I stood at the railing, watching the island shrink into the distance, thinking of Irie, of her herbs and shop and crookedsmile. I thought of her endless kindness, and the resolve that simmered just beneath the surface.
And I thought of Kaneko.
I wondered if he could feel me coming.
Wondered if he knew I wouldn’t abandon him.
“I’m coming,” I promised with muttered words. “Whatever it takes. However long it takes. Iwillfind you.”
Somewhere beyond the roiling waves, the capital lay ahead, a city of a million souls where the Emperor himself sat on his throne encircled by his dragon, a city where one slave among tens of thousands would be nearly impossible to find.
But Iwouldfind him. I had to. Because loving him meant I couldn’t do anything else.
I touched Irie’s charm at my neck and turned my face toward the horizon, toward Bara, toward whatever fate awaited me there.
Wait for me, Kaneko. Just—wait for me.
The ship cut through the waves, carrying me toward an uncertain future, but for the first time in years, I knew exactly who I was.
No longer Kichi’s first mate.
No longerwako.
No longer someone running from his past.
I was Kazashita, the man who loved Kaneko.
And I would move heaven and earth to bring him home.
Chapter 3
Yoshi
Everything felt strange beneath my horse’s hooves.
The land felt like it still moved, as though waves still buffeted the world around me, and only the railing kept me from spilling over. I couldn’t explain it—the ground was still earth, the sky still sky—but something in the air itself had changed, felt heavier, maybe, or older, as if the land remembered things my home island had never known.
“Stop daydreaming,” Takeo barked from ahead. “We’re close.”
I spurred my horse forward, catching up to where my uncle had stopped at the crest of a hill. There, spread across the valley below like something from a scroll painting, was Temple Suwa.
My breath caught.
The main temple building rose from the center of a vast complex, its curved roof reaching toward the sky, a prayer made solid. Around it, smaller structures connected by thin lines clustered—dormitories, training halls, meditation pavilions. Stone paths wove between them, precise as brushstrokes.
Everything was ordered and balanced.
And everywhere—everywhere—there were men.
“How many train here?” I whispered, unable to mask the trepidation in my voice.
“Two hundred, usually, sometimes more. With the rebels at work, there are likely many more.” Takeo stroked his horse’s neck, then spurred her forward. “Come, let’s see what they make of you.”
My stomach twisted into knots as we descended. A path led us through the outer grounds first. Only then did I truly understand what I’d committed myself to. Row upon row of men and boys stood in formation in an open field moving through akatawith synchronized precision. Their bodies flowed like water, each strike perfectly placed, each stance solid as stone. Some were older—men with snow in their hair, their movements economical but sure. Others were closer to my age, their faces tight with concentration. Even the very young moved with confidence, eyes set in concentration.
“First formation,” Takeo murmured. “You already know your basic forms from our training. They’ll drill those for hours every day, so you should be fine.”
Hours. Every day. Just on the basics.
