As the morning wore on, the Hino passed by Kagiminato on its way through the strait. The captain kept her at a safe distance, not wanting to draw attention from the busy harbor, but the crew marveled in wonder at the strange black cloud hanging over the city. Unwilling to spend unnecessary time to investigate further, the Hino proceeded on an easterly track, in attempts to reach the New Capital in a week and on schedule.

That night the rains came, and the Hino swayed amidst the mild inland seas. Yukiana, who spent most of her day outside, finally retreated into Kondo’s cabin. He was already awake when she entered, sitting on his futon, wrapping his injured forearm in cloth. He eyed her momentarily and then refocused on his task. She sat down on her futon on the other side of the room and stared at him for a moment.

“Who is this man?” she wondered. Then, she laid down and went to sleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of the ship.

She had a lonely existence for the next few days, as the crew, more than ever before, kept her at a distance. Since the attack by the barbarians, they revered her captor as a god and Yuki as his mere property. Only Captain Yoko would speak with her, but this was irregular, for he was often busy at the helm or below deck. Kondo went back to his quiet ways, stalking aboard the ship, often looking out onto the horizon with anticipation.

She frequently considered her options, but the depression they brought would eventually overwhelm her, forcing her to stop. She realized that any chance of escape was now impossible. Even if she was freed that very moment, the likelihood of her returning to Kokoro on her own was faint and fraught with dangers. She had never attempted such a long journey before and would not even know where to begin.

Yuki still believed that her father could rescue her, but this was becoming ever more like a dim wish on the edge of hope. Surely a trap was being set for him, where she alone was the bait. Perhaps he would come, but even if he did, he would have to avoid the treacherous snare.

Ultimately, death itself was growing in her thoughts, surrounding her, tempting her. As she peered out upon the vastness of the sea, she sometimes wished it would reach up and consume her and put an end to her misery.

Yet she did not act beyond this fleeting desire. She remembered Kondo’s bitter advice, but she also remembered all those brave adventurers she had loved to read about back in Kokoro and the monastery. They, most of all, lent her their strength, for she remembered how hopeless they were, what horrors they faced along the way. Even so, they each chose the same option, to continue. She would have to do the same.

“I won’t give up,” she resolved. “I’ll keep going and see what comes of it.”

Even so, there was a dark foreboding in her heart that told her that she had not yet hit bottom, that the fall had just begun. This voice terrified her, and she did her best to push it back into the darkness from which it came.

On the sixth evening, the crew brought out the sake and had a modest feast, for they would reach their port of call on time. Even Kondo seemed to relax a bit and drank a bottle of sake, which Yuki had never seen him do. She often compared his austerity to the Truist monks and nuns she grew up with, but there were layers to this man that continued to surprise her.

She sat near the helm, away from the raucous noise, observing everything. Captain Yoko came up the steps with a bottle in one hand and a skewered fish in the other. He sat down next to her and took a hearty bite.

“Did you eat?” he asked, chewing loudly.

“A little,” she replied.

“Tomorrow you will finally reach home,” the captain said. There was a note of pity in his voice that she picked up on.

“It’s not my home.”

“Ah,” he said, apologetically. “Forgive me. I should have been able to guess that. Your master told me you were headed home. But I see now what he meant. This place will be your new home then.”

They both sat silently for a while, for the men were getting louder and more boisterous, and she could tell a drunken brawl was brewing.

“A few nights ago,” Yuki started, “When the barbarians attacked, Kondo asked you to trust him, and you did. Why?”

The captain took a long sip and scratched the back of his head. “Well, I’ve known the lad for many, many years now. We were once brothers in a sense. Not true brothers, mind you, but we grew up in the same slums of Yoshimitsu-shi,” he gestured, pointing off into the distance. “We had no parents, the war made sure of that. So, we all banded together and did our best to survive.” Yuki had heard much about this ‘Lost Generation,’ the ones who grew up in the middle of the War of Ashes. Her mother and father were of this generation and not so different from this man.

“Daisuke always had the makings of greatness about him, from when he was just a bamboo shoot. When he was little, he was constantly getting into fights, and he would often lose. At that time, we didn’t have real swords, but we had carved wooden ones made for practice. They could still really hurt a person if you hit them hard enough, and he would often come back bruised and bloody, sometimes unable to move. I, being a concerned elder brother of our little band, constantly tried to steer him away from these skirmishes but he wouldn’t listen. He was just too stubborn. Eventually, though, he started winning, and as he grew, he lost less frequently. Finally, it got to the point where he never lost at all and became a kind of local legend. I had already left by that time, but I heard the rumors. I often like to hear the news from my hometown. I’ve traveled far, but my heart has never really left that place.” He smiled and took another sip of sake.

“Soon, Daisuke took control of that band of young men, and they followed him into the war. At that point, they were using real swords, and were quite formidable, especially him, who was considered a rising talent among swordsmen. But the fool picked the wrong side. He went with Yoshimitsu Akira, and well, you should know what happened after that. He managed to survive, and with the remainder of that original band, he did what many men did after the war. He went rogue and became a bandit. I met with him often during that time, for we had reconnected by fate during the war. His legend was still growing, and there was a fire in his eyes. His skills with the sword were spoken of in inns and dōjō around the land. I thought that perhaps this boy actually had what it takes to become legitimate, to become a samurai, perhaps even a daimyō. The Mashige Shōgun was handing out titles like confections, for there were many positions to fill after the war. But he was still so stubborn. I think part of him believed he could finish what Akira started.

Then, all of a sudden, I lost contact with him for a few years. I thought that he had been killed, or finally stamped out and arrested. Then, several weeks ago I saw a man dressed in black aboard my ship and I knew it was him. But he was different, he was changed. He was harder, and his eyes which once burned with fire had turned to ice. He had gone in with those ninja, who call themselves the Shin-Shadowhand. I never trusted the old Shadowhand, so his offer didn’t sit well with me, but the coin was too good to pass over, especially in these hard times. I had my crew to think of. They were starting to get restless, and money was drying up. When I learned of what we were going to be transporting, it was too late.” He gave Yuki a sympathetic look. “I wanted to get this job over with as quickly as possible and rid myself of this new Kondo for good. The sight of him reminds me that the war has not really ended, not if men are willing to take such desperate paths.”

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The captain paused for a moment letting his words hang as if he had just discovered them himself. He shuddered. “But when he asked me to trust him, I don’t know, it was just like Daisuke, that little boy that I knew from the slums was asking me. I knew that he was not going to let me down.” Yoko now stared out at Kondo who stood away to himself on the deck. Yuki could see the faint longing there, the tinge of familiarity like when one can see their own face in a shattered mirror.

“You can help me,” Yuki said in a whisper. She could sense the captain’s misgivings, but would they be enough?

The captain eyed her quickly and scoffed.

“You can,” she insisted. “You said it yourself; you never wanted this mission. You do not have to take me to that place.”

He turned and faced her, a frown marring what was usually such a peaceful countenance. “You ask me the one thing I cannot do. I would be killed, and my men would be killed. You cannot cross these people, these ninja! You saw what happened the other night.”

“But he is your friend, your brother!” she pleaded.

“Not anymore!” he said, rising. “Good night, Yuki-san.”

She rose to meet him, her anger starting to boil over. The captain took a step back, surprised by her sudden burst of ardor. “We agree on one thing, Captain. The war has not ended! But do you want to know the real reason why? It’s because of cowards like you!” she jeered.

With that she stormed down the wooden staircase and towards her cabin, leaving an awestruck captain in her wake. Her voice had been drowned out by the noise of the revelers, but Kondo was aware and turned to face his old friend. He nodded knowingly, but the captain, who could not suffer his cold eyes, immediately turned away.

When Yuki woke up, she had to rub her eyelids, for she was still in a groggy haze. She instantly sensed that something was going on, that something was different. The ship, which had usually rocked, even if only mildly, was now completely still. The constant vibration of footsteps on the wooden deck was also gone, leaving an uneasy silence. It was still dark, sometime before dawn. She had expected to rise early, for she went to bed early and was upset. Yet the cabin was darker than it had ever been before, so dark that the only thing she could see was the crack of what could best be called light, though it was more like a dull greyness that crept in from the outside.

She slowly got up to a kneeling position and moved towards the door but was suddenly stopped by a voice. The voice was something she had never heard before, except in her deepest dreams that she never allowed to form in her consciousness. It was not dark and raspy like Kondo’s, but clear, penetrating, and sharp. It contained notes of youth but also the gravitas of wisdom. It was beautiful but at the same time terrible. It was the voice of an angel and a devil, of a god and an abomination.

“You have returned,” the voice said. It pierced the thick, foggy air that had encircled the ship.

Her eyes could perceive the slightest image through the crack in the door, but unlike the time when the barbarians had boarded the ship, she had no desire to get any closer. She could see the figure of what had to be Kondo, bowed down on his hands and knees and a slender silhouette beyond, masked in mist. Kondo looked so small in comparison, like a mere child.

“My lord!” Kondo answered firmly, lowering his head.

“Lord?” Yuki wondered, her fingers growing cold. “So, this is Kondo’s master?”

“You are wounded,” said the voice. It was sharp and contained within it an undeniable tone of derision.

“It is nothing,” Kondo returned, keeping his head low.

“You let yourself be wounded by your own carelessness,” the voice continued. “Or was it by your own weakness?”

To this Kondo did not reply but kept his head facing the deck.

“Once you learn to steady your mind, and focus it completely, then I will not be ashamed to call you my pupil.”

Still, Kondo said nothing.

After a few moments, the tension in the air seemed to lessen by a fraction. “I am aware that the barbarian filth tried to take this ship. They will meet their due end soon enough.”

“My lord,” Kondo finally said, lifting his head ever so slightly, “The Khan spoke of an armada headed east.”

“It is as I suspected. I am sure the envoy who just arrived is here to give the same news. Worry not, for we are preparing for them. Indeed, you may have a hand in their unraveling. Would that please you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then I will summon you when the time comes. Your current mission is still not yet complete.”

“What shall I do with the girl?” Kondo asked, this time lifting his head to see his master clearly.

“It has been decided. You shall take the girl to her.”

Several moments passed. Kondo did not reply.

“I sense that you are displeased by this decision.”

Kondo remained silent.

“Speak!” the voice suddenly ripped through the air like a knife. Yuki could hardly breathe.

“My lord...” Kondo began. “That woman is...she’s dangerous. Surely, we cannot trust her.”

“She can be trusted for now,” the voice stated, but within the reply was an admission of truth. “Do you wish to question my judgment further?”

“Who is this woman?” Yuki wondered, gulping hard. “Who could she be that even these men seem to fear her?”

Kondo slowly lowered his head again. “No, my lord.”

“Deliver up the girl and then find me. You must continue your training if you are to be successful in more challenging endeavors, of which there will soon be many.”

With that, the silhouette in the mist backed away and disappeared, leaving her captor prone on the deck. He was still for several moments, mulling over his master’s words. Then, he rose sharply and pivoted, turning towards the cabin.

Yuki lowered herself back onto her futon and was going to try and pretend that she was sleeping, but Kondo was there before she could.

“Let’s go!” he bellowed and then slammed the door behind him.

She quickly collected herself and then proceeded through the door. She wanted to ask him about his master but did not know how to broach the subject. Kondo was always so tight-lipped about things above his station. But she wanted to know, she needed to know who that voice belonged to. She could not get it out of her head. She hurried quickly to catch up.

From the deck, she could see that although the ship was masked in a heavy cloud, they were indeed no longer out upon the ocean. Instead, they were moored at the far end of a great network of docks, larger than anything she had ever seen before. Beside the Hino and stretching inland were many other vessels of all shapes and sizes, and that was just what she could see in the mist. There could be hundreds of ships in the harbor, most of them were docked, while others were coming in and departing in an orderly fashion. There was no one else aboard the Hino or anyone else nearby.

“The crew must have already departed for shore,” she thought, looking around.

Kondo stood upon the gangplank that would take them down to the dock network itself. He motioned for her to follow him. Apprehension held her back. She would soon be at her new home. It was a place where even Kondo was leery of going, and that did not encourage her. Stepping off the ship was yet another defeat, and one step closer to the inevitable. Yet it was inevitable.

“Who were you speaking with back there?” she finally ventured, stepping closer to her captor.

Kondo peered back at her and said sardonically, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Just now, who were you talking to?” she repeated, doubling down on her inquiry.

Kondo shook his head, but his black eyes gleamed back at her.

“He must be your master, the lord of the Shin-Shadowhand.”

The creases in her captor’s face betrayed that she was on to something, but he quickly hardened. “What Shadowhand?” he answered with an ironic air.

“Do you take me as a fool?” Yuki cried.

Surprisingly, Kondo shook his head. “No, I do not. If you care to know, I deem you to be rather wise for your age. Which is why I answered thus. And although it is often profitable to increase one’s knowledge, some things are better left unknown. That is all I can say.” There was a menace in his words, but they did not come from him, but somewhere beyond.

Yuki, feeling it was useless to argue, descended the gangplank gloomily.

“Welcome to the New Capital,” Kondo said dryly, as they both left the Hino and drew closer to the next stage of their journey.