Despite his most favorable impression of the God of War, Eric couldn’t help a flare of irritation rising up inside him at the warning. What was it with all the powerful people in Ahya and their damned fascination with obscure clues? Was it too hard to speak frankly? ‘He’s the enemy’, or ‘Don’t go down this road if you want to stay alive’. Nope, they could never be direct, and Eric was starting to think, privately, that they enjoyed being irritatingly vague.

“What do you mean by that?” Eric asked. But he could tell, by an eerily familiar fading sensation, that his session with the deity was destined to be short-lived.

A sympathetic smile was the last thing he saw as he heard Shigeru’s voice, barely reaching him through the mist. “I’m sorry I cannot be more direct, but the meaning will become clear soon. I have given you a boon. Please, duck.”

Eric did as the god suggested, and was faintly aware of a light breeze on the top of his head. For good measure, he rocked back and kicked off the base of Shigeru’s statue with his feet, forcing himself back several feet in a slide across the polished wooden floor of the temple. It was another good idea, as he heard the impact of metal on wood. It came from directly where he’d been sitting a split-second before.

“Eric!” A voice shouted, sounding shocked and concerned. A half-second pause, then, “Anya!”

Eric didn’t have time to ponder the meaning of the voice’s presence, for he was too busy trying to regain his senses. The mist had finally cleared his mind, and he could see properly. His first impression was of scared people darting away from him, and whoever was attacking him. Then his vision was filled with white cloth, as someone jumped directly in front of him. He kicked out at the person’s knees instinctively, his body in fight-or-flight mode. His foot connected, and he heard the grunt of surprise as the person was knocked flat, their legs buckling.

Ehran’s bewildered face showed as he hit the floor, but he was up on his feet in a flash, the white robes he wore billowing with the speed of his movement. Sure that he was going to strike, Eric rolled to the side, coming up onto his hands and knees. But Ehran seemed preoccupied with something else and paid Eric no mind as he made his way clear. The shriek of metal striking metal sounded clearly over the scared shouts of the other temple visitors, who were all running for the door, clearly terrified.

By some divine luck, pun not intended, his desperate movements had brought him right next to the cot on which he’d been resting. He spotted his weapons, tied together with some twine, lying beside it. He snatched them out of their sheaths and stood. For the first time, he could clearly make out the details of the ferocious duel that was taking place in the center of the temple.

Ehran and Anya faced each other directly, both faces contorted in concentration. Ehran had both of his weapons drawn, two elegant steel blades carved with runes. In Anya’s hand was a heavy war staff of wood, trimmed in metal on the ends. The shock of it all paralyzed Eric, who recognized the weapon at once, and tried to compare the image of the kind, helpful Anya with the shadowy stranger who had nearly killed him in the alley nearby. Why had she bothered to help him heal if she was just going to kill him anyway?

She swung the staff around with brutal force, but none of the blows managed to land. Ehran danced from side to side, taking small, measured steps, letting the end of the staff whip through the air mere centimeters from her face. He avoided four consecutive strikes from the staff, lines of surprise still etched on his focused face. It was clear that he was hesitant to strike her back. Was it because she was family? Or was he wary of breaking Shigeru’s Divine Law”

Finally, however, it became clear that he had no choice. After avoiding two more strokes that were obviously aimed with killing intent, he gritted his teeth and raised the swords. After the next strike missed, he stepped inside her reach and swung the hilt of his right sword for her head. Despite holding the hefty weight of the war staff, she nimbly ducked the blow, shifting into a wide, low sweeping strike. For an instant, it looked as though Ehran’s feet would be swept out from under him.

But as graceful as his sister was, Ehran was even more nimble. Sinking one of his blades into the ground, he hopped into the air, using the handle as a pivot point. The staff slammed into the grounded sword, and Ehran kicked out with both of his feet, catching Anya in the chest and sending her flying back into the statue of Shigeru. She hit hard enough to knock out any normal man, but she was already back on her feet, lunging at Ehran once more.

“Out of the way Eric!” He shouted but had no more time to say anything as he focused on dodging the new whirl of attacks. Torn between suspicion and fear, Eric didn’t move at first, but when Ehran seized Anya by the collar and threw her in his direction, he jumped aside. Even as she was thrown, she’d attempted to strike at him. Thankfully, his movement had carried him out of danger range.

Ehran was in front of her with blinding speed, going into his own rapid attack now. She parried each blow as it came, but she was clearly overwhelmed by the blistering speed of his strikes. Snarling in anger, she abandoned her defensive posture and threw the staff, two-handed, at her brother, forcing him to jump back. She capitalized on the temporary halt to his attacks, clearing the distance, and struck him with the same stunning strike she’d used on Eric.

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Ehran doubled over with the impact, and his body visibly locked up. She scooped up the staff from the ground with her foot, flicking it up to her hands, and striking him twice more. He staggered back, the point of his swords dropping as he was slowed by her debuffing attacks. Acting instinctively, Eric dove forward and attacked her, a clumsy overhead with no grace or technique. He only cared about forcing her back, so she couldn’t kill her brother.

Strangely, Eric moved much faster than he’d expected to. His longer blade slipped right through her guard, surprising both himself and her, cutting open a light wound on her ribs. She cursed at the burning pain and struck out with her staff. As if in a dream, he felt his body drop low, letting the weapon whistle over his head. In this lower position his swords didn’t do him much good, but he had his legs, and knowledge of his time as a martial artist. Grounding himself with one hand, he scissored his feet across her knees, stumbling her.

She retained her stance but was forced to take several hasty steps back. Clearly angry and surprised at Eric’s sudden improved combat skills, she hesitated before striking back. It was this hesitation that cost her a great deal, as an attack launched from outside the open door of the temple struck her in the back, sending her flat on her stomach. There was a nasty crunch as one of the temple doors was slammed back, hitting a civilian who was trying to escape the conflict.

A roar of rage. A flash of metal whipping past Eric’s face. Then the sound of thunder and a bright light blinded him. Staggering back with his arms covering his face, he tried to peer at her to see what had happened. Anya was on the ground, her arms and legs bound tightly to her body. Small bright flashes of electricity flickered across her body. She was paralyzed by something, Eric thought. Turning to look over his shoulder, he saw an older man with his left hand outstretched. His right hand held a long, heavy spear-like weapon. A naginata. It was the master he’d first spoken to, the one who had told him about Issho-Ni.

“Father!” Ehran had spun around as well. “What are you doing here?”

The man was breathing heavily as if he’d just run a great distance, but his face was quite calm. Despite this, Eric could clearly feel the rage radiating from him like flames. Instinctively, he took a few steps back and dropped his weapons. They fell to the wooden floor with a dull clang. The civilian! He turned to where the elderly man was lying, clutching a clearly broken and bloody nose. Thankfully, he seemed otherwise uninjured.

“Ehran,” the man said after he took a moment to collect himself. “I return from visiting my father, and this is what I’m met with? This is a disgrace to the Tokugawa name! Explain yourself!”

“Hold on a second, Shiora.” Another voice sounded. Bewildered, though not entirely surprised, Eric turned to see Samuel stepping over Anya’s paralyzed form and into the temple. “You are directing your wrath the wrong way.”

“Samuel-san,” Ehran said, glancing from the thin archmage to his father. “How did you know what Anya was?”

“I sensed her murderous intent from a good deal away,” Samuel explained, sparing half a glance for Ehran, then returning his gaze to Shiora. “I could tell it was coming from this temple and rushed over. I appear to have gotten here a second too late.”

“Samuel,” Eric said weakly. He sank back down onto his cot, feeling as if someone had punched him in the chest. “Of course you’re here.”

“Well, yes,” the Archmage replied. “I was coming to see how your healing was going. I never expected to witness the betrayal of one of the Tokugawa clan.”

Samuel bent down and brushed a finger against Anya’s forehead as if to brush the hair out of her eyes. But Eric saw the brief flash of energy he created and assumed he was using some kind of magic to read her thoughts. A moment later he stood up and confirmed the suspicion.

“Well, at least now I know who has been keeping the adventurers hostage. Her boss kept them subdued with magic and changed their appearances. But why she would keep them here, I don’t understand.”

He glanced towards the far corner, where a small cluster of people sat, looking scared out of their wits. Among the group were the three loud soldiers Eric had noticed earlier. “You three. Come here, please.”

Hesitantly, as if fearing some attack, the three came forward. They approached the mage timidly, and recoiled slightly as he stepped over to them, his hands raised. “Oh, relax. You’ve been affected by magic, and I’m just reversing it.”

Samuel said a single word, too quietly to make it out, and suddenly the three soldiers started to change. One grew taller, morphing into a woman, and the others’ clothing shifted. Within a second, three people obviously dressed for travel, and carrying a variety of weapons, stood before them. They shook their heads in confusion, trying to gather their wits as the magic was lifted. The woman, a priest or cleric by her dress, gasped suddenly.

“Attos!” She said loudly, then cursed in a language Eric didn’t understand. It sounded vaguely Russian. “That evil bastard!”

“Attos!” Samuel echoed the name, his face was full of alarm. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” She said, her voice full of venom. “I saw him in the war. Of course, I’d recognize him again. He walked into that temple, and… and…-”

The horror of what she remembered prevented her from finishing the sentence, and one hand came up to cover her mouth. Tears started to form in her eyes, though they were almost immediately replaced by a flaming look of rage and hatred. She steeled herself and stared directly into Samuel’s eyes. Even the Archmage took a step back as he saw the fury in her expression.

“He’s the one who did it, Archmage,” She said, her voice cold. “Attos killed Hammerbrewer and took his divinity.”