Moto opened his eyes.
Sheu was already beside Najo, her voice low and steady, one hand on his shoulder. She wasn't saying anything in particular — just talking, keeping him in the present. Gradually the trembling in Najo's shoulders slowed. His breathing found a rhythm.
Moto waited until it had, then stepped forward. "What did you guys see?"
Sheu sat back, something still turning over in her expression. "A tree. Massive. I could feel everything around me — like I'd become part of it. The wind, the soil. Even the insects moving in the bark." She paused, looking at her own hands. "It was like the air was another sense."
Trinity's voice came soft with recognition. "That's exactly how your father described his gift. If you develop it the way he did, you'll be nearly untouchable."
Sheu's hands opened slowly in her lap.
"And you, Najo?" Trinity asked.
He rubbed his arms. The irritation in his voice had shame underneath it. "Lightning. Everywhere. I couldn't move — it was like it was already inside me but I had no access to it." A pause. "So this is your shortcut to power?"
"It's not a shortcut," Trinity said, the gentleness in her voice holding its ground. "It's a sacred ritual. Our ancestors believed that one day a child would be born who could ascend to the higher plane through it — and lead the rest of us there to stay. That's the purpose of the Hwange."
Moto looked at her. "There's that much more to it?"
"Much more. It's why Andzani fought so hard to stop Aemon's people from destroying it."
Moto thought about the boy in the square — the split form, the cold glare. "Sounds like he's had it rough."
"Yeah," Trinity said quietly.
On the walk back, Bishop City had softened into evening. Children chased each other between low walls and flowered courtyards, their laughter rising above the temple bells. A little girl with beads in her hair raced past them, nearly tripping over her own sandals before an older boy caught her by the collar and set her upright.
Sheu watched them for a while.
"The children look happier here," she said quietly.
Moto followed her gaze. "Yeah."
Najo looked too. For one full second, his expression almost softened.
Then his brow tightened.
"...Those haircuts are atrocious though."
Trinity's smile remained in place.
Barely.
She inhaled through her nose, folded both hands politely in front of her, and continued walking with the careful grace of someone reminding herself that guests were sacred, violence was discouraged, and Andzani was a cautionary example, not a role model.
Moto coughed into his fist.
Sheu looked away before her face betrayed her.
Najo glanced at Trinity. "What?"
"Nothing," Trinity said pleasantly.
Her pace increased by half a step.
"We should get back."
Trinity's house was simple and warm, laid out in the practical way of someone who actually lived in it. The girls took one room, Moto and Najo the next. A small window joined the two — Trinity slid it open, and the conversation came through it easily, unhurried, the kind that happens when people are horizontal and the day has stopped demanding things.
"What do you want from this life?" Moto asked.
Trinity was quiet for a moment. "Nobody's ever asked me that."
"Everyone has something."
Another pause. Sheu said, "There it is. What's the face?"
Trinity laughed. "I want to travel. Meet some of the people I've only read about."
"Like who?" Sheu asked.
"So many. Too many."
"Give us three."
"Fine." A beat of consideration. "The hero of Sango — Bizure. The Oracle in Nirvana." She paused. "And Asher."
The name hit Moto like a hand pressed flat against his chest.
"Asher?" he said, careful.
"He saved Andzani's life," Trinity said. "Andzani was young — just starting to explore the world. He ended up at Pasi's train station. The fare in was almost nothing. He didn't know that was the point." Her voice steadied into the rhythm of a story told with care. "When he tried to come back, the return fare was a hundred times what he'd paid. He couldn't afford it. The conductors beat him. Stripped him. Threw him out." A pause. "He was wandering the outskirts when the Terrors caught his scent."
The window was very quiet.
"Just as they reached him, a tall man with green hair appeared. Punched one down. Stood in front of Andzani, poured alcohol over himself, and set himself on fire." Trinity said it plainly, which somehow made it worse. "Then he fought twenty Terrors. Alone. Andzani never forgot his name."
Najo had gone still on the other side of the wall.
"That wasn't the end," Trinity continued. "After the fight, he gave Andzani money for the train. Told him he hadn't found what he was looking for yet. Andzani stayed with him — trained under him for two months. When he came back to Zen, he pushed for a military. Said our peace was fragile. That it was only tolerated because we weren't a threat." She paused. "The king eventually gave him five guardians. Without Asher, we wouldn't have them."
The warmth in Moto's chest was something he tried to keep off his face.
"You're smiling like you know him," Trinity said.
"I've just heard stories." He scratched the back of his head.
"Tell us one."
"I heard he has a younger brother. Even cooler than him."
Trinity's voice went bright. "Really? That sounds made up."
Najo scoffed from the other side of the wall.
Moto laughed, a little unsteadily. "I've heard."
"I'll add the brother to my list too," Trinity said. "Someday."
The conversation drifted into other things, then into silence, then into sleep. Later, Moto climbed to the roof and sat with the stars for a while without talking to anyone.
The Next Morning
King Khosa's throne room was high-ceilinged and calm, the morning light coming in sideways through narrow windows. Khosa himself sat with the particular ease of someone who had never needed to make a room feel his — it simply did.
"Trinity, my daughter!" His face opened when he saw her. "How are you?"
"Well, my king. And yourself?"
"The ancestors have been kind. Your father?"
"He's well."
"Good to hear." His gaze moved to the three beside her. "And your guests?"
"Travelers heading to Sango. Moto, Najo — and Sheu."
Khosa's expression shifted slightly at the name. "Sheu. Shelton mentioned he had a daughter by that name." He looked at her more carefully. Then Trinity's face told him what his face asked. The warmth in his eyes deepened into something more sombre. "He's gone?"
"Yes," Sheu said. "On a mission. That's all they told me. I came here hoping to learn more."
Khosa was quiet for a moment. "Let us give him a moment."
The room stilled. Sheu lowered her head. Her fingers curled slowly in her lap. The silence held — not the uncomfortable kind, the kind that means something.
"He came here twice," Khosa said, when it had passed. "The last time, he told me he was heading to Nirvana. I don't know what happened after that." He paused, something occurring to him. He signalled to a servant, who bowed and left the room. "Wait — there is something."
The servant returned with a folded garment. "When your father first came through, his poncho was badly worn. We had it repaired with plant fibre from Sango — strong stuff, nearly indestructible. He forgot it when he left." Khosa held it out. "It belongs to you now."
Sheu took it. The fabric was heavier than she expected — or maybe that was something else. She knew this poncho. She had told him, a dozen times, to throw it out. He had only ever worn it when he was leaving.
She draped it over her shoulders. It was too large. She closed her eyes for a moment and stood in it, and the grief and the discovery and the resolve were all in her face at once, and none of them won.