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Of Void: Act 2

Blossom

Chapter 9: Liberation and Lies

12th Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

Light. Dark. Chirping birds. The hoot of an owl. The trickle of rain from the roof, then in the blink of an eye, a deluge, then silence.

Everything was a blur. Hana drifted in and out of consciousness. The blanket was too hot, then not warm enough. Helping hands passed her cups of water, or sometimes she reached out and found wooden cups left aside. Each time, she guzzled them down, letting the water drip down her chin before it was taken away and she settled back, or it fell from her hand and her head landed heavily atop the straw pillow.

Smothered... warm...

Light. Dark...

* * *

**Eleven Years ago**

20th Day of Sighing Mountain, 1543

The crackle of fire?

She awoke to the sounds of footsteps. It was dark. A low grumble. A male voice. The door slowly opened.

“F-father?" Hana sat up and opened her eyes.

A hushed grunt and clutching hands. A featureless face behind them... no, merely wrapped in dark cloth, obscuring all details but dark, sunken eyes.

Hana gasped, then the brute wrapped his fingers around her throat. She writhed and tore at his grip and tried to kick or shove with her legs, but her blanket pinned them in place. The man had mounted her, his knees either side if her body. His weight pressed down. She was being crushed.

Her vision blurred... then the weight eased. The man toppled to the side.

“Get up! Quickly!"

Hana struggled free and drew a desperate breath, only to inhale a waft of smoke. Her head throbbed and muscles burned from exertion, made worse as she coughed from the haze of a nearby fire. She looked to the side, at the attacking man. A wakizashi was lodged in his throat. Blood gushed in rhythmic spurts and sputtered around the blade as his hands clutched at the wound. He twitched but was dead in seconds.

Hana then looked up at the lone eye of Kaori. Her sister's face blemished with oozing blood, one of her eyes gouged out yet the other still full of fire. Hana's jaw dropped. She reached and stammered for words. Her heart sank to see her proud and powerful sister so wounded, yet Kaori stood steady and proud. Every question tried to force its way out of Hana's mouth, causing none to come free.

“Quickly, we have to go," Kaori insisted and grabbed Hana's arm, then jerked her up. The jolt let Hana finally speak.

“B-but... where are mother and father?"

Kaori's firm grip weakened, and her fingers trembled. She opened her mouth to speak, a single shaken gasp sounded. Kaori then slowly shook her head.

“No," Hana whimpered. “No."

Kaori tore her short sword free from the corpse and dragged Hana out of her room, then through the corridors of the family estate. Flames set the paper walls aglow with distant amber lights, through smog and smoke, marred with scarlet scars, streaks, speckles.

Home, safe and warm. Home, a nightmare and searing hot. Bodies lay strewn about without dignity or purpose. Family retainers, servants and the samurai of the Akikawa lay dead beside the monsters of this slaughter.

Hana sobbed and wiped her eyes free of tears as Kaori pulled them into their parents' bedroom. She plucked a key from her belt as they approached a grand chest, adorned with glittering gold and silver. Clan Akikawa's treasures.

“We must flee..." Kaori said as she unlocked the box and opened the lid. “We can't let the Akikawa die here. We must enact vengeance for this." She took out a dagger, a tanto in a perfect black lacquered sheath, adorned with painted purple morning glories, and placed it into Hana's hands.

The child gasped. “B-but this is father's-"

“This blade was always meant for you," Kaori said with a blood-stained smile. “So long as we survive, the Akikawa will have hope, and this will remind us. Come, let's escape."

Hana sobbed again but nodded.

Kaori led them back towards the door, only to stumble and fall to one knee.

“Kaori?" Hana rushed beside her sister. “Are you alright?"

No sooner than she fell, Kaori stood and smiled. “I just tripped. That's all."

Muffled, deep voices grew close. “They're still here somewhere, spread out," one barked. “Tatsu was still twitching."

“Damn fool should've been more careful," said another man. “I ain't looking forward to telling Sana."

Heavy footfalls thundered through the thin walls and Kaori pulled Hana beside the entrance just as the sliding door opened.

Hana held her breath and shivered, afraid, yet Kaori remained composed. She slowly raised the stained sword in her unwavering hands up and ready to thrust, like the beak of a predatory bird as the shadow of a man danced upon the varnished wooden boards.

The head of a heavy iron axe appeared first, then the gauntlet of the intruder as he cautiously entered. Enough for Kaori to strike, yet the wakizashi in her hands lowered and she seemed to hesitate. The man turned his eyes towards them and grimaced.

“H-hey! They're here-"

Kaori's sword lifted once more and, with one long step, she thrust it straight under the man's armpit, beneath the armour and through his lungs. She released the blade as the man sucked a gurgling, wet breath, then Kaori snatched the axe from his hand. She snarled as she reversed the swing, high and swift as it embedded into the man's face. He staggered backward across the corridor and fell through the opposite paper wall.

“Damn it," a voice called from the hallway.

“We've found them! To me!" bellowed another invader.

Kaori hissed and looked at the fallen man and realised she had lost her weapons. She first lunged to retrieve one, but two more soldiers rushed toward the doorway. Kaori gave up and retreated through bedroom, grabbing Hana's arm as she fled, and ran for a window. She pulled the latch and shoved open the blinds, revealing the red glow of the burning estate grounds under the darkest blue of the approaching dawn.

The men entered the room as Kaori propped open the wooden panel and guided Hana onto the sloped roof. She hauled herself out and the sisters sprinted down the curved tiles with grace honed through hundreds of hours of practice and play around the estate. The cumbersome soldiers tried to follow, only to slip, stumble and send a cascade of slate down below as one grabbed the other to stop him falling off.

As the pursuing men took the less angled roof of the lower slope of the third-floor roof, Hana and Kaori deftly kept traversed the steep incline and turned a corner, then leapt down onto the wider second floor's tiles.

“Almost there," Kaori said and pulled them to the side, out of view of the clumsy pursuit, and ran around another corner. “If we can get to the servant's building, we can hop to the outer wall via the stables. Once we're out of here, we make for Saekawa-san's lands."

Hana glanced about as they reached the edge of the second roof and dropped down to the last tier. “B-but father was arguing with him just the other day. Are we sure that's a good idea?"

“Pfeh," Kaori spat. “Saekawa-san made a stupid move by not supporting father, but they were still old friends. Besides, we only need to get our bearings and supplies, then we can make for Araki-sama's land."

Hana's heart still ached at the loss of their parents, and the darkness of the matter was pervasive. but knowing they would reach her beloved's Eiji's family gave her a much-needed light. A hope for the two sisters. For the Akikawa.

“No matter what happens, Hana," Kaori said and grabbed her sister's shoulders. “We must return this injustice. We'll use your betrothal to Eiji to protect ourselves, then-"

Hana tilted her head as Kaori stopped, then stumbled into Hana's arms. “Kaori! What's wrong?"

Kaori gritted her teeth, stood, then suddenly lunged ahead, tugging Hana's sleeve. They reached the edge of the main estate, where they leapt the gap to the servant house's roof.

“I can see the outer wall," Hana said and ran ahead. “We're going to make it!"

Silence.

Hana turned. Kaori was looking to the side, to which Hana followed her gaze toward the garden. The circle of coloured Morning Glories still in their buds as they prepared to blossom once more for the coming dawn. The lustrous purple surrounded by reds and blues as beauteous as ever.

“I'll never be able to see them again," Kaori whispered. “I just wanted to see them... one more time."

“We'll come back someday, won't we?" Hana moved beside her sister.

“Sure you will," Kaori said and smirked. “You just have to make it to the Araki."

“You mean we just-"

Kaori suddenly toppled, and Hana tried to catch her, only to fall beside her sister.

“I'm sorry," Kaori whispered.

Hana went to ask what for, only to feel a warm, wet patch on Kaori's side. She squinted in the dark, but then looked at her own hand and gasped. Blood. Several stains were spreading through Kaori's bedclothes.

“They caught me off guard... I wasn't strong enough. I'm so sorry."

“No. Kaori! Come on, we're almost there."

Hana pulled Kaori's arm over her shoulders and tried to lift the pair, throwing all her strength into pushing onward.

“General! There!"

“Get over there and stop them!"

The two pursuers from before were back on the main estate roof, one carrying a short ladder, followed by another man, clad in thick iron armour and wielding a huge blade that looked pure black in the dull light.

“Hana, run. You have to survive," Kaori said and forced herself to stand. She then pulled Hana in for a hug and kissed her cheek before lurching toward the humans as they used the ladder to bridge the gap between the rooftops and drew their swords.

Hana moved after Kaori, only for the older sister to turn and glare.

“I said run!" Then her expression softened. “I love you."

Hana fled with no further hesitation as she leapt atop the estate wall, then down into the dark of the surrounding fields, and she never looked back. Not as Kaori bellowed a sharp, harrowing war cry, nor as the sound of a struggle ensued. Not even when Kaori's sharp, short scream rang out through the night.

* * *

**Nine Years Later**

5th Day of White Soil, 1552

Hana's eyes stung. Her tears almost froze the moment they were shed but resisted only because of the burning hatred within her. She reached for where she normally stowed her family's dagger, the last thing Kaori had given and entrusted to her, but despite the growing trust between them, Varisidra still didn't allow them to carry weapons.

“Did the Araki or the Saekawa not help?"

Hana looked to Varisidra at her question, but swiftly returned to staring out at the distant Nabanba province, their destination after two weeks at sea.

“The Saekawa rebuked my attempts to enter their lands. They branded me a fraud, a pauper, and chased me off at sword-point. By the time I reached them I was destitute and filthy, with only my family dagger to show any proof of my lineage."

“And that was not enough to prove who you were?"

Hana shook her head. “Of course, I was confused as to why they wouldn't believe me, so I headed for the civilian capital. It was only when I arrived in Suanatoshi and tried to show my family's dagger as proof of my claim to the Akikawa bloodline that I discovered that so many opportunists were trying to sell my father's belongings for coin. A suspicious number of them... as if someone knew that my family had fallen before I could even reach Saekawa's lands."

“Suanatoshi, eh?" Varisidra huddled within her heavy fur cloak and rubbed her hands together. “The only city in Jinu province. They say it's as big as a small nation, if one were to merge both tiers of the city. I'd love to see it someday."

Hana began pacing back and forth. Disturbed then as she was now with the memories.

“It is a remarkable place with a culture like no other settlement I've seen beyond my homeland. I had only visited Suanatoshi safely hidden in a protected palanquin and, even then, only to the Dawn district, where noble houses, ambassadors and trade ministers lived. I hadn't even seen the Dusk district nor the grand passage to the Moon district's undercity. I stole and slept on the streets until I finally realised nobody would help me."

Varisidra stroked the white fur of her chin. “I understand them not trusting you at face value, but humans attacking one of the great inousan families? I find it difficult to imagine the authorities would ignore that."

“Sadly not," Hana said with a sigh. “While within Suanatoshi, I soon discovered the Araki and Saekawa had hurled accusations at one another as conspirators to my family's deaths and had begun preparing for war. The central governance was trying to cease hostilities rather than investigating the actual attack itself. No doubt they were so internally focused that Lord Kou managed to escape."

“There are many holes in this story," Varisidra said, closed her eyes and bowed her head in thought. “Such as how the humans infiltrated Jinu province, or how, even striking in the dead of night, how they had the martial strength to take out your family retainers and samurai."

“I have no answers for you, Varisidra. I have never returned to Jinu province after swearing my vengeance.

“Frustrating," Varisidra mumbled, then shrugged. “Still, I thank you for telling me. It gives me some ideas on where to look for answers. One more question, though: how did you pick up the trail and learn it was Lord Kou's doing?"

“Determination and luck," Hana answered as she stared over the side of the ship and into the ocean. “I recalled the mention of Tatsu, the man who had tried to kill me, and his widowed wife, Sana. It was my only link, so I pursued anyone bearing that name who had died. I asked around several villages and found several graves bearing the name. It took me two years of travelling alone from town to town before I finally found Tatsu's empty grave and a woman named Sana, widowed around the same time. So, I visited."

Varisidra glanced at Hana. “... did you hurt her?"

“Yes," Hana answered and bowed her head with a deep sigh, a heavy plume of vapour flowing from her mouth. “I began merely asking about Tatsu, about whom he had sworn fealty, but she resisted and put her hands on me." Her hands trembled, so she clasped them together. “I didn't kill her, but in my desperate fury I did beat her until she stopped fighting, then I found old letters of friends and comrades. And that path... that long, bloody path... eventually led me to Lord Kou and those involved, like General Owada."

“I see," Varisidra said and closed her eyes for a few moments, then looked once more over at the Nabanba peninsula, as well as a city at its southernmost tip. “You will be safe in Hantoka whilst I wait for my investigations to bear fruit. This place has been my base of operations in Samsara since we first arrived."

Hana huffed. “We were in swift pursuit of Lord Kou before our meeting. You make it sound like you're performing a service to me and Sota by bringing us to the opposite side of Samsara when we were but hours away from our target."

Varisidra tittered. “I am helping you. Your bullish pursuit was like the crest of a wave, and your momentum had indeed allowed you to overwhelm the obstacles in your path, but you were overreaching. Your collapse was inevitable, and I assure you that Lord Kou has grown paranoid in recent years. He had quite the defensive contingent with him, as if he knew something was coming."

“You mean he knew of our pursuit?"

“Perhaps. Perhaps not." Varisidra rolled her neck and sighed. “He played his cards close to his chest, but our meeting was with hands on swords at all times. I was glad to be rid of him. Nonetheless, by plucking you up and taking you here, you have a chance to fade." She grinned at Hana. “On a related tangent... I believe I told you when we first met that my people's clan names have a deeper meaning."

Hana tilted her head, with one of her ears drooping. “I do recall something to that effect."

“Cera'Darchinissidai," Varisidra said, slowly. “The crudest translation is 'Clan of the attack from nothing.' To strike and yet leave no trace nor warning. As if made of void itself."

“As if made of void? Such an esoteric concept."

“A creed of which its efficacy I can attest. You are a tempest, Hana. You draw up everything around you, even if that is not your intent, and crush all that stands before you. If one keeps attacking such a way, eventually someone will strike back just as hard." Varisidra patted Hana on the shoulder. “To defeat a target as paranoid as Lord Kou, you'll need to become still and calm. The best hunters know to not waste their energy until the perfect moment and use every trick in their arsenal to guarantee success. Do the same and relax, become as your foe, and you will understand how to proceed as well."

Varisidra left Hana alone on the deck, with Varisidra's words roiling within her mind.

* * *

“C'mon, you've got'em, Quartz!"

He didn't. Quarzanris appeared to have the upper hand, but Sota was just drawing him into a false sense of security. No doubt, as Gearal bounced up and down on a nearby bench, this would be a resounding failure for the cera'an brothers.

Sure, the huge catfolk bruiser was attempting to bend Sota's arm backwards. Painfully so, in fact, but Sota had a plan. Or... a prototype of a plan.

“Tap when you're ready to submit, Sota," Quartz growled as he held firm the lock on Sota's arm.

Maybe it was just the inspiration of the facsimile of a plan. Or perhaps Sota was winging it. He gritted his teeth and twisted to reduce the pressure on his arm, but Quartz merely stepped with him. Sota tried the move again, drawing the grappling pair into a spiral.

The ship was approaching Hantoka. A passing detail, but a detail oh-so crucial right now. The Wailing Maiden was designed to be one of the steadiest ships in Aangoren, designed to allow for precise targetting of its massive dragon-slayer arbalests and fire-spitting cannons even in rocky weather, but only going as the crow flies. Sota just had to wait for instability as he teetered on the edge of a snapped elbow.

Quarzanris began to pull against Sota's movement, and the extra strain made Sota hiss in pain. The tortured bones in his arm creaked through his ears like old wood. He just needed to keep pushing for a moment longer.

The Maiden began its slow turn into port and the ship's smooth passage suddenly shifted. The ship lurched to one side, so Sota shoved against Quartz as well. Then a wave struck the side of the hull.

The sudden reversal of momentum, alongside Sota's bodyweight, toppled the vast catfolk and the pair crashed to the floor. Quartz' grip faltered and Sota twisted, flailed and scrambled away. The two stood and faced off once more for a moment before Quartz stood upright and huffed.

“You realise I could have broken your arm at any point?"

Sota shook his aching arm and shrugged. “But you didn't. Within the context of the fight, you didn't capitalise, and I got free."

Quartz uttered a rumbling growl. “But that's because I didn't want to hurt you!"

“So?" Sota asked. “The fact is you didn't."

Gearal glanced between the two. “Is he blagging his way out of losing again?"

“What? Blagging?" Sota thrust a thumb at Gearal as he glanced at Quartz. “What is he talking about?"

“Don't mind Gea," Quartz replied and also finally relaxed. “Most of his formative years were spent in Bralran and he took up a lot of the local parlance. Just the same as he's been falling behind in his Samsaran."

Gearal pouted at his brother when he spoke in Bralranian. “I am attempting," he said in a stumbling manner, then reverted to his more comfortable tongue. “The words are all twisty and harsh."

With the sparring tension easing, Sota and Quartz both took a seat next to the younger brother, and one of the family servants offered some tea, which all three accepted.

Gearal blew on the beverage, but he kept looking at Sota. “You fight strangely. Not just techniques or whatever either. You have a weird way of doing things, yet acting like you're not doing them on purpose, but you kinda are?"

“I have to concur. I still think back to our first fight, as well as your change when fighting my twin. You had a distinct finality to your combat style that you haven't tapped into since. You're more dangerous than you let on."

Sota smirked as he sipped his tea, then winced and panted at the scalding heat before answering. “What can I say? I've never liked hurting people. We live in a world of monsters, but even with the darkest people, there's light to be found. I hate watching that potential be squandered. I just prefer to look kind of harmless but not so much as people see me as a target."

“The Ministry have no such qualms," Quartz said. “When they detect a threat, they eliminate it. I can't say my family were much different once upon a time, but I suppose that was part of your desire to escape from being a Tongueless."

Sota stared across the training hall and enjoyed the aroma from his tea. His goals and desires flitted about his mind as moths to a lantern, powdered wings tapping and flicking against the paper, making their presence known, and yet never reaching their goal.

He sighed and took another sip of his tea. “There's already enough misery around, especially across Samsara. I thought The Tongueless were there to stop that, but... it's far more complicated than that. They spare those they want and remove others for the same reason. Neither from malice or mercy, and in some respects, that's even worse... it's all a calculated act. No good or evil, just following The Dragon's will."

Gearal slurped his drink as he contemplated Sota's words. Or tried to translate them internally. The last two weeks had seen great strides in understanding Sota's language, if not speaking it.

He asked, “so you're what... a pacifist?"

Sota frowned. “That is not accurate. I would like to be one. I want to just enjoy life and all the small and big pleasures it brings. Yet I am not a fool. Some people are monsters and need to be slain. Let us say I just put more thought into who I seek to hurt than most. In some ways it is the way I was trained to think as a Tongueless, to give judgement only after learning the truth. I just want to help people become better."

Gearal snorted. “What, you gonna be the next saint? Saint Sota, he who fights weird and acts weirder?"

“An understandable concept," Quartz mused, slowly nodding his head as he cupped the white fur of his chin. “I may obey mothers orders and become involved in the machinations she desires, but I wish for a humbler life, and certainly free of the skullduggery from which the Cera'Darchinissidai emerged."

“I'd rather be like a Bralranian knight!" Gearal hopped to his feet and swung a practice sword around. “Those guys don't even need to fight, 'cause people are so scared of them!"

A scattering of cera'an voices interrupted the conversation and all eyes went to the training hall entrance.

Quartz smiled. “Ah! Speaking of those of whom need barely fight to frighten others out of violence..."

It was Rosarris. Her unmistakable long crest-like mane, short at the temples but long and wild top and back in a narrow and spiked flourish on top of her already daunting size. She strutted with her walk, her footfalls almost seemed to shake the hall, but they were sluggish. Her shoulders weren't as high and proud either, and she still bore the scar of Sota's blade on her midsection, where the fur had been shaved to allow for cleaner treatment and exposing her skin.

Sota couldn't help but cock an eyebrow. He didn't expect the catfolk to be striped under the fur as well.

Quartz stood and met her, patting her shoulders and smiling, but his worry was plain. They spoke in their own tongue for some time.

Sota leaned forward, nearer to Gearal, and whispered, “what are they talking about?"

“Quartz is happy to see Rose up and about, but he's being all worried about her condition. You messed her up pretty good that night."

“Not by choice," Sota said and sat straight again, just as Rose shot her shocking green eyes at him.

Rose then brushed off Quarzanris' hands and marched up to Sota, staring down at him for an uncomfortable spell.

Sota froze, then eventually forced a friendly smile. The topic of the elder sister had come up a few times. The grim face Rose presented clashed with the closeness of Quartz's opinions of a protective and proud young woman.

He decided to push his luck. “Glad I didn't put you down for good. I'd hate to deprive the world of your... interesting take on Samsaran."

“Smart-ass," she growled, still stone-faced for a time. She suddenly bared her teeth. “You ain't bad in a scrap. We'll have to do that again some time, but I ain't givin' you no 'handicaps' when we do. Fightin' ya was like tryin'ta catch a fish in a river with your bare hands; tricky but a worthy challenge. That and we could use some learnin' about how the Tongueless fight. You game?"

Sota realised her toothsome display was a smile and quietly sighed with relief. “Were you even lucid for that mess? You were all but feral."

The smile turned a bit more assured. “Just lost in the moment. Tweak says it's a... uhh..." She tilted her head and her ears flattened down as she made a weird face, a rising growl in her throat and her mouth opening as if she'd caught a whiff of something foul.

While Rose contemplated, Sota leaned near Gearal again. “Who, or what, is Tweak?"

“Twikoren_, my twin,_" Gearal answered, more reserved with his eldest siblings present.

“Tafferrn Samsaran veeshebri!" Rose roared, then gestured to her brother. “Quartz! What'd the little smart-ass call it? In a way this ass-huffer'll understand?"

Quartz sighed. “An adrenal flood brought about by a moment of sudden trauma, Rose."

“Right. That thing. Puts a fire in my belly like no-one's business. Anyway, string bean!" She clapped her hands and pointed at Sota. “Sparring! You in or not?"

“I'd sooner not," Sota replied. “No offence, but you scare the shit out of me."

Rose cackled. “Takes more'n'at to piss me off. If you're wettin' yourself 'cause of the chokin' you out crap, don't be. I heard you're in our care, so that means you're under my protection. You have my word I won't hurt ya too bad. Sparrin's one of the cera'an's time-tested ways of gettin' to know each other." The 'smile' sank the quarter inch into something altogether terrifying. “'nless you got somethin' to hide I shouldn't know?"

Lots, Sota thought to himself, but kept evasive. “Nothing I care to reveal."

Rose hissed through her vicious teeth and took a breath to rebuke him, but Sota raised a hand and cut her off.

“I didn't say no to the sparring, but... you're not exactly in great shape, no? And I believe you said you didn't want to give me any advantages this time? Then wait until you're better. Completely better_._"

“He catch you good, sister," Gearal said with a cheeky smile.

“And you still speak like a moron, brat," Rose rumbled back.

Sota snorted. “Look who's talking. You speak like a yokel."

Claws extended, Rose shoved a finger at Sota. “The taff you say!?"

A bell rang out, cutting the argument short and drawing everyone's attention.

“We've made port," Quartz said. “Let's go." He headed for the exit, giving Rose another pat on the shoulder as he passed by.

Rose's brow furrowed, then she looked aside, loudly huffed and her tail writhed as an outlet to her anger. “Fine. Everyone get your crap together, we're goin' back on land!"

* * *

Sota and Hana stared across the cityscape as they approached the gangplank, at the place they would be staying until Varisidra's investigation bore fruit. The majority of the Maiden's crew had already disembarked, leaving the pair to take in the sights before stepping ashore.

The straight, tiled rooftops, busy streets and local guards in metal armour gave the backdrop a strange air despite still being Samsaran land. The Open Wound of Samsara, as it was sometimes known by patriots, truly was where The Ministry held the least sway and local governance maintained a paranoid eye from across the MacNamarra channel and their own countrymen alike,

Hantoka, as with much of the Nabanba region, was a largely gentrified locale. The whole southern cape of Samsara had been grounds for invasions from Casivesh several times in a more barbaric time before Bralranian assistance led to some acceptance of foreign people. What began as a begrudging alliance soon mellowed out to full acceptance.

No sooner than Sota's sandalled feet hit land, an exotic face approached in the form of a squat, black furred ratfolk. His broad but short figure waddled in a swift jog as his pink hands rubbed together, and his tail wiggled as an excitable snake behind him.

“Welcome! Welcome good sir and madam!" He said with a low bow. “Any guest of Varisidra-san is an honoured guest of Hantoka!"

Hana stopped beside Sota. “I had heard of the nezumi people, but I've never seen one before."

Sota nodded. “Raothaar, eh? Not terribly surprising seeing a Bralranian native in Nabanba." He cupped his hand and whispered to Hana, “keep an eye on your things."

The ratfolk's long, discoloured incisors clicked together. “I am Cedric Chapman, trade master of the Darchinissidai interests in Hantoka, at your service. If there's anything you need, just-"

“Hey!!"

Everyone flinched and looked up the ramp to the fiery scowl of Varisidra.

“I sincerely hope you're not trying to bend the ear of my prisoners, Mr. Chapman!"

“Lady Darchinissidai," Chapman said, in Bralranian. “I wouldn't dream of-"

“In Samsaran, Mr. Chapman. Hide not your snivelling ineptitude from my captives, in case they get any bright ideas of escape with your so-called assistance."

Chapman backed way; his hands raised in submission. “Ah, my apologies!" He bowed at Hana and Sota before resuming his cowing from Varisidra. “The way you let them disembark alone, I merely assumed-"

Varisidra stormed down the ramp. “You presume to know how I should treat my prisoners!? Should I be using a leash?"

“No! Of course not, Lady Darchinissidai!" Chapman begged.

“Then I'll ask you something you can answer before in place of a leash I brandish a lash!" Varisidra reached the dock but continued her pursuit of the raothaar. “And I'd better like what I hear!"

“R-right you are, Lady Darchinissidai." He straightened up and took a slow breath. “Trade is flowing smooth and sure! I'm certain-"

“Lord Sugawara!" The way Varisidra said the name bore the weight of a tsunami, yet Sota and Hana glanced at one another in confusion. Meanwhile, Chapman somehow grew pale even through his black fur.

“Oh. Um... s- so about-"

Varisidra ears folded flat back and her nose wrinkled as she seethed. “You haven't done as I've told, have you!?"

“I did! I- I mean, I tried!" The ratman began breathing in forced, staggered heaves.

Sota cocked an eyebrow at the event. “Perhaps ease off the poor rodent? He's liable to die on his feet."

Varisidra finally stopped in her verbal assault. “You don't know this man like I do. He's gifted with numbers but as lazy as an overfed bear." She took a moment to relax her overbearing ferocity but lost none of the enraged smoulder. “Saint's breath, Cedric. Breathe."

The ratfolk did just that, but the second he reclaimed a modicum of calm, Varisidra attacked once more.

“I broker failure with a measured and modest hand owing to realistic predictions, Mr. Chapman, but I believe you insisted that you had the situation in hand. I consider that a breach of a verbal contract."

Cedric clasped his clawed hands together. “I know I swore Lord Sugawara was pliable, Lady Darchinissidai, but there's been a complication."

Varisidra pinched hert broad brow and ran her fingers down to the skin of her pink and brown-speckled feline nose. “Mr. Nakamura, Hana, if I could have a private moment here with my trade master? There's a restaurant just down the street there. They sell Ardentiphan coffee. I deeply recommend it."

Hana nodded, then gently tugged on Sota's sleeve and the pair followed the directions.

Cedric continued, once more in Bralranian, “there's been Ministry interference."

Sota stopped dead in his tracks, glanced back at Varisidra then stepped behind a corner, still within earshot but out of sight. Hana followed.

“What are they doing this far south?" Varisidra growled. “They have no jurisdiction here. St. Valarie's Pact of Even Coin has more sway than even local law."

“On the contrary," a deep voice called, but had the croaking hallmarks of yataghan vocalisation. It was so deep that it reverberated through Sota's bones. “All within The Dragon's sight is His by divine will, and so belongs as well." The yatagha squawked, then spoke in Samsaran. “Bah. Such a distasteful language. I shan't entertain it a moment longer"

Varisidra huffed. “Ah, speak of the Saint's virtues and their devils shall appear, it seems. To what do I owe the pleasure, sir...?"

“I am Zenzi, Voice of He, speaking on behalf of The Dragon's newly appointed Provincial Aggregator of Nabanba, Hanzo."

Sota's blood ran cold. “Hanzo?" He whispered the name. He felt like he was falling, but it was instinct. He wanted to see him. His old rival could be just around the corner.

“Sota!" Hana hissed and grabbed him by the arm, but he tugged free and peered around the corner. He could see Varisidra and Cedric, but Hanzo and his yatagha had to be farther away.

“I see," Varisidra replied, tapping her cheek as if in thought. “You've brought all your pomp, titles and ceremony here to enjoy the festival, then you will be returning to The Ministry, correct?"

A brief silence. Sota could almost feel the sign language. The flutter of wide sleeves. The dance of fingers as they clicked against the palms, knuckles and each another.

At the same time, Varisidra pulled Chapman to her side. Her finger traced a couple of symbols on his back, then she patted his shoulder. Chapman then backed away and fled past where Sota and Hana were hiding.

“We have no intention of leaving," Zenzi crooned and hopped close to Varisidra. The yatagha had bleached white patches to his plumage, like a magpie. A sign of seniority of his kind. “This sinful place has existed outside of The Dragon's influence for too long, owing to the barbarism of outsiders like you perverting His way of life. We are already in talks with Lord Sugawara to bring Nabanba back into the fold, then your institutions shall be stripped down and your kin ejected."

“Forgive me," Varisidra said with a dry and dainty giggle. “Prithee, my Samsaran must have faltered for a moment. What I said wasn't a request." She raised her hand. A dagger seemed to appear from nowhere as she did, and the blade clipped Zenzi's beak.

The yatagha squawked and hopped back as Hanzo stepped up, talismans in hand. Zenzi himself drew a combat sickle, a kama, and raised his guard, the pair ready to fight.

Varisidra spared them not even a glance, instead preening her claws with her dagger. “Forgive me. My hand must have slipped. Between that and my linguistic slip-ups, I must be having an off day. I shall elucidate on my previous point: The Ministry has no jurisdiction in Nabanba based on the Yojikuba accords. To wit, Lord Sugawara would need to go back on a decade of promises his father made to every nation with whom Samsara has had dealings."

Zenzi clacked his beak in rapid snaps. “Kek! These accords might as well be made of air. Foreigner Varisidra, I bestow this decree to you and your people in the name of The Dragon! You are restricted to your vessel under threat of Ministry arrest. All cera'an are to remove themselves from Hantoka forthwith before the festival or shall suffer the same! Once they have been extracted from our lands, you will leave and never return! All non-Samsaran citizens shall be given a month to arrange transport from our island. I speak on The Dragon's own authority and so it shall be!"

“You're not much of a diplomat, are you?" Varisidra said and sighed. She sheathed her dagger, perfectly concealed on the small of her back, and she shrugged. “I'll do as you say, but I assure you, little bird, my delectable prey, that by the time the festival is over, you will be the ones ejected from Nabanba. Or plucked and roasted."

Sota watched as Varisidra headed back to the ship, then turned to Hana. “That complicates things."

“Unprecise."

Hana and Sota flinched and spun, only to see the familiar sight of Gearal, hooded and hunched behind a nearby wall.

“Come," he whispered in his broken Samsaran. “Mother planned for Ministry invasion. Let we talk above coffee!"

* * *

14th Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

The smell of black tea. A fruity and subtly wooden aroma. Hana hadn't smelled anything so delicious in her whole life. It almost felt like she hadn't even felt anything for some time. Years, maybe. She stirred, feeling weak yet clear of her illness.

“Good afternoon, Hana-chan."

Hana recognised the voice, yet it took her some time for her mind to pair it to a name. “Natsume?" She squinted at the daylight piercing the straw curtains of her room, then to the slim human girl sitting nearby.

Natsume stood and poured a cup of tea, then brought it over and sat beside Hana. She gently wafted a hand-fan across the drink for a few moments before offering it to Hana, who took it with shaky hands. She then said, “it felt like your fever was breaking at last, so I was hopeful you were returning to us."

Hana took a careful sip and felt as if she were drinking her own soul. The hot, sweet and complex notes sparked and awakened parts of her she had forgotten even existed. Her hands grew still, her mind wove strands of errant memories into her awakening and passing out over her illness. She remembered her last talk with Sota, and the argument. The frustrations and worry that prickled her heart yet heated her blood. It was too complicated for her still stirring mind to consider, so she focused on Natsume.

“Thank you for looking after me," Hana said and bowed. “I have been a burden once again, it seems."

Natsume bowed back. “Not at all. You saved us from those bandits. They may not have shown their presence to us yet, but their intent was clear. Sota-san and Chihiro-chan explained everything to the village. We owe you a debt. But most of all I feel as if you owe yourself the most kindness."

Hana stood, grunting at the stiffness of her bones, the present yet fading wound in her leg and ravenous hunger in her belly. “I would argue against such praise, but I'm starting to think it would just make you redouble your compliments."

“It's not my praise you should be concerned with but let me fix you something to eat. It's been a few days." Natsume walked over to a bamboo steaming basket.

Again, Hana felt an old urge to dismiss the concern and coddling as more of herself returned. She felt an old pride and self-defeatist stain within her spirit demand to push Natsume away, yet she didn't. She remembered being picked up by Sota after her assault on the bandit camp, and how it-.

Even when trying to focus on herself and her friend, Sota kept infiltrating her mind. Hana had to see him. She had to deal with this nagging within her spirit.

“Where is Sota?"

“Out working on the rice paddies," Natsume replied as she dished up some cold rice and vegetables into a bowl. “But please, don't worry about him for now. Just focus on finishing your recovery. Besides, he's going to be checking in on you in the afternoon."

“I'll wait, don't be concerned," Hana said and leaned back onto the bed. “I need to think of what to say anyway. We've overdue a long talk."

Her heart fluttered. It was time to bury the past as much as they could, but Hana knew all too well she didn't have the same way with her words Sota possessed. She needed her writing materials to give her words form and commit them to memory. About what Sota meant to her, and what she meant to him.

But there were still those shades of their past that needed exposing to the sun, even if she feared revisiting them one last time. The very worst of what they had witnessed together, as well as the awful truths. They gave her worst aspects strength, but that meant their defeat may, at last, be final. And like any challenge to Hana's martial prowess, she would learn to overcome it. She had no choice otherwise, lest she would never be truly free.

* * *