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Chapter 11: Opposites and Opponents.

14th Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

The world could breathe a sigh of relief; The Dragon still slept.

Sota himself sighed as he stared west and warmed his hands by a small fire, on which rested a simple metal kettle. He sat, legs crossed and hunched over the little flame to shield it from the stiff and frigid breeze. He wanted to wander or pace about, but like The Dragon himself, he was rooted for the greater purpose. Hot water in this case, instead of something profound, but he was a man concerned with the day to day rather than something grand and profound.

Without a way to entertain himself, he once more looked for the horizon, and sighed once more. He couldn't see anything over the tops of the trees, nor through the low hanging and impervious clouds, but he always knew where The Ministry's grand central domain was housed. It was like a compass within his body, always pointing him towards the source of his meagre powers.

The pull was distracting most days, so he always found ways to help him block it out. A lust for life, Sota called it. After the harsh training and principled upbringing under the Ministry, itself an improvement over his impoverished childhood, simply living was a novelty. He partook in all the gambling, drinking and pleasures of the flesh that he would have had to deny himself as a full Tongueless.

He kept the first two, as drinking took the edge off the sensation and helped him relax. Gambling was a harmless thrill to him, as he could always scrounge, scavenge or steal enough to feed himself. The losses were a gentle reminder of the fragility of the material, and wins the elation of the camaraderie that gambling dens had whenever someone won big. A physical loss but a spiritual gain, all to play for at the roll of the die, or the flip of a card. A meditation of the constant ebb and flow of life. Big wins would earn him fine food for a day before returning to the fodder of cold rice and water.

He shared this 'easy come, easy go' philosophy with the most steadfast gamblers to this day, but grew disillusioned with courtesans and prostitutes. Taking and using women, even in the honest exchange of coin, left a sour taste in his mouth. It ran too similar to how The Ministry operated; achieve what they wanted by coercion, bribery or force and ignore the person. There was nothing else to consider, just a hollowness and a result. It lacked that spiritual aspect when his partner in debauchery was just after her pay and little else. Even the high-class and painted ladies who indulged in talk were fine at what they did, but there was always something missing.

The void mindset the catfolk undertook was similar to this Ministry ethos, though the cera'an yielded benefits to their clans even if the individuals didn't gain much. To be utterly empty inside so as to not expose the feelings, like passion or hatred, when it came to committing dark deeds made them hard to read by everyone, be they the target or onlookers. Sudden, spontaneous violence after a period of peace. That impersonality was even part of the religion of The Ministry, to affect the world from afar, and the tool of the Darchinissidai. Sota supposed that he wasn't surprised that things ended up the way they did.

Footfalls. Soft upon the grass. Gentle, almost cushioned, but there was a simplicity to them. An assuredness, pride and honesty. They belonged to only one person.

Sota asked, “how are you feeling?"

“Much better, thank you."

Hana sat beside him. She noticed the fire and kettle, as well as an unfurled bindle, but she didn't pry. She had far more crucial feelings flowing through her mind.

A stiff wind whistled between the trees and grass and their limbs shook and the new buds continued their steady growth. Skeletal as they were, they glanced off of one another in the battle for restored brilliance. A few bombarded an old, dead snag of a samsaran maple hiding amongst the younger trees; the venerable and defiant elder withstood all the upstart newcomers and would until the day it fell and gave way to new life in the rot. In life and death, war was everywhere, and sometimes it was just the flow of life. Inevitable and expected.

This moment between Hana and Sota was no exception. Neither wanted to be first to look at one another at length, as if afraid. Neither wanted to even move, to engage and seem needy. Such a sign would betray guilt... or maybe innocence. Instead, they both glanced at a nearby doe as it skittered about the trees. She stopped and rubbed her head against the battle-scarred maple, then spotted the pair atop the hill and went still. She soon eased as their lack of movement, besides the billowing of their clothes or the gentle flow and flutter of Hana's ears.

The pair watched the creature pace away. The doe was a perfect excuse to hold the silence for a few moments longer as the young deer meandered back into the forest, and the tan fur slipped from view.

“I needed-"

“So about-"

Silence. Long as the endless wind and as thick and opaque as the clouds.

“You first."

“No, please."

Sota nodded to himself and looked over at Hana. With the self-enforced stigma finally shattered, Hana glanced back. Their eyes met and they shared all they could within. To many, that would be enough, but both of them were so tightly bound to their pasts that the trail that was their history was a tangled mess.

Since Sota had looked first, Hana felt compelled to leap the next hurdle, and so she spoke. Equal shares of breaking down the wall between them. “We have been acting in... hurtful ways to one another since the encounter with Lord Kou. And the days leading up to it, such as what we found out in in my homeland."

“Yeah," Sota said and screwed up his face. “We went through so much, made a lot of mistakes, grew close... then shattered it again. I know it was my actions that caused it, but-"

“My own hardness primed the shattering. I know that." Hana pulled out her family treasure: her dagger. Her eyes studied the small dent in the lacquer, then the vibrant morning glories. Hana sighed and drew it enough to see the aged bloodstain on the edge. She only broke her protracted stare when she noticed Sota's usual relaxed posture had grown rigid, as if he was poised to interfere. Hana shook her head and replaced the dagger into her kimono. “You can relax, Sota. I have shaken free of that compulsion. That sickened obsession with honour."

He eased again and took a slow, shaky breath before casting his eyes back to the forest. “It's funny. Well, not funny, but..." Sota rolled his eyes at himself. “Look, when I met you, it was as if you were closed and armoured like those fledgling buds on the trees. The promise of vibrant blossoms after the death from winter, but no life was going to bloom. You used the protection of your obsession to justify anything and everything you thought necessary. You weren't alive."

Hana folded her arms to help retain warmth from the chilly air. “I was on that path for ten years, Sota. Half my life spent on revenge, and my own admission that I planned to end it all if I ever succeeded."

Sota shifted, moving to the other side of the small fire and beckoned Hana closer. “You were wounded. And yes, you still are. The village chief can see it plain, and I hate to agree with him. But broken things aren't always useless."

Hana shuffled nearer to the flame and warmed her hands, then grinned as she spied some simple clayware cups within Sota's bindle. “Is this the part where you compare me to kintsugi pottery? That my prior fracturing now allows the gold dust mixed lacquer to produce something new and unique?"

Sota's jaw slackened for a moment before the edges rounded up into a smirk. “That... definitely feels like something I would say."

“I know you, Sota Nakamura," Hana said, a little confused at how long her smirk had remained. Her cheeks almost hurt, so she shut her eyes to focus on the words she had spent so long revising. “And I won't deny that your influence has helped me considerably. I have just been too focused on what once was, the pristine, if boring, remnants of an inousan princess. The vision of flawless perfection is... flawed."

Hana suddenly yelped as Sota pulled one of her ears and studied it up close.

“Are you a Ministry spy? The Hana I know would never be this floral or wordy. I bet these ears come right off!"

Sota let go as Hana went to swat his hand away. She glowered at him and rubbed the tip of her offended ear. “You oafish cad! What's got into you!? I'm trying to expose my feelings! My heart!"

He cackled. “I know, just making sure I could still piss you off. Hearing you speak at length about something other than the measure of a warrior's footing or bearing's pretty nice. Heartening, even. And far too...poetic for something you would say."

“I... had Natsume-chan help me, and I wrote my thoughts down as I would my poems to help organise my thoughts. I too often struggle to expose my innermost self."

“Exposure, hmm?" Sota whistled, impressed. “People would pay good money to see that. Can I see?" He leaned over and his eyes flicked down at her body. “I wonder how far the spreading brown fur has reached by now?"

Hana choked on her spit and slapped Sota's arm, who snickered at her fury and blushed inner-ears. “Pervert! I'm being serious!"

“Sorry, sorry," Sota replied with a hearty laugh. “It's nice to see you lose that hardened shell. It's cute." Sota glanced at Hana and felt her icy glare send a chill through his spine. “But anyway, as you were saying?"

Hana huffed through her nose and folded her arms once more. “As I was saying, our blatant oppositions of personality will certainly never change. I could never be as lackadaisical to foolish risks as you, nor as frustratingly glib."

“Maybe," Sota said with a shrug. “But having mentioned that pottery: it isn't just gold they use, but other broken pieces too. We're all our own piece of kintsugi, bashing and bumping into each other, repairing ourselves with those closest. Fine craft begins to bear chunks of common clay just as the basic stone takes on glitter and glimmer of the masterwork pieces."

She bowed her head, her ears remaining pointed. “All the same, as much as I feel I am greater than I began owing to your presence, and as much as I wish I could just learn to live freely as you do... our return to Lord Kou's castle keeps standing at the forefront."

“Yeah, it's not like we ever really talked since then." Sota rubbed his chin, the sound of the bristling stubble piercing the wind. “It's been months since we even held a real conversation."

“Then let us make up for lost time. Try to-" Hana's throat grew tight.

Sota looked over as Hana fell silent. “Hana? Are you alright?"

Her mouth moved, but her heart ached. 'Try to pick up where we left off,' was what she wanted to say, but it was held fast in her throat.

He fidgeted closer. “You sure you're not still sick?"

“No, it's not that," Hana forced out. “I'm not sure if we can just go back to how things were. I want to. When I awoke from my illness, as well as on my way here, I knew what I wanted to say and do, but now? As I look at you?" She pressed her hand onto her chest. “I don't know."

Sota didn't either. He could only answer the obvious. “I betrayed you. Yet you're only alive as a result."

They sat in silence once more as the wind drifted across them. The cold air began to bite in, despite Sota's thicker woollen coat and Hana's white yet browning fur as spring fought to take hold from winter. Neither dared move with the unease between them. It felt like this situation needed airing out, lest it never be spoken of again.

Sota couldn't bear the laboured silence, so he tried to occupy himself on something else. He wrapped his hand in his his sleeve, took the kettle off of the flame and placed it aside. He then tucked his hands beneath his armpits and withdrew from the flame with a shiver.

Hana glanced at him, then the ground as she thought back. Her ears flexed and twisted before she narrowed her eyes. “So... where do we begin to repair ourselves once more? You've always been better at this than I."

He shrugged and sucked on his teeth. “The only thing I can think of is retrace the past and just be open and honest. Maybe we can work out where we really stand with hindsight on our side? Here." Sota further unfurled the bindle, revealing the clay cups but also a few pouches. Some contained tea, but the one he picked had old, familiar stains.

“Coffee? I won't pretend I understand how long it keeps, but that must be quite old."

“It is," Sota said as he pulled out an ofuda, “but I'm sure you can remember the taste. It can as well."

Hana watched as he placed the talisman against the pouch and whispered his spell for memory. The coffee bag seemed to tighten before he opened the drawstring. Sota then took a more traditional tea pot from the bindle and threw a few pinches of coffee inside. Finally, he poured within it the hot water, in a slow, cautious swirl before setting the kettle down with reverence.

“So, while the coffee brews," he said, “let's percolate ourselves, hmm? When did we truly begin to intermingle in spirit?"

“Sugawara," Hana muttered as her nose twitched at the faint scent of the early brew, then she looked skyward into the grey above. “So many memories are bathed in light and dark, and he is no different. New experiences and old habits, black coffee and white snow..."

“Heh, as if life itself is as grey as the sky, no?" Sota said with a snicker. “Yet we push through it all the same, come upstart lords, bastard Ministry figures or catfolk interference."

“The eternal struggle of two against many." Hana huffed. It was almost a small chuckle to counter Sota's mirth. “Such is our lot, it would seem."

“There was certainly plenty of that back then... I suppose we should just begin and carry as long as the trail allows."

* * *

5th Day of White Soil, 1552

A blizzard hammered down upon Hantoka's narrow streets, now narrow paths in the powder. Divine providence that might help blanket Sota's escape if he could also escape its grasp or hamper his ability to flee. The cloying white soaked him to the bone, but he was running mercifully hot as his muscles burned. It was either divine providence or punishment.

Eight Ministry men in pursuit. The armoured guards of Hantoka did keep trying to get involved, but they lacked the fearlessness and obsession that came with being part of The Ministry. The knowledge that you are in the right, and that The Dragon would spurn you for not enforcing His word. Sota had commandeered this will into his morals, and now had to believe this would see him through.

He heard rushing water ahead of him and forced his eyes open and low to the ground, unable to see through the stinging snow. The moment he spotted the dip, Sota threw himself as high and far as he could, aloft on faith and nothing more. Sota tumbled and twisted mid-flight, raising his centre of gravity, and he crash landed hard on the other side with a pained grunt. He rolled and scrambled but had to pause and force air into his lungs. It was clumsy, but with a squint back at the canal, he impressed himself with the span of the waterway.

Sota forced himself to his feet, still recovering his breath as long as he dared. He saw his pursuers scuffle and scramble on their approach, a gaggle of figures behind the storm. One threw himself over the river, only to land short. The figure slammed against the wall, landing below in a crack of thin ice and a crash of heavy water, just as a second tried but failed to stop. This one swung his arms like a broken windmill, his legs twisting and turning before he toppled into the water. As Sota found his feet to run, two more took the leap with full conviction. One slammed heavy into the ledge but caught himself, and the second managed to tumble much the same as Sota had.

As the pair recovered their feet, Sota was already building back to a sprint. He didn't know where he was going or where he would end up, but he had succeeded in his plan regardless. This was one hell of a distraction. One he needed as well to help ignore the sting of the snow and sapping freeze of the ice. This had to be worth it. Every strike against his former masters had to work.

Above lawbreakers and foreign 'invaders', both attacking and merely visiting the great harmony of Samsara, The Ministry abhorred a rebel. It made their collective blood boil, and not even due to insubordination, but also the knowledge one gained under their training. Sota just happened to have been quietly rebelling for so long that he'd forgotten what it was like to be paranoid about capture, yet it all came back to him in a flash. This was how much of his first days after escaping had been before he managed to learn how to live a normal life, including all the old tricks.

Sota turned a corner and spotted a door. He rapped his knuckles on the wood and charged on. A small gamble. One of the things he enjoyed since leaving The Ministry. They dealt in certainties and the uncertain was far more fun.

His pursuers turned the corner, only for the door to swing open as a curious inhabitant looked outside. It blocked both Sota's view and his attacker's path as they narrowly stumbled and crashed into the door, then began to bicker with the civilian. Sota had bought himself seconds of headway, and he couldn't help but smirk, despite the sting in his cheeks from the ice forming on his skin.

There really was nothing like a gamble.

* * *

Safe and steady, Hana followed Gearal's lead. He had a passing understanding of Samsaran, after all, whilst Hana understood no Bralranian, Ardentiphan nor the peculiar sub-language unique to the catfolk.

They jogged around the perimeter, as near to the castle inner wall as possible to evade notice from the castle proper, and reached a waste sluice projecting from a wider section of the wall. Smooth white barrier gave way to grey, speckled and pocked barricades, and an acrid smell of human waste and rot as they drew near to the chute. It would be an obvious weakness, except for the tangle of outward pointed spikes and rusted blades.

Gearal pointed a thumb to them. “Get stab, get stick and sick. Easy stab, but look!" He took out a metal rod and poked around near the wall. A repeated clack of metal on stone suddenly gave way to a hollow clunk and part of the wall chipping away, as if made of chalk. Gearal bashed away at the patch and revealed a hexagonal hole.

Hana kept watch, observing through the thickening snow, although couldn't help but keep an eye on Gearal's work clearing the opening. “That seems convenient. It is almost as if you had planned to break into here all along."

Gearal paused, then looked in deep thought as his striped tail wriggled. “Oh? Uh... uwartha methirra? Oh! Family tradition! Always future plan in case betray." He reached into his bag and took out a similarly six-sided piece of metal, attached it to the rod, and inserted it into the slot.

“It's not like any lack of trust would help now," Hana sighed. “This whole situation is backwards. It should be Sota here dealing with this skullduggery."

The rod inserted into the slot, then Gearal attached another piece which turned it into a crank. “Bhobz yur unkle ahnd fannies yur ahnt! Turning lever!"

He braced himself and gave it a tug. There was a small clack of something mechanical. Gearal tutted, readied himself again and heaved, but didn't get any further.

Hana tilted her head. “Is it stuck? Shall I?"

Gearal stepped back and gestured to the crank, so Hana took hold and gave it a determined pull. There was movement, more than Gearal had managed, but then it a dull grinding sound, but even her strength faltered.

“Not good," Gearal grumbled.

Hana huffed as she repositioned herself. “Let me play to my strengths." She flexed her toes and swivelled her foot into the ground, grinding a patch clear of snow to help give her grip. She then placed her other against the lever, then rested her arms against the wall for balance. Her thighs and calves bulged, straining her leg-wraps as she poured every ounce of her inousan strength into the push. The metal bar squealed and flexed close to breaking before, with a loud crash, the lever, socket and a chunk of the mechanism was jettisoned from the wall as Hana almost fell over.

“Sayntz bahllz!" Gearal cried and recoiled as a tumble of gears, springs and screws fell out of the wall.

“Damn," Hana growled as she picked herself up.

“What was that?" A voice called from the other side of the wall.

With fangs bared, Gearal threw himself at the panel and began examining the broken device. He took out several tools, poking and probing the gap Hana had created, tugging wires here and ratcheting surviving components there. He pulled more of the panel's innards out, then drew his knife and clipped a wire, creating an almost musical twang. Part of the sluice ramp collapsed, uneven but exposing a small passage that went down into the dark.

He kicked the broken parts inside, packed snow and dirt into the mechanism to cover the panel, collected his tools then dropped into the gap himself and said, “speed enter! Can close with inside parts!"

Hana dropped down and found Gearal fussing over another crank on the inside.

Gearal unscrewed the mechanism, opened a similarly complicated tangle of gears and wires as outside and fondled inside for a few moments, then waved Hana over. “Here, hold!"

She obeyed, squinting into the gap and noticing a cut wire. She pinched it as Gearal fastened another length of cable between it and another part of the complicated device, then once secured, he gently pushed her aside.

The boy closed the panel and began turning the crank. He nodded to the part collapsed sluice. “Push! Up! Help!" With Hana's help, the the passage ratcheted clumsily back into place and they descended into the gloom.

Outside, a pair of the castle guards arrived and surveyed the disturbed snow, which rapidly filled up from the blizzard. They called to their fellows beyond the wall, but nobody had seen a soul. After patrolling the area, the duo shrugged at each other and returned to their posts.

* * *

“There he is!"

Sota didn't have the energy to flinch, even as the war conch was sounded from the pair of soldiers down the alley. “Ah, dragon dick," he whispered. Sota managed to peel himself off the wall but couldn't get his legs to move more than a stiff walk. He couldn't outrun this fight and stopped in his tracks as one of the armoured city guards charged in, sword drawn. This became less about conditioning and more about smart gambles.

These risks had kept him ahead of his pursuit, but he was playing against an opponent with seemingly endless funds whilst his were soberingly limited. Without the weight of the bigger bet all he could do was play safe, but folding and waiting for a better hand was a downward spiral to failure.

Sota realised he was internally deflecting reality with a wish for a warm tavern, strong drink, a bowl of hotpot and a game of Seijinejire. Anything but the snow. It came easier than moving his sodden, frozen muscles and aching bones. Instinct, chance and just one last throw of the dice: The Dragon's power.

This was a terrible idea, but Sota was either taken down now or he could buy more time for Hana and probably still be taken down in the next ten minutes instead. He reached into his sodden haori and took out a mystically dry talisman. Sota could hardly feel it between his fingers, but he pressed it against his chest. “Kioku!"

Memories of the warmth of the ship, being full and well rested became reality once more. His clothes dried, but that wouldn't last as the snow continued to pummel the town. The real lasting impact was he had just invoked the power of The Dragon when an actual Tongueless was nearby. He wasn't playing any more. This was going all in with money he didn't have.

“Come on then," Sota sighed as the soldier rushed at him with a downward chop of his sword. Sota slapped it aside with his stolen sai, then reversed his swing. A jab with the butt of the sai into the man's nose sent him staggering back with a scream as bloody as the spray. An amateur, unused to pain.

Sota reached around and grabbed the blinded soldier by the back of his helmet, then pulled as he kicked the man's legs from beneath him. The soldier crashed to the ground with mighty clatter of iron and crunching snow as his companion stepped over the writhing man, followed by yet another iron-clad foe. Then another.

Sota once more began to run. He still had no plan beyond delaying the inevitable, but at least he had bought more time. He exited the alley and into the street, and into the path of a man mid jog, followed by a smaller, hopping figure. Sota's final gamble had run dry, he had run out money, and the house was about to cut off his fingers.

It was Hanzo and his yatagha. They stared at each other for a moment, or minutes. It didn't matter. The soldiers in pursuit also froze in reverence as they left the alley in pursuit.

Hanzo smirked, cocksure and smug, and mouthed, 'Sota.' The darkness beyond the teeth from the lack of tongue made Sota shiver in horrific nostalgia, but that also forced him into motion.

Sota gritted his teeth and lunged with his sai, but Hanzo caught it with his jutte. Sota threw a punch, yet Hanzo blocked with his forearm. Sota released his weapon to grab Hanzo's collar, only for Hanzo to then grip Sota's wrist, to which Sota twisted against Hanzo's joint. Hazo countered by turning, flowing and twisting until the pair separated, leaving the pair facing off, hand to hand.

“Aggregator Hanzo," said one soldier, “this man is wanted-"

Hanzo raised a hand, and the grunt fell silent.

Sota noticed behind Hanzo were Quartz and Rose, along with many of their kin, all in chains with what had to be fifty more soldiers. He gulped and watched as Hanzo's fingers twitched and wrists bent as he began to use Ministry sign language.

'I almost cannot believe it,' Hanzo signalled with a grim smile, 'Sota Nakamura, at long last.'

Sota pursed his lips, took a long sniff and shrugged. “You always did struggle with belief of the obvious. It's why you're there and I'm here."

Hanzo's smile didn't waver, and it only made Sota seethe as he bolted in to continue the fight. Hanzo took one step back and pulled out a talisman. His voice thundered, “hizamazuku!"

Sota's legs buckled beneath him, as did his back as he fell into a prostrated, reverential kneel. His mind and spirit would resist The Dragon's words, but his body could not. The power of The Dragon wired his muscles into stillness even as the spent talisman fell into his downcast view, and even as Hanzo's feet drew near. Finally, Sota moved by virtue of Hanzo's kick to the side of Sota's head, sending him rolling onto his back but still unable to move as the ringing shot through his ears. The only mercy was he could see, if dazed.

Hanzo nodded to his assistant, Zenzi. Sota didn't catch all Hanzo's sign languange except one final motion, 'private conversation.'

The bird-man raised his scaled arms and called out, “chain him up with the rest, then onward! Bring these scum to the castle!"

At the order, the soldiers approached, but Sota didn't resist. It was pointless. He let them wrap the length of chain around his wrists, the biting icy cold metal digging into his skin, and then they clasped it together with a simple lock. It wasn't meant to really constrict him, as any fool could struggle free, but the that would make a lot of noise. An alarm of effort rewarded with a talisman-empowered word that would give Hanzo an excuse to speak something far more painful. Unlike Sota's meagre three or four talismans that could be taxingly created per day, Hanzo likely had dozens in his robe and no cost to his well-being with The Dragon's blessing.

Not that Hanzo wanted Sota dead. The same feeling Sota felt about not wishing to end Hanzo was reflected here. They hated each other, but there was so much unsaid and yet inflicted. Sota was safe if he played along. More time for Hana to maybe work something out.

With Sota bound and connected to the other prisoners, Zenzi beckoned the mass onward. Like a maudlin parade the soldiers marched on, jabbing Sota and the catfolk ahead toward the castle with spear hafts and rough shoves.

Quartz stared at Sota in silence but with intent, perhaps even tried to get his attention to convey something by lip-reading, but Sota barely flicked a glance back. Rose struggled against her bindings and tried to push toward Hanzo, teeth bared, bloody and full of fury, but even her brawn wasn't enough to overpower the ten men holding her chains.

Sota continued to look into Hanzo's eyes. They both knew. This was destined. This was the start of something final. Something irrevocable.

All Sota's gambling, ever since fleeing The Ministry, had led to this moment. There was no room for any other players for a late buy-in. The presence of the catfolk, or the soldiers, or Quartz, or Rose be damned. Even Hana was a loose end that fell away from the gravity of this meeting unless she had somehow utterly bent Sugawara to her will. He had his doubts. That wasn't her strength, as this whole situation was backwards.

This was the showdown, and Sota had no legitimate way to win, yet he knew the game inside and out. Hanzo would want Sota alone to settle the score, and that meant however impossible the odds, Hanzo wanted to play. That was the time to steal the prize with a million-to-one shot in the dark.

* * *

Light gathered ahead though thin cracks in the ceiling. Gearal let Hana's wrist go, as his impressive vision in the dark let him guide her through the passage and into a small room filled with old, broken down boxes and wooden poles.

Gearal pointed up. “Bottom of castle. Hatch up." He then scurried to the side and tipped over a crate before feeling the area. After a few seconds, he pulled up a dust-covered ring pull and opened a hatch, exposing an immaculate folding ladder.

Hana nodded. “Good. Where is the armoury?"

The boy stopped and his shoulders slumped. “What?"

“A weapon. I need a weapon."

“Oh," he uttered as he propped the ladder up, which slotted into two grooves at the lip of the hatch. “Two floors up."

Hana gently pushed Gearal to the side. “I'll go first."

“No. You have noisy, and big ears."

“Excuse me?"

Gearal sighed, then pointed up again. “You understand creep?" He held out his padded palm while his other hand's fingers mimicked slow, graceful steps atop it.

“I can conduct an ambush and remain quiet as needed." Hana then rubbed the pink inside of her left ear. “What's wrong with my ears?"

“Too tall! Much ear poke out before eyes see."

“I lead by hearing, thank you very much. I'm no buffoon." With a pout, Hana flattened her ears and began to climb. Gearal rolled his eyes and followed her up.

She reached the top and her ears perked up for a few moments, listening for any motion beyond the subtle creak of the wooden ladder. The tiniest thuds of feet on wood, barely audible over the sound of her own breathing. Hana then felt the hatch and gave it a gentle push. It was stuck from the slow warp time inflicted on wood, but it gave with a firm shove.

The panel placed aside, the pair climbed into a small shrine. A hanging wall scroll asking for The Dragon's mercy and benevolence fluttered over disused incense holders, candlesticks atop a black varnished table. The room was otherwise plain, with tatami mats for a floor and shoji panel walls.

Gearal replaced the panel, then headed straight to the hanging scroll. He tossed it aside with as much reverence as Hana would offer the Six Saints, then pulled the mounting hook off the wall, exposing a small lock. He took out a pair of thin metal tools and began working.

“Narrow hide space here," he whispered.

“Can we get to the armoury from this?"

“Big risk. Easy weapons in Sugawara's room... I think?"

Hana supposed that was likely. The man was a soldier, and her memory of her father's collection of armaments from his campaigns across Samsara were many. Plain swords attained from memorable battles or foes all the way to fine pieces of exquisite craftsmanship more for art than war. All people had their fascinations but for a land bathed in a constant tide of inner conflict, weaponry was the great unifier amongst warriors.

Once more, traditional Samsaran construction gave way to the rudimentary hiding spaces; plain walls made of wood and stucco with portholes for observing the rooms. Sturdy and rigid wooden floors without the smooth, varnished mirror shine of the main halls and a vertical passage in the ceiling, and up into the darkness was a forest of wide rafters, no doubt for climbing up and down the castle.

Hana's mind flowed with tales of spies and assassins of a lord using these to move unseen in the event of an invasion, harassing and hampering any attackers, or simply observing visitors. It suddenly made sense why a small shrine would feature such a thing: somewhere one would offer prayer without interruption, only to become prey to a shinobi, or for said sneak to listen in to private words.

“Psst," Gearal said and tapped Hana's arm. “Up." He took out a length of thin, silken rope and tied a leather sap to the end, then threw it over the first rafter. He let the rope dangle over the other side, then his hands threaded more slack to allow the weighted end to come down and pinched the ends together. He nodded and said, “climb."

Hana shrugged, sank into a crouch, then leapt up to the beam, hauling herself on top with ease and momentum to spare. “This will be faster. Hold the rope and I'll pull you up."

“Showeohff... fine."

Gearal gripped the rope and Hana hoisted him up, sidling by to give him space. Hana looked further above, noting that each wooden platform was now within reach, albeit at a stretch for the shorter catfolk boy. After he stowed his rope, the pair ascended, each climber using claws and experience to reach the next floor, which was another long and unassuming corridor with portholes for spying, but Gearal urged them higher.

Hana took a few long breaths. “Which floor? The top?"

The boy nodded. “Uh... room lower than roof, but higher than room?"

“An attic. Very well. But shouldn't we be wary of spies or agents in these halls?"

Gearal shrugged. “Old Sugawara used my family for spies most time. New Sugawara new... and big dumb."

They climbed past a dozen floors; each corridor grew shorter as the castle became narrower. Hana's self-enforced conditioning and Gearal's youthful energy were both spent by the time they reached the top. It was a tiny room, though there was an open box containing a foreign spyglass, ink blocks and brushes, as well as inward-opening windows on all sides for lookouts to prop open and watch goings on in the town tied by cords of rope which creaked from the gusts of wind outside.

Gearal unfastened one latch. It flew open. unleashing a flurry of snow and a howl of cutting wind. The gust sent Gearal staggering back toward the pit they had climbed, but Hana caught him and pulled him close as she waited for the pressure in the room to stabilise.

“Fuhkin hehlls!! Thank you," Gearal said in a panic, but recovered his composure. “Come, we are close."

Hana released him and they struggled outside the small window against the frigid gusts. Hana again felt the weight of remorse at the scene. Dark had been replaced with light, white in place of blacks and reds of fire and crimson, entrance rather than escape, but climbing out on the angled rooftop made her heart ache. That bloody night infiltrated her mind and disturbed the flutters of life she had felt of late. Her jaw tightened and fists clenched as she stood rigid. It took a confused glance from Gearal, who had begun to head around the tiles but paused at her hesitation, to pull her back into the present.

“Are you well?" he asked.

Hana didn't answer. She caught up and went ahead of the boy, who pattered alongside her. They rounded one of the slopes and found their goal. A window into the uppermost room of the castle: the lord's bedroom.

* * *

“Wait, Lord Sugawara-wara!"

Asao did anything but. His knuckles whitened around the grip of his sword. He simmered in his humiliation and fury. The incessant clacks of taloned feet at his heels only further brought his blood to a boil. He didn't turn, but bellowed, “shut up! You're all useless! I should have ejected the catfolk by myself!"

Chihiro clenched and unclenched her hands. Her mind pulled and plucked at a thousand strands of memory to find some way to follow her orders and assist the incensed lord. “I'm surely-sure that Principal Zenzi and Aggregator Hanzo have the matter und-under control. They only want stability and peacy-peace for your province for the good of Samsara!"

Sugawara spun and shoved a finger into Chihiro's beak, tweaking her head aside and almost knocking her off her feet. He sneered and hissed, “to the deepest pits of The Dragon's hells with the rest of Samsara! You listen to me, bird! I am lord of this land! Hantoka! You said you would deal with the catfolk and get them out of my province, yet they're causing riots in my city!"

Chihiro finally caught a promising thread of logic that might cut through the furious human. “Principal Zenzi teaches that malcontents will always briefly succeed, but by exposing themselves, they allow quicker removal in the name of The Dra-"

Asao suddenly turned and stormed away and outside, either ignorant or in defiance of the blizzard. Chihiro hopped after him as he marched up to the castle gate, to which the soldiers on duty bowed then stood to attention.

“Lord Sugawara," they both chimed.

“Gather the remaining men," Asao said. “I'm taking matters into my own hands and we're going to remove the catfolk ourselves. We'll do this the old Samsaran way, with glory to be had and respect to be earned."

The two soldiers glanced at each other. Chihiro saw a flash of raw panic appear, but the humans kept their resolve. “My lord, Aggregator Hanzo and his bird-" the soldier noticed Chihiro, then cleared his throat. “Principal of the Flock Zenzi ordered the castle locked down until the riots have been contained."

Sugawara snorted. “Forget their orders. It's a lord's duty to protect his people, and after my father's limp-wristed compliance to that money-grubbing Varisidra, it's time they saw what a real Samsaran does in times of strife."

The soldiers began to lose their facade of calm. “L-lord Sugawara, you can't tell us to disobey the will of The Dragon. Aggregator Hanzo will have our heads!"

Asao squared up to the soldier. “And I wont!? You're all so quick to lick the offered hand of whoever says they're in charged? Is that it? Is this the fealty you gave my old man? Just let the catfolk run rampant, and now The Ministry?"

Chihiro panicked at further chaos falling on her failure to keep Sugawara calm, so she chirped and stood between the two men. “Lord Sugawara-wara! To disobey an aggregator's direct orders is to defy the will of The Dragon himself, and those who act against His will have their souls branded to burn in endless torment!"

“R-right," one soldier stammered. “What she said! I don't want any brandings, my lord!"

“M-me neither," mumbled the other.

The first guard fidgeted and glanced at Chihiro. “Plus I don't want that Zenzi guy to eat my innards! I hear yatagha do that!"

Asao spat on the ground at his soldier's feet. “Cowards, the lot of you!" He sneered, then stomped back inside the castle, fluttering his robes to shake off the snow as Chihiro closed the door behind them.

“Please, Lord Sugawara-wara, The Ministry will get this under controlly-roll, then you can take charge and act as one of the many-many thriving vassal states of Samsara!" Chihiro raised her arms, imitating her mentor, as she proclaimed, “peace and prosperity follow those that follow The Dragon! All praise He, who shares true benevolence with all of Samsara!"

“A vassal state..." Sugawara began toying with his sword, pushing the blade out from its sheath, then clicking it back in place with his thumb over and over. He paced back and forth and shook his head “What have I done? I've just traded one leash for another. What have I done!?"

“You asked for helpy-help with a foreign threat, my lord, that's all."

Sugawara seethed and gnashed his teeth, “liar! Your people came to me! Poured honey in my ears about evicting the catfolk and leaving me to rule in peace by following Ministry law. I never asked for you to stage a fucking coup against me!" His eyes shot wide and his jaw dropped. “That's what this is, isn't it? A coup! I'm being deposed!"

“Of course not, Lord Sugawara-wara! The Ministry would only remove people from office if they were entirely inept or-"

A kick to the ribs stole her breath. She barely uttered a rasped caw as she tumbled head over heels and crashed through a paper wall. She scrambled and clawed at the ground to catch herself, but then Sugawara's foot squeezed down on her head.

“I see it now! You people are here to take my lands in my moment of weakness when I wasn't used to the idea of leading, and you specifically, bird, are here to lie on their behalf to placate me. Am I right!?"

Chihiro croaked in relief as the pressure on her head ceased, only to be replaced as Sugawara's hand as it wrapped around her throat. She clutched at his wrist as she was hefted up. Her claws scratched his skin, but she held back from tearing at the Asao's arm. Ten years of constant training, punishment and enforcement to act as directed prevented her from raking at the tendons, veins and sinew holding her aloft. Pain is temporary, dishonour in the eyes of The Dragon was eternal.

No defiance. Be cleft in twain, broken, bloody, eviscerated or burned, but it mattered not. Of course, try to survive, but never with by falling out of favour. Serve well and become a phoenix, live free in the after and forever. That was the life of the yatagha.

Chihiro's instincts fought her training, but she went limp and kept her eyes and beak shut. She heard the soft metal on wood glide of a blade freed of its sheath. She could only hope it would be over quickly.

“What is this mess?"

Asao's strangling hand trembled at the deep, croaking voice. Zenzi's voice beyond the broken wall. Chihiro fell from Sugawara's grasp but dared not move except to open her eyes.

The old crow continued, “and where is Adept Chihiro? She should be with you!"

There was a long, laboured silence.

“She was being... disrespectful," Sugawara forced out with a slow, methodical timbre. “I chastised her, and she ran off."

Chihiro glanced between the pale, unsettled Asao and the hole in the paper wall. The senior yatagha was rigid and still beside the flutter of his robes and feathers from the open door behind him, where a large gaggle of chained catfolk and human soldiers were gathered.

Should she struggle? Cry out? No, that would show she failed to assist Sugawara. Death before dishonour.

After what felt like hours, Zenzi cleared his throat. “If Acolyte Chihiro was being disrespectful, then it is the duty of her mentor, or the aggregator, to inflict punishment. Not you. But enough of that. We have captured the catfolk upstarts and we will use your barracks as a prison until we decide what to do with them. Aggregator Hanzo will also be making use of the west-hall tearoom for an interrogation and will not be disturbed. Am I clear?"

“You're giving me orders?" Sugawara chuckled, incredulous at how obvious it all was now. His arm flexed and his face recovered some colour. His brow flickered and nostrils flared. “And here I thought I was lord."

“In all matters domestic, Lord Sugawara, yes," Zenzi replied, “But even such matters are still under the watchful eye of He. Just as all that is Samsara, The Dragon willing the world outside shall one day understand this and obey his directives without such ignorance. All should be thankful that The Ministry allows such freedoms and foibles. You and your people have been made more blind to this truth owing to the catfolk's intervention, so this transgression and clear contempt shall be overlooked, but I shall make one thing clear, Lord Sugawara."

Zenzi took a single step forward, his talons scratching a white peel of varnish from the floorboards as he clenched his toes. The world seemed to shake, not by the weight or strength of the old little bird-man, but that of his fathomless conviction. Truly he was a yatagha due to someday become a phoenix, Chihiro knew as even the incensed Sugawara dropped her and stumbled back.

“You will come to understand that the world owes all it shall ever be to The Dragon's mercy. It is through His agents, such as myself and Aggregator Hanzo, that you feckless and uneducated children even deign to live in The Dragon's distant presence and entertain the idea alone allow your ego to contain its diminutive capacity of power so that you can writhe and wriggle in the mud for His amusement!"

Once more, silence smothered the room. It thickened the air into a density befitting a divine presence such as The Dragon's own agents bestowing His wisdom upon the ignorant.

Zenzi turned around to leave. “I shall secure the prisoners and Aggregator Hanzo shall conduct his interrogation, so you are not needed for now." He paused and gripped the sliding door. His beady eye glared back at Asao without turning his head, exposing the rare, eerie white at the edge that gave a crazed, even sickened air to the crow. “However, in one hour's time, we shall reconvene in your chambers. We must discuss the blasphemous words you spoke to the people. You will not be pleased with what shall be said, so I recommend you meditate so that you are composed. Any further hostility shall be dealt harshly."

The crow slammed shut the door behind him so hard it bounced ajar, and the muting presence of the old yatagha gave way to the complaints of catfolk, the rattle of chains and barked orders.

Sugawara held his breath almost as firmly as he gritted his teeth, and Chihiro could do nothing but stare. Fear gripped her, kept her from escaping, as everything she trained for clashed with any sense of self preservation. Then Asao glowered at her and crouched close.

“Listen," he said, teeth still pinched together. “Here's how this is going to work: you're going to tell me everything you know about your mentor and The Ministry so I can get a better bargaining position, and I'll consider smoothing things over with them on your behalf. You get to live, I get some power back over my own land."

Zenzi's voice commanding Asao's soldiers outside made him grimace as he glanced back at the sliding door.

He kept his grip, whispered, “let's talk somewhere private," and carried her deeper into the castle.

Chihiro hadn't taken a breath as she had hauled her away from the outer rooms of the castle. He climbed each stairway, paused and looked down each corridor to ensure only people he trusted saw him carrying the young yatagha, then moved on. At each floor, his confidence grew as only the most loyal of his servants and personal guard remained, only for Asao to stop dead as he rounded the corner on the top floor, and even Chihiro couldn't hold back the gasp.

An intense looking inousan woman, bearing a glimmering katana, stood in front of his personal chambers, and a young catfolk boy hid behind her, peering around with curious amber eyes.

“Asao Sugawara," the inousa said, “we're here for you. Lay down your sword and let us discuss-"

Lord Sugawara dropped Chihiro, who clambered to the side, and the man drew his own steel. “No. Never again."

The hare woman did naught but narrow her near-soulless brown eyes and tighten her grip on one of Asao's father's treasured swords. “So be it. To death most bitter it shall be."

* * *

14th Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

“That bitterness," Hana whispered as she let the savoured the taste and felt the heat of the coffee fight off the cold through her body. “It's still so distinct. So unique."

Sota nodded. “A lot of firsts around that time too. It was when we met Chihiro, for one thing. Not to mention we were fully aligned with the cera'an."

They both watched a single sliver of sunlight pierce the clouds. The last gasp of vibrancy on an uncertain day.

Hana held her knees against her chest as she gently swirled her coffee, still entranced by the hiding sun. “It all felt wrong at the time. Your deviousness may have prevented a lot of chaos."

“Hanzo wouldn't have given two thoughts about killing you on the spot," Sota answered. “And if we were in each other's place, I doubt I would have fared well against Sugawara. The guy could fight, that was for sure, and I didn't have any talismans."

“Asao lived up to his moniker: Thunderstorm. He knew only war and the blade, and nothing about the values of the true way of the warrior. Like my old path, he was fighting for fighting's sake. Even Asao's plot was... like this day." Hana nodded toward the horizon.

Sota breathed into his hands and rubbed them together. “A final glimmer?"

Hana nodded. “The day was already lost, yet when in the last throes of life, he tried to plot his way out, but impossibly late. He must have known even the strongest warrior couldn't defy both the cera'an and The Ministry at once when they were at his door. An honourable gesture, perhaps, but a lethal path."

“She says," Sota chuckled, “having walked that path for a long, long time, you'd know."

Hana pouted. “Yet here we both stand. Two lords fallen in the wake of our travel. My own relapse, your attempts to avoid The Ministry... we are all fools in the end, fighting the impossible yet somehow still here."

Sota shrugged. “Maybe. All things beneath The Dragon seem pointless indeed." He leaned back and stared back up at the meagre grey overhead. “I suppose the mouse must consider its triumph against the cat as a thing of legend. That is the nature of the world. We are all mice in a world of cats."

“Considering the Darchinissidai, that could almost be literal..." Hana allowed herself to smirk. It felt unnatural, or maybe just a part of herself had awoken once more. “More to the point, Asao was an especially angry mouse in this analogy, I presume."

“Maybe a rat, I guess?" Sota scratched his chin. “More a hedgehog perhaps. Prickly bastard."

Hana finished her coffee with a sigh. “We still have much more to discuss, but we're running out of light."

Sota sniffed and rocked his head side to side, earning a satisfying pop from his neck. “True, but I don't want to stop until we've sorted this out. I doubt I'll be sleeping much tonight after such a fine brew." He tossed the over-steeped coffee grounds from the teapot, bundled together the cups, then stood and kicked out remaining embers of the fire.

“You're right. Not when we're finally talking." Hana went to stand as well, only for Sota to extend his hand to her. She looked at the callouses on his fingers and palms from the recent hard work, as well as the small nicks and scratches from years of fighting. The storied path of his rebellion against The Ministry.

“May I be so bold as to invite you to my hut? Not that your room in the old man's house isn't comfortable, but there's still a lot of things these villagers shouldn't overhear."

Hana almost let her eyes grow wide, but she conjured another smirk and grabbed his hand. “Is that a proposition?"

Sota made a face so dumbfounded and shocked that Hana belted out a laugh.

The first laugh in over ten long, miserable years. One of many firsts she had felt with Sota as she hoisted herself up and basked in the warmth of her hand in his.

* * *