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Chapter 15: Calm and Conspiracy

25th Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

Hana raised her hand. A deft strike was required to end her target's struggle. Strong, precise, swift.

“You sure you've got this?" Sota whispered into her ear. “You don't want to let it get away."

“Yes, now hush," she replied. “I need to focus" She could feel Sota lingering over her shoulder, peeking at her target.

“You've done this a thousand times before, and to far more dangerous quarry. You sure you haven't lost your nerve?"

Hana bared her long incisors and glared over her shoulder. “What did I just say!?"

Sota recoiled, smirking but offering hands aloft in submission as he gave her space.

With a final menacing squint at her tormentor Hana returned to her target. She raised the blade and secured her grip, then cut down with strength, precision and swiftness.

The fish's head slipped away from the body, which flopped and twitched about for a few more moments before growing still. Hana then plunged the knife into the belly of the creature and slipped it across from neck to tail. Pale pink blood oozed from the wound, and Hana began to ease the cut apart.

“Fishy-fishy, quite a dishy!" Chihiro warbled. “Bulging eyes and guts be squishy!"

“If the two of you keep disturbing me like this," Hana grumbled, “perhaps we can dine on thigh of human and wing of crow instead?"

Chihiro flapped her arms. “But I have no wings!"

“And I happen to have need of my thighs," Sota added, then wriggled his fingers towards Hana. “Not as much as yours. Perhaps wrapped around my head at some point soon, but-"

“Then why can't I get some silence?" The inousa turned with a foreboding grimace and a flourishing point from her bloodied knife, more a fencer than a fishwife. “I won't even be able to taste this, so I'm trying to remember how to prepare and flavour it from memory."

Chihiro gasped and pranced from foot to foot. “De-scale, behead, gut and fillet the fish. Bathe the fillets in a marinade of soy, infused with garlic and yuzu, and cover with a layer of salt. Then-"

“I... appreciate the reminder, Chihiro," Hana grumbled, “but I can't always rely on you to remember everything I've ever done."

“Yes you can." Chihiro stood upright, arms akimbo, and as smug as one can be with a beak. “I remember everything! I can even remember-member remembering remembrances!"

“I know you can," Hana said as she turned back to filleting the fish. “But self-improvement is important too. We all need to be able to cover one another."

“Fun as it is to perplex her," Sota said as he patted Chihiro on the head, “she's got a point. We don't know if any one of us might be sick, or busy elsewhere, nor can we rely on the villagers any more."

The yatagha blinked up at him. “Why?"

Sota gave her a warm smile, though she could see the sadness in his eyes. “We're leaving Kyoba."

Chihiro's fluffy plumage drooped as her arms fell by her sides. “... why?"

“We've already invited trouble into this village by merely being here," Sota said and knelt beside the yatagha. “We've fixed the bonds in our family, helped Kyoba with their rice fields and repaired the damage from last winter's storm, and I'm worried The Ministry will notice their missing Mitigator and start searching for him around this region. It's time to go."

Chihiro clicked her tongue in a low rattle then dropped into a squat, arms folded around her knees. “But I like it here," she whined.

“We all do, Chihiro," Hana said as she finished slicing the flesh from the fish carcass, depositing the two parts into a small clay bowl and urn respectively. “I will miss this place dearly, for the people and what we experienced together, but our combined pasts are far too dangerous to allow more people to be hurt by being near us." Hana paused as she regarded her work. The fillets were for the village meal that night, but the carcass was for a slowly steeped stock. Maybe one they wouldn't even experience and share with the people that had cared for her for the last few months. Hana felt her eyes grow moist, but she kept focused on her task.

Sota gave Chihiro another scritch on her head-feathers before standing. “I need you to get your things together tonight. We'll spend tonight here, maybe tomorrow too depending if the rain comes in heavy, but we need to make for Hantoka as soon as we can. Once we're there, we'll see if we can't find passage on a ship."

“Not just that," Hana said as she diced up some garlic, the cloves black from ageing. “But we need some money for further travel. At least until we can find something to earn our way onward. Hard labour if we must. That goes for you too, Chihiro."

With a deep, purposeful sigh, Sota said, “and here I was, hoping for the lap of luxury on our grand exit of this hellhole of an island." He rubbed the small of his back in distant anticipation. “Bah, lugging heavy stuff around for a few coins again... as if I didn't have it bad enough last time."

* * *

29th of Sighing Mountain, 1552

“Good work, Kuroda. Here, today's pay."

Sota nodded at his pseudonym with a wipe of his brow before bowing and accepting a folded paper envelope. “Sure thing, Master Sasaki. Was there anything else you needed before I head home?"

Sasaki, an old and scrawny man, gave a shrug. “Nothing I can pay you for right now, though I'm beginning to wonder if there's anything you can't do. Being able to read and write Samsaran is enough, let alone Bralranian now that those cat people are starting to do business here is a Dragon-sent miracle. That and having a strong back!" The wrinkled warehouse owner slapped Sota's shoulder with a raspy cackle.

Sota chuckled along with him as he felt the weight of the envelope. It had to be around two hundred yon. Not bad coin for a day's work. “I can dance on the head of a pin as well, but if you only need me to carry stuff and write foreign orders, then you bet, boss. Jests aside, if that's all, I'd best be getting home. The missus doesn't like me being out after dark."

“Aye, fair," Sasaki said and locked the warehouse door. He snorted and spat on the ground as they headed toward the town proper. Men and women of all echelons, walks and castes roamed the streets as the sensible business of day ended, and nighttime fun and frolic took hold as glowing paper lanterns, the sizzle of meat and waft of alcohol filled the air. A few couples passed Sota and Sasaki by, arm in arm, with a young, slim inousan girl of ginger fur that held her human partner especially tight. Sasaki smirked as his gaze followed her, especially her backside. “Heh. Rabbit wives seem all the rage these days."

Sota kept his eyes straight ahead and let the man explore his lechery. “You really that surprised? You live right next to their homeland."

“Maybe, but it's always rabbit wives and no rabbit husbands."

Unsure where this topic was going, Sota shrugged. “Such are the woes of war. Too many inousan men throwing themselves on swords-"

“And leaving their women thirsty enough to go seeking something more human to thrust themselves on, eh?" Sasaki snickered with a knowing nudge of his elbow on Sota's side. The old man pulled a gourd from her hip and took a swig. “I know your type, Kuroda."

The scent of crude shochu spirit almost stung Sota's nostrils and washed his mind back to his days throwing coin at brothels, painted ladies and alcohol. Such raw lust for life's more indulgent elements had lost its splendour, even if he still held a firm enjoyment of all the little things. Sota then wondered if he should have been the black kettle to Sasaki's pot, but aimed for the moral high ground instead. He finally answered, “an enjoyer of fluff of both body and heart?"

Sasaki barked a laugh and a hot wave of alcoholic breath billowed forth from his gap-toothed maw. “Bah, there're hairy enough human women at the cheaper whorehouses, lad," he said. “But no, I meant men who want women with some spine. And I don't mean a firm ass, though that helps too." He held out his gourd to Sota. “Just that they're just as like to wanna fight their men as hump them. Takes a certain type of man to quell an inousa girl."

“Guilty as charged," Sota said and held his hand out to decline the gourd, only for Sasaki to thrust the bulbous vessel into his hand. Not wanting to offend, and trying to glean what angle Sasaki was trying to take the conversation, he took a sip. It wasn't as unpleasant as the aroma, but he still had to hold back from coughing before taking a more determined pull. “She's a little more withdrawn than most inousan women, but I wouldn't replace my Miyu for anyone."

“Any bites or scratches yet?" Sasaki said, glancing around Sota's neck. “I hear those inousan women tend to sink their teeth or claws into their mates."

Sota took another long pull of shochu, then handed the gourd back as he cleared his throat, as much to subdue the booze-burn as to dissuade the topic. “No. Uh, no_where_ I care to mention."

Sasaki snorted and took the hint. “Ah, fine. Just watch yourself, lad. They don't let go once they sink 'em in, and you don't want to know what they're like if you get soft from the pain."

“I'll keep that in mind." Sota cocked an eyebrow. “You seem to know a lot about it."

Sasaki's boisterous mood seemed to dull for a moment. He poked his tongue through a gap in his teeth before answering. “Like you said a second ago, they're popular. Anyway, just let me know if you knock her up."

“Wait, that's possible? Humans and inousa can..." Sota gesticulated with his hands, trying to keep the conversation getting too lewd, yet his own curiosity was grasping for details. “... you know, breed?"

Sasaki took another swig, easy as imbibing water. Maybe easier. “This isn't like them rat people from Bralran, and it's not like it's common, but it happens." He wiggled his massive eyebrows and exposed his yellowing, gap-scattered teeth. “Just gives you more opportunities to have some fun before bringing a few bunny-babes into the world."

Sota had started to feel the foggy warmth of alcohol on his mind, but became utterly lucid at the news. “And why did you need to know?"

“Inousan girls get lively when they're 'of a full warren.' Why'd you think hare-folk have such big families? They get addicted to the feeling of a baby in their belly. If that happens to your lady, you're gonna be useless to me for a while while she rides that youthful energy right out of ya! So let me know in case I gotta hire someone else." Sasaki cackled again as he began to hobble away from the now thoughtful Sota. “See you tomorrow, Kuroda. Gotta make a lot of yon if you're gonna support a household of hares, and I've got a lot of work coming up!"

Unsure if he was blessed or cursed with the information, Sota began counting out his coin for a few errands in preparation for the journey home.

* * *

“Bored."

Hana sighed as she tried to focus on her calligraphy. “Have you done your chores, Chihiro?"

“Yes! And now I'm chore-bored!"

Chihiro hopped back and forth across the rickety floor. A wobble, a creak, a snap which made Hana's ears flick upright. The yatagha's head bobbed back and forth as she relocated the snapping plank and pressed down on it with her taloned foot, earning a drawn out tortured squeak from the wood before it cracked and fell through. Chihiro squawked and hopped away, then inspected the new hole in the already shoddy domicile, squinting between the joists at the scurrying rodents beneath as their hideaway had been breached.

Hana let out another sigh. “Could you not further break this rat-infested hovel? It's bad enough trying to make it comfortable without Sota spending a single rusted yon on the place."

“Even the crying boards are dying bored!"

“Sota will be home soon," Hana mumbled to herself and pinched her brow. “He'll entertain you."

Chihiro sat and clasped her feet together. She then rolled onto her side, rocking along her leg like a supporting strut before sitting upright again, then down the other side, then up again. She repeated this, wobbling back and forth and even around in a circle, each repetition generating a stagger of noises from the aged wood.

Hana slapped her hand against the table and tossed her brush away from her poetry, only to watch, as if life had slowed to a crawl, as a spot of ink flicked off the soft hairs and dripped onto the page. She hissed through her teeth at the stain, though she still blew on the page to help dry the ink and gave it a final read.

An abandoned hut,

Left to natures devices,

Now home to many.

It felt too appropriate to discard, a milestone of their life represented in verse, so she set it aside and promised herself to re-write it later. For the moment, Hana turned her attention back to Chihiro. “Fine. Let's train instead. You can fight, can't you?"

Chihiro hopped to her feet. “Yes, Hare-na! The Ministry practi-practised in front of me lots and I learned to imitate their styles."

“Imitation is a poor substitute for experience." Hana stepped over the newly fractured floor and took her nodachi, then paused at her own words. “Hah. I suppose it's not terribly far from how I was to be trained as a little girl."

Chihiro crooked her neck as she picked up a pair of metal shod tonfa. “Huh?"

“The inousan upbringing in how how we learn to fight. Learning by imitation was the fate I once carried. We are raised in the style of our parents and their combined martial styles, but the girls are expected to perfect this new 'house' style flawlessly, whereas the boys head off to war to hone their technique in the fires of real conflict and learn adaption. Through marriage of those that survive, the men and women merge their styles, the balance of the old ways and wild creation, into something new to pass on to the next generation. It has given my people tremendous strength, and a broadness of combat technique."

Chihiro nodded frantically. “Oh, oh. That's how The Ministry keeps on tip-topity-top of their own martial strength! Merging, mixing, meandering with menacing meaning!"

Hana replied with her own lop-eared and quizzical tilt of her head. “Do The Ministry breed and intermingle their martial styles? From what I recall from Sota and Hanzo's fight, their techniques were extremely similar." She stood and headed for the only door, to the outside.

Chihiro hopped behind Hana and made a dismissive clicking noise with her throat. “No, they just draw the memories of dead fightery-folk to enhance their own formy-forms. They overlappy-lap a whole style onto the Dragon's Reach."

The pair left the house and into the waning sun sending long shadows across the wide expanse of dry, untilled soil of a failed vegetable farm. Abandoned and derelict, yet close enough to the village for easy travel and a few hours away from the Jinu gateway. Most importantly, it was free and private.

Hana reached under the house's foundation beams and took out a few sturdy staves they had collected for training. “I recall Sota mentioning something to that effect before, in passing. So he possesses the memories of another man's method of war inside of him?"

Chihiro chirped in confirmation. “Yes, but he doesn't seem to use it much. He says it isn't fair on the spirit."

Hana watched the yatagha take some practice swings with her tonfa as she waited in thought. “Who is this man? And how much does it intrude in Sota's own mind?"

“A warrior from Casevis, which is near Braly-Bralran." Chihiro raised a finger as she let her mind stream the information vocally, her high tone becoming flat and uncharacteristically clear. “Wels Vanders, mercenary. Deceased as of the fourteenth day of Long Melt, year fifteen thirty seven, aged fifty one. Most famously defeated two prominent Bralranian knights through a combination of combat prowess and trickery before he was captured and executed by public flogging for crimes against the crown. Weapon retrieved and memories instilled into Sota Nakamura on the second day of Clean Bone, year fifteen forty. Wels was categorised as a second tier warrior, but chosen for synchronisation compatibility with Sota's latent personality traits."

Hana blinked, her jaw momentary slack as she parsed the details. “I think I understand... still, The Ministry are monstrous, taking advantage of the dead in such a way."

“Yet it makes them stronger than the strong. Take two men and," Chihiro squawked as she leapt into the air as she clapped her hands together, “suddenly, they're one man now! Able to switchity-switch with a talisman from one style to another with no extra training, and 'remember' their weapon with the reforged remains."

Hana huffed, too proud to confess her lingering confusion. “Enough, let us begin our own training." She lowered herself into a combat ready stance, long pole at the ready.

Chihiro crooned and let her own memories take hold of her actions, awash in a thousand martial demonstrations in The Ministry dojos. She sprawled low, holding one tonfa by its side-grip, yet another at the far back of the shaft, to use the other's protrusion like a hammer.

“Ready when you are," Hana said. Both combatants tensed, before the wiry yatagha leapt at her foe.

* * *

Sota froze for a moment, lifting his ear to the wind as he adjusted a roped, wooden box hoisted over his shoulder. A sound... of clashing wood? Repeated, rapid, determined... combat! Sota burst into a sprint. With no time to waste, he diverted from the winding dirt path and leapt a stream, entering the dense foliage, travelling home as direct a route as possible. He feared the worst

The echoing clacks grew nearer, confirming his deepest fears that the struggle was taking place at his home, and also pushed him on as he fought. Confusion and panic held sway, yet just a hair of doubt kept him from tossing his cargo. He rounded a copse of trees before setting eyes on the ramshackle farmhouse. The confusion remained, but he relaxed. Instead, wonderment at a dazzling display.

“Chihiro, stop!" Hana fended off a wild and frenzied assault from the bird, wielding two tonfa and an errant stick in her hands and grasping feet.

The yatagha was a whirlwind of black plumage and weaponry, as her foot struck and bounced against the earth, only for a hand to toss it its armament as that taloned appendage rose and extended. The newly freed hand kept her momentum as it planted on the dirt and pushed off again, and the foot-clasped bludgeon swung out at full force, only to steal a tonfa from one of her feet. The dance blistered on at a staggering pace, carrying a threat in a staggering number of strikes where her short size and lack of strength couldn't muster. It was a deluge. Heavy and unavoidable as a storm in the form of a multitudinous maelstrom, each strike as a hailstone.

There was no way that Hana could maintain a defence against such an onslaught, even in all her years of combat. Instead she elected to hop back as the bird-bombardment spun ever onward, but Chihiro clearly lost track of her target. Without any deflections or ability to see clearly, Chihiro suddenly thrust herself upright on top of one of her tonfa, masterfully arresting the spin as she stood atop the grip of the weapon. There was a stoic stillness, with Chihiro standing tall on a one-legged bird perch as she balanced on the weapon with the other foot outstretched, arms high with the other weapons in a readied position.

Hana and Sota both stared in awe at Chihiro, but then she began to teeter. All regal stillness gave to twisting and staggering, then a fall from her perch. The yatagha slammed to the ground, then tried to stand, only to violently throw up and collapse again. “Dizzy..." she groaned.

“I told you not to get too excited," Hana said and crouched down beside the writhing yatagha. “Look at the state of you."

Chihiro warbled and droned, “but it worked for the other yatagha." She lifted her head, which bent back and forth like a reed in the wind, before she retched and slumped to the ground.

Sota snickered at his discordant family and continued his approach, patting the carrying box in his hands. “Seems I've missed all the fun. Is this a bad time to brandish soba and persimmons?"

Hana glanced over her shoulder to him with a greeting nod. “Welcome back. I suspect this foolish girl may want to abstain from eating until she recovers. Come, let's get her inside."

“At least you're bonding," Sota chuckled. “After all the mess back in Hantoka, I half expected you to be at each other's throats."

Chihiro stayed limp as she was carried inside the farmhouse, and they put the young yatagha into her cot before sitting outside to enjoy the evening air.

Sota opened the carry box and passed Hana a lidded bowl, which she opened to the sight and gentle spiced aroma of cold buckwheat noodles. She gave it a confused glance before he tackled his own with a pair of chopsticks. The chilled, savoury broth clung to the thick, chewy strands he lifted from the bowl and he slurped deep and loud, savoured the meal.

Following suit, Hana took a slower approach, biting off a smaller section. Despite the cooling season, there was a deeply refreshing element to the cold fare, although a deep peppery element gave a strange contrast: a tantalising heat that opposed the temperature. “These seem a bit out of season. It's autumn."

“Sho?" Sota replied, his mouth full. He swallowed before continuing, “we had our fill of eastern oddities with Varis' group, and found myself missing some classic summer Samsaran fare. If I had one more cutlet without some honest to the hells complex seasoning that wasn't just salt and... what was it? Named like a weapon... ah, mace. That's the one."

“I suppose I was also getting tired of feeling nauseous from all the meat the catfolk consumed, and the lingering smell. They made a passable vegetable soup, but all the locals were obsessed with exploring the foreign palate with their new lords in place."

“Right? We Samsaran's may be a bunch of war-mongering wastrels, but good food should be our second most famous attribute. After all, all that slashing and chopping we do to each other needs fuel!"

Hana nodded and continued her dainty bites of soupy noodles. “Speaking of which. Once we have had our fill and settled our stomachs, I was wondering if we could also spar."

Sota wiped his chin of broth with his collar. “Oh? I suppose we could." He pulled a few more noodles up, ready to eat, then paused. “Strange, in all our time together, we've never really tested each other in a fight, have we? Any particular reason we're doing this now?"

“We're heading into the home of the inousa. I have no doubts to your ability to defend yourself against human techniques and capabilities, but just how many of my kin have you fought?"

“It's not like we're planning to get into trouble, but-"

“That's beside the point," Hana said, cutting Sota off. “Trouble is all but inevitable, and we need to be prepared."

Sota focused on her, even as he continued to eat and kept a jovial air in spite of his eyes becoming steely. “Then I'll be relying on you. You're more than a match than any inousan soldiers, I'm sure."

Hana's ears flopped low, but she put up an indifferent front. “We cannot predict the who's, what's and where's of any such trouble, nor can we always be around to protect one another. Even if I have knowledge of Jinu province, I have not been home for over ten years. Plus we face an unknown foe in Lord Kou and whatever personal guard he keeps."

With a roll of his eyes, Sota shrugged. “Point taken. I can tell you're not going to drop this. We'll spar." He began to sip his bowl with one hand, then handed Hana a persimmon with the other. “But definitely after dinner."

* * *

Dined and with their food settled, Hana and Sota stood apart, facing each other. She asked, “do you know what makes my people so feared in combat?"

Sota looked Hana up and down, both considered her question and her physical form. “An obsession with combat verging on Dragon-worship degrees of fealty? That whole 'soul and blood' lineage that enforces a combination of rigorous physical conditioning, perfect technique and practical application of said martial arts? Legs strong as ten men?"

Hana couldn't choose between the snide or the correct with which to reply. “W-well yes. There's more to it than just that, mind you. We can perform any technique a human can, and yet we have advantages that you simply lack. For example, upward strikes." She drew her sword and demonstrated. She made precise diagonal cuts with her nodachi, the tip coming within an inch of the ground before soaring skyward in rapid arcs.

Sota rolled his eyes. “You and I both know plenty of people make upward cuts."

“Naturally, but usually on the backswing from a downward cut, or after having their weapon swatted low and in the attempt to raise their guard. While useful, it's still a less potent strike since you're both fighting the weight of the weapon, as well as your own body. What I mean to demonstrate is that the inousa have a distinct advantage with close ranged combat due to the strength of our legs. We can make devastating cuts from what would be considered an unfavourable position."

“As in those thick thighs are instrumental in ending lives?" Sota snickered. “It can't be that drastic, can it?"

“It can, and most certainly is." Hana huffed and threw Sota a hefty stick, which he caught with ease. She then sheathed her sword and picked up a cudgel of her own. “Let me show you. Protect yourself as you've been told."

Sota put up a standard guard, and Hana crossed her 'sword' with his, then took one measured step back so that the tips were a hairs breadth apart.

“Ready?"

At his nod, she flicked her weapon across his to swat it aside and stepped in with a thrust. Sota retreated and swung his stick back, bashing her attack away to make his own sideways strike. Hana responded in kind, absorbing the attempt in a bind. She lunged in, but dropped low, into a sudden squat. To anyone else, yielding height would have put her off balance, but her thighs and calves flexed, bulged then extended with all her might against the clashed wood.

Hana's instant momentum shoved Sota's arms up with her, forcing Sota into a backward stagger. Her launch also lifted her into the air, almost tipping herself over but, with the re-extension of her limbs to arrest an ungainly flip. She landed smoothly and set upon Sota before he could gather his feet beneath him, jabbed her stick into his chest and shoved him to the ground. Sota grunted from the impact as she poked him again to signal the bout was over.

“There, you see?" Hana said, pride pricking up her ears. “We inousa spend our youths leaping and tumbling until controlling our leaps is second nature and, as we grow older and stronger, our leg strength allows for movement and strikes no human can accomplish." She held out her hand to help him up, the cloying smugness forcing its way through her taciturn facade.

Sota winced as he sat up and accepted the help to stand. “I get it. So how does one protect themselves against such an attack?"

“Yoshiyuki Maeda, one of the first inousa to document the core techniques explicitly enabled by our physiology, had two core countermovements that even other inousa must use. The first is simple: if an inousa drops themselves into a lower stance, disengage. You must step away or aside before the inousa can muster their power and destabilise their foe, and defend yourself accordingly should they choose to still leap. Youthful inousan warriors are prone to use jumping without care, but an airborne foe is a predictable, and less potent, one."

“Simple enough. And the other?"

“Sweep the leg."

Sota gave her an incredulous look.

Hana returned the bemused glare. “Is there a problem?"

“No, not really, it just seems so... plain."

“All martial arts are reliant on what Yoshiyuki called the 'kinetic chain,' as in the fact that every body part connecting your weapon-bearing hand to the ground contributes to the force of the strike. Common folk throw their arms. Soldiers learn to put their back into the swing. The masters utilise every shred of strength, from their toes to their fingers to their body weight, all invested into the point of percussion of their weapon making contact. I recall another martial arts master, admittedly a human one, even said he would fear not the man who knew a thousand different strikes, but the man who had honed a single technique a thousand times."

Sota puckered his lips and nodded. “Like Asao Sugawara? His 'thunderclap' strike, or whatever he called it?"

“Precisely. Varisidra's speed and experience may have undermined it in the end, but his perfect use of one of the most basic attacks in swordplay was truly inspired." Hana looked skyward for a moment, remembering the motion with clear awe in her eyes. “It's rare to see someone so dedicated to the arts of war, even in spite of his arrogance."

“That reminds me..." Sota held up a pausing finger. “Wait here a moment." He ran inside the farmhouse, only to return moments later holding one of his paper ofuda talismans and something else clasped in his fist. “Hold out your hand."

Hana obeyed, despite her confusion, and a small piece of metal was placed into her furred palm. Her brow furrowed further and further as she scrutinised the scrap. It was shiny, but with small brown marks of rust, or dried blood. She couldn't tell. “What is this?"

“A piece of Asao's sword that broke during your battle. I want to give you something that might give you an edge. Pun... somewhat intended." He clasped his hand over it, pressing it between his own hand and hers.

Hana's ears flushed as he held her, but before she could pull back or object, he placed the ofuda over their clasped hands and suddenly bellowed a familiar word.

“Kioku!"

The metal quivered, and begun to remember, and those memories flowed through both Hana and Sota's minds. A sensation stood alone, bright as the shining sun. The feeling of a blade between their hands. A sword, perfectly balanced. Grip, firm and sure. Every part of the body, poised to swing the sword straight and true, with every sinew, bone and shred of spirit devoted to one, inextricable move.

_ It had to be perfect. _

_ This cut. _

_ This swing. _

_ Faster than the fastest. _

_ Stronger than the strongest. _

_ No pretension. _

_ No flaw. _

_ No survivors. _

_ Every foe, slain in one perfect stroke. _

_ Witnesses would spread the word. _

_ And make the technique stronger as their fear took hold. _

_ In hesitation, defeat. _

_ No. _

_ No! _

_ That wasn't good enough. _

_ Again. _

_ Again! _

_ Again!! _

There it was. The tiny imperfections. The wrong footing. The absolute will to dedicate one's self to the swing. The knife's edge between utter foolishness and genius.

The image. The feelings... they all faded.

“What!?" Hana yanked her hand away, and the fragment of blade fell to the floor.

Sota chuckled. “Wild, right? I just gave you Asao's memories. Well, a curated version."

“His memories?" Hana squinted at Sota, but the more she thought about the man, the more she began to pull on parts of her mind that weren't there before. Experiences, muscle memory and even a sense of pride both alien, yet they somehow felt natural within her psyche.

“Give it a try," Sota said, and backed away.

Hana pursed her lips and bristled her whiskers as she brandished the stick in her hands. She felt no different as she raised the weapon over her head, yet then felt her mind spark and crackle. The thousands of times she had performed the simple, overhead chop suddenly struggled against the new, foreign concepts that ran rampant. No mere muscle memory, but an obsession. A lust. A demand of the self that this had to be absolutely perfect.

Her hands shifted, from a sturdy two-handed grip to one and a half; the stable hand lowest on the 'hilt' still clutched the wood, yet her leading hand splayed her fingers and nestled the pole in her palm. It was no longer a traditional strike, but a cut with an exacting throw of every scrap of her muscle and mass into the movement. The memories transformed her stance from tradition to something obnoxious, crude and yet she knew the capabilities this form could manifest. The raw ferocity swelled inside and demanded to be released, as though she were a dragon, primed and ready to bellow a cascade of flame. No... a thunderclap!

Sota watched, curious as he witnessed Hana struggle to wrangle her thoughts together. Her muscles clenched and flexed, stretching out so hard they stood taut against her fur, the fibres beneath stood out so hard he swore they would rupture through as she gritted her teeth and performed the perfect imitation of Asao's terrifying strike.

Hana unleashed a savage scream that shattered the calm evening air. It was so loud that Sota flinched and blinked. Before he could fathom what had transpired, she had moved from where she stood to one long pace ahead, her legs were bowed and stance over extended, weapon from high overhead to low and skirting the ground. All in the fraction of a second his eyes had shut.

The air still seemed to be moving, almost as if it had deformed and was now catching up to Hana's swing. The stick in her hands had shed slivers of its bark from the intense force it had experienced, with some flittering to the ground as the rest held limply from the shaft. Even the dust, an inch away from the pole, had been kicked up from the ground and spread aside. A swing that defied nature.

With a sudden yelp, Hana's leading calf seized and spasmed, and she collapsed and clutched at her leg, hissing through her teeth. A thousand pinpricks like miniature lightning strikes shot through her lower leg, a raw burn as if her leg was deep in boiling water.

“That's always been a problem with that power," Sota said and knelt beside her. “You can absorb the memories of the greatest warriors of all time, but that initial disconnect between spirit and body is a bitch. It takes time to truly adapt. Here, allow me." He slowly reached for Hana's outstretched and twitching leg.

Hana went to swat his hands away, or shout him back, but the pain held her still and kept her mouth closed. Sota's fingers encircled her generous calf muscle, gently kneading and massaging the limb. The convulsions persisted, and the burn lingered, but the patient attention from his firm, precise touch gradually eased the cramp.

“Guess we're not going to be sparring much more today," Sota continued as he gave her leg muscles a bit more care, then sat back. “Though I'm still a little curious why we're doing this? I feel like it's more than just my abilities against your people."

Hana glanced at the farmhouse. She spotted Chihiro peering at them through a gap in the wall and, at being noticed, the yatagha hopped back into the darkness. Hana cocked her head to the side and muttered, “I learned about your second set of memories, housed beneath the surface of your mind. Some mercenary, yes?"

“Wels?" Sota also glanced over to the farmhouse. “I was about to say I'm surprised Chihiro knew about it, but she did work alongside Hanzo for a while. I bet he mentioned it in all his damned seething. The bastard's always had an obsession with taking another shot at me." He scratched his nose and tried to get comfortable on the hard ground and continued his massage of Hana's leg. “That's beside the point, though. Why'd you want to know about my other self?"

Hana pinched her calf between her palms as his fingers worked lower, trying to help work out any further knots. “Having the memories and skills of a whole other person sounds potent. I was wondering just to what extent. You don't use it at all, from what I can tell, but I need to know you'll use every advantage you can if the need appears."

Sota wrung his fingers together. “Of course I will, I just try not to make a habit of dragging the dead back from their rest, and certainly just to use him like one would wipe a bloodied sword with fine silk. Sure, you'd do it if you had to, but I'd sooner use my own sleeve."

Hana eyebrow lifted. “As in your own talents? I can't say I understand the moralising. The man's dead. The atrocity has already taken place by The Ministry's doing, not yours."

“And because of that, we're inextricably bound. Plus he'll persist as long as I do, it's just that he didn't..." Sota grimaced and rubbed his nose with his knuckles. “He didn't die well. There's always that aspect of yanking the man's spirit back to life where, upon releasing him, it's said they have to experience it again. That final moment replayed, over and over. I like to sing his praises for the unwilling sacrifice he's made to me in... well, let's call it tribute. To sooth him inside by reliving his better days. Or so I hope." Sota paused and saw Hana mull over his words, her ears twitching, as if both attentive yet also lost in her own thoughts, memorising what was being said but ignoring everything else around her.

Hana always did seem to come alive when discussing martial prowess and combat. It helped ease his own guilt about his indirect involvement in her past, seeing her so invested in what was clearly a deep passion of hers. A distraction, like a balm to the struggles of her life, much like Sota's own indulgences against the truths of The Ministry. It was also another sign that she was still alive inside, a pure and gentle light, despite the defeated inousa shell. Yet one more reason he had to keep that hidden flame ignited. It made his heart ache. It nourished him.

Yet Sota realised there was a question coming the moment her wonderment faded and she locked her eyes on his. A certain pleading in her expression. 'Carry on,' she was on the cusp of saying. 'Tell his story.'

He shook his head and raised a hand. “You know what? I'm getting tired, and to really talk about Wels' in a way that does it justice takes more effort than I can muster right now. Can we pick this up tomorrow?"

The disappointment was laid plain as her ears drooped and whiskers weren't quite as perky, but stoicism took hold once more. “As you wish." Hana extended her leg, wincing at the lingering ache. “But I still wish to know just how strong this man was. In brief?"

“Persistent, aren't you?" Sota chuckled, free of mirth and dry as the dirt underfoot. “It's funny because whenever he was brought up in The Ministry you'd think he was a bottom-feeder amongst the prized carp, but they knew what they were doing when I was bound to Vanders' soul. How to put this..."

Hana tested her injured leg by stretching it as Sota stroked his stubble. Both fidgeted to get more comfortable.

“Okay, how about this," Sota started, then paused again. He then snapped his fingers and continued, “imagine you have two vaults of money, a day's travel from where you can secure it. One's filled with two thousand kinroku, the other eight hundred. The two thousand vault is just that, just a big pile of gold and you've got nothing but your hands with which to carry it, and other people know where it is. The vault with eight hundred comes with a wheelbarrow. That's Vanders."

Hana tilted her head again. “That's incredibly obtuse, even for you."

“I told you I was tired, didn't I?" Sota rolled his eyes and waved his hands in circles as he tried simplify his thoughts. “Uh, let's try something else. Okay, if you and I fought, one on one, you'd almost certainly win. If we had to fight, and we were in a city and I had time to prepare, I'd probably win since I'd have a lot of tools to use to skew the odds in my favour. Same difference with most of the prime souls and Wels Vanders. I mean, I say that, and I mean this with no offence intended, but he's a lot more wily than you. When we spar while he's in control, he isn't going to fight fair."

Hana made a silent 'oh' and nodded as her ears perked up again. “Now I'm even more intrigued. And I don't see it as a frivolous use of this Wels Vanders' spirit. Consider it a way to be absolutely prepared for the challenges we face in my homeland."

With a shrug, Sota stood and offered his hand to help Hana to her feet.

She accepted, grunting as she put weight upon her strained leg and hobbled alongside Sota back inside the farmhouse.

* * *

30th of Sighing Mountain, 1552

Sota contemplated over his tea, torn between using the cup to keep his hands warm and drinking it to give heat to his core, but it was the gateway thought before the real meat of this morning's discussion. Wels Vander's story. A tale he had told a dozens of times, yet he curated it for each scenario. He would make it bombastic and bold for times he wanted a free drink or two from the teahouses, to sober and severe when bedding in temples and talking with victims of the great, everlasting war of which Samsara housed.

Wels' story, like the reality of so many great heroes, wasn't especially thrilling or outlandish outside of a few specific highlights. It mostly leaned on the exotic, tribal Casevishan aspect was intriguing to the average Samsaran. Likewise his crafty way of fighting was a fascinating to children seeking a folk-hero to root for, or a point of derision for the travelling samurai of the many provincial leaders, who found Wels' methodology 'cowardly', but of course Sota would lean on this and bolster the ego of these high-strung lordlings.

For Hana, who sat across from him, still bleary eyed but also more eager than he had ever seen her before, he decided to focus on the same combat analytical details that excited her the day before. He cleared his throat, which drew a perkiness from her long ears and an extra sharpness to her eyes. They had sent Chihiro out to meet with Varisidra's scouts near the Jinu border gate then return with some firewood, which would keep her occupied for long enough.

Sota began to feel sufficiently stimulated from his tea, and so he began, “I could probably ramble on all day about what Wels went through, but the best and most succinct way to define the man would be slaying of Cernais Terleu. So it was late summer, during a long and enduring drought, when-"

“Hold," Hana said and raised her hand, then tapped her fingertips together. “As much as I'd like to hear this, I can't help but wonder of learning of the man's accolades might give me an unfair advantage in our duel. Unless, of course, he knows of how I fight?"

Sota snorted back a chuckle at the ongoing enthusiasm sprouting from the typically hard-shelled Hana. “About as much as you know of my techniques, really. I've seen you fight, sure, but never really studied you in full. Not to mention Wels and I aren't 'open' in terms of our minds. Not in full, at least. I can leave details for him in my psyche when I invoke his memories to stop him getting blind-sided by situations where I have to call on him, but he doesn't get the full picture of my everyday experiences."

Hana tapped a claw against her bucked incisors. “While I am still interested in the man himself, but I do feel like crossing blades with him will infer much that could give greater... texture to his tale. It would also be unfair for me to know too much about him."

“I guess that makes sense." Sota finished his tea and cricked his neck. “Whatever makes you happy. It's ultimately for your benefit anyway."

“I know, and thank you," Hana said with a bow.

With their breakfast finished, they stepped outside and into the crisp, morning air with practice swords in hand. The dawning sun still sat low in the sky, yet lurking in wait behind the south-eastern edge of the Nousanpuku mountain range, as if to not overshadow the moment. The sombre halo of promised warmth, as both Sota and Hana stood apart, weapons at the ready, slow breaths steaming in fine wisps, heavier with anticipation than let on by their stillness.

“Ready?" Sota asked.

Hana nodded to his question, and he plucked an ofuda from his haori jacket and placed it over his forehead.

Even through the cover of the paper slip, Sota couldn't hide his grimace. “Kioku!" His voice was hushed, yet seemed to force away the frigid air. The ofuda fell from his fingers and dropped straight down, as if leaden and landing flat on the soil. Sota's eyes were closed for a few unsettled seconds before they snapped onto Hana.

It wasn't Sota that was looking back at her. There was an overt analytical force at play in his brown eyes, though he smirked in a familiar fashion, but it was a front. The familiarity an attempt at placating Hana's own clear discomfort, but she didn't know if it was to make her drop her guard or a poor attempt of giving her comfort.

“Wels?" Hana asked as the man continued to stare at her, then at the long pole in her hand, then in his.

“You seek to spar?" Sota, or Wels, said. Sota's casual accent was now interlaced with a foreign tinge, both unnatural in his voice while still fluid and smooth.

Hana shook away the disquiet in her heart and nodded.

Wels' smile fell. “Then let us waste no time." He looked at the short stave in his grip, gave it two practice swings, then lifted it to shoulder height and pointed straight at her while his other hand tucked behind his back. A foreign and almost mocking style. “En-garde."

“Ready." Hana lifted her nodachi substitute into a standard front-pointed stance, then jabbed at the man's chest. He half-stepped aside and expended as much effort as one would swat a fly in redirecting Hana's attack with his stick. His returning poke forced her to step back and he stepped at her with the lightest steps, on tip-toes, yet with killing intensity.

Far from the testing bouts of a sparring session, Wels' attacked as if to end the fight there and then. He wasn't just testing Hana's guard and each clack of wood felt swifter than the last as each thwarted everything but a desperate defence. In spite of the onslaught, Hana settled into the rhythm of his attacks and allowed her to solidify her deflections, even if she couldn't find any openings. Only when Hana leapt backwards leapt backward for space did Wels finally pause, halting in his pursuit and once more took root in his original, pointed stance.

Hana frowned. “That was far more aggressive than I've ever seen you fight. And I mean no offence, but what happened to you not being an exceptional fighter?"

“First, I saw an opening, so I capitalised," Wels replied. “And second, I'm quite certain you've never seen me fight, so forge your own opinions and not those of my host's observations, nor those of others. One man's mortal foe is another's weakling."

“Point taken. I still expected there to be some... trace of his lackadaisical approach to your movements."

“Ordinarily? Yes." Wels changed his guard, dropping it from arms length to low slung form, the wooden sword trailing behind him, yet his other hand still tucked behind his back. “But I believe you wanted a more 'clean' observation of my form."

Hana frowned at his stance. “You intend to attack with such a poor guard against an opponent with superior reach? And are you aware of my guidance to Sota concerning upward swings?"

“Yes, I am," he replied with a crease at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile, but he remained stone-faced.

The furrowed brow dipped to a scowl. “Then you're mocking my speed?"

“Also yes." The crease deepened and shattered the stoicism.

It was a joke, but whether at Hana's expense or just friendly ribbing, she couldn't tell. He felt too different and, if anything, all her knowledge of Sota was playing against her. All it did was inflame her growing anger

Wels continued, “because in order to know your limits, a wound to your pride is better than a wound to the body."

“Enough!" With a hiss, Hana rushed in, determined to not let Wels take the initiative. She focused on wide, encompassing swings, to which Wels kept a greater distance, flitting back with each deep whistle of air around Hana's weapon.

Far from seeking to counter, Wels seemed all too content to let her maintain her attack. His retreat sent them skittering towards the corner of the farmhouse and, on reaching it, Wels brushed against the structure and let it turn him to the side, facing away from the wall and providing both cover but also limiting his ability to dodge.

Hana leapt much farther ahead to take advantage of his position and block his fleeing options. Far from a disadvantage, her overt movement let him shove against the wall and force them to crash into one another. Knowing she was off balance, she both fell in form and into her instincts, letting her weapon tip drag on the floor and heard a defiant clack of wood as her blind defence stopped an attack, yet Hana heard him step closer to get a better angle of attack. She then swung her legs about, skidding about on her backside and hips and lunging with her feet. They clipped Wels' shins and toppled him, but also put her in a clumsy position.

Both combatants rolled apart, and once more left Hana in a neutral, if frustrated, state.

“You truly are a fine swordswoman," Wels said as he shook his shoulders loose and dusted himself off. “Far more attuned to warfare than your few years suggests. But that much development leaves flaws that will find you, like an impeccably sharp but overhardened blade, far too brittle and dangerous."

Angered beyond reason, Hana leapt in before he had a chance to continue. She brought her weapon overhead, and her new experience with the thunderclap strike flickered into mind. With his guard so low, she anticipated she could unleash the blow before he could respond, and so braced herself. Hana's muscles clenched as her weight began to fall behind her assault. She shrieked and attacked like lightning manifest.

In that instant, he hopped and spun to the side. Her weapon clipped his clothes and nothing else. Hana forced every fibre of her being into a twist to try and slash at him in a desperate backswing, only for the half-hearted attack to glance off Wels' trailing stick, propelling him into a longer spin, almost a full pirouette around her flank as she tried to recover from her increasingly erratic movements.

His feet pattered on the dust and, as Hana tried to face him, he swatted her backside with the mock-sword. She yelped and, ignoring both the blush to her ears as well as the sting on her posterior, she snarled and spun to strike back, only to see Wels casually performing a jig beyond her reach.

Even as the red haze continued to fuel her demand to land even one blow, Hana failed to muster any further strength. Discipline let her force another violent and clumsy lunge, but she caught nothing but air. Wels pranced and bounced, flipping the pole in his hands before darting between her desperate strikes. Gasping for breath, Hana reached for his collar to drag him to the ground, yet at the same time, Wels ducked, and hands were quicker. As she grasped air, she felt him snag her at the waist with one arm as his pole shot towards her face over his head with the other.

Hana leapt back on reflex to evade the strike, only to feel a stiff tug which turned her about. Her sash fell away as Wels retreated with the silken belt in tow, pulling it free. Hana's kimono fell slack off of her body, dropping off her shoulders, and she dropped her weapon to stop her clothes falling off entirely. Hana froze in place as Wels gently poked his weapon to her collar bone.

He snickered, but turned serious as he held her at 'blade'-point. “You're a paradox, Lady Akikawa. You present a front of intensity, an uncaring demeanour to the world around you, yet let yourself be judged by it all the same. I... we, Sota and I, are as one purely because we understand that life is meant to be lived and fought for, freedoms cherished and relished, not confined by prestige or honour and damn the consequences otherwise. Like I said, your skill in combat is exceptional, but you fight with an inevitability to death or dishonour that holds you back. Until you learn to fight for your life in tandem with something dearer than yourself, you're doing nothing but defeating yourself."

He held the sash to her, but a still seething Hana continued to stare daggers at him. With a shrug, he let it flutter to the floor.

Wels glanced side to side, frowning and pondering, then nodded. He said, seemingly to himself, “point made," then froze for a moment, utterly still. With a loosening of his shoulders, and in a more familiar tone he said, “drake shit, that never gets any more comfortable."

Sota kept his eyes squinted for a moment, then recovered his focus and faced Hana, yet his eyes were drawn downward. They lingered over the exposed brown and white-speckled fur of her upper body, the only modesty offered by a tightly bound sarashi wrap over the subtle swell of her bust and the clearly defined lines of her musculature, then he gulped with a flush of his cheeks. Sota threw the stick in his hand away and dropped low to pick up her sash. “Damn it. I'm sorry."

He held it to her, but she jerked her kimono back over her shoulders and stomped off, seething under her breath, back into the farmhouse. She slammed the rickety door closed, even dislodging it from its runner track and barely covering the entrance.

Sota billowed a huge sigh and knocked himself on the side of his head with his fist.

“See, Wels, this is the real reason I don't let you out too much."

* * *

31st of Sighing Mountain, 1552

Chihiro had never felt less comfortable. Even that time she was forced to sit still on that tree stump with the spiky pebble beneath her bottom for three hours while Minister of the Flock Zenzi lectured the hatchlings. He just kept talking in one long incredibly unbroken sentence, moving from topic to topic, so that no-one had the chance to interrupt. It was really quite hypnotic. Eye-wateringly hypnotic. Rump-rackingly hypnotic. The next generation of yatagha were being set for failure, and this knowledge compounded further misery onto Chihiro's memory of that moment. Intermingling negative emotion and physical torment with a spiritual malaise of which cast her mood into a downward spiral.

This was still somehow worse.

Hana was mad. She never ate in such a picky way. She would indulge in the tiny 'life worth living' fragment of her misery that good food offered, losing herself in the sensation of indulgence. Unless she was with strangers, then she became guarded but otherwise, for one tiny moment, she would radiate actual joy as she savoured her meal. Today, Hana was making slow, precise plucks of the tiny grains of millet in her cracked bowl. Countable amounts of morsels per pinch.

Sota was also upset. He also usually ate to enjoy and contemplate the world around him, to keep his mind focused on something immediate instead of the big, important things on which he knew. Instead, he shovelled the cold grains into his mouth with a split piece of bamboo in messy scoops and just swallowed.

Chihiro's beady twilight-blue eyes snapped from side to side. She didn't want to risk turning her head and making it obvious she was reading them, so only one eye could see each of her new cadre at a time. It wasn't a great way to study them, with no depth perception from which subtle facial motions could be seen, but it was better than causing more shouting. That was the worst feeling. The gentle silence shattered like a loud, shiny mirror, and the beauty of the reflection lost into sharp, painful, shardy angry screams.

The thing that confused Chihiro the most was they weren't mad at each other. Or maybe a little. Or a lot, but it was like a big, 'angry with each other' bucket of water, only with a whole lake of 'angry at something else' water behind it. They were both so angry at themselves that they weren't talking. She wanted to change that, yet was afraid. The same fear one would possess upon treading the ice of a frozen river, which then cracked underfoot.

What was better? The inevitable, slow nothing of standing still? Or the immediate coin-flip between the risk of safety or icy plunge by the attempt of running and leaping? Or slowly skulking to the shore with slippery, slidey, scooty steps?

The Ministry would expect her to hold her tongue: 'Opinions, spake The Dragon, were as sand before the mountain. Only the most uncompromising would amount to enough to add to great reach toward the heavens, or of such potent conviction that it could erode the peak. Speak not, unless one speaks of these certainties.'

Chihiro clicked her tongue upon a revelation. She wasn't part of The Ministry. Not any more. Never again. Never again. Change, not stagnation. Crack the ice. Break it! “You should just say-so sorry-sorry!"

Sota and Hana stopped eating in unison and glanced at her, and Chihiro bowed her head so far that her beak pressed against her chest. Even so, Chihiro could still observe her companions from the corners of her eyes. They lowered their bowls of millet, staring at the respective contents, then the floor, then the bowls again. Then each other. Sota snorted and gave Chihiro a side-eye. “Just like that? You think it's that simple?"

Hana shook her head, her ears flopping to and fro. “It's nonsense."

Chihiro hopped to her feet, emboldened as nobody had shouted at her. “Just try! If you don't, I'll crow-crow like a crow-rooster-crowing every morning until you do!" She hopped in frustration, then plopped herself back onto her backside, arms folded and doing her best to pout. Or probably pout. The spirit of a pout. it was hard to do without lips. All that while tightly folding her arms and crossing her legs.

Sota threw up his hands in defeat. He knew it was an idle threat, but nonetheless, the broken silence made him at least want to try. He rubbed his hands together and sighed before saying, “that whole thing yesterday was a mess. I can understand why you're upset with me."

“I'm not," Hana whispered. “I asked for that... humiliation."

“Not like that." Sota tapped his bowl with the piece of bamboo, then placed the vessel on his lap, stirring the remaining grains. “Not without a full warning as to what to expect. Even I can't always be certain how Wels will react to a situation that isn't a straight up fight."

“Either way, the fault lies with me." Hana put her bowl on the ground and bowed her head, complete with her ears flopping down in submission. “I should not have lost my temper. I'm sorry."

Sota looked Hana over and, with a predicting glance, noticed Chihiro was doing the same, but he wasn't surprised.

The Ministry put tremendous emphasis on body language as much as intonation. Right at that moment, Hana was abnormally slumped, as if shucked from the usual shell of her pride. Sota noticed it from familiarity, but Chihiro had only known Hana short time, and even she saw it. The vulnerability and the choked down misery.

With a bite on his own lip, Sota dreaded the coming question he had to ask. “I feel like that's not the whole story though. What's really on your mind? We've been through so much, and yet there's still a whole rift between us. Considering how private I tend to keep the topic, you asking about Wels was some way to bridge that rift. If anything, it feels like it's cracked the divide even wider."

Hana didn't meet his gaze. “It's not important."

“She says," Sota scoffed, “while averting her eyes and looking like a limp branch. By The Dragon's teeth, Hana, could we actually trust each other here? We're bearing down on Lord Kou, preparing to infiltrate your homeland and uncover some grand scheme against my old mentors, and we're squabbling like a pair of moping teenagers. Tell me what you want, plain and true, and I'll answer."

Hana slowly lifted her gaze. She first noticed Chihiro, still silently compressed into a limb-locked avian sphere as she refused to make any sort of gesture or word, yet the yatagha's own eyes flickered and darted from Hana's, then to the floor, ceiling and walls. Gradually, Hana's sight moved back to Sota.

Despite feeling weak in spirit, she replied, “I have had many insults lanced into all the things I hold dear in the last few years. From foes of whom I intended to kill, and as such their words were as weak as their grasp on their lives. Also from Varisidra, yes, but I could always place her words as those from a foreigner who doesn't understand our ways. I remembered what she said, and even understood it, but to make such vast changes to my life felt too... esoteric. The same could almost be said of what Wels told me."

“Also foreign, true," Sota answered and resumed eating his millet. “Albeit he's damn well familiar with Samsaran ways through me. Either way, it just makes my confusion even deeper as to why you're being like this."

“But that's the point. That's part of what made it sink in. Because, if nothing else, are you not cut from the same cloth? You are said to share a rapport with this Wels Vanders, so do you not also find my doctrine of honour and duty foolish?" Hana leaned forward, ears pricked up and desperation flickering in her brown eyes. “Tell me, truthfully, as you yourself seem to wish the same from me."

“It's not foolish. It's-"

Hana slammed her hands on the ground with an ugly squeal of bending and fragile wood. “You lie!"

Chihiro balled herself up even tighter, but Sota only paused in his casual scooping of breakfast for half a second. “That you believe in it is what matters. Foolish ways are often comfortable, no? Why not revel in your personal comfort if you're still so intent to kill yourself once Lord Kou is dead?"

“I shall! Your frivolities are an equal waste of time."

“Oh, whatever," Sota harrumphed and slurped his food. “After all, it's all that The Ministry asks of many of you. Even as they lie to your face and hamper your growth, both you and the inousa and, frankly, everyone in Samsara."

Hana's claws dug into the floor boards. “Then tell me otherwise, damn you! You've bandied and bothered about the necessity of The Ministry while being their enemy, but what self-righteous secrets do they hold? And why should I care!?"

Sota chuckled while shaking his head. “You know what? Fine."

“You can't," Chihiro suddenly squawked. “The Wound! It must be maintained! Protected! Unspoky-spoken!"

Hana glanced at the yatagha, then back at Sota. “What does that mean? What wound?"

Sota finally stopped eating, though he smacked his lips and licked his teeth for a moment, as much finishing his last mouthful as weighing his options. “It's... interesting."

“I don't care if this 'wound' is or isn't interesting," Hana said and folded her arms. “Just tell me."

“No, not that. I meant that it's interesting it comes down to this. That if I refuse to tell you of The Wound, then you're driven to die after earning your revenge, or failing. Yet the truth? The Wound?" Sota ran a finger and thumb over his eyebrows, once more buying time. As if even exposing a tiny sliver of the truth would fracture the world. Maybe it would. “Normally the truth drives those who learn to apathy or, even worse, self destruction. It's a lose-lose scenario."

“In what way? You seem jovial, in spite of knowing."

Sota clapped his hands once then weaved his fingers together, then scooped up one of his legs to brace it against his torso. “I just live my life as if each day is the last. Over time you learn that maybe you can take a week or even a month on things. It helps let you work things out whether it's worth the gamble. I suppose celebrating life or raw nihilism is the real choice, but the difference was that those of us in The Ministry were prepared for the truth. It's easier to swallow when you're used to being numb to the misery around us."

Hana drummed her fingers on the wood, eager for an actual answer, but her scowl only deepened, and enough that Sota finally rolled his eyes and decided to slowly hone down to the genuine answer.

“The truth is that, and I'm not being hyperbolic, that at any given moment the world could come to an end. And that if The Ministry weren't able to maintain the status quo... yeah, that would be the most certain outcome. But at the same time, they are as the harvesters of the wheat that are the people. Just, instead of the kama, they teach and instil the idea of people reaping themselves to prevent that from happening."

Hana's confused, lop-eared stare told Sota his path, so he got comfortable, pushed aside his bowl, and drew a slow, shaky breath.

“There's a wound in the world. The Dragon is like a bandage to stem the bleeding, and every single life around it, all of us... we are fresh strands to keep the bandage from becoming too saturated and causing the wound to fester. Each of us is taken, woven in and discarded when spent. Are you following me so far?"

Hana shook her head, but her ears perked up. “Perhaps you should start from the beginning..."

Sota nodded. “Yeah. So be it. From the beginning."

* * *

20th Day of Soaring Coin, 1554

“It feels incomplete," Hana whispered.

“Hmm?" Sota looked beside him, at the woman he loved, in equal parts to admire her as for the follow up of the strange statement. He felt spoilt: both the view of his accursed homeland sinking away in the distance as the ship sailed away, and that of Hana. The hard, standoffish warrior had shifted wholly into the figure of his desires, both in body and in nourishment of his heart. It was difficult to know where to look, but the old, lecherous side couldn't take its eyes off of her.

Hana gave him a soft smile. “I know we said our goodbyes to the village, and even the catfolk in Hantoka, but..." She sighed and both of her ears flopped low. “I don't know if I have the words."

Sota slipped his hand across her shoulders, then pulled her closer. “Forget it. All of it. The hells can take Samsara for all I care. The Ministry are all the way over there, doing their usual nonsense, and we're heading far, far away. Mr. Chapman even said he'd wipe our names off the ship logs. We'll keep travelling until we find somewhere that suits us, whether it's Bralran, Vliechov or Ardentiphe or... hells, even Vhakram. Wherever, however far, we'll be together. I know it's hardly a perfect plan, but-"

Hana suddenly turned his head and kissed him on the lips. “No. It is perfect. Because it will be as you say: it will just be us. Just you, me and Chihiro, without our burdens and chains. Life, fresh and new, like a budding blossom."

Sota traced his hand down Hana's back, feeling the crisp fabric shielding the soft fur and harder sculpted strength deep within. A complex decadence of soft and hard that embodied Hana so perfectly. The two rows of corded muscle either side of her spine that no longer flinched or flexed at his fingertips, just rested and utterly absolved of her lifetime of spite, pain and internal torture. He tested his luck by goosing the exquisitely plush and firm swell of her generous rump, then a brush of her silken puffball of a tail.

Hana couldn't help but gasp and tense at the last touch. Not so much at the public display of affection rather than her ticklish tail. She didn't care who knew owned her heart. Nobody else mattered. The wandering ship crew existed beyond their perfect bubble, in another world that might as well be a million miles away. Even so, she nudged him with a playful swing of her hips. “Really? Here?"

“Sorry! My hand slipped."

“Uh-huh."

“... I think it might happen again. Dare I say I've been possessed?"

“I see. And there's no way to stop this peculiar wandering hand?"

“My life of vice and sin has left me a weak, weak soul."

Sota's fingers wriggled as he traced the outer swell of her buttock, only for Hana to place her hand over his. “Since I cannot dissuade you, maybe the consequences of such wanton acts might help you keep yourself under control?"

Sota grinned, even if he was confused at her words. He let his hand be guided by hers as it slipped away from the full, firmness of her rear and up to her hip. Then around to her abdomen. She pressed his palm against it. He chuckled and said, “also a very nice spot. All the little details, grooves and lines. I don't know if I could go back to a woman with just a normal, flat belly or healthy plush padding."

Hana looked at him. Wordless, yet there was something else in the glint of her oaken-brown eyes. A desire, but not the sort Sota expected. A challenge, almost. Something to understand.

He stared back for a moment, and took the hint by giving her belly a more determined feel. She felt a little different. His increasing familiarity with her perfectly sculpted form came to mind as he rubbed her midsection. A nervous flicker, like a crackle of lightning, ran up his back as he swallowed.

She felt... bigger. Swollen.

“Oh," he uttered.

Hana smiled and nodded, then pressed herself against him. “Yes. You, me, Chihiro... and one more."

* * *

End of Act 2