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Chapter 13: Positioning and Punishment

16th Day of Tearful Sky

“Sneak. Sneaky. Sneaking."

All was quiet. Except for Old man Watanabe, whose snores could wake, then unwake, the dead.

“Skulk. Skulky. Skulking."

And Kyoko, Ayasa-chan's baby, noisily disturbing her parents for, as an educated guess, the twelfth time this particular night. Or morning? Both. Probably. Twelve each side.

“Scuttle. Scuttly. Scuttling."

Chihiro was about to follow the same principle. She sneaked, skulked and scuttled with purpose. Yes, she had intended to let Hana and Sota have their moment to share together. She absolutely left them alone. Yes, she was watching them from the trees when they sat on top of the hill. She left them alone, and were, so long as they didn't notice Chihiro.

Sure, she did leave them in full to go eat, and knew they had returned to Sota's hut by the time she'd finished. Some things may have been missed, but Chihiro guessed they would be okay. She swore on her after-feathers that they were actually going to finally talk. Maybe kiss? Chihiro hoped they would kiss. Talk, kiss, then post-kiss talk. It seemed like a nice thing. The most yatagha could do was preen and peck and clean one another, though that was frowned upon. Improper. Juvenile. Apparently the act of clapping flesh-lips together and feeling each other with hands was the goal of most humans.

Stupid, mean old Ministry. Chihiro hated them, pitied them even, but she knew. She was like Sota and Hana, who knew the truth. For all the politics, all the planned deaths, all the coaxed wars and every way they got their hands over every single thing people across Samsara wanted to do, the absolute truth was worse. Many hands held Samsara together, and the many fingers crushed many lives, but they were Samsara's keepers. They were necessary.

Chihiro wanted everyone to flourish, but they still came as the second most important thing in her life, with Sota and Hana on the top of her priorities. For all the monstrous things The Dragon's Ministry had done, it had a reason to its actions. If The Ministry were to fail...?

Chihiro pecked the ground to stop her mind from its habitual roaming. This wasn't the time. This was meant to be the creation of her family's wholeness. The world could end, and Chihiro would be sad, but if it was just the three of them, then it would be fine. After all, she had felt like she had lost everything before until they saved her.

Steeling herself and blanketing her thoughts, lest they betray her sneak-skulk-scuttle, Chihiro climbed to her feet and hopped along towards Sota's hut. Signs of life flickered between the gaps in the straw curtains, and the faint haze out the top of the thatched roof against the glittering starlight. The spark in the darkness. Gentle, subdued, and yet alive. Warm, in all ways it should be. Chihiro stopped nearby and listened.

“It's not like I think about him all the time," Sota said. “It's honestly bad for me to do so. The bastard's not worth it."

“Yet you seemed content to enforce a duel with him during the Hantoka incident."

Chihiro choked back the frustrated caw. They were still talking about the old? What about the new! The sparkly and twinkly shine of a new dawn! The soft and warm of beloved company! The pump-a-rum drum of the heart and pickle-pee flute of the spirit!

She wanted to charge in and tell them to hurry up. Chihiro didn't fully understand human emotion, but she knew Sota, she knew Hana, and she knew how much they meant to each other physically, mentally and spiritually. After all they had done, all the fighting, all the struggles and strife, there was only one outcome. Logically it made sense that now, after all of this and finally wanting to mend their bond after the issue with Lord Kou, that this was the perfect time.

“Dumb-dumby bunn-bunny, fooly-foolish humie-human," Chihiro growled. “Just kissy-kiss and humpa-hump already."

“What was that?" Hana whispered.

Chihiro puffed up her feathers in a panic and fled into the night just as Sota and Hana barged out of the hut, bearing their personal jutte and tanto respectively.

Realising it was far too dark to offer any pursuit, the pair tried to find any other signs of disturbance. The gentle rustle of leaves, the distant cry of a baby, but otherwise absolute peace. They gave each other a confused glance then returned inside.

With a heavy sigh, Hana sheathed her blade and tucked the scabbard back into her kimono. “So, where were we?"

* * *

5th Day of White Soil, 1552

Force redirected. Warding broken. Retreat pursued. An old wound torn asunder.

Sota and Hanzo almost felt like they had settled into an old sparring session. Just as fiery, and just as frustrating, now steeped in hatred. Sota threw a jab. It was never meant to do much damage, but the fist obscured the blunt haft of his stolen sai. Hanzo tilted and let his foot slip to dip low. He eluded the fist then pushed aside the sai strike with an open fingered, knife-hand block and lunged with his own weapon towards Sota's ribs.

The blunt steel tip met air, then Sota snared Hanzo's extended arm and locked his elbow around it. Sota heaved and tried to toss Hanzo, who jumped with the pull, perfectly synchronised, and kicked at the back of Sota's leg. It connected, but Hanzo had sacrificed his footing. Sota wobbled and also gave his position, tucking and rolling, then stood.

Hanzo had to recover his footing before Sota caught him. The two then spun and rushed at each other again. Fists, feet, knees, elbows and even foreheads were thrown, but in short, controlled attacks, and were almost always caught, pushed aside. Failing that, the recipient stepped back and lessened the blow.

To Chihiro, still silently observing and huddled to one side, they shared so much in the way they fought. To anyone else, this was obvious. As a yatagha, the reality was very different, and two-fold, growing wider by the moment.

First, there was a clear difference in technique. They had been trained in an identical fashion; in spite of the fluidity, there was no wasted movement both in each combatant. That was true. Hanzo fought with perfect form. Every attempt to strike him had no less than three specific counters, and he capitalised on the most optimal one.

Sota had a casual nature to his attacks. The same short, sharp precision but he let small flaws appear. Imperfections, but they weren't mistakes. They were embellishments. They were a story. They were a response to foes questioning Sota, and who he was. They were emotion.

The other core difference Chihiro was noticing was conditioning. Hanzo, as any Tongueless was required, was in perfect condition. He trained daily, ate well without falling into indulgence, never poisoned his body without due cause with alcohol or any other toxins.

This difference was starting to manifest. Sota was becoming slower. He was a man who rested, lounged and partook in that which was sinful to The Ministry.

Hanzo saw this too. Sota winced as an elbow clipped his cheek. His backward step had been too short. He failed to see the next fist thrown. It was just that, one punch, but a fight was as a mountain. Sometimes one loosed pebble beheld and manifest the avalanche. And so it did.

A punch from Hanzo obscured a kick to the same leg he sought before. Sota felt a spike of pain shoot up his thigh. He stumbled and lost his balance, but had to keep up his guard. Anything, even a blind defence. Sota froze, indecision reigned. Hanzo spotted the hesitance and unleashed a heavy hook and kicked forward with one leg. He stepping with the same and then raising the other knee. Either Sota would fall to the ground to let Hanzo move to stomp him into the wood, or Sota would catch his footing and take a bone-breaking strike to the nose.

Sota elected to fall onto his back with a heavy thud, but Hanzo's mouth dropped just as hard as Sota lashed out a wild kick between Hanzo's legs. A low, roaring and billowing ache shot and spread through Hanzo's nethers as he moaned and stumbled back, hand glancing against the wall for support. He resisted the urge to clutch his crotch and arrested the deep weakness though his will, but Hanzo's strength was sapped. Sota used the pause to climb to his feet, but his leg wouldn't respond. They instead stared at one another, shoulders drooped and unsteady.

Hanzo caught his breath as his hands gestured. 'Dirty trick.'

“The Dragon's Reach style is filled with them," Sota panted and took a step closer, despite a glimmer of shakiness before he planted his feet firm and true. A bluff. He was playing for time instead. “Just because they taught it to us doesn't make it gospel, and doesn't make it infallible."

'If it wasn't the superior art, The Ministry would not have kept control for a thousand years.'

“The Ministry is like a fat tick on a mangy, sickened dog; you're just lucky excising you from Samsara would do more harm than good, but that doesn't fucking mean you deserve that power! Nobody does!"

With their most recent injuries fading, the two dropped into their fighting stances once more. Hanzo beckoned, 'you? The local lord? The inousa? The cat people? You are all no better than every other ignorant fool in every nation, in every corner of this land and beyond. You are all ignorant! Every filthy vagabond with pretences of wisdom or true faith? Just who deserves The Dragon's power? Who should control it? Recognise how to harness it? Nobody! We are the only ones who know! Who understand!'

Sota hissed through his teeth and forced his aching leg into action. He lunged, dipped low and spun, lashing out with a sai to Hanzo's ribs and a stomp to the foot. Hanzo stepped back, avoiding kick and clashed his weapons with Sota's, twisting and latching the prongs together like duelling bucks. Sota saw the counter coming, a finger-jab to the eye, and used the entangled steel as an anchor. He let himself fall once more, releasing his sai the moment Hanzo was pulled off balance as he received Hanzo's punch, but ignored the strike as he wrapped his freed hands around Hanzo's wrist.

The fall was arrested as Hanzo tried to resist, yet Sota turned his body with all his might, and Hanzo's arm was wrenched and twisted. A dull crunch, a strain of muscle in Sota's grip as Hanzo screamed in pain. Undeterred, filled with faith and fury, and despite his fractured forearm, Hanzo stepped with Sota's ungainly fall and hooked Sota's leg with his own. Sota hit the floor again, and Hanzo fell atop of him, knee into Sota's arm and pinned it against his chest. With his enemy trapped, Hanzo grabbed his sai, flicked the locked weapon sideways to free it from Sota's own, and swung with all his might back at Sota's face.

Sota threw a frenzied kick up at the back of Hanzo's head. It disrupted the swing and caused Hanzo's sai to clip against the wooden floor yet still collide with the side of Sota's head. Even this deflection let the steel strike enough force to send Sota's hearing ringing and eyes full of stars. Black spots, flickers of light, but all else nothing but a blur. Throbbing echoes of movement and twinkles of false stars assailed Sota's vision, as if struggling for his attention. His heart thundered in his ears as it waged war with the dulling pell of the concussion. All these fights within his senses, but none of his own as Hanzo righted himself with bared teeth, pink with saliva-thinned blood, and the glint of another braced swing of a sai.

It was over. Sota would never have called it. Not like this. Anything but this.

White loomed behind Hanzo. A shroud. An inverse shadow. A halo. Angelic, if one were to believe the most virtuous of the Six Saints. Yet before absolution, or wrath, Hanzo struck, and all went dark.

* * *

Chihiro's beak opened and closed. She wanted to speak, but knew it was not her place. Everything had gone wrong, yet every time it did, it was somehow a reprieve from punishment, death, or death by punishment.

Protecting the people. That was the core value The Ministry had instilled in her. The reason to suffer through every trial and obey The Dragon's rule. Helping people, even if a person must die, or be captured, or mutilated, or made to do things against their will. Many over the few. The greater good.

“The greater good," Chihiro whispered. She clutched her taloned fingers and stroked the scales on her hands. “This is the righty-right thing to do."

Hanzo raised his arm for a second blow against the traitorous Sota, but a figure rose behind him. The inousa. Bloodied, woozy, but with fury in her eyes and a snapped katana in hand.

Chihiro tried to call out, but only managed a coarse caw before Hana drove the broken and mangled sword through Hanzo's back. It didn't go far, but Hanzo reeled and clenched as Hana jerked the blade, shoving and twisting. Hanzo coughed blood, bright crimson covering his already tinged teeth, but Hana was unrelenting, and didn't stop until Hanzo slumped flat on the floor.

Hana threw Hanzo aside and off of Sota, then she fell to her knees. “Sota," she called out and gently shook him. “Come. Wake up."

Sota began to stir, but Chihiro saw a shadow flitter past her with a rising, feral screech. Zenzi hopped, his foot snatching his dropped kama from the ground and flicked into his hand as he landed and leapt again, straight for Hana, who struggled to stand and dive. She but caught the small, keen blade into her collarbone. He used it to cling to her shoulders, dig his talons into her hips and pluck the kama free, ready for the final blow.

Hana yelped and kicked herself at the wall, slamming and squashing Zenzi between the hard wood and her body. The yatagha lost his grip on Hana's shoulders and neck, falling back, but his foot-talons remained lodged in her sides. The claws raked Hana's sides as he strained to stay attached even as he dangled behind her. She grunted with pain and threw her leg up and behind her and struck Zenzi on the head, then again and again. With more torn fur and skin, Zenzi fell away and Hana staggered forward, dripping blood all over the floor.

Her leg was pulled from beneath her as a bloodied and still-impaled Hanzo snagged her ankle. He grimaced through blood-frothed lips from the exertion. Hana struggled and kicked at Hanzo while Zenzi rushed to attack. Hana pulled herself free, but Zenzi pounced, only to be tackled by a conscious but concussed Sota, who blundered and crashed atop the yatagha.

An explosion. Fire. Sparks. Furious heat. Speckles of dust, splinters, snow and smoke. A raging storm of all that smothered, choked and sent fear into even the hardiest amongst the combatants but one, Zenzi, who wriggled free and fled for the stairs as the clatter, clink and cascade began to settle.

Hana's ears rung, but she saw a number of silhouette's dash in and fade from view in the carnage and chaos as the shrapnel settled and the now gentle snow. The blizzard had passed, but a new turmoil began. Except a female figure remained, a catfolk woman clad in a thin, figure-hugging star-metal chainmail suit. The same matte-black metal encased her head, narrow bands for structure and a thin, veil-like mesh covering everything else, even her eyes with a thinner batch that did little to hide the telltale fiery turquoise eyes.

It was Varisidra, ready for war with scimitar in one hand and a metal orb in the other. Her eyes alone looked ready to kill, let alone the clenched fist around her sword. “Everyone remain exactly where you are! This farce is over!" She nodded to the side approached Hanzo, who coughed more blood from his pierced lung. She glared down at him and shook her head, then turned her attention to Sugawara. “Is he still alive?"

Sota winced and shrugged, poking his fingers in his ears as if that would help the lingering ringing or the blatant concussion. He slurred, “the fuck if I know."

Varisidra muttered, “I suppose it doesn't matter."

Zenzi suddenly emerged from the stairs once more, and rushed towards Varisidra. She went to slash at him, but he ducked low, sliding on the smooth and bloodstained wooden floor, then dived on top of Hanzo, and slapped something against his chest. A talisman.

Varisidra uttered a garbled catfolk curse word as she spun to thrust at the pair, only for Hanzo's dragon-empowered voice to rasp, “yuso!" A dark, deep blue circle appeared on the floor, through which Hanzo and Zenzi fell through, and the portal to vanished as soon as it appeared, with Varisidra's blade tip an inch from the once-more varnished and bloody wooden floor.

She bared her pointed teeth. “Herpha-taff! I wanted some answers. Or his head."

As if the ensuing calm was offensive to a day filled with chaos, a rumble of footfalls emerged from the stairs and a panicked voice called, “Aggregator Hanzo! The catfolk have managed to break free!"

Varisidra rolled her eyes and she pressed a button on the orb in her hand. A fierce sizzle of sparks emerged from a tiny hole on its surface, and she tossed the orb down the stairs and retreated, plucking her ever-present dagger from the hidden sheathe at the small of her back. A mixed group of Sugawara's soldiers and Ministry spies stumbled up and onto the top floor before another deafening explosion shook the air. Glowing spots of light billowed from the stairway like a dragon's enraged roar, and the streaks cut through the backmost of those that left the stairwell, cutting, fizzing and popping as they did. It was followed by agonised screams from those fortunate enough to not be penetrated in vital areas, but the charring of any wounds burned with an acrid black smoke. Eight managed to escape unharmed, but the shock left them stunned and disorientated as Varisidra pounced.

Her dagger punched into a throat, then was drawn across and through another neck before lancing into a third man's eye-socket. Varisidra's scimitar cleft an arm, then through a whole torso and ended decapitating another. Those struck almost fell at the same time, though three remained standing. One fell to the ground and clutched the gushing stump of his arm, and the last two froze, blinked as their senses caught up with what demonic violence had befallen them before they both cried out in fear as they staggered and stumbled away from Varisidra.

Varisidra growled and pointed her sword at the pair. “You have lost. Hantoka is mine by right."

“No..." said a strained voice. Sugawara, his nose crooked and pouring blood and with his arm bent backwards as he struggled to his knees. “It's mine. My father gave it to me!"

Varisidra gave him a quizzical tilt of the head in response, followed by a smile. “Is that so? Pray tell, do you intend to stop me? You believe you have the strength, wits or even the Saints-blessed folly to deny me!?"

Sugawara shakily reached for one of the discarded swords from his fallen men. “You have no-"

“No claim?" Varisidra laughed and stomped on the man's hand. “Foolish boy. Your father signed the accords that allowed diplomacy to take hold in Nabanba. Your antiquated, hegemonic leanings are as backward and harmful as the rest of Samsara. Might makes right, yes? I believe you understand this."

The remaining duo of Asao's men approached the dominant catfolk, swords at the ready. Hana stood to help, but Sota grabbed and held her back as he barked, “hoi! Behind you!"

Varisidra didn't move. It wasn't necessary. Shaded figures, dressed the same as their leader, emerged from the hole in the wall. They fell upon the two remaining soldiers, who didn't have a chance to turn before their arms were restrained. Varisidra's men pinned the two down, with talwar swords at their throats. The matriarch sighed and looked down at Sugawara again as he gritted his teeth, torn between his ferocity and the same fear his subordinates now felt.

Another of the shadowy figures stepped beside their mistress. “Lady Varisidra, the incense is still in place. Your orders?"

The matriarch gave a faint nod but remained focused on the human at her feet. “Lord Sugawara, listen very carefully," Varisidra said and grazed her sword up against his neck, lifting his face and drawing more blood. “While you've been playing your pissant samurai games, I've long since held your life by a very short rope. At my word, I will flood the castle with an acrid incense that will paralyse every single person within, then liquefy their lungs until they all choke on their own blood. If you're any sort of leader, you'll spare them by surrendering control to me."

“How? When? I thought the Ministry had you trapped on your ship!"

Varisidra's pointed teeth shone as she smiled. “I'm not hearing a surrender."

Asao glanced at his two followers, then at the man still clutching his bleeding stump as he cried out for his mother. Sugawara gritted his teeth and cast his eyes to the floor. “Dishonourable coward! You waited for me to be at my weakest, and then struck."

With a kick that sent Asao onto his back, Varisidra stomped on his chest and stuck her sword into the shoulder of his still-able arm. “Your ilk will never change, will you? Fine." She plucked it free and readied a swing at his neck.

“Enough!" Hana bellowed and stormed over. Her steps were still unsteady, but something drove her. “Enough bloodshed. This has to stop."

Varisidra huffed and glanced over her shoulder, bemused or frustrated, though Hana couldn't tell. “You, of all people, would beseech for mercy to me? For this cretinous filth? One who invited chaos into his own lands purely for self-interest? Side with the Ministry for his own glory?"

Hana looked down at Asao, who returned her gaze with confusion, but just a hair of gratitude. She wasn't even sure what she was doing herself and yet the clash of steel against someone so old fashioned, so akin to how she anticipated the average Samsaran samurai be be, only to be flooded and drowned in the power struggles of those impossibly unfathomably more powerful.

The modernised death of the old ways fighting the immeasurable power that has held Samsara in its stagnation for as long as recorded history. Everything Hana had been raised to embody was nothing in the face of all of this.

Asao had fought Hana to a standstill, only to be crushed beneath the heel of the Ministry in body. Asao had tried to recover his strength and stand as a lord of Samsara, only to be slain by the hand of a woman who had already won from the start, and only entertained Sugawara's legacy until it got in her way.

They were all pawns, and maybe Hana needed to assert some sort of power. To recover relevancy. Prove there was worth in the tattered remains of who she used to be. Give herself belief in the principles she still held in her heart. She was also reminded of Varisidra's own words.

Hana stood tall and stared Varisidra down. “I thought you said that you did not hide behind proxies? What were we," she paused and beckoned to herself and Sota, “but just that? You have not faced Sugawara on his own terms."

Sota grimaced. “Hana, I don't think this-"

“Silence!" Varisidra stepped off of Asao and grabbed Hana by the scruff of her neck. “Pray tell exactly who in the Saints' hells you think you are, interfering in my business after the bloodshed and misery this dog's whimpering whoreson bitch invoked on his own people and mine!?"

Hana struggled to hold her nerve. The blaze of Varisidra's eyes stilled her heart and lungs. All she could do is look away.

Sota crawled before Varisidra and forced himself up his knees. “Think of it this way," he beseeched. “What better way to bring the folk being tempted by the old Samsaran ways promised by The Ministry than with an honourable duel? Beat'em at their own game and stop any further bloodshed in one fell swoop?" He leaned to see around Varisidra and Hana, wincing as he did from his injuries. “You'd be up for that, right, Sugawara?"

The wounded lord hissed through his teeth in pain as he sat up and wiped the cascade of blood from his nose on his sleeve. “Fine. If that's what will finally settle this."

Varisidra scoffed as she looked between Sota, Hana and Asao. With a tiny roll of her eyes, she nodded to her men and had Sugawara's soldiers released and shoved Hana back. Varisidra then loomed over the two captives and barked, “you heard him! Spread the word that this battle is over and will be decided by a duel!" She then addressed her own men. “Irros, please save that man from bleeding to death," she said as she gestured to the whimpering man with the severed arm. “Fanarra, if you would return to the Maiden and get Master Hanbei here, arre-vorra. The rest of you spread out and gather everyone in the garden. Nobody leaves or enters the castle without my expressed consent."

Asao's soldiers ran down the stairs, followed by Varisidra's spies following their orders. She then calmly approached the hole in the wall and stared outside as she relaxed and loosed a slow sigh. “At least this mess can finally start being fixed." Varisidra flipped her dagger back into her hand as she glared past everyone in the corridor to the far corner. “Now, as for this quiet little onlooker..."

All eyes followed Varisidra's stare towards Chihiro, who had been sitting still and huddled in the corner this whole time.

The catfolk glanced at the dagger in her hands, then approached the cowering yatagha. “It's my understanding that these bird-folk absorb every single thing they see and hear. If there's one thing I can't accept, it's another Ministry witness to what follows."

“Hey, wait," Sota said and tried to stand, but stumbled. He shifted and scrambled closer as he pleaded, “she didn't do anything."

Hana also added, “I thought you agreed to no more bloodshed?"

Varisidra shook her head. “Only to Asao's men, and certainly not to Ministry possessions. What if this bird's captured by the remaining Ministry bastards still within Hantoka? I can't run that risk." Varisidra reached down and pinned Chihiro down, then raised her dagger.

“I could get information out of her too!" Sota called out. “I know how the Ministry think. Give me time, and I'll have her on our side instead."

Varisidra lowered her blade, but poised it near to Chihiro's neck. “I have to admit, I am curious, but I'll need more than that."

Sota racked his brain. “Uh... I could also teach her to help me masquerade as a Tongueless? Even interfere in further dealings and sow discord against their number if they try anything in Nabanba."

“Hmph." Varisidra's whiskers flexed as she sheathed her dagger. “Fine. But I need something in return, Mr. Nakamura..."

* * *

The favour was a strange one. Sota sat, now thoroughly exhausted, having expended his strength in the creation and casting of a memory talisman. The result stood proud and haughty, as Asao Sugawara's condition was restored in full. Sota and Hana were now being treated by Twikoren while his tutor, Master Hanbei, dealt with the casualties of the massive battle in the castle.

Lord Sugawara and Varisidra stood on opposite sides of the square, with Hantoka's citizens making up most of the onlookers. Rosarris, Quarzanris and Gearal also watched from nearby, all having also been treated from the conflict. Several of Sugawara's retainers sat on his side of the square as the two sized each other up.

Varisidra was out of her armour to remove the advantage her star-steel armour would afford, and instead she huddled with her heavy, deep red shawl for warmth atop her figure hugging suit. Her breath a swirl of steam on the bitter-cold air as the daylight waned. She narrowed her eyes at Sugawara. “So, here we are. Your pompous duel. Have you made peace with The Dragon, boy? Or your own ego. I'd pick fast."

Sugawara cricked his neck and smiled. “I'm glad you brought your spawn with you. Only seems fitting that you whored yourself to my father and now they get to see me restore my family's honour as I cleave your head in two." He drew his sword and stepped into the makeshift ring. “Asao 'Thunderstorm' Sugawara stands ready!"

Varisidra grinned back. “Hold. What are the terms of this duel?"

He swaggered on deeper into the ring as he replied, “just you, me, one sword each, and the ring! Last one standing!"

Hana watched, fixated as Varisidra also entered the arena. “I wonder how they will handle one another's formidable speed?"

Sota shook his head and muttered, “I don't doubt Asao's fast, but if I know the catfolk queen at all, I know that Varisidra isn't playing fair, merely within the rules that dickhead just set. This fight's already decided."

She flicked her eyes to Sota for a moment but Hana otherwise kept watching as Varisidra also approached as she said, “what do you mean?"

“Just a hunch, but you'll see," Sota said and leaned back, barely taking notice of the fight.

Varisidra stormed forward as she drew an exquisite, though not star-metal, scimitar, which she held low, brimming with confidence. Asao raised his blade. Once more poised and ready for his jodan-no-kamae stance. That one terrible strike was coming.

In spite of Hana's urging to bring this duel about, she now wondered whether to warn Varisidra of the threat. She then stole a glance at Sota's lethargic temperament and trusted his judgement. She remembered all too well her fight with Varisidra. The woman who claimed to be quicker than the eye, and Hana had witnessed it herself.

Excitement overtook any concern. For once, Hana would be able to observe the techniques instead her being their target. A little awakening from her youth as every new attack, stance and defensive form was unveiled as she mastered each from her mother and father. To witness masters of their craft, however deadly the circumstances were here, right now.

Asao's grip tightened, his leading hand splayed out. Everything was as before. Varisidra entered range of a such a classic stepping strike, and so he stepped, and struck. The pivot of his hands to drop the blade into a singular, unerring vertical cut to the head and down until it reached the midsection. Everyone inch of his muscles and sinew driven to one peerless division. Enough force to cleave a tree in twain, let alone a skull or even a torso. His voice boomed across the courtyard, and everyone flinched.

Hana gasped and leaned forward, squinting at the spectacle. It looked as if Varisidra had been stopped dead in her tracks. No wait... Varisidra's arms were still by her sides, weapons still in hand. Had she moved? She wasn't directly in front of Asao, and her shawl fluttered as if billowed by a stiff wind, yet settled from the calm and frigid air.

Varisidra had moved, Hana simply didn't see it. She must have blinked as Varisidra stepped to the side. This contest truly was over.

Asao grimaced and wrenched his arms back and into a flurry of defensive swishes. He seemed panicked, as if fending off a counterattack that simply wasn't there.

Hana remained tense. “What's happening? Why did he miss? And why didn't Varisidra strike back?"

Sota feigned disinterest, but he was staring too. “I don't know... maybe even she was taken by surprise by his attack and hesitated?"

Varisidra resumed her approach as Asao scrambled to find his footing. He all but sprinted backwards to prepare a second swing, and found it long before his foe was in reach. He was ready in the blink of an eye, back in his indomitable stance, yet Varisidra took a casual stroll toward him. She tugged her shawl forward and slipped her blade up, cutting the fastening cord, then tucked it into her sword belt. With the distance closed between Varisidra and her foe, she then lunged at Asao.

Another world-shaking cut and air-piercing bellow from Sugawara, and Varisidra stopped short with an almost insulting mockery to inertia. She had stopped instantly on the spot, so unnatural it seemed unreal. Hana was even staring and only noticed the tiniest traces of motion, like how Varisidra rocked back on her digitigrade feet and knees, or how her back kinked away and her tail even extended back for the tiniest shred of weight adjustment. It was the illusion of nothingness to cover a million tiny movements. If Asao had absolute confidence in his attack, she had more faith in her positioning. The blade must have passed by a hair's breadth of her nose, but she didn't flinch.

Hana observed and absorbed the scene, the same as the first but for one change: Varisidra didn't hesitate. The moment Asao's blade passed below her navel, she counter-attacked. Just one almost mocking flick of her blade to punish his over-extension. It sliced through his robe and exposed his hairy chest, which seeped blood from a fine, almost invisible slit. Asao spun and recoiled, jerking back in an awkward reaction that had to hurt more than the cut.

As Sugawara put distance between himself and his foe yet again, Hana could see it was a superficial wound. Sliced fabric and skin. Nothing a tried and true fighter would even entertain until after the fight, yet Asao's expression spoke more of his impending loss. The confusion and self-doubt. The dawn of fear afore the final day and death's final twilight. The cat toying with its prey, letting it exhaust itself while the predator smelled and grew drunk with the hunt.

As Sota had said, it had been over from the start. Hana believed him, yes, but only now did Hana understand, and things made more sense in retrospect. “It's not that she's faster than the eye," she mused, “she's reading him beyond a fighter can and concealing every excessive motion to make her movements seem effortless. She's working for victory, but pretending she isn't to force him to make the mistakes."

Sota yawned. “You managed to fight her pretty well back on the ship, from what I recall. Then again, you fight with a lot of raw instinct most of the time. Less thought and more untamed fury. Asao doesn't have that. He's impressive, don't get me wrong, but he's honed himself against other samurai, or peasant conscripts and mercenaries or whatever. He's exactly the sort of warrior The Ministry adores: a hammer. Blunt, useful even, but inelegant and easy to overcome. No threat to The Dragon, and certainly not to a cat it seems."

Hana nodded, still watching as Asao's retreat drew longer, and Varisidra continued to casually pace after him. “I also fought him on his own terms. I even caught myself overthinking my battle, relying on my past learning perfect techniques when sparring with my sister."

Asao made his final stand. Realising just hammering wasn't enough, he tried to improvise. He sliced down in a less intense strike and, on Varisidra pausing short again, he pulled the blade up to her side. Varisidra draped her scimitar over her shoulder and caught the swing, but before he could push in from the blade-bind, or kick his foe, Varisidra threw her shawl at him.

The fluttering, floating fabric was harmless, and a seasoned fighter like Asao ignored it by pressing the attack, but his sword caught nothing but air. Varisidra fell to one knee and ducked low as the katana swished over her flattened ears. She dragged her scimitar across and through his knees, severing bone and tendon. His leg buckled as she brought her feet beneath her. He fell forward as she sprung to meet him. With a rising pirouette, her scimitar met with his neck as the two passed one another and Varisidra sauntered forward and sighed.

Asao's neck gushed blood as Varisidra maintained her dancer's spin, casually offering the crowd a bow, accepting their shocked gasps and predicted silence. The whole manoeuvre happened in two seconds, but Asao's swift death felt like an eternity as he clutched his neck and choked as air and blood met in his throat.

Varisidra maintained her bow until Asao's thrashing grew sluggish, then she turned, mounted Asao's back and finished what her first cut started by continuing to saw the spine and tugged on Asao's hair. As she tried to claim Asao's head, his retainers moved to put an end to the horrific scene, only to be pulled back by more of Varisidra's men and held at sword-point.

After finishing her work, Varisidra stood, and held Asao's head aloft by his unkempt and bloodstained hair. “This?" She made sure to show the head high and proud as she turned and made sure everyone saw her prize. “This is not Asao Sugawara. This is the old world. This is your spirit cowing to The Ministry. Praying and hoping for the 'old ways,' where might alone made right, all 'neath the gaze of The Dragon." She walked over to one of the castle bridge's braziers. She tossed Asao's head on the flames like any other piece of kindling.

“Foreign devil!!" screamed one of the captive retainers.

“How dare you disrespect Lord Sugawara!" screamed another, who managed to wrestle free. He drew steel and charged at Varisidra across the bloodied arena, only for Rosarris to rush and stand between him and her mother.

She was wounded, complete with newer cuts besides her mostly recovered encounter with Sota, but Rose seemed no less able and just as terrifying. It was only made worse by the large, bloodied tetsubo war club slung over her shoulder, which she swung down and pointed at the retainer. “Try me."

Fuelled by honour and vengeance to overcome his fear, he did just that. He rushed at Rose, but she responded by sprinting at him. She first raised her tetsubo, but as the man went to raise his blade to slash, she lowered her weapon and thrust, using it like a lance. Its superior reach caught him off guard, and knocked him off his feet. Rose stomped him underfoot as she passed over his crumpled form, skidded to a stop as he tried to climb to his feet, but Rose cracked the tetsubo down into first his back, then caved and split the man's head like a melon with a second slam.

Rose cricked her neck and inspected the brain matter on the teeth of her club, then pointed it it back at the other retainers. “Anyone else?"

The loyalists gritted his teeth so hard they were likely close to splintering, but they fell to their knees as he surrendered without another word.

Varisidra shared a nod with her daughter, then resumed her speech without skipping a beat. “I came to Hantoka and became fast friends with the old and true Lord Junpei Sugawara. I learned his fears, his dreams. Junpei was a man of whom recognised the poison that The Ministry ever dripped into the spirit of Samsara. The very same poison that had been invited back into Nabanba thanks to Asao's short-sightedness. A wound, invited into your peace and progress. A wound we need to clean. And purge the fingers from which this poison spreads."

Varisidra paused her speech as she finished rounding the square, then climbed the high arched bridge of the castle. She beckoned beyond the castle gate and her elite spies dragged out several of the Ministry's leftover men, bound and gagged, and forced them face down on the floor of the increasingly bloody square. With a nod from their matriarch, the elites cut the throats of some of the prisoners, whilst others were cut free and left to flee.

“We have a list of names," Varisidra announced, and smirked, but her eyes were anything but pleased. “We have addresses, affiliates and regular haunts. You, of the Ministry, are known. We will come for you. Thus, you have two choices and one day to decide. Surrender, throw yourself at my mercy, and be exiled from Nabanba to keep your heads. The alternative?" She gestured to the charred head of Asao Sugawara within the brazier, then walked inside the castle walls.

* * *

6th Day of Whitesoil, 1552

“Is she broken?" Gearal asked as he glanced around Sota in the gloom. Even Gearal's gentle whisper echoed subtly in the empty hall.

Sota made a few Ministry gestures, but Chihiro continued to ignore them. “It's just young yatagha behaviour," Sota replied in Gearal's preferred tongue as he inspected Chihiro, who remained balled up and closed physically, yet eyes wide open and glancing hither and thither, her mind billowing like a typhoon. “They're overwhelmed by too much stum... stammerlation? Damn, no. What is that word? Too much things going on?"

“Stimulation?" Gearal replied.

“Yes, that's the one. They can't help but memorise quite literally everything they experience, and the more complicated, loud or bright, the worse it gets. I imagine all the drama yesterday was a overdose of 'sensations. It is why I've had her put in this out-of-the-way room to try and calm her down. They don't normally leave Ministry grounds until they learn to control their senses by meditation, so they're kept in conditions like this."

“They remember everything!?" Gearal whistled and smoothed the downy fur on his pointed ears. “Damn, I wouldn't mind that. Mother's always trying to make me study, y'know, because the swift of mind can sharpen even the dullest blade."

“Speaking of study, where did you learn to turn invisible?"

Gearal grinned. “A little bit of catfolk alchemical trickery and my mana conditioning. I entangle magic around my body so it makes me warp what people see, like water refraction but stronger. It's just that I can't do it too often. I get this problem where I can't breathe well when it's active so I can only take small sips of Tweak's potions. A lot of my people have to keep dosing ourselves with small amounts of alchemical agents that cause all sorts of weird things, but until you develop a tolerance to the side-effects, it can be dangerous. Anyway, it's not as interesting as these yatagha. C'mon! What else do you know about them?"

Sota snorted at the idea of catfolk drugs and their mystical effects being dull, but conceded. “Well, let's see... so yes, the crow-people record everything they experience, but they can also re-enact these details. Their mimicry almost toppled Samsara hundreds of years ago."

Gearal's jaw dropped. “How?"

Sota rubbed his forehead, still fatigued from the previous day's misadventure “It's long and complicated, but imagine if people who could imitate any voice, perfectly craft any Ministry seal and pen perfect duplicates of upper Ministry or lordly orders. The yatagha had the whole country in disarray, pulling every string and conquering provinces without putting themselves in harms way. And before you ask, yes, their leaders were eventually caught by The Ministry. They've been under The Dragon's thumb ever since."

Chihiro's frantic eyes locked onto Sota's. She flicked her head back and forth as she stared with one eye, then the other. “We aren't under a thumb," she answered in Bralranian. “We're housed in the Hatchery. Though The Dragon's thumb would be able to smother ten yatagha."

Sota puckered his lips, then smirked and returned to Samsaran dialect. “So you can speak. I was beginning to think you were broken."

“Broken?" Chihiro uncoiled herself and her side-to-side shifted to confused head-bobbing. “Like a shelly-shell? Or a head? Or a spirit? Or a breaky-fast?"

“Two and three, mostly," Sota replied and tapped Chihiro's beak. “I know you're aware of what's been going on. Do you have any thoughts on your situation?"

Chihiro shifted her head-bobbing from horizontal, pivoting her head up and down in short, jerky angled motions, as if unused to nodding.

“And?"

“And? Hand? Sand? Cland-estine?" She giggled and bounced on the spot. “Spanned! Planned!!"

Sota threw up his hands to try and beckon her to calm. “Stop, wait, no. I wanted to know what you were thinking about what happened to you?"

Chihiro wriggled her taloned fingers. “Oh? Oh! I was thinky-thinking about the window. And the sky. And the roasty-roasted seeds I had for breaky-fast. And the sky again, then the wind. And how the wind blows the seeds-"

Sota gently tapped Chihiro's beak again, recalling the gesture from The Ministry for coaching hatchlings. The yatagha went silent, and Sota asked, “you really like talking, don't you?"

“It's funny-fun! I can speak, without Principal of the Flock Zenzi saying," Chihiro drew her head back and spoke in a deep, flawless tone, just like Zenzi, “unnecessary speaking is unbefitting of those who serve The Dragon." She then relaxed as she continued as normal. “Oh, or! Or!" Her hands fluttered about in Ministry sign language as her eyes and demeanour adjusted and became rigid, like Hanzo. 'I'm so serious about everything, laughing is an affront to The Ministry.'

Sota snorted and chuckled. “Not bad! Say, Chihiro... do you want to talk lots whenever you want?"

Chihiro nodded vigorously.

“And do you want to go back to The Ministry, where you won't get to speak lots any more?"

Chihiro shook her head so violently, Sota thought her head might fall off.

“Stick with me then. I'm Sota Nakamura."

Chihiro chirped, “so-so-Sota!"

It was his turn to tilt his head and look confused.

She continued, “it's what the scary cat lady called you! So-so!"

“Ah," Sota nodded. “I would have gone with Sota Naka-medioc-ra, but fine. Welcome to the team, Chihiro."

“So-So-Team Naka-Medioc-ra!"

The pair shared a laugh, and Gearal could only just squint and scratch his head. “You people are weird."

* * *

Hana inspected her nodachi. The matte, near-black metal blade and the subtle wave-like pattern of the edge. An edge that could cleave steel as easy as paper. How trivial this whole event would have been were this nigh-immortal blade hadn't been secured on the ship. A blade was the soul of a warrior. This was a classic Samsaran belief, and this messy path of revenge had led Hana through many blades. It felt like a fated meeting. Little could stand against it in the hands of a skilled user.

Such a weapon only amplified Hana's strengths, yet her weaknesses remained. This had been proven when she failed to eliminate Sugawara in single combat. Even caring about her abilities was a long-dead aspect of her past that struggled to free itself from the ashes of her life as a young girl. When concepts of honour, being flawless, or even conventional etiquette were paramount to anything else. To be raised as a perfect girl, with equally perfect techniques, then married off to have children and teach them the family style to repeat the cycle. Boys would take these techniques to the battlefield and have them forged into something new, whilst the girls maintained the traditional style of the parents.

Hana had torched this side of herself when she swore revenge, then to end her own life before she was arrested and executed, or tortured. Or worse. Her mind thought of how Varisidra dispatched Sugawara, and she found her pragmatic but underhanded tactics... detestable, even in spite of the unnecessary bloodshed such a tactic achieved. A few unsavoury deaths to prevent a civil war, and yet Hana bristled at the thought.

This old self was a distraction Hana didn't want, nor need, on her path to destroy Lord Kou.

“A yon for your thoughts, Hana?"

Hana gasped and sheathed the long blade, and turned to greet Varisidra with a bow. The matriarch was followed by a dozen more human and catfolk figures, besides the only one Hana recognised, the ratfolk accountant, Cedric Chapman. Hana didn't know the others, but she knew what they were; the nobility of Nabanba, and in time for the official vote for the Cera'Darchinissidai to formally take over the region. Feudalism giving way to foreign democracy, and a vote that nobody had any illusion would ousting the cera'an interlopers.

The catfolk matriarch first waved to her, then led her group to a side room and beckoned them inside. A pretty servant girl hastily followed, carrying a tea set.

Varisidra picked up a teapot and two cups from the servant girl, then addressed the nobles once more. “Please begin the discussions, and I shall be with you shortly."

The group entered and closed the sliding door behind them, leaving Hana and Varisidra alone.

“You should be relaxing," Varisidra said as she placed the finely crafted and gilded tea set on the table. “My son's medical talents may be splendid, but you have time to kill whilst both your wounds finish healing and my other ships return to Nabanba. To translate a cera'an term, grazing and fretting is for prey, relaxation and abrupt ferocity the hunter. Taxing yourself unduly serves nobody but your foes."

Hana sighed. Dancing around the issue was pointless, as Varisidra would sense the dishonesty. “I find myself contemplating Asao Sugawara's death, not to mention your tone when dealing with him in front of those who were his people by right."

“By right?" Varisidra laughed, far harsher than her typical restraint. “Don't be naïve. You should know all too well that sort of backwards, outmoded and self-crippling form of control has no place here." She poured tea for herself and Hana, then sat at a nearby table as she took a sip. “Respect the individual and their capacity to assist the whole, and those with strength enable those who lack it. No more, no less. Come, join me."

It may have been a weak form of protest, but Hana resisted the invitation for a few moments, but still conceded. She sat opposite Varisidra and enjoyed the aroma of the tea. “You trample over centuries of tradition, Varisidra."

“Please. We have been through enough of an ordeal to remain so formal. Just Varis will suffice."

Hana recognised the platitude having dealt with the catfolk leader for even a few weeks. Camaraderie to quell any deepening rifts, yet Hana had no reason to fight back. “I'll... try, Varis." She took a long pull of the balanced sweet and bitter drink. “I can't help but feel like you're underestimating the people and their traditions. Sota mentioned that The Ministry likely has spread a great deal of dissent across Hantoka. Do you believe you can wrest control from them once more?"

Varisidra's gaze balanced on the edge of insulted in spite of the tiny smile she gained. “It hasn't been in their control since our arrival a decade ago. I may not have been in this nation all that time, but I trusted Junpei Sugawara's judgement. His parenting may have questionable elements, but the man wanted peace. On the isle of war, peace is a commodity akin to rice. It needs to be created, harvested, cleaned and distributed properly. Asao was nothing but a raider, promising a share to The Ministry in exchange for a bigger cut than I intended to give."

Hana forced herself not to frown. “You planned to stop Asao from inheriting his fathers position?"

“Of course not. I respected Junpei enough to allow the succession to happen. I would have tutored the boy, had he not betrayed everything I stand for." Varisidra threw out a dismissive flick of her hand, like swatting a fly. “Perhaps in time he may have shown promise, but I trusted Rosarris and Quarzanris' opinions of the man: a 'true son of Samsara,' and little else of note. Beyond his martial prowess, he had few talents."

“I see." Hana nodded, but couldn't maintain eye contact. She couldn't help but once more feel herself reflecting much of Asao Sugawara's spirit. “I suppose I still find it shocking you can speak with respect to Asao's father in one breath, yet seem so frivolous about how you ended his bloodline in the next."

Varisidra kept her stare, the narrow black slitted pupils drilling holes through Hana's soul. “It's the same reason I expect my own children to pull their own weight: lineage means nothing. Too many great dynasties have collapsed 'neath the burden of a fat, sallow child unused to lifting themselves from the teat of their mothers or the uncaring gaze of self-important fathers before being thrust upon a weary throne. I refuse to let my successes and failures dictate those of my young. I merely intend to impart the lessons and expect their assistance in return, at least until such a time as they strive for independence or choose to follow my goals. It's not dissimilar to how you have risen beyond your original blooded purpose."

“I... don't understand."

“You will." Varisidra eased back and enjoyed her tea. “That you have survived thus far in spite of the odds and conspiracies stacked against you would impress St. Valarie herself. Plus, you're learning, even if by accident. Adapting. Understanding when to stand firm and when to flow with the tide."

Hana sighed, confused, but let her mind drift elsewhere as she enjoyed her tea, and let the warmth flow within. Fatigue took her, and her course was obscured until Varisidra's investigation into Lord Kou bore fruit. Fate was no longer in her own hands. Hana let the sharp edges of her troubles fade and, as Varis suggested, she would let herself flow. This acceptance felt as if Hana had just sheathed a blade within herself that had been drawn since the night her family fell, as she sipped her drink and couldn't stifle a relaxed yawned.

* * *

16th Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

“You really must be at ease," Sota chuckled.

Hana's mouth remained open as her yawn subsided. “Eh?"

“You always put up your personal palisades of politeness and taciturn torment. I don't think I've ever seen you yawn hard enough to bare those big teeth of yours."

Hana snapped her jaw shut and pouted. Like fending off Varisidra's analytical gaze, Sota could also read her like a book. Less by the raw skill and social gaming that the old catfolk had and more by familiarity. Like duelling a rival for the tenth time, the unusual shone like a bright light compared to the familiar glow, and became a new aspect of study.

Sota clapped his hands together in a mock bow. “I didn't mean to make it sound insulting. I'm sorry. It's still nice to see you unrestrained. True to who you are deep within."

“It's fine. It's also growing late, and we are coming across a lull in the recollection of our past."

“You call it a lull, I call it the next phase of our lives." Sota stood and stretched. “It's like the farming we've been involved with: that was all the messy work, with the digging, seeding and watering. That next phase was the calm, the waiting. You know, like the ability to enjoy life."

“Before the horror of the blossoms, you mean." Hana winced.

“You know what I mean," Sota replied and scratched his nose. “I thought you didn't want to keep dwelling on the worst aspects of our joined path? We need to celebrate the good times, if only to give perspective on the bad."

The bad. The dying blossoms. The crux of their story. It felt so far away in time, both from this moment and where they had paused their story, but Hana knew what Sota said was correct. She needed to enjoy the coming tales. Savour them. Create a buffer, a cushion for the fall. Living in retrospect, as if fighting a foe a second time and having a chance to overcome the mistakes. Or reinforce them.

“So be it," Hana said and put on a smile. It didn't take as much effort as it used to, in spite of where her thoughts continued to hang. It helped quell the maudlin and summoned her heart to the fore. “That is to say... you're right. But I suppose that should wait for another night."

Hana held out her hand, and Sota pulled her to her feet. Once more, hand in hand, there was a sudden hesitation. A refusal to pull away, or let go. She couldn't help but titter to herself.

Sota cocked an eyebrow. “Something wrong?"

“No, nothing. It's just..." She nodded down to their hands. “I spent so long not wanting to let go of things, yet here I now am trying to turn a new leaf and enjoy the freedom, unburdened. And yet once more I feel reluctant to let go. Like everything I have left is worth more than anything I've ever had before." She gave his hand the most gentlest squeeze. “Everything in reach, I shall hold with all my strength."

Sota held his breath at her words. Was it right to feel this way? To go from betraying Hana, to pining for her, to this? This moment? The softness of her fur in his hand. The warmth. The gentle pressure. Outside, the low and persistent hammer of spring rain began. She couldn't leave. He didn't want her to leave.

Hana gulped and looked away, yet her gaze kept flicking back into his. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

“You could stay here," Sota whispered. “If you want. For as long as..."

Their eyes met in full, unrestrained. He then pulled her to him, and she allowed herself to be pulled. And as the embers of the flame in Sota's hut let the room begin to cool, they sought warmth in each other.

* * *