“Ready?” Soleiman asked, looking over his shoulder as he sat by the driver’s seat.

Pallas rolled up the red ribbon she kept tied about her waist, curling it about her fingers before hiding them within one of the drawers built into the wagon’s bedbenches.

She nodded back, and the wagon returned to a slow trot.

Before them stood the great torii gate of the Shirobane Shrine, a good few kilometres north of Hibara and a good few degrees colder too. While not uncomfortably so, they could still see their breaths turn to mist before their mouths and they could still feel the dry bite of the wind on their skin.

Though, that was all secondary to them. For now, the morning’s bread and cheese filled their stomachs and the wagon’s canvas shielded them from the bulk of the elements. And for now, their primary concern was to get in.

The wagon ground to a halt again, Rumi swaying as she sat beside Soleiman, her hand hurriedly grabbing onto the wagon to keep herself from sliding off.

“Hello, Misters!” Soleiman called out, raising his hand to the two lightly armoured guards stationed there.

The men, whose stone cold demeanors enshrouded their face in shadows that stretched from their brows, suddenly softened upon hearing their own tongue. Their eyebrows raised slightly, their eyes un-squinting and their shoulders rolling back in ease.

“How can we help you?” One of the two men said, slowly walking by Strapi with his spear in tow, his partner remaining steadfast by the gate.

“We would like to enter,” Soleiman responded. “We’re planning on staying for a-”

“Woah!”

Soleiman and Rumi jumped slightly, the man suddenly stumbling back as though he were hit square in the face by a fistful of surprise.

They turned around, their looks of suspended awe mirroring the utter ecstatic shock of the man, who, at this point, had frozen mid-fall with his back bent over in arrested disbelief.

Their eyes landed on Pallas, her eyes peering anxiously back at them while her face remained fixed on the paper crane she cradled in her hands.

Their eyes landed on her black hair, darker than even the night sky. Their eyes landed on her pale skin, so white yet so warm. And their eyes landed on her crimson irises, more piercing and more vibrant than even the deepest pools of blood.

Their eyes had landed on the Soteira.

“It’s you!” The man exclaimed, hopping backwards slightly and causing Strapi to shuffle away in mild annoyance. “The Soteira! From Hibara!”

“You… you know me?” Pallas asked, sliding forward atop the leather-covered bench to better see the man geeking out in front of them.

“Of course I do!” He responded. “Word gets around here fast. Just the other day our detachment in Hibara came back with news of what happened. Of what you did!”

“I… see,” Pallas responded, her eyes drifting away back into the wagon’s shadowed interior.

“Right, anyway,” the man coughed. “What do you need?”

“We’re looking for a place to stay for a while,” Soleiman responded. “And we also want to strike a deal with the Head Maiden of the Shrine.”

“Head Master,” the man said.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Soleiman said. “The Head Master.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “Alright, head on in.”

The horses dragged their wagon past the guards, finally towing them through the torii gate and into Shirobane Shrine.

There, Soleiman and Rumi watched from the driver’s seat as passersby eyed their wagon curiously, little giggling children playing games of tag and elderly market goers hauling entire baskets of fruit atop their heads alike freezing to watch as the four foreigners made their way down the street.

There were a few cries of 'Soteira', though the soldiers that called out to her were too distant to actually see in.

Qingxi sat at the back of the wagon, still quietly folding paper crane after paper crane and stringing them along with a piece of twine while Pallas shifted uncomfortably beside her.

After some time, Soleiman managed to pick out an inn from the rows of wooden houses decorated with paper and topped with ceramic that surrounded the street on both sides.

He pulled the wagon up to the inn’s facade, hopping out of the seat to go inquire the innkeepers about their prices.

Rumi, not knowing a lick of Japonic, remained seated in the driver’s seat, swinging her legs beneath her gently as she watched Soleiman rummage his fingers through their coin purse whilst still engaging the innkeepers in conversation.

She turned around, seeing as Qingxi had set aside the chain of paper cranes she had been constructing to wave to a few children gathered about the backend of their wagon.

She knew Qingxi couldn’t understand what they said either, sure, but she could tell from their excited cries and elated giggles that the language of Qingxi’s smile and the joy of her origami creations got through to them anyway.

Between her and Qingxi, though, Pallas remained within the shadows– her arms wrapped about her knees as she hugged herself into nothingness.

Rumi glanced over to Soleiman, who at this point had resorted to craning his neck so that he could see directly into the coin purse while he counted their savings. She turned back, and headed into the wagon.

“Pallas?” She asked, sitting on her knees just beside her.

“Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

Pallas adjusted herself, burying her cheeks just a little deeper into her knees.

“I’m fine,” she said.

Rumi paused for a moment, closing her mouth and stopping herself midway through responding. She looked around, rising from her seat and bending over to reach into one of their clothing drawers.

She pulled the thing open, layer upon layer of immaculately folded leisure clothes for all four of them now bathing in the noon sky’s light.

Pallas looked on, rising slightly from her spot in her knees and loosening her grip as Rumi grabbed the white headscarf she wore whenever she got to cooking.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Here, Pallas,” she said, turning to offer it to her with both of her hands. “You can wrap it around your head if it makes you feel a little safer.”

“Oh,” Pallas said, her knees now falling from her chest. “Thank you.”

“Do you want me to help you put it on?”

Pallas nodded.

And so Rumi placed the piece of white fabric atop Pallas’ black hair, gently and loosely wrapping it about such that it gave her some amount of privacy.

“Uhm,” Soleiman interjected, peeking his head into the wagon as he hopped back into the driver’s seat.

“Y…yeah?” Rumi asked.

“We… sort of don’t have enough money to stay here,” he said. “Not unless we park the horses somewhere else entirely, or want to stay only for two nights.”

Pallas shook her head.

“That’s too short.”

“Mmm,” Soleiman hummed. “That’s what I thought. No worries, though, they told me where some other cheaper inns are that we can go to.”

So they went on to the other inn. And then another inn when they found out that they still couldn’t afford the funds. And then another, and another…

It was almost as if they were touring the shrine at that point. The sky had begun to wane slightly, turning ever so faintly orange as the shadows of the buildings began to stretch out across the dirt and the grass.

Sometimes a group of soldiers would walk by their wagon, waving to say their hellos to the vehicle they presumed the Soteira to be within. Sometimes they even peeked their heads into the wagon, their gazes meeting the shifty eyes of a Pallas curled up in the corner in discomfort.

In general, though, Rumi and Qingxi did a good job of keeping the attention to themselves. They waved at the passersby curious enough to take a closer look, bowing and smiling and acknowledging the people that all stopped what they were doing to watch them. Qingxi even took to waving the string of cranes about, sometimes letting the flock dance through the air with her wind arts– much to the delight of onlookers.

Unfortunately, though, their theatrics and foreigner fame got them little when it came to bargaining for a place to stay.

Aside from maybe a small crowd of permanent onlookers, a mix of soldier and civilian alike, watching on as Soleiman rather embarrassingly crawled back into the wagon, purse still in hand.

“Yeah, uh, bad news,” he said.

“Are you serious?” Pallas asked.

“Mm. We’re off by a decent amount. And unless you want to spend everything we have on two nights and bank on us getting the deal then we’re going to have to think of something else.”

Pallas sighed, trying her best not to look at the small crowd watching from the backend of the wagon.

“Well?” She asked. “What do we do now?”

“I mean,” he started. “We could always just go straight to the main shrine building. Directly ask the Head Master for-”

“Eh hem.”

The air shifted.

“For what?”

They turned their heads.

Standing at the back of their wagon, arms folded and gi flowing in the gentle breeze, was a girl; planted directly in between Rumi and Qingxi.

“Wh-where did you come from?” Rumi blurted, blinking rapidly as if she were still in disbelief of what her eyes beheld.

“Oh! Uh,” Soleiman stumbled, mind scrambling for an apt response. “We would like to clear the North for him.”

“Hmm hmm,” the girl hummed, her silhouette still filling the frame of the wagon; her crossed arms and wide stance making her seem far larger than she really was.

She lent forwards slightly, the squinted whites of her eyes just barely showing in their vision as her pupils bore into Pallas.

Pallas’ eyes darted off of her momentarily, flicking to Soleiman as if to ask for help.

…

Pallas shifted, pulling her feet off the floor and sitting in a crossed position.

“Well, you’re in luck,” the girl continued, finally relenting.

She hopped off of the wagon, landing firmly onto the floor as the light of the sky finally hit her face.

“Because I’m Isami,” she proclaimed. “Heir to the Seat of Shirobane!”

Her ponytail blew in the wind, her poofy Kitsunite ears and tail following suit.

…

Nobody really knew what to say.

“Wow!” Rumi eventually said. “That’s nice!”

“Mm!” She hummed, smiling as though immensely proud of herself. “And I’ll cut you a deal.”

Pallas and Soleiman looked at each other.

“If you’re planning on serving in the North as hunters,” she began. “Father’s going to want to know if you’re worthy of employment. So, when you go to meet him, he’s going to want you to prove your mettle.”

“Oh,” Pallas said. “Yeah, we can do-”

“But!”

The street almost seemed to crackle with the unwarranted volume of that singular word.

“You! Soteira!” She called, pointing a finger dead at Pallas.

“Yes?”

“You will fight me,” she said. “If you win, then I’ll let Father know that you’re up to it. But if not, then I’ll tell him that too.”

“Alright-”

“And. In. Exchange!”

Qingxi winced slightly at the volume, her feline ears curling up a little bit more with each word in protest.

“She’s giving us something?” Pallas whispered, leaning over to Soleiman.

“How generous.”

“I will pay for seven days!” She proclaimed, holding up only the five fingers of her right hand. “Seven days of accommodation in this fine establishment. What do you say?”

“Yes.” Pallas cut in.

“Ah- oh,” she responded. The wind seemed to have been knocked out of her sails. “Maybe I should’ve…” she whispered to herself.

“Sorry?”

“The morning after tomorrow!” She continued, resuming her baseline earpiercing volume. “At the Main Shrine Dojo!”

“Understood.”

“Mm,” she hummed. “And one more thing.”

“Hm?”

“The rest of you need to prove yourselves too.”

“By fight-” Rumi almost yelled, though she caught herself and covered her mouth mid way. “By fighting you?”

“No, no,” she responded, shaking her head vigorously. “By fighting… whoever.”

“My Chitite friend here is still too wounded to fight, though,” Pallas said, sliding forward to put a hand on Qingxi’s shoulder. “And he…” she began, looking back at Soleiman. “He doesn’t fight.”

“Hm?” She hummed. “Alright then… we’ll get her some help. Though that is a bit embarrassing on his part, I will say.”

Soleiman said nothing.

“What about her?” Isami asked, eyes flickering to Rumi and back.

Rumi said nothing.

Isami’s neck jutted forward in disbelief.

“It’s not only the Soteira that’ll be fighting, is it?” She asked. “Because then, even if you do win I don’t know if Father would be too partial to-”

“I can fight,” Rumi said, herself not entirely convinced of her statement. “But not with mana. I use an Instrument.”

“Ahh, alright,” Isami responded. “That works. But I’ll be taking four days off of the accommodation since two out of the four of you can’t fight.”

“We understand,” Pallas responded.

“Hmph,” Isami crossed her arms, her black hair almost matching the darkness of Pallas’, glistening lustrously in the light of the afternoon. “Two mornings from now, Soteira. I’ll send you the arrangements for your friend’s test by dusk if you win.”

Pallas nodded.

“Thank you.”

Isami nodded back.

“Yeah, thank-”

She was gone.

Rumi jolted in place once more, the shifting airs blowing her fluffy hair about gently.

“What an…” Qingxi began, slowly uncovering her ears. “Interesting character.”

“Mm,” Pallas hummed. “Interesting indeed...”