Kishi raised one eyebrow. Slowly. A raindrop trickled past it, down to her cheek, and slipped beneath the edge of her mask.
"You're looking for…"
The words hung unfinished. She did not offer him the rest.
Behind her, she could hear Taro shifting his weight on the wet stone. His ankle still dragged slightly when he forgot himself. He had not forgotten himself now.
"Why?" the boy demanded.
The question cracked through the gorge like a thrown pebble, sharp and unnecessary.
Genjo coughed. It was small, restrained. Kishi could hear the tremor in it.
His hands were shaking.
Not wildly.
But enough.
"I am with the resistance."
The words struck the air and seemed to wait there.
Kishi stiffened. Not visibly. Not in a way either of them would notice. But something inside her spine aligned itself.
Resistance.
The mountains were full of men who claimed that word.
He wasn't done.
"I am looking for you because…" His breath hitched once, almost imperceptibly. "War is coming."
Kishi tilted her masked face.
The rain had softened to a persistent drizzle, the kind that found its way into seams and cuffs and the back of the neck. Her hand was still wrapped around the hilt of one of her swords. Her fingers tightened without her asking them to.
"What do you mean?" Taro asked.
There was no sarcasm in his voice. No bravado.
Just confusion.
Kishi bit her lip under the mask. The fabric caught slightly against her skin.
Why—
She needed to wake up, she decided.
Except she must already be awake.
Or this man would be dead.
"You're… Are you Taro Zayasu?"
Genjo's voice faltered on the name.
Kishi exhaled through her teeth.
"And Kishi Eishi?" Genjo went on.
There was silence.
It stretched longer than the rain between drops.
"Why are you asking?" Taro said.
Kishi blinked once.
Questions.
Questions were stupid.
Questions wasted time and air.
Swords made more sense.
She began to draw hers again.
The movement was instinct. Clean. Uncomplicated.
Taro's hand clapped over hers.
Firm.
His palm was warm despite the rain. His grip was tight but not bruising.
Kishi did not move.
She did not pull away. Or even look at him.
She was simply aware.
He did not want her to attack.
"Because," Genjo said, and the word seemed to cost him something, "if you're Taro Zayasu, your life is in danger."
He shifted slightly. The scrape of his boot against rock was small but audible.
"Valoren Yazawa intends to use you as a decoy hei—"
Kishi's sword moved, regardless of the hand that had held hers down.
Too fast for sight.
One instant it was half-sheathed. The next it was in her hand, silver catching the faint light at the mouth of the gorge.
It stopped.
Hovering.
Shaking just the tiniest bit.
Inches from Genjo's shoulder.
Close enough that if he breathed too deeply, he would cut himself on it.
She said nothing.
There was nothing to say.
He was dead.
He should be dead.
The word had barely left his mouth and she had already erased him in her mind.
Decoy heir.
What had he said about Taro?
A decoy heir?
Taro stepped closer. Barely. The shift of air was subtle. His hand had already fallen away from her shoulder and the empty sheath.
"Kishi," he whispered.
She did not look at him.
She did not know why that struck her.
"In…danger?"
The word slipped out of her before she could stop it.
That wasn't what she had meant to say.
Her eyes closed once. Just long enough for the dark behind her eyelids to feel different from the dark outside them.
Her boot slipped.
The stone beneath it had grown slicker with the rain.
Her balance tilted.
She caught herself before it was gone.
Before her sword came too close.
Close enough, rather.
Genjo did not move.
One of his hands closed slowly into a fist, then opened again.
He was controlling it.
"Please," he said simply. "Miss Eishi. I…I want to help you. And Taro."
The name hung there again.
Too deliberate.
She lowered the blade.
Slowly.
The motion was controlled. Intentional.
She did not let the tip waver as it descended.
Then she slipped it back into the sheath.
Again.
She hated the sound.
"Valoren Yazawa wants to kill me?"
Taro's voice.
It wavered.
Kishi turned toward him even as she stepped–away.
She did not know where she was stepping. Only that distance felt necessary. The gorge felt smaller than it had minutes ago.
His eyes were still on Genjo.
The man nodded once.
Kishi realized then that Genjo was wearing a mask, too. Dark cloth drawn over his lower face, soaked with rain. It hid his mouth but not the tension in his jaw.
"He wants to pretend you're the heir and execute you publicly so that—"
Taro caught his breath.
The sound was sharp. Almost like the first inhale after surfacing from water.
"Pretend… I'm the heir?"
The words were incredulous.
Not frightened.
Not yet.
Kishi did not look at him.
She did not trust her face. Even if he couldn't see it in the first place.
Decoy heir.
The phrase sat wrong in her mind.
It implied intention. Planning. A narrative being constructed around a boy who had nearly drowned that morning and stumbled through a forest fire that afternoon.
Her hand hovered near her hilt again.
Not drawing.
Just there.
If Genjo was lying–
He would not finish the sentence.
If he was telling the truth–
The sentence did not matter.
She realized abruptly that none of this should matter. She was not responsible for Taro. She was not responsible for…Genjo, he had called himself.
She shouldn't even be here.
Kishi's eyes narrowed into slits.
The rain continued to fall anyway.
No one moved.
The gorge held them all in its narrow throat.
Then Kishi spoke.
"Who?"
~~~
Mino didn't know what to think.
They had changed course hours ago.
The decision had been clean at the time. Logical. Smoke in Hiyashi meant disruption. Disruption meant unpredictability. Unpredictability meant danger for every group moving according to a schedule that depended on clear passage.
Now they were resting themselves and their horses beneath a sparse stand of trees that did little to block the lingering damp.
He should be sleeping.
He knew that.
His cloak was wrapped tight around him, pulled up to his chin. The ground beneath was uneven but dry enough.
He just—
Mino rolled onto his side and stared at the dark line of trunks ahead.
The other leaders would have done the same thing.
He argued that point with himself for the third time.
Hiyashi had been in flames.
Too quickly.
Too completely.
It had to be investigated, or it would throw their entire plan off kilter.
In fact, it already had.
There was no way Group C could go through Hiyashi if it was burning. Even if the rain had dampened the worst of it, the underbrush would be unstable. The smoke would choke supply lines. Movement would be visible for miles.
The plan had been precise.
Group A north.
Group B along the ridge.
Group C through the forest.
Now—
Mino shifted again, drawing his cloak tighter.
The bags of powder were secured in the tree he was lying beside. He had overseen it himself. Hoisted them higher than necessary. Tied the knots twice.
Not because he suspected his own men.
Just… in case.
He could hear their breathing scattered through the small clearing. One man snored faintly. Another muttered something unintelligible before falling still again.
Mino bit his lip.
Josuke's wife cared too much about the powder.
The thought was not entirely fair.
But it returned anyway.
Rii guarded it like a relic. Like something alive. As if it held more than force—held promise.
It wasn't like any Hoshari would know what to do with it, anyway.
The formula was not theirs. The handling was not theirs. Even if captured, it would be misunderstood before it was weaponized.
Unless—
He stopped himself.
Speculation was useless without information.
He had changed course.
He had done what leadership required.
Still.
Time was a resource as finite as powder.
Every hour spent adjusting meant another hour in which Hoshara could do the same.
Mino exhaled slowly.
It was time he dared use his brain.
Not his instinct.
Not his pride.
His brain.
He began, in the dark, to map the routes again in his mind.
North fork.
Eastern ridge.
Supply caches.
If Hiyashi was partially burned, the forest might become less of a barrier and more of a corridor.
Fire cleared sightlines.
Cleared undergrowth.
Cleared ambush points.
It also left ash and unstable footing.
Trade-offs.
Always trade-offs.
He closed his eyes, not to sleep but to think more clearly.
War was not a straight road. It bent. He knew that. It burned.
It demanded adjustment.
Mino lay still, listening to the faint drip of rain from leaf to leaf. Earlier that evening, the sound had worried him, but he had checked the powder twice. It would remain dry.
He had adjusted. That word was important to him.
Now he would see whether the world adjusted with him.