For all the hours across many days they had spent together, Esengei had never once seen his interrogator’s face. Today’s questioning came earlier than their usual sessions, closer to noon than dusk. He couldn’t complain; what equated to a half-hour interview with a silk-voiced woman and hot food was always a welcome break from their easterly march. What tiring state of affairs have I found myself in that being berated and shaken for information is the highlight of my day?
She found him on a hillside along with his escort of armed soldiers. All except him were sitting in the foot-high grass. Such a simple comfort wouldn’t be permitted to a prisoner of the Sen army, so he stood upon legs that he could no longer feel. The interrogator arrived as always in her shell of lacquered steel. The breeze tugged at the end of her white cloak, its embroidered nightingales almost seeming to take flight as she strode uphill.
Esengei’s guards dispersed at the woman’s command, sauntering away out of earshot, but never out of sight. He was more than used to their loathing glares, just as he had grown accustomed to their ugly slurs, and could still hardly believe the gentleness of his treatment. Cruel words were easy enough to handle. There had been no torture, no forced labour; his position seemed closer to a guest among the Emperor’s host rather than a prisoner of war. Only on one occasion had he been beaten, and the few soldiers that had taken part in the attack had been immediately ordered to commit suicide. Insubordination was treason, and Tokugawa Naga would not entertain traitors. It’s ironic enough, Esengei smiled to himself.
“What reason could you possibly have to have that look on your face, Möngke?” the interrogator asked, offering him a steaming bowl of stewed meat and salted vegetables.
“Just happy to see you.”
“I can assure you that you’re alone in that feeling. Sit down.” Her tone was harsh despite the natural softness of her voice. Esengei obeyed without complaint, relieved to finally rest his aching legs. The thick grass was like a cushion beneath him. Looking over at the interrogator as she sat herself at his side, he could see a warped reflection of himself in the jealous curves of her polished helm. He’d already known how ragged he was, he felt it well enough. His leather boots were worn and his overcoat unwashed, its dull purple cotton now dusty and flecked with dirt. Lavish clothing wasn’t something Esengei was familiar with. He wore a common deel like most of the other refugees he’d led into Sen, and his boots had been taken from an old man that never reached Keisato. Nobody knew his name.
The interrogator brought out a small notebook and pen from a satchel at her waist. “There has been a pause in our progress, and as you’ve probably gathered, today’s questioning will be earlier than usual. I expect you still intend on withholding the location of your reavers.”
“Refugees, Miss Chiaki,” Esengei corrected her between mouthfuls of salty carrot. “Why have we stopped?”
“Don’t forget your position. I have no reason to tell you anything.”
“Nor was there any reason to tell me about the hold up,” he pointed out. “The Emperor seemed to be in a rush to reach the Hangu Mountains before, so why stop now?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
Esengei leaned closer. “What’s the harm in sharing? Maybe I know something you don’t.”
Chiaki pushed him away with an armoured hand. “All the more reason not to tell you,” she said, though continued regardless. “The forward scouts reported strange sightings. The path ahead is impassable.”
“What strange sightings?”
“The strange kind,” she replied dully. “There are plains past these hills. A floodway passes through them, so it isn’t unusual for areas to become waterlogged and marshy. That isn’t what seems to be happening, though. Great swathes of land from here to Mount Hema have been reduced to a vile sea of sludge. The scouts reported foul gases that hung over rotting bogs like the diseased breath of a demon. A sickness is spreading across Sen, and crossing that kind of terrain with an army like this simply isn’t possible.”
Allowing himself a moment to think, Esengei looked over in the direction they had been headed. Rolling hills in their shimmering grass coats concealed whatever putrid spectacle the Traitor’s scouts had witnessed. His army was concentrated in the lowlands, most units still organised in their marching and riding columns, though some had dispersed from the main force and set up positions on high ground. Esengei didn’t know how many soldiers Naga had under his command, but there were easily thousands accompanying him.
“Will the great Emperor let mere sludge halt his advance?” he asked.
“If Emperor Naga chooses to venture into the plains, you will be there alongside him,” Chiaki said blankly. “There was more. Several of the nearby villages were completely abandoned. Among those still inhabited, many of the residents were either dead or ridden with illness. Clearly something has taken root in this area, but what?”
“Xia’an, what else?”
“That’s less than helpful.”
“It’s the only answer I have. I’m no expert on the Abyss.”
“Then talking to you about this is a waste of my time,” she said, returning her attention to her notebook. “Back to the topic at hand. I want to know about your supply of poison. You used alt ükhel-”
“I harbour no doubt that its black arteries have permeated all of Seihito. Those thick, throbbing webs spoiled our last sight of the surface, a hideous reminder of the decay that has swallowed our lands,” Esengei recited. Chiaki fell silent, not even speaking to rebuke him for his interruption. Even with her face hidden behind steel, he knew what she was thinking. “The key to your mystery is buried beneath Keisato.”
“We don’t know that.”
“True enough,” he agreed. “It could just be a coincidence, but you know that if it isn’t, mud and miasma is the least you’ll have to face.”
“So what do you suggest, Möngke?”
“What can I suggest? The records are likely gone. Your Emperor saw to that,” he told her with no attempt to hide his bitterness. “Ask yourself, what remains of that place other than your memories? Think back. Find your own answer.”
Anger, or perhaps just irritation, simmered behind those resentful eyes. No doubt she’d have been happy to see him at the end of her naginata, though she heeded his words nonetheless.
“What I saw that day was hard to believe. It would be even harder to forget.” Fixing her gaze upon her notebook, she began to write. Esengei set his empty bowl aside and quietly laid down on the soft grass, leaving her to record the events of a recent past.
Chiaki remembered the attack well enough. The Lord of Wukan had not been prepared for the first volley of artillery that rained down on the ravine town. Terrible snapping echoes returned over the Steep Lake as flame-wrapped stones smashed through Keisato’s wooden supports.
The second strike, however, he patiently awaited. Once again the Emperor gave his order, and once again his trebuchets released their blazing salvo. The fireballs disappeared over the water’s edge seeking to bring down the stolen stronghold, yet this time, no sound of destruction could be heard from the ravine. A brief uneasy silence bridged the few seconds between the assault on Keisato and the answer of its Lord. Lights flickered in the chasm’s mouth. Burning stones rose just as they had fallen, the artillery shots bursting upwards as if they had simply bounced away from their target. Now they moved in reverse, following their flight paths back toward the white shores where Emperor Naga’s forces had made their camp. Like startled roaches, his soldiers scattered before the oncoming bombardment as the fireballs crushed through trebuchets, leaving behind only piles of scorched kindling in their wake. The Emperor released a long sigh, then seated himself upon the smooth white pebbles of the Steep Lake’s shore.
“Look at them,” he stated listlessly. “Those siege weapons took hundreds of hours of back-breaking labour in wind and snow and rain, and they’re already broken.”
“But now we know the power of Möngke’s Mandate of Heaven,” replied his aide, who was standing behind him in her steel and bronze armour.
“Always the optimist, Chiaki.”
She shook her head, “I was merely bringing information to your attention, Emperor Naga.”
“Toku,” he insisted.
“Emperor Toku.”
“You can drop the title.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He finally turned and regarded her with a queer look, but said nothing.
“Shall I prepare the boats, Toku? Or do you wish to sit and mourn your siege weapons a little longer?
“Have I upset you somehow?” he asked, rising from the white shore.
“Some would say stubbornness is practical, my lord.”
“Would they?” the Emperor laughed as he adjusted the cloak he had been gifted at Araji Castle. White flowers and winding stems were sewn into the black silk. “You’ve always been the most practical of us all.”
“I’m flattered,” she replied stiffly. “How should I proceed?”
The Emperor’s amusement was quickly replaced with solemnity. “Only one boat will be necessary,” he told her. “You and I will infiltrate the ravine town. Find four others to accompany us. More hands will help with any heavy lifting.”
Preparations were complete within minutes, but it was only after nightfall that Chiaki’s hand-picked soldiers carried their boat into the water. It was a small and simple craft, built from the same wood as the trebuchets that had fired upon Keisato. The inky waters of the Steep Lake lapped gently at its sides as they sailed away from the pebble beach. The skies and wind were still, the moon a ghostly crescent above them. Not a word was spoken until they drew nearer to the lake’s centre and the ravine that split it like a cavernous maw.
At the Emperor’s command, wooden rods thrust into submerged corals brought the boat to a halt. The shallow waters at the ravine’s entrance were raised, and with no way to lower them from above the town, the only way to proceed was on foot. Chiaki and her comrades fixed grappling hooks to the corals, carrying the attached bundles of rope in their arms as they waded closer to the edge. Jagged outcrops of rock and twisted metal snagged and scraped her armour with every uncertain step. The water’s current was strongest at the ravine’s ragged mouth. Any lapse in concentration threatened a long fall into a dark, drowned abyss.
Standing beside the chasm, the infiltrators took their positions. Throwing his bundled rope into the ravine, the Emperor climbed over the edge, disappearing into the blackness. His hand rose back into sight with a silent order, and the others followed immediately after him.
Their descent into the dark was slow, painstaking so. A sickening stench rose from the deep, the last grim reminder of Keisato’s previous inhabitants. Water sprayed the faces of the soldiers, blurring their surroundings into a cavern of indistinct shadow. Their ropes dampened with every passing second until the fibres were soaked completely through. Expressions among the others were equally grim and intense. Any sense of excitement had vanished before a perilous reality. The realisation that their lives hung upon a slippery rope was a sobering one. Chiaki had no words that might comfort them. She was no stranger to the disquieting presence of death, but still, her armour had never felt so heavy.
Catching sight of a rope dangling alone in the distance, she remembered they were not the first to infiltrate the ravine. Another group had been sent before the construction of the siege weapons, an assassination squad handpicked by the Emperor himself. Chiaki had known most of them by name. All were incredibly skilled, experienced warriors, but none had returned. We will not fail as they did, but succeed in their place, she vowed. Only victory will honour their deaths.
Touching down on thick wooden supports and platforms, the soldiers swept silently onto the highest of Keisato’s five layers. They stalked as one through the darkness, creeping through unlit walkways, their footsteps masked by the turning of the town’s water mills. Weapons were held ready to dispatch any watchers in the shadows. Chiaki had left her naginata on the stone beach, instead opting for a nimble short sword. Its wet blade glistened with the pale glow from above. A brief glance to the sky was all she could afford, though the view was more than worth it. Hanging high over the world, a cosmic mosaic shone through the night. Pinprick beams of starlight joined with the moon’s soft radiance, their silvery sparks flitting across the spray of Keisato’s waterfalls. Amid the shimmering mist, each tiny flicker lasted only an instant.
Refocusing, Chiaki fixed her gaze ahead. Her mission was murder. Taking in the sights would only slow her down. When we succeed, I’ll stare at the sky as much as I like. Even if it is only a waste of time. Nodding to herself, she pushed on.
Nervousness hastened their movement as equally as apprehension hindered it. None of them knew behind which corners their enemies hid, nor had they any notion of their leader’s location. Ruthless interrogations in the market town above had uncovered foreign imposters amongst its residents. Under the pressure of torture, they offered a name: Esengei Möngke. None seemed to know the whereabouts of Han’s successor, Jishu Fuu Jie. When the townspeople recounted the tales they had heard and their cruel treatment by Möngke’s men, the Emperor’s fury had been plain to see. The Lord of Wukan could not be forgiven.
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Möngke could have been anywhere among the five layers of Keisato, yet to the infiltrators’ bewilderment, they needed to look no further than the highest. At first they had assumed him to be a lone guard. As they watched him from the shadows, that assumption was soon dropped. Sitting on the floor beside beds of fertile soil was the pitiless leader of their enemies. Before them was a man responsible for the indiscriminate murder of the ravine town’s entire population. He had tainted its waters with a terrible poison, snuffing out thousands of innocent lives in a single night. Chiaki glanced in the Emperor’s direction to await his order, only to find he had vanished. A dreadful coughing sound drew her attention back to Möngke. Emperor Naga stood over the man, tightly gripping his overcoat. In the time it had taken for Chiaki to shift her gaze, Möngke’s face was already beaten and bloodied. He used his Killing Floor, she realised, her heart racing. No matter how many times she had witnessed the ability granted by his Mandate of Heaven, her amazement never seemed to dull.
A sudden lurch shook Keisato. There was a grinding snap from deeper in the ravine. Barely holding her balance, Chiaki searched her surroundings in a panic. The ancient town tilted slightly, releasing a deafening creak. It stopped a moment later.
“Was that your doing?” the Emperor asked. Despite his anger, his voice was calm and clear.
The Lord of Wukan slowly raised his head, his own Mandate of Heaven visible upon his neck. “Yours,” he struggled to say, visibly exhausted. “Artillery. Broken supports. I’m holding everything in place.”
“You’re holding up the entire town by yourself?”
Wordlessly, Möngke tapped the tattooed mark beneath his ear.
The Emperor wore an accusing frown. “Why not escape?”
“Do you think-” Esengei paused to spit on the floor, staining it red. “...That I waited for you to arrive so I could drop it? I tried to leave. The Mandate is tiring. I couldn’t concentrate on both, so here I am. Trapped. Delaying the inevitable until my strength gives out.”
“It’s exactly what you deserve,” the Emperor told him. “And your people? Are they waiting for their deaths? What of Daimyō Inutani? Fuu Jie?”
Möngke smirked. “You wouldn’t have tried to destroy this place if you cared about the answer. They’re gone. The Jishu came here to kill me, so I threw her into the ravine.”
“You…” The Emperor’s voice seemed to leave him for a moment. “She was the heir of Daishun Jie. You mean to say she’s dead?”
“Who knows?” Möngke shrugged. “She isn’t here anymore. As for the Daimyō, he is with the people of Wukan. Where they went, I will not say.”
“You knew to evacuate,” Lord Naga noted. “Which brings me to my next question, the sole reason I didn’t kill you on sight. Where did you find that seal?”
Several pieces of jewellery decorated the Lord of Wukan. He wore piercings of gold in his left ear and silver in his right, as well as a refined necklace of golden arrowheads. It was another necklace that had taken the Emperor’s interest, however. Hanging loosely in plain sight was a carved chunk of jade. The design was unmistakable.
“You mean this pretty trinket?” Möngke asked. He bore his teeth in a bloody grin. “It was a gift from our mutual acquaintance.”
“And who would that be?”
“Don’t pretend, Tokugawa. You know what this is. It belongs to me and no one else. A gift from Lady Sio herself.”
Lord Naga’s face seemed harder than stone. “Why?”
Möngke shrugged. “I don’t really know. She said a lot of words that didn’t mean very much.”
“Your life depends on you knowing. Perhaps you should think carefully about what she told you.”
“If I had to guess…” he mused, placing his hand on the Emperor’s wrist, “She expected us to meet here, and she knew you would recognise this seal. For some reason, she wanted us to talk.”
“What reason could I ever have to talk with you?”
Möngke’s eyes were suddenly cold. “To learn. Your ignorance will be your downfall, Tokugawa. You know nothing of the nightmare your ancestors faced. Do you have any idea why they built this place?”
Chiaki could see many things in the Emperor’s expression: doubt, impatience, anger and worry, but on the surface, it was as blank as slate. Without a word, he released his grip on the man’s clothing.
Möngke slouched on the floor without even the strength to hold himself upright. Even still, there was a flicker of amusement in those sharp eyes. “Interested now, aren’t you?”
“Out with it. Our purpose here is to take your head. I won’t entertain you any longer than I have to.”
“Come now, will you kill me the moment I tell you? In that case, I’ll take as long-” Möngke complained, halting at the sight of Lord Naga’s unsheathed dao. When he spoke again, his voice was stern. “Think before you act, Emperor Naga. A lack of aggression does not equate to weakness. The weight of this town is a crushing burden, but it could never stop me from defending myself. If you agree to peace however, you shall have a willing surrender.”
“So simply?” After a moment’s hesitation, the Emperor sheathed his sword. He no longer hid his disdain. “Speak then. Share with us what little worth you have.”
“I could tell you, but it’s more interesting if I show you, don’t you think? Look at their history with your own eyes. It’ll save me the trouble.” Möngke flicked a finger upwards, his hand trembling with the effort. Keisato rocked unsteadily. Deep below the town, a low rumble disturbed the thunderous crash of water. “You’re hearing the echoes of a forgotten past, dredged from its resting place. I heard it from the Lady- your ancestors sculpted this land and fed water into its valleys. They dug a great hole in the ground and made it their home. There are five layers to this town. It was built with a sixth.”
Lord Naga gave a single nod. “The Lost Layer.”
“That’s the one. Lady Sio told me it once held a treasury and library, but the torrents of water and time have their way of obscuring things. You’ll understand when you see it for yourself. Oh, and… hurry now, Naga. I can’t hold it there forever.”
Descending the layers of Keisato was a swift effort. The Emperor ordered his soldiers to join him and for the Lord of Wukan to be carried, a privilege Chiaki was unfortunate enough to be burdened with. She illuminated their path with radiant light at her fingertips. The others guarded their front and rear, ever vigilant in spite of Möngke’s assurances that the town was deserted. They reached the base of the town within minutes. There, the sixth layer hovered in its rightful place, returned but by no means unchanged. The first thing she noticed was its size- consisting of only three buildings connected by decaying walkways, it was far smaller and less densely structured than the floors above.
Green shrouds of moss and furlike algae coated much of the dark, sodden wood. Along many of the posts and sleepers were lumps of burnt orange that might have once been iron bolts, now worn beyond use or recognition. Most prominent was the structure’s smell. That thick, musty odour of mould and rotting detritus oozed from the ancient storerooms, assaulting the nostrils of all in its vicinity.
The Emperor was first to set out onto the sixth layer. It was hard not to notice the give of the crumbling wood beneath his boot. Tentatively stepping back, he shot Möngke a quizzical look. “This mess is likely to disintegrate underfoot. How can you expect us to walk upon it?”
The tanned man was a wearisome burden. With his arm resting on her shoulders, Chiaki could endure his weight in addition to her armour without much strain, but suffering his attitude was a far more arduous task.
“With one foot ahead of the other,” Möngke replied, his voice an exhausted whisper. Chiaki was almost impressed that such weary words could still be laced with sarcasm. “Walk without fear. I can prevent you from falling, as I did with Sio.”
“Your Mandate grants you the power to reverse, does it not? Why not undo the damage?”
“Why? Should I remedy your receding hairline too? My Divergence can reverse movements, nothing more. If I had the ability to repair objects, I wouldn’t be holding Keisato over an abyss.”
Ignoring him, Lord Naga once again stepped onto the sixth layer. As before, the flooring sank, though it refused to collapse completely. The others followed close behind.
The first of the three buildings held crates and other small containers around its edges. At its centre, raised panels surrounded an opening in the floor. Judging by the snapped and splintered rods strewn throughout, this was a fishery, and of no use to their cause.
The second building was a treasury, and needed little examination to recognise its purpose. Tables, chests and shelves were overflowing with ornaments of silver and gold, many inlaid with precious gemstones. Here was an aggregation of more wealth than could be found in the ravine and market towns combined. As valuable as the treasures were, however, they were still held in a mouldering room of many broken parts. The metals were bent, corroded and ridden with blemishes, and some of the gemstones- lapis lazuli, jade, moonstones and opals- had been worn by their time underwater. For such a simple storeroom to be so heavily laden, there must have been a terrible burden on an otherwise lightweight platform. Chiaki wondered how long the original residents of Keisato had been able to enjoy their riches before they had plunged to the bottom of the ravine.
Before leaving for the final building, the Emperor ordered his men to gather as many treasures as they could carry. An army must be paid, and the turbulent nation of Sen could hardly boast its wealth. Looting the territories they conquered had long been a necessity. If they could not take money or valuables, food and alcohol would at least stay their hunger. If not that, then…
Cruelty breeds hatred, and hatred fuels conflict. Those were the Emperor’s words. He did not allow the torment of civilians where he could see it, but beyond that, he rarely took action. The lands they raided had belonged to Sen only a decade ago. Chiaki wondered if her comrades had forgotten, or if they simply didn’t care.
Rows of bookcases stood tall in the third building. This was a library, or at least some form of archive. Hundreds of flimsy tomes and leather journals lined the cracked shelves, many of their pages missing or resembling a mushy pulp. Few books remained mostly intact, and among those that the Emperor examined, fewer still contained legible words.
“Is this what you wished me to see?” he asked, glancing over the waterlogged shelves. “Beyond their treasure, Keisato’s architects have nothing of value to offer us. These writings are lost, and I have no use for broken fishing rods.”
Möngke lifted his head suddenly if he had been falling asleep. He did not speak, instead retrieving a yellowed clump of papers from his silken sash.
“What is this?” the Emperor asked as he unfolded it. Examining the contents under Chiaki’s light, his expression grew dark, and his voice hardened. “What is this?” he asked again.
“Few can read the characters of ancient Han. I am not one of them. From what I was told, it’s a letter concerning a mass emigration to Keisato.”
“Emigration is one word for it. Flight is another. Where did you find this?”
“You can understand it? I’m impressed.” Möngke pointed a finger to a corner beside the entrance of the archives. “Over there, that box. You missed it when you came in.”
Resting against a shattered wall was a large luggage trunk. Tiny scraps were all that remained of its leather exterior, though the wood and metal beneath was mostly undamaged. Its edges were reinforced with a lining of rubber, creating a seal that was worn but functional. This container was watertight. Inside the trunk, there was an assortment of personal belongings- mostly unusual clothes and grooming tools, as well as several documents, letters and journals. Here was a trove of unmolested relics from an age forgotten to time. Chiaki found herself grasping a notebook that hadn’t seen the light of day for centuries. The handwriting within was neat, dainty even, but no amount of neatness could help Chiaki make sense of it. She recognised some of the characters, those that were still occasionally used throughout Sen. Even so, she knew too little to uncover the secrets recorded within those ancient pages.
The Emperor sifted through the documents with a hurried speed. “Personal information. Family logs. Her name was Rena Saotome. She fled from Zensei with her nephew following an outbreak of some disease. There’s nothing important written here.” Turning his attention back to the letter, he began to read it aloud.
“To Nobuko,
I write these words with a weary hand. After seventy long days, your brother and I are safely within the ravine refuge of Lake Sakame. Space is limited, we must share accommodation and bedding with strangers, and I fear that conditions will only become more cramped if other refugees find their way to this place. I suppose that is a hopeful fear. For months we travelled further and further from our home, and every day I wondered if anyone was left behind us.
It is hard to imagine that there were plans for a resort in this valley. There are no tourists here now, only refugees seeking asylum between these cliffs.
Where are you, Nobuko? Are you and your sister safe? Jinha is a cold, harsh place, but perhaps there, you may have escaped this terrible calamity. Zensei fell in the spring. One of the families here swears otherwise. So confidently do people discuss topics they know nothing about. I was there. They were not.
I saw for myself the swelling organs of annihilation. Bulbous tumours groaned within the city walls, desecrating the streets with their putrid discharge. No matter how far we fled, we never seemed to escape the Rot. I wonder if it is a blessing that the other prefectures are already lost? I harbour no doubt that its black arteries have permeated all of Seihito. Those thick, throbbing webs spoiled our last sight of the surface, a hideous reminder of the decay that has swallowed our lands.
Despair was a given after the death of the Tenth Heaven. So many among us simply gave up rather than attempting to struggle in the aftermath of Xia’an’s Wrath. A loss of hope is lethal. All the days of summer have been bleak and wretched. Even still, I am here. Your brother and I are alive and safe. I know that somewhere, you and your sister are too.
Come back to us.
With all my love, Rena.”
The quiet that followed the Emperor’s reading was not from a lack of zeal. Questions hung on many lips, yet none dared to speak words that invited such a sinister reality. Chiaki felt almost grateful when Lord Naga gave the order to withdraw. He remained in the archives as the others went ahead, joining them minutes later with a large golden jewellery box, its engraved surface encrusted with dazzling diamonds. She couldn’t blame him for choosing a material prize over an undesirable truth.
They made for the second layer with haste, slowed by their individual burdens. The Emperor carried with him the lavish box, his soldiers hauling as much treasure as they could manage. Möngke was a dead weight on Chaiki’s shoulders. The only evidence that he had not fallen asleep was the fact they had not already fallen to their deaths.
It was only after the soldiers had activated Keisato’s draining mechanism and climbed the stairs carved into the cliff face that the Lord of Wukan finally collapsed. Chiaki struggled to support him as he slumped onto the smooth stone of the drained shallows. A rapid series of creaking snaps from behind immediately drew her attention back to the ravine. Beneath the snag-toothed mouth of the chasm, amidst the subdued gloom, Keisato had begun to fall. The supports already broken from bombardment were the first to fold under the overbearing weight, and those still intact gave little resistance as the town listed irreversibly. Entire districts unravelled under the extreme angle. Homes and walkways crumbled as the town’s individual layers folded, crushing anything that stood between them. And then Keisato was gone.
Rena’s letter was still fresh in her mind. The black abyss had once been a refuge for the survivors of Seihito. Now it would serve as a grave for their legacy, the last records of their existence buried alongside the residents of the ancient town. Chiaki could only hope that the nightmares they had faced would remain forgotten.
Sparse scraps of white cloud floated leisurely through the sky over Esengei’s head. Watching them was hardly entertaining, but it allowed him some small sense of peace. He was glad for that, at least.
Glancing over at Chiaki, he found her still staring intensely at the words she had written. “Still haven’t found anything?”
“I find that your voice irritates me,” she replied. “The more I hear it, the more I wish we had left you in Keisato.”
“Is that so?” Esengei smirked. “Your Emperor must have some plan for me if I’m still breathing.”
“Hopefully that plan includes a public execution. You are a monster, Möngke. Do not forget that.”
“Those around me saw me as their saviour. Doesn’t that remind you of someone?” he said. “Regardless, what matters isn’t my public image, nor your justified hatred towards me. You know as well as I do.”
“I know that very little matters to you. There’s no need to pretend that you care about the people of Sen.”
“Consider what Naga described when he read that letter. As much as I’d like to disregard it, I can’t, and neither should you.”
“What can any of us do about it?” Chiaki demanded. “The letter implied things which are impossible. The decay our scouts described sounded different to the rot affecting Seihito. They reported no great organs, no black arteries-”
“Perhaps the letter described a realised infestation. No matter how easily it can be dismissed as a coincidence, something so important deserves to be investigated.”
“And what then, Esengei? What are we supposed to do then?”
“I don’t know,” he replied softly. He had nothing else to say.