Bodies littered the road behind us, and the silence that followed violence was somehow louder than the battle—broken only by the rasping of the dying and the soft patter of blood on stones.
Then, as if the heavens themselves marked this moment, cherry blossoms began to fall. They rained down like pink snowor tears of a goddess, beautiful and terrible, landing on blood-soaked ground, on still bodies, on my trembling hands.
Life and death intertwined.
The temple bell tolled.
“Your Highness.” An ancient monk appeared at the top of the temple steps, his presence commanding despite his simple robes.
“We were attacked,” Haru said unnecessarily, blood trickling from multiple cuts.
“So I see,” the monk replied calmly. “The temple’s healers will tend your wounds.”
Esumi’s hand was under my arm, helping me rise. My legs barely held my weight. Each step was agony. The temple grounds seemed to stretch forever—ancient stones worn smooth by centuries of sandals and boots, buildings rising like mountains around a vast courtyard.
And the courtyard was packed—with monks in brown robes and guards in armor.
And students—young men in simple clothes, some still holding practice weapons, all turning toward the commotion of our arrival. They stood in loose clusters near what had to be the training grounds, their faces a mix of curiosity and fear at the bloody chaos we’d brought to their sanctuary.
My mind was focused only on staying upright, on following Esumi’s guiding arm, on not collapsing in front of all these strangers.
But then—
Movement at the edge of the training yard.
Someone pushing through the crowd of students.
Someone thinner than the others, moving with a strange, desperate urgency.
My feet stopped working. My heart stilled.
A singular sound somehow filled the courtyard, rose above the shouts and orders and throes of death. A practice sword clattered against stone, the echo that bounded off the temple walls seemed impossibly loud.
Cherry blossoms continued to fall, catching in dark hair that was shorter than I remembered but still fell the same way across his forehead, the same way it had that last morning before our world burned.
The crowd of students parted, confused, calling questions to the one who’d dropped his weapon, the one who now stood at the edge of the training ground ashen and still, as though he now watched a spirit rise from the earth.
Esumi was saying something. His hand tugged at my arm.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t move.
Because across that courtyard, through falling petals and shocked faces and the impossible distance of years—
Was Yoshi.
Our eyes locked.
And the world narrowed to a single moment in time.
Chapter 35
Yoshi
Thebokkenfell from my nerveless fingers, clattering against the stone.
Kaneko.
This wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a vision.
