Sagaki exited the healer's hut lightly bruised but otherwise healed. The healer had given her an herbal salve and instructions — apply it to the skin to reduce pain and swelling — and she had nodded and thanked him. Still, at the back of her mind, worry nagged: Jin, and the last conversation they'd had while she'd been under the healer's care.
Outside, the village thrummed with ordinary life. Merchants hawked bolts of rough cloth and gleaming trinkets, food vendors stirred steamy pots, and neighbors traded small talk about children and chores. In the doorway of the hut, the healer finished wrapping the last bandage and watched Sagaki shoulder her pack.
"Well, that should do it," he said. "The swelling's gone down, and you can move on your own. Apply the salve twice daily for 3 days and avoid heavy lifting. You're fit to go home."
He walked her to the gate and watched until the roofs swallowed her figure. When she was gone, he leaned his head against the hut wall and let out a long, tired sigh. "Even after what he did to her," he muttered to himself, "she goes back to him. I tried to make her see sense, but she only smiled that forced smile. I hope she's wrong about him."
Sagaki's walk home was stiff and slow; her limbs complained with each step. The street felt longer than usual, but at last she reached the low house they shared. Pushing open the door, she froze.
Goichi sat at the kitchen table with an ornate bottle in front of him—bottled liquor in a glass cut like a noble's—and a careless smile she hadn't seen in years. He lifted the bottle as if it were a trophy. "Look who's back from her little vacation," he said. "Sagaki, you're just in time. Tonight we celebrate the end of all our problems."
He poured two glasses with clumsy triumph and handed one to her. Sagaki's hand hesitated over the crystal. "How did you afford that?" she asked. "Those bottles are for merchants and nobles. What do you mean, 'the end of all our problems'? Where's Jin?"
Goichi's grin widened, smug and small. "Sold him," he said casually. "A caravan came through — merchants with more coin than sense. They offered a bag full of gems and gold. I told them yes. We don't have to starve or scrape anymore. For once, I got the better end of a deal."
The glass slipped from Sagaki's fingers. It hit the floor and shattered, a white blossom of shards across the boards. For a long moment, Goichi only blinked, then pursed his lips and shrugged. "Clumsy, as usual," he said lightly. "Don't worry— we can buy better cups now."
A cyclone of disbelief and fury rolled through Sagaki. She had always made excuses for him: for the drinking, for the late returns, for the bruises. She had believed—desperately—that he would come back to himself. Now that thread snapped.
"Sold our son?" Her voice was a blade. "How could you? That child is ours. You—" Her hands shook; the knives in the kitchen seemed suddenly visible, necessary. "I always stood by you. I did side work so we could eat. I took your shame for you. And what did you do with it? You sold him like a sack of grain."
Goichi pushed back from the table, anger surfacing. He lunged to his feet, but Sagaki was faster. She shoved him hard; he stumbled, the ornate bottle crashing to the floor and breaking with a sound like splintering joy. The bag of gems tumbled free and scattered across the boards, catching at the lamplight.
For a breathless second Goichi was stunned into silence. Then rage flared behind his eyes. He reached for her, but Sagaki had already grabbed a small knife from the kitchen — not to wound, but to make the point clear. She pressed the cold blade to his throat and looked at him with a calm he had never seen.
"If you try to stop me, I'll make sure this is the last breath you take," she said, voice low and steady. The knife's edge trembled as her hand did not.
Goichi froze. The house felt too small. He tasted the copper of fear and, for once, could not laugh it away.
Sagaki shoved a few things into a worn pack — a change of clothes, dried meat, a handful of coins, and two small kitchen knives for company — then shouldered it. She looked at the scattered gems and the ruined bottle, at the man who had been her husband and was now a stranger, and walked out the door.
The path to the Forest of the Sun lay before her, a ribbon of dust and shadow leading away from the village. The midday breeze lifted her hair and warmed her cheeks; she wiped at tears and steadied herself at the forest's edge. The entrance yawned, ancient and hush-thick, light spilling between high trunks like slashes of gold.
She inhaled the cool, resin-scented air and let everything else fall away. There was only one purpose now: to bring back her child, no matter the price.
"I'm coming for you, Jin," she whispered and stepped into the gloom.