Tether. Magic. Emperor.
The whole thing was little more than old wives’ tales and temple nonsense. The Empire would be ruled by strength, not by ancient superstitions. Whatever magic the Akira line claimed, it hadn’t saved Takashi from poison. It hadn’t saved Kioshi from my assassins. It wouldn’t save Haru from what was coming.
I rode deeper into my conquered city, my banner flying from every wall, my soldiers singing victory songs in the streets. Behind me, smoke rose to the heavens like incense, carrying the smell of change.
Whatever tether Daiki had believed in, I had just proven it could be clipped.
The Age of Asami had begun.
Part II
Chapter 11
Haru
“Again,” Master Chen barked, his reed cutting through the morning air with unnecessary enthusiasm.
Yoshi moved through the form, his speed now controlled enough that he only looked like he was falling instead of actually falling. That was progress, I supposed.
“Better,” I called from the sideline where Esumi and I had been relegated to “observation duty”—which really meant the masters didn’t want us interfering with their teaching methods anymore. “Your hip rotation is—”
“Prince Haru-sama.” The voice came from behind us, formal and breathless.
I turned to find a young monk I didn’t recognize, his face flushed from running. Behind him stood Master Giichi, his weathered face unharried but grave.
My stomach dropped before my mind could catch up.
“Guji,” I said, bowing. “I didn’t expect—”
“We must speak privately.” His eyes held the kind of weight that made breathing difficult. “Immediately.”
Esumi’s hand found my elbow, steadying me before I even realized I needed bracing.
“Of course.” My voice sounded distant to my own ears.
We followed Giichi through the temple grounds, past the training rings where life continued its ordinary march, past the meditation gardens where monks tended flowers that would bloom and die and bloom again, oblivious to whatever news had carved deeper lines into Giichi’s face.
He led us to his private chambers—a simple room with walls of polished wood where a single scroll hung in the alcove. The characters read: “All things pass.”
Ominous choice, I thought.
“Please sit, Highness.” Giichi gestured to cushions arranged around a low table.
I remained standing. “Just tell me.”
Esumi stayed at my shoulder, close enough that I could feel the heat of him.
Giichi’s exhale carried the weight of mountains. “Your father, our Divine Father Akira TakashiTenno, has ascended to join the gods.”
The words slammed into me, fists pounding against my flesh. They bounced off something hard and numb inside me, and I felt an inner wall built over years of palace life begin to crack and splinter.
Giichi stared and waited, perhaps for some emotional response, some childish tears or tremor of my lips.
None would come.
“When?” Esumi asked, because I’d apparently forgotten how to speak.
“Three days past. The messenger arrived this morning. Prince Haru-sama, I am . . . I am deeply sorry.”
