The outskirts of Cang City stirred with the quiet bustle of a guardian. Tents lined the field in orderly rows, lanterns flickering to life one by one. In the largest of them sat a young woman with long black hair, dressed in a noble's robe that marked her apart from the armored figures moving outside. This was Kikyo, Minister of Foreign Affairs — not a Guardian herself, but one of the five who held various authority in Cang City, alongside the Minister of War, the Minister of Citizens' Welfare, the Minister of Trade, and the Chief Justice, who oversaw the law.
A guardian officer burst through the tent flap, breathless, a newspaper clutched in his hand. "Ma'am — you need to see this."
Kikyo took the paper from him. Her eyes scanned the headline once, then again, as if rereading it might change the words. **THE KING AND QUEEN OF THE EASTERN KINGDOM ONDIRA MURDERED LAST NIGHT.**
Her face drained of color. "Make sure the Grandlord sees this immediately."
"Yes, ma'am." The officer was already moving, boots tearing through the dirt as he sprinted from the tent.
---
Back at the training yard, the wind had shifted — colder now, carrying the scent of noon. Hori and Hayatte stood across from each other, the second duel of the day about to begin.
They were nothing alike, these two. Hori shifted her weight from foot to foot, her hands curling and uncurling at her sides, her breath visibly unsteady — not from fear, but from the sheer restlessness that lived inside her. Hayatte stood perfectly still, arms loose, expression unreadable, her eyes the only thing that moved as they tracked every twitch in Hori's stance.
Anoki raised a hand. "Begin."
Hori broke first, as everyone expected she would. She surged forward with a wild flurry of strikes, full of feeling, full of force — every punch thrown like she meant to end the fight in a single exchange. Hayatte didn't move to meet her. She *read* her instead, sliding half a step to the side, letting Hori's fist cut through empty air, then answering with a short, precise jab to the ribs that made Hori stumble back, gasping.
"You're rushing," Hayatte said quietly. Not mocking. Just observing.
"What do you know," Hori shot back, and came again — faster this time, channeling the heat of her frustration into a spinning kick aimed at Hayatte's head.
Hayatte ducked beneath it without a flicker of urgency, came up inside Hori's guard, and drove her palm into her sternum. Hori's breath left her in a single sharp huff as she was thrown backward, boots dragging twin trenches in the dirt before she caught her balance.
She wiped her mouth and grinned despite herself. "Okay. Okay, you're fast."
"You're emotional," Hayatte replied. "Every attack tells me where the next one's coming from."
That struck a nerve. Hori's grin vanished, replaced by something fiercer. She charged a third time, and this time she didn't hold back — chi flaring faintly around her clenched fists as she chained strike after strike, refusing to give Hayatte the gaps she needed. For a moment it worked. Hayatte's guard cracked under the sheer volume of the assault, a stray hit catching her cheek, another grazing her shoulder.
But Hori's stamina was a fire that burned hot and fast. Hayatte's was a current — calm, endless, patient. She let the storm wear itself thin, slipping, weaving, absorbing only what she had to, until Hori's strikes began to slow, her breaths turning ragged.
That was the opening Hayatte had been waiting for.
She closed the distance in a blink, swept Hori's leg from under her, and as Hori fell, caught her wrist and twisted — not enough to break it, just enough to lock it, pinning her flat against the ground with a knee against her back. Hori struggled once, twice, then went still, breathing hard into the dirt.
"Yield?" Hayatte asked, voice as calm as ever.
"...Yeah," Hori muttered. "Yeah, okay. You win."
Hayatte released her grip and offered a hand down. Hori took it, grumbling, but there was no real bitterness in it — only the ache of a body that had given everything it had.
Anoki watched the whole exchange with quiet satisfaction. "Good. Both of you fought with heart, in your own ways." He turned, already heading toward his house. "That's enough for today. Go home, rest. Tomorrow we push further."
He disappeared through his door without another word, leaving the four of them standing alone in the cooling air.
---
Kei, Peiren, Hori, and Hayatte walked out of the training yard together, the day's exhaustion settling into their bones. Kei trudged a little behind the others, arms crossed, lips pressed into a pout he wasn't even trying to hide.
"You're still sulking?" Peiren asked, smirking.
"I'm not sulking," Kei said, very clearly sulking.
They were on the verge of splitting off toward their separate homes when Hori spun around, walking backward so she could face them. "Hey — let's go cool off at the mountain. By the river. C'mon, it'll be fun."
Peiren raised a brow, skeptical. "Right now? We're too tired for that."
"Exactly why we need it," Hori said, already turning to lead the way.
With some reluctant grumbling, the group fell in after her, and they made their way through the quieting streets of Cang City, the conversation drifting easily between them — training, sensei's lectures, who hit harder, who flew further.
That was when the door of a local bar burst open and a young boy came flying out of it, slamming into the dirt road directly in their path.
"Go back to the barracks, you punk! Training's over!" a gruff voice barked from inside — a guardian officer, by the sound of the armor clinking as the door swung shut again.
The group stopped, staring down at the boy now sprawled in the dust.
Hori tilted her head. "...I know him. He's not from our class — wait, no, he is from our class."
"Why'd he fly out of a bar?" Hayatte asked flatly.
The boy lifted his head, and the moment his eyes landed on Hori and Hayatte, something shifted in his expression — his pained grimace melting instantly into something far too charming for someone who'd just been thrown out of a building.
He scrambled to his feet with surprising speed, dusting himself off and straightening his collar like a man preparing for a noble audience rather than someone who'd been airborne five seconds ago. "Allow me to introduce myself, ladies." He swept into a small bow, one hand pressed to his chest. "My name is Ken, and—"
"We know," Hori cut in flatly. "We know your name is Ken."
Unbothered, the group simply walked past him, continuing down the road. Ken, however, was not a boy easily discouraged. He hurried after them, somehow managing to catch both Hori's and Hayatte's hands in his own as he fell into step beside them, beaming.
"Ladies, where might you be headed on this fine evening? I would be honored to serve as your escort."
Hori stared at her captured hand like it belonged to someone else's arm. Hayatte's expression didn't change, but the look she gave Ken could have frozen the nearby river solid.
Behind them, Kei leaned toward Peiren. "Is he always like this?"
"I've never seen him before in my life," Peiren muttered, "and I already regret it."
Hori, deciding the fastest way to be rid of him was simply to answer, said, "We're heading up the mountain near the river. To cool off."
Ken's eyes lit up like she'd just handed him the deed to the kingdom. "A picnic, then! I shall prepare refreshments at once!" He released their hands, spun on his heel, and sprinted off down a side street with the energy of a man on a sacred mission, shouting over his shoulder, "I'll meet you all there shortly!"
A beat of silence followed.
Hayatte watched him disappear around the corner. "I never knew he was *that* weird."
"He flew out of a bar two minutes ago," Hori said. "I think that should've been the first clue."
Kei finally cracked a small smile, his earlier mood softening despite himself. "Well. At least it's not just me being made fun of today."
---
Far from the dusty streets and the noise of the city, the Imperial Palace stood tall and silent against the darkening sky. On the balcony of his grand chamber, the Grandlord sat in a high-backed chair, overlooking the garden below. Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between his fingers as he watched the wind stir the trees, his expression distant, unreadable.
Footsteps approached from behind — measured, familiar. Seshomaru, the Grand Regent, stepped into the room, a folded newspaper tucked beneath his arm. He found the Grandlord exactly where he expected him to be, and crossed the room without a word, extending the paper toward him.
The Grandlord took it, exhaled one last breath of smoke, and unfolded it.
His eyes scanned the headline once. Then again.
The cigarette slipped from his fingers, forgotten, as he rose sharply from his chair, the paper crumpling in his grip.
"How in the hell did this happen?!"
His voice cracked through the quiet of the chamber like thunder, and outside, the garden remained still — indifferent to the storm that had just begun to gather within the palace walls.