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Chapter 12: Causality and Chaos

14th Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

“It's... you."

“Eh?" Sota turned away from lighting the firepit and back toward Hana.

She swept her arms outward at Sota's shack. Small trinkets and baubles Sota had gathered ever since Hantoka hiding amongst the common furnishings. He had replaced the bindle of kettles, cups and coffee pouch, removed the tea cannisters into a more traditional caddy and set about lighting the space, illuminating the traces of a troubled man.

Atop a small table, small sticky stains of rice wine glistened beside a plain, unkempt beaten straw and silk-shred mattress. Conversely, the bed's rolled head pillow and blankets were colourful and dutifully washed. A discarded cloth dotted with brown stains of old blood marred over its plethora of creases, yet this clashed with a small Easterner's folding straight-razor, immaculately clean, beside a stack of perfectly trimmed strips of paper set for creating talismans.

The memory pieces were an eclectic mix as well: small trinkets, like books and wood carvings from every location they had been together, but Hana was beginning to get distracted. Instead she smiled at Sota once more.

“This place. It's distinctly you."

Sota kinked one of his shoulders. Not a shrug since that would be submission, but she wasn't wrong. “It's just what I was given, taken and... well, been, I guess? Crammed together into a place that makes me as comfortable as I can be in here in little ol' Kyoba village when I'm not pretending to be a simple farmhand. You must have turned your room into a small fragment of home, right?"

Hana shook her head, her ears flopping softly in their attempt to catch up with the motion. “No. For one thing, until just a week ago I never expected to live long enough to try such an endeavour. Moreover, I sought no comfort besides my attempts to create a death poem, or contemplate the futility of my life."

Sota now shrugged in full. “Right. Sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

“Can we stop tip-toeing around each other? We've been fencing with this animosity between us for long enough. I just need closure, Sota." Hana stepped closer to him. “Please. I just need to tread our path together, to make sure the feelings I have aren't build on falsehoods."

“Feelings?" Sota faced Hana squarely and upright, far removed from his natural looseness. He licked his lips and frowned. “This seems... sudden."

“It is, but it isn't at the same time," Hana whispered as she bowed her head. “How else could I consider such thoughts for a man who deigned to help me, nothing more than a murderous savage, even in spite of his ill-placed guilt about my past. Who would endure my flaws and strived to cheer me up in the face of my constant resentment?"

Sota mulled over her words. He had hoped. Suspected. Feared. So many expectations and feelings. But like so many things in his life, he needed time to overcome them.

He sat on his bed, then tutted. “Uh... so, where were we? Let's get comfortable so we can continue our sordid tale."

Hana's brown eyes narrowed and her ears twitched and turned, then she nodded, masking the twinge of sorrow beneath her familiar indifference. “Y-yes. Let's."

She glanced around the room for a comfortable place to sit, only for Sota to hop up onto his feet again and gesture to his bedding. “H-here! Please, it's the most comfortable place here."

“This is your home. It's not my place to impose." Hana sat on a reed mat.

“I insist. Please."

Hana fidgeted to try and get comfortable on the rough shod fibres. “I'll be fine, thank you."

“You're so-"

“Stubborn. I know. So are you."

Sota rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but chuckle. “We'll take turns. Talking, sitting and so forth."

“Fine," Hana said and nodded, “but let's truly dispense with the sparring and lay our thoughts plain. I've been thinking a great deal about everything that happened to us recently, but... I always came up short. If there is one thing I've taken away from our time together, it's that you and I have a way of meshing together well. I hope our sides of the story will remove any lingering fog."

“Sure. I've kinda been doing the same," Sota admitted. “Stopping and starting over these memories, but that's always my way. Segmenting and piecing them together. Let's pick things up. You fighting Sugawara. Me catching up with my old non-blooded brother..."

* * *

5th Day of White Soil, 1552

Sota studied Hanzo. He stared back from across the table. The wide spectrum of both the familiar and the new made this mutual study feel necessary. The fancy robes with strong blue accents as befitted a Tongueless agent: the prim and proper, clean shaven appearance and tidy topknotted hair. Everything Sota was not. The crossing of paths was as clear as their switching of circumstances, with the understudy had succeeded in becoming one of the most powerful and feared people in Samsara, and the gifted student had fled and become a vagrant. Also a prisoner, but Sota was trying to make himself feel like this was destiny rather than a big mistake.

He tested his bound wrists, shackled together with the chain threaded between the backrest slats of a Bralranian style chair. Iron reinforced wood, upright and rigid as if to loom imperiously over Samsaran kneeling pillow sensibilities. Strong, but mass produced, like the ones Varisidra's ship had in the mess hall of her ship. Designed to be taken apart and compacted down.

That meant Sota could escape, but again, this was a Tongueless before him: even if Sota could break free and lunge at Hanzo, he would be fighting a man who could bend the fabric of the world with but a word and a talisman-summoning flick of his wrist.

Sota had to once more play the waiting game, so he drank in the nostalgia of the moment. Either way, whether he was to be executed or manage his escape, he wasn't going to be in Hanzo's presence for long, so why not indulge for a time? He had time to consider while his captor let him stew.

This wasn't typical Ministry procedure. Ministry traitors would be executed on sight, or bound and gagged them to be taken back to The Ministry proper. It was clear Hanzo was working towards some way to either break Sota, or learn something from him. Something immediate. Maybe even desperate.

Sota was too proud to let Hanzo succeed, whatever it was he wanted. One might say it was to prevent a strategy to come to fruition, or to stop Hanzo cement his position of power in Hantoka. Maybe he wanted to poke at his opponent's psyche, to unleash some hidden truth.

“So... remember that time you pissed yourself during strength training?"

Truthfully, Sota was just being petty. He felt like a teenager again.

Hanzo's smugness didn't fade. His hands began to dance in sign language. 'You intend to try and prompt an emotional response? Do you believe I have not matured after all these years?'

Sota sneered. “Once a fat-headed moron, always a fat-headed moron. You're just better at hiding it. No doubt trying to impress your pet bird, since it's obvious he doesn't respect you. You realise Rikku only led you along into thinking you had any talent out of pity, right?"

'Our mentor has nothing to do with this chance meeting,' Hanzo gestured, placid as a frozen lake. 'More your associates. The cat people are a disease that needed to be quarantined, which we currently have in hand, but we know they are trying to bend the ear of an important man. Lord Kou. Why?'

Sota clenched his jaw as Hanzo's hands gesticulated the slower form of the name of the only man Sota sought to kill. It was common in the field for Tongueless to avoid signing names due to having to spell them. It was more fluid to use a code term for such people. The emphasis of each motion to stress the letters of Kou were in stark clarity to the distraction of dealing with Varisidra and her people. It brought his mind to focus on both his and Hana's ultimate goals.

Sota forced himself to try and relax. “What do you want from him?"

Hanzo narrowed his eyes. 'You don't need to know that. All I need from you is your compliance. I can try to offer leniency if you work with me to bring me the information the cat people have on the lord.'

Sota curiosity was piqued, but he blanketed his thoughts with an indifferent shrug. “And here I was thinking The Ministry and Lord Kou were thick as thieves."

'He has become increasingly less compliant of late,' Hanzo gestured, then wrung his fingers and gritted his teeth. 'But that's not your business any more, now is it?'

“Yeah, well, you're overblowing my importance with the catfolk," Sota said and tried to lean forward, only to grumble as his shackles held him back. He settled for shuffling and scooting the chair around so he could lean against the table in as casual a way as he could. “You'd know that if you were half the Tongueless you think you are. I'm just a vagrant with some loose ends to tie up. Certainly nobody you'd want to try and bend to your will... unless, of course, you're secretly trying to get one-up on me. I knew you hadn't matured that much."

Hanzo's brow twitched in spite of his presented indifference. 'Your insistence of my lack of personal growth will not make it true, fool.'

Sota chuckled. “Ooh, insults! Now we're talking! I bet you're still scared of horses too!"

Hanzo gawped for a moment, and Sota couldn't help but stare at the namesake emptiness beyond the Tongueless' teeth before focusing on the agent's hands once more.

Hanzo's digits clenched, but he fully froze as the door opened. Aplain clothed man entered. “Aggregator Hanzo? Principal Zenzi is requesting your presence."

That smooth reverence for Hanzo and his yatagha. This man was part of the Ministry.

Hanzo sighed, then placed them on the table as he went to stand. 'I will not be mocked by the likes of you, Sota.'

“You just were, dumbass." Sota leaned harder on the table, tilting his chair so he could give his former brother a wide smile. “Once a fat-headed moron, always a fat-headed moron, and either way-"

The table was pulled from beneath Sota. His head bounced off the corner and sent him tumbling into the floor. He struggled about so he could see what was going on, only to be shoved over by Hanzo, who pointed down at him for a moment, then resumed gesturing.

'Help or do not. The cat people will be executed come tomorrow, one by one, until their leader submits herself in front of Hantoka's citizens and abdicates her claim on this region. We shall eject her to return to her Ardentiphan overlord in chains. Whether she is made aware of this, and how many of her people survive, is up to your compliance. Their lives are in your hands. Either way, once they are dealt with, you will be taken back to The Ministry and given to The Dragon for His final judgement. I will be back shortly. Spend this time thinking.'

Sota smiled again. “And either way, I'll always be a better man than you."

Hanzo's brow flickered again and he dragged the Ministry spy over to, then onto the chair Hanzo had been sitting, roughly gesturing to have him keep an eye on Sota and to hurt him if he tried anything, then left in a huff and a slam of the door.

“Still got it," Sota mused to himself. “Hey, dickhead. Wanna pick me up?"

“Nah," the Ministry stooge said and put his feet on the table.

“Okay. That's fine. Kinda comfortable anyway."

There was a stiff silence, excepting of Sota fidgeting and his chair scraping against the tatami mats, so he could put his ear to the ground. No footfalls outside, and what few he could hear were far off.

Sota mulled the situation over. He'd bet serious yon that The Ministry's plan had been hastily triggered as Varisidra had arrived, so as not to alert her people at the docks. They were working hard and fast, with limited numbers, leaving gaps. Sota would then bet whole kinroku that there were only a handful of true Ministry people in the building, with most of them were busy bending the populace's collective ears to their agenda. The rank and file of Sugawara's men were likely to be kept away as well, to enhance the mystery of The Dragon's people. Those were good odds. It was time to act.

He puckered his lips then asked, “mind if I sing?"

“Yes. Shut the fuck up."

Sota smirked, cleared his throat, and began to set up one of his favourite drinking songs.

“As the sake warms up and the mood's real low, and we got no place to be 'cause the river's slow. Got no woman in my arms and an itch I can't scratch, 'least not outside the heat of a warming snatch! Well, let's-"

The table suddenly flipped and landed on Sota. He grunted as the corner smacked into his shoulder and came to rest and pressed against his face.

“I said shut the fuck up, you asshole!" The stooge barked.

“... let's roll a few dice 'til the sake ain't ice, and we'll drink 'til any hole makes a mighty fine goal. When booze is flowing rich and you're painted like a bitch, we'll be loving 'til the night is over. Oh, we'll be loving 'til the night is over. One more time! As the sake-"

The stooge shook his head and plugged his ears as Sota continued to sing maliciously off key.

Time to act, yes, but it wasn't a plan, exactly. Mostly Sota just really liked pissing off the Ministry, and it gave him something on which to keep himself occupied while he hooked the chains of his shackles around the pegs and began teasing them out. It made a small squeak.

Sota bit his lip and decided to cheat as he bellowed out his song to cover the sound of wood and to keep his captor frustrated enough to ignore him, obscured by the overturned table.

* * *

Hana's eyes narrowed but did not over-focus. Her breathing quickened but continued smooth and deep. The glint of an immaculate blade in her hands, like an extension of herself. Hana was in her element. It was how she had lived her life for as long as she could remember.

Asao was just as focused, poised in a classic stance: jodan-no-kamae. Sword high, angled over and back over his head like a shark's fin as he kept his primary hand open. He also did not approach, no doubt measuring her as she was to his posture. It let Hana's mind ponder and consider her surroundings and try to form a plan of attack.

The corridor's candles flickered and sputtered from the tempestuous winter winds forcing their way through every tiny gap in the wooden shutters, but they were aided by those same gaps allowing some glaring white light streaks across the corridor.

Asao's yatagha captive was pressed against the wall but showed no desire to flee, as if resigned to her fate no matter who won. Hana was also aware of Gearal behind her was likewise still and watching.

However, Hana cursed the smooth floor and its immaculate varnish, which would be slippery under her padless, furred feet. Her claws would have to do. The corridor was also too narrow to dash around and use her inousan-born mobility. This would be a straight fight.

Hana gritted her teeth and dismissed these issues. She would win, no matter what it took. She approached, switching leading leg and bringing her sword high and into koncho-no-kamae. Sword horizontal and against her temple, tip pointed forward her foe and forearms crossed. Asao's downward swing could be thwarted, or she could stab his throat if he was slow on the attack.

Asao made no attempt to change or counter her advance. His open fingers wriggled and his lips twisted into a grin.

Hana's grip grew tight as she crossed the threshold of his reach, yet he refused to move. She loosed a short thrust. Asao stepped back and jerked his arms down, his sword knocked hers aside. Hana pivoted, stepped forward and swung her sword to cut his neck. He lifted his katana, caught her sword in the bind, edge to edge, and threw out a knee. She caught the blow but hopped back, diminishing the attack to a hard shove and separating the pair once more.

They once more paused and stared in case one combatant pressed the attack, but as neither budged, Asao chuckled and rolled his shoulders. “This is more like it," he whispered.

Hana ignored him. She expected a man obsessed with combat, and he didn't disappoint. No lord, no general or leader stood before him, just a thug. A skilled one, but a thug nonetheless. Mere fodder. Hana approached once more.

A steely clash. A booming roar. Hana's arms vibrated and her legs buckled. She rolled backward then kicked with her legs to stand once more with a dozen feet of separation between her and Asao. Enough space for her mind to catch up with what had just happened as she glanced at her sword and noticed a notch on the blade.

She responded on nothing more than instinct to... what was that? Metal and thunder? It was so swift she wasn't sure. Hana did a double-take as she saw Asao where she had once stood. His sword was now low, back and legs bent from a swing Hana did not see but had managed to block. Just one overhead slash, faster than she could blink, and a massive kiai shout that boomed like thunder. All she remembered was the tiniest inhale and inflation from his chest at the coming exertion, and the faintest twitch of muscle, then the impact. Just how fast was this man?

Off balance and over-extended as he was, he recovered by the time Hana readied herself once more. Asao cricked his neck and chuckled, and Hana finished contemplating what had transpired.

A snapping downward cut, that's all it had been. The most basic and rudimentary of swings that any swordsman would practice for hundreds of hours. Simple, yet perfectly executed with every ounce of his strength and technique until it was unleashed with incredible speed.

To Hana's surprise he once more assumed the same jodan stance. This time she adopted a more direct, defensive form. Kasumi-no-kamae. Blade still high and horizontal, but now across her front rather than pointed at her foe.

Even with a more assured guard from his opponent, Asao didn't change his strategy. Yet again his hand remained splayed with the grip pressed against the palm, only this time he advanced. He inched forward with tiny half-steps, never letting his overall posture change, and Hana felt a chill run up her spine. A fear of the next swing.

This was ridiculous. Hana had never felt this before. Her path of violence, revenge and fury had-

Hana yelped. Again, Asao's deafening roar. The clamour of vibrating steel in her hands. Massive, crushing force that slammed her off the ground and she scrambled away. The pell of metal on metal and boom of Asao's warcry persisted in her ears as she realised her foe had once more struck like lightning itself. That impossible speed and flawless focus of force.

“You're not bad," Asao said, the ever-present grin baring more and more teeth as Hana recovered her footing. “Blocking me twice... clearly not some random inousa. What's your name?"

She hesitated as she was once more forced to recover from the monstrous attack before mounting any sort of counterattack. She took a calming breath and replied, “Hana Akikawa."

“Huh. That so?" He rolled his shoulders and relaxed for a moment, though kept his sword pointed at her. “Heard that name before. You meant to be some big time warrior clan?"

“It doesn't matter."

Asao dropped his guard as his grin turned to a snarl. “Of course it matters! You face Asao 'Thunderstorm' Sugawara! Real warriors live for their names to be forged into legend. I know the inousa do as well."

“I no longer owe fealty to my people beyond revenge for my family," Hana hissed and prepared for another bout. “And you're in my way." She studied the room again. Like her fight with Varisidra, these interior fights did inousa no favours. The ceilings were too low to properly use her ability to leap and she wouldn't be able to comfortably shift and dodge with her lack of traction. She had to figure out some way through.

There was nothing she could use beyond her own skill and strength, so Hana came to the only conclusion she could: she was overthinking it. Too long spent at peace as the catfolk's prisoner, then guest. Too much time pondering, not doing and trusting her skill. Her instincts had thwarted two attacks that this man had no doubt felled dozens of foes in a solitary strike.

Hana scowled and threw caution to the wind, or perhaps to the waters edge. Tosui-no-kamui. A high risk form, blade pointed low. Then she charged.

Asao didn't have a chance to fully adopt his stance from his goading, but he snapped his blade high, then chopped down as she charged. A slower swing. Less lightning than just thunder. Slow enough to get her inside his guard.

Hana sprung as hard as her legs could and raised her sword into a hard clash. It threw Asao back into a stumble and Hana couldn't stop, so she let her momentum do the work. Hana crashed into him and the katana was knocked from her hand. He kept his footing as she fell to her knees and tried to grab him, to drag him down, but Asao recovered first and she took a knee to the cheek.

No thoughts, just the empty violence. No pain, just revenge. Disorientation. Unpredictability. Rage.

Hana shrugged off the blow and released a furious scream as she grabbed his leg and took another leap, this time straight up. A jump so hard she would have slammed into the ceiling if not for her arms locked around his leg. Instead the move flipped him over and pulled Hana into a wild spin in the air, and both landed heavy, bouncing apart. He was already out of reach, so she scrambled over and onto her belly, into a feral crawl towards her foe. Asao squirmed and spun about on his back, throwing a clumsy swing with his sword, but Hana pounced over it, and onto Asao.

He used her momentum to roll and try to throw her off, but Hana dug her claws into his robes and pulled herself closer. Asao hurled crazed punches and elbows as he tried to get her far enough away to use his sword, but Hana shrugged these attacks off, drank deep in her fury and sank her teeth into his sword-bearing arm. Asao bellowed in pain as he dropped his blade and hurled his full weight onto Hana, mounting her. He tugged her ears to lift her head from the floor, then slammed her down. Then pulled her up again. Then down.

Even Hana's relentless fury began to shake loose from her brain as she was rattled and shaken by the third impact. Asao went for another slam, only for Hana to tear flesh and fabric from his arm. Asao cried out and left a gap for Hana to try and struggle free. Still incensed, she instead gathered her legs up under his hips, pressed her feet against his belly and kicked as hard as she could.

Asao was launched into a full flip and he crashed hard into the wall. He moaned in pain but proved his mettle as he snapped his gaze onto Hana. She tried to stand, but her legs were half-jelly, uneasy and dazed, yet somehow they stood at the same time.

They glared at each other, Asao's already dishevelled appearance amplified by the scuffle and Hana's maw caked in his blood as she spat out a lump of his arm and they both panted for breath. As one, they flicked their eyes to their fallen weapons. Hana's was farthest, so both bolted for Asao's blade as one.

He ducked and grabbed it first, but Hana stomped on his hand. He growled and snagged her ankle and dragged her off her feet, spun and threw her skidding down the corridor, then returned to snatch the sword.

From the dark corner of the corridor, Gearal suddenly pounced on Asao, dagger raised. He stabbed the man in the shoulder, but it only managed a flesh wound. Asao hissed and lashed out with his elbow, which caught the boy between the eyes and made him cry out in shock as much as pain. Asao also turned, punched Gearal hard enough to send him staggering into the wall, and then the human grabbed catfolk by the neck.

Asao roared, “you little shit!" Gearal gagged and clutched at Asao's wrist with one hand and trying to get a clean stab with the other. Asao struck Gearal again, then snatched the dagger from the stunned boy's hand. Asao flipped the dagger over in his hand and pointed it at the catfolk's neck.

Hana threw herself at the human in a mighty leap, feet first. She kicked with both legs and jettisoned Asao like a ragdoll down the hallway, with Gearal spinning to a floor as well as Hana crashed down at the same time. She hoisted him to his feet, pulled his bloodied face to hers and barked, “get out of here. Hide!"

Gearal was close to tears, in pain and all but panicked, but managed to nod and run towards the stairs down.

Hana, still dizzy herself, used the wall to help her rise to her feet. She watched the tangle of limbs that was Asao unravel and rise as well. She couldn't use the advantage of his stupefied state as she tried to wrest control of her own body from the lingering daze and her battered brain.

Asao winced and glared at Hana before laughing despite the bruises around his face and neck. “You have no idea how much I've craved this," he said, then looked down at the sword by his feet. He picked it up, his hand slow as if it took effort to move. This held true as he pointed the blade toward Hana's side, yet he didn't move to attack. “Pick it up. Let's go again."

Hana slowly turned her head, ensuring that she kept Asao in the corner of her vision at all times until she saw the glint of steel. Hana stepped back so the blade was in front of her before bending down collect the sword. Hana also noticed the shivering form of the young yatagha nearby, who beside the panicked breathing, remained as still as she could, with her eyes darting back and forth between the two combatants.

“Ignore the bird," Asao said as he settled into his familiar, dreaded jodan stance. “She's not important right now. Just you and me, Hana Akikawa."

Hana made a double-take to the bird girl, but convinced she wasn't part of some ploy, Hana stepped forward and prepared for another bout. She knew she was in trouble, but had to hope Gearal could somehow escape, or get help somehow. She also couldn't afford to lose any further focus as she finally shook the fog from her mind and matched Asao's stance. This was a foe worth his bluster. But this was a foe she still had to kill.

“If you insist, Asao Sugawara."

* * *

“Oh shochu blood, drank deep in vain to flood the veins. Oh shochu blood, numbs the pain and shakes off the rain. Bring a bottle, maid or master, bring another please. I'll take'em all until I'm on my, oh, I'm on my bloodied, bloodied knees!"

No kick. No stomp on the table. The guard was truly bored.

Sota racked his brain for another tune. He'd mostly made up half of that last one, and would wage serious amounts of kinroku that the Ministry bastard in the room had tuned him out long ago, but this deafening silence landed as the chain-bound slat was almost free of the chair. On the other hand, he doubted he had long before Hanzo would check in on him.

“About damn time," the goon muttered.

The man's chair rattled a little as he shifted, then he put his legs underneath him to stand.

Sota's gathered his own legs and shoved the table off of him. The launched furniture slammed into the Ministry goon, knocking him over. Sota then yanked the slat pinning his chains free, picked it up and pressed his bodyweight against it to snap the solid wood into a crude stake. Free of the chair but with his arms still bound behind him, Sota then rolled onto his belly and wormed his way to the wall then began getting to his feet by pressing his face against the wall for balance.

The Ministry goon hopped to his feet and drew a sai as he charged at Sota. The pair met in the middle as Sota also launched himself against his captor, back first. He threw everything he had into pushing until they hit the wall, and the goon drew a sharp, shocked breath.

Sota backed away to turn, and glanced down at the six inch stake of splintered wood sticking out of the goon's midsection, pointed upward into his lungs. Sota struck again, slamming his forehead into his wounded foe's nose. As the man fell to the side, Sota stepped back and stomped the man's neck and squashed down as the goon clutched at the pinning foot. Sota kept throwing his bodyweight down, then he felt something inside give and the man's thrashing grew still.

“I'm sorry," Sota whispered, “may The Dragon take you in peace." He caught his breath, then collected the dead man's sai and sat down. Sota tucked his knees against his chest, squeezing himself into a ball, rocking back and forth to bring the shackles from underneath himself as he tried to thread his feet past the chain. Straining, twisting and wriggling, he managed to get his arms in front of him at last.

He debated the next phase of his freedom, but knew he was already on borrowed time. He needed to find another place to hide to try and break his shackles, or locate the catfolk, or assassinate Asao. Anything. He couldn't figure out what took priority.

“This whole thing's a mess," Sota sighed.

Sota approached the door, sai in hand. He peered outside and, as he predicted, saw none of Hantoka's guards nearby. It stood to reason they were to stay away from Ministry business, but there had to be people all over this castle, far too many for Sota to realistically stay out of sight. Audacity and the current confusion came to mind: how many of the guards had actually studied Sota's appearance? How many Ministry spies were operating that any of Hantoka's guard recognised at a glance? He knew their game and how they acted. Sota was almost one himself.

He smoothed back the errant strands of his hair to look as presentable as possible. Sota then tucked both his hands into their opposite sleeve as if warding off the cold, clutched the chain of his shackles and the sai within to hide them, and exited the room, rambling down the corridor an indifferent pace.

It was quiet but he soon heard private discussions nearby. This had to be one of the main living halls for the castle staff, and he remembered he had only climbed a couple of stairs. Probably the third floor of what was over a dozen, but he didn't get much of a chance to get his bearings. Without a solid objective, he simply observed and walked, resolving to take the first set of stairs he came across. Up would likely send him toward Asao, and down would send him to the catfolk. Fate would dictate his path.

“Hey, you!"

Sota froze, then glanced over his shoulder. Two of the Hantoka guards peered from one of the side rooms. He cleared his throat and asked, “yeah?"

“You're one of the Ministry guys, right?"

“Yeah."

The backmost of the two grabbed his friend's shoulder. “C'mon, don't do it."

The frontmost man pulled free and asked, “why're the Tongueless... y'know, tongueless?"

Part of Sota wanted to blabber about Ministry secrets. Expose the truth and sow discord, but that wouldn't be how a member of the Ministry, especially a lowly spy, would act. He sneered and answered, “asking for Ministry secrets like that? You do realise that's blasphemy, right?"

“Told you!" The backmost man said and swatted his friend on the back of the head with a metallic clank. “You wanna get Aggregator Hanzo to drag your ass to the High Temple and get sacrificed to The Dragon?"

Sota shrugged. He'd won them over but maybe he could work this to his advantage, even give himself an alibi. “You should listen to your friend, you might live longer. Still, let me cast some light on your ignorance, if only so you can understand the sacrifice the Tongueless make. They represent the will of The Dragon, and thus His words are all they need. No mortal tongue can truly embody His power, so they willingly clip their tongues out and speak only through the memory of the tongue, lest they be consumed by the hubris of such an act. The ultimate form of devotion for the true power."

“Seems... harsh," the front guard said.

“It's a harsh world," Sota said with a smirk. “Like for like is needed. Now, if you don't mind, I need to report to Aggregator Hanzo. Don't suppose you've seen him?"

“He headed up after Lord Sugawara," the backmost guard said. “Principal Zenzi said they're not to be disturbed."

Sota sucked on his teeth and nodded. “Bah, fine. Guess I'll make my report later. I'll go check in on the prisoners then."

“Sure. Watch out for the big catfolk woman," the front guard said, “she's sick in the head. Heard tell they're executing her soon to make an example to the others. Probably for the best since she won't stop trying to bite everyone that gets near her."

“Probably, y-yeah," Sota said as his heart seized up from the information. “Thanks. And remember, you heard nothing from me. Certainly no Ministry secrets."

“Ain't no idea what you're talking about, friend," the back guard said with a knowing tap of his nose as he pulled his companion back inside, then slid the door closed.

Fate had given him another confused path, to help Hana or the catfolk before one was overwhelmed by Hanzo and the other through execution. and Sota headed on in search for the way down to stop.

He found both sets quickly, but suddenly heard rapid steps nearby. The distinct sound of footfalls, but softer than most. Sota leaned against the wall and waited, yet saw nothing. He could have sworn there was something nearby. Then he saw it: a distortion, swaying back and forth like a mirage.

“The fuck," Sota breathed, only for the form to shimmer. A short, slim figure appeared with a cough and a gasp. Sota's eyes went wide as he recognised the phantom. “Gearal?"

The boy's face was bloodied and he was breathing hard. Gearal tried to say something, but his breathing was too ragged and desperate.

Sota grabbed him by the arm and instantly peered into the nearest room, gave an awkward nod of an apology as he noticed a handful of castle retainers, then tugged him to the opposite side of the hall. He found an empty chamber just as more descending footfalls emerged from the stairs above. Sota slipped both himself and the boy inside as more guards emerged, looking frustrated and confused.

Gearal caught his breath as Sota briefly considered asking about what trickery the boy had conjured to turn near invisible like that, but he had seen far more esoteric feats in The Ministry. Intrigued as he was, Sota instead asked, in whispered Bralranian, “where is Hana?"

“She's fighting Sugawara! I tried to help but he's really strong! They're still up top."

Sota's heart stopped again for a moment: Hana was already fighting for her life, and now Hanzo and Zenzi were on the approach? He jingled the chains around his wrists. “Quickly, I need help."

The boy glanced down, seemingly mesmerised by something, clearly still trying to mentally catch up with what was going on. After another shake of the chains, Gearal snapped to action as he pulled out a set of sturdy pliers and, with a grunt, clipped the chain. He then went for some lockpicks, but Sota raised his hand.

“That will be enough. Thank you." Sota stood, rolled his shoulders to enjoy his restored freedom and approached the door, but paused for a moment. “You must get to your people. They are in a building outside. Can you do that?"

Gearal gulped, but nodded. “I'll... I'll try."

With a gentle smile to reassure the lad, Sota left the room and bolted for the stairs.

* * *

Hana's body ached and her head swam from the combined blood loss and exertion. Her sword was mostly blunted from repeated clashes as she leaned against a wall.

Her foe couldn't have been any more of a mirror: Asao was keeping himself on his feet by using his sword as a cane and the other hand on his hip, made easier since the tip had been snapped off. The only thing that differed between the two combatants was that he grinned through his exhaustion while she remained stoic.

Chihiro had shifted from her petrification of her captivity into being mesmerised by the fight. She mentally recorded every perfect slash, practised parry, tired thrust, desperate block and exhausted shove. While there was honest lethal intent from both sides, the two shared little else. A sense for the thrill from the human and a resigned, fatalistic pride from the inousa.

She had only been exposed to the training halls of The Ministry's adepts. There was competition, rivalries and even arguments but never this type of spectacle before her. This was true, unfettered life, rather than the sterile combat drills of her owners.

All three froze in unison. Rapid, thumping steps from the stairs. Chihiro seemed to know who it was already, and prostrated herself into a low bow, while Hana and Asao both glanced at one another before coming to a silent concord.

Hanzo and Zenzi arrived. The crow man surveyed the scene and, with their own wordless plan, Hanzo stood ready, his sai raised and ready to fight. Zenzi, however, stepped forward and folded his feathered arms, glaring at the inousa with a pompous, righteous and wide-legged stance.

“What is this? An assassin?" The crow-man flicked his head side to side, absorbing every detail he could from Hana as she pointed her damaged sword towards him. Zenzi cackled, “kek-kek! You think you can win?"

“I've got this," Asao said and stepped between them, casually pushing past Hanzo and ignoring the crow man. “This is my foe, my battle. Get lost."

Zenzi threw an open-handed strike into the back of Asao's knee, sending the man staggering as Zenzi slunk between his legs, then plucked a kama from his belt. With one eye remaining on Hana, the yatagha turned his head as Asao grabbed the wall to save himself from falling. With a low croak, Zenzi said, “begone, Lord Sugawara. We will clean up this mess. We've ordered your servants to remain in their domiciles. Go to them and explain your failings."

Asao seethed. “Bastard! You dare order me!?"

Hanzo clasped a hand over Asao's shoulder and spun the lord toward him, face to face. The aggregator smirked and pressed his index finger over his lips. “Shh."

With a savage roar, Asao threw a punch. Hanzo swatted the blow, snatched Asao's wrist and twisted him around with a loud pop as his bone snapped, and he was shoved at the wall. Sugawara slammed into the wood, cracking it, then was jerked back and shoved into the opposite wall. The lord bounced off, his eyes rolled back into his head as his nose gushed blood, but Hanzo was unrelenting as he kicked Asao across the face and sent the once fearsome warrior into a crumpled heap.

Hanzo acted as if he had been standing still all along, even as his robe still fluttered from the violent, rapid moments, then settled, just like the man himself. The very vision of stillness. Asao was much the same, motionless as the dead even as his clothes settled and sword rocked back and forth on its tsuba hand-guard.

Zenzi clacked his beak together thrice as he watched for any movement from Asao. “I think we have been patient enough with that traitor. Let's deal with this inousa, then execute Suga-"

Hanzo's eyes snapped wide and his hands moved to warn Zenzi as Hana rushed the cocksure yatagha. The aggregator dodged the bird-turned-projectile, who screeched from Hana's mighty, thrusting kick. Black feathers cascaded all over as the yatagha slammed into the far wall and snaped the wood. Zenzi seemed stuck in the divot he had created in the wall for a few moments before he landed in his own, unconscious heap. Hanzo's eyes went from his companion to Zenzi's attacker.

Hana kept her speed and leapt at Hanzo with a slash of her blade. He intercepted it with his sai, punched her in in her solar plexus, stealing her breath. He then hooked her leg, plucked-free his sai from her sword and cracked the tip into her chin in one motion. She crashed head over heels and tried to stop her tumble, only to receive a snapping kick to the gut, a tug on her ears to pull her face up, then a knee to the nose.

With a heavy thud, Hana ended up on her back. Everything was a haze. Sound, sight, sensation. All so very distant. Breathing took every ounce of effort. Keeping her eyes open was torturous. Thoughts... gone.

Hanzo loomed over Hana. He peered down at her, tilting his head side to side slowly as if studying her, then back at the crumpled Zenzi and Asao. Finally, he gestured to Chihiro, 'report, acolyte.'

Chihiro stood to attention, but other than the slow open and closing of her beak, she remained silent. She still knew that whatever she said, or didn't say, would certainly doom her.

With a low, throaty growl, Hanzo signed again, 'I demand you report or face the consequences.'

“Lord Sugawara wanted me to tell him Mini-Ministry secrets," Chihiro replied, bowing her head so her beak pressed into her chest. “He was co-coercing me. Threatening me with..."

Hanzo's eyes narrowed as he glanced at Asao and tucked his sai back into his robe, but he kept his vitriol as he sneered at Chihiro. 'You had to have had a chance to flee while the hare woman was fighting with the lord.' He looked back down at Hana, saw her trying to turn over onto her front to crawl, and stomped on her head again. She stopped moving, and Hanzo continued, 'you disappoint- no, shame us all, Acolyte Chihiro.'

Chihiro flopped down onto her backside and folded her legs, her feet clasping one another and arms folding until she was huddled up in an upright fetal position. “I'm sorry. I pani-panicked."

Hanzo sighed and headed over to Asao's slumped form by the stairs. He flipped the unconscious man over and stroked his chin, then nodded to himself. Hanzo spotted the lord's damaged blade nearby. He picked it up, ran his palm over the blunt side of the ruined weapon, and held it over Sugawara's neck. He froze. A sound? A low, rapid series of swooshes.

He went to duck, only to take a thrown sai to the cheek. Hanzo ducked and rolled to the side, dropping the broken sword and clutching the side of his face. He went to stand, only to take a sandalled foot to the face, deepening the daze. Hanzo's robe was pulled over his head as he was dragged around, turned side to side, back and forth, flipped and spun. Everything to prevent him recovering his balance. His outer clothing was finally pulled away as Hanzo could finally scurry back and recognise his attacker.

Sota, smirking as he tossed the Ministry robe down the stairs and then picked up his stolen sai.

Hanzo grimaced as he stood, just as plain and tousled as his former brother-in-arms. He patted himself over for any ofuda, but they were all gone with his robe and down the stairs. Hanzo sighed, pulled his own sai from a holster at his side, and the pair squared up with one another.

“No advantages," Sota said through his teeth. “Just you and me, dickhead. As it should be."

Looping his sai's tassel around his wrist, Hanzo gestured, 'as you say.' He flicked the weapon into his palm and stared Sota down.

There was no time to waste, yet no immediate threat, just all the pointless pride in the world on the line. A man desperate to avoid his former life thrust headlong within it once more, and the agent of prestige who should be dealing with this matter with no personal stakes and pure, impersonal efficacy.

Perfect opposites in so many ways, but identical in their bearing, cudgels gripped in white knuckled fists. Both sucked in a long breath, and charged.

* * *

15th Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

“The Hantoka bloodbath."

Sota froze at Hana's words, glanced at her, then he threw some more wood atop the fire. She sat huddled in blankets atop his bed. The gradual easing of the springtime cold had fallen back into a stiff freeze as the night drew on into the early hours of the morning. The shadows were deep and the corners were pitch black yet they never felt safer than right now, in each other's company.

Hana continued, “I remember that's the term being used when we were on our way to Jinu province. You remember, right? Back in the village along the route, and as we were settling into the farmhouse. Our 'desperate and blasphemous assault on The Ministry,' as it was known. On top of our eventual involvement in the assassination of two lords, of course."

“Ah, right." Sota sat down at his desk, pulling his haori tighter around him as the fire began its gradual work in dispelling the cold. “Nothing new there. And people love to cling to quick, punchy news for their gossip. No investigation, no doubts for people... just swallow the lie so you can get on with life and feel better about your ignorance."

“It didn't matter then, nor now," Hana said with a low sigh, watching the fog of her breath as it caught the firelight. “It's not as if anyone beyond Nabanba province would listen to the catfolk's take on events. Even those outside of Hantoka city itself were sceptical. I still don't believe how readily they would eat up that lie."

“The Ministry haven't been doing this for centuries," Sota said and chuckled. “It's why they have people in every village, town and city for just such an occasion. The very moment something happens that's beyond their control, they just whisper, cajole and push as needed. Not that it matters. We're alive. We're still together. That's how I've accepted my life will go until my final days. To the hells with everything else."

“Don't speak of such things so flippantly," Hana chided. “We're alive, but we matter. We're still together, but we should... promise to make something of ourselves. It shouldn't be enough to merely persist, but we should flourish. We're owed that, for everything we've been forced to endure, and if such a life isn't given to us we should make it for ourselves. Just you and me... and Chihiro, of course."

Sota stared at Hana in silence for a long moment. Her ears drooped. Sota couldn't see whether there was a reddened flush to the pink inners, but she seemed to shrink a little, as if embarrassed of her outburst. He shrugged and shivered.

Hana glanced between him and the fire, then fidgeted over. “For example, you could... um..." She had shifted over so a large space was available on the welcoming beaten straw mattress. “Y-you're welcome to sit here. It's warmer."

“I'm fine," Sota said and focused on the flames, trying to force the warmth in through his eyes even if the air between him and the pit still resisted the heat. It appropriate to be so close, yet denying himself the comfort he desired, so within reach.

“It's your bed," Hana added. “I'm the interloper here."

“And I said that I'm fine here."

Hana huffed and threw off the blanket. “If you insist on being stubborn and miserable, then I have no choice!" She hopped to her feet, stomped over to and knelt near to, but not quite beside, the fire. The same distance from the warming fire as Sota sat. “We shall suffer together."

Sota whistled and nodded. “I see. In this together, through thick and thin. Enduring the worst, side by side."

“Yes. Exactly."

“All terms and situations shared. Equal beyond reason and logic."

“I'm glad you agree."

Sota rubbed his hands together, then snorted. “Well, almost equal. You'd have to shave."

Hana's ears went lop-sided. “I beg your pardon?"

“Some of us don't have a plush fuzziness to fend off the cold," Sota said with a cackle and he picked up his straight-razor. “Okay, strip down and I'll shave you. Then we'll be equal."

Hana's buck-toothed pout only amplified Sota's mirth. “You're such a bastard sometimes."

Sota's continued laugh, in turn, made Hana's impetuous nature burn as bright as the fire and her indignation stewed and steamed. It nourished his soul to see every little part of Hana spark and flare the world around her. All that pride, that defiance. He couldn't help but see beyond even her past self to the small things in the now, like how the light glittered off her deep brown eyes, the subtle shimmer of her white and brown muddled fur, the fact she had been developing a soft dewlap around her neck, something the inousa see as a final sign of a woman reaching adulthood.

He wished he could take up her offers of comfort and togetherness, but as much as he was rediscovering the deeper parts that Hana tried to hide, there was still too much in their past to ignore, and Sota couldn't help but suspect she was pushing hard to make up for her earlier coldness after the mess with Lord Kou. For his own spirit, let alone hers, he had to keep some distance.

Besides, the night wasn't over yet, nor their story and the many steps it took to reach this moment. Some joyous, some grim, and everything in between. Yet with every talk, every experience shared, it was all worth it. Sota didn't want to be anywhere but here.

* * *