Yuta shook his head in dismay, only to cough painfully.

His chest felt like it was on fire.

“What do you mean?” he said.

“There are no stars here,” Horosha explained.

Ichigo’s eyes narrowed accusatively. “If there aren’t stars here, then why the hell do you know about them?” He turned to Yuta. “Master, he’s obviously lying.”

Ichigo was right—at least about the first part. If the people of this place did not know of stars, Horosha shouldn’t have known about them, either.

Yet he did.

Horosha bowed his head toward the retainer. “I am a sorcerer,” he said. “Even the people here would call me one, if they knew, but they don’t, and every day I thank the Angel that they don’t, because they certainly wouldn’t handle it well if they knew.” Horosha pursed his lips. “Well, Dr. Houru knows. He kinda knows.” Looking up, he nodded. “Obviously, you shouldn’t speak of this to anyone.”

Yuta stared at Ichigo, wondering if his retainer might have had the right idea after all.

He turned to the physician. “If you are a sorcerer, why should we trust you?”

“You’re speaking a really, really old version of Munine,” Horosha replied. “Assuming anyone here could even understand you, if you tried to blab about me—or stars—they’d think you were just crazy.”

Well-put, Yuta thought. “Then at least, tell me this: where have the stars gone?”

“There’s a darkness out there,” Horosha said. “I barely understand it, myself. There’s a crater here, in the middle of Trenton. They call it Kurantoru Pit. I’m no astronomer, but, given the eroding effects of wind and rain, I’d have to guess that it is under a dozen million years in age.”

Yuta stammered. “A dozen million…?”

Ichigo narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “That’s… a very big number.”

“Numbers can get far bigger than that,” Horosha said. “That being said, since there the crater exists, we can guess that at least in the recent geological past, this night sky wasn’t totally empty.” He narrowed his eyes. “If I remember correctly, that might be explainable if we assume this universe is expanding sufficiently quickly. In that case, fungus or not, it might be only a matter of months before spacetime rips itself apart. Though that solution does have its own problems.”

Ichigo stared, not bothering to pretend that he understood in the slightest.

“I… do not understand,” Yuta said.

Horosha sighed. “Then just assume that I don’t know what the answer is. Though, I can say that, whatever the reason is, I’m certain it isn’t good.”

After staring for a moment in silence, Yuta touched the conusuru at the same spot that Suisei had.

The image changed.

In the window, a woman stood at a podium, giving a speech. Her skin was ebony, and hair was like winding ivy. Despair filled her face, which agony then stung.

She keeled over and coughed.

An ulcer festered on her right cheek, eating into the flesh.

Ichigo stepped forward and touched the window. The image changed, showing mountains covered in sumptuous verdure. Both Yuta and Ichigo gasped at the sight, not because of the mountain itself, but because of its viewpoint. Through the window, they looked down on to the mountain, as the birds would see. From this altitude, the thick forest was like moss. The landscape rambled down into foothills which melted into a riverine plain whose waters emptied into the sea.

As the view slowly turned, Ichigo gasped once more. “Ediyaki,” he muttered. A chain of lonely shrine-gates waded through the shallow waters at the land’s edge. The wood was painted blue. Brighter than the water below, yet darker than the sky above, the color made the shrine-gates seem like scars in the air.

For the first time in a long time, Yuta saw tears glisten in his young retainer’s eyes.

“Yes,” Horosha said, speaking over the Tsurento voice in the background. “That’s the Sunken Way, near Ediyaki. Are you familiar with it?” he asked.

Ichigo lowered his head. “I was very young when we left Mu. I remember the cherry blossoms and the quiet, green forests. And I remember the shrine gates. Mother took us there, on a pilgrimage, to pray to the kami for a safe voyage across the sea.” He sniffled. “I never thought I’d see it again.”

The view slowly turned, revealing…

—Yuta inhaled sharply. “Then that,” he said, “must be Ediyaki, itself.”

Though Yuta had never been to Mu, he could recognize bits and pieces of its people’s architecture. Isolated estates of Munine design hid away here and there, up by the mountains, or scattered among the low-lands. But, so much of what he saw was strange to him. Though he’d often wondered what his first glimpse of Mu would be like, he never would have imagined it would be as strange as this. The structures erupting in the distance had the shape of steel fangs or swords uncurved. They towered impossibly tall, clustered on either side of a river, their surfaces glistening in the noon.

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At this distance, he thought, they must be massive.

As he watched, he noticed dark, ant-like specks moving along the ground.

“What are those structures?” Ichigo asked.

“Buildings,” Horosha answered.

“How?” Yuta asked.

“They’ve got metal skeletons.”

As alien as the previous sights had been, this was the most alien of all, and because it was so close to what should have been familiar, yet it wasn’t. For the first time, Yuta began to understand the changes that Time had wrought. It filled him with a blizzard of mixed emotions.

“What happened to the Empire?” Yuta asked.

“Whose?” Horosha replied.

“What do you mean, whose?” Ichigo said.

“When the Tsurento ended the colonies, they also started an empire of their own. They even took control of the Kasu Islands.”

“The Soran Empire,” Yuta said, “of Mu.”

“The end of the Colonies was really embarrassing for the Empire. Emperor Yumahito got assassinated, and everything broke up into warring states. Mu sealed itself off from the world.”

Ichigo staggered back in shock. “The Emperor…? Assassinated?” He trembled. “Who would do such a thing!?”

“One of his cousins,” Horosha said, “I think.”

“Typical,” Yuta muttered.

“It gets better,” Horosha said. “About two-hundred years later, the Tsurento lent their support to one of the biggest clans—the Zaibatsu—who then unified the country and brought all their fancy steam technology with them. Two hundred years after that, and, well… this is what you get.”

“No…” Ichigo mumbled, shaking his head. “I don’t believe it. I can’t.”

“Belief or disbelief rests with you,” Suisei said, “but truth marches ever onward.”

For Yuta, it was Horosha quoting from The Lengthless Road that proved to be the final straw.

Yuta laughed. It was not a happy laugh. It was a farce, a sardonic farewell. It was the sound of an empty heart leaping off a cliff, into the abyss. Lord Uramaru’s laughter was brief. It died in sputters of acrimony and shame.

“So,” he said, with a cough, “that is how it ended. Decades of blood and hate, gone with the wind.” Anger rose in his voice. “How easily tragedy becomes farce! All those lives lost, just to ensure authority had its needed weight. Cities and settlements razed by all sides. Rebels strung up and left to drown on rocky Costranak shores, or be starved and bird-eaten in the marshes of Erubeku’s Bay, akumani swirling all around as the world sneered at us—at everyone. All of that, abandoned, only for the people we oppressed and ruined to come back and remake us in their own image!”

He wept.

“Tell me, Dr. Horosha,” he asked, “what does this future have to offer someone like me? A man can understand a thing from one corner of the earth to another without ever coming to believe in it. Tell me, Horosha: what do I have left?”

“The future,” Horosha answered, “but not for long. It’s dying. Everything’s dying.”

Fresh pain dragged old rages out from their shallow graves. “Is there peace?” Yuta asked. “Or is it still all slaughter and war? Does hate still have a place in the hearts of men in this shimmering future of yours?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Horosha answered. “But,” he added, “I don’t think it’s our place to judge.”

“It’s not a matter of place,” Yuta answered, with a glare. “Judgment will be passed, and if not by us, then by someone else. I’ve lived that truth, doctor. You seem to be the one that’s hiding from it.”

“What?” he asked.

“I’ve known your faith, Horosha. I know what it does. It seeds fire and death in its wake. It slaughters families to steal their children, leaving their parents’ dead bodies on stakes at the side of the road. I’ve killed more Rassudai than I can count, and all of them went down with hate in their eyes, eyes that shine with the conviction that as long as they act for the sake of their cause, they can do no wrong. You can build a future on pain or you can build on lies, but not both. Mixing them will bring disaster.”

“I don’t say this often,” Suisei said, “but… I don’t understand.”

Yuta recognized that. Averting his gaze, he glanced down at the bedding, clutching the sheets in hands. And then he wept.

“Why did they have to die?” Yuta said, softly. “Sukuna, Genta, Uzé…” He shuddered. “Why do I get this world of marvels while they get the grave!” He shook his arms. “It isn’t fair to them.” He shook his head. “I don't deserve it. I have too much blood on my hands. It wasn’t for survival.” He trembled.

Old pains were the hardest ones to conquer.

“I killed for others’ approval,” Yuta said. “So many of us did.” He shook his head again. “I shouldn’t be here!”

Horosha made the Bond-sign. “I don’t know why the Godhead allows us to suffer,” he said, “but I have to believe it’s for a greater purpose.” He sighed. “Otherwise… why go on?”

To Yuta’s pleasant surprise, Ichigo spoke up. “So that others might escape,” he said. He quoted the sutras: “Brightest shines that life which aids others down the road.” He nodded. “It’s like the Festival of Light. Emperor Shonu stopped the Great Dark, and for that, the Court of Heaven raised him to godhood. So many more people would have died were it not for his life and suffering. Every year, when the Festival came around,” Ichigo continued, “my mother would remind me of this as we set the lanterns on the water to celebrate the Emperor’s victory over the akumani.” Ichigo stopped to cough, and then pointed at himself. “That’s what I want to do.” He locked eyes with Horosha. “I want to live a life worth celebrating. Your God doesn’t provide, so the Wheel must step in. We have to save ourselves.”

“But what can we do?” Yuta muttered.

By sheer luck, it was at that precise moment that I opened the door and entered the room. I didn’t go all in at first, instead choosing to stick my head in through the gap, helmet and all. But then I spotted Lord Uramaru sitting on his bed, weeping into his arms, and I realized I was needed, more than ever.

Though I still had absolutely no clue what the time-traveler was saying, seeing him beset by pain and heartbreak was the only go-ahead I needed. Without a second thought, I thrust open the door, and stood out of the way as Ani stepped forward and guided a woozy-footed little girl into the room. The little girl was wearing a bright blue hazmat suit, fresh from the matter printers, with a prophylactic dose of the mycophage coursing through her veins. Hers had been an epic journey across time and space, and hospital regulation, but, finally, she’d come home.

“Someone wants a word with you, Uramaru-sama,” I said, as Ani and I gently pushed Hoshi toward her father.

You didn’t need to know Munine to understand what happened next.

I certainly didn’t.

The little girl called out to her grieving father, and he turned and stared back at her, in gobsmacked silence. For a perfect moment, everything was still.

Electrochemical gradients sparked through ganglia and neurons, overloaded with feeling.

Then father embraced daughter, staggering out of bed and kneeling onto the floor. Both of them wept. She clutched to the back of his hospital gown while he ran his fingers through her hair, muttering what could only be, “Everything’s alright,” over and over again.

As I stood and watched, I wanted more than anything else to embrace my own family.

My wife.

My children.

And, though I couldn’t, I suppose seeing Yuta reunited with his daughter was the next best thing. And for once, that was enough.

Even for me.