The darkness crept through the dim twilight, as the crescent of the orange sun disappeared behind the mountains in the distance, towards which they rode. Somewhere in the middle of these mountains lay the Summer Palace, where the royal family moved when the summer months got a little too hot. It was a far smaller palace than the one back in Sairan, but much better hidden and far more difficult to reach. Sairan, set at the very centre of the country for better ruling, was a largely flat town, easy to walk through and locate. Everyone knew where it was, since it was, of course, the capital and the centre of all trading activities in the country. And even without these two distinguishing factors, it was clearly visible from a large distance. The blue of the Royal Palace stood out, and the towers were easy to see from a great distance.

The Summer Palace, on the other hand, was an unobtrusive grey, with a single watchtower. It was tucked away in a valley, and was much harder to get to. One could basically walk into Sairan as and when the whim struck. It was much, much harder to find the Summer Palace. There were four routes to Kichiang, the village closest to it, and only one to the Summer Palace itself. No one could actually explain how to get there either, for the roads were all long and winding.

Oda said he knew a fifth, shorter way to Kichiang, and this, obviously, was the one they took. It soon became evident, however, that this �road� was less of a road, and more of a series of small, barely distinguishable paths through the hills. It was a ridiculously steep and tough climb, and even though they were not carrying much, it was hard. It was not possible for the horses to climb the steep mountainside, and pretty soon, they had to walk. Kazu had a bag flung over his shoulder; similar to the way Jukodo had his sword flung over his. Kojishi had, very quietly, asked him if he would rather stay behind with Obaasan and Junko, both of whom seemed more than willing to take him in. It was, after all, not very safe for him to go with Jukodo and her. But Kazu didn�t want to be left alone with strange people he didn�t know at all, and after getting a rather cold and quiet negative response to her question, Kojishi let him be.

The princess carried the staff that the old lady had given her at the last moment, with a bag of food and medicine tied to the end. She felt very �normal�, looking like what Kazu called a hobo. She could use the staff as a weapon, and to her, this was the perfect plan.

This, of course, was overlooking the fact that she had never used a weapon in her entire life.

But once they reached the mountains, her enthusiasm vanished.

The hillside was far steeper than the sixteen-year-old princess had imagined. For the thousandth time, as she dragged her horse all the way up the mountainside, she cursed whomever it was that had decided her position as a princess. Any nostalgia, the anguish of separation from her home vanished into the thin mountain air by the time she had, with great difficulty, reached the hundredth foot from the ground. She hated being a princess. She hated the way she had been brought up. She hated the confined palace and the lack of stamina it had given her. She hated being unable to run and jump up the mountain, avoiding the loose rocks, like Kazu, Oda, and Jukodo did. She hated Kazu, Oda, and Jukodo for being able to run and jump up the mountain, avoiding loose rocks. She hated the loose rocks. She hated stumbling the way she did. She hated her horse, which couldn�t climb on its own and had to be tugged along. She hated the painful breaths she was breathing in. She hated everything. She wanted to go home. But wait, she hated that too�

�Princess, hurry up!� came Oda�s voice, sounding not in the least bit out of breath.

Kojishi could have cried. It was dark. It was cold. And she was not used to this kind of physical exertion. Especially in the dark and cold. Her breaths coming in painful pants, she tried to look up to shoot Oda a glare, but she couldn�t. Her back hurt. Her neck hurt. Her legs hurt. Everything hurt!

And so, she could have kissed Jukodo (figuratively speaking, of course), for he, heroically, leapt down to her side, and taking her hand, being to move. He was gentle, to her surprise, and did not seem to hurry her up too much, even though they made great time after that. How he was dragging along his horse, the princess and her horse together was difficult to say, but the thing was, Jukodo was leading, more than he was dragging anything at all.

�When we come to the road,� came Oda�s voice, much softer than it normally was, �I will take the horses, and proceed to the other side of the mountain, alright? It�s not safe for you to be on the road,� and it took Kojishi a moment to realize he was talking to her.

�Why not?� she argued, unthinkingly. It was, to her, quite natural to say �no� to everything that her brother said �yes� to. And while Oda wasn�t quite her brother, the habit persisted.

�Because the soldiers will be on the road?� said Oda, a little incredulously, and Kojishi frowned.

�So it�s not that safe for you either, is it?� she asked, looking at him dubiously.

�Not as unsafe as it is for you,� said Oda, and he sounded resolute.

�But how are you going to take the horses to the other side all on your own?� argued Kojishi, as though raising every potentially valid point was a necessity. �How will��

�Kazu will help me,� said Oda, as though this was utterly obvious. �Won�t you, old chap?�

Kojishi was looking at Kazu as though she very much wanted him to say no, he wouldn�t, because in all honesty, the last thing she wanted to do was to be left alone with the strange, silent Jukodo, who had, aside from giving her very necessary details of the course of actions they were planning on taking, not spoken to her at all. Kojishi wasn�t scared of him so much as she was put off by the way everything seemed to leave him unmoved, unaffected. It made her very distinctly uncomfortable.

But as Kazu shrugged in an almost resigned fashion, as though he didn�t really care whether it was less than safe to take the road with the horses, she held her tongue. She didn�t want to be behave like a spoilt princess, whether or not she was one. She didn�t really want to make this harder than it already was because she was uncomfortable around someone. What a stupid thing to make things harder for!

�We�ll see you on the other side by morning,� said Oda, softly, mounting one horse, and holding another by the reign, and motioning to Kazu to do the same. The younger boy followed suit, and soon they were trotting away along the road, leaving Kojishi staring after them, and wondering precisely how awkward this could, and how long before she snapped and screamed to break the silence that Jukodo seemed to maintain at all times.

Nonetheless, she let him take her hand, rather grateful for this, and lead the way up the steep mountainside.

When Kin awoke, it was because of a strangely familiar voice in his head asking him if he was alright. �Yes, I am,� he said, out loud, and then realized that he was no longer dreaming.

The world was abnormally quiet. There was no one talking right outside his room causing him to wake up, like there had been every morning before this. No aggravated queen was screaming at her aggravating daughter somewhere in the palace. No one was banging on his door telling him to get ready for his morning exercises. It was all undeniably quiet. Kin sat up, wondering what was wrong, and then stopped, halfway up, his usually bright eyes losing their luster.

But of course.

There were no people to be talking outside his door. There was no queen to be screaming at her daughter, and there was no daughter to be screamed at. There was no one telling him to get ready for the morning exercises, because there weren�t any morning exercises.

It was all gone.

Just like that.

It wasn�t even, by the looks of it, morning, for everything was dark. Kin swallowed, and then sat up very suddenly, with vigor he didn�t usually possess at this late hour. A moment later he had thrown off his blanket and was moving very purposefully to his wardrobe, trying to recall when he had reached his room. About half a minute through taking his shirt off, he stopped, and looked at his arms, appalled to find bandages all round them. He�d been hurt, evidently, and this came as something of a surprise to Kin. He did not remember being hurt, or even getting his wounds bandaged.

The bandaging, however, had probably been done while he was sleeping. But really, how could he not remember being hurt? He didn�t remember a lot, actually � how he had been hurt, how he had reached his room� everything was a bit of a blur in his mind. He did remember a voice asking him if he was alright. �Are you alright?� it had questioned, relentlessly, over and over again. Who was that? Had that been real, or had he been dreaming about that too?

The prince shook his head and pulled off his clothes. This was no time to brood about his loss of memory. There really was nothing he could do about it, and so, there was no point thinking about it. And anyway, he remembered the battle and the funeral very well. If he could think back a little, trace his footsteps, he would remember. But his mind had, seemingly, shut down. All unnecessary thoughts didn�t occur, and since they were unnecessary, that was no great loss.

A minute later, he was outside his room, heading towards the throne room, where he would find someone who would tell him where to find the General.

This proved to be a successful endeavor, for Kin did find Miki, his serving man, lying exhausted at the foot of the throne, fast asleep. It was a shame to wake the man, who looked utterly peaceful at the moment. But Kin scowled at his own thoughts. A shame to wake someone? It was so foolish. So utterly trivial and foolish. They were at war, for Heaven�s sake. War. There were things happening which capped the unkindness surrounding waking someone up when they were so peacefully asleep. Kin would not think of those. No. Kin had to focus.

So he reached over and pushed his serving man, not particularly gently. �Wake up, Miki!� he said, firmly.

The man bolted awake, and looked around, eyes wide, and Kin felt a pang of guilt. �Wha�? Oh, your Highness,� said the man, disoriented, rubbing his eyes. �What is it?�

�Miki, I need you to go and find the General,� said Kin, bluntly, looking at him with eyes that were sorrowful but hardened. �You shall go and tell him that I am awake, and that we should draw up our plans. Then, you shall bring me some of the strongest tea you can find.�

Miki frowned, as though wondering what had got into the prince. It had not been so long since the prince had slept� why was he awake? Why couldn�t he sleep and let others sleep?

But he asked no questions, and stood up, moving with a much slumped, lethargic gait towards the doors of the throne room. �Oh, hurry it up,� snapped Kin, after watching him walk very slowly from the steps up the platform upon which the throne sat to the doors.

A while later, the General was there, looking old and calm as always, despite the late hour, and with him came four other men, who seemed rather surprised at being asked to come and draw up plans in the middle of the night. �These are the best minds in the Army,� began the General, by way of explanation, but Kin cut him off.

�Really? Well, so was Gushiken, the best mind in the Army. It doesn�t prove anything.� Kin�s sharp tone, the angry note to it, took the General aback, but he nodded, understanding.

�I trust them,� he said firmly, and Kin frowned, as though that was not enough. But the time now was not to panic, but to focus on what he had. Not to mistrust every possible ally, but to draw up a plan of action. Action� Kin hated that word. Kin and the general concept of �action� did not get along. Kin was more passive. Action was Kojishi�s dimension, but Kojishi, Kin was painfully reminded again, was not here.

�Well then, General,� said Kin, looking drawn, but determined. �What�s our plan?�

Oda was singing.

Perhaps this wouldn�t have been so bad a thing had they not been in the middle of a war, for the young man seemed capable of carrying a tune (for the most of the part) and had a not unpleasant selection of songs. Maybe it would have fit into the scenario better had it not been the middle of the night. Inappropriate as it did seem, it being the middle of the night and the middle of the war, and what not, Oda was singing, loudly and somewhat drunkenly at that, and Kazu, to put it plainly, was baffled.

�Why must you sing?� asked the boy, after about half an hour of this, and Oda, who seemed surprised to hear Kazu talk at all, looked at him.

�Why not?� he asked, and Kazu lapsed into silence, thinking of a suitable response to that. Oda, in the meanwhile, began to sing once more.

It was not as though he didn�t know why not. It was more that Kazu hardly knew Oda, and the circumstances surrounding their acquaintance hadn�t been very pleasant. Oda, with his unfamiliar ways, was a constant reminder of how far from home Kazu was, and how far from normalcy, whatever that had been. Kazu wasn�t a typically shy lad. Nor had he ever been over sensitive to his surroundings. But right now, he found himself almost painfully aware of everything around him, and how strange it all was. How foreign, how alien.

Several minutes later, Kazu spoke up again. �Well,� he said, rather slowly, �in the first place, it�s the middle of the night.�

�And we have a long way to go� I�m only trying to lighten things up a little,� argued Oda, cheerfully as ever.

�In the second place,� continued Kazu a bit more quietly, as though he had not heard that, �I thought we were trying to be low profile.�

�We are being low profile,� said Oda, hiccupping even more drunkenly to drive the point home.

�Quieter, then?�

�My dear boy,� said Oda, with a air uncannily similar to his grandmother�s, �if you think that two young men walking quietly and cautiously with four horses looks less suspicious than a drunken, mad horse trader traveling with his quiet apprentice, then� you�re sadly mistaken.�

Kazu frowned. �I don�t think�� he began, but Oda, embodiment of obnoxiousness and all things akin, was singing again.

If Kojishi had been worried about feeling awkward and uncomfortable, she really needn�t have been. Mostly, she was too busy trying to catch her breath and keep up with Jukodo, who, for a skinny built person, was moving very fast indeed, to be worried about being awkward about the lack of conversation between them. Somehow, the tall mountain had become taller. There seemed to be no end to the brutally steep mountain, and before long, Kojishi was exhausted.

�Can�t we� take a� break?� she panted, but Jukodo shook his head, and continued to move.

The mountain grew taller, and the night colder. The world, it seemed, was against Kojishi. She really wanted to stop. Jukodo leading her wasn�t of much use either, because she was still the one climbing. Trying very hard to focus only on his hold on her hand made matters worse, because Kojishi, in her exhaustion, seemed very aware of everything around her � the cold, the lashes of the mountain wind, the stones beneath her feet, digging into her soles, the touch of Jukodo�s hand, firmly clasped around hers� everything � and deliberate attempts to ignore her exhaustion only seemed to bring it into focus.

Everything was even quieter now, and this was disturbing, more than anything else.

The mountain wind whistled warningly as it blew through the tall trees, telling tales of the danger all around them. The smell was unfamiliar. Everything was unfamiliar. Had Kojishi been with Kazu right now, she would have sympathized with him thoroughly. But she was with the cold, silent Jukodo, who didn�t seem to be affected by anything at all.

The princess looked towards her protector wonderingly. In the moonlight, his features struck out even more. There was something very hard about his entire appearance, thought Kojishi. She fancied that there was something soft about his eyes that told the tale of a person, and not of a killer. Jukodo was so terribly odd. It was almost disturbing to realize that the hand that held hers, leading her as gently as possible through the mountains, was the same that had been stained with blood of Tzorkian soldiers a few hours ago. The realization almost made Kojishi jerk her hand away from his.

But despite everything she knew about Jukodo, the hold of his hand was warm, reassuring� almost comforting.

The young man was looking at her inquiringly now, for she had jerked her hand a little, as though she had said something, and as he turned, the moonlight caught on the side of his face, illuminating one side, and leaving his eyes in the dark. Almost as though the sliver of light on the side of his face was what was evident about the protector, and the rest was left for assumption. Kojishi looked down, lost in thought, attention drawn from her exhaustion, and let him guide her through the darkness.

Finally, after a great while of climbing, Jukodo stopped.

They had come to a clearing that gleamed in the blue moonlight, the slight mist of the cold night making it appear strange. Kojishi�s exhaustion made it almost unreal, the blue glow, the dark trees in the distance glittering with fireflies, the misty night� Everything was so surreal, so � magical.

And all of that, the magic, the surreal beauty, was tarnished by the knowledge that behind them, at the foot of the mountain was reality, war, and terror. It was almost calm, all the way up here, cold air blowing all around them as a reminder of harsher realities they couldn�t leave behind. But they would rest, now, and for a while, the world that seemed so caged, so lost, would seem complete.

For a while, they would leave behind thoughts, feelings, and just be.

A great many battle plans were now laid out and spread across the table in the meeting room. General Hikaru stood beside the young prince, addressing the �best minds� in his calm, solemn voice. The old gentleman seemed to recognize that while he was the only one in the room with any experience with war and the like, he was not the greatest strategist. The men he had brought along were designated strategists and would know what to do, while he knew what was going on, in general.

It was a good arrangement, theoretically.

In practice, these strategists seemed somewhat baffled, taken aback, and utterly at loss. The lack of experience of war in the Lajandran soldiers was showing now, and suddenly, it didn�t seem like all that great a thing. It spoke of how great and fearsome the country was that no other country had attacked them in twenty four years. But it did nothing in the way of training men to fight in real life situations. And if they had been attacked anyway, despite their fearsomeness and all of that, they couldn�t be all that great, could they?

The young prince, who sat at his fathers throne was listening very carefully, a strangely cold expression on his face. It seemed to most of them that Kin had decided not to feel at all, rather than experience all the panic and terror his country had experienced over the previous night. Aside from the momentary, and somewhat perfunctory, lapse at the funeral, no one had seen the young prince display any signs of �weakness� at all.

General Hikaru had said nothing after the order for fuel to be collected that morning. He was watching, old, experienced eyes recognizing in the young prince the king�s tendency to be �strong�. How long would it last? How much longer, before Kin realized that true strength lay not in concealing, but facing? How much longer, he wondered, before the prince reached the breaking point? By his young, gentle face, the softly curving features, the near melancholy air about the prince of Lajandra, it couldn�t be much longer.

And then what?

��and such is the situation, as far as we know it,� concluded the old General. �Our spies have gone as far as Juang, towards the west, and the destruction is worse than that in our city.� Indeed, Sairan was one of the few places where the attack had been launched that had come out the �winner�. �The forces of Tzorke have attacked everywhere overnight, in planned unison, and we were unprepared. But we are not anymore. We are now aware of what is going on.�

The old man stopped, and looked around. �And you have to decide,� he said, quietly, to the four men, who were all looking very grim, and rather disconcertingly undecided, �what we are to do. What do you propose, gentlemen?�

Silence followed that question, and everyone looked at each other. It was disturbing. Disconcerting. What had they come to? A nation of harmony, too accustomed to peace and prosperity? Had they no answers at a time like this?

�We must,� spoke up one of the four younger men, finally, �send forces towards the Eastern front, of course. That is where they are coming from, aren�t they? You would have to be insane to try to leave Tzorke by sea��

�Shimura is right,� said the man beside the one who had just spoken. �I think that would be an advisable course of action. To send troops to the Eastern front.�

�Precisely,� said the third. �But we cannot leave Sairan unguarded��

�Of course not, Chiaki,� said the fourth strategist, in an overly patient sort of a voice, �that goes without saying. We have to keep soldiers here��

��and send them to the Eastern front��

�And to Lamarke,� said the prince, and everyone fell silent. Kin looked around, a little taken aback at the sudden recession of energy in the room at the sound of his voice. It was so strange. People never stopped speaking when he did, and he wished now that they hadn�t. He felt so awkward, that he almost didn�t say what he had started out to say. But the matter had been worrying him for the entire day, and he had to say it, even as colour rose in his cheeks slightly. �My father�s going to Lamarke with a Tzorkian spy, General. Send someone immediately.�

They had, of course, already sent a messenger, but Kin was driven by the anxiety that the messenger, who had gone straight through the forest, had not come out of it. That was where the soldiers had been hiding�

�Yes, sir,� said General Hikaru, and nodded to the guard at the door of the room, who left, immediately.

�Give the order for troops to be sent to the Eastern front,� pressed on Kin, firmly, �and send some spies out, General. I want to know just what they�re planning to do next, and how they got this far.�

The young protector sighed slightly, watching the mist creep through the night. The moon came out every now and then to illuminate the setting cold, and one could almost feel the burden of the frigid night air. It would be, Jukodo could tell, a long, cold winter. Even now, he could sense the snow and frost that would cover the land in a couple of weeks� time. It didn�t always snow in Lajandra, but when it did, it was relentless, unfeeling and merciless. It would fall silently, almost predatorily, as though preparing for a final, frigid wave that would freeze the world forever. It was a terrible, depressing thought, and now was certainly not the time or the place for such matters.

Now was, Jukodo realized, wearily, the time to move.

He looked over his shoulder at the princess, from his seat upon a rock, where he had sat in a neutral position, attempting to conserve his energy. He would need it, he knew. A small man like himself needed to make up for the lack of sheer muscular force with agility and perfection with the martial arts. Jukodo knew this well enough, and meticulously performed his duties. No questions, no arguments� and no expression of any sort. Expression betrayed emotion, and emotion indicated sympathy for another human being. In a warrior, this was no commendable trait.

The young princess was sitting, leaning against a large tree, eyes closed. Jukodo knew she was asleep by the utterly lax expression upon her face. He could have shot her in the heart right now, and she would never have a chance to react. He could have done anything, really, with this young woman, still something of a girl, whose awkwardness betrayed more than just that. What she felt was evident, at all times, and it was, indeed, the lack of ardor, of passion on her face that told him she was asleep.

Well, she must be awoken, then, for time was short, and they had to cover many miles before dawn. Otherwise, they would never be able to shake off the soldiers at their trail. On his own, perhaps, Jukodo would have made more progress, fewer stops, and left behind as little sign as possible. But the princess was� well, a princess, unaccustomed to the carefully measured procedure of covering up one�s trail. While she was not really to blame, it slowed them down, and made it more likely for them to be followed. Jukodo moved swiftly to the princess, prodding her gently, to wake her.

�No�� she murmured, and the protector sighed. This was no time for spoilt habits to make their presence known. Of course, she would be used to being awoken late, allowed to sleep as long as she desired.

�Princess,� said Jukodo, slowly, shaking her gently. �It is time for us to��

Her hand clutched at his shoulder, suddenly, startling even him, and for a moment, the still calm of his face was replaced by something so dramatically true that Kojishi, who was staring wide eyed at him, was shocked. �No�!� she said, absurdly, and shook her head.

�Yes,� said the protector, his eyes wider than normal, breath quickened, and voice a little shaken. �We must go.�

But this was not what Kojishi was responding to, and she gazed at him for a long moment, confused. Jukodo held her firmly by the arm, and resisted the urge to shake her back to the talkative idiot of a princess he had sized her up to be. His hold, firm and strong, seemed to bring her back, somewhat, and she frowned, slightly, her gaze questioning.

�We must go,� said Jukodo, softly, looking at her, trying very hard to nor let his anxiety show.

Kojishi swallowed visibly, and nodded, finally, her mind registering what he had said. For a moment, they just sat their, Jukodo holding her tightly, as though afraid she would fall, and her trying to catch her breath and shake the smudges of exhaustion from her mind. Then the protector let go, and stood up. �Come,� he said, holding his hand to her, and she took it.

A moment later, the darkness of the misty, cold forest had engulfed them.

The soldier rode fast. Those were his orders, and in a time like this, orders were the only thing that made any sense. They had been told to listen to their senior officers from the very first day of their training. This was familiar, going on a mission he really didn�t understand, although the gravity of the situation seemed to weigh down upon him.

The King is in grave danger, they had said, urgently, as though the words didn�t convey the urgency in themselves. The King� a wise and kindly man. The soldier knew this for himself, for the King always addressed every one of the men recruited in his army, and when Arthur had spoken to the soldier, who now rode out to warn him of treachery within the highest rank, his words had been grave, serious and warm. Full of compassion that shone through the older man�s eyes. When Arthur spoke to his men, he spoke with no pride and no dignity, though he had plenty of both. He spoke as though each man was his equal. As though they were people who lived off the same ground, breathed the same air.

A King like him was rare, the soldier knew, for he had heard of the quiet, poetic ruler of Tzorke, whose overdone benevolence was often a little putting off, though he was kind enough, and of numerous tyrants who and ruled over Saikou, in the north, who had been overthrown by a revolt, only to be replaced by an even more tyrannical man, or woman. Saikou was not, by nature, a land of peace, and even in the streets of the northern country, one could find evidences of this. People haggled barbarically, willing to do anything for a bit of profit. It was a land of greed and quarrels.

Not like Lajandra, thought the soldier, proudly, until he remembered that Lajandra, the green, prosperous land he loved so much, was under attack as well. His eyes narrowed in anger, and he kicked his horse into as fast a gallop as was possible.

The King was in danger, and he needed his help.

The young man�s chest swelled in pride. To think that he had a part in this war, an important part� it filled him with a sense of wonder and purpose. It was a beautiful feeling, to be riding towards something, knowing exactly why, but not how. And the soldier was in a sort of a determined peace when the dagger shot out of the darkness of the forest he was passing by and struck him in the heart.

And somewhere in the heart of the Blue Palace at Sairan, the oldest priest opened his eyes very suddenly. �Oh no,� he said, and sat up.

The sunlight, of a sun barely risen, cast shadows on her wall. Soft, gentle shadows of an eagle-feather quill dipped in an ink bottle, and a piece of parchment rolling from one end. Comforting, familiar shadows of a pile of books by the quill and ink, which gave Kumiko the false assurance that nothing was wrong, and that everything was going to be alright.

Right�

Kumiko knew things didn�t work out like that. Things tended to go wrong purposefully and in an irreversible, unfixable manner. It was just how they were, and that, as far as Kumiko was concerned, was the law of nature. The false reassurance, however convincing, was pushed aside, though Kumiko lay there and watched the shadows anyway, feeling less in control than she would have had she had nothing to focus on right now.

Twenty-two years ago, when Kumiko had been eight years old, there had been a war. A terrible war that lasted two whole years, leaving her country beaten. Things went back before that, of course. There were always deeper explanations for what was going on, no matter how superficial any matter seemed. For instance, right now� what was happening right now, this very moment in Lajandra was inevitable. It was inevitable, because Tzorke had been beaten one too many times to be able to keep going without doing something about it. The abused look for an explanation for their suffering, and when they find none, in a moment of self-righteous anger, they lash out at anyone who comes close.

But sometimes, the abused is not a juvenile fool, too caught up in his or her own suffering to be able to focus clearly on the vengeful goal. Sometimes, the abused is more intelligent than that. Sometimes, he or she can think. Can plot. And even more rarely, they hold enough power to actually go through with their plans. In the history of every country, Kumiko knew, there came a time, a moment, when someone stood up and said �enough,� no matter what the nature of the oppressive yoke. Ajibana was only fulfilling this requisite. He was only filling up the pages of history books. Only, he was doing it in a more planned manner. A more ambitious manner.

So could she really blame him?

Or could she turn her back on all of those people she knew he had given the order to kill, and continue to live in the delusion that things were okay? Could she insulate herself from everything else and love Ajibana in the way she always had?

But she already knew the answer to those.

Kumiko sighed, and then sat up, as someone knocked on her door.

�Yes?� she said, blinking. It was barely even morning.

�It�s me, madam. I have breakfast.�

Kumiko�s chief servant, Ani, stood outside the door. Kumiko stared. Breakfast? A moment later, it clicked, and she bolted upwards, almost falling over in her hurry to get to the door. Ani�? Back, so soon? Kumiko had not expected this, but it was a good surprise, even if it was a complete bolt from the blue.

She opened the door, and looked at the woman girl outside, tall, skinny, with hair falling everywhere. �Ani!� said Kumiko, and moved back, restraining herself from embracing the girl.

Ani smiled and came in, with a tray of food. Kumiko glanced it, and then calmed herself, forcing the completely juvenile person in her to retreat back inside, while she managed herself like she did with everyone � calmly and a little coldly. �Sort of early, isn�t it?�

The skinny girl smiled at her. �I had a feeling you were hungry,� she said, simply, and proceeded to pull up the covers. Kumiko watched her, as she worked. The girl was definitely young. Almost a child, really. She hadn�t started to grow into herself just yet, although her bones had elongated preposterously. She stood taller than Kumiko, who was not so short herself. No matter what, though, she worked efficiently, unquestioningly. Behind every great endeavor, there were at least a hundred people who did not fully understand, but co-operated anyway. And Kumiko�s was a great endeavor. Even if she didn�t know exactly what she was doing.

Hurry up, hurry up. Kumiko sat down, impatiently waiting for Ani to get it over with. Somewhat ruffled when she didn�t hurry at all, Kumiko scowled slightly and uncovered the first bowl. Soup. Excellent. Tzorke made it a practice to have soup for breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner. It was tradition, evidently. While Kumiko was all for tradition, she hated soup. Frowning, she looked at the girl, hoping she would just leave. But when she didn�t, simply continuing to work with her back turned to the lady, Kumiko sighed, and began to eat a little.

Which was when she realized she was hungry, not having eaten for a while now. Kumiko had just simply lost track of the food she ate and her eating habits. They didn�t seem consequential in the face of such tragedy. Really. When one�s country was at war, one didn�t eat. Even if one knew that one�s country would win. Which it wouldn�t, of course, because no country had ever �won� a war in Kumiko�s opinion. It all led to more fighting, more destruction. There was no point. None that she could see, at any rate.

It was for this reason that Ajibana had once said to Kumiko that women had no vision. Kumiko had proceeded to list a whole hundred names of women who had done great things, boring the pants off him, and had, consequentially, won the argument.

But that was beside the point.

The soup, as it turned out, was not so bad. Hot and refreshing, with none of those goopy lumps that Kumiko detested. She sat there, drinking in silence, as the girl proceeded to clean up her desk, dust under the table, sweep the floor, put her shoes in the right place� all of those things Kumiko knew she should have done but didn�t have the mind to. Kumiko had not been reared in the Palace. She had been brought up in an orphanage, actually, and there had been no hang-ups about the way one set one�s shoes before one slept at night. So while she was a scrupulously clean person with a good posture and an amazing vocabulary, she was not the most lady-like.

Ani stayed until she had finished the whole bowl of soup, humming slightly as she worked. Kumiko got the odd feeling that she was making sure she ate, but that was preposterous. Kumiko was far older than Ani, about double her age, in fact, and it made no sense that Ani felt the need to take care of Kumiko. Kumiko could take care of herself. All the same, she felt much better once she was done. Seeing as she hadn�t even known she was feeling low, this was probably a good thing.

Ani stopped worked, abruptly, and nodded. �Right, then,� she said. �Ring when you�re done, milady.�

Kumiko nodded, and sighed as she went out. Finally. Then, hurried movements, a flurry of motion, and from under the cloth on the tray, she had pulled out a small note, rolled into a tight ball, knotted in a particular manner that she recognized instantly. �Oh,� she breathed. Trembling hands set to work at the knots, trying and failing to open them in her hurry. Biting her lip, she clenched her fists and forced herself to calm down. Then the knots came undone, and the parchment opened. Enclosed within was another parchment, with one word on it that made Kumiko sink into her chair, trembling with relief:

Ajibana thought this was a waste of time. On one side of him were ten old and wrinkled idiots. They were lost in times that had gone by, and tended to say a great many things that annoyed Ajibana to no ends. And on the other were high-ranking officers, advisors of the king and the like, all of whom were regarding him with distinct respect.

Fake, of course. There was nothing in the way of a night at war that could make a group of headstrong fools respect an even more headstrong fool, and Ajibana knew that. His attitude towards them remained cold, as always.

At least, he was honest about being a despicable pig.

It was more than he could say for the man speaking to him in joyous tones.

�This is wonderful,� he was saying, the oldest and most wrinkled of them all, and Ajibana forced his face into a smile. He looked as though he was in pain, but this did not stop the old fool. �The Gods have blessed Tzorke with a victory. We should make the most of it��

�No,� said Ajibana, evenly, �I should make the most of it, seeing as I planned the victory in the first place.�

The meeting seemed unruffled by this. They were growing used to Ajibana�s calm indifference, which annoyed Ajibana further and made him appear even more indifferent, and the cycle persisted. Something would have to be done to shake them up again, Ajibana knew. This would never do. These fools, old and young, could not get used to having him around� for the love of victory, they would never leave then!

And Ajibana couldn�t have that. While he really did enjoy getting the council riled up, but they were a hindrance. An unnecessary expenditure of his time and energy, and he didn�t need that. The Plan didn�t need that. If he spent ages convincing people that he knew what he was doing, the Plan would suffer, for it would never be implemented at all.

��this is a great blessing,� the old crone pressed on. �Our victory is at hand, and we shall��

Ajibana looked at the man as his voice faded out of focus. Calm indifference intact, he picked up the vase before him, and threw it, hard, across the room, so it crashed into the wall with a tremendous noise that made the old man stop talking immediately and stare with blatant apprehension at the commander. �We will not,� said Ajibana, coldly, �waste our time at these ridiculous meetings any longer. You are dismissed.�

�Dismissed?� squeaked the old man, still standing.

�You cannot do that, Commander,� said one of the younger men, by Ajibana�s other side. �You cannot dismiss the council��

�Fine,� snapped Ajibana, irritated. �By all means, hold your little conferences, determine the fate of the country� and I will proceed as I always have. With or without your confounded consent.�

�This is insubordination�� began a wizened gentleman, but Ajibana had walked out of the door, slamming it as he left in irrational, unnecessary and somewhat immature rage, leaving the men to look at each other helplessly.

This time, the prince of Lajandra made no attempt to escape his morning exercises or the routine sparring practice. He did not have to be told to go and practice. No one came after him. No one had to force him into it. It only stood for the strangeness of the times, the fact that Kin didn�t complain, didn�t grumble about it. The boy seemed to have grown up in a short span of time, and the old General, who himself was instructing the young prince this morning, felt mingled sorrow and pride for the boy.

This was the future of Lajandra, this young, inexperienced boy right before his eyes. Some had laughed at the prospect of the gentle, soft-hearted prince ruling the country, but no one could laugh now, not even their enemies. For the prince, young and rather non-warrior-like as he was, had come into his own with the easy grace of one destined for the position. General Hikaru couldn�t help but feel proud of the young man before him, who was practicing with his sword before him, brows furrowed slightly in concentration.

But the sense of sorrow was equally prominent. No child deserved to grow up so suddenly, without any warning. Growing up should be a process of learning and of several experiences. Not just one experience that simultaneously destroyed a boy and built a man from the shattered fragments of innocence, for that, once lost, would never return.

The boy tried so very hard not to let people see what he was feeling, as though that made him stronger. It didn�t do anything in the way of making Kin stronger, of course. Nor did his valiant attempts at hiding his feelings work in the least, for he belonged to a fierce line of warriors who, by nature, wore their hearts on their sleeve.

Thankfully, Kin didn�t wear his brain on the outside of his head as well, for that made all brave and fierce warriors unbelievably stupid.

It had taken presence of mind on Kin�s part to take the decisions he had when he had. Delay could have been fatal. Standing there, and watching over the prince of Lajandra practice, General Hikaru felt a distinct sense of respect as well.

This is the next ruler of the country, he thought, in silent pride. This is the Heir of Lajandra.

But looking at the boy�s eyes, past the wall of supposed calm, he could see unwillingness and a strange disorientation, as though he was far from home, in a sense, that made General Hikaru�s heart ache for the boy.

And he couldn�t help but wonder. Does he really want that title?

�You threw a what at the Council?�

Kumiko�s voice was high-pitched, and for once, her face was not the semblance of sanity that it usually was. Ajibana seemed to deviate so drastically from normality, or whatever, it was the world said it was that anyone faced with him, no matter how calm under normal circumstances, was pushed off the edge. To his credit, the young Commander did look a little ashamed, but it didn�t stop him from answering the reprimand that Kumiko had made a question.

�A vase,� he said, patiently, as though talking to a small child. The tone did little to allay Kumiko�s agitation. She was not angry. Not really. Sometimes, she was almost amused by Ajibana�s �high-handed idiocy�, as she called it, but this was definitely not one of those times.

�Why?� she asked, glaring at him and trying to appear angrier than she was fearful.

Ajibana would, of course, after his fashion, laugh at her fears, no matter how valid they were. And they were. They really were.

Kumiko was no fool. She had not lived her twenty and some years with her back turned upon the world. She had not spent the last few years of her life watching and learning the ways of politics in Tzorke. Tzorkian officers and priests and the like were a little orthodox, perhaps, in their outlook, but they were not, any of them, foolish. They were intelligent and resourceful; they had to be. And they did not take kindly to being overruled, especially by one as young as Ajibana. The customs that Ajibana despised were veils that covered the strangely simple dynamics of the court. And Ajibana, with his tendency to ignore the obvious, would of course have not bothered to realize that the ministers that he disliked ever so much had the power to destroy him. If not with clever maneuvers, then with a word whispered to skilled hand.

And this Kumiko feared.

�Why?� Ajibana was saying, in a tone that seemed just a little too confident. �Well, because, they�re a group of useless old crones who only want a part of my victory��

�Your victory?� demanded Kumiko, glaring even more.

�Yes,� said Ajibana, calmly, �mine. I worked for it. I planned it out. I have the confidence of the entire army, not to mention the control of it. This is my war. They have no part in it.�

He sounded like a child. Or a self-righteous maniac. Either one of those in charge of an entire army was never really a good thing. Kumiko gazed at him in something like despair, helplessness. He had dug a grave for the country he called his enemy. Who would lie in it?

The young man must have noticed the look upon her face, for he rose and moved towards her in the slow, measured motion, and for a moment, in his eyes, which seemed full of something childish, something so very innocent, she didn�t see the Commander of the Tzorkian forces, the might Ajibana everyone feared and respected.

She saw someone she had known a very long time ago, who she had imagined dead for very long.

And she was filled with a sudden aching for the boy she had held, with whom she had shared thoughts and words and feelings which had no words. Whom she had loved�

A sudden aching. A painful urge.

And Kumiko, terrified by the face before hers, so foreign and so strange, so unfamiliar to her, shuddered.

�Are you cold?� said the familiar voice, warm as it ever was to her.

Oh, but his touch� his touch, as he touched her arm lightly, was frigid and cold and so foreign�

�Don�t�� she uttered, jerking away, but he came towards her, in undisguised concern now, and she frightened of him, of his touch so cold, and his eyes so warm and deep�

Kumiko turned, overwhelmed by herself; she ran, and did not stop running until she was in her room with the door shut, where she stumbled to the floor and knelt there for a long time.

Three and a half days of riding brought Kojishi and her companions to the near vicinity of the Summer Palace. They had ridden hard and their journey had wearied them tremendously. Even Jukodo, who was usually ridiculously tireless, was looking pale with the lack of rest they had had, and this, seeing as Jukodo was pale to begin with, was saying something.

Kazu looked as though he had not slept at all, and looking at him made Oda wonder how it was that the boy was still sitting on his horse. A boy with circles that dark under his eyes should have had a breakdown of some sort out of fatigue. But Kazu was carrying on, as though there was no need to stop. Oda didn�t know what to say to the lad, but he did try in his own way to cheer him up.

Since Oda�s �cheering� general involved doing crazy things like shouting about and singing and dancing and what not, it didn�t help in the least bit. Kazu needed something else, and he seemed more peaceful when Oda was quiet. Which was rare, but it was something. Oda wanted to help, and so no one said anything, not even Kazu, whose exhaustion should have made him snap.

�Oh look!� said Oda, a little too cheerfully, in one such attempt. �There�s the Kichiang village� we shall be there in some time now.�

Kojishi looked up and saw the village up ahead, another few minutes� ride. It was set at the turning of the pass, and after that, there was just a little more time until they reached. �Oh good,� she said, nodding, but she sounded tired out. Everyone was tired out. Riding was alright for some time, but one really did get tired out in a few hours. And they had not had a �few� hours.

�This is really good, isn�t it?� said Oda, brightly, and Kazu shot him a slightly wary look, but even he looked a little better. �Soon we�ll be there, and then the caretakers of the Summer Palace will care for you and everything. Think of the good, warm food.� The prospect made them speed up a bit more. They had not eaten good, hot food for days. �And the long baths�� went on Oda, continuing to talk, until they came to the turning.

But his words came to an abrupt halt when they turned. Kojishi looked at him, wondering why he had ceased to speak. He seemed to be looking at something, and she followed his gaze.

And then stared, aghast, wordless distress clouding her expression.