CHAPTER 31: ROBIN

Come spring the next year, Takayubi was a village again. Smaller and poorer than it had been, but recognizably a village, with houses, shops, and people waking each morning to go about their work.

The rich soil where the bodies had been burned had sprouted long grass and the beginnings of a grove of trees, lusher than any other place on the mountain. It gave Misaki a sense of peace and satisfaction to watch the vibrant greenery grow. The Empire may have refused to let the people of Takayubi mark the graves of the dead, but the mountain didn’t forget.

Misaki paused there to pray, as she did every day on her way back up the mountain from the morning market. She set aside her baskets of fish and vegetables and waded through the waves of grass, realizing that a subtle footpath was forming there—a break in the grass, where her feet, Takeru’s, Hiroshi’s, and Nagasa’s had walked the same way so many times in the past months. Today, for the first time, Misaki took Izumo from the sling across her chest and set him on his feet to walk with her.

Her youngest son wasn’t quite two yet, and he looked at the grass with wide eyes, clearly unsure what to make of the bright green world suddenly towering all around him. Mamoru, Hiroshi, and Nagasa had all displayed shards of their forefathers’ greatness by the time they started to walk—Mamoru in his ferocious spirit, Hiroshi in his ice-clad calm, Nagasa in his energy and vocabulary. Izumo had none of those.

He was softer than his brothers somehow. Though born to a pair of killers—his mother, the underhanded ambush predator and his father an unquestioned alpha predator—he had a nervous air about him that was more characteristic of prey. Water moved but never frosted at his touch, and there was a constant wariness in his eyes, which were so much rounder and wider than those of any Matsuda Misaki had known. Without taking his gaze off the grass, he subconsciously tipped closer to his mother and reached a tiny hand out for her. She offered him her index finger and he held on tight as they made their way to the center of the greenery.

A black pine grew here, young like everything else in the grove, but wiry and strong. It was here that Misaki knelt and put her palms to the ground. Other people had their own special markers in the grove where they chose to pray. Obedient to the will of the Emperor, no one in Takayubi spoke about where they prayed and why, but there was an understanding among these people that ran deeper than spoken words.

Everyone in Takayubi knew that when Matsuda Takeru the First redesigned his family sign and seal for the new age, he chose characters meaning ‘waiting field’—“To give the name a sense of promise,” he had explained to his descendants. Everyone knew that prior to that, the name Matsuda had been written with more ancient characters meaning ‘field of pines.’

Like the blood of gods, the things Takayubi knew went back thousands of years, and they would echo, wordlessly, in the tolling of the temple bell, for a thousand more. They would remain like roots, no matter what wind or bombs came upon the mountain. Yammankalu might need jaseliwu to sing their history aloud for them to weather the centuries. Hadeans might need theirs written in books. The truth of Takayubi was something one felt, from the depths of the ocean and the roots of trees.

Gathering water vapor to liquid in her hands, Misaki formed two rectangular blocks of ice. She etched characters into both—into the first, the incantation for purification, into the second the incantation of a mother’s love.

Most Kaigenese wrote their prayers on pieces of cloth and kayiri, which they then tied to trees or temple posts at their holy sites. Since such prayers would have violated the Emperor’s orders not to mark the area, the people of Takayubi had returned to a different way of honoring their dead, an ancient form of prayer that predated modern Falleya.

Misaki softly spoke the incantations with her eyes closed. Then she held out her ice talismans and let them melt between her fingers into the soil, watering the young pine and the surrounding green.

Nyama to you, Mamoru.

When she stood to go, Misaki found Izumo on his hands and knees watching an ant creep from a tree root onto a blade of grass. The whole time she had prayed, he hadn’t made a sound. Aside from Hiroshi, Misaki had never known such a quiet child.

Unlike Hiroshi, however, Izumo gave her the impression that his head was alive with a clamor of thoughts. No matter what was going on around him, he always seemed to find some small thing to fascinate him—the drip from the end of an icicle, the stitches holding his own sleeves together, the slow progress of an ant following its fellows’ scent trail up a blade of grass. Unlike Nagasa, he would not immediately voice half a dozen questions when he found something he didn’t understand. Instead, he would sit and watch, and watch, and watch...

“Izu-kun?” Misaki said gently—and perhaps he was not quite like prey. Prey looked up when there was a noise, but Izumo seemed too absorbed to hear her. He reached out a single finger, delicately controlled for such a small child, and brushed the ant’s twiddling antennae.

“Izu-kun,” Misaki said again, and he blinked up at her.

“Water?” He asked, pointing down at the ant perched atop the blade of grass. “Water in it?”

“In the grass, yes,” Misaki said. “The bug has different stuff inside it.”

“Blood?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “Not like yours and mine. Its body is filled with a different substance...” she struggled for the word for a moment, trying to think back to the chemical jiya classes of her school days. “Hemolymph, I think.”

In practice, this information was useless to most jijakalu, who did not have the ability to manipulate substances other than fresh or salt water. But if Izumo already had the ability to sense the minuscule speck of unfamiliar fluid contained in an ant’s body, he might be one of the exceptional few, like Misaki, who could manipulate a wide range of substances.

“Time to go.” She held out her hand and he took her first two fingers in a grip so much weaker and softer than his brothers’.

Normally, Misaki had nothing but disdain for weakness—in herself or others. That was normal in a Shirojima koro. Already, Takeru was starting to look at his youngest son with displeasure, his frown deepening with each week that passed without Izumo displaying any of his brothers’ power. Strangely, Misaki found herself feeling just the opposite about her Izumo. She had never seen anyone inspect their physical surroundings as closely as her fourth son—no one, except perhaps Koli Kuruma, the greatest inventor of his generation. She was beginning to suspect that Izumo had something none of his brothers had. She suspected that he might be a genius. And the more ridiculously he behaved, the more she seemed to love him.

Izumo stood, the branches of the young pine brushing his hair, and Misaki beamed. No matter what he grew into, she was excited to see it. This time she wouldn’t miss a moment of it. Holding Izumo’s hand, she bowed toward the black pine a last time.

Until tomorrow, Mamoru.

Once out of the grove, she strapped Izumo back into place on her chest, picked up her baskets, and headed up the path to the Matsuda compound. Everything seemed normal when she reached the house. The silence that had pervaded the Matsuda estate had retreated in the past months, giving way to the sounds that filled the air this morning—the laughter of Nagasa and Ayumi chasing each other through the halls, the thwack of wooden blades as Takeru’s students warmed up in the dojo, the thudding hammers of numuwu working on the new addition to the front of the house.

She was slipping out of her tabi when she noticed an unfamiliar pair of shoes sitting in the genkan—black, with Yammanka-style magnetic fastenings. Not the shoes of a Shirojima native. Her stomach clenched in anxiety. Was a representative from the government here? Maybe the Empire had decided to come back and meddle after all? At the sound of footsteps, she looked up to find Setsuko rushing around the corner to meet her.

“Misaki!” Setsuko was wearing a strange expression, somewhere between excitement and anxiety. “You’re back!”

“Yes.” Misaki eyed her sister-in-law in confusion. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

“I’m... not sure,” Setsuko said, still breathless. Despite being flustered, she didn’t seem upset.

“What—”

“Just come.” Setsuko motioned Misaki inside, taking the heavy baskets from her shoulders. “Come see for yourself.”

“Who’s here?” Misaki said with a glance back at the black shoes.

“Just... just go see.” Setsuko nodded toward the doorway to the recently reconstructed sitting room.

“But—”

“Your man has been struggling a bit. You know his Yammaninke isn’t very good.”

“His Yammaninke? What—”

“Go.” Setsuko nudged her ample hip into Misaki’s smaller one, sending her stumbling toward the sitting room.

Thoroughly confused but curious, Misaki threw one last look back at Setsuko, who gave her an encouraging nod. Then she straightened up and stepped into the sitting room doorway. Setsuko’s strange behavior had her ready to expect the worst—Colonel Song or some other representative of the Empire here to ruin everything they had built. What she found was so, so much stranger.

Robin Thundyil knelt on a cushion at the low sitting room table opposite Takeru.

They were having tea.

Misaki’s world simultaneously tore apart and crashed in on itself. A dizzying, rending tear opened between her most vivid memories and the breathing reality of the scene before her. Robin was here, in the middle of her sitting room, his familiar face visibly aged fifteen years, drinking tea.

She put a hand to the doorframe to steady herself. The other hand clutched at Izumo, pressing the boy into her chest to feel his beating heart—to confirm that she was still in the real world.

Takeru noticed her first.

“Misaki,” he said, his voice as neutrally placid as very. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Robin lowered his teacup and turned to look at her, burning black eyes as warm as they had been sixteen years ago. Those eyes had seared themselves a place in her memory, making it entirely too disorienting to meet them in reality. Unable to process Robin’s gaze, she sought out Takeru instead.

“Forgive my rudeness, Thundyil-san. I have to get back to training my students.” Takeru stood. “Excuse me.” He gave Robin a short bow and crossed to the doorway where his wife was still frozen in shock.

“Wh-what—what... what is this?” Misaki whispered, looking up at Takeru. “What is happening?”

“Your old friend came a long way to see you.”

“But—what—”

“My students are waiting for me. Make sure you prepare our guest more tea. He’s almost finished the pot Setsuko made.” That was all Takeru said before sweeping away down the hall, leaving Misaki in her confusion.

Robin stood, smiling—merciful Nami, that smile. So familiar. Yet it was also the smile of a stranger, deepened with lines and angles that didn’t quite belong to the Robin from her memories.

“Look at you,” he said and the sound of his Lindish tugged at a long-forgotten feeling in her chest. “You went and turned into a lady.”

Misaki let out a weak laugh. Her faded kimono, one of only three she still owned, had been washed so many times that it was starting to wear through. Between the rebuilding and her usual housework, she had all but given up on keeping her hair neat. She had never looked less like a lady in her life.

“And look at you,” she returned with an amused glance over Robin’s black and red kimono and the cloth bundle on his back. “Don’t you look sharp.”

“Shut up.”

She made fun, but Robin had actually always been good at looking perfectly at home in any clothes, with any people he met. His willingness to change his appearance was just part of his particular brand of openness. If Robin sat down with a person, there was always a sense that they belonged to him and he belonged to them. As an orphan, he had learned to make family wherever he went.

Knowing she had been staring at his clothes to the point of rudeness, Misaki forced her gaze upward, to his face, to that open smile. It was still like seeing a ghost—he had been as good as one after she had resigned herself to the idea that she would never see him again.

Part of her wanted to back away. An equally powerful part of her wanted to fall forward and run to him. Caught between them, she swayed, toes curling on the threshold. She couldn’t touch him. They both knew that. A simple pat on the shoulder would be considered improper, and if she touched his skin... she might come undone.

Izumo broke the silence with a confused burble and Robin turned his smile to the child.

“I met your two older sons when I arrived. Who is this?”

“Oh,” Misaki breathed out, thankful for the break in the tension. “This is Izumo.” Untying the cloth, she turned her youngest so that he was facing Robin and set him on his feet. “He’s—” She paused with a fond roll of her eyes as Izumo scooted behind her and clamped his arms around her knee. “He’s shy around strangers.”

She was almost glad of Izumo’s little body clinging to her leg. It kept her from teetering. She was so busy trying to regain her bearings that she didn’t realize that the bundle on Robin’s back had started moving until a little brown hand popped out. The hand found a grip on Robin’s shoulder and was soon followed by a head of sleep-tousled hair and a pair of coal black eyes.

He had a child too.

The boy was unmistakably Robin’s son. They had the same eyes, the same hair, and the child’s skin, despite being a shade darker than Robin’s, exuded the same fiery glow. Robin beamed as the sleepy toddler rubbed his eyes.

“Daniel,” he said, “this is Auntie Misaki.”

“What...” Misaki’s voice had gotten unusually high and breathy. “That’s... When did this happen?”

“It’s a long story,” Robin said.

Misaki might not have been able to touch Robin, but...

“May I?” She held out her arms.

“Of course.” Robin unslung the cloth wrap from his back with as much grace as any Kaigenese housewife. “I should warn you,” he said, perching the tiny boy on his shoulder while he folded up the blue speckled fabric, “he’s at the age where he’ll just randomly combust.”

“Right.” Misaki remembered that about tajaka children.

“Feel free to drop him if he gets too hot.”

“What?”

“It’s what Elleen does. He usually lands on his feet.”

Misaki laughed as she reached out and took Robin’s son. An achingly evocative scent of smoke and spice washed over her as the boy’s warmth filled her arms.

“Hello, Daniel,” she said, her voice soft to conceal the emotion that had suddenly overcome her.

“I’m Daniel,” the little tajaka said brightly.

“That’s what I heard.”

“Now you can say ‘what’s your name’?” Robin suggested gently.

Instead, Daniel grabbed onto one of Misaki’s hairpins and said, “What’s that?”

“That’s my hairpin.” Misaki reached behind her head and nudged his hand away from the accessory. “I wouldn’t touch it. It’s a bit sharp.”

“What’s sharp?”

“Nukeela,” Robin translated to a language Misaki didn’t know. “It might hurt you. Ouch.”

“Ouch,” Daniel repeated happily and put his finger in his mouth.

“Your nyama feels just like your dad’s,” Misaki couldn’t help but comment.

“That’s my dad.” Daniel took his finger out of his mouth and pointed at Robin.

“I know,” Misaki laughed.

“I’m Daniel.”

“Yes, you told me. It’s an interesting name.” Certainly not Disanka. She glanced at Robin. “Where did it come from?”

Robin’s smile didn’t disappear, but it lost some of its brightness. “His mother chose it.”

“Oh.” Misaki paused. “And, um... his mother?”

“She’s gone.”

“Oh, Robin, I... I’m sorry. I had no idea—”

“Well, I had no idea what had happened here until your old roommate, Guang Ya-li, tracked me down and suggested I check on you. Let’s just agree that we need to do a better job keeping in touch.”

“Yeah.” Misaki tried to smile, but it proved to be a little too hard. “I...” She tried to think of something to say. “I, um...” Daniel spared her by grabbing a handful of her bangs and trying to clamber onto her shoulders. “You like climbing?” she giggled as Robin scolded his son in that language she didn’t recognize.

“I’m a good climber,” Daniel told her.

“My Mamoru was the same when he was your age.”

“I also heard about your first son,” Robin said. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could have been here in time to... I wish I could have met him.”

“Oh, I don’t know that that would have been a good idea,” Misaki said, sweeping aside the threatening swell of emotion with another laugh. “You two were dangerously alike. You could have gotten him into all kinds of trouble.” She found, once again, that she couldn’t meet Robin’s eyes. “So, um...” She bent to set Daniel on his feet. “Has anyone shown you around the house?”

“Not yet.”

“Great,” Misaki said. “Let me give you the tour.” She turned to lead Robin out of the room and, in her distracted state, nearly tripped over Izumo who had shifted around her to cling to the other side of her kimono.

“Ara—!” She exclaimed, catching herself on the doorframe. “ Izu-kun! What are you doing?”

Izumo appeared to be shying away from Daniel, who was determinedly trying to say ‘hello.’

“I’m Daniel,” the tiny tajaka said in Lindish, which Izumo of course, did not understand. “Do you want to play with me?”

Izumo just buried his face in Misaki’s thigh, smothering a terrified sound.

“I don’t think Izumo wants to play, Daniel,” Robin said, pinching the back of Daniel’s shirt between two fingers and pulling his son back a few steps. “Let’s leave him alone for now.”

“Why?” Daniel asked as Misaki set about prying Izumo from her leg.

“Because he doesn’t want to play.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. That’s his business. Maybe we’ll ask him later.”

Izumo didn’t willingly let go of his mother’s leg until Robin picked Daniel up and put him on his shoulders. When he was sure that the terrifyingly friendly boy couldn’t get to him, he detached and settled for holding Misaki’s finger.

“Watch your head,” Robin warned Daniel as he carefully ducked the two of them through the sitting room doorway to follow Misaki into the hall.

“On your head,” Daniel said as if that meant something.

“No, ‘watch your head,’” Robin said. “Kisee bhee cheez par apana sir mat maaro. Don’t hit your head on anything.”

“Hit your head! Hit your head!” Daniel chanted happily, smacking his open palm on top of Robin’s head as if it were a drum.

Misaki laughed and realized how thankful she was that Daniel was here. The idea of Robin having a child—of him being here with her children—was still difficult to wrap her head around, but there was something about a happy two-year-old that made everything simple.

“Does he always have this much energy?” Misaki asked as the little tajaka broke into a garbled song that didn’t seem to be in any discernible language.

Robin gave her a tortured look as Daniel continued to use his head as a drum. “You have no idea.”

She might have been embarrassed about the diminished state of the once-grand Matsuda compound, but if there was one person she knew would never judge a person by their material possessions, it was Robin.

“And through here is the dojo,” she said in a low voice.

They stood quietly watching for a while as Takeru called instructions and his students responded, their wooden bokken clacking together. Even Daniel had fallen silent in fascination, leaning over the top of his father’s head to watch the training jijakalu move through their drills in perfect unison—well, not quite perfect. Kwang Chul-hee still lagged behind the others by a half dinma here and there, but he was getting better.

Takeru’s thirty-some students were all paired off by size except one, who drilled alone. Hiroshi’s movements were as sharp and clean as any of the adults’, but he was far too small to partner with any of the grown men or teenagers.

“We shouldn’t disturb the class,” Misaki whispered and motioned for Robin to follow her down the hall. “We can come back for a better look when it’s not full of students.”

Robin hesitated at the dojo doorway for a moment before following her. “Was that your son, Hiroshi, in there?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought he was only six.”

“He is.”

“And he trains with the grown men?” Robin said in astonishment.

“Well, he’s not a normal six.”

Their last stop was the addition that Kotetsu’s new apprentices had started to build onto the side of the Matsuda compound. The numuwu were taking a break but Misaki was pleased to see that they had started on the exterior wall.

“And what is this?” Robin asked, staring up at the naked structure.

“This,” Misaki said, touching one of the beams, “is going to be my restaurant.”

“Your what?”

“I’m opening a restaurant.”

Takeru had vehemently opposed the idea of his wife working a normal job like a peasant, but after she had pointed out that she could employ some of the other villagers, and they had gone over a business plan, he had given in. In the end, it seemed that even Takeru’s Matsuda pride could not overrule his financial sensibilities.

With Governor Lo’s glowing recommendation, Takeru had stayed on as mayor of Takayubi. Between that modest government salary and the small amount of income he collected from his sword students, he had kept the family afloat through the recent months, but afloat wasn’t enough. If they wanted to maintain their property and make a good future for the boys and Ayumi, they needed more.

As Robin looked around the space, a wide grin spread across his face. Shirojima men just didn’t smile like that. “Misaki, this is fantastic!”

“You don’t think it’s a stupid idea?”

“It’s an amazing idea! Although it might be a little small.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, after the province tastes your food, do you think the five or six tables you can fit in here are going to be enough to seat all your customers?”

Misaki folded her arms, unable to hold back a smile. “I think you’re misremembering how good my cooking was.”

“Nah,” Robin said confidently, “I’m not. Where did you get this idea anyway?”

“After the storm, Takeru put me in charge of rationing our food supply. I found out I wasn’t just good at cooking food for lots of people; I turn out to be pretty good at distributing it efficiently and directing a kitchen. Setsuko and I miss having our girls around. We figured employing a few might be a good way to keep them.”

“Pita! Pita!” Daniel said, smacking the sides of his father’s head.

“Ow. What is it, Daniel?” Robin asked.

“Fly!”

“Okay.” Reaching back to grab a handful of Daniel’s little red kimono, Robin threw him through the open roof, high into the air. The tiny tajaka shrieked with laughter even as Misaki yelped in alarm. She had forgotten how good Robin’s reflexes were. He caught the boy neatly by his ankle on his way down.

“What now, kiddo?” he asked as his dangling son giggled. “Up? Down?”

“Down!”

“You got it.” Robin lowered an upside-down Daniel to the floor and let go of his ankle.

As Misaki watched, the toddler walked a few steps forward on his hands before tumbling onto his feet and continuing on his way.

“Don’t run too far now,” Robin said.

Daniel blinked up at him, looking confused. Kneeling down, Robin switched languages. “Bahut door bhaago mat, okay?”

“Okay, Pita.”

Misaki realized that the beautiful, rolling language Robin and Daniel spoke with each other must be Disaninke—a language Robin had not had much occasion to use since being forced to flee his homeland of Disa as a small child. Despite spending the majority of his life in the Lindish and Yammaninke-speaking country of Carytha, Robin was raising Daniel to be fluent in his mother tongue. It might not be particularly practical, but it was sweet.

“This really looks great, Misaki,” Robin said when Daniel had toddled off to explore the space. “You know I’m willing to help any way I can.”

“I’ll ask the numuwu if they’ve got a job for you.”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” Misaki cut him off. “It’s kind of you, but it’s unnecessary. Also out of the question. The Matsuda house has its pride.”

“It wouldn’t have to be a donation,” Robin said. “I can invest—”

Misaki shook her head. “We’re going to be alright.”

The irony of the situation was not lost on Misaki: when she and Robin had first met, she had come from a rich family and he had had nothing...

“Robin?”

“Hmm?”

“I need to say something to you.” It had been itching at her mind since she saw him in her sitting room.

His smile dimmed. He probably recognized the tension in her voice and braced himself.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t.” His voice had grown strained. “Misaki, please. Don’t apologize—”

“Not for that.” Even she wasn’t cruel enough to bring that up. “Or... not just for that anyway. It’s more complicated. I just need to say that I’m sorry for... vacationing in your life.”

“What?” Robin looked genuinely surprised. “What are you talking about?”

“When we were younger, I came into your country with no understanding of what you, or Elleen—or anyone in Carytha, really—had suffered, and I was so disrespectful.”

“I don’t think you were disrespectful.”

“But I was,” Misaki said sadly. “I was a rich, self-centered girl with no concept of what you were trying to do and why it was important. I used you and your work to satisfy my lust for danger, and that was wrong. I was despicable.”

“I never would have called you despicable,” he said with entirely more compassion than she deserved. “Overzealous, maybe.”

“How can you say that? I treated your peoples’ lives as less than mine. I saw their suffering and it just... didn’t matter to me. I’m such a cold person, it didn’t matter until I was the one... until it was my home, my neighbors, my...” She pressed her lips together and rested a hand atop Izumo’s head, pressing the clinging boy close against her hip.

“Your son?” Robin said gently.

“Now, as often as I think of him, I have to think of all those bodies Kalleyso left behind... peoples’ sons and daughters. I just never acknowledged that.” She had been as bad as Colonel Song and his soldiers, who regarded Takayubi’s fallen warriors as no more than lost game pieces. “So I need to say sorry. I’m sorry for treating your life like a game.”

“I never held that against you, Misaki.”

“How?” she demanded in disbelief. “How can you be so forgiving?”

“There was no way you could have understood. You can’t until it’s you. I know that.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“No, but that’s what humans are like. I knew as soon as I started forming the idea of Firebird that no one was going to understand. That didn’t matter. I had to do it. You had enough faith in me to follow me into danger, even without understanding why. I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“You know it wasn’t just faith,” Misaki said quietly.

“Well then, I’m flattered anyway.”

It was as close as either of them dared go in reference to what had happened between them, what they had been.

“Misaki, while we’re exchanging apologies, I’m sorry that I didn’t...” but of course Robin couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say that he should have taken her away. He sighed. “For someone who tries to help people as a full-time job, sometimes... I can be very bad at figuring out the best way to do it. I’m sorry if I failed you, in any way.”

Misaki didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t repeat the things she had said to Robin the last time they had met—that she didn’t want him, that he was beneath her, that he had misunderstood their relationship. She couldn’t be that cruel to him all over again, especially when none of it was true. And yet, wouldn’t it be just as cruel to tell him the truth? That she had wanted him more than her next breath, that she would have given anything to have him take her away, that she had held onto the agony for years? Instead, she said nothing at all.

“Daniel,” Robin said, noticing his son climbing one of the beams. “I think you should get down from there.”

“Up,” Daniel said with a mischievous smile and continued shimmying upward.

“Down,” Robin said firmly and crossed the space to pry the stubborn toddler from the beam.

“He’s already a better climber than you ever were,” Misaki said, impressed. None of her boys had ever been able to climb like that, not even Mamoru, who had loved climbing.

“Yeah,” Robin said, setting Daniel on his feet and trying to steer him away from the network of naked beams. “He gets it from his mom.”

Misaki pursed her lips, then tried to smile. “Well, that should come in handy when he has to chase you across the rooftops of Livingston.”

“Maybe.” A note of bitterness had tainted Robin’s voice.

“What do you mean ‘maybe’?”

“Well, let’s not pretend that the ability to jump across rooftops is a guarantee of survival.”

For the first time in their conversation, Misaki was overcome with the feeling that she was speaking to a stranger.

“Hey now,” she said in confusion. “What happened to the fearless optimist I knew?”

Robin shrugged. “He grew up.”

Something about his tone—the utter defeat in his voice—shook her to the core. “Robin... What happened to you?”

He just shook his head. “It’s such a long story. Long and sad. And it seems like you’ve had enough sadness of your own since I’ve seen you.”

“Hey,” Misaki was surprised at the fiercely defensive note in her voice. “It hasn’t all been bad.”

Robin raised his eyebrows and she lifted her chin in response. “Excuse me, but have you seen this boy?” Misaki took Izumo’s face between her thumb and forefinger. “You see how cute he is?”

Robin smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

With a sigh, Misaki ran a hand through Izumo’s hair and said more seriously, “Horrible things have happened, yes. My father-in-law hated me, I miscarried twice, one of my closest friends committed suicide, and I lost my first son.” She held Robin’s gaze, unflinching. “But if I learned one thing from Firebird, it’s that a person’s tragedy doesn’t define them or cancel all the good in their life. I’ve had four wonderful children, whom I love. I still have three of them, and now, after all these years, it turns out, I have a good husband.” Misaki had never thought she would say those words, especially not to Robin Thundyil. “I know, given what you know of him, it probably seems unbelievable—”

“I believe it.”

“I suppose you must have hoped,” Misaki said, “if you came all this way on the off chance he’d let you see me.”

“I didn’t,” Robin said.

“What do you mean?”

“He invited me.”

“He what?”

“He said we might enjoy catching up, now that we’re both parents, and that he would be grateful if I could spare some time to come see you. He told me there was some kind of incident, after the Rang—” He caught himself. “After the storm.”

“Yeah,” Misaki said. “It was really strange. We were attacked by a littigi assassin.”

Some of the color drained from Robin’s face. She had never seen the glow flee his skin like that, leaving him ashen. “A littigi?”

“I thought you said my husband discussed this with you.”

“All he said was that he wanted to consult about an ‘incident’ after the ‘storm’ you had, and that his Yammaninke was too limited to elaborate. He wanted me to come and talk to you about it directly.”

“I see.” So, Takeru had practical reason for asking Robin to visit. Of course, he did. He was Takeru. “Let’s talk then.”

Misaki led Robin back to the sitting room, where they knelt at the table. He had her go back over the visual description of the assassin three times. On the third time through, he took a sketchpad from his bag and began drawing.

“You said the tattoos were in a pattern you had never seen before?” Robin said, his firepen scratching feverishly across the kayiri. “Describe them again. Exactly what did they look like?”

“I don’t know,” Misaki shrugged. “Swirly. Not angular like Yammanka designs, but not really wavy like Kaigenese art either. They were... curlier, I guess. I don’t know. I’m not an artist.”

“Like this?” Robin held up his sketch.

“Yes,” Misaki said in surprise. “I don’t think I’d have been able to draw it so nicely, but yes, that’s exactly what it looked like.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“And he wore a gray cloak with a hood?”

“Yeah. I said that three times.”

“Gods...”

“What is it Robin? What does this mean?”

“Well… It might mean that all my insane fears aren’t actually insane. It’s all connected. He’s behind all of it.”

“Who is?”

“He’s gone by different names. I’m still trying to figure out the real one.” He turned to Misaki. “The littigi who attacked you... Around the time he was here, were there any other strange incidents? Did any children disappear? Any orphans?”

“Yes,” Misaki said in surprise, “a little girl. How did you know?”

“This is the kind of hunting ground his gray cloaks favor,” Robin said, looking ill, “full of strong theonites but secluded from the net of modern society. He likes to pick through warzones, where he can find powerful orphans wandering around, unprotected.”

“Wait, so, this man who sends the gray cloaks,” Misaki said. “Is he someone you met when you and Rakesh were in Disa?”

“In a way.”

“Okay. Good to see you haven’t lost your ability to be cryptic and annoying.”

“I’m not trying to be cryptic. I’m just... I’m not entirely sure who we’re dealing with. All I really know is that he’s planning carefully for the long term, building himself an army.”

“An army?”

“Yes,” Robin said, “or what will be an army in thirteen years or so.”

“He’s not just gathering soldiers. He’s going to raise them.” Misaki could hardly think of anything more terrifying.

Robin nodded. “That’s why he only takes children, never older than six.”

“So, he kidnaps these young jijakalu to raise as his own personal army?”

“Not just jijakalu,” Robin said. “Theonite and sub-theonite children have gone missing from warzones, slums, and little villages in Hades, Disa, the Taiyang Islands, and probably too many other places to count. Like I said, the gray cloaks target areas that aren’t protected by their governments.”

“Gods!” So, this mysterious army, when it came of age, would be multi-powered? Depending on how it was executed, that could potentially make it the most dangerous fighting force in the world.

“The only commonality between all the children they take is their above-average power,” Robin said. “I assume the girl who went missing was powerful for her age?”

“She was,” Misaki said.

Now that she thought about it, Ginkawa Yukimi was a perfect candidate for the horrible thing Robin was describing. If someone had heard the littigi’s bomb go off—if they needed to quickly snatch one child and get out unnoticed—she would have been the one. She was smaller than the other orphans, easy to physically overpower, but the blood of two powerful clans ran through her veins.

“From what I can tell, they try to pick out the most promising children they can whisk away without anyone noticing,” Robin said. “Thank the Gods they didn’t come after your sons or your niece. I’m sure they would have liked that. It may be the reason that littigi tried to kill you and your husband.”

“Really?” Misaki said in horror.

“That or it may have been a more general attempt to destabilize the community. The more chaos the cloaks can generate, the easier it is for them to take the children they want without getting caught. They’ll disappear as soon as someone comes close to finding them out.”

“But you’re going to stop them,” Misaki said. “You’re going to save these children?”

Robin looked away from her, toward the floor, seeming simultaneously older and smaller than she had ever seen him. “I don’t think I can.”

“What?” Who was this man behind the gray cloaks? What had he done with Robin Thundyil? “What do you mean?”

“You don’t understand, Misaki. This man has abilities beyond me... beyond any of us. There are forces in this world—theonites—more powerful than anything you and I could have imagined when we were at Daybreak.”

“I know that, Robin,” Misaki said, exasperated. “I did recently see a group of fonyakalu make a tornado big enough to blow a town away.”

“Right,” Robin said. “Now, imagine that instead of a group, that was one person.”

“What? Robin, that sounds impossible.”

“It should be.”

“So, you’re not even going to try to stop this person?”

“I did try,” Robin said with a flare of anger, “and now Daniel doesn’t have a mother.”

That made Misaki fall silent. “Robin, I...” She started to apologize, but he beat her to it.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just... at a bit of a loss. There’s so much information that isn’t fitting together. If I can, I’d like to discuss all this with you and your husband together.”

Misaki nodded. “I’ll talk to him and see when he has time. I hope there’s something we can do to help.”

“I hope so too,” Robin said grimly. “At least this is good.” He gestured between the two of them. “It’s nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of.”

“You have a lot of people back home who are good for that. Like, does the Thundyil Firm still employ that professional jaseli you and Rakesh were so excited about?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, surely he’s the person to ‘bounce ideas off.’ Why haven’t you spoken to him?”

“I haven’t seen him in almost four years.”

“What?”

“Misaki, I haven’t been in Carytha. Elleen and I were in Hades for three years, from ‘66 to ‘69.”

“Oh.” Misaki had always known that Elleen intended to go back to her wartorn homeland to see if she could use her powers to help her people. Robin had talked idly about going with her, but Misaki had never really thought he would do it. Firebird, she had thought, belonged in Livingston. He would never leave the city to fend for itself.

“Three years?” she said in disbelief.

“It wasn’t supposed to be that long. Things got very complicated very fast and then...” He sighed. “Well, like I said, it’s a long story, but after we lost Daniel’s mother, Elleen and I had to flee the country with our kids.”

“Wait, what!?” Misaki exclaimed. “Elleen has kids too?”

“Yeah. Didn’t I mention that? She has twins, a boy and a girl.”

“What—but—who with?” Misaki had trouble imagining what sort of person would be brave enough to woo someone as aloof and intimidating as Elleen—and she was married to Matsuda Takeru.

“His name is Uther,” Robin said, “the only other littigi we ever met as skilled as Elleen. Unfortunately, we had to leave him behind when the Jamu Kurankite snuck us out of the country. He was involved in too much rebel activity. Even a Jamuttaana never would have been able to get him across the border.”

“So, you and Elleen spent a bunch of time in Hades and made babies,” Misaki said. “What about Koli? How has he been?”

“Oh, Koli went to Hades with us.”

“What?” That was even more jarring than the news of Elleen having children. “That doesn’t sound like him!” Hades was known to be the most dangerous country in the world for travelers. Why would a numu want to put himself in that kind of peril, especially one who so valued his head, his fingers, and his time undisturbed in his high-tech workshop?

“I know it seems weird,” Robin said. “He got restless and impulsive after his parents disinherited him.”

“Wait—After what?” Misaki exclaimed, unsure if she could deal with any more jarring news about her old classmates. The Kurumas had disinherited Koli? That didn’t make even a little bit of sense. He had always been his parents’ spoiled favorite son, a prodigy whose ingenuity put all his siblings to shame. “What did he do?”

“He got married,” Robin said. “His parents did not approve his choice.”

“Why?” Misaki asked, her eyes wide in curiosity. “What was wrong with her?” What sort of woman would be so bad that she prompted Yamma’s greatest numu family to cast out their most promising heir in generations? “Was she a jaseli? A koro? An adyn?”

“No, no.” Robin smiled. “None of those things. He married a nice, successful numu by the name of Nyeru Dumbaya.”

“Nyeru? But... isn’t that a man’s name?”

“Well, that was the part his parents didn’t like.”

Misaki gasped, both hands flying to her mouth. “No!”

“Did you not know that Koli was gay?” Robin looked amused.

“No!” Misaki said. “You did?”

“Of course.”

“Since when?”

“I don’t know.” Robin shrugged. “Our second year, maybe. I’m surprised he didn’t mention it to you. You two always talked so much.”

“About weapons, not boys!” Misaki said, her voice shrill. “Oh my Gods! So, his parents disinherited him because he married a man?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Misaki supposed that made sense. An upstanding numu family in the heart of Yamma couldn’t reasonably be expected to react any other way.

“He acted like it didn’t bother him,” Robin said thoughtfully. “He’s weird like that, but I imagine it would be hard not to care. I mean, they were his parents—but I suppose you understand that better than I...” Robin cleared his throat, clearly regretting having started the sentence.

“Yeah...”

It came as no surprise to Misaki that Koli had been defiant where she had not—but marrying a man? That didn’t just cut him off from his parents. It cut him off from his clan, his religion, and his entire community. Yammanka Falleya was as deeply rooted in bloodlines and reproduction as the Ryuhon Falleya practiced in Shirojima. Koli would never be welcome among his own people again.

“He would have inherited his parents’ company,” Misaki said, a strange pain rising in her throat. “He could have changed the world.”

Robin chuckled. “I think Koli would resent the insinuation that he needs his parents’ company or approval to change the world.”

“You’re right.” Misaki smiled. “That was a stupid thing to say. But still...”

When Misaki had considered running off with Robin, she had risked losing the acceptance of her family and the people of Shirojima. Koli had given up a multi-billion-walla inheritance, control of one of Yamma’s biggest companies, his family, his friends, his network of craftsmen, even his religion... Just the thought made her shudder.

“They really do love each other,” Robin said.

“Is that enough?” Misaki wondered aloud.

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?”

Despite any lingering regrets surrounding Robin, she knew she could never have cut herself off from her own roots so completely. Her strength was with these people. Her blood was of Shirojima’s ocean. She experienced a strange moment of clarity as, for the first time in her life, she admired Koli’s freedom from a distance, without envying it. He was Koli. She was Misaki, and just recently, she had become content with that.

“I can see why he might have wanted to get away from everything after that,” Misaki said.

“In the end, it might not have been such a great idea for him to come to Hades with us,” Robin said, “seeing how we lost him.”

“You what?” Misaki exclaimed so loudly that Izumo started in her lap, and Setsuko stuck her head into room to check that everything was okay.

“Oh, he’s not dead,” Robin said quickly. “We’ve had communication from him since he disappeared, assuring us that he’s fine. Of course, we combed his communications for any coded messages saying ‘I’m not fine, come help me.’ There was a hidden message in the last letter he sent—based on our old crime-fighting code system. It said: ‘I actually am fine, idiots. Leave me alone.’”

Misaki smiled. “That does sound like him. Guess you’d better leave him alone.”

“That’s what Elleen and I thought,” Robin said. Vanishing into thin air in the middle of a foreign country wasn’t even the weirdest thing Koli had ever done. “Shockingly, his husband isn’t very happy with us.”

“So, all three of you went and got married while I was away?” Misaki mused, rocking Izumo.

She wasn’t surprised that Robin had found someone, but she had never pictured the other two members of their little group in romantic relationships. Koli especially was always so wrapped up in his work that she never would have thought he would find time for a girl—or a boy, as the case might be.

“That’s the funny thing,” Robin said. “None of us are actually married in a technical sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“In Koli and Nyeru’s case, it’s not legal. They went through all the ceremonies, but their union isn’t recognized by Yamma or Carytha. The time Elleen had with Uther was so chaotic that they never got around to an official marriage.”

“And Daniel’s mother?”

He sighed. “Telling people we were married makes it easier, raises fewer questions. It was just a local ceremony in the village where we happened to be hiding at the time. I didn’t understand half the words. I don’t even know if it was legally binding.” He shook his head as if trying to clear it of memories. “But I have to say... it’s such a relief to be here and see that you’re getting along with your husband.”

“I’m sorry,” Misaki said. “I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance at that.”

Robin let out a painful approximation of his usual laugh. “I talk like I had plans to make a life with Daniel’s mother, but I don’t think there was ever much of a chance of that with her. She was... quite the character, not really the type to settle down and have a family.”

“I see.” Sensing the pain in Robin, Misaki tried to shift the topic. “So, if you left Hades last year, where have you been since then?”

Robin shrugged. “Around.”

He tried to explain, saying vague things about keeping people off his trail and needing to investigate this or that in Yamma, in Disa, in the Taiyang Islands. It was clear that he had been flitting around since Daniel had been born, like a bird that had just encountered a dangerous land predator and was now unwilling to touch down anywhere. He was afraid.

“I feel bad,” he said. “Your husband had been trying to contact me for a while before I actually got one of his messages. He’s probably not the only one—”

“Robin, you need to go home,” Misaki said.

“Really?” Robin raised his eyebrows. “I came here expecting to be thrown out before long, but not by you.”

“Don’t be a child,” Misaki snapped more harshly than she meant to. “I didn’t mean right this instant. As far as I’m concerned, you’re always welcome here and you can stay as long as you want, but this isn’t your home. Livingston is your home.”

“Technically, Disa is my homeland.”

“But you were made new—made whole—in Livingston, like I was made new here.”

“And are you whole?” There was no challenge or resentment in the question, only concern.

“Yes,” Misaki said and it was true. It was true, for the first time ever, the moment she looked Robin directly in the eyes and said, “I am whole.”

Wholeness, she had learned, was not the absence of pain but the ability to hold it.

“Livingston made you who you are. You’ll never be more you than you are on those streets. I don’t know what you’re doing running all over the world like you expect to find your strength somewhere else.”

“You’re probably right,” he sighed. “I never should have gone to Hades. There’s only so much lasting good you can do in a place that doesn’t really belong to you.”

“Tell you what,” Misaki said. “I’ll talk to my husband and we’ll let you ask all the questions you want on one condition.”

“Yeah?”

“That after this is done, you go home to Livingston and collect yourself.”

Robin didn’t say anything but he nodded in agreement. The two of them were quiet for a time. Izumo had gone to sleep in Misaki’s lap.

“Do you want to tell me about her?” The words were easier for Misaki to say than she thought they would be.

“I wish I could.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wish I had a hundred stories to tell about her.” Robin’s voice was quiet and far away. “But I barely knew her. I was going to. At least, I was going to try...”

“So, what happened?” Misaki asked. “Was she sick with something?”

“No. She died a koro’s death.”

Misaki found herself letting out a sigh. “Damn it, Robin.”

“What?”

“It’s just that I... all these years, I had a few things that comforted me. I would look out there.” She nodded to the horizon visible through sitting room’s open door. “At the sun. And I would imagine that somewhere, you were happy. You made it work somehow. You found a girl who was nice enough to be gentle with your heart and tough enough to keep up with everything in it, and you had the family you always wanted.”

“Oh.” Robin looked touched for a moment, then gave Misaki an amused smile. “Well, that wasn’t a very reasonable assumption.”

“But it made me happy.”

Robin let out a laugh. “Great Falleke, Misaki. What happened to my friend, the brutal cynic?”

Misaki raised her chin stubbornly. “She grew up.”

“Ha, ha. I see what you did there.”

“Misaki!” Setsuko called from the hallway and then appeared in the doorway to the sitting room. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but can you help me with dinner? I’d do it myself, but we have company and I don’t want it to be terrible.”

“Sure.” Excusing herself, Misaki shifted Izumo onto her hip, and stood.

As she left the sitting room, Daniel scampered by, and she caught him by the back of his little red kimono. “Daniel,” she whispered, leaning in close, “I have an important job for you.”

“What?”

“Go hug your dad.”

Daniel looked confused for a moment but went and draped his arms around Robin’s shoulders.

Misaki went to her bedroom that night eager to ask Takeru what in the world he had been thinking inviting Robin to their home. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t there. Training students in the dojo meant that he had to push his clerical work late into the night. Misaki couldn’t remember the last time he had slept before she did.

He would be in his study now, hard at work. Knowing an interruption would be unwelcome, she resolved to wait up for him so they could talk. Drawing the lantern close, she pulled out her sewing and started stitching for something to keep her awake. It didn’t work. Waatinu later, she was vaguely conscious of cool hands taking the needle and thread from her fingers and setting them aside before extinguishing the lantern. Darkness fell and familiar coolness covered her like a blanket of snow. When she woke to the light of dawn, Takeru was sound asleep beside her.

Birdsong echoed through the mist outside as she pulled herself onto her knees to consider her sleeping husband. Takeru was an intelligent person, but he tended to have a blind spot where human emotions were concerned. Could he really not know how she felt about Robin? She rested a hand over his steadily beating heart and decided he must know. He had seen the way she and Robin looked at each other that day, sixteen years ago, and he wasn’t stupid.

Her mind spun back to that heart-stopping moment when he had lowered his Whispering Blade, exposing his neck. Was that what this was? Some sort of test?

“What are you doing, love?” she murmured into the morning stillness.

Her husband, still deeply asleep, had no answer.

Takeru remained overwhelmed with his dojo and administrative work for three days. Robin spent a good amount of that time attempting to help the numu men with the construction. Being a koro, he wasn’t very good at using his taya to weld, and there was the language barrier to contend with. When he sensed that he was getting in the way, he took to following Misaki and Setsuko around, asking for housework he could help with, which amused Setsuko to no end.

“I’m a single parent,” he said when Misaki gave him some green onions to slice and Setsuko went into a fit of laughter. “And if Daniel is anything like me, he’s going to be a bottomless pit when he gets bigger. I’ll have to learn to cook competently sooner or later.”

Misaki translated for Setsuko, which just made her laugh harder. “Kare ippai kane ga aru jyanai ka?”

“What did she say now?”

“Aren’t you super rich?” Misaki translated.

“Are rich people not allowed to cook?”

“Well, rich men aren’t.”

“He doesn’t even know how to hold the knife!” Setsuko cackled.

“Don’t mind Setsuko,” Misaki said reassuringly. “Your food can’t possibly be as bad as hers.”

When they had mixed the vegetables, egg, flour, and meat into batter, Setsuko was still shaking her head. “I never thought I’d see a nobleman cook.”

“Well, you’ve been missing out,” Misaki said as she poured the batter into a pan. “Watch this.” She handed the pan to Robin, who placed his open palm on the metal underside and carefully began to cook the okonomiyaki.

“Whaaaaat?” Setsuko exclaimed in astonishment, then slapped Robin’s arm, heedless of the now sizzling pan in his hands. “You should stay forever, Thundyil-san! We’ll save a fortune on gas!”

Setsuko flirting with Robin was one of the weirder things that Misaki had had to process in recent memory. Then again, Setsuko flirted with a lot of people, so Misaki decided she wouldn’t dwell on it.

“Keep that at forty-six degrees Koumbia,” she told Robin. “I’m going to go call in the children. Be right back.”

Nagasa, now four years old, had been tasked with watching Daniel closely and dousing him if he caught fire, but so far that hadn’t proved necessary. Currently, the little tajaka was kicking a ball back and forth with Ayumi.

Despite the fire hazard, Daniel turned to be a delight to have around. Most children spent at least a little time being wary and uncomfortable in a strange place full of foreigners, but it seemed that a life with Robin had accustomed Daniel to strange places and people. By the end of day one, the little tajaka was already playing with Nagasa and Ayumi as if he were one of the cousins. It took painfully shy Izumo another day to warm up to him, but Daniel was so persistently friendly—continuously babbling to him in a combination of Lindish and Disaninke that Izumo didn’t understand—that Izumo eventually relented and crept out of his shell.

Hiroshi was the only one of the children who didn’t warm to Robin’s effervescent son. He didn’t speak to Daniel, instead regarding him like some kind of strange stray animal he was being forced to tolerate in his home.

“You could try being friendly to him,” Misaki suggested over breakfast one morning. “He’s just a boy, like you.”

“He smells weird,” Hiroshi said flatly, “like an unwashed numu.”

“That’s how all tajakalu smell,” Misaki said. “It’s just smoke.”

“Weird smoke,” Hiroshi said. “I don’t like him.”

“That’s no reason to be rude, Hiro-kun.”

Hiroshi’s frown deepened. “He looks like a fonyaka.”

Misaki laughed. “We look like fonyakalu, Hiro-kun. Daniel has dark skin like a tajaka, and straight, short hair like a Carythian. There’s nothing fonyaka about him.”

“What are we talking about?” Robin asked, having heard his son’s name in the conversation.

“Nothing important,” Misaki said with a dismissive wave. “Hiroshi just thinks your son looks like a fonyaka for some reason.”

“Oh.” Robin raised his eyebrows at Hiroshi. “Smart boy.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t going to bring it up... for obvious reasons,” he said apologetically, “but…” He lowered his voice. “Daniel is a fonyaka—or a quarter of one, anyway. His mother was half… and he does have her nose.” He offered Hiroshi a smile that the frigid six-year-old did not return. “Well-spotted, kiddo.”

“I don’t like him either,” Hiroshi said bluntly, aware enough to realize that Robin could not understand him.

Robin’s smile dimmed as he looked into Hiroshi’s eyes but his gentleness did not. Misaki didn’t get the chance to properly apologize for her son’s behavior until later that evening, after the children had gone to bed.

“He’s not a particularly friendly child, but he’s usually well-mannered around his elders,” she said, gathering the dirty chopsticks, pans, and rice bowls into a pile. “I don’t know what got into him today.”

“I don’t mind,” Robin assured her, setting down the washtub she had told him to retrieve.

“Well, I do.” Misaki tied her sleeves back, yanking the cloth strips hard in her annoyance. “I’m not trying to raise brats.”

“Harsh,” Robin said as Misaki opened the kitchen window and streamed water from the raindrum into the tub. While Takeru, Kwang Tae-min and Kotetsu Katashi were working hard on restoring Takayubi’s running water, the Matsudas’ kitchen sink was still too temperamental for washing dishes.

When the tub was full, Robin had heated the water with one hand. With the other, he took one dish at a time from the stack and put it in the tub. Misaki kept the hot water swirling with her right hand. When she sensed that a dish in the bottom of the tub was clean, she retrieved it with her left hand, shook the water from it, and set it in the stack of clean dishes.

“Tell me if it gets too hot,” Robin said as steam rose in curls from the tub. “I don’t want to burn you.”

“Please,” Misaki said in exasperation. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Those brief moments, when she darted a hand in for a dish, brought them as close to touching as they had come in fifteen years. It was almost too close. Misaki would have worried about the flush rising in her cheeks, but it was dim enough that it probably wasn’t visible. Besides, it was a normal reaction to heat.

When Robin had been quiet for a time, she glanced up at his face and found him staring at her forearms. Normally, her kimono covered the scars, but her sleeves were tied back.

“Pretty scary, right?” She smirked, snatching a rice bowl from the tub. “Don’t I look dangerous?”

“Knives?” he asked, cocking his head at the crisscrossing lines.

“Bladed fans,” Misaki tossed the bowl into the air, spinning the water droplets into vapor as it flipped over. “If you can believe it.” She caught the rice bowl and stacked it with the others. For a moment the only sound was the quiet rush of the water swirling between them.

“How much did he see?” Robin asked at length.

“What?”

“Hiroshi. During the ‘storm’… did he see the fighting?”

“Worse,” Misaki said, and she told Robin what Hiroshi had done during the attack.

“I don’t understand that boy,” she admitted wearily. “I never have, from the time he was an infant. All Matsudas are raised to be warriors, but it’s like he came out of the womb already sharpened for the kill. You know me; I’ve always had a violent streak—this little sliver of darkness in me that wants to kill. With Hiroshi... I don’t know what else there is in him. I worry that hard, violent impulse might be all of him.”

“You really think so?”

“How else does a five-year-old boy kill a man?”

“To protect his mother?” Robin suggested in that tone of voice of his—as if believing the best of people were obvious and simple.

“I don’t know…”

“You remember my brother, Rakesh, right?”

“Of course.” Robin’s surly identical twin had never been part of their friend group, but he had been in several of Misaki’s classes.

“He did unimaginable things to keep the two of us alive in Disa, when we were little. I don’t think you can judge a child too harshly, when they’re so young and under that much stress—”

“I never said I blamed him,” Misaki said. “By all accounts, he did the right thing—an action any adult koro would be proud to claim. It just... it scares me, Robin. I can’t help but feel like I’ve failed him somehow.”

“What do you mean? Knowing you, I’m sure you did everything you could to protect him.”

“No, that’s not—I mean—of course, I regret my weakness. What fighter doesn’t? But it’s more than that. My husband is a formidable fighter, but I don’t think he relishes violence. Not the way I do—or... did, back when I was younger. If Hiroshi has some kind of deep-seated tendency toward violence, it’s something he inherited from me. It should be down to me to help him master it. But then, he’s also emotionless and distant, like his father, so I’ve never really been able to connect with him. Now he’s killed a man, and I don’t know what to do about that. I look at him and I might as well still be pinned down under that fonyaka... I still can’t do anything to save him.”

“Have you told him that you forgive him?” Robin said, “That you love him anyway?”

“Why would he need my forgiveness? He protected me. With how much of a little Matsuda he is, my forgiveness might be an insult to him.”

“Maybe. But he needs to know that he has it.”

“You really think so?”

“You know he does.”

In the silence that followed, Misaki realized that Robin was right. When she had thought of herself as a murderer, it was Setsuko’s simple belief in her goodness that had pulled her out of the darkness. Surely every person had that need, on some level.

“Just keep loving him,” Robin said. “That’s what I did with my brother, and he turned out ok—well...” He cocked his head, “mostly okay.”

Misaki let out a laugh, remembering how ferociously the Thundyil twins used to argue about everything—from money, to politics, to fighting techniques. “You can’t pretend that you approve of the way he turned out.”

“But I do owe him my life,” Robin said seriously, “in every sense. He’s not just the reason I got to grow up... He’s the reason I got to grow up with clean hands. No matter how insufferable he was, no matter how we fought, he knew that I was grateful to him. I have to think that helped.”

“Well, we’re Matsudas,” Misaki said, retrieving another dish. “None of us got out of this with clean hands.”

“How many of them did you kill?”

“Nine, by the time the night was done.” She glanced up at Robin, and the water in the tub slowed its swirling. “What? No lecture?”

“You had to protect your family.”

Misaki nodded stiffly. She wondered if he knew how much it meant to her to hear him say that... to know he didn’t look down on her. Nami, he was right, wasn’t he? The forgiveness did help.

“I actually think I should thank you.”

“Thank me?” Misaki said, caught off guard.

“You always insisted you would have killed someone to protect me—and now I know you weren’t kidding. I appreciate you controlling the impulse during all our work in Livingston. That must have been difficult, considering the position I put you in.”

“You’re so weird, Robin.” Misaki shook the water from her hands and let her sleeves back down. “I’ll never understand how you forgive people you disagree with so fundamentally.”

“Easily,” Robin said. “If you, and my brother, and Elleen weren’t precisely the way you are, I wouldn’t be alive to disagree with any of you.”

It was on the third day that Misaki and Takeru finally carved out time to sit down and speak with Robin in private. Takeru’s students had all gone home, and Setsuko was watching the children in the courtyard, ready to douse Daniel if his powers threatened to set anything on fire.

“Thundyil-san has some questions he needs to ask both of us,” Misaki explained to her husband, “in connection with one of his investigations, if that’s alright with you?”

“He is our guest. Of course.”

“Go ahead.” Misaki nodded to Robin.

“I’m interested in learning more about the powers of Shirojima’s great houses.”

Misaki translated, and if there was anyone attuned enough to read Takeru’s minutely differing expressions, it was Robin. He picked up on the older man’s apprehension before Takeru even spoke.

“I don’t mean to infringe on your secrets,” he said quickly. “I would never try to steal information that belongs to your bloodline, or Misaki’s. In truth, my investigation is geared more toward determining if someone has already stolen that information.”

Misaki explained and Takeru agreed to hear their guest’s questions. When she had translated her husband’s response to Lindish, Robin produced two parcels from his bag and unwrapped them to reveal that each contained a small slab of metal. As he laid them on the table, Misaki realized that they were the halves of a crude axe head that appeared to have been broken in two.

“The first technique I wanted to ask you about is the Whispering Blade,” Robin said. “Has there ever been anyone outside your family able to make ice like that—ice that can cut through metal?”

Misaki knew the answer was ‘no,’ but she translated for Takeru anyway, out of courtesy.

“Of course not,” Takeru said. “What a stupid question.”

“No,” Misaki said, not translating the second part. “Metal-cutting ice is exclusive to the Matsuda line.”

“Ask him why he’s taken out those pieces of metal.”

“He’s curious what your questions have to do with those.” She nodded toward the halved axe head.

“This axe belonged to a man I knew,” Robin said. “I know it’s made of inferior metal, a far cry from Kuruma or Kotetsu steel, but it was cut by ice. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Misaki translated to Dialect as Robin slid the two pieces of metal across the table for Takeru to examine.

“The man holding it was cut in half too, if that’s relevant,” Robin said as Takeru ran his fingers over the steel, “a big hulking fankatigi. Good man. Good fighter.”

After translating, Misaki added that in her experience, fankatigi muscle was often harder to cut through than steel.

Takeru was frowning at the metal in his hands. “Kore wa Sasayaiba no shiwaza jyanai desu.”

Misaki looked at her husband for a moment, then turned to Robin. “He says that cut is not the work of a Whispering Blade.”

“Are you sure?” Robin asked.

“Honki desuka?” Misaki translated.

In response, Takeru gave Robin a faintly indignant look. Then he threw one piece of the axe head into the air. As it came down, the Whispering Blade flashed from his hand, striking it in two.

“Oh!” Robin exclaimed in surprise.

As the Whispering Blade sublimated, one piece of the axe head landed neatly in Takeru’s hand. The other flew toward Robin, who managed to snatch it out of the air without cutting himself on the sharp edge.

With a dry look, Takeru held up his piece to show Robin the flawlessly smooth surface where his Whispering Blade had sheared through.

“Oh...” Robin looked from the hunk of metal in Takeru’s hand to the one in his own. The stroke of Takeru’s Whispering Blade had created a mirror-like surface much cleaner than the original break. “I see.”

“Aru jutsu,” Takeru said, “kono mura de futsuu ni tsukawanai…”

“There is a jijaka technique not often practiced in this village,” Misaki translated for her husband as he continued, “wherein the fighter uses water or ice to propel metal blades. Could your killer have been employing something like that?”

“Maybe...”

“You would have to go much further south to find experts in that technique. My husband recommends the towns of Sabaisu and Nadamui.”

“Thank you,” Robin said. “I’ll look into that. There’s one more technique I need to ask about.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Tell me about Blood Puppeteering.”

Misaki looked at Robin in shock. “What?”

“Kare ima donna kettou-jutsu kikimashita?” Takeru asked, noticing the expression on his wife’s face. What has he asked about now?

“Tsusano Kettou-jutsu... Chiningyo,” Misaki answered.

“Sou desuka?” Takeru looked amused before suggesting that Misaki explain to her friend the difference between a bloodline technique and a ghost story.

“Hai,” Misaki said hesitantly and then turned to Robin. “The Blood Puppeteers are a myth.”

“I know,” Robin said, “but for the sake of argument, just humor me, okay? If it was possible, would it work on a tajaka?” He had started absently massaging his arm. “Or a fonyaka?”

“Oh, yes.” Misaki didn’t have to consult Takeru on this technique; she was the blood manipulator. “I have to assume, it would work like any other blood-based technique. Those work best on non-jijakalu, who have limited control of the liquid in their own bodies.”

“Delightful.”

“But like Takeru said, it isn’t possible. My father is the most accomplished blood manipulator in generations, and even he says it’s just a tall tale. There’s never been a documented case, only rumors.”

“I know...”

“There’s a ‘but’ coming, isn’t there?” Misaki said. “Robin, what did you see?”

“It’s not something I saw or heard,” he said, “or I wouldn’t be bothering you with these questions. I know that ears and eyes can be tricked, but it happened to me, Misaki. I felt it.”

“Kare nanto iimashita?” Takeru asked, and Misaki caught him up on the conversation. Unsurprisingly, he shared her skepticism, but Robin was not one to make up stories. She told Takeru as much.

“This is going to sound weird...” Robin looked between the two jijakalu. “Could one of you give me your best shot?”

“Excuse me?”

“Please,” Robin said. “I need one of you to try to control my blood. I need to feel it again, to be sure that was what happened to me before.”

“I... don’t...” Unsettled and uncertain, Misaki turned and translated to Takeru, to see what he thought of the request.

“Sonna koto suru to wa sugoku abundai desu. Shinakute ga iinjyanai desune,” Takeru said, frowning deeply. “Aku no jutsu desu.”

“My husband says this is not something to trifle with,” Misaki translated, “and... Robin, I’m inclined to agree. There is evil in that kind of technique.”

“Please,” Robin said. “I think...” He took a breath. “I think this is how he killed my wife.”

Misaki was silent, staring at Robin until Takeru prompted her to speak. When she translated haltingly, Takeru asked for elaboration.

“She was one of the fastest fighters I’ve ever seen,” Robin explained. “He wouldn’t have been able to hit her unless somehow she was immobilized. I should have been able to get up and do something, but I couldn’t move. Please. I need to know why I couldn’t move.”

“Oh…” Misaki had to swallow hard before translating.

Takeru looked at Robin for a long moment and then shortly said, “Help him.”

Misaki felt her eyes widen. “What?”

“If it’s somewhere in your power, if there is a bit of Blood Puppeteer in you, I think you should do as he asks.”

“But—you just said—”

“I would never force you to do this,” Takeru added, “but if he is your friend, I think you should try. Your ability to manipulate blood is on par with that of any historical Tsusano. If you don’t help him, there may not be anyone who can.”

“You’re right,” she said.

“So?” Robin looked from Misaki to Takeru.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Misaki said, “but my husband thinks I should help you.”

“Oh—you’re going to do it?” Robin said in surprise.

“Takeru is more powerful than I am, but he isn’t a blood manipulator. If we’re going to do this, it has to be me.”

Robin looked apprehensive.

“Do you still want to try?” Misaki asked.

Robin appeared to steel himself and answered, “Yes, if it’s possible.”

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure if it is,” Misaki said. “You’ll need to give me time to work up to it, and I’m going to need you to be very still.”

She decided to try on a body part with a small amount of blood, where she could easily take control of the circulation. It had to be at an extremity, far from the beating heart where Robin’s nyama was at its strongest.

“Put your hand on the table.”

Robin lifted his right arm.

“Your left,” Misaki said. “I don’t know how safe this is. I don’t want to do permanent damage to your dominant hand.”

The warning was a last-ditch effort make Robin lose his nerve, but of course, it didn’t work. He nodded and rested his left hand on the table, palm up. Misaki didn’t touch him; she simply held her hand over his and reached out with her jiya. She wasn’t sure if the sound came from her or Robin—but there was a sharp gasp as her ice met his inner heat.

It was here, in the depths of their interlocked power, that she fully realized how much he had changed. In youth, Robin’s nyama had leapt and crackled against hers, painful but joyful at the same time. Somewhere on his path, Robin had encountered suffering he couldn’t turn to energy, something that had broken him. That something sat deep inside him, heavy, like molten metal, hotter than fire but lacking the jubilant brilliance of flame.

The Robin Thundyil she had known was gone.

Of course, Misaki had changed too. Her power, which used to dance along the surface of the world, shallow and free, now sank deep into Robin’s molten veins, matching its intensity. Most jijakalu couldn’t control liquid as hot as a tajaka’s blood, but Misaki had always embraced the heat, and she forced her jiya into Robin’s circulation, making his veins her own.

“Now...” Misaki found her voice shaking. “Try to close your fist.”

Robin did, and she pulled against his pinky with all her strength. In a horrible moment, she felt his muscles strain against her, and then convulse, the little finger contorted—and she released his blood with a gasp.

As Robin snatched his hand back, Misaki found herself slumping forward. The effort had exhausted her, but she could see on Robin’s face that it had worked. As she caught herself on the edge of the table with shaking arms, Takeru put a hand on her shoulder. The touch steadied her, easing the flamelike spasms of pain from her body, but her eyes were still on Robin’s face.

“That was it,” he said. “That was what he did to me... my whole body.”

“Your whole body?” Misaki said in disbelief. She had only taken control of Robin’s smallest finger and it had left her spent.

Robin looked up at Misaki and Takeru. “I thought that your houses were as close as theonites could get to gods.”

“We are,” Misaki said.

“Then I think...” Robin stared down at his hand. “I think I might have gotten on the wrong side of a god.” He looked like he might be sick.

“Robin...” Misaki’s voice was timid, almost imploring, as if she could call back the boy she had known, who had never looked so scared. She wanted to apologize for pulling that horror to the surface. He had asked her to, yes, but she was still sorry. “Robin, I—”

“Excuse me.” Robin stood too quickly, his usually graceful movements unsteady. “Thank you for your help, Koro Matsuda.” He bowed, still clutching the hand Misaki had manipulated. “I just need to... Excuse me.” He left the room.

“Your friend is very odd,” Takeru said, looking after him.

“He is.”

“You should go after him.”

“Takeru-sama?”

“We don’t know the effects that technique will have on him. Please, see that he isn’t damaged.”

Misaki nodded and rose to follow Robin.

She found him in the sitting room, kneeling before the family shrine, the printed photos of Mamoru and Takashi staring down at him. Takashi’s picture was an old one, from the day he married Setsuko. He held himself in a stately fashion, but Misaki suspected he had been a bit tipsy when it was taken, an un-Matsuda-like hint of a smile curling the corner of his mouth.

The picture of Mamoru was recent, taken during what no one realized would be Kumono Academy’s last school picture day. He sat straight in his school uniform, trying far too hard to appear serious. To Misaki, it perfectly captured her son--a boy with enough talent to never have to try hard at anything, who had tried harder than everyone at everything, until the very end.

Robin had never met Mamoru or Takashi. That, in itself, created a strange hole in the universe—a ghost in its own right. He had already visited the shrine and prayed on his first day in Takayubi. There was no reason for him to be kneeling here, staring at the photos now. He hadn’t even known them. But he stared at the photos with burning intensity as he clutched his left hand in his right to rub the finger Misaki had manipulated.

“What if it all happens again?” he asked in a low voice. “What if I can’t protect Daniel?”

Misaki pressed her lips together for a moment before answering. “Maybe you can’t.”

“How do I live with that?” Robin looked up at her. “How did you do it? All of you... how did you do it?”

“There is no ‘how,’ Robin,” Misaki sighed. “It’s not a duel or a street fight. There’s no winning technique to get through it okay, no ice that can protect you from it, no fire that can burn it away. You know that. You’ve lost family before.”

“Not like you…” Robin shook his head. “I’ve been a bad friend. I should have asked about him earlier. Even if you didn’t want to talk about it, I could have at least asked—like you asked about my wife. I should have asked what he was like.”

The oversight hadn’t bothered Misaki. It wasn’t that she couldn’t talk about Mamoru, but it still hurt. It would always hurt.

“If you feel so bad about not asking, why haven’t you?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

“I’m afraid,” Robin said, turning back to look at Mamoru’s picture. “I’m afraid he was wonderful. I’m afraid he was brilliant like you, and powerful, and brave, and everything he possibly could have been.”

“He was,” Misaki said softly.

“And it didn’t matter?” Robin said.

“It did matter,” Misaki said fiercely. “At the end, he made it matter. There are people in this village now who are only alive because he was everything he could be, but...”

But he’s still gone.

She didn’t need to say it aloud. The thought hung in the air all around them. Misaki had learned to live with the weight of it, to go about her day, cook, clean, and play with her living children while it hung there, quiet but ever present. Robin seemed to be buckling beneath it.

“Misaki...” When he turned to her, his warm eyes were clouded with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“Come now, Robin.” She tried to smile. “You’re a grown man. Don’t cry.”

“This should not have happened to you.”

Misaki shook her head. “This shouldn’t happen to anyone.”

“What have I done, Misaki?” Robin asked, a single tear sliding down his cheek. “What have I done?”

“I don’t know,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “You don’t seem willing to elaborate. All I’ve heard is some nonsense about a blood puppeteer god. But you always knew you were going to face danger in your line of work. You even understood, to an extent, that it was going to affect the people around you. This is—”

“I didn’t mean to have a child,” Robin said. “I had decided I wasn’t going to.”

“What are you talking about? You always wanted kids.” Even at sixteen, Robin had talked about wanting children.

“It’s not about what I want. Misaki, my life—my responsibilities—have gotten way too dangerous for a child.”

“Wasn’t it always that way?” Misaki asked. He had just been blind to it. They had both been blind to it.

“Maybe,” he sighed, “but until recently—ironically, until Daniel was actually born—I thought I could become strong enough to protect the people I cared about from anything. I understand now that that’s not true. And it’s too late.” He put his head in his hands and dug his fingers into his short hair, fists clenching.

“It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to get her pregnant. I didn’t mean for there to be a child. This was all a mistake.”

“Don’t say that.”

“But—”

“I’m serious!” Misaki said, genuinely angry. “Don’t ever say that again. Not in front me, and certainly not in front of Daniel.”

Robin looked up at her in surprise as she continued.

“Maybe everything you say is true. Maybe you have made all the worst possible decisions up to this point, but that’s not going to change the fact that you’re here now and so is your son. Do you really think treating his existence like a mistake is going to do either of you any good?”

“I...”

“Get up,” Misaki sighed.

“What—”

“Come with me.” She grabbed the front of his kimono.

She had never been strong enough to haul Robin around, but in the past few months, she had learned to send her jiya through her blood on command. She lifted him to his feet as if he were no bigger than Izumo and pulled him from the room. She didn’t release him until they had stopped on the deck overlooking the courtyard. While numuwu worked on the restaurant addition, Nagasa, Ayumi, and Daniel were playing in the spring grass.

“Look.” Misaki pointed across the courtyard at Daniel. “Look at him.”

Robin did.

“That’s your son,” Misaki said, her voice suddenly harsh with emotion. “Now, I don’t know how unfortunate the circumstances of his birth were, and I don’t know what kind of evil is after you, but it doesn’t matter. Even if his life is hard, if this all turns out just as horribly as you imagine, you won’t regret him. You’ll never regret him.”

Robin stared across the courtyard without responding. Nagasa was manipulating a snowball to zigzag around while Ayumi and Daniel raced to catch it, tripping on each other and shrieking with laughter.

“I can’t tell you everything is going to be alright,” Misaki said. “Neither of us is that naïve anymore, but I can tell you to live the time you have with that boy instead of spending it on worry and regret. You might have twenty years with him. You might only have two. If you waste that time, if you miss it, then when it ends, you’re going to feel like the biggest idiot who ever lived.”

A moment had passed before Misaki realized that she was crying. It had been a long time since she had cried for Mamoru. Seeing Robin here with his son brought all the emotion back to the surface. He didn’t reach for her physically. This new adult Robin was not so forward, but she felt his heat tug at her skin.

“Is—um—” She gulped, drawing her sleeve across her eyes. “Is your finger alright?”

“What?”

“Let me see.” She snatched his hand before she could think better of it.

“Oh—” Robin said as their skin touched. “Y-you don’t have to—”

“My husband told me to check for damage,” Misaki said thickly.

They were barely touching—Misaki holding his smallest finger between her thumb and forefinger—but it burned.

“Well?” Robin said. “Are my blood vessels all okay?”

“Seems like,” Misaki said, but she didn’t let go.

Her index finger curled around his pinky and they knotted together—dark and light, hot and cold. She knew in that moment that this was one more thing that would never go away. She would always love Robin, the same way she would always miss Mamoru. For everything that had changed, this hadn’t. It hurt. Gods in the Deep, it hurt, but it didn’t consume her. After so long, she had learned to carry it like a woman.

“I spent a lot of time regretting,” she admitted. “I had a brilliant son, loving friends, and a whole family growing up all around me. And I was too wrapped up in my own regret to cherish it. I didn’t take ownership of that life until it was all slipping through my fingers and it was too late.”

“I’m so sorry,” Robin said. “I wish there was something I could—”

“Don’t be sorry,” Misaki said firmly. “Just promise me that you won’t make the same mistake. That’s what you can do for me. That’s all I want from you, Robin Thundyil.” Across the courtyard, Daniel was yipping in delight as Nagasa threw another snowball and he ran to get it. “If that boy missed out on having you as a father, that really would be the biggest waste in the universe.”

Robin left Takayubi the next day.

Watching Daniel say goodbye to the Matsuda children provided a thoroughly entertaining distraction from the confusion of emotions tangling inside Misaki. One of the things she had forgotten about tajaka children was how much they liked hugging. Nagasa, Izumo, and Ayumi all took it reasonably well, only freezing in surprise for a moment before managing to smile and pat Daniel on the back. Hiroshi went rigid, his lips parted in utter indignation, as the little tajaka squeezed him tight. For a moment Misaki worried that Daniel was about to get an ice spike through the chest but Setsuko eventually rescued Hiroshi, scooping Daniel up into an enthusiastic embrace.

“Goodbye, weird little thing!” She tousled Daniel’s hair, making it stick up off his head at an abundance of silly angles. “Come again soon, ne?”

Depositing Daniel at his father’s feet, Setsuko gave Robin a more reserved farewell, then herded Ayumi and the brothers away to give Misaki and Robin a moment.

“I will be back to visit,” Robin said as he tried to wrestle a squirming Daniel into his cloth sling. “If you’ll still have me... and if I’m still in the realm of the living.”

“What do you mean ‘if’?” Misaki said sharply. “You made me a promise, remember?”

“What?”

“Years ago, in Livingston, the day we fought Yaotl Texca, you promised that you wouldn’t get yourself killed. Now, I don’t care what you’ve gotten yourself into, I’m holding you to that. Are we clear, Thundyil?”

“Crystal clear.” Robin gave her a smile, but it faded after a moment. “I wish I was clear on what to do next.”

“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to go back home, use those Thundyil Firm millions to set up a nice stable life for your son, and get to work.”

“Work?”

“Yeah. I imagine there’s a lot of crime-fighting to catch up on.”

“And you’re sure that’s the answer?”

“No,” she admitted, “but I once saw the idea of Firebird turn a boy into a man. When you get back to those streets and the reason you started down this path in the first place, I think you’ll find your strength again.”

“Thank you,” he said softly.

The familiar ache rose between them—the burning urge to rush into an embrace, contained in the knowledge that they never could. It strained there between them as their eyes met. They didn’t shake, or shout, or cry as they had when they were teenagers. They bore its weight like the man and the woman they had become.

“Let’s be older when we meet again,” Misaki said.

“What?”

“Not just in years. Let’s be better, and wiser, and brighter next time.”

Robin nodded and made another attempt to get Daniel into the baby sling.

“No, Pita!” Daniel whined, trying to swat Robin’s hands away. “No, no!”

“Yah jaand ka samay hai,” Robin spoke sternly to Daniel in Disaninke. “You little dummy, it’s too far for you to walk.”

Daniel pouted and reached his hands up to his father. “Ride,” he said.

“You gonna hold on?”

“Yeah.” Daniel nodded.

“Okay then.” Robin stowed the cloth wrap in his bag and swung Daniel up onto his shoulders instead. “Hold tight, kiddo,” he reminded him and Daniel promptly took hold of Robin’s hair. “Nyama to you, Matsuda Misaki.”

“And to you, Firebird.”

“Say ‘bye-bye,’ Daniel,” Robin said and made a show of waving.

“Bye-bye!” Daniel said, flapping his hand around in something like a wave. “Bye-bye!” he kept repeating as Robin left the Matsuda compound and walked down the village path into the reddening sky. “Bye-bye!”

Last time, she had left Robin wounded. It had felt rather like breaking his wings and pushing him off a cliff to fall into the mists of memory. This time, with Daniel on his shoulders, it felt like sending him into the future. Like sending him off with wings.

Misaki watched until Robin and his son had disappeared down the mountainside. When she had stood here sixteen years ago, she had been knotted, fists clenched, rigid with pain. There had been a sense that once he was gone, she would be utterly alone. This time, bare feet toddled across the deck toward her, and a soft hand grasped her index finger.

“Thanks, Izumo,” she murmured.

Her youngest son reached for her and she picked him up, resting her cheek against his head as the sky turned red. Izumo was dozing with a thumb in his mouth by the time a colder aura materialized behind Misaki.

“Has he gone already?” Takeru asked.

Misaki managed a small nod, her eyes still resting on the sinking sun.

“I apologize. I meant to be here to see him off.”

“Usually you’re home earlier,” she said. “Where were you?”

“I was visiting Kwang Tae-min. Did you know that Robin Thundyil just paid Geomijul Communications for the replacement of all the info-com towers that were destroyed?”

“He what?”

“He also asked Kwang Tae-min which construction companies he would recommend to put down good roads and build a new orphanage. Then he hired them as well.”

Misaki sighed. “I guess that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“He’s always had a soft spot for orphans. We refused his money, so he had to do something with it.”

“I knew he was wealthy,” Takeru said, “but it seems I underestimated him.”

“This isn’t actually an unusual thing for him to do,” Misaki said. “Even before he could afford it, he was generous to a fault.”

Takeru shook his head. “Not just generous. He’s clever. In the short term, the construction will provide jobs to numuwu and koronu who have none. In the long term, the towers and roads will be a great help in bringing customers and supplies to the new businesses we are trying to start.”

“That’s good,” Misaki said. “We’ll be able to pay him back in the future.”

She wasn’t surprised that Robin had found a way to help behind her back, but they were still Matsudas. They still had their pride.

“Of course,” Takeru said. “I...” He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “I felt that it was important that we speak to Robin Thundyil in person about what happened after the storm. I apologize if having him here was uncomfortable for you.”

“No,” Misaki said earnestly. “No, he’s an old friend. It wasn’t uncomfortable. I’m just surprised that you would ever allow him here again after what he... after the last time we saw him.”

“That was a long time ago,” Takeru said. “Still, I am sorry if it was painful.”

Misaki looked at her husband in surprise. “Wh-why would it—”

“I’m not stupid,” he said mildly.

She pressed her lips together, feeling a guilty blush color her cheeks. “And you let him come here anyway?”

“I trust you.”

With the last of the sun touching her skin on one side and Takeru’s cold on the other, Misaki found herself fascinated by the sheer scope of her emotions. She hadn’t been surprised to realize that she still loved Robin. What was strange was that she could love him and love Takeru at the same time. In the last year, she had been astonished by how much pain she could hold in her, but until she stood on that front deck with Takeru beside her and Izumo in her arms, she had never held this much love.

Maybe that was the ‘how’ Robin had been looking for, the simple magic by which she held herself together. Love for what she had and what was gone. Love no matter the pain.

“You two… enjoyed catching up?” Takeru asked.

“We did. Sorry he didn’t end up having more concrete information on our assassin.”

“That wasn’t the only reason I asked him here.”

“It wasn’t?”

“I... didn’t want to leave you in your silence.” Takeru seemed to choose his words carefully. “Sixteen years. You never got to say goodbye.”

Misaki turned to her husband with a smile. It was different from the manic fighter’s smile that used to light her face when she raced down alleys chasing Robin’s flames—more peaceful. Back then, all she had wanted was to seethe, and burn, and fight, and feel. That was before she knew pain, before she had seen her son’s body on fire. Now she found herself appreciating the cool steadiness of Takeru’s power.

“I have some work to finish,” Takeru said and made to withdraw. “I’ll leave you to—” Misaki caught his sleeve between her thumb and forefinger.

“Stay,” she said softly and tugged him in until their bodies leaned together. “Stay and watch the sun set with me.”

Red seeped from the sky like blood washed out to sea, leaving only the blue waves of evening. Shadows nestled into the contours of the mountainside, and instead of stiffening against Takeru’s nyama, Misaki sank into it, letting it cool her, as daylight turned to dusk.

She breathed out and the last of the ghosts lifted. Not just Mamoru’s. There had been other ghosts trapped here: the spirit of a ferocious teenage girl and the boy she loved. They were gone now too, passed into the realm of memory where they belonged, where they could rest. As the spirits faded, so did the last of the ties that had bound Misaki to the horizon for so many years, dissolving like threads of blood in water.

As Izumo blinked awake in her arms, Misaki turned inward, toward her home and her husband. Her little boy smiled up at her, and the future was no longer at the burning edge of the sea. It was here, in a softly beating heart and black eyes, bright with promise.