead.

The lessons learned back then... Sota had fought far tougher, far stronger and far more skilled. He didn't have to be anything but slightly better than his current foe. Simple. Nasty. Effective.

Sota relaxed and let his captor become complacent. The pressure eased. Moments passed. The air flowed into Sota's lungs, and his head cleared. As soon as he heard nearby footsteps, the man looked up at his approaching allies. Sota kicked back, and hard.

It unbalanced the attacker. The grip on Sota's arms slipped as the attacker spent strength to keep himself from falling. Sota rolled to the side and grabbed an arm.

Those words he learned back then: brawls are unpredictable and can take minutes of punching people as often as a single blow can knock a man out. Wrestling is over in seconds. One lock. One firm twist.

Then it ends with a snap or a crunch.

The man struggled but left himself open. Sota locked up as the attacker spent more stamina. Then, when the man sought a scrap of leverage, Sota grabbed the attacker's thumb. He wrenched it backward with one sharp twist.

*Crunch*

There. That wonderful, horrible sound, backed with a scream. The seed of victory as a man's power fails and pain overwhelms a lesser mind as the roots dig deep. Now to be a good farmer and reap the victory.

Sota drove an elbow back into the man's gut, then reached over his shoulder and snared his foe's head. Sota pulled down while digging in his heels and tossed the man over and down in front of him. Unbalanced, Sota climbed over the man, stood and stumbled away.

He stopped as he noticed two men on the approach. Sota palmed an ofuda from his haori and drew his jutte in one movement, the talisman wrapped around the grip.

Sota turned saw his prior attacker draw steel in a clumsy inverted grip. Experience let him catch and swat a chipped katana aside, but anger made him speak.

“Kioku!"

Sota unleashed a counterswing. The phantasmal memory of the jutte's former life as a sword returned. The invisible blade severed the attacker's head, then Sota stepped back for spacing, and he dropped into a fighting stance.

At last, he could study his opponents. The men wore ragged wood and rusted iron armour, certainly plundered from the many battlefields that dotted the land.

One recoiled at the death of their companion, but the second was on a dogged approach.

There was no sign of Chihiro, but she was good at avoidance. He also couldn't worry about her for now. Survival still came first.

Sota's ofuda was draining fast, so he struck first. Fear could win this, to sap the will of his enemy, but it had to be decisive. He chopped at the approaching man's neck, a swift deflection of the bandit's katana knocked it aside and kept it in a bind. The attacker then pushed back and slashed at Sota's midsection, but Sota stumbled back and out of reach. Or so he thought. A sting emerged from Sota's abdomen, and he felt at his midsection; a shallow cut.

Defending against an invisible blade is no easy feat, and to counter so readily, with the calmness of this Jubei character had?

Sota back off even more as his own fear took hold. He flipped the jutte in his hand to let the talisman drop to the floor, then reached for another, yet hesitated.

Jubei looked the part of a filthy bandit, and he had been bantering with his fellow brigand just moments ago, but now his bearing was unnerving. Cold and professional. And his sword was dirty, with a slickness to the edge, yet was unmistakably dark. Immortal steel, if of a poor grade. Still worth a hundred common swords.

Sota asked, “who are you?"

Jubei remained placid and brought his sword high overhead as he slid his feet forward in half-steps. A gradual, poised and practised offensive.

On a hunch, Sota gestured in sign language, 'Ministry?'

There. Jubei's eyes glanced at Sota's gesture yet didn't bat an eye. Just a tiny grin.

“Oh, shit," Sota gasped. “Get lost, damn it, I'm not a threat to them!"

The other bandit moved up to assist, but asked, “Jubei? What's going on?"

He didn't see it coming. Sota blinked and almost missed it.

Jubei took his companion's head in a single, casual stroke, and returned his ire towards Sota in a heartbeat.

Sota winced. “And people wonder why I left the Ministry... mercy only when it's necessary, death for everyone else, and that goes double for Mitigators."

The title made Jubei's grin return, and he just shrugged, then advanced.

Sota backed away, then held his ground. He forced a grin. A faint rustle overhead and a flicker of black made it genuine.

“I guess I'd be bitter too, if I wasn't good enough to be a Tongueless, yet putting that lingering tongue up the ass of the Aggregators. Still!"

Sota posed, his jutte raised and ready.

“I am not so easily defeated," he bellowed. “A fell omen descends!"

A black shadow dropped over Jubei. A shadow wielding steely tonfa from the trees.

Chihiro landed on Jubei's shoulders, her toe-claws sinking into the wooden sode shoulder pads of his armour. She 'bop-a-bashed' a rapid, ceaseless, tormenting set of punches to Jubei's head.

The Mitigator stumbled, and Sota charged. Jubei went to grab Chihiro, who leaped off as Sota set upon him. He thrust at Jubei in the cheek with the blunt tip of his jutte. Teeth and blood sprayed out of his foe's mouth with a grunt.

Chihiro landed and launched into a flying punch. She slammed Jubei in the kidney as Sota took another swing.

Jubei twisted and cut wide. His blade deflected the jutte but the force made him stumble back. He gave a gap-toothed grimace as blood trickled out of his mouth. He glanced between the two, winced, then retreated at full pace.

“Get'im, get'im!" Chihiro cawed and went to chase, but the yatagha were poor sprinters. Their splayed feet and oddly jointed legs made them agile, but they could only hop rather than run.

“No, stop," Sota said. The cut on his belly would only get worse if he ran, and there would be the other bandits waiting for him.

Chihiro blinked and looked at his wound. “So-Sota? Are you okay?"

Sota winced and felt his belly. It itched but wasn't too severe. “Yeah... I will be. Come, let's get back and warn everyone."

The pair watched their backs but made their way toward Kyoba village. The movement made Sota's injury worse by the moment, but they had to be quick.

“Bastards," Sota whispered. The Ministry was still after him. Even after these past few months.

Chihiro blinked up at him but remained quiet.

For all the fealty he would believe he owed the Ministry for making him the way he was, and for as skilled and witty as he believed himself to be thanks to their training, he always suspected his former masters would be his unmaking.

The truth was far worse. For as much as he wished to live alone, he understood their pursuit. It was one thing for the lesser clerks and guards to leave, but anyone who had seen what Sota had seen?

He told Hana the truth once. He doubted she fully understood his words, even if she believed his sincerity of this fathomless truth.

Or maybe she did... what was that haiku she had once wrote?

A Wyrm in His lair,

Though still, His influence fierce,

Fear, both near and far.

Not just her poems, but even Sota's masters couldn't have said it best.

'The Truth. The Blade. These things are the same. Both cannot be truly understood without seeing the destructive capabilities. Yet, we must hide them both, for fear cannot be allowed to take seed...'

* * *

Thirteen Years ago...

18th of Soaring Coin, 1541

Sota contemplated the words and pursed his lips. “So... we are the scabbard, Master Riku?"

The old man smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “That would be an apt simile, Sota. We protect people from the truth, for it would do more harm than good. But like an actual scabbard, a skilled practitioner can still strike with it. He can still turn aside a weapon. He can still brandish it and let the mere presentation of a still-sheathed threat within dissuade action. All these and more. That is the Dragon's Ministry. We are His protector, as much as we protect the world from Him."

“That's too many words, Master," said another student with a grin. “I doubt Sota was paying attention beyond the word 'apt.'"

Sota scowled back at his counterpart. “Smarter than you, Hanzo! At least I didn't fail the Passage of Gales like an actual moron."

Hanzo snarled, “that test isn't fair! You probably cheated!"

“Your _brain_isn't fair," Sota scoffed. “It's just defective. The Passage of Gales a lesson in instinct, not just thinking you can read a book and succeed, moron!"

“Say that to my face, Sota! I dare you!"

Riku rolled his eyes as small fists emerged and raised from the student's baggy sleeves. He stepped between the two, his hands firm but gentle as he kept them apart.

“Enough. Every failure is a chance to improve, and every success should be a caution that there is yet more to learn whilst maintaining what you have gained. Moreover, it sounds like you two could use a sparring session to cool your heads and spend some of that energy, hmm?"

“Yes, Master Riku," Sota said as he stepped back and bowed.

“As you say, Master," Hanzo answered, and did the same.

Riku led the way through the red and gold trimmed walls of the Ministry boy's dormitory. A smoky haze lingered on the floor as incense was burned every hour, to help still the mind for those in thought, or contemplating philosophy. This wasn't the place for such a squabble anyway, so they left the building and approached the Den of Memories.

Most students were here at this hour. The school of memory wasn't just tied to the more esoteric aspects of memorising kotoage, the incantations of The Dragon's words, but just the basic retention and muscle-memory instilled by years of hard practice in combat and study.

Everyone wore the same blue robes as a uniform, but not only were theirs tied around the wrists and ankles to allow ease of movement, but the small details demonstrated a simple ranking system: plain for inductees, a gold cord around the left shoulder for novices, two cords braided for fully fledged students and many other arrangements beside, like Master Riku's three-looped knot; Master of Recall. Not a Tongueless, but one who instructed those who would one day become such powerful masters of The Dragon's will.

Sota glanced at the three cords around his shoulder with pride, as he was now a senior student, compared to the meagre twin braids of Hanzo's outfit. He couldn't hold back the smirk.

He would soon be trained in speaking His Tongue. Then, not long after, Sota wouldn't need his own anymore. He would speak pure power on behalf of The Dragon and protect the people with feats of arcane skill of which the world couldn't even dream. Not even those fat headed Vliechoven mages, who spent decades being able to cast a single spell, or the lowly kobolds who were as ants to their masters, despite the innate power of magic in their blood.

No, the Tongueless were feared and respected. They had autonomy to help the world as they saw fit, and only had to know their place in the world to know right from wrong. Sota would be a hero someday. No longer a weak boy, beaten by a lazy father with no time for him, nor a mother who spent her days with as many other men as she could for a handful of yon.

The world would know the name Sota Nakamura.

Riku opened the doors into the training hall, and the sound of clashing wood filled the air. A dozen of the senior students were performing kumite, the core fundamentals of attacking and defending the same types of attack whilst taking turns in both roles, but as soon as Riku entered, they all paused, turned towards him, and bowed.

They all called out, “master!"

Riku waved them down. “As you were."

He took Sota and Hanzo to one side, gave them strips of cloth with which to tie their robes like the other students, and then guided them toward a large selection of wooden weapons.

“Tell me, have your skills been properly implanted?"

Sota approached the weapon rack and picked out a familiar wooden sword. A large, sturdy and curved blade, yet not of Samsaran make.

“Yes, master. The messer: a blend of Samsaran design inspirations yet of Bralranian sensibilities. Curved, single-edged with some taper towards the tip and back, a false edge, to allow a degree of backswing. Its most notable design is that of its namesake of 'knife' in its mother-tongue: the grip. It is more akin to an eastern knife in spite of being much larger, and with a robust cross and knuckle guard, sometimes called a nail, and a simple cap rather than a pommel, similar to a katana's kashira."

Riku nodded. “And your spirit?"

“A Casiveshian sellsword by the name of Wels Vanders, Master. His techniques are my techniques. He was said to have been a rival of several Bralranian knights during the skirmish of Newsome's Pass, and fought two at once, yet achieved victory by deviously using the rickety bridge to his advantage."

“Excellent, Sota," Riku said. “Remember that he will serve you in times of need but rely on your own training first and foremost. Hanzo?"

“The katana and bow, by a sword master from Kataga, Shinji Kou, late son of Lord Mitsuhiro Kou. While slain by the patriarch of the inousan Akikawa clan in the recent war of the Three Heirs, he was said to be peerless amongst humans."

Sota sighed. “I still wish I had that memory implanted within me... it sounds far more potent than some sellsword."

Riku shook his head. “You are assigned memories based on your own personalities to aid the merging. You were granted a wily fellow to match your cunning, Sota, just as Hanzo was given a more straightforward but skilled soul because of his aptitude for combat. Either way, you are given these aspects to reinforce your own talents. To make you greater than common men. Now, gather your weapons and your wits, and we shall test your cohesion with your other selves."

Sota and Hanzo nodded, and then took bokken, wooden replicas, of their corresponding weapons. Hanzo took a few practice swings with his wooden katana, but Sota glanced at the larger, flatter bit broader blade of his weapon.

He let the memories flicker inside his mind. The way Wels would draw out the fury of his opponents to make them open their defences. The way he used to dance and enjoy the company of others at night in camp as a caravan guard, and applied his deft footwork to his swordplay as much as he would impress those of the fairer sex.

Riku took out an ofuda, and bellowed, “kioku!"

Memories flooded their minds. The flickers of these deceased spectres became as luminous as the sun. Sota was Wels, and Hanzo was Shinji.

They faced one another, and took stances honed from decades of practice, despite both of them being yet children. Their eyes narrowed and gained a killer's indifference, just focus on their respective opponents, watching for every flinch of muscle, awaiting that moment of sharp breath to fuel a sudden lunge.

Riku stepped to the side and took the hammer for a small gong to begin the fight.

And after a moment to let the tension build, it chimed...

* * *

Eleven Years Later

17th of High-Scatter, 1552

The sound of a gong filled the lantern-lit corridor and through the sturdy iron bars.

“Evening prayer," Sota sighed.

“Hmm?"

Hana roamed the cell and glanced at Sota, who lounged on the thin carpet, his head upon a cushioned block as he stared at the ceiling.

“The Ministry is nothing if not pious. It's time for evening prayer."

Sota sat up, crossed his legs and offered a bow. “We bless this day on your behalf, Oh Dragon, as you have given us this day as a gift."

“You continue to confuse me," Hana said as she continued to pace. “At once you follow the Ministry's methods, yet you also do not. I'm not sure if you're picking at what you prefer would make you more enigmatic for showing off or if you share a genuine belief."

“Like most things, Hana, it's somewhere in between. Besides, I'm not the most interesting of topics right now. That Varisidra woman..."

Hana folded her arms and frowned. “She's brazen, approaching me like that. Yet she seemed to know I wouldn't attack."

Sota sniffed and scratched his nose for a moment. “In retrospect, it was all a calculated move, and one evidently born of us being spotted by the catfolk both back in the gambling den and the alley. Varisidra played us like a biwa."

Hana tilted her head. “Explain."

“They tossed me with the physical threat with that lumbering oaf, Rosarris, and you with the social viper of a mother. It's straight forward tactics, playing against our weaknesses. You were keeping at distance in regard to the conversation, so capitalised on that. Shit, even Varisidra's distancing was a measured in both forms of the word. She was close enough that drawing your sword wouldn't have been advisable. As deadly as that nodachi is, it's always going to be vulnerable against close quarters."

Hana frowned. “We underestimated them, that's all. Once we get out of here, we will pursue the Cera'an, and we will take what we want from them."

Sota went to reply, but a nearby door opened.

“... I understand, perra," spoke a deep, smooth baritone beyond the bars. “Yet you must be aware that my mother was meeting personally with Lord Kou. I wish not to imply his importance supersedes that of the Ministry, but-"

“Ministry rules are clear," said a familiar voice. Daisuke, the yatagha. “You are allowed to keep your weapons as per Samsaran tradition, but brandishing them so wantonly will not be tolerated, nor will pointing them at Ministry acolytes."

Daisuke hopped into view, followed by another towering Cera'an, and his relationship with Varisidra was clear.

Another behemoth of a catfolk, closer to seven feet tall and clad in a heavy looking greatcoat that couldn't hide his muscular frame. He had to be a related to Rosarris, and yet another with the same tiger-like fur.

He regarded the tiny yatagha with cold, pale blue eyes, yet seemed far more genial and composed to his fellows.

“I understand. I shall offer recompense for the release of my mother and her people, but make no mistake, perra, we _are_leaving tonight."

“I care little for your status, recompense _or_your threats, Quarzanris," Daisuke crooned and tilted his head as two other Ministry men stepped behind the Cera'an man. They _almost_concealed their worry at only standing as high as the catfolk's chest but could not.

Quarzanris folded his thick arms. “It's not a threat, and status has nothing to do with it. Yes, my mother works directly for Ardentiphan royalty as an ambassador, and she is the elected chieftain of the New Cera'an Farresh collective. No, this is a simple statement of fact: my people are fiercely protective of her, and they will not tolerate her captivity, no matter your rules or the power you believe you hold."

He smiled, exposing his large fangs but Daisuke showed no fear and held his stare.

Quarzanris continued, “still, I am currently in charge whilst she is in captivity, so I offer a simple trade. You release my sister, my mother, and her entourage, and we'll set sail immediately."

Daisuke didn't blink as the moments passed, but then made a small croak. “Fine. You!" He gestured to the two other Ministry lackeys. “Get the keys."

They left, and Daisuke travelled further through to the next block of cells.

Sota climbed to his feet and approached the bars, and Quarzanris turned toward him.

“Hoi! Where did Lord Kou go?"

“Sir Kuwabata, yes?" Quarzanris looked Sota up and down and hummed. “What do you want with him, precisely?"

Sota dug deep for some ploy he could enact that would get him some answers but came up short; he had no leverage here.

“Just someone who has business with him. It's important."

“I'm sure it is, at least to you," Quarzanris replied, “but I am not at liberty to say where Lord Kou has gone, other than we have concluded dealings with him and that he has gone about his own business elsewhere."

Sota grumbled. “Fantastic." He turned around and slumped to the floor. “You're as helpful as you are vast, cat."

Hana approached the bars and silently observed the brawny Cera'an man. “Lord Kou is a monster... I hope you realise that."

Quarzanris tilted his head, and his pointed ears perked up. “Few are those that possess no inner demons. Fewer still command them. Which are you, Lady Saekawa, to judge the venerable Lord Kou in such a way?"

Hana's stare was fiery. “He murdered innocent people."

“I wish not to undermine such a tragedy," Quarzanris said, “but in Samsara, this is not an unusual event. Slaughter, both justly meted out or not, seems to be the lifeblood of your people especially, as an inousan."

Hana's ears folded back as she slammed her fists against the cell door, causing a loud clang that filled the corridor with the violent impact.

“He had my family slaughtered, you cretinous filth! That you're even bartering with him makes you just as vile!"

Quarzanris stared at Hana, but his expression remained placid. “Lord Kou is a troubled man, Lady Saekawa, or whatever your true name is. He has experienced similar losses."

Hana shook the bars again. Her arms clenched so hard that Sota honestly expected the door to be torn free.

“Ask him about clan Akikawa!" Hana screamed. “Ask him how he felt about putting children to the sword out of spite!"

Once more, Quarzanris stared, then stroked the white fur of his chin. “Clan Akikawa? Hmm..."

Sota sat up and looked at Hana as she slumped against the door, bowed her head and shivered and her ears flattened back. He couldn't tell if from rage or sorrow, but it made Sota's jaw clench as an old memory resurfaced.

'Just' Hana was of clan Akikawa. It didn't change his mission, but it definitely changed his reasons to help her.

An uneasy silence lurked before the Ministry underlings returned with the keys, and continued on to where Daisuke had gone, and after a few moments, a parade of Cera'an passed by, then Varisidra, who didn't even glance at Hana and Sota, and trailed by Quarzanris and Rosarris, who glared but said nothing.

Sota stood again as the group reached the exit of the jail. He placed a hand on Hana's shoulder and gently pulled her back. He then spotted Daisuke.

“I don't suppose we can leave as well?"

“We found ofuda in your possession," Daisuke said, and he narrowed his eyes at Sota. “We will question you in the morning concerning why you have them. I hope you have a good explanation, or you shall be tried for blasphemy."

“Shit," Sota whispered as Daisuke gathered with the others. He then glanced at the exiting catfolk, and smirked.

“Hello large cat man," he said in Bralranian. “Help us. I will tell you..._uh, damn it." He tried to remember the words he needed, then snapped his fingers at a compromise. “_Ministry secrets."

Quarzanris glanced back at him, then at the despondent Hana. He hid his muzzle from view, leaned down to Varisidra, and whispered something to her. She didn't react, and they all left, with the door slamming shut behind them.

* * *

Stillness dominated the cell after they were left alone. Sota and Hana were lost in deep thought, both concerning the same topic but for very different reasons.

Hana sat, lost in the past, as she recalled her days as princess of the clan. The innocence of her youth squandered, and the bloody crusade that had overtaken her life ever since. How foolish she felt, indulging in fine foods when her sole purpose had escaped her grasp and now, she was in danger of losing the trail of the foul Lord Kou.

Sota sat, lost in the past, as he pieced together little moments and memories. Clues and breadcrumbs of a sequence of events in which he had become embroiled.

The downfall of clan Akikawa. He felt sick even thinking of the name, but he had to keep digging, and was too worried for Hana's well-being to start asking questions after her earlier outburst. Not to mention the discovery of his status as a former Ministry member or being branded a blasphemer.

Sleep was impossible in such states of contemplation, but all thought ceased as the door into the Ministry hall opened, and a short, slender silhouette approached the bars.

“Sweet Lady Luck! There really is_a giant bunny," the figure said in Bralranian. A boy. “_Hey, you awake?"

Sota and Hana exchanged a bemused glance, but he scrambled for the bars to take a look at the lad.

“Who are you?"

Long, sharp teeth appeared beneath the hood in a wide smile and energetic amber eyes that reflected the meagre light. One of the Cera'an, and yet another 'tiger'. Varisidra's brood was growing by the moment.

“I'm Gearal! I'm gonna spring ya!"

Sota shared a look at Hana. She may not have understood, but the boy had a disarming enthusiasm, and she seemed distracted from her morose contemplation.

“How did you get here?" Sota asked.

Gearal winked. “Magic!"

Hana asked, “is he... going to help us?"

“So it seems," Sota replied, then returned his focus to the infiltrator. “What is the plan, Gearal? We do not have our weapons, and no key for the door. And many Ministry await."

Gearal razzed with his tongue. “The Ministry ain't so smart. They think they are, but they don't even look in the shadows. Their heads're emptier than a barrel of fog on a dry day. But here, prezzies!"

“_Prezzies? What are..._oh," Sota gasped as Gearal placed his jutte and a bundle of his belongings on the floor of the cell. Hana's dagger soon followed, then Gearal struggled as he lugged Owada's nodachi and clumsily poked it through the bars.

Sota continued, “How did you get these?"

“Already told you: magic!" Gearal finished by tampering with the padlock of the cell. Within moments, the lock clicked as Hana and Sota secured their weapons.

“How... oh, let me guess, magic?"

“Pfft, no, don't be silly." Gearal twirled a pair of long, thin metal lockpicks between his clawed fingers, then he stowed them into his cloak. “Come on, there's a boat waiting."

As they left the cell, Sota couldn't resist giving Gearal a pat on the head, but Hana regarded the young man with confusion.

She asked, “can we trust him?"

“Probably not?" Sota's brow furrowed, then he rolled his shoulders. “Do we have a choice?"

Gearal gave them both a cock-eyed look. “What're you waiting for? Pick up your tails and make some trails!"

“I suppose we have little recourse," Hana said, “but these people are the reason we were imprisoned to begin with... wait, does he understand Samsaran?"

“I don't think so?" Sota scratched his chin and asked Gearal, “how old are you, kid?"

Gearal spread his arms in a wide shrug. “Huh? I've got no idea what you guys saying and we ain't got all night, c'mon."

With a shrug, Sota said, “he's just a kid, and we have our weapons. We'll just have to remain on watch,"

Hana nodded. “I dare say we may have to take him hostage if his kin try something, as much as I loathe the idea."

Sota couldn't hide his repulsion, but he also couldn't deny the possibility. “Last resort only." He then smiled down at Gearal. “Okay, Gearal, we will follow you. Thank you."

“Good! Keep low and tread light."

Gearal gingerly opened the prison block door a crack, glanced through, then strode into the darkness beyond.

Hana was used to stalking foes, and Sota was adept at avoiding notice, so they settled into creeping through the Ministry basement. A couple of rooms passed, each empty and dark, then a dimly lit corridor. They all spotted a man sat upon a bench and slumped over.

Sota grimaced. “Is he dead? Uh... Gearal, you did not kill him?"

The boy shook his head. “Nah, he's just sleeping." Gearal took out a weighty seeming dark leather pouch with a wooden handle and gave it a swing. “Pow! It's called a sap, or a blackjack!"

“Say what you want about the kid, he knows his craft," Sota muttered with a chuckle and gave the man a closer look, gently tipping the guard's head side to side and feeling for breath. He then narrowed his eyes as he noticed something peculiar but smiled wide and spun back to Gearal.

“Goodwork."

Gearal grinned back, deeply pleased with himself.

Hana folded her arms and her ears folded back. “A thin slip of a boy like that taking out a man? I care little with how enamoured you are with him, but I'm even more suspicious. He's probably playing us for fools, as is his clan."

“Sure, he's just a boy, but a solid hit on the head on someone unsuspecting will probably still do the job. Besides, even if he plans to try something on us, he won't do it yet. He can't drag us anywhere by himself."

Gearal stopped halfway down the corridor and pointed up to the side to a rope hanging from a raised balcony.

“A boy tied to a powerful catfolk clan of whom I'm sure bear us ill will," Hana said and shook her head. “But I suppose we cannot risk fighting the Ministry. An uncertain future is better than a doomed one."

“I'll go first," Gearal said. “I bet these idiots won't do a thing to a kid."

Sota chuckled. “I would not be too certain. The Ministry are not chewy- wait, no..." He scratched his head as Gearal giggled, then Sota continued, “how do I say choosy? Damn it, I should have paid more attention to my Bralranian... uh, The Ministry do not care who they hurt."

“Oh." Gearal's mirth was tempered into an awkward smirk. “Huh... y_ou first?_"

Sota laughed, rubbed his hands together and climbed the rope.

* * *

The main entry hall was open all hours, and the Ministry was always present within. The clerical wing above the prison, however, was almost empty shy of a couple of workers focused on sorting and tidying paperwork. It was an easy escape to the outside and into Akutoka's streets by a window.

Hana's expression said it all, as they vanished into the quiet, night-time docks: suspicion.

“This is too easy, too convenient," she said.

Sota ignored her. “Thank you, Gearal. So, I assume you want something? A reward?"

The kid beamed a grin. “I'm good, thanks, just following mother's orders! I've got a rowboat to get back to the Maiden!"

“Is that so? Then take us."

Gearal nodded and tottered ahead. The air was cold and calm, but it was still a welcome freedom. All the same, outside of the Ministry building, and as they headed through the streets, Sota finally relented to Hana's complaints.

“Say... why are your people helping us?"

“I dunno. I'm just following orders. Bust you out of jail, get your stuff, and bring you to her."

It was an honest enough seeming answer. Vague in description but truthful in execution.

“Just to be certain, your mother is Varisidra? She did not say anything else?"

Gearal nodded. “Yeah, she's my mother and the clan boss, but she didn't tell me what she wants with you. Why, what's wrong?"

“Nothing," Sota said, unwilling to dig too deep and risk spooking the boy. “We just have some things to discuss with her."

Hana watched the boy's every move as they headed across the docks, but they swiftly found themselves on a quiet pier with a number of small fishing vessels, and Gearal stopped at a broader, more eastern designed rowboat.

Gearal hopped on and beckoned the two on.

“You okay to row? I got here just fine, but you've gotta be quicker than me with the extra weight. The Maiden dropped anchor outside the Ministry dock after that mess earlier, you can't miss it."

Sota nodded. It seemed a fair trade.

He took up the oars as Hana sat behind him, still watching Gearal's every move as the boy unsecured the rope and helped push them into the calm sea. Once Sota settled into a steady rhythm, Gearal lit a small lantern and took a seat as well, but fidgeted and kept his hands inside his cloak as he fended off the cold.

“You could warm your hands on the lantern," Sota suggested.

“It's fine! I don't wanna hog the light."

Sota tongued his cheek and his eyes narrowed, but he continued rowing.

Just as much as Hana had been staring at Gearal, peering over Sota's shoulder, he began glancing at her in return.

Gearal suddenly asked, “hey, hey... is it true the hare-kin are the best fighters in Samsara?"

Sota engaged in the glaring as well, but huffed. “Probably? They're swifter than humans by far."

“Right, right! Oh, i_s it true they can run faster than horses?_"

“I... huh..." Sota pouted for a moment, then looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Hana, can inousa run faster than a horse?"

“What are-" Hana's ears wobbled in confusion. “Some of my people have been known to outsprint a horse over short distances, but a good horse at full gallop is always quicker."

“Ah, thanks." Sota sniffed. “Over short distances, yes."

Gearal bounced on his seat, his eyes wide and tail wriggling around his ankles. “Amazing! And... and is it true they can fly? I keep hearing stories of them gliding across battlefields and taking heads as easy as breathing!"

Sota scoffed. “Don't be absurd. They just... jump good."

“Ooh! The hare-kin're so fascinating! A whole species of Samsaransamurai_jackrabbits! Warrior bunnies! I love hearing about different people. Mother says I have an interest in... oh, what's the word. I don't know the Bralranian word for it, anthro-something, but we call it_ _ hiphracinal _study in Ardentiphan. The study of people and their unique features."

“It still sounds like he's just analysing us for some advantage," Hana said. “I hope you're not telling him anything too important."

“Just making wind for the reeds, Hana. Relax. The kid's just curious."

“And you're being complacent, it's-"

Sota snapped, “it's fine!"

Hana grimaced, then stared off into the sea.

Gearal was taken aback by the outburst and lost his perkiness, and all three returned to silence as the moved beyond the wall of the Golden Port and saw the Wailing Maiden anchored beneath the moon. A great, dark mass, speckled with dots of light, with its two sister vessels also nearby.

The Maiden only became more oppressive and intimidating as they drew nearer. Hana's earlier comment about it being a castle on the water did it no justice; this was a vessel that could lay siege to a city all by itself. Even dragon-slaying equipment would balk at the armour cladding. The metal and hardened wood glistened in the moonlight, and was smooth on the lower hull, designed to resist climbing from the water as much as smooth sailing, but the upper portions had many crevices and gaps.

“There," Gearal said and pointed to a small set of lowered hooked ropes. “We can fasten the boat and I'll whistle for us to be taken up."

Sota sighed. “Good. My arms were becoming tired."

“Thanks, mister."

Gearal extended a hand to shake. Sota reached for it, but suddenly grabbed the boy's wrist and twisted his arm.

Hiding amidst the pink, cat-like pads of Gearal's palm was a small needle, wet at the tip, sticking out of a small wooden disk with a tiny glass reservoir. A hidden syringe.

Gearal struggled. “Lemme go!" He drew a knife from his cloak with his free hand, but Sota wrenched the boy's captured arm, and used the distracting pain to take Gearal's other wrist. He then bashed it against the lip of the boat, sending the blade into the sea.

“I amsorry," Sota said as he twisted and grappled the boy down. He pressed his weight on top of the boy, wrapped his arm around Gearal's neck and began to choke him out. The boy's writhing slowed until he lost consciousness. Finally, he took the injector off of Gearal's hand and handed it to Hana.

Hana looked at the tiny contraption. “And here I was beginning to believe you were being taken for a fool."

“You can't kid a kidder," Sota said and checked to make sure Gearal was still alive. “He understood Samsaran just fine. The kid's bright, don't get me wrong, but it was all too convenient. No doubt he and his mother were playing us for sympathy. I just indulged in his banter and let him get complacent. You were spot on that he wasn't likely strong enough to guarantee knocking out the guard with a blow to the head. In The Dragon's name, even _I_wouldn't trust myself being capable of that.

“I also saw a tiny puncture wound and a bit of blood on the guard's neck. Lastly, I wondered why he wouldn't just warm his hands on the lantern just confirmed he was ready to use something on us."

Sota retrieved the needle, and Hana frowned. “You intend to use it on him?"

“I'm going to give him a little. That should keep him from causing us any trouble while we get on board and out of harm's way."

He gave the injector an experimental squirt by squeezing the edges of the device, then placed the injector back on Gearal's hand. Sota then closed the boy's fist around the device until the needle poked into his finger.

Tucking Gearal down on flat bottom of the boat, Sota sighed. “There... that's that."

“You believe we can infiltrate this ship?" Hana looked up at the towering vessel. “If this youth was able to infiltrate the Ministry building, I dare to imagine the talent of the crew of this vessel or their gullibility in this ploy. We are outnumbered and on their home turf."

Sota chuckled as he manoeuvred the boat to the hooks. “Is this the same suicidal inousa I met just a few days ago? You sound downright cautious. Am I rubbing off on you?"

Hana scowled, even as her ears turned red as she blushed. “You have... shown me a use for caution to achieve greater success. Besides, it is no longer just my life at play here. I do not wish to see you come to harm. But do you have a full plan here?"

“After the last one failed so miserably, I'm surprised you're still asking me." Sota sighed and rubbed his tired shoulders, then shivered. “Maybe it's the cold talking, but the way I see it is we act bold, swift and brazen. We climb up, try to get into the captain's cabin and take hostages of whoever's inside. I'm sure with your skill and sword, we should be able to deal with any potential threats so long as we don't dally."

“Hostages?" Hana looked at Gearal, but Sota raised a stern hand.

“No. Not him. No kids. If we can get Varisidra, then we'll get all the information we want, and we take her to shore and dump her in Akotuka, then get out of there and follow Lord Kou's trail. As for now, let's use these ropes to get up and climb the hull the rest of the way."

Sota finished hooking the boat onto the ropes, the pair climbed them to get over the smoother kelson of the ship and up to the plates of armour that started a third of the way up the hull. Once there, and as they began to climb towards the aft, Sota whistled.

Voices called out overhead and they looked down at the rowboat, which rose from the water as Hana and Sota reached the stern. The windows to the captain's cabin were closed from the cold ocean air, though lights flickered through the translucent glass. A gaggle of distant Cera'an voices could be heard above as well.

Hana ears tucked low and flat as she peered over, then she hoisted herself up, then helped Sota.

The quarterdeck was empty, and several catfolk were huddled around the rowboat. Varisidra was fast on the approach as she barked commands to her people, who parted and revealed the unconscious Gearal.

Varisidra cradled her son until Quarzanris emerged from below deck. He frowned and also examined the boy. He felt for a pulse, then putting his head near Gearal's chest while placing a hand near the youth's nose to check for breath.

As they did, Sota and Hana crept into the captain's quarters, and lie in wait for their prize, though Sota couldn't help but feel guilty. Yes, Gearal had attempted to trick them, but the situation was still messy.

How would Varisidra react to their presence, let alone the fact Sota had harmed her son? They had interrupted Varisidra's dealings as well. Their list of slights was growing by the moment.

A deep fear began to grow in his gut that, despite his caution, this night would end with blood.

* * *

5th Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

Sota felt the wound on his stomach and hissed. The pain spread across his body, his hearing grew faint, the swaying leaves began to smear and merge like streaks of paint. The featureless grey skies somehow more ominous, like a great, smothering blanket.

“Something's not right..."

He stumbled and fell against a tree.

“Up, up, up!" Chihiro squawked and tugged on Sota's arm. “Don't passy-pass out!"

“It's not like I'm _trying_to, damn it."

They hadn't gone far from the village, but Sota's began to lose feeling in his legs. It had to be poison. Typical Ministry mitigator tactics: rogue Tongueless were too dangerous for a straight fight, after all, so all they needed was one clean cut and to flee.

Then, of course, track down the weakened man and confirm the kill.

Sota took out an ofuda, activated the magic and placed it on his chest, over his heart. He hoped his blood would remember how it was before the wound. He doubted it would stop the poison, being a Ministry creation, but it might buy him some time.

He forced himself to move on, but staggered into another tree, and only Chihiro kept him upright. His mind was wandering, so he let Chihiro guide him and just focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

* * *

“Natsume, here," Hana said as she passed the girl a rice cake from a cloth bindle and took one out for herself.

“Thank you, Hana-chan." Natsume offered a small bow.

They sat beside one another, with the younger girl's acceptance being a balm on Hana's ongoing inner conflict. It was just a sliver of acceptance beyond her connections to Sota and Chihiro, and Hana cared for them both, but she couldn't help but sense they tolerated her out of familiarity more than anything deeper. Chihiro by the debt which she felt for being saved from her former master, and Sota out of... Hana didn't even know.

Natsume took a hearty bite of the cake, then smiled at Hana.

“Every day, a little browner against the white. Like life returning to a ghost."

Hana gave a whisper of a laugh. Her right ear was always first to change with the encroachment of the warmer months, and the little brown spot of fur had grown to cover the upper half. By summer, only a little tip of her left ear would remain white.

“I don't know if this counts as life returning," Hana replied. “I feel like a burden. ill-suited to helping Kyoba. All I've sown is violence and reaped is loss."

Natsume kept her smile, but her eyes lost their lustre. “Kyoba is no stranger to loss. When the Dragon Ministry last deemed our village to be part of a battle, I was... maybe three or four? My father was conscripted. He never returned. My mother grieved for a time when the news arrived, yet she kept fighting. At least until illness took her."

Hana winced as she thought of her own mother. Like any inousan bride, she was a master of the blade, but never had to fight in lethal combat. Life had battered and shaped Hana's techniques, but the fundamentals were entirely of her mother's skills.

She offered Natsume a bow. “I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure my opinion matters little, but your kindness speaks a great deal of the way you have been raised. You possess a strong and noble spirit. They would be proud."

Natsume's smile grew wider once more. “Thank you. I try to honour them every day, in everything I do, even if most of Kyoba wants to keep far, far away from the rest of Samsara. The chief just wants us to be left alone, but that's no way to live. We need to try and reach out and grow as both people, as well as a settlement. I fear if we don't, the next time war flows this way, it may be the end of Kyoba. I feel like you need us as much as we need you and Sota-kun."

A hammering of metal rang out. The crude metal gong to alert the village.

Hana and Natsume looked toward the village, at each other, then both sprinted back home.

On arriving, the men were patrolling, wielding farm tools and a few daggers, and Hana gasped as she saw the village chief helping Sota into his hut. As she drew nearer, Hana saw Chihiro and ran to her.

“What happened!?"

Chihiro avoided her stare. “Sota said not to say anything..."

Hana gently held the yatagha's shoulders and knelt to so she could look her in the eye.

“Please, Chihiro. Tell me. Sota can be as mad as he likes with me. You can say I forced you."

With a low croon and a bow of her head, Chihiro replied, “so-Sota's been poisoned. It was these bandits I saw in the woods, and one was a Ministry Mitigator. Stabby-stabby assassins! He cut So-Sota with a tainted blade."

Hana scowled but released Chihiro for now. She hurried into the open window of Sota's hut and glanced inside.

Sota writhed as the village chief and his wife tended to him, removing his clothes to look at the wound. Beside the blood, there was a darkening of the skin, as if bruised yet far darker.

“Shicho," Hana called out to the chief, “have you dealt with Dragon Ministry poisons before?"

The chief glanced at her but remained focused on Sota. “No. If that's what we're dealing with, then I don't know if we can help him. We know some remedies for snakebites and such, but this?"

Hana sprinted to her room on the main hall, once used for rice storage, and leapt up to the rafters. She then pulled open a loose board and stared at her nodachi.

It was true. All she could sow was death. A normal life was mere mockery. But if her place in the world was to slay others, then she would ensure that those exterminated were worthy kills. To take a life to save another.

Any fool who dabbled in poisons, especially poison blades, had to have an antidote. An errant gash of a finger would be too costly.

Hana's course was clear. These bandits would face her wrath. She strapped the blade onto her back and hopped down as Chihiro entered with her tonfa in hand.

“Stay here, Chihiro, just tell me where they were," Hana said and went to leave, but the yatagha spread her arms to block the way.

“I will _show_you where they were. I have a plan."

Hana's nose creased and her ears folded back, but she nodded. “As you wish. Just keep behind me when we find them."

The pair jogged into the forest as the darkness, and a gentle rain, began to fall.

* * *