Memory was a rude mistress. She would linger when unwanted, only to readily betray in your hour of need. Now, she haunted him like never before.

The world was no longer what Yuta remembered it to be.

Worse, the last memory he had of the world he had known was one he wished to forget.

He remembered the night air. Its touch was ice against his fevered flesh. The smells still seemed to drift before his eyes.

Sweat.

Smoke.

Blood.

He remembered the disk of the moon overhead. Horse hooves drummed on the forest road underfoot. The noise was like the throb of blood through his head.

Trunks and boughs passed, stars flickering between the pines.

But that was then, and this was now.

Or so he told himself.

Even now, as he lay in the bed, when he closed his eyes, he could still hear the carriage’s rickety wheels down below. He could feel the wood jostle with every bump and swerve. And when he tightened his grip, he felt the touch of his children’s hands as he held them in his, letting them know their father was still there.

The sight of his estate burning in the distance was a mountain of fire that lit up the night as Yuta fled with his family and his retainers, hoping to escape the Trenton wrath. The last thing he remembered was the sight of the moon coming out from behind the clouds. Everything after was lost in unknowing darkness. His next memory was of awaking in this strange place, and learning from the oddly clothed men about the impossible made real. He learned of the loved ones the Wheel of Rebirth had ripped from his life, and he learned of all the lost time.

Yuta had wept for a long time, stopping only when exhaustion forced his hand. He was drained, now. Gone were his vitality, his passion, and will.

He was so tired.

His heart drowned in snow.

From across the room, there was a sound of water. Ichigo yelped.

Letting out a yawn, Yuta shook his head and lifted his tired eyes to his retainer.

“My Lord,” Ichigo said, “you have to see this.” He glanced back at his master. “These Tsurento sorcerers can spirit water out of nothing!”

Ichigo stood off to the side while pointing at a basin indented in the polished stone countertop across the room. An eared metal article—perhaps a spigot—projected out from the countertop and hung over the basin.

To Yuta’s eyes, it looked like a sink. It even had a hole to serve as a drain. Still, he thought it was somewhat odd that there wasn’t any water flowing into it. What good was a sink without an active water source feeding into it?

Cautiously, Ichigo pulled at the metal object’s ears. Water poured from the spigot as the ears turned. Ichigo jerked his hand away as quickly as he could, eyeing the device with a mix of worry and wonder. Hestitanly, the young man stuck his finger into the stream and then, steeling his body, popped it into his mouth, very clearly expecting something to happen, even though nothing did.

Yuta chuckled, but then sighed.

Ichigo made for an amusing diversion—superficial, but amusing all the same.

Yuta felt like a held breath, one he couldn’t release—not until he heard more about Hoshi. Days before, a brash Trenton man and his Munine fiancée had come to the room, both of them dressed in those suits of solid color with the windows over their faces. They’d carried one of those weighty quadrangle windows whose hearts danced with color and form. Through the window, he’d seen what looked like a coffin, only it was see-through, and it held his little girl within its embrace.

Hoshi. His star.

She’d been sleeping, though with many, many of those translucent strings biting into her body, along with strange paper-patches that made a quilt of her skin.

Ichigo had been noisy then, as well, breaking out in irate howling, only to go quiet as Yuta gave him the order to do so.

Ichigo wasn’t a fool, he just had the temper of one.

In wonder and fearful hope, they’d watched Hoshi’s chest rise and fall. Her skin stayed on her body. Her eyes no longer wept out blood.

The strange physicians had pulled off a miracle: they’d purged the akumani—the demon wind—from Yuta’s body, and from Ichigo’s, too. And now, they were doing the same for Hoshi.

All Yuta could do was wait. So, wait, he did.

Ichigo, on the other hand, could hardly sit still. But that was to be expected. The young man had a fire burning within him, one that could not be doused. He poked and prodded everything in sight. It was like his first time in the observatory all over again.

At the moment, Ichigo was in a staring contest with the sink, as if it was a tsukumogami waiting for a chance to strike. The young man muttered something under his breath. It sounded like a Daiist sutra to Yuta.

One of my favorite bits of Munine folklore, a tsukumogami was an object that had come to life. Yes, it’s very silly, but it’s fun. According to legend, when an object turned 100 years old, it gained a spirit of its own, and thereby became a self-aware, living thing, after a fashion.

Think about that the next time you sit in an old chair.

Ichigo turned back to Yuta once he’d finished.

“It does not appear to be poisoned or tainted, my Lord.” He nodded. “I’m no onmyoji, but I tried all three of the Mighty Apetrope Sutras, and there was no reaction, so, I don’t believe it’s an evil enchantment.” He glanced back at the stream. “Even if it is sorcery.”

“Apotropaic,” Yuta said, correcting his young ward.

Ichigo narrowed his eyes. “Maybe they brought a tsukumogami into their service?”

“Objects do not gain sentience, Ichigo,” Yuta said. “A hundred years, a thousand, it makes no difference.”

Ichigo stared back at the sink, and then, to both men’s surprise, a feminine voice spoke out of nowhere: “You seem to be interested in the sink. How can I help you?”

Ichigo staggered back in shock, wide-eyed. He drew his katana. Or, he attempted to, but then remembered it had been taken from him.

“I knew it!” he said. “See, Master? It lives!”

“These people have boxes that can talk,” Yuta replied. “A talking sink, though ridiculous, is no proof of spirits, least of all when we don’t understand its operation and construction.”

He sighed.

“Please sheathe your sword,” he added.

Ichigo did so, albeit begrudgingly.

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That the young man even believed in tsukumogami said a great deal about his background. Backwater nobles—particularly ones that leapt to the Tsurento lands in search of wealth, prestige, and power—were often little better than the peasants they ruled.

Fortunately, it was nothing that a bit of learning couldn’t fix. Then again… Sakuragi’s astrologer was revered as one of the most learnèd men in the Colonies.

Astrology…

Of all the branches of natural philosophy, Yuta supposed astrology had to be the oldest. In their ignorance, men of ancient days could hardly be blamed for looking up at the night skies in wonder and daring to see human meaning in the cosmic ballet. Yuta had felt that wonder, himself. He’d known its pull since childhood, planted in him by the fairy tales his mother would tell him as they gazed up at the night sky from beneath the gently-swaying palm trees.

The stars made man’s struggles seem so… petty.

If astrology had its use, it was to spark man’s curiosity about the stars above. It was to astronomy what a child was to an adult. Even now, just the thought that men bowed to astrologer’s claims made Yuta want to weep and laugh.

“I wish I could see the stars now,” Yuta said.

He felt like he was on the precipice of collapse. But that was nothing new.

“Why?” Ichigo asked.

“They’ve always comforted me,” Yuta replied. “Have I told you why I stargaze?”

“For your… studies?” Ichigo asked.

“Yes, but… there’s more to it than that,” Yuta replied. “The calm you see in me is just a front. I am a wreck. My life falls apart, and I have to build it back up again. Again and again. I’m no stranger to nightmares and long, sleepless nights. Stargazing helped me while away the hours.”

“You… have nightmares?”

Yuta chuckled bitterly. “Mother Nature loves to gift warriors with nightmares. My dreams are bloody canvases, decorated in the screams of men—of women, even children—slaughtered for the altar of war. And, too often, by my own hand. So, I stayed up and gazed, and took notes. With time, I learned that others had done the same, long before me. I pursued their knowledge and made it his own. But, by and by, it became something more than just another… distraction.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “You are a skilled fighter, Ichigo. Perhaps one day, you may even be a great one. And yet… if you abandon yourself to fully become the weapon in your hand, you will never find rest or comfort.”

“In studying the stars, I found something almost like solace.” He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, and then back at Ichigo. “It feels good to rise above the muck and contemplate greater things, you know? In that way, the heavens helped to ground me—ironic as it might sound. You are more than your prowess in battle, Ichigo, and more than your petty, pent up rage, just as I was more than what glory-addled aristocrats said about me, both to my face, and in the comfort of their private chambers.”

“I will kill any who would dishonor you, my lord,” Ichigo said, dipping his head. “Those nobles are cowards! Buffoons!”

“You will do nothing of the sort!” Yuta snapped. But then, with a sigh, he calmed himself. “Though, to be fair, I don’t think you could reach them from where we are now, even if you tried.”

Ichigo groaned in frustration. “At least let me deal with this demon water spout!” he said, glaring at the sink once again.

“Why are you so fixated on the sink?” Yuta asked.

“It’s sorcery, Master. It’s plotting… something, I just know it is!”

“I’m worried you’re letting your mind grow too narrow.”

“What?” Ichigo asked.

“Have I ever told you about High Honorable Gaikyo-sama?” Yuta asked.

“You tell me so many things, how can you expect me to remember them all?” Ichigo replied, frustrated.

Yuta leaned back against his exquisitely comfy pillow.

“Gaikyo-sama was Sakuragi’s astrologer. I was younger then, and had only just begun to study astronomy with any seriousness. When I first arrived at Sakuragi’s estate as a bodyguard, I was terrifically excited about meeting Gaikyo-sama. I remember thinking, finally, here was someone worth speaking to, someone who would understand my starry pursuits better than the other soldiers.”

Yuta curled his lips in disgust. “Unfortunately, Gaikyo-sama was just another fatuous aristocrat. He saw himself as beyond reproach. He had no fear of being wrong, and it led him to absurdities. He believed the sun moved around the earth.”

Ichigo stared at him. “It doesn’t?” He could hardly believe it.

Yuta clenched his fists and let out a long sigh. “We are not going to have this argument right now,” he muttered. “Do you know why astrology is nonsense?”

“Something to do with squares, right?” Ichigo asked.

That was the trouble with mathematics: it was very hard to pay it the attention it required in order to make any sense.

“I’m glad you were paying at least some attention,” Yuta said, with a smirk. “Long ago… wise men discovered that if you take the diagonal of a square and lay it next to itself end to end, again and again and take one of the square’s sides and lay it next to itself end to end, again and again, they will never form lines of equal length. This is because the length of the diagonal is incommensurable with the length of the square’s side. The planets’ movements are incommensurable with one another. Conjunctions and oppositions occur at random. They have no more meaning than where the first raindrop falls. The evidence is irrefutable. But Gaikyo-sama refused to accept this. He thought he was infallible. If he hadn’t been so narrow, perhaps he wouldn’t have been so eager to claim the latest conjunction had been a sign that it was the ideal time to strike against the Tsurento insurgents. He was wrong, and people died as a result.”

Yuta looked up again. “Even the stars ought to move, if viewed from far enough a distance.”

Contrary to popular belief, the celestial sphere was not fixed. At least, that’s what Yuta believed—though he still hadn’t found any evidence for the claim.

But absence of evidence was not evidence of absence.

Ichigo turned to the sink “But… what does that have to do with the sink?”

Groaning, Yuta rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “Ichigo,” he said, feeling more than a bit irritated, “did you know about the aqueducts in the Tsuanaka capital? Or the aqueducts in Noyoko, and in the Emperor’s gardens?”

“No…?” Ichigo said, unsure of himself.

“Buttressed channels were built up along the mountains and the hills. They wind their way down the slopes, carrying water from the high places. Unless there is a drought, the aqueducts bring a constant supply of fresh water to the city.” Yuta coughed and cleared his throat. “It is reasonable to assume a similar principle is behind this sink.”

“Tsuanaka is a land of barbarians and demon-worshippers, Lord Uramaru,” Ichigo said. “I would trust a Tsurento-jin before a Tsuanakajin.”

Yuta nearly had to bite his tongue to keep from scolding him. “Ominoki Honda wrote an account of Ang-Zu’s aqueducts in the Book of Many Travels. It’s what inspired Emperor Ashi to bring that technology to Mu.” He furrowed his brow. “Are you saying Ominoki is a liar?”

Ichigo blanched. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he said, bowing severely. “I’m not familiar with that work.”

Yuta sighed. “This is why I tell you to read more.”

Yuta didn’t blame his retainer for his ignorance. It wasn’t Ichigo’s fault to have been born an aristocrat, let alone a minor one. No one was perfect. It wasn’t Yuta’s own fault to have been born to one of the Costranak women Vaneppo’s Lord-Governor liked to pick up off the streets at night and ravage by candlelight.

“I don’t want your mind to become a temple to trivialities,” he added.

Ichigo knew every detail of the tea ceremony, and could recite a dozen classic poems, none of which he understood. He knew by heart the prayers for the blessings of kami and kamui, as well as many excerpts from the sutras, for appeasing wrathful barashai. He knew how to enter a house without angering its tsukumogami.

Of course, none of these things were useful in the slightest. They didn’t make aristocrats noble, nor scholars wise.

“In my experience,” Yuta said, “most aristocrats are strangers to skepticism, patience, and humility. I would like you to be better than that.”

Unfortunately, Ichigo was caught up in his own naïveté.

“As I always tell you, Ichigo, there are problems that cannot be solved by the sword.”

For better and for worse, the young man lacked the cruel experience needed to understand the horrors his single-minded views could bring. But that same inexperience meant there was still a chance to steer him right, and keep him from becoming hollowed and desensitized.

“I don’t want you to become someone you would regret,” Yuta added.

Knowing the great promise the young man showed only made Yuta feel that desire all the more keenly. Ichigo was strong, highly perceptive, and athletic and nimble. With either bow or rifle, he could shoot a raven in the forest in the dark of night while riding on horseback—which was no small feat. Most importantly, he was willing to learn, and by that measure alone, he was a far better man than most of the men that stood above him.

Ichigo had suffered the weight of others’ expectations. Add to that the ignominy the young man felt at being forced to serve a half-breed of lowborn origins freshly raised to a noble rank, and his anger was somewhat understandable.

“Fortunately,” Yuta said, with a smile, “so far, you’ve been improving.” He glanced at the sink. “Sinks notwithstanding.”

In the time Yuta had known him, thanks to his tutelage, the insecure, tempestuous adolescent had managed to become almost decent. It was a major accomplishment, to be sure, and Yuta looked forward to the man Ichigo might become—but still, he worried.

Would it be enough?

His first son, Uzé, was of low birth, like Yuta himself, but that hadn’t stopped him from drinking his fill of battle’s allure.

For both his own sake, and Ichigo’s, Yuta hoped, this time, he would succeed.

It was while Ichigo was bowing in submission that the physician, Suisei Horosha, entered the room.

“Who turned on the sink?” he asked.