High above the city where the hills still rolled. Just shy of the mountain’s tendrils that reached down with fingers of steep rock and dense brush, a woven tapestry of farmland, grasslands, and orchards blanketed the lands below. In the distance, a long train of people, refugees from Caso, wound its way down the hillside. The air was hot. Specks of ash danced through the wind as smoke, funneled up the hillside by the breeze, caught in the lungs of those fleeing Caso.

Kuta had stopped at a small brook and filled her water canteen. She took a drink and turned round to face the city she had escaped. She stood amidst the hundreds, perhaps thousands, all making their way up the mountain road and across the hills towards safety; any promise of sanctuary they could find. The line of people ran so long that the figures streaming out of the Mountain Gate is the distance below looked like faceless specs.

Kuta had never witnessed so many people outside the city walls. The hillside was teeming with bodies. She wondered how many of them had ever hiked this far up the mountain. How many would be taking their first steps into one of the dozens of small hamlets that dotted the hillsides. Villages that stretched all along the west coast from the distant cliffs to the north to the mangrove forests in the south. Villages of tens, perhaps hundreds at most would soon be overwhelmed with those fleeing the city.

And then what? Kuta wondered. She wasn’t certain. What she was certain of, was that there were going to be far too many people. Too many new mouths to feed. Too many hungry and desperate, ready to turn on one another for survival. And those desperate enough would push further into the mountains until they reached the clans in the mountains. Her people. And that was where her certainty ended.

How will my people react to so many desperate new faces, weary and starving? How will they react to see their oppressors appear, eager for aid. Kuta wasn’t sure. There will be violence, she reasoned, but who will begin the conflict?

A distant thunderous boom reverberated over the hills, turning heads. She felt the small tremor of the noise in her weary legs. Kuta was pulled out of her thoughts. She stared down at the city below. A cloud of dust and debris, different than the wispy clouds of smoke, rose up around one of the city’s blocks by the grand canal, just west of the palace. Gaba’ké, she thought. Kuta squinted through the harsh sun and recognized the spot as the bridge where she and Gaba’ké had parted ways. The cloud of debris was already clearing and the bridge that had once crossed the canal was gone, destroyed in an instant. Kuta was tired. Tired from the hike, tired from the duel, and tired of the heartache. And yet, she understood that this was a moment to be witnessed.

Kuta reached into herself and focused on her agindan sense. She had been keeping her agindan sense tight to her body. It was strongest when near by. Kuta shuttered at the thought of opening herself back up again. Echoes of Janos’ spiritual attack replayed in her mind. His spirit had left its mark on her. Perhaps even marked her. She could still feel the resonance of his killing intent. Of his cold and uncaring malice. It sent a chill down her spine despite the day’s heat.

It took several moments for Kuta to prepare herself. Each time she felt ready, her heart would relent and whimper. It was hard. And the fact that something that had been so natural now felt insurmountable made her feel frustrated and heartbroken. She felt weak.

But despite those feelings, Kuta continued. Each time she panicked, she refocused and took a new breath with the knowledge that eventually, so long as she tried again, she would take that first step. And she did. Kuta expanded her agindan sense and the spiritual world opened up to her again. Spirits of the flowers swayed on long blue petals in the breeze. Spirits of the smoke danced among their brethren of the air. Three mud spirits sunk deep into a wet place sheltered from the sun like rodents in a den. She sensed the vast array of spirits as they, ignorant of all the pain and suffering around them, enjoyed the natural beauty in the world.

She looked past them and spread her spirit thin, reaching as far as she could muster. Hers was but the faintest of touches on the distant city; unfocused. She felt him, Gaba’ké. His spirit was like an ember, still glowing and hot but without any fuel left to burn. He was empty and tired. Far more tired than she felt. She felt his spirit and it sang of hope. And then, like a splash on hot coals, he was gone.

A profound emptiness settled over her, and Kuta drew her spirit back to herself once again. Gaba’ké was gone, and as he had done for Elvi, she had been there to witness his spirit. Disappear? Move on? She wasn’t sure. She’d never thought about it before. She’d never witnessed an Aginjigaade die.

He had made his stand. He had given everything of himself. It was a sad moment, and she thought that she should feel sad for him, but she just couldn’t find the emotion within herself. Perhaps I’m just too tired to feel, she thought to herself. Perhaps you’re more like Janos that you think,a deep seeded fear whispered.

From her vantage, Kuta watched the fall of Caso. Soldiers spread outward from the large black Careyago warships. Kuta recognized the docks where the Careyago had landed as the same ones where she and Mellen had overseen shipments of Artisan’s Guild products bound for distant ports. That felt a lifetime ago. Almost every other ship not ablaze seemed to be leaving in haste. She wondered if Yuromi had made it onto one of them with the prince and his people. She would miss her new friend’s absence. Then one of the warships in the bay turned and hunted one of the fleeing ships down. Kuta sensed another Aginjigaade spirit being extinguished.

Careyago soldiers flowed through the city like a tide. The yellow imperial uniforms moved swiftly through the streets, disciplined and unyielding. Those still loyal to Viiran’s doomed rebellion were swiftly routed. Those caught were summarily crushed. The surge of soldiers and rioters so keen on taking the city had turned tail at the sign of organized and powerful resistance. They fled, abandoning their weapons and the city through the Lake Gate and South Gate into the desolate lowlands and wasted remnants of what used to be Mudtown. Pockets of smoke continued to swell from neighbourhoods on the devastated south side of the city. Kuta knew it would be days before all the fires were quelled. Her eyes drifted over the city, taking it all in. How did it come to this? What do I do now?

Kuta wished Minoc were here to give his council. He’d say something sharp and witty. Or something cynical and wise. Perhaps all four at once. She could imagine his voice in her mind, a queer joviality that masked his immense brilliance. She muttered the worlds aloud to herself, mimicking his cadence, “The board has changed, Kuta. And all forms of change invite opportunities to those willing to take risks.” He’d expect me to press on, she admitted. As he would. No matter the obstacle.

A wry smile crossed her face as she pondered, not for the first time, where exactly Patzau Ashill had sent him after freeing him from his cell. With a final, lingering look, Kuta turned her back on Caso. She marched amongst a silent and weary stream of refugees deep into the mountains. It was time to go home.

The world as Fera Yohati knew it, flipped on its head in a matter of three days. She had been a princess of Caso in all but name, but now… it was difficult for her to put words to her deep feelings of loss. Everything she had ever known and expected had been taken from her. It had all started the day before the invasion in an unexpected summons to her father’s study.

As Patzau, her father was an influential and busy man. Fera had witnessed first had the level of respect and admiration the many people who came to visit bestowed upon him. Other Patzau would come to his study for private meetings, as would foreign dignitaries and influential people from across the seas as far as Tulin. As such, her father’s study had always been off limits as a girl. Of course, Fera and her mother would appear at the dinner table to converse with the powerful and brilliant minds who had been invited to sup with her father, but never were family matters discussed within the confines of the study. It was a place of business and importance. That was why, when the summons came to see her father inside his study, Fera grew concerned. Never before had her father requested her presence inside his most sacred space. Never before had she been worthy.

One of the house servants, a woman Fera referred to privately as Fish due to her wide eyes and long face, appeared while Fera was sharing a morning meal in the garden with her mother. They had been breaking their fast with an array of fruits, pastries, jams, and honey from the mountains. Fera looked to her mother for support but found her mother strangely unwilling to intervene. There was something peculiar with the way her mother looked away rather absentmindedly, and it wasn’t until Fera had already stood and followed Fish inside that she realized that her mother already knew whatever it was her father wanted to speak to her about. Something important enough to require a formal summons.

Her concerns weren’t left to stew as, upon reaching the highest floor at the top of the landing, she was promptly admitted to her father’s study where he sat at his desk, writing. He wore his writing spectacles, a gift from the old Artisan’s Patzau before Minoc, and looked up as she entered the room. The heavy door closed behind her with an audible thud.

“Fera, my dear” Yohati said, standing and smiling. It was a smile her father seldom used. One she recognized as reserved for those he wanted to placate. In that knowing, it had the opposite effect.

“For what do I owe the honour?” Fera said, taking a comfortable seat across from her father, who tucked the papers away into a drawer.

“There is something important that I must tell you about” Yohati began. Fera leaned forward in interest. He had a look on his face that seemed genuinely excited about whatever news he was about to share. He continued in earnest excitement, “I have found you a suitable match.”

Fera blinked, uncomprehending. A suitable match? “Pardon me?” she said, not sure if she heard her father’s words right.

“I have secured you a suitable candidate for a husband” Yohati beamed proudly. “You will meet him in a few days when he comes to… visit.”

Fera’s mouth opened to respond, but no words came. A husband? He’s found me a husband? Fera found some semblance of decorum. She had years of practice since childhood and her happy face appeared, despite her inner concerns.

“That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were looking for a husband for me” she added. “I wish I had been aware, since I too have been looking for a suitable man at all these parties I’ve been attending. Had I known you were going to choose one for me, I’dn’t have made all that effort.” The smile that followed came out a little bit fake, but she wasn’t sure her father noticed. Perhaps he’d simply ignored it. He had always demonstrated a soft spot for her, and Fera knew how to use it.

“I am certain I have found you the best possible candidate” Yohati said confidently. “He’s a prince.”

Fera’s heart dropped. The only prince she knew of inside Caso was the disgraced boy they had eaten with. The one who’s uncle was murdered in the place of her father. What a terrible fellow. What a terribly unimportant kingdom. Which one was it? She scowled as she tried to recall. The one the Careyago had conquered several years ago.

“From Gaag?” she asked in concern, the name of the place coming to her suddenly.

“Spirits, no” Yohati snubbed. “A real prince, with real lands and titles. As I said, he’ll be coming to visit the city tomorrow. It will be of the utmost importance that you are here, at home, all day to ensure introductions are well made. Do you understand me?” Yohati asked. His Patzau voice came through on that last question, suggesting obedience was strictly required in this matter.

Fera nodded silently, and was subsequently dismissed. She didn’t remember much of the rest of that day, her mind singularly focused on the fact that she was, as far as her father was concerned, about to meet her future husband. She could do nothing but linger on the matter. And the more she lingered, the less she liked the idea.

How should he know what kind of man I should like? He should be running the city instead of focusing on which bachelors I should spend my time with. So much effort and planning. So many hints and suggestions planted in carefully calculated social events, all wasted. And why a foreigner? There are plenty of suitable bachelors amongst the Casoyan nobility and I could have whichever one I liked.

The remained of the day was spent sulking on the matter. For the first time, the life of Fera Yohati, princess of Caso, had been truly upended. The next morning, everyone’s lives were upended. The bells pealed in their insistent nagging tone. Fera had stuffed the heavy pillows of her wide bed over her ears to drown out the noise. It was only after a servant came to dress her, and bring her to her father’s study for the second time in two days, did she understand the significance of the moment.

Messengers came in a constant steady flow, bringing back unfiltered military reports and messages that told of barbarians inside the city. Savage tribesman from the mountains and the criminals of Mudtown had worked together to infiltrate and murder and rampage. They were looting, killing, and pillaging everything in sight. Fires were out of control; innocent citizens were being slaughtered. Sitting in her father’s office, holding her mother’s hand, hearing the reports from the messengers, it was the most terrified Fera had been in her life.

It sounded as if the world were ending. Half of the city had been destroyed. Thousands, mostly innocent Casoyans, had been brutally murdered by the evil intruders. By all the reports coming in, it seemed as good as certain to suggest the city had fallen. Soldiers were caught unprepared. The fortress had been sundered from the rest of the city and the majority of soldiers were suddenly separated from the citizens they were supposed to protect. And then, when all was most desperate, the Careyago navy appeared.

To Fera, this message of the black ships flying the golden imperial standard, suggested the end. Not the end as she had imagined it a day prior. The end, where death or worse came to each and every one of them. To his credit, her father didn’t seem much surprised by the news. In that moment, the respect she had for her father’s composure was vast. She had believed him to be unwaveringly stoic in the face of chaos.

It was only later in conversations that Fera recognised her foolishness in those moments. Her father was composed because he had already expected their arrival. But in that moment, as the Careyago Navy sailed into the city uncontested, Fera surrendered hope. They had escaped the storm, only to wreck on the rocks. The Careyago Ships unloaded swaths of soldiers in golden armour and claimed the city right out from under the rebels’ greedy fingers in one fell swoop.  By the end of the day, The Careyago controlled Caso and the savages had been defeated.

It was on the third day, that life changed irrevocably for the third and final time. Fera remembered most of the day following the invasion of Caso as eerily quiet. The streets were empty of the living. People remained inside their homes, watching from their windows with nervous anticipation. Not a living soul roamed the streets. Only the Casoyans in their golden uniforms, brandishing their long silver spears, seemed to patrol the streets.

Once or twice, a group of the foreign soldiers would approach the family estate and were admitted to, presumably meet with her father of this matter or that matter. Fera could only infer, having been confined to her room after the invasions had ended. But ever from her confinement, Fera watched through her windows as the foreign soldiers came and went. It was just past noon on that second day when another group of soldiers approached, this time bringing with them a face Fera knew all too well. Even from her vantage high above the garden, her friend Kida’s face was distinctly familiar.

Fera had, just days ago, contemplated cutting her once friend entirely out of her social circles. It seemed the right move following Patzau Ashill’s disgraced resignation and the rumours deeper treachery. Kida’s social status would have fallen irreparably in the aftermath. Therefore, it was only right for Fera to distance herself. Kida would either succumb or rise above the scandal and only then would Fera reevaluate.

None of that came to pass. Confided to her room, Fera was simply happy to see a friendly face. There was a sad emptiness in her friend’s eyes. Despite herself, Fera indulged and let the sad girl embrace her. It was nice to have a friend in these difficult times, but it was also important to establish boundaries. But, as it went, Fera’s gift of kindness did not go unrewarded. Kida was quick to share the highest quality gossip following the most unbearable silence Fera had ever endured.

It was in Kida’s retelling of the last day that Fera learned that her father, Patzau Yohati, was the last real Patzau left in Caso. Kida had started with, least interestingly, news that the Careyago had rescued her from her room in her house, where she had barred the door against the savage invaders as they looted the place bare. She recalled how the savages had killed Patzau Ashill in front of her and how she had barely managed to escape to her room and that her sister was still missing.

Fera tried her very best to display sympathy for her friend. Losing her mother and sister would be hard, but it was Fera’s own opinion that Kida had a better future without them. No, a disgraced Patzau of a mother and the unlikable twin sister with the unsightly scar would have held Kida back. They were stains on a smart girl like Kida’s future prospects. Better this way, Fera believed. Thought she would never say so to her friend’s face.

After the retelling of her brave rescue, Kida provided updates on the status of the city. It seemed like the Careyago were here to aid Caso after all, and not as oppressive conquerors. Their foreign liberators had been working with their Casoyan counterparts rescue people, put out fires, and rebuild wherever possible. They were reestablishing order inside the city.

It took far too long to get the most interesting gossip from Kida’s lips. That being the news of Patzau Onudar and Hadashenta’s deaths at the hands of the savage mob. How their lifeless bodies had been paraded around the streets like banners of barbarity. Fera audibly gasped, mostly for effect, as Kida shared the accounts of witnesses. Unlike Onudar and Hadashenta, Adagizhi was found dead inside the council chambers alongside two of the barbarian leaders and the Aginjigaade Janos Tydana.

With no witnesses to the events inside the palace, rumours were running wild. Apparently, the chamber was completely destroyed. The Careyago Aginjigaade claimed to have killed the rogue Aginjigaade who killed Patzau Adagizhi and Janos Tydana, but the fact that they won’t reveal who it was made Fera skeptical.

She had mulled over the scenario herself and now believed the Careyago had secretly killed Tydana, thinking him an enemy. Now they were simply trying to cover up the mistake. It seemed the more likely scenario. Janos never seemed particularly strong or likeable as an Aginjigaade anyway. She had always wondered why her father bothered to keep him around so long when others displayed more skill and power.

Accounting for the three disgraced Patzau—Mellen Minoc, the traitor; Yanata Ashill, Kida’s mother; and Hairo Bradel, the Patzau for a Day—only Patzaus Murocil, Powanati, Burm, and her father survived the day. And, with Patzau Murocil having retired from her position, and with reports that Patzau Powanati had successfully fled the city, that left only her father and Burm in any real position of power.

A knock came from the door and, of all people, her mother stood on the other side, flanked by the serving woman, Fish. It was rare for her mother to visit in person. More often, one of the servants, cooks, or maids would be sent on the errand.  “Bathe and get dressed” Reah ordered. “Wear the gold dress I had made for you last month.” Fish strolled through the room, ignoring Kida, and disappeared into the closet. She reappeared with the garment in hand. Fera did as bid, and shortly found herself amongst an armoured procession heading towards the Palace.

Crowds of people filled the streets all headed in the same direction. They approached Dohina Square and the dais where public announcements were performed. Fera followed her father’s lead and took her place amongst the retinue of important politicians, both Casoyan and Careyago alike. As she stood next to her mother and father atop the public dais, the smell of smoke still lingered on the wind.

The crowd that filled the streets before them had an odd feel. Perhaps it was simply how fresh the wounds felt from the previous two days still felt. Perhaps it was the fact that this was a summons, rather than a rally. Or perhaps, it was the fact that two hundred full armoured Casoyan soldiers stood rank and file before the dais in support of their leaders, who were also present before the crowd. There were plenty of people who cheered and shouted in support, but there were plenty more who seemed only to hold a somber silence in their stares. Fera felt for them. She too felt like an unwilling participant in whatever grand spectacle was about to unfold.

Looking around the men and women around her, only Burm’s face was familiar. He had a new scar on his chin and one of his arms was in a sling but he looked otherwise unharmed. He smiled at her when her caught her looking but she didn’t smile back. He was missing another tooth. No, thank you.

Kida’s information proved accurate. Aside from her father, no other Patzau graced the stage. Fera was smart enough to recognize that Burm didn’t count. He was a pawn. Instead, the stage was filled most with the golden uniforms of the Careyago. Fera had met the odd nobleman or trader from Careyago before. This was on occasions where her father hosted guests and dignitaries. But standing atop the steps serving as the entrance to Patzau Palace and looking into a sea of foreign soldiers brought a new host of emotions to Fera’s mind.

The Casoyan soldiers before her were arrayed in perfect formation. They were the epitome of order. Amongst them was a fascinating mixture of peoples from places she could only imagine. They were a vast array of faces and features, skin hues and hair styles. It was difficult to believe they all hailed from the same vast empire. Without the golden uniforms, they would portray none of the same harmony.

The guests Fera had met prior shared the same features Fera had come to associate with the Careyago. They had tall builds, round faces, round eyes, and wider noses. Their lighter brown hair neither waved nor curled. They looked like the handsome warrior standing to the left of her father. This was, as she now understood, how those who hailed from the capital city, Cayanoshi, tended to look and not a reflection of the Empire’s population at large.

Beside the handsome Cayanoshi warrior was an old man with short white hair and a weathered face. He was immediately recognizable as hailing from one of the outer territories. He was also clearly an Aginjigaade. There was a confidence to their kind that was unique to them. It was as if they saw the world in an entirely different way than everyone else. Next to the Aginjigaade was another man in the most ostentatious naval uniform. He had a thick moustache and a wide nose and could only be the Admiral her mother had mentioned. 

The crowd settled as Patzau Yohati took the stage. He addressed the mass of people below with his ever-present calm confidence. He spoke to the Casoyans first, and then repeated his words into Tralang for the visiting soldiers. He started his speech by welcoming and thanking, “our friends from the Careyago, who came in our time of need.” Fera saw right through her father’s measured words and was impressed. He told the crowd a heroic version of the previous day’s events. One that was clear in its praise of the Casoyan soldiers who fought bravely against the hoards of savage invaders. It was a far more favourable retelling of events than what Fera had been privy to. But that was the point. People needed to remember this version of the story more than the truth. The lines of Careyago soldiers roared as they received their thanks. Then, as if handing his own soldier’s a boon, Yohati asked the crowd to thank and cheer their own soldiers who fought hard to protect this city, “A cheer for the mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and children who gave their own lives to preserve the great city of Caso.”

It was masterful and the crowd was soon reinvigorated. Renewed by the promise from their strong leader that this was in fact a victory. Caso’s victory. Fera couldn’t help but smile. Nor, as she noticed, could the Careyago leadership. They want this as much as my father does. It was curious. But why?

It didn’t take long for Fera to get her answer. Her father introduced the handsome warrior on the stage as Crown Prince Raumekh, eldest son of Careyago Emperor Hayamadi. Prince Raumekh took the stage next to her father and raised his hand in triumph. The crowd erupted in applause. Cheers of “Hero” and “Saviour” erupted from the crowd. Prince Raumekh was far taller than the older Patzau, but together, both men exuded a commanding presence. They belonged there. It felt right, having them at the front of this crowd. It was magnanimous.

This was the height of achievement for most. To be celebrated by thousands in cheers and applause. To face strangers and brothers alike and to be revered. And yet, in that moment of triumph, Prince Raumekh revealed his inner self to her. All the pieces clicked into place at once and Fera grasped the wider game her father was playing. Instead of basking in the applause, Prince Raumekh turned his head away from the crowd and had looked for her. It was apparent by the way his eyes snapped to hers. He had wanted to see, in his moment of triumph, if she was watching. He wanted to see if the woman he had come to meet and perhaps marry, was impressed. He had that weakness, the one found in many men, that desired recognition.

Fera blushed, simply because she knew the handsome prince would like that from her. He didn’t know it yet, but they were playing her game now. Inside, a fire was lit within Fera’s soul. It wasn’t the fire of lust or love. Nor any other form of desire. It was the passion to finally face a challenge worthy of her. I will rule this man, she thought, meeting his gaze. She smiled sweetly, but not so expressively as to suggest she was easily impressed.

The remainder of her father’s speech sought to normalize the presence of foreign leaders and a foreign army within Casoyan walls. His words were hidden beneath the staunch message that retaliation was necessary. That Caso needed to rebuild and that the people needed to come together and to help their neighbours and friends. A message that sent the crowd into a frenzy. And hidden beneath his words were the obvious implications that the Careyago were here to stay, at least for a while longer. That they should be embraced as heroes and liberators. That the prince would be welcome to sit on the council until new Patzau could be found to replace those who had died. It was perfect, or so Fera thought.

But then Prince Raumekh stepped forward once again, interjecting into Yohati’s applause. He had a sly smile on his lips. “I will do no such thing” Raumekh announced, eliciting surprise from the unsuspecting crowd. “Caso is to be governed by Casoyans!” he declared loudly. A thunder of applause met the prince’s words. The roar was louder than any cheer given prior. He then turned and gestured emphatically to Patzau Yohati, and the crowd changed their chant to that of the Patzau’s name.

Raumekh smiled wide out at the crowd as they continued to chant. “With Patzau Burm recovering from injury, Patzau Yohati,” Raumekh proclaimed, “will be the sole governor of Caso until such time as replacements for the council can be found!” The crowd continued their cheers.

Fera amended her previous opinion. This was perfect. Casoyans hated kings, but they seemed to have no problem with a leader who was a king in all but name. It was brilliant. She immediately grasped the hidden truth in the prince’s words.

There would be no efforts made to select new Patzau. Her father would remain as the sole governor of Caso. He would use the retaliatory war and efforts to rebuild as the excuses for indefinite extension of his single-handed control over the city. All sponsored by the largest Empire in the known world. And that sponsorship backed by Crown Prince Raumekh, who took Fera’s hand in his and raised it calmly to his lips.

Raumekh addressed the crowd once more and concluded, “I thank you all for your hospitality. I am honoured to have been called upon to defend the beautiful and peaceful city of Caso… I am blessed to know that I made it in time to protect all of you from the terrors of your enemies in the mountains. I am privileged to know that my efforts may have saved the life of my new betrothed.”

Fera turned and faced the crowd. She had been ready for it and smiled warmly to the sea of onlookers. The applause washed over her and she basked in it. This was what Fera Yohati had been born for. This was what she deserved.

A cool, sweet breeze brushed Ohacha’s face. It carried with it the scent of the sea. The ship rocked steadily on untroubled waters. Ohacha eyes fluttered open and a soft ray of light let particles of dust dance before his eyes. A spirit played in the rays; its translucent form soaking in the sunlight. Ohacha stirred, but groaned as pain blossomed in his abdomen. It was a sharp reminder of his failure.

Despite the pain, he rose into a seat position, feet dangling over the hard bed. The effort, combined with the pain had brought sweat to his brow. He wiped it away with the back of a hand. Ohacha touched his tender side. Bartiin’s blade had almost killed him. Had it caught him below the ribs, Ohacha knew he would have died. And then Cask had appeared….

He thought back to those moments. He had beaten Bartiin. And yet, Cask had stopped him. Spared their enemy. Why? And why had Bartiin run in the first place? Why did I think it wise to chase him alone? And, how much of what he said about Aramuk was true? Surely… none of it. It was all bait. Words said to make me angry. Weren’t they?

The door to the private quarters opened and the spirit vanished. Yuromi stood in the doorway. She carried a tray and, upon seeing Ohacha upright, frowned deeply. Ohacha looked up as she entered and noted the mixture of concern and relief and disappointment written across her face.

“Don’t move,” Yuromi whispered. She pulled a wet cloth from the tray of food and water and pressed it gently to Ohacha’s forehead, wiping away the sweat. “Get back into that bed” she ordered. “If you open that wound again, Rolena will cut you herself in frustration.”

Ohacha submitted to Yuromi’s orders and settled back painfully into the small bed after a sip of water. Yuromi slipped forward into the place where Ohacha had been, and leaned over to inspect the bandages at his side. Ohacha recognized the room. They were aboard the Sweet Wind. This was Aramuk’s room. My room now. Hopefully they were far from the hellscape that had been the city of Caso.

He remembered little beyond his duel. Yuromi recounted the events that had transpired to the best of her ability. She started with their split from Ohacha in the crowd, the swarm of refugees, the arrival of the fleet, and the cheers that had greeted the Careyago as they came ashore. Ohacha remembered none of it. On the blood on his hands and the wound on his side.

He remained quiet after she finished. He hadn’t asked yet, but Yuromi knew he would. And he did. “What about Gaba’ké?” he asked. “Did he make it back?”

Yuromi pursed her lips and shook her head. “No. But I’m sure Gaba’ké’s fine” Yuromi said, trying her best to sound reassuring. “He and Kuta are together. They’re the strongest Aginjigaade I’ve ever met. I’m sure they managed to escape before the Careyago invaded.”

Ohacha wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t see the need in arguing over hypotheticals. Gaba’ké’s sacrifice for him had already been far greater than Ohacha felt he could demand. And then, at the end of it all, they had abandoned the old man to fend for himself. It hardly seemed fair. Regrets bubbled to the surface of Ohacha’s minds. Things he wished he could do over with his wise mentor.

Yuromi broke the silence, her tone more forceful than Ohacha was expecting. “Why, Ohacha?” she asked. Her voice was firm. “Why did you go after him alone? After Bartiin?”

Ohacha stared at the wooden ceiling of the cabin. His throat felt tight and, despite the sip of water, his tongue felt dry and heavy. After a moment he replied, “Like that evening when you and I were sitting on that pier. I wanted to try to take back my own destiny. I thought I could beat him and overcome it all. I thought…” his voice broke.

“I remember” Yuromi said calmly. “But why did you have to do it alone? The four of us, together, Bartiin wouldn’t have stood a chance. You could have called for help and led us against him and… that choice would have given you just as much agency as facing him alone. And with vastly better results.” Her words hung in the silence.

Ohacha closed his eyes and rubbed at them with his fingers. There was an obvious and uncomfortable truth to her words. His desire for vengeance and freedom had almost cost him everything. If Cask hadn’t arrived. There was a painful irony in understanding that in his desperation for control, he had ceded it entirely.

Yuromi gently squeezed his arm before rising. “I’ll give you some space” she murmured. She rose, leaving him alone with his regrets.

Ohacha pushed his fingers into his eyes until he saw spots. She was right, again, and it made him feel inadequate. He had been so confident in his decisions in Caso, and nearly all of them had ended in disaster. The sting of that failure was a bitter companion. As the boat rocked rhythmically on the calm waters, Ohacha thought long and hard, finally seeing a pattern to his plentiful mistakes.

Only one of his confident decisions hadn’t ended in ruin: his choice to apologize to Yuromi. He wondered what might have been if, in that moment of anger and loss, he had remained blind and sent her away. Rolena would still be in jail. We wouldn’t have made it out of Caso alive. In that moment of humility, he recognized the ghost of his uncle’s guidance. Aramuk had always been the one to emphasize the responsibility of honour. It was profoundly fitting that the sole decision Ohacha made with his uncle’s influence, and not his own reckless pride, was the one that had yielded the best results.

With new and painful clarity, Ohacha finally let go of the anger that had served as his compass for so long. He hadn’t even known it was there pushing him until it had nearly swept him away. It hadn’t led him anywhere worth going. And it hadn’t helped anyone worth helping. He was disappointed in himself and he was humbled. That didn’t mean he was finished. His journey was far from over. And going forward, Ohacha swore an oath to lead without that current of vengeance at his back. For the first time, he felt at peace. Not because he had defeated Bartiin. But because he knew how he wanted to win.