“There was a wheat fire we could have used help with,” Mitikori shouted to the Tenshi. Black-masked guards approached Mitikori with their swords drawn. Miko stepped back with her blade at the ready. With a flourish, Mitikori held out the glowing blood vial. The guards stopped their advance. “Play nice, Amagawa!” Mitikori warned. The Tenshi personally parted the encircling samurai. 

“Where is the Kirin?” 

“Gone. You and your malignant aura scared it off,” Mitikori bluffed. 

“Why are you soaked?” 

“I got what I needed. What’s with the armed guard?” Mitikori’s left hand strayed to Kurohada. He looked around. Too many trained men. Hihiirokane-steel wouldn’t be worth much against black-iron cuirasses. 

“The Yokai has struck again. As a ruse, I sent an armada of ships ahead of Ryoma. It torched all of them and still murdered my last son on the shore. We have no time, Kotoba.” Mitikori’s eyes narrowed. One son he was willing to believe. Two seemed unlikely. Amagawa was far smarter than even the most powerful yokai. The question that now haunted Mitikori was how far was his old friend willing to go for a ruse. Was there even a yokai? 

“We have to leave,” A commander stated. Amagawa’s emerald eyes stared at the Ronshin as he held the last drop of divine blood. Dropping the blood meant death. The threat was only useful so long as Mitikori had something to bargain for. Amagawa held out his gloved hand to the Ronshin. The emperor was just a little taller than Mitikori, so their eyes met when they were this close. Mitikori could not tell if the emperor was bluffing. No strain around his painted eyes. No sweat on his ashen forehead. Holding his tongue, Mitikori began to lower his hand. Like a strike of lightning, Amagawa’s blade was out at his wrist. Mitikori never even saw it leave the scabbard. The steel was a mere sun away from Mitikori’s wrapped wrist. Amagawa held the blade as if it had been drawn not by him but some unseen force. Slowly, he slid the blade away. 

“Two sons of yours died today. Promise me those will be the last sons that die for you.” 

“We ride.” Amagawa motioned for the samurai to bring horses. 

“What of her?” Mitikori pointed to Miko. 

“She has seen the emperor’s face,” Masamune pointed out. 

“A raven is an emissary from the gods. To kill one would be bad luck,” Miko argued. “To kill me, you would need to kill hundreds.” The circling call of Miko’s flock echoed from above. Amagawa was a wise emperor. He knew when to choose his battles. 

“Let her go free.” With a wave of his hand, the wall of samurai parted. Miko stood looking at Mitikori for a moment. She pressed the ruby to her scarred chest again. Mitikori nodded, signaling his approval. Without a word, the shaman darted off into the woods. 

Now he was alone. Mitikori walked submissively to the horses. Sora knickered and bayed in defiance. “Happy to see you too,” Mitikori grumbled as he mounted the horse. He clicked his heels, and the horse moved in formation with the others. As they left the forest, Mitikori turned back to see a pillar of ravens in the sky. And a lone shaman waiting underneath. 


The horses maintained a good pace heading up the mountain. The plains of Mizugahama gave way to the foothills of the Kaminiwasan. The great mountain range stretched across the expanse of Tokiwa. Lofty peaks and stone paths would be difficult to traverse in the winter, but now the snow was all but melted. Mitikori rode in silence as they rose further and further above the clouds. The heavy noise of hundreds of horses disturbed the serene mountain groves of Kaminiwasan. Wildflowers were trodden under hoof, and ishidumi were knocked aside. Finally, the troop came upon a large violet magnolia tree.

The tree stood at one of the many peaks of Kaminiwasan. Far below, the valleys and forests stretched like patchwork. Mitikori looked at the flowing rivers and ripe trees. “It is time for the ritual,” Amagawa proclaimed. The samurai formed a half circle facing outwards. Yoshida brought her collection of leather-bound notes and joined Mitikori and the emperor.

“There’s a chance Ryūakuryō won’t even want to hear from us. Dragons are fickle and haughty in life. In death, they must be worse.” 

“How will Ryūakuryō decide if we are worthy?” Amagawa questioned. 

“The dragon weaves fate with his thousands of arms. He controls the will to harm and health. You certainly picked a confusing deity. Ryūakuryō will assess your will and your control over it. We must wait and show our restraint in the face of adversity.” Mitikori took Kurahada and Hikarimono placed them neatly on the ground. The Tenshi took his pronged blade and set it down as well. Yoshida set the kunai before her on the rocky ground. 

Mitikori knelt before the magnolia. Its light brown, twisted trunk had thousands of small notches in it. The violet leaves stretched out to the heavens above. And the roots ran deep to hell below. The Tenshi closed his eyes, placing his hands on his folded knees before him. Mitikori poured out the vial onto the roots, offering up a prayer. Yoshida’s scholarly voice joined his in unison. A prayer of dragons. The tune spread from the tree to the steep cliffs below. Slowly, a ghostly form began to manifest. A spiraling coil of scales and arms materialized behind the tree. Mitikori sat back on his feet in a kneeling position. His eyes stayed open, fixed on the dragon. Locked in place. The floating form of Ryūakuryō began to observe the trio. It drifted over Mitikori like a cloud before phrasing through his chest. Mitikori felt a sudden rush through his soul. Aura flowed out like a river. He could barely hold in his breath. Gripping his jaw close, Mitikori tried to focus on his training. Master Nagashi had the young boys train under the crashing might of waterfalls. He saw his brothers around him. Waiting. Each under their own waterfall. The boys all looked to Mitikori. Then Master Nagashi spoke, “You have done well my son. Though your brothers rest, you have found a new purpose in this waking world.” The other young Ronshins smiled at their last member. “We know you will carry on our legacy.” With that, the ghost of Ryūakuryō left Mitikori’s chest. The Ronshin steadied himself. He could breathe again. The dragon drifted through Yoshida. Mitikori watched the sweat appear in beads on her face. She strained. Blood began to drip from her mouth. Then she broke. Yoshida fell forward, gasping for air. The dragon spirit quickly left her without finishing the test. Yoshida was still. Mitikori moved slowly on his knees over to her. He gently pressed his fingers against her neck. Her pulse was faint. They should get her to a doctor. The ghostly dragon hovered above her for a moment before it shifted its gaze to Amagawa.  

The dragon hung in the air. A cool mist had spread about the tree. Mitikori felt weak from the test, but his stamina was quickly returning. Amagawa remained vigilant. His eyebrows furrowed, but he stayed still, waiting for the dragon. Amagawa would not give up this chance for Yoshida. Mitikori took some herbs from his kimono and began to place them in the scholar’s mouth. It would help soothe her aura and hopefully keep her alive until they could get her to a physician. Mitikori kept his hand close to Yoshida’s mouth to check her breathing. It came in and out in short breaths. 

The dragon watched Amagawa with a silent gaze. It began to spiral back towards the tree. Amagawa broke. He stood, 

“Mitikori, where is it going?” 

“It didn’t find you worth its time,” Mitikori muttered, begrudgingly. He began to scoop up Yoshida to carry her back from the peak. 

“No!” Amagawa shouted. He charged at the dragon. Mitikori stood up quickly, taking Yoshida away from the soon to be raging dragon. “You must answer me!” The mad Tenshi ran at the spirit with his sword. The dragon whirled around with a thunderclap. It rushed into his chest and vanished. The sky suddenly cleared, and the leaves on the tree blew away in a heavy gust. Mitikori shielded Yoshida with his arms, looking for any other punishment. Slowly, as the wind subsided, he realized none was coming. 

“What happened?” Amagawa sounded more confused than angered. Mitikori’s shoulders relaxed. He lowered Yoshida making sure to be gentle around her neck. 

“The dragon didn’t find you worthwhile, I told you.” 

“What?” Amagawa turned around with a snap in his voice. Mitikori sighed.

“Better luck next time.” As the Ronshin looked back at the samurai, he noticed an eerie silence had fallen. Mitikori carried Yoshida to the edge of the path. The switchbacks ran back from the peak at a breakneck pace. The men had been lined up to form a man-made barrier, stopping anyone from reaching the peak. But as Mitikori looked down, he noticed one of the corners was missing its guards. A commotion was starting. First, clamoring. The sound of armor and swords. Then. Gunfire started. Amagawa rushed beside Mitikori. They looked down at the foggy path leading up. Men were opening fire on some unseen force. And as they did, their screams were silenced. Masamune signaled for his men at the top of the hill to take aim. 

“They’ll fire on their own men?” Mitikori questioned the decision. 

“You must amputate to stop the spread,” Amagawa motioned for the order. The samurai at the top of the hill began to fire indiscriminately into the switchbacks. Mitikori handed Yoshida off to another soldier. 

“Take her down the far side of the mountain, get her to a shaman or a healer. Tell them it's dragon fatigue.” The samurai looked to his Tenshi for approval. Amagawa nodded, and the masked soldier was off. The Ronshin looked back down at the quickly quieting trail. Less and less samurai fired in defense. The birds had stopped singing. The fog clung to the rocks like a shroud. Mitikori’s eyes scanned the gray rocks for any sign of an assailant. Nothing. Just mist and blood. Then. Movement. Through the mist, something was gliding over the bodies. Quickly, the Ronshin fished out his viewing glass. He placed it to his eye when Amagawa gave the order.

“Fire!” The hill was engulfed in smoke, obscuring whatever Mitikori had seen. 

Silence. There was nothing as the smoke cleared. Black iron samurai lay dead on the path heavenbound. 

“Masamune, bring a party around from the south side of the hill; find out what that was.” Amagawa began to wrap his long sleeves. Masamune nodded and instantly rushed off with a group of eight men. Mitikori just stared down the dead hill at the corpses. “Why was the ritual unsuccessful?” Amagawa demanded. 

“I don’t know,” Mitikori replied calmly. 

“Yoshida would know.”

“Then ask her.” Mitikori kept his tone low, “She should recover soon. We can always try it again.” Mitikori’s olive branch seemed to quell the Tenshi’s rage for a moment. Amagawa looked back at the rapidly decaying magnolia tree. 

“We must hurry, this yokai–,” Amagawa never got a chance to finish his sentence. A straight iron blade pierced through the skull of the nearest guard. Mitikori quickly drew both Hikarimono and Kurohada. Amagawa drew his pronged blade and took a fighting stance. The men began to pack together to make a wall. Something yanked the straight blade through the man’s skull, sending blood across the mountaintop. A yokai the likes of which Mitikori had never seen stood before them. Drenched in blood. 

The yokai was tall. At least four heads taller than any of the soldiers. It wore plated steel armor with twin guards on its large shoulders. The monster’s arms were long, covered in part by broken steel armor. The skin that showed from underneath was ghostly pale, like freshly cleaned bones. Its fingers were like blades, each about eighteen sun long. The ghostly yokai stared at the soldiers like a bear looks at deer. It’s head was just a skull. No skin, no muscles, just demonic bone. There was no fear in its eyes. Blood dripped down its white forehead, bringing a look of satisfaction to the demonic yokai.  

The yokai swung its straight-edged sword, cleaving the front line of samurai in half. “Они опадают, как цветы.” An eerie voice like a graveyard chided the warriors. Those who survived staggered back, desperate to get to their rifles. 

“Hold!” Amagawa shouted. The trained samurai attempted to make a formation, but the yokai swung again with its bladed fingers, slashing their heads off. The armor did nothing. Even their katanas had been cleaved into pieces. “现在睡觉吧.” Now all that was left was the Tenshi and Mitikori. Amagawa stood with his blade aimed at the yokai. 

“We fight as one.” He began to step towards the ashen monster. Mitikori kept his blades up and charged with the emperor. Mitikori leapt at the yokai from behind the emperor. The black eyes caught him as soon as he broke from cover. Mitikori was mid-strike; he brought both blades together with all their weight at the strange skeleton’s torso. The yokai twisted back as if pulled by strings. It swung the straight blade, hitting the sisters right at their hilt. The force was like a typhoon. Despite all his training, the twin blades flew from Mitikori’s hands. The yokai landed a heavy steel boot into Mitikori’s chest, throwing him back onto the ground. 

The Ronshin laid in a daze. His breath was gone. The blades were gone. He rolled onto his side, trying to get his breath back. “시끄러운.” The yokai spoke in languages that Mitikori didn’t know. It was taunting them. Amagawa flashed his sunblade to the sky. His slash was faster than Mitikori could follow. But it never landed. The exact instant he lifted his blade to strike, the yokai rammed its clawed fingers through his chest. The pronged blade dropped from dead hands. 

“Kotoba!” Amagawa cried with his last breath. Mitikori watched in horror as the Tenshi dropped to the ground. Blood still pouring from his gouged chest. Mitikori scrambled to one of the fallen rifles. He quickly lit the match and swung the heavy iron rifle to aim at the yokai. It looked at the Ronshin without fear. Then a realization hit. 

“Ko–to–ba–,” It repeated the emperor’s last words. Seeing the terror in the Ronshin’s eyes, it repeated the phrase, “Kotoba.” 

The rifle exploded. A musket flew across the peak, hitting the yokai’s skull. It reeled back like a sheet of cloth catching the wind. However, the yokai quickly recovered. Its skull face grimaced at Mitikori. The Ronshin quickly reached for his last blade. He fetched the wrapped scabbard out and furiously tried to untie it. It took but a moment, and the white peace-binding fell to the mountain top. Mitikori began to unsheath his brother’s blade. The blue-steel didn’t see the light of day. Without another word, the yokai easily thrust its flat blade through Mitikori’s chest. Mitikori stared down at the steel in his chest. It had gone through his heart, shattering any ribs in the way. The yokai looked down at him with neither pity nor contempt. It just pushed him off the blade like a useless catch. The Ronshin fell back, crushing on the rock peak. His eyes forever staring up at the blue sky. Wondering where the women with autumn hair had gone.