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Chapter Text

BETWEEN THREE ROGUES: ROGUE’S LEGACY

By Eric ‘Erico’ Lawson

One: First of Their Name

The Albatross II 

5 Lunaleagues SW of Crescent Island

The Frontier Lands

0 N.A.C, 8th Month, 22nd Day 

One Bell after Midday

It wasn’t their usual stretch of skies, and Captain Briggs of the Blue Mercantile Marine was missing his home and his wife back in the lush stretch of land underneath the silver moon that Alpha Base protected. He paced aboard the bridge and the bridge crew of the Albatross II, a mix of veteran crew and newcomers, watched him with some trepidation.

“Captain, are you all right?” his Vice Captain, Luke, asked. The lad had been with them for years, and his promotion to Vice Captain had been natural after Briggs’ own promotion in the wake of Dyne taking on the position of Admiral.

“Just nerves, I suppose.” Briggs muttered, stopping his pacing with a long sigh. “Any word from any of our other scouts?” He asked, looking to the newest station aboard the bridge, where a cumbersome ‘radio’ setup was manned by one of the new recruits that had received training on Crescent Island for the job.

Technician Deckard glanced up, one hand clasped to the earpiece of his radio headset. “Negative, captain.” The Mid-Ocean native shook his head. “All clear signals from every ship on the outer cordon, every fifteen minutes as scheduled. It’s quiet otherwise.”

“It had better stay that way.” Briggs ground his teeth. He had ample reason to be worried, given what was at stake. Nobody was getting to Crescent Island without thorough vetting, that much had been made abundantly clear by Admiral Dyne when he dispatched the pickets 13 hours ago.

The man’s first grandchild was being born on that island, surrounded by family and trusted friends. Given what had happened to Pirate Isle before they entered into the new age, Dyne had reason to be paranoid.

***

Crescent Island

Children didn’t just pop out in a hurry. Well, not most of the time. Sometimes, their medical texts said, a child would be born that quickly. But most of the time, it was a process of several hours and only the very obstinate would spend all of it in bed.

Vyse kept pace, walking beside Aika while his beloved red-haired wife huffed and grimaced through her discomfort. She leaned against Piastol Mendosa for support on her fourth walk around the cabin built upon the ruins of Kalifa’s old fortune-telling tent, a cabin purpose-built for midwifing. For giving birth in.

Kalifa, having lost her gift of Seeing, had insisted on it. 

“Get this damn kid out of me already!” Aika snarled, giving Vyse a distinctly venomous look. He managed not to wince, but it was a close thing. 

“It will come when it’s ready, Aika. Doc told us that in the classes he made us sit through.” Over next to the bed, Fina sat on a cushioned chair and gave the two of them an understanding look. There were only two other people allowed in the room right now; David ‘Doc’ Levinstone, who’d changed his usual routes in the final month to be close at hand, and Piastol, Fina’s newest student in the healing arts of silver magic. 

Fina and Aika’s experiences during pregnancy had been nearly night and day. Aika’s ankles had swollen up and her morning sickness had gone through a particularly rough patch that made her swear off sailing for two months straight. Fina’s gravid state had caused her no particular troubles aside from fatigue in the afternoons that a nap resolved. Now, Aika was suffering through a long and exhausting birthing process, one that would have been far worse without Fina’s expert spellcasting and some of Ilchymis’s natural soothing remedies. The only thing they’d had in common was an increased libido, something which Vyse had been happy to help with when they didn’t help out each other. They hadn’t known which one would come to term first, and there had been bets on it (Because even in peacetime, Vyse’s crew found ample opportunities for profitable gossip). Those who had bet on Fina were going to lose their money.

“Okay, Vyse. Bring her over and help her lay down again.” Doc ordered. He did so, even as she squeezed his hand in a death grip. Fina and Piastol took up position by her head and shoulders while Doc calmly examined between her legs.

“Reach out with your magic. Feel for Aika. Feel for the child.” Fina said softly, guiding Piastol in yet more hands-on work in the finer art of using Curia for diagnostic purposes. The former assassin’s eyes were closed as she slid her hands down over Aika’s swollen belly.

“It’s strong...And ready.” Piastol murmured.

“I’d hope so.” Doc said cheerfully. “Aika, you’re fully dilated. It took a while, but we can get started.”

A knock on the door broke the concentration in the room, and a moment later Vyse’s mother Relena stuck her head in. “Vyse?”

The High Admiral of the Blue Mercantile Marine let his head drop and stifled a groan. There’d been strict orders not to bother them unless it was critical. “Yeah, mom?”

“Your father said he needs you.”

“Can it wait? It’s almost time. I promised I would be here for this. For both of them.” Vyse said, putting some heat into his words. He’d been gone for too many incidents so far, and they needed him here for this. It was the birth of their children, he was going to be a father.

His mother smiled knowingly. “He’s not far, just waiting at the bottom of the lift to the overlook. You can see what he wants and hurry back right after.”

“But…”

“It’s okay, Vyse.” Fina said, offering him a knowing smile. “You’re the head of the Blue Mercantile Marine. We all knew there’d be times your responsibilities pulled you away. Just like we know you’ll run back as soon as you can. You aren’t going far.”

He wanted to argue more, but decided against it, leaning over to kiss Aika’s sweaty forehead first and then Fina’s lips.

“Hey.” Aika whined, and he turned back to her. “You missed, Pirate.” She pointed with a shaky hand to her mouth, and he chuckled, turning back to kiss her properly.

“Sorry, love.” He apologized afterwards, keeping his head close to hers and looking into her eyes. “I’ll hurry back as soon as I can.”

“You’d better.” She huffed through her breathing exercises. “You’re already in trouble for what you put me through these past months.”

He pulled back a little and looked between his wives, stuck and unwilling to move.

“Go, Vyse.” Piastol finally said in a firm voice. “Nothing bad will happen. You have my oath on that.” He glanced at the former assassin turned priestess and healer in training and saw steel in her eyes. A year ago he would have laughed to think that he would ever feel safe having her in the presence of the two women he loved. But so much had changed since the fall of the Valuan Empire, Galcian’s failed coup, and the collapse of Soltis.

Now, there were few people he would trust more to look after Aika and Fina aside from the silver-haired woman. He gave Piastol a grateful nod and marched out the front door, a fire growing in his eyes. 

Just as his mother had said, his father was waiting for him at the bottom of the lift that led up to Crescent Island’s overlook and command room. Admiral Dyne, Blue Mercantile Marine commander of the Silver Sea and southern Mid-Ocean looked calmer than Vyse would have expected.

“What is it?” Vyse demanded. “What’s the emergency, dad?”

Dyne gave him a small smile. “You being stuck in there with two heavily pregnant women for 13 hours straight isn’t an emergency?” Vyse’s eyes widened, a ready scream bubbling up, but his father held up a hand. “Relax, Vyse. There are no emergencies, nothing is wrong. I’ve had pickets flying a security cordon ever since last night when it became clear Aika wasn’t having another false alarm. Everything is fine, and we’re all safe. But I wanted to talk with you and I figured right about now, you’d be tired enough to listen to me.”

“Really?” Vyse asked, even though he had to admit his old man had a point about his weariness. Doc had warned them that childbirth might take a while, he just hadn’t expected to miss an entire night’s sleep over it. 

“Yes, really.” Dyne’s face turned solemn. “Did I ever tell you the story of the night you were born?” Vyse thought about it and shook his head, and Dyne looked crestfallen for a moment. “Another way I’ve failed you, I suppose.”

“Dad, no…”

“Son, I have been nothing but proud of the way you’ve conducted yourself, allow an old man time to reflect on his mistakes from time to time. And learn from them.” He added, pointing a finger at Vyse. He waited until Vyse nodded before reaching for a hip flask and holding it out. “Here. Have a swig, I’m fairly sure you need it.”

Vyse shrugged and took a swallow, feeling the burn of… “Valuan Rye?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did you visit Gordo lately?”

“No, actually. Drachma’s on the island, but staying out of the way until it’s over. He brought two bottles of it for the family to share when the births were over.” Dyne chuckled. “Thoughtful of him. Regardless. The night you were born…I wasn’t there. We were on a patrol when your mother went into labor, because the merchants we did business with had been saying there was increased activity in the area and we didn’t dare anchor at Pirate Isle until we were sure it was safe. We didn’t finish the underground base until you were a year old, remember. I didn’t know I’d missed it until we came back a week after Relena had popped you out, and there you were, a tiny bundle of promises and potential.”

Dyne went quiet for a bit afterwards, looking across the island to the flagpole where Vyse’s flag still waved. “It changed me, you know. It changed the way I fought. When you have a child, a family that you have to protect, you can’t take the same risks you could when you were younger. And you remember how we never went further than Sailor’s Isle on our patrols. We took on a large enough area to throw Valua’s spies off our trail, but never more than we could handle. Your situation is different than mine was, though.”

“Yeah? How’s that, dad?” Vyse asked.

“Your children will grow up in a world that you made safer. And will continue to keep safe - in a way that the Valuan Empire’s nobler souls had only ever dreamed of. In that way, you’re already going to be better as a father than I was. For the other part…seems like you already have that figured out.”

Vyse thought about it. “Because I’m going to be there for them.” He realized, and Dyne smiled sadly and nodded. “Dad, you weren’t…”

“I was, son.” Dyne shook his head. “You don’t have to lie and try to change history now that it’s over and done with. For you, for Aika, I was always a captain first and a parent second.” Vyse opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when he thought about it, really thought about it. And then he nodded. Dyne exhaled and took back the flask, taking another drink. “My mistake was thinking that I had to be this…this immutable figure to be an effective leader, someone who always prioritized the mission. And maybe it was what was necessary, and maybe it’s what made you the man you are and it’s why everything turned out the way it did, but I can still regret it.”

Vyse’s head swam as his exhaustion from the long, sleepless night and the burn of the alcohol hit him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because after today, you’re going to be a parent. And that will change things, change your priorities. When it comes to being in command, you learned the right lessons and you learned them well. But don’t treat me as your only example of being a father, Vyse. You can do better than I did. You will. Okay?”

Vyse mulled over his father’s words and finally nodded. “All right.”

“Good.” Dyne dug his toe into the dirt and chuckled. “I have to say, though. I am very eager to be a grandfather.”

Vyse huffed and patted his old man on the arm. “You’re getting your chance. You know I love you, right?”

“Never had a doubt of that in my mind, son. I love you too. You, your women, and all of the kids you’ll bring into the world.” Dyne screwed the lid back on the flask and stretched out his arms. “Okay. That was all I had to…”

He was interrupted by Aika’s loud, angry, agonized scream that rattled the walls of the birthing cabin…and a few moments later, only faintly heard, the wailing of a newborn. Vyse stared at the cabin, frozen in place. It was only when his father clapped a hand on his shoulder that he came back to himself, and he turned his blown-wide eyes towards his father. Dyne just smiled.

“Go.” Vyse tore off like a shot after that, running to the door and bursting in, narrowly avoiding crashing into his mother before he came to a stop, watching in awe…

Watching as Fina made their very tired wife comfortable in the bed while Piastol and Doc Levinstone cleaned her child - their child, his child - off before swaddling it in a warmed blanket.

“We’re all okay.” Fina assured him, looking up with love in her eyes. “Aika’s more than a little tired, but there were no complications. Piastol, all done over there?”

“Just finished.” Piastol said, turning and looking between Vyse and then his wives. “Who am I taking him to?”

“Vyse.” Both of the women said in synch with one another. They shared a look before Fina giggled, and Aika just rolled her eyes.

“Right.” Piastol walked over to Vyse, carefully holding the crying infant. “Congratulations, Mr. Bluevane. It’s a boy.”

“Our son.” Aika said in a tired voice. “Lucas Leopold Bluevane.”

Some strange instinct made Vyse reach out and cradle the infant just so, gently bouncing it until it quieted and its wrinkled, closed eyes smoothed out for rest. Lucas Bluevane. Baby Luke. Vyse looked down at him until he couldn’t see clearly, until he realized he’d been crying, all of his body trembling aside from his arms that went rock solid to support the precious treasure resting in them. His tears didn’t matter. He didn’t care. Luke was beautiful, and one look had been all Vyse had needed to acknowledge just how right his own father had been. The world had changed in an instant.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy. Happier than he’d even been at his wedding. His face hurt from how wide his smile was. 

“I have a son.” Vyse said, walking over to Aika’s bedside, joining the rest of his small family that had grown by one. Fina was crying too now, and if Aika hadn’t been so worn out, she would have been as well, given how red her eyes were. He passed the child back over to them, reaching a finger down to brush Luke’s head as Aika undid her top and pulled her baby in for his first meal. “We have a son.”

A son.

***

Naturally, every soul on the island celebrated at the news. The three most famous Blue Rogues, the power trio who had been united in both war and now peace, had begun a new dynasty. The news was broadcast over the radio, and from every corner of the world, congratulations and well wishes came from their scattered friends and allies. Bets were paid out for time of birth and the gender of the baby, and soon the liquor flowed amongst everyone save for the new parents. They had a day that they spent resting, regaining their strength, and showing off the swaddled newborn to reverent members of the Mercantile Marine that kept to a hush for fear of waking their new ‘prince.’ 

And then two days after Aika bore him a son, Vyse found himself back in the midwife’s hut with a beleaguered Doc Levinstone and Piastol again when Fina’s water broke. Unlike when Aika had been the one suffering through labor, Fina’s own act of giving birth moved along…much more quickly.

After a period of only three hours where Piastol and Aika used wild combinations of green and silver magic to keep her lightly anesthetized and hale and hearty, Fina gave birth to their second child.

Even within the walls of the hut, they could hear the roaring cheers from the rest of Crescent Island when Vyse’s mother stepped outside to share the news.

“A girl.” Aika beamed as she and Vyse crowded around the bed while Fina, worn but happy in a way that she rarely showed, held their daughter to her breast and let her suckle. “She’s beautiful, Princess.”

“She’s perfect.” Vyse whispered, stroking the wispy silvery-blond hairs on top of her head. 

“I can’t believe you popped her out so fast.” Aika complained, and Vyse couldn’t help but gently stroke his Valkyrie’s arm in sympathy. Aika huffed, but settled down. “It’s okay, Vyse. I’m just a little jealous how easy Fina made it look, while I was close to screaming bloody murder. I’ll get over it.”

“You know why it seemed so easy.” Fina reminded their wife. And then Aika did wince, taking on a mournful air. Vyse kept his own reaction locked behind a frozen smile, but he thought it just as easily.

How Fina had been made for the role of a mother again by the Silvite Elders, the desire implanted firmly as a bird’s need to migrate. How her body had been shaped to be more responsive towards conception, carrying, and birth.

But Fina had made peace with that part of herself now, because of the love they shared. Love had turned an ugly fact into a beautiful thing. And Fina smiled and shook her head. “I wanted this, loves. I wanted this so badly.” And she was crying then, happy tears that would stop only when they were no longer needed. “At last, I feel whole.”

“Not complete?” Piastol asked, standing nearby and cleaning the supplies she and Doc had used to help Fina bring a new life into the world.

“No.” Fina whispered, gratefully blinking when Aika reached a hand up and wiped her tears away. “No person who yet lives is ever complete. But all my life I yearned for a family.”

The door to the birthing hut opened again and six people came in with wide eyes and hearts full of hope. Dyne, Relena. Enrique and Moegi. Drachma, and Ilchymis du Argas. 

Fina smiled in spite of her tears. “Now…now, I have a mother.” She stated, looking to Relena. “A father.” Came from her lips with a meaningful glance at Dyne, who misted up but did his best to hide his reaction at the sight of a new grandchild living in the world. “A husband. A wife.” And it was no trouble at all for Vyse and Aika to cuddle in closer still at that, even as Fina turned to look at Enrique and Moegi. “A brother, and a sister-in-law.” Then she was looking at Drachma and Ilchymis. “A grandfather. And an uncle.”

There was silence in the room as everyone felt the weight of Fina’s declaration settle over them, and Vyse cried just as he had when his son had been born. 

“This is our family, little one.” Fina whispered to the dozy infant still suckling at her breast. “Your family. You will never know loneliness as I did. You will always be loved.”

“What’s her…my granddaughter’s name, lass?” Drachma coughed, his voice thick with emotion. The old sailor had made a habit of coming and going, too committed to his wandering ways to settle down in any one place even after Soltis fell.

Vyse looked at Drachma and suddenly realized that now he had a reason to stay. Two reasons.

Her daughter let go of Fina’s nipple and let out a burbling murmur of sleepy peace before dozing off in her swaddled blanket.

“Estelle.” Fina said to the old sailor who had no vengeance left in his heart. “She is my little star. Estelle Arianelle Bluevane.”

Drachma sniffed once, overcome with emotion. When he spoke again, his voice cracked. “I think I’ll be calling her Stella.” That earned some laughs from the room, but Vyse let it slip past him without a remark.

A daughter. 

***

The Frontier Lands

Daccat’s Island, Pirate’s Rest Village

0 N.A.C, 9th Month, 5th Day 

Sunset

“Don’t you have a kingdom you need to get back to ruling?” Vyse asked Enrique, as the two sat in wooden foldout chairs on a dock set along the pond at one end of the village alongside Drachma and Gilder. A jug of Valuan rye whiskey sat between them all as they looked up through the treeline at the darkening sky with appearing stars, and the shape of the Red Moon hanging in the southern sky.

Enrique’s face was more weathered than it had been a year ago, but far happier. He accepted the jug that the grunting Drachma passed him and took another swig, letting the distilled alcohol burn through him for a few seconds before speaking. “I shall return soon enough. Admiral Little has matters well in hand in my absence, and I am only a radio call away if there is a more serious matter that demands my attention. As Marco frequently reminds me, it’s important to take some time to relax between missions.” 

“Ah, Marco.” Gilder chuckled. “How is that little pisser doing, anyways?”

“Moving up fast in the ranks. Even though by age he shouldn’t be more than a cabin boy, he’s already been claimed by the admiral as a midshipman. Since we don’t exactly have a Naval Academy to speak of yet, he’s been getting all hands-on learning.” Enrique passed the former air pirate the jug and rolled his eyes when Gilder took a three-swallow swig from it. “The gossip I’ve heard is that the Admiral plans on making him a captain in the Valuan Royal Navy when he turns 17, and he’s throwing the book at him to get Marco ready for it.”

“Seventeen’s a good age for becoming a captain.” Vyse hummed. It seemed Marco was bucking to match as many of Vyse’s achievements as humanly possible. “But hopefully the good Admiral waits until he turns 20 before making him an admiral.”

Enrique barked out a small laugh. “I’ve told the good Admiral that if he tries to retire and shove Marco into his boots before that boy turns 21, I’ll refuse him the post of Minister of Defense and make him Minister of State instead. As you can imagine, that calmed his ambitions quite a bit.”

“Hm.” Vyse hummed as Gilder finished the drink and passed the jug over to him. Vyse sloshed the contents around for a bit, gauging how much of it they’d gone through. There was perhaps a third of it left. No wonder he was feeling so mellow. “So what’s the real reason you’ve stuck around as long as you have?”

Enrique considered the question, sucking on his teeth. “This is just the start, you know.” He finally said. “This new world you - sorry, we are building…I can see the changes at work in my homeland. The capital city is ruined, there is nothing there now but a mass grave. We have rescued who we could and moved to the hills, the highlands. There is no great wall covered in guns that my people can hide behind any longer. We are exposed.”

“You’re open.” Vyse corrected him “Open to trade. To diplomacy. But yeah, I know piracy’s a big problem these days. We just have to convince people that there’s more profits to be had by cooperation than competition, is all. I don’t think we’ll ever be completely rid of piracy, but we can stem its growth.”

“It’s more than that.” Enrique pressed on. Vyse raised an eyebrow and took a drink to give him space to talk. “Vyse. You have children now. You asked me why I haven’t returned home? It is because Moegi is expecting as well, and for all that it would do the hearts of my people good to have my child born there, I am afraid. Terrified in a way I have never been before. We have changed the face of the world, ended the threat of Galcian and Ramirez and their mad plans for the destruction of the world. But is it any safer, now?” His hand went into his hair, fisting it. “I worry for my kingdom, Vyse, but I fear for my family. And…”

Vyse shared a look with Drachma first, and then Gilder. He could see the conflict in Enrique’s eyes, the thing that had made him linger here exposed at last for everyone to see. His fears. And his concern over what his response to those fears would be.

Drachma took the lead. “We can prepare the best we can, boy, but some storms can’t be braced against. Some storms, ye just have to batten down and ride it out.”

“If I understand what old one-arm here’s getting at with that analogy, it’s that we can’t predict everything that’s going to happen in our lives.” Gilder took the baton and ran with it. “And we can’t huddle down and be stuck there because of our fears. The world changes. So what? Fina once told me that the whole universe is all about change.”

Vyse had heard her say that too; About how nothing in their reality was ever static. The Silvites had tried for a perfect, static existence and lost everything that made life worthwhile in the process. They had become monsters. And Enrique feared that outcome as well now.

“You’re afraid of what you might become, aren’t you?” Vyse asked. Enrique blinked several times rapidly before dropping his head and giving a small nod. “Because Valua gave rise to monsters in the past, you think you’re going to turn into one?”

“My mother was so traumatized by my father’s death that she handed the keys to the kingdom over to a power-hungry madman.” Enrique murmured. “A madman who turned a kingdom into an empire, a defending force into an invading one, and a boy into a nihilist bent on the destruction of everything to succor the ache in his heart.”

“You are not Galcian. You will not become him, any more than Fina would become a second Ramirez.” Vyse declared. Enrique looked up and over to him, and Vyse shook his head. “You are afraid of what might come and attack you next. Who? There is no Evil Empire left. You are allied with the Yafutomans and married to their beloved princess. You are on good terms with the people of Ixa’taka as a former Blue Rogue. The Blue Rogues are now the Blue Mercantile Marine and sail from every port and harbor. We rang the membrane of Arcadia like a drum head, reshaping the canvas, and everyone is rebuilding. Everyone is looking not to war, but to peace. No, Enrique. You will not become a monster. Nor will I, and given the sheer number of people and ships under my command, I would be the one more likely to do so. But when you look at me, do you think I am going to become the very thing that the Blue Rogues spent 20 years fighting against?”

Enrique stared at Vyse with those tired eyes of his for a long stretch. Long enough that Vyse felt the urge to blink and withheld it. But then he shook his head. 

“No. No, Vyse, you will not become a monster. Because you are a good man. You are the best of us.”

Vyse snorted at that with a smile. “I’m good enough. And my wives keep me honest. Just like Moegi does for you.”

Enrique blinked and smiled back, his gaze drifting as he looked over his shoulder in towards the village where the women were gathered and fawning over the new babies. Luke and Estelle, thankfully, were sleeping through most of it, but even at a distance there was no mistaking the bright glow in Moegi’s eyes as she kept one hand braced along the swell of her belly, thinking of her own child as she looked to Aika and Fina’s. “She really does.” Enrique admitted.

Gilder took the jug back and drank another heavy swig, prompting Vyse to sigh. “Gilder, you could save some for the rest of us.”

“Just enjoying it while I can, kid.” The older man grinned. “You three may have been the first ones out of the gate and Moegi’s the next one with a bun in the oven, but I haven’t been shooting blanks either. Looks like the Claudia and the Primrose are going to end up being family ships after all.”

And there among the gaggle of villagers in Pirate’s Rest, Clara beamed with a womb just beginning to swell, barely noticeable in her dress if you didn’t know what to look for.

“The next generation, aye?” Drachma rumbled, turning his singular eye back towards the pond and the skyline. “I’m not sure if the world’s ready for that.”

“Probably not.” Vyse agreed, giving Enrique a nod. “But everything is less scary when you aren’t alone. And none of us are, not anymore. Never again.”

“Even if some of us are headed elsewhere.” Gilder agreed. “I heard some of your crew’s left for other places.”

“Some.” Vyse conceded. “But only because there’s work elsewhere. Just because they aren’t here doesn’t mean they’ve left. They remain Blue Rogues, members of the Mercantile Marine. We’ve been getting piles of calls and well wishes.” He drummed a hand on his pant leg and exhaled, then changed focus. “Anyhow. Gilder, why don’t you tell us how things are going over in Ixa’taka? What’s the latest gossip there?”

“Well…” Gilder thought for a while before chuckling. “It seems that the king might not be as single as he used to be.”

“Oh?” Enrique blinked at the suggestion. “Has one of the women from Ixa’ness Village taken his fancy?”

Gilder grinned. “Not exactly…” He said, letting the idea hang while he took another drink. 

Vyse was surprised when Gilder stopped being coy and gave them the name, but with some thought, he acknowledged that it was very possible. Even if he hadn’t seen it coming.

But then, who in Arcadia could have imagined three years ago that the framework of the world could have altered so much because of a boy and two girls who loved each other? 

That night, after Vyse rejoined Aika and Fina in their cabin in Pirate’s Rest and helped to feed and dress Luke and Estelle, he couldn’t help but linger over their crib where brother and sister were laid side by side. Fina was dead asleep, worn out after the long day, but Aika came over in her nightgown with a mug of tea and rested her head against his shoulder. He slipped an arm around her waist and they watched their children, dozing under warm blankets in the cool night air. 

“I love you.” Vyse whispered. “You know that, right?”

“You silly man.” Aika hummed. “Of course I do. What’s racing through that head of yours now?”

“Just something that Enrique was worried about. About splitting the difference between giving our children a safe home and becoming like the tyrants we fought against.”

“Hm.” Aika took a drink and handed it over, and Vyse had a swallow as well. A mellow, Yafutoman blend. Good for nighttime. “Are you worried about that?”

“No.” Vyse quickly reassured her. “You’d set me straight if I ever tried.”

“Damn right I would.” Aika chuckled. “But I also know that I would burn the heart out of anyone who ever threatened our babies.”

“Is that the right tone for a priestess of the Silver Moon?” Vyse teased her.

“Maybe not.” Aika turned and wrapped her hands around his neck, grinning in the darkness of the room as he set the teacup aside and put his hands on her ass to hold her close. “But I think it’s perfectly acceptable for a mother. Now. Kiss me, you Pirate, and let’s go to bed.”

“As Mrs. Bluevane commands.” Vyse smiled, and carried out her order to the fullness of his ability.

In the village of Pirate’s Rest, in the shelter of Daccat’s Isle in the Frontier Lands, night fell on the Bluevane family.

And the world kept turning.

Chapter Text

BETWEEN THREE ROGUES: ROGUE’S LEGACY

By Eric ‘Erico’ Lawson

Two: To Build A Home

She was Kirala, daughter of the Setsu Clan, and the shape of the world confused her. It no longer fit what she knew, and the times she had lived through, was still living in, were certainly interesting. And Yafutomans were raised to dislike interesting times.

As a girl growing up in her humble home with her father and mother and younger sister, she had received the training in the Old Ways practiced by her clan’s ancestors; stealth, speed, silence, strike fast and without mercy and then fade. The ways of the ninja. The ways which had made them servants of the rulers before the Tokugawas under Blue Moon. The ways that had earned them freedom and a choice to become something more than knives in the night when the Tokugawas came to power.

Ways that they had still practiced, for a knife that you allowed to dull and rust was no knife at all. By trade and training, she was a master carpenter. A builder. With hammers and saws, and sometimes nails, she built homes. Shops. Inns and taverns, even dockyards. Once, even a ship, but after finishing that six month rotation she decided her talents lay in the way of buildings more than vessels. But still, she trained in the Setsu Arts. So did her sister Urala.

Urala, who had apprenticed as a cook and waitress, learned from their mother the ways of potions and poisons. Urala had learned how to cultivate the dangerous plants, how a flower and the roots of certain things could be made deadly or edible depending on your goal. Urala had been decent in combat training, but there Kirala had her younger sister beaten. Urala had never developed the same expertise in kunai throwing as Kirala had. Urala could slip a poison into someone’s drink and smile as they choked on their own blood. Kirala was the warrior of them, the apple of their father’s steadily clouding eyes. But those were skills neither of them ever expected that they would need.

And then…then, interesting times came to them. The banishment of Prince Daigo Tokugawa. The rise of the Tenkou, a way for the disenfranchised to fight back against the corruption that had rotted away from the center of the Yafutoman Empire. 

The arrival of Westerners. Foreigners, in a great ship bristling with cannons and clad in thick metal. A small group that spoke the Western tongue, with one or two who could speak fleeting snippets of the Yafutoman language as well. Blue Rogues.

And then more Westerners, but ones that came not in friendship, but in the name of conquest. Valuans.

Occupation. Unrest. Fighting in the streets. The arrival of the Tenkou to drive out the invaders. The fight to retake the great blue and silver ship that had shaken the sleepy rest of the Empire. 

The revival of the ancient creature that was the source of the myth of the Divine Wind. A terrifying battle. And then…silence.

Silence, followed by the return of the Crown Prince, the banishment of the surviving corrupt ministers, and the supremacy of the Tokugawa Clan restored. A Divine Wind had blown through Yafutoma and changed everything, and in the wake of that terrifying storm, Prince Daigo had come to their family home and knelt, as an equal, beside their father and mother and begged a favor of them. He had begged for them to allow Kirala and her sister Urala to go with the Westerners who had saved them all from occupation and destruction. He had begged for two daughters of the Setsu Clan to go with the Blue Rogues and serve - Serve, to protect Princess Moegi.

“She will go with them too. As much as it pains my father, as much as I wish I could keep her with me.” Daigo had confessed. “Long ago, your Clan served Shoguns as servants in the night, surgeons cutting away the filth that threatened peace. But the world has changed, and Moegi goes to learn of other places, other peoples. Peoples we are no longer separated from. Peoples we must either make peace with, or fight to protect ourselves. She needs helpers, those who can go hidden until they are needed. She needs the strength of ninjas. I beg you, Master Setsu. Please. Serve once more.”

And her father, whose eyesight had been restored by the yellow-haired foreigner in the aftermath of the battle while she and the ship’s physician worked tirelessly to heal the wounded and the suffering of Yafutoma City had sat up straighter still with his steady hands on his knees and stared back at the prince who he had trained years before, and nodded.

It had been thrilling, exciting, nervous. Kirala and Urala had been two of a very small group of Yafutomans who joined up with the Blue Rogues, distinctly separate from the Princess’s retinue of servants. They had talents which allowed them to blend in, make friends, be useful to the crew.

They became Blue Rogues, but Kirala and Urala still both trained in the ways of war, for it was war they walked into. They had even joined with Vai-su and the foreign exiled prince and the two women who traveled with them on one mission, suffered wounds at the order of the princess who begged them to keep her beloved yellow-haired prince safe.

Countless battles. Countless experiences. Joy and suffering.

Interesting Times.

And then, a battle so momentous that it dwarfed everything they had ever done. A battle where the entire world pivoted in a way that left Kirala’s head swimming. When the dust settled, the Valuan Empire was defeated, a lost continent was destroyed, a terrifying monster was annihilated, and all of the lands under the six moons, Arcadia, seemed to breathe in deeply.

Throughout their tumultuous adventure with the Blue Rogues, Kirala had felt like she was a bowstring, drawn tighter and tighter and only released in increments, rather than all at once. In the peace that followed, she felt that tension still.

The perception of the world that she had held as a little girl was shattered. Utterly and completely. The life she might have led as a Master Carpenter, erecting Torii Gates and rebuilding houses after fires and storms was gone. But neither was she a true ninja, someone who trained for nothing but deception and blood, a weapon directed by an oathbound Shogun. 

Kirala Setsu did not know who she was anymore. 

She was adrift, lost in Interesting Times.

***

The Frontier Lands, Daccat’s Isle

Pirate’s Rest Village

0 N.A.C. 4th Month, 15th Day

She woke up to the sound of birds chirping and the wind gently blowing through the treetops. For a moment Kirala felt the disconnect of the smells of a heavily wooded area compared to the murmuring noises and smell of metal and oil that she’d become so accustomed to aboard ship, and then she remembered where she was.

Not on the Delphinus. Not at Crescent Island, which remained the headquarters of the now High Admiral Vyse of the Blue Rog - no. Blue Mercantile Marine now. But here, on the island where Daqat had lived with his wives Kikue and Yasmina, and their families. Here in a village that Vyse and company had breathed new life in. 

That she had helped to rebuild, especially the gravestones where Kikue and her spouses were buried. 

Kirala lay there beneath the covers, her eyes half-covered as she took in the noises of the village coming to wakefulness while the sun rose. She was in the small house that she and her sister Urala shared in the village that had been renamed Pirate’s Rest, and now that she smelled it…

The scent of steamed rice, miso soup, and grilled fish. Urala was making breakfast, and nearly done with it.

She had rested long enough. Kirala threw the covers back and got to work cleaning herself and preparing for the day. She threw on a freshly laundered version of her usual outfit that gave her the flexibility needed for her work, took five minutes to meditate and another five to practice throwing her kunai at the target hanging on the outer wall of her bedroom and then made for the kitchen.

Urala was positively glowing as she scurried around the kitchen finishing off the last of the dishes. At the sound of Kirala’s wooden sandal striking the floor she turned around and beamed. “Good morning, sister!” She exclaimed in the Mid-Ocean tongue.

“...Good morning.” Kirala returned, choosing to speak in their native tongue. “You seem rather happy today.”

“Perhaps that is because I am happy.” Urala answered, humming a little. “Go sit down, It’s almost ready.”

Kirala nodded and turned for the table, sitting down at her usual spot and rubbing at her eyes. It took her a few seconds before she realized something was different. There was an additional place setting at the table, a third glass, spoon, and set of chopsticks alongside the soup and rice bowls. So she looked up and frowned.

“Is someone else coming for breakfast? Is it Ryu-Kan?”

“No, no. Ryu-Kan isn’t coming, you don’t need to worry about dressing up.” Urala quickly said. 

Kirala looked between the third set of dishware and her sister and let her frown deepen. “Then who…” she started to say, but stopped when the door to her sister’s bedroom opened.

And out of it stepped the young man she had been seeing since their time on the Delphinus. One of the engineers, an adopted son of Centime. Hans.

He was dressed in a clean set of engineer’s coveralls with another red shirt beneath it and his smile was a reflection of Urala’s. He walked past Kirala and the table and pulled Urala into his arms, holding her close and kissing her. “Good morning, beloved.” He said when they pulled apart.

“Good morning, Hans.” Urala giggled. “Help me bring the food over?”

“...Ah.” Kirala said, catching on at last. “He was with you last night.” And she didn’t approve, not fully, but Hans made Urala happy. She just wished that Hans wouldn’t spend the night. It seemed more intimate than merely lovemaking. Unmarried couples shouldn’t live together.

“I hope we weren’t too loud.” Hans said as he set the soup and rice pots on the table. When he sat down he rubbed the back of his head in that boyish way of his. “I know that Urala can be…enthusiastic.”

Kirala blanked out for a second as she tried to picture it, and immediately shook her head. Not her concern. “I do not want know.” She got out, stumbling over the words in her nervousness. “So. He will be leaving then? After breakfast?”

“I have work, yes.” Hans nodded, and Kirala had to respect that he must have picked up most of that sentence. He’d been taking lessons and they were obviously paying off. “But I’ll be coming back tonight.” Urala came over with three perfectly seasoned skyfish and set one on each plate. A quick return to put the tray in the sink and she sat down with them demurely.

“...Why?” Kirala asked.

“Because I asked Urala to marry me last night.” Hans said with a smile. “And she said yes.”

“...Ah.” Kirala said, stumbling at the announcement. There was a faint ringing in her ears as she looked to her sister - her younger sister - looking so happy. So accomplished.

Yafutoman prosperity was built on three markers; Wealth, achievements, and prosperity. For women especially, greater emphasis had always been put on prosperity - in children. In this, suddenly, Urala was ahead of her. 

“Congratulations.” Kirala said, feeling numb. “When will you marry?”

“This week, if possible.” Hans said, reaching for Urala’s free hand and giving it a squeeze. We plan on asking Fina if she can officiate the service, since the Bluevanes are here on the island as well.”

“Good.” Kirala said, staring down at her plate. She nodded woodenly as Urala filled her soup and rice bowls, and reached for her chopsticks out of habit. 

Urala and Hans paid her no mind, too lost in each other’s eyes as they laughed and giggled and made plans for a life with one another. Kirala focused on breakfast, trying to tamp down on the ringing in her ears.

“Kirala?” Urala said, and Kirala blinked and looked up. Her sister was confused. “Did you hear me? How does it taste?”

Kirala blinked several times, processing the question. “It’s good.” She said, taking another fluff of rice into her mouth. 

She didn’t have the heart to tell her sister that she couldn’t taste anything.

***

The celebration was just as wild as Kirala had expected it to be; weddings tended to bring out the most wild tendencies and celebrations among the Blue Rogues, and that was before Fina and Aika had become gravid with all of the hormonally driven emotions that came with it. For those who were able to imbibe, alcohol flowed freely. Kirala wished the happy couple well and in the days between that sobering breakfast and the event, carved a traditional Yafutoman gift that caused raucous laughter among the celebrants when it was revealed; a wooden baby cradle. Hans blushed like a madman, but Urala nearly cried as she hugged her older sister tightly. The Westerners saw it as a gag gift, or wishful thinking on the part of a woman looking forward to being an aunt. They didn’t know that there was an expectation for Urala and Hans to immediately begin raising a family in their culture. Well…perhaps some among the former Blue Rogues would have. But Osman was busy with a trade conference in the slowly rebuilding Nasrad, and Laurette, wonderful woman that she was, was busy in Yafutoma learning the traditions expected of a future Empress. And Queen Moegi had her hands full with helping Enrique to rebuild Valua; all they had managed was to contact a merchant ship already enroute to the Frontier Lands and commission them to deliver a package from their manifest as a wedding gift. 

Kirala found herself feeling lost, even on an island that was as close to home as she had been able to make it. She was a Blue Rogue- a member of the Mercantile Marine under High Admiral Vyse Bluevane. But what did that mean, in this new world? Though the Delphinus remained, there was no empire for it to sail against. Though there was rebuilding to be done, very little of it still needed to be done on Crescent Island or on Daccat’s. She had offered her services for renovations, and been turned down. Everyone was happy with the way things were. Even Urala refused Kirala’s offer of redoing the tavern at Pirate’s Rest before she and Hans left for their honeymoon. Kirala was a woman of action and now - unexpectedly - her hands and her mind were both idle.

Finding herself in an empty house in Pirate’s Rest ended up being the last straw. The life that she and Urala had built here for themselves had ended. When they returned, Urala and her husband Hans would begin a new life together, one blessed with children. They would need all the space they could spare.

Kirala packed up her belongings and left a note for when her sister and husband would return, wishing them a happy and prosperous future and telling them to use her room for their new family. But for what would come next…she was less certain. 

She could certainly just build herself a new house and stay in the Mercantile Marine barracks at Pirate’s Rest until it was finished. Or perhaps she could arrange passage for a flight back home to Yafutoma. Certainly, there would be work there for her to do, and her status as a member of Vyse’s crew (Along with the crew coin that every crewmember still carried) would open untold opportunities. 

But she couldn’t decide. Everything she thought of…it always seemed to be just a tone or two off of what seemed best. And she was hungry.

With a troubled heart, Kirala made her way to the tavern built at the heart of Pirate’s Rest that her sister had started up. Cheerful shouts greeted her as she walked in, and one of the servers brought over a teacup and a full steeped teakettle - Kirala’s standing order. She examined the menu written on the board in Mid-Ocean and Yafutoman for a moment before making her selection of a skyfish stew and some freshly baked bread. And then she sat and drank, and thought.

She thought so deeply that she almost jumped out of her seat when someone set a tray at the open seat of her table and moved to sit down. She recognized the woman immediately, even though it had been some time since they had crossed paths.

“Kalifa.” Kirala greeted the former fortuneteller. “What you doing here?”

“Eating lunch.” Kalifa answered, raising an eyebrow over her glasses. It had been said that after the events near the end of the war, ‘Mistress Kalifa’ had lost her powers of foresight. Whether there was truth in that or not, she was still known for those thick glasses of hers, and for hiding her eyes. In colder climes than her native Nasrian heat, she wore more conservative garments but forever kept her shawl on. She was wearing it again today. 

“Ha. You funny.” Kirala muttered. Kalifa smiled, switching to Yafutoman.

“Would you prefer if we spoke in your tongue?”

Kirala blinked. “You have gotten better at speaking Yafutoman.”

“I had good teachers.” Kalifa remarked. “Moegi’s retainers were good for conversation during our Great Voyage. And afterwards, I have been very busy with traveling.”

”Where, exactly, have you been off to?” Kirala asked her.

“My gathered accounts of the crew have become rather popular across Arcadia. Many publishers have been seeking out the rights to publish them in a book, and several historians and scholars have asked for me to come and speak in their gatherings.” Kalifa chuckled a little as their food arrived. “I made a living divining the Future before the Lord of Rogues stumbled across my doorstep. In this new life, I seem to be doing very well chronicling the Present.” Their food came out after she said that sentence, and the two women raised their glasses in mutual respect before diving into their meals. 

After they had finished and Kirala and Kalifa were nursing their tea,  the fortuneteller continued on. “And how has the Master Carpenter of the East fared since we last shared a meal together?”

“Well. My sister was just married.” Kirala said. “To Hans, the young engineer from Ixa’taka? She and her husband are off on a honeymoon. When they return, they will have a home waiting for them.”

“You built them a new home? In such a short amount of time?” Kalifa exclaimed.

”No, no. I left them the home that I shared with my sister on Daqat’s Island, in the village.” Kirala quickly corrected the scholar. “They will be raising a family. There is no place for an unmarried sister in that home anymore.”

“I see.” Kalifa murmured, taking another sip of jasmine tea sourced from Yafutoman merchant vessels. “But I was asking about you, Kirala. Not your sister. What grand projects have you been undertaking?”

She wanted to boast and bluster. It should have come so naturally to put on a bright smile and power through her own doubts and insecurities, to stay focused on the task at hand. It was what she had been famous for back home, and during the rebuilding projects on Crescent Island and aboard the Delphinus as well. But Kirala was tired, and no words came. Kalifa looked at her in sympathy.

“So you find yourself at loose ends, then?” The former Seer asked calmly. Kalifa’s head sank.

“There is no work left to be done on this island.” She said. “None to be done in Pirate’s Rest, either. I am unused to…Being without work.”

“Mmm.” Kalifa nodded, and took another sip of tea. When she spoke again, it was in Mid-Ocean tradespeak. “Among the accounts I gathered from the men of Esperanza who served in the Valuan Royal Navy, there was a sense of restlessness. Disquiet. Being haunted by memories of war and violence and suffering. Of feeling like they were being driven mad by things outside of their control. It was why so many took to the bottle, I think. What we lived through ourselves was not easy. We suffered, even as we struck great victories. I understand that Fina argued for healers that were dedicated to the mind as a necessity for many people, those who fought as well as those who were civilians. Could it be that you feel the same?”

Kirala thought on it for a time, and then nodded again. “What place is there for me here now? When there is nothing left to build?”

Kalifa smiled. “There is always something to build - you just need to go where the work is.” She finished off her cup of tea. “I must go. There is a ship I must catch.”

Kirala nodded. This was Kalifa’s life in peacetime - always going somewhere to speak to someone about something. And then she paused. “Where will you go now?” She asked.

The other woman hummed a little as she stood. “Ixa’taka. There is much work to be done there. I am going to gather stories and to check up on some of our old friends who live there. I was fortunate enough to book passage on a Yafutoman merchant vessel that is flying there after a stopover for resupply in Yafutoma City, as they prefer to fill a ship when possible to maximize profits. Ordinarily, they would fit two to a berth. On this trip, I have the room to myself.”

Kirala stared at the other woman, who stood with a calm face and looked at her. As if she was waiting for something. And in an instant, Kirala understood.

Kalifa had extended an invitation to her, if she was brave enough to take it. And after some thought…what, exactly, was keeping Kirala here in the Frontier Lands? On islands that had no need of her as either a builder or a warrior?

She would go to where the work was.

Kirala took in a breath. “Could I come with you? To Ixa’taka?”

Kalifa’s face relaxed into another smile. “Of course. The ship was set to leave in an hour, if you need to pack.”

Kirala shook her head, holding up her tightly packed bag and toolbelt, and gesturing to the wooden trunk that she had left beside the tavern’s door. “I am ready now.”

“Yes. Yes you are.” Kalifa agreed, leading them out of the restaurant and towards the outer docks.

Towards a new beginning.

***

The Great Stone Reef Checkpoint

Ixa’takan Airspace

0 N.A.C. 5th Month, 2nd Day

After flying around the world in a ship with the power and speed of the Delphinus, it was humbling to fly in a Yafutoman wooden merchant freighter that lacked them. The flight from Daccat’s Island to Crescent Island to Yafutoma had seemed to last forever. At least it had been quiet; Aside from the end legs of those journeys, the Promise of Kazai had spent most of the voyage in the Upper Sky where they avoided the worst of the currents and storms - and the threat of air piracy. 

In Yafutoma, the Promise of Kazai had exchanged Mid-Ocean wheat and casks of Stout and Nasrian spices and dried hot peppers for rice, miso paste, rice wine, and porcelain dishware. There had been enough time, the captain had told his two passengers, to disembark and enjoy a night in Yafutoma City before they set sail in the morning. Kalifa had elected to do so, using Kirala’s recommendation for a good restaurant and arriving the following morning looking rumpled after an evening’s…Well, it wasn’t Kirala’s business, seeing as Kalifa seemed pleased enough and got back to the ship an hour before they hoisted anchor. Kalifa was wise enough not to try and share her evening’s exploits.

But Kirala, for all that Yafutoma was home, hadn’t been able to leave. The risk of running into anyone she knew had been too great. Hans and Urala had chosen to honeymoon in Yafutoma, to visit their parents. For all that she was glad her sister had found happiness, Kirala had no place in it. Too much had changed to just waltz back into their lives.

She felt like a stranger in her own homeland, so she remained aboard the ship, and watched as Yafutoma City and the great stone walls that surrounded her homeland faded in the distance. To Kalifa’s credit, the other woman and former Blue Rogue did not demand an explanation, and merely stood next to her in silence as they watched together. Kirala was glad for her company.

“Are you certain that you lost your Second Sight?” She asked the Nasrian woman. Kalifa merely shrugged.

“I do not need to see the future to know the trouble in your heart.”

Days of sailing brought them all to the border between the Yafutoman wilderness in the east and the Ixa’takan continent; the Great Stone Reef that had once been impassable. Even now, close to a year after the Valuan Armada had blown a hole through it, the Reef had been unable to reform. Perhaps it never would, and trade had taken advantage of it. But so had troublemakers, hence the Ixa’takan border patrol and the station that every passing ship was required to check with. The checkpoint was staffed by both Yafutoman and Ixa’takan military personnel who were polite, but firm in their inspection of the ship’s manifest and its passengers.

Kirala did not recognize anyone from the inspection team who came aboard the Promise of Kazai, and she was surprised that none recognized her either at first glance. She had become used to being around fellow former Blue Rogues for so long…anonymity was startling.

“What is your name?” The inspector asked.

She could have told them who she was and where she had come from. Some impulse stayed her tongue. “Kirala of Yafutoma.”

“Your purpose for coming here, Kirala?”

“Work. I build things.” Kirala said. It was a simplification, but not one the man likely cared for. 

“Oh?” The inspector looked up from his clipboard briefly. “Do you know where you are going?”

“Where work is.” Kirala shrugged. The man huffed a little.

“Well, that could be anywhere.” He grinned. “There are many things to build. And rebuild. If you are looking for ideas, you might try Stonehold first. They are the closest village to here. They need builders.”

“Why?” Kirala asked. “What has happened?”

“Stonehold is where most of us live. But there are too few houses. If you go there, you will find work.” The inspector dug in the pocket of his western-styled pants and removed a square clay marker stamped with the emblem of a man wearing a headdress. “Show that in Stonehold and they will help you. That is your clearance, Kirala of Yafutoma.”

Kirala accepted the marker, amused at the sight of it. “Thank you.” She said, and the inspector nodded and moved to the next person. She fingered it for a moment and Kalifa leaned over to look at it as well.

“A clearance?” Kirala asked.

“The Ixa’takan version of a passport, I believe.” Kalifa explained. “They give them to the foreigners who pass through here as a means of determining if they are staying and for how long. A clay token like that gives you a month’s residence. Others made of metals would give you authorization to stay for longer. People who do not have a token are expected to stay with the ships that bring them here.”

“Hm.” Kirala nodded and tucked it away in her pocket, feeling it clink against the metal surface of her Blue Rogue challenge coin. If she had produced that, she would have been granted passage immediately. 

It just would have cost her her anonymity, and Kirala did not want to lose that. Not yet.

“Do you have one?” She asked Kalifa, and the fortuneteller shook her head. “Why not? I thought you had work here?”

“I have papers.” Kalifa explained. “They will take me to the palace on a ship from the Checkpoint. This is where we must part ways, I am afraid.”

“Oh.” Kirala blinked, a little taken aback at the idea of her old friend separating from her. “Will I see you again?”

Kalifa smiled at her. “In time.” She said, with a voice full of knowing. Kirala frowned at her, because that was the voice she had used back when she had set up the famous betting pool over which woman Vyse loved, somehow knowing all the while he loved the both of them at the same time. 

“You know something.” Kirala accused her.

“I know many things.” Kalifa shrugged. “But there are many more I do not know.” Kirala opened her mouth to argue and Kalifa held up a hand. “Just be yourself, Kirala. Be brave enough to try. That is all you have ever needed.” The fortuneteller gave her a wink through those thick glasses of hers and patted Kirala on the shoulder before wandering off towards the small boat that had pulled up alongside the Promise of Kazai.  

Setsu Kirala watched her sit down in the small vessel, and then the master carpenter decided to go and collect her belongings.

Stonehold. They both had places to be.

***

The Village of Stonehold

Western Ixa’taka

0 N.A.C, 6th Month, 5th Day

The inspector who had welcomed them to Ixa’takan airspace had not been lying about the conditions in Stonehold; There were quite a few residents who lived out in the open. Given the warm and humid climate of Ixa’taka this might have been suitable for some, save for the frequent rainstorms, the threat of wild animals, and various insects that tended to treat everything along the forest floor as their own personal domain. Small wonder, Kirala reflected wryly, why Tikatika and Merida had spoken so fondly of the treehouses in Horteka. They had been more than personal preference or a means of lording it over their domain; it had been an absolute necessity.

There were already two dozen carpenters and builders in Stonehold at work, but the speed of their work was slow. They used very few standardized parts. Each house they built was different in shape and interior design.

Kirala had spent two days trying to follow along with their methods, her frustration steadily building before she finally snapped. Taking the site foreman aside, an older Ixa’takan named Ganket (Or Gan to his friends), Kirala brought out her bag of supplies and pulled out several pieces of drafting paper. Over the course of a single morning, she walked him through Yafutoman and Mid-Ocean construction techniques, and how they could be used in streamlining their work. By the afternoon of that third day, Kirala had been assigned as second in command under Ganket. By the fourth day, the work they had put into their latest house was stopped and a new phase of the construction had begun, with everyone dividing into two teams. One team cleared the land and began preparing stilt-raised platforms. The second team, led by Kirala, began preparing standardized house frame pieces, sized to exactly fit the stilt platforms. Once a stilt platform was finished, the framing was lifted up into position, nailed down, and the skeleton of a longhouse was erected. All that was left after that was to put in flooring, a ceiling, and the outer and inner walls. And to seal it with Yafutoman citron scented lacquer, a mixture that both waterproofed the structures and acted as an insect repellent.

In a month’s time, the speed of their construction increased fourfold. Almost fivefold. Stonehold began prospering, and an ecstatic Ganket took Kirala out for a celebratory dinner at the only Yafutoman eatery in the border town. On his coin.

Kirala knew that the man loved his Loqua, but apparently his tolerance for the Garpa fruit-based liquor did not translate to an equal tolerance for sake. He imbibed three cups to her one as they worked their way through a dinner of steamed rice, stir-fried vegetables in brown sauce and deep fried strips of beef in a spicy red pepper sauce from the northern provinces that made Kirala’s nose run. Given how red Ganket’s face got, and how quickly he started slugging down his drink afterwards, the strong flavors hit him that much harder. Kirala just smiled and used her rice to soak up the heat in her mouth. She had warned him.

“Where’d eyouuu come frum?” Ganket slurred out, leaning his head heavily on one braced forearm. Kirala raised an eyebrow as she poured the both of them a cup of tea at the close of the meal.

“Yafutoma. You know this, Gan.” She pushed the teacup towards him. “Drink tea. You not need more sake.” 

“Sake tastes better!” Ganket pouted, but he dutifully took and sipped at the properly steeped jasmine. “Really, though. There’s fire in you, Kirala. And such a mind. They build like this in your homeland? All the time?”

“Most of it.” Kirala hedged. “Some things, I learn traveling.” Such as the use of nails and steel bracework, due to the lower cost of producing such materials in the lands under the Yellow and Red moons. Yafutoman construction, where metalwork was less frequently used due to the higher price of those materials, relied more on joinery, jigs, and perfectly set woodwork that held itself together with fewer nails. In helping Izmael with the construction on Crescent Island, Kirala had gotten a crash course in Western construction techniques, and together they had made a fusion of the two construction styles which came together stronger than either had been separately.

Her smile dimmed as she swirled the tea in her cup around, and she raised it in quiet salute before taking a drink. She missed Izmael. He had been a man full of energy in spite of his age, a great carpenter. A good friend. Dead in Ramirez’s attack on Crescent Island in the final weeks of the war, his laugh and his presence lost forever.

But not his skills. Those, Kirala could preserve as long as she drew breath. And pass them on as well.

“Ya dun unnerstand.” Ganket pressed on. “The way I learned, it dudn’t…dasn’t… doesn’t work here.” He finally got the right word out. “We get so far behind, and then you show up, just knowing what needs to happen. What we need to make this work. You saved this whole project. Stonehold is gunna work, because of what you showed us how to do.”

“Good.” Kirala chuckled. “I must leave soon, so it is good your team knows what to do.”

“Leave?!” Ganket tried lurching to his feet and ended up losing his footing and coming down in a hard landing back in his chair. “No, you can’t leave! We’re finally working right here! If you leave, it will fall apart!”

“I have no choice.” Kirala reached into a pocket and pulled out her clay marker. “I only had a month to stay here. I think I am past it already.”

“But they have not come to take you away yet.” Ganket said, desperately grasping at straws. His graying black hair, more gray than black, hung wildly around his face and framed his alcohol-bloodshot eyes with desperation. “Will you stay and help us? Until they do?”

Kirala sighed. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the work. She did. She was making a difference. She was giving people homes. Making a new name for herself, one not tainted by association. Here, she wasn’t Kirala of Clan Setsu, the eldest daughter of a lesser family within their ranks. She wasn’t a member of Vyse The Legend’s famous Blue Rogue crew. She wasn’t the older sister of Urala Setsu, newly married with all of life’s promise waiting for her after her honeymoon. 

Here in Stonehold, she was Kirala of Yafutoma. Just another builder in a team of builders who had been asked to achieve the task of making a village from the ground up in a nation in desperate need of their services. With a sudden start, she realized something. She was happy. She was happy and she didn’t want her time in this place, doing this meaningful work, to end.

“I will stay. Until they come to send me back.” Kirala conceded. Ganket grinned through a mouth with two missing teeth and raised his teacup, and Kirala did the same. They finished their meal in peace, returned back to the longhouse where they were staying with the rest of the crew, and she fell asleep with the sound of a night rain drumming against the roof.

Two days later, a messenger came for her from the Ixa’takan foreign affairs office with an envelope. To her surprise, it was not a letter demanding she return to the border to be processed for dismissal back to Yafutoma.

The letter, along with a new silver square token on a leather drawstring, informed Kalifa that her stay in Ixa’taka had been approved for another full year. She held it in her palm, stunned as the messenger gave her a salute before turning and walking off.

And when she looked over to Ganket and the bunch of carpenters the old man had been talking to, the Ixa’takan foreman looked up, saw the token in her hand…And smiled and winked at her.

***

6th Month, 21st Day

While the work in Stonehold had been rewarding, it quickly became tedious. The work on constructing longhouses continued apace, with the Ixa’takans moving in as quickly as they were made, and the process got faster and faster as their skills with Kirala’s method increased. Kirala found herself becoming…bored. Restless. Several of the others in their construction force noticed this, for while she didn’t become angry or abusive, she was more and more distracted. Stonehold had lost her interest.

“Where will you go after this?” Ganket asked her one day, when the work was done and everyone had gone to campfires for barbecued meat and fruit on skewers. Her own skewer had been left half-eaten next to her in a banana leaf, a cup of Loqua downed to the dregs as she sat caught stargazing. She still found it strange how energized she felt under the light of the Green Moon.

“I don’t know.” Kirala confessed to the old builder. “But I do know I won’t stay here.”

Ganket peered at her with narrowed eyes. “I know this look in your eyes. I have seen others wear it. You search for something you do not have. Who are you, Kirala of Yafutoma? What do you run from? What do you run after?”

“Why do you ask?” Kirala countered wearily. 

“Because you have become a friend, and I know you are troubled, and that saddens me.” Ganket told her. “But I know so little of you, I do not know how to help.”

It was an invitation, one that Kirala could gently refuse. She looked at Ganket and knew that the old man would let her secrets rest if she refused him. 

But she had been on her own for almost two months now, since she and Kalifa had parted ways. She did not have her sister to speak to, or her parents, or any of her friends who served under flags of blue. And there were some days that she had felt like screaming, for feeling that there was no one who truly understood her. She had left everyone who knew those parts of her life behind her in search of something else.

And she was lonely. Yes. Here, as night fell in a foreign land, Kirala Setsu at last saw her truth. She was lonely, and her heart ached to speak of days past, of her troubles.

She shut her eyes for a time. “We will need more Loqua.” She said, and there was a pause before there was the noise of something hard rubbing on cloth. When she opened her eyes she saw a relieved Ganket holding up a fresh gourd, presumably full of the fruit liquor. Kalifa laughed and held out her cup. “You came prepared.”

“Any good talk starts with Loqua.” Ganket told her, removing the cork and pouring some into her cup. “Or sake. And we are out of sake.”

“Only because you drank it all.” Kirala said, pulling her drink back and sipping at it appreciatively. “What do you want to know, Gan?”

“Everything.” He answered quickly. “Or whatever you will tell me.”

“My name first.” She said. “Kirala, of Clan Setsu. My father is Osuma, my mother is Raiko. And my sister is Urala. My home was in Yafutoma, but that was not where I came from.”

“Oh?” Ganket said, drinking straight from the gourd in a lack of manners she was accustomed to. 

Kirala, taking a page from Mistress Kalifa’s sense of theatrics, wiggled her eyebrows and reached for a hidden pocket on the inside of her clothes. From it she drew an item she kept forever close at hand and held it towards Ganket at arm’s length. He blinked and leaned in for a better look. She could see the moment that he realized what he was looking at.

“That’s…that is a…”

“Crew Coin. Vyse Bluevane’s Crew Coin, for his Blue Rogues.” Kirala finished.

Ganket pointed a trembling finger at it, then raised it towards her face. “Then you…you are…” She nodded, and Ganket opened and closed his mouth a few more times before he could speak again. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugged. “Building.”

“But you are one of them!” Ganket insisted. “A member of the Pirate Lord’s crew, he who shook the world! Why would you waste your time working on…” He paused when he saw the look on her face.

“Of all people, Ganket. Do you really think that what we do is wasteful?” She asked him quietly. And gray and wrinkled Ganket shook his head no. “My time here has not been a waste.”

“No.” Ganket admitted, taking a longer drink for himself. “But you want to do more. You can do more.”

She blinked, took another drink, and stared back up at the stars. “Yes.”

“Why did you leave?” He asked her. “Didn’t they need you? Was there not work for you among them?”

No. There hadn’t been, not enough to keep her interested. Not enough to make her feel useful. “I didn’t fit.” She finally said, and drank the rest of her refilled cup in three swallows. It burned on the way down and she would be feeling it soon. “I needed more.”

“More space, you mean?” Ganket prodded, and Kirala shrugged again. “Well. I think I understand why you’ve been feeling so wrong lately. We are winding down around here. You are looking for the next thing to do.”

“I don’t suppose you have any ideas?” She jokingly asked. Ganket chuckled, and Kirala realized that he knew something. “What is it?”

“People have spoken of how well things have been going here in Stonehold. There is a need for construction, specialized construction. Building with wood is one thing, but there are projects in the works where stonemasonry is needed. And metalwork.” Ganket took another swig, then made a face and shook the gourd. “Bah, almost empty.” He drank the rest in two gulps, dropped the empty gourd, and then pulled out a second. “Those skills are beyond me. But they are not beyond you, Kirala of…well. Kirala of many lands.” He shrugged. “If you are looking for the next project, I have one for you. As our head of construction.”

She blinked. “But these are your men. Your crew.”

“And I am old, and close to retirement.” Ganket chuckled. “I will stay on if you’ll have me, but you are the one who needs to be in charge. You’ve already been in charge. They will know more, will be able to do more under you than they could under me. I don’t know if you will find what you are looking for if you stay with us, but I do know that going through this life is easier if you do so with friends.”

“Heh.” Kirala gave her head a shake, then downed the rest of her Loqua. “Top me off. Tell me more. What is the next job?” She leaned towards him and held out her cup.

“Oh, you’ll love this.” Ganket grinned, refilling her drink. “They’re looking for people to rebuild the old palace…”

***

Ixa’takan Royal Palace

7th Month, 2nd Day

Kirala kept one bladed hand against her forehead, shading her eyes from the bright midday sun. “Well. It…looks like it was very impressive. Once.” 

Ganket snorted, standing beside her as the airship bringing them in for a landing next to the old stone palace slowed and began to descend. “Yes. Before Valua. The King would not submit, so they fired on the palace with their airships.” And years later Kirala could still see the damage to the walls and structure, even overgrown by the ever-encroaching forest. “It will take much work to put it back to how it was. Much stone.” 

“It looks like they brought the first shipment.” Kirala said, pointing to a pile of quarried stone sitting under a tarpaulin tent off to the side of the airship clearing. “But we need to clear the forest away.”

“The overgrowth, yes.” Ganket agreed. “And we’ll need proper measurements, you said.”

“Just covering up the holes is not enough.” Kirala nodded, glad that he remembered her warning. “There may be parts of the castle that look well, but are ready to collapse. We must check on the supports if this palace will stand. This will not be a quick project. You brought paper, yes? Measuring tools? Ink?”

“Yes, yes. I restocked from the merchants in Stonehold before we left.” Ganket chuckled. “You are giving us all great lessons in building, you know? By the time we are finished here, our services will be so valuable that we will…” But he choked on air before he could finish the sentence, and Kirala glanced over to see him staring wide-eyed and gaping like one of the koi that swam in the Imperial Pond.

“What? What is it?” She asked. Ganket raised a hand up and pointed down to the crowd of people waiting for them below. 

“It is the king.” Ganket wheezed. “He is here.” Kirala followed his aim and quickly picked out the central figure among the gathered Ixa’takans. There looked to be several guards, Ixa’takans dressed in simpler garb, and what seemed to be a priest of high rank, given the cut of his robes. And there in the center of them was a blue-haired man in a purple and white combination robe wearing a ceremonial headdress. Thin, compared to his warriors. And…

“He’s young.” Kirala said, honestly a little surprised. 

“He is 22.” Ganket said defensively. “He was young when Valua invaded. War changed him.”

“...Yes.” Kirala breathed, remembering her own experiences. “War does that.”

The airship came to rest and Ganket, Kirala and their work crews disembarked, walking towards the waiting party. Ganket and the other Ixa’takans all went to one knee and bowed their heads. “Greetings, my king.” 

“Greetings, and welcome.” King Ixa’taka replied with a gentle smile. “You would be Ganket, recently of Stonehold?”

“Yes, my king.” Ganket said. “We have come to work on repairing and rebuilding your palace.

“You will find that you have your work cut out for you.” The king gave his head a shake. “Allow me to make some introductions. This is Isapa, our head priest.” The rotund man standing by gave a nod with a thin smile. “And these are some of the palace servants. They will remain here to assist you during this process - meals, lodgings, the like. Some of them served during the reign of my father. If you have any questions about what this palace was like before it was attacked, then they will be able to help you.”

“I am certain that they will be useful.” Ganket said, standing back up again. “And allow me to introduce our new head of construction - Kirala, of Yafutoma.”

“Kirala?” King Ixa’taka raised an eyebrow. “I thought that you were in charge, Ganket.”

“I am old and getting older. And you want the best working on restoring the palace. Kirala is the best.” Ganket insisted. 

King Ixa’taka shared a look with High Priest Isapa before focusing on Kirala. She hadn’t kneeled like the others, but she found herself straightening unconsciously out of respect. But she didn’t feel the weight of his presence, not like Crown Prince Daigo Tokugawa or the Emperor had. Not like Captain Vyse had. He seemed calmer. More approachable. “You must have a great deal of experience, Kirala.”

“I have been working for years in construction. I apprenticed when I was young.” Kirala answered. “Are you upset that I am Yafutoman?”

Ixa’taka shook his head. “No. Yafutoma has been a good trading partner to our people. But you seem so young.”

Kirala smiled. “And you are very young for a king.” That made several people in the king’s party bristle, but Ixa’taka himself just smiled wider.

“I take your point. We shall let your work speak for you.”

“We shall.” Kirala nodded. “And the sooner we get started, the better.”

“Then we shall leave you to it.” King Ixa’taka said, clapping his hands together. “For now, I shall take my leave. There is business of the kingdom I must see to.” He gave them all one last nod before walking off towards a smaller airship with large, leafy wings with his retinue in tow, leaving behind the palace servants.

Kirala put the king out of her mind and looked to Ganket and his crew, some of who still stared at her in awe after her exchange with the king. “Come on. Let’s get this site cleaned up and measured.”

***

7th Month, 18th Day

Early Morning

Kirala Setsu awoke to the sound of gunfire. Ship’s gunfire. Even knowing what she was hearing, even with half-remembered conditioning from the days of the Great Voyage and the war against Valua, it took her several seconds to come to her senses.

Time enough for a second salvo of gunfire to rattle, along with the sounds of stone walls being blasted away.

The palace was under attack. She swore under her breath and threw back the blanket of her bedroll, undoing the flap of her tent and gazing out of the opening towards the distant palace. There, under the light of the green moon and the stars, the Ixa’takan royal palace has already begun to take on a new, more sinister glow. Incendiaries. Orbiting around the palace at low altitude are two small ships - wooden vessels of Mid-Ocean design, meant for speed and audacity over prolonged ship to ship combat - and Kirala’s eyes automatically searched above the sails for a marker.

They bore black flags. Air Pirates. She snarled, hating them for not only what they were doing but what their presence represented. They threatened the hard-won peace that she and every Blue Rogue under Vyse’s command at the Battle of Soltis had risked everything for.

“Boss!” The voice of one of her crew called out in the night. Hoka, by the panic in his voice. Nobody panicked like Hoka. He was wearing only the loincloth he favored at night, and Kirala quickly raised her gaze to his shoulders. More of their construction team were now leaving their tents, running towards her as well. Men looking to leadership, looking for guidance. “Boss, what’s going on?! What ships are those? Are they Valuan?”

“No.” Kirala shook her head, pausing to give the others time to join them. “Not Valuan. Pirates.” She did not look at them all to see if they would gape in shock. Her eyes were locked on the two airships as they came to a stopped hover. She watched as rope lines were thrown over the sides, as the shapes of the men aboard, barely lit in the firelight of a burning castle below, descended down them and towards the building. “Thieves. Honorless dogs. Come to raid. Steal. KILL.” 

The Ixa’takan workers all stiffened up at her words. “What do we do?” Another one asked, his hand making the wooden mallet in his grip creak ominously. The noise broke Kirala from her long stare, finally made her mind work again. 

“Can you fight?” She ground the words out. 

“Yes!” The worker with the mallet blurted out, and she could feel the others draw in a breath to roar a battle cry. 

“NO.” Kirala thundered, silencing them before they could draw the attention of the pirates who even now hit the ground and ran for the interior of the palace. She looked to the men gathered around her in a circle. “Can you fight? Can you use weapons? Can you use magic? Can you defend yourself against desperate men, desperate warriors? Can you overwhelm a man? Can you hurt them? Can you kill them?” She let that question hang in the air, stunning them all into silence, and then drove the knife home. “Can you fight and live, or will you fight and die, doing nothing?”

Some bit their lips. Some stared at her in anger. Some looked down at their feet and others still turned and stared at the burning outer wall of the palace and the pirates that streamed like a river of ants for the interior.

“No.” Hoka whispered. “No, we cannot fight. We are builders.” There was shame in his voice. Had Hoka suffered under Valua before? Had his family? How many Ixa’takans had died in the depths of Mount Moon and elsewhere in the dark days before Vyse and his wives and their friends had changed everything? “But these pirates…they attack us. Just like Valua. They come to hurt us. To steal from us. Just like Valua.” Hoka’s eyes filled with tears. “Not again. We must do something. We cannot let this happen again.”

Kirala breathed. She closed her eyes and listened to her heart. There was a drumbeat there in her pulse, one that she had thought had fallen silent. But it was not silent.

She was a builder, true. But she was more. She was also Setsu. She was Ninja.

“Then something will be done.” Kirala said, looking at the glow of firelight hanging in the night sky, letting the drumbeat grow louder. The drumbeat she had almost forgotten about in the months of peace with her sister.

A drumbeat of war.

***

Kirala had taken everything that was hers when she left the Frontier Lands. Some things she had worn openly - her shortened skirt, her vest, her tools - but other things had been kept packed away where people would not see them and ask questions. The things that she could not walk away from, but that did not belong in peacetime.

Barking out orders for her crew to keep watch on the pirates and prepare to fall back if they came to attack everyone in the tent lodgings outside of the palace, she stepped back inside and went to the locked trunk chest that had journeyed with her. A whispered word summoned up a small ball of light, the only magic she could cast reliably, illuminating her belongings. The locking mechanism was purpose built to be misleading - the keyhole served no purpose. Pressing a hidden button in the case’s lid allowed her to rotate the entire brass plate of the keyhole upwards, exposing a circle of buttons beneath. Six specific presses caused the chest to unlock, and she let the brass plate fall back into place as she flipped the latches up, and then the lid.

The first layer of the case was a thin board of cedar wood with a ring screwed into the center- a protective layer to keep moths out. The second layer was specially treated cloth, a defense against any other bugs or vermin. And beneath both lay the treasures of her past life.

Laid reverently inside the case were her two swords - a wakizashi and tanto - a shortsword and long dagger meant for quick strikes and defense rather than reach. They sat in their wooden sheaths and she quickly pulled out each blade, inspecting them before setting them aside. Arranged around her two swords were fully a dozen and a half throwing knives and the holsters that contained them, more recently used in target practice. Pellet smoke bombs, phials of poison prepared by her sister, still potent for another two years in their lifespan. A sickle and chain. A grappling hook and silk rope. Padded shoes.

Beneath the weapons that she had trained all of her life to use were two full suits of clothing. An elaborate ceremonial kimono that she eyed briefly before shoving aside - and at the very bottom of the trunk, hidden from view, was her shinobi shozoku- moonsteel reinforced armorweave padded armor, complete with cloth facemask and hood. The armor of a ninja. The armor of the unseen knife in the night.

The drumbeat of war beat in her heart as she threw off her sleeping robe and began the process of putting everything into place. As she did, old memories rose up and she found herself speaking the words that her father Osuma had taught her. She spoke in Yafutoman, the language of her ancestors.

“I am a warrior of the night, the hidden blade. I pray to the spirits, the ancestors, and the Divine Wind. Make my footsteps swift. Make my passing silent. Let no enemy see my approach. Let them feel only the brush of air and the cut of steel. Mask me in the darkness, let me become as shadows. And when the night ends, let the light of day expose the cost of treachery, and let my enemies fear what they do not see.”

It was more than a chant, it was an ability. All people were said to possess a capacity for spiritual energy, some more than others, but it was not like magic, which carried the blessings of the six moons. Spiritual energy could be trained. Learned. Harnessed, through the ways of meditation or through pure determination. Kirala was no great master of spiritual energy like the High Admiral and his wives. She did not possess magic as the great willworkers did. The Setsu Clan was not known for great magic or spiritualism. But her chant had been created by her ancestors long ago, passed down and taught to every successive generation. Studied again. Refined. 

A little thing grows over time. A focus can be given power over time. A chant for minor blessings could become greater. And this was the Setsu Secret - It was their training that made them ninja. Shinobi.  

It was this vow, made into the family oath, that made them more. Kirala felt the power swirl around her, infuse into her. A terrifying combination of effects that wind magic could produce, grown over centuries of tradition into an enhancement greater than the sum of its parts. She breathed it in, felt that strength fill her lungs, her heart, her feet, her legs, her arms, and her eyes and ears.

Responding to the call, her wakizashi glowed dimly even in its sheath as she finished strapping the last of her weapons on. They would emit no sound unless she willed it. 

Outside, she heard the angry cries of her fellow workers rise up as loud, boorish footsteps closed in from the distant palace.

“Round ‘em up, lads!” A bellow came out, followed by the loud report of a gunshot. Not a moonstone pistol whip-like snap like Kirala had seen Gilder use during the war, but the crack of gunpowder. “Right, listen up you scurvy savages! This here’s a raid! Hand over all yer valuables and submit and ye get to live as prisoners of the Blackbeard Brigade!”

Blackbeard. The name struck a distant memory in Kirala’s mind, something she had heard some of her Mid-Ocean comrades speak of once or twice before. A minor foe? Someone of small importance? 

It didn’t matter. These pirates were a threat. And threats would be dealt with. 

Torchlight was spilling into the campsite, drawing closer to her location. “Check ‘em all, boys! Don’t miss any of these jungle rats!” Kirala drew out her tanto and slashed a slit into the canvas at the rear of the tent, moving out into the darkness moments before someone stuck their head inside of her tent looking for someone.

Kirala had seen the powers and blessings that were bestowed on others from the other five moons throughout the war and after. Aika’s fire. Fina’s indomitable strength over life, death, and ailments. What Kirala possessed was something different.

She could feel the wind. Her eyes, backlit by a dim blue in the darkness, traced the shift of the air currents, the breathing of every person in the campground. She could feel their hostility, and saw the warmth of their bodies radiating through the air. Her work crews, shaded blue. The pirates…an angry red. And she could see them through the canvas of the tents, the planks of wood. Everything slightly more illuminated, as if the light of the blue moon was shining brightly overhead.

In the dark of night, everyone else was running half-blind in an environment only lit up by their torches and what stars and parts of the green moon weren’t covered by clouds. Kirala could see everything. She could scout the patches of darkness big enough for her to hide in, where the pirates were looking.

The Setsu Sight had protected the Tokugawa dynasty for hundreds of years.

Tonight, it would do more than protect an emperor. 

It would protect an entire people.

***

Hoka seethed in his skin, trussed up and on his knees while an air pirate guarded him and four others from their crew. He hated these pirates. They dressed in clothes that looked as if they hadn’t been cleaned in two weeks, stained with sweat and worse. They carried the rotten smell of teeth that hadn’t been chewing mint leaves and alcohol that had spilled away from them.

“Now, don’t be makin’ those faces, lads.” The pirate leered at them all. “This place ain’t fit for man nor beast, this awful jungle. We’ll be gettin’ ye out of here and taking ye all someplace a bit better for livin’ in. O’ course, ye’ll be doing it all as slaves, but it ain’t like you’ll all notice the difference!” And then he broke out into a wheezing laugh that made Hoka flinch away from the rancid air he let out. 

Or the man started to, before there was a strange sound like wind passing through a small hole in a stone wall and his laugh cut off suddenly, abruptly. Hoka looked back in time to see the pirate’s head hit the ground with a wet thud and roll towards him. The pirate’s body collapsed two seconds later, and in the darkness behind where the fellow had been standing was a trim, thin figure in strange armor with a head covering and facemask that left only their eyes visible. In their hands was a long, curved sword that seemed to glow in the night and the blood that clung to its edge seemed to almost boil off of it, leaving it clean again.

Hoka’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but the figure raised a finger to its lips in a gesture for silence, and Hoka closed his mouth and nodded. It sheathed the sword and knelt down next to them, drawing out a long dagger and making quick work of the ropes binding their hands. On closer inspection, Hoka could tell that they were a woman, between the curve of their hips and the slight swell of their breasts, even underneath the tight fabric they wore. 

“I thought I told you to get clear if they came.” She said in a whisper, and Hoka did a double take. Kirala? This was Kirala? “When I set you free, you run. You run for the night, and you stay away until you see me. Clear?” The woman’s eyes narrowed in impatience, and Hoka swallowed loudly before nodding his head. Satisfied, Kirala gave him a slight nod of her head and then vanished into the night.

The other four turned to him quickly, but Hoka quelled their questions with the same gesture for silence that she had used. “Not here.” He hissed softly, and his fellow construction workers followed him out away from the camp, into the darkness at its edges. Hidden behind jungle foliage, they watched and listened for the sounds of battle. But there was none. Just laughter and shouts of anger and fear, and then the sudden absence of both. Of Kirala, there was no sign. She was like a ghost, unseen as she carved a swath through the invaders. Some were struck down by knives that flashed in the firelight, stuck into their throats or their eyes from unseen throws. Others lingered too close to the shadows and were gutted by a sword that came from nowhere. But of the woman responsible for those kills, he saw nothing. More members of their construction teams were freed and stumbled out into the night wilderness.

“Hoka, what do we do?” One man finally whispered, when the tension grew too great.

“We stay quiet and we wait.” Hoka told him, not daring to look away from the camp. His head was swimming with unanswered questions. It was Kirala of Yafutoma, there was no question about that. She had told him to wait until he saw her again.

He did not see her until every pirate who’d wandered down from the airship and away from the palace had gone silent, and then she calmly walked into the middle of their campsite, dressed in that dark fabric and armor, utterly unrecognizable from the builder they had all come to respect and admire. Hoka stood up and started to walk back to camp at last, and she cleaned her sword on a pirate’s pant leg as she waited.

“Kirala?” Was the first thing out of Hoka’s mouth. “Are they…”

“Dead.” Kirala glanced around once. “More are in the palace. I did not find Ganket.”

Hoka groaned. “He must have been inside the palace looking at things. He does that when he cannot sleep.”

“Then I am not done.” Kirala eyed the hovering ship of the air pirates thoughtfully. “Hoka. Anchor that ship down, make sure it cannot leave.”

“But the pirates…!”

“Only one stayed aboard.” Kirala cut him off, speaking with a certainty that left Hoka speechless. He looked up and saw nobody aboard the ship, although she had somehow. “All of you can climb up and capture one pirate. The rest are mine.”

“Will you capture the rest?” Hoka asked her nervously.

Her growl seemed to channel the power of a distant evening rainstorm. “No.” Kirala turned and ran off into the night, towards the palace lit up by the fires of the pirate attack.

Hoka breathed in and out twice and then whirled on his fellows. “You heard the lady. We have a ship to take.” They had always been quick to follow her commands on the job site. They moved twice as fast now.

***

She was rusty. Kirala scowled and pulled out a Sacri crystal as she stalked through the night, calling upon its power to heal the soreness of aching joints and pulled muscles. The kind of conditioning that came from construction work was not the same as the combat training that her father had put her through when she had been a girl. There was an art to hurling knives and swinging a sword, a way of posturing to hide and move through the shadows that her current job just couldn’t duplicate. A flicker of green light in the night and it all washed away, leaving her energized and ready for more. It didn’t help with the steadily growing strain she was feeling behind her eyes from the Setsu Sight, though.

You are stronger than this, Kirala, she chastised herself. True, she hadn’t even called upon the Setsu Sight back when she and her sister went with the ‘Big Four’ to investigate Dangral Island, but it hadn’t been that long since she trained with her father. Right?

Another pulse of pain struck her in the temple and she winced, shutting her eyes for a moment to breathe and drown it out. No. She kept the Sight up, opening her eyes and shunting the pain back down. She had a friend to save and pirates to put down.

She could not see through stone and there were several corridors that turned around corners in the squarish structure. But the Setsu Sight enhanced her hearing as well, and she could hear raised voices perfectly as she moved through the darkness, along with the footsteps of pirates storming through the palace. It was easy work to keep clear of them when she could hear them coming, weaving through their patrols.

“You’re lying, old man! There be treasure here, it’s the royal flogging palace!” An angry voice roared.

“A broken palace. That you have put more holes in.” The weary, pain-aching voice of Ganket responded. Kirala’s eyes narrowed as she crept nearer, looking around for a hiding place as she heard three patrols beginning to converge back on the argument happening one hallway further along. Ganket sounded hurt. They had hurt her friend and mentor. “This palace has been broken for years because of Valua, who burned it and stole from us. It is why we are here, to fix it. There is no treasure!”

The patrols were drawing nearer and there were no alcoves to hide in, not with the torchlight she could see coming closer. But the hallways were built high, with arches. A few well-timed wall jumps put her crouched in the ceiling, wedged between two pieces of stonework looking straight down with her arms and legs spread. And she was already feeling the burn.

“Bah! We didn’t out-maneuver your pathetic patrols just to fail here! Where be the king, then? We’ll hold him for ransom, and…”

“And die?” Ganket interrupted coldly. “This is a raid. Your plan fell apart. The king is not here, he does not live here, not yet. You stay and Ixa’taka will hunt you all down. You run and the Blue Rogues will hunt you down. You have lost.”

One patrol passed underneath Kirala, and muscles ached even more. She could feel her fingers starting to slip.

Then she heard the sound of metal sliding on leather, and a flintlock pistol cocking. “Then there’s no reason to keep you alive, is there?” The pirate taunted him.

Kirala felt her shoe give out on the stone, but she leaned into the fall. She made it noisy, because noise might keep Ganket alive just a little bit longer. Even before she had dropped two feet she had her tanto drawn out. She plunged it straight through the skull of the pirate passing beneath her, using his now lifeless body to cushion her fall. The second had time enough to let out a scream and yell “INTRU–!” before she whipped a kunai up in a powerful throw, catching him in the throat and leaving him choking on his own blood.

Shouts from the other two patrols followed the brief silence…but there came no gunshot. Kirala dug out a smoke pellet and threw it down on the stone floor, filling the air with a thick cloud of white that made seeing impossible…Impossible for anyone who didn’t have the Setsu Sight, that was.

The four other pirates in the hall died quickly, painfully, and with no small amount of noise. And that just left the pirate leading the raid, in a room with two of his underlings and three hostages. Covered by the thick layer of smoke that still hung in the hallway after a second smoke pellet, she stood back from the open doorway and looked in at the situation.

“Right, whoever’s out there killin’ off my men, you’ve got one chance to surrender before we plug these three like the dogs they are!” Their leader bellowed. He looked to be a somewhat crusty fellow with a black hat, brandishing a cutlass in one hand and a pistol in the other. That pistol was pointed at the back of Ganket’s head. The threat was clear. If she did anything, he’d have time enough to pull the trigger before dying. “Who are ye then? More of those damned reformed Blue Rogues? Whatever passes as royal guards in this muggy hellhole? Doesn’t matter! Get in here or they die! Baltor the Black-Bearded commands it!”

There was nothing for it. Kirala took a deep breath and walked into the room.

The leader of the pirates raised eyebrows over his bushy mustache and scraggly beard. “Weapons. Drop ‘em.” He commanded, gesturing with his sword. The pistol didn’t move from Ganket’s head. Kirala set down her katana and tanto. The pirates’ eyes narrowed. “Got a gun there, do ya?” Kirala shook her head. “Who in blazes are you? Ye don’t look Ixa’takan.”

“I just work here.” Kirala answered dryly, opening up her connection to the Setsu Sight even higher, until she could hear the man’s breathing, feel the slight shifts as he changed his stance. “I give you this one chance. Surrender.”

That earned some coarse laughter from Baltor’s men. “Because of some damn fool girl who wants to pretend she’s the next comin’ of Vyse Bluevane?” Baltor snarked.

Baltor. Ah. Yes, she remembered that name now. The others had spoken of him, an afterthought in everything else that had happened during the war against the Valuan Empire before the rise and fall of Soltis. “You lost to him twice, pirate.”

“Once!” Baltor snapped, taking a moment to smooth his ruffled feathers. “And it don’t matter. He did us a favor, wipin’ out the Empire. It’s a new world full of riches and plunder, and everyone’s drawn too thin to stop us! This here’s the golden age of piracy, and there’s nothing you can do to stop us!”

“Your men are all dead. Your ship is captured.” Kirala rebuked him, and the smiles the three pirates had been wearing dropped off suddenly. “And you will follow them. How painfully, and how soon, depends on you.”

“Oh?” Baltor growled, and she could feel his finger tighten on the trigger. “On me? Doing what?”

“You pulling that trigger.” Kirala told him. Baltor stared her down, unamused. “Try me.”

A bead of sweat ran down his forehead. Kirala stared. Baltor blinked. And his pistol came up. “Think I will, fool.” He said, falling for her taunt, and Kirala blew every sense, every bit of reaction speed open to its maximum. 

Even as he fired, she was moving, jerking to one side and drawing out two more kunai. The bullet flew by, missing her turned torso by the width of a finger. With perfect aim that made her head throb, she buried the kunai into the eye sockets of the other two pirates in the room guarding the other hostages before racing for Baltor.

His pistol had been fired and was useless, unable to be fired again before reloading. The shock of her speedy approach had him stumbling backwards and bringing his cutlass to bear, but it did him no good. She weaved underneath his stab and punched the underside of his wrist hard enough to make every nerve there spasm, releasing the blade from his grip. She spun closer to him, catching him in the midsection with an elbow and then following it up with a rabbit punch to the chin that left him reeling enough to leave him wide open for a roundhouse kick that smashed him into the back wall.

She reached down and picked up his sword, strolling the short distance between them. Baltor groggily tried to pull out another pistol from the bandolier across his chest and had his hand cut off halfway up his forearm for his trouble, and then Kirala ran him through with his own sword hard enough to bury it into the wall with a loud scream that channeled the last vestiges of her Setsu Sight enhancements into it.

Wheezing and gurgling his last, Baltor stared at her as the pinned fly on the wall she’d turned him into. 

“I am not Vyse.” Kirala forced out. “You should have surrendered.” Whatever he meant to say died on his lips as his eyes went glassy and he breathed his last. And then the roaring headache and her exhaustion set in.

Somehow she forced herself to stumble over to Ganket, pulling out one last kunai and cutting his bonds without stabbing herself or him. And then the darkness took her.

***

2 Days Later

Kirala wasn’t at all surprised to find herself lying in a bed when she woke up, nor to find herself with a full body ache and a sense of fatigue that just wouldn’t quit. She had pushed her spiritual energy reserves to the ragged edge in maintaining her family’s gift for as long as she had. What did surprise her was when she took a look around and found herself not back in her tent, as she had expected, but in one of the rooms in the Ixa’takan Royal Palace that was still intact.

“As if we would put you anywhere else after everything you did to save us.” Ganket had snorted, when he came in alongside two of the palace servants who were bringing fresh clothes and food for her. “Don’t worry, we kept all of your belongings together.” And they had, a glance over to the table along the wall of her room confirmed her chest and all her belongings were waiting there for her. Including her swords and weapons, cleaned and laid out for her examination, as well as her damaged armor. She only had enough energy on the first day to eat a little and confirm everyone had survived before sleep took her again.

On the second day, she had a little more energy, and it was good that she did. Because that was when other visitors arrived.

A knock at the door had her eyes fluttering open, and she pulled herself up into a sitting position a little bit more. “Yes?” The door opened and one of the royal palace guards stuck his head in.

“Pardons, my lady, but you have a visitor.”

“Tell Ganket he doesn’t need my help to patch up the holes those pirates made in this place.”

“It is not Ganket.” The guard said. Intrigued, Kirala raised one eyebrow and gestured for them to come in. The guard opened the door the rest of the way and stood aside, allowing a crusty looking older Mid-Ocean man to come inside. He carried with him a heavy bag slung over one shoulder, a ledger in one hand, and a bottle of Valuan Rye Whiskey in the other.

He looked a bit like a pirate in his mannerisms and how he stood, but he was dressed in better clothing. An outlaw of some kind?

“Greetings.” The man said, giving her a nod of his head. “The name’s Lorenzo, head of the Ixa’takan branch of the Sailor’s Guild and Merchants.”

Kirala blinked. “Really?”

Lorenzo sighed and went over to the room’s table, setting down his heavy ledger. “Why does everyone have such a problem believing this?” He opened up his bottle of whiskey and took a drink. “It’s the truth, by the way.” He added, digging in his satchel and pulling out a rolled up length of parchment that bore a wax seal imprinted with King Ixa’taka’s mark. “See? Got me letter of approval and everything. Now listen, lass. I was dragged here, rushed when I was busy managing a half dozen ships and transports bound for various ports of call and told that there was a matter to be dealt with from the bounty board. One of our longest remaining Pirate bounties, in point of fact. And then I get here and I’m not only told that Baltor the Flogging Black-Bearded be dead, but that his ship’s now the property of the Ixa’takan kingdom and could I please go inside the palace, the person responsible is there?”  

Lorenzo gave her a glare. “So listen. I’d greatly appreciate it, lass, if you’d drop the confused act and give me a straight answer. Are you the person that everyone in this blasted out ruin says single-handedly slaughtered Baltor and about 80 percent of his crew?”

Kirala stared at him. “Will you arrest me?”

“Lass, I’ve got a 10,000 gold bounty on that man’s decapitated head. There’s no arrest warrant waitin’ for the soul responsible for that heroic act. ARE. YOU. RESPONSIBLE?” Lorenzo snapped. Kirala slowly nodded her head, and Lorenzo let out a noisy huff of air, flipping open the ledger to one specific page and coming back over. “Wonderful. Terrific. Sign here and the money’s yours.” He handed her a new invention that had been circulating around, a combination of a quill pen’s ink, but contained in a reservoir that fed a round pointed nib and wrote like a pencil.

Kirala hesitated for a moment before taking the ink pencil and writing out her name, Setsu Kirala, in flowing Yafutoman script. Lorenzo examined the letters for a moment with narrowed eyes and grunted.

“Aye, that’s Yafutoman, all right. Not like yer face and hair weren’t a dead giveaway. But what’s your name, lass?”

“You have my name.” Kirala gestured to his ledger. The older man rolled his eyes and closed up his book. 

“Aye, and I’m an ignorant Valuan castaway who’s too old to bother learning a new language, much less the alphabet for it, so would ye kindly take pity and tell me so I know what to tell me fellow guildmasters when they ask who I just shelled out 10,000 coins to?”

Kirala sighed. Lorenzo. She didn’t know how much the man knew. Would mentioning her name be enough to reveal the whole of her life, and would he keep it to himself? She glanced over to the open doorway and the Ixa’takan guard standing watch with his spear resting on the floor. “Would you please leave us alone?”

“I am charged with your safety.” The guard said stiffly.

“Do you think I am in danger here?” Kirala asked with a smile. “With a man known and trusted by your people, who has come to reward me? Please. Allow us privacy.” The guard relented and stepped out, closing the door behind him. Kirala closed her eyes and breathed for a moment before looking back at Lorenzo with the flattest face she could muster.

“My name is Kirala of Yafutoma.”

“Just Kirala? No family name?” Lorenzo asked, surprised. Kirala shrugged. Let the man make his own incorrect inferences. “There was quite a bit of whisperin’ about your exploits two nights ago. Some folks were sayin’ you were like a ghost in the night. Were you with the Tenkou?”

Kirala huffed, almost laughing at the idea. “No. I was not a part of the Tenkou.” Although if her mother and father had known who truly led the pirates under the Blue Moon, they might have allowed her to join when the utter corruption at the heart of the empire became apparent.

“Military, mebbe?” Lorenzo muttered, half to himself before he shook his head. “No. No, they wouldn’t let anyone go, not now when there’s a border to be patrolled, and…” Lorenzo stopped talking long enough to give her a second, closer glance. “If I didn’t know any better, miss, I’d swear…”

“Swear what?” Kirala asked. But Lorenzo was staring off into nothing, muttering something under his breath. Something Kirala recognized only because of how often she had heard it before.

“...If you would hold power…”

Kirala shut her eyes and sighed. “Finish it.” 

“Eh? What?” Lorenzo startled, saying nothing. That unfinished sentence ached. And Kirala knew if she said it, she would be revealing herself fully, when she had spent weeks keeping everyone in the dark. But she had already revealed herself. Whatever else happened, there was no going back from the side of herself she had shown her friends and co-workers. She would not lie, and she was no coward.

A ninja worked in the shadows. They did not live in them.

Kirala opened her eyes and stared at Lorenzo. “If you would hold power, then defend the powerless.”

Lorenzo blinked twice and then smiled, relieved. “You’re one of Vyse’s.”

“I am myself.” Kirala said, reaching into her inner pocket and pulling out a familiar shaped challenge coin- Daccat’s emblem on one side, Vyse’s on the other. She held it up for him to examine. “But I flew with him once.”

Lorenzo let out a small laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Aye, that you did, Miss Blue Rogue.”

The door to her room opened and Kirala tried to jerk her arm back quickly. A momentary lapse in focus made her lose her grip, and the coin she had guarded so carefully bounced away from her, ricocheted off of the wall, and rolled to a stop at the foot of the man who had just walked in.

A man who waited until the coin stopped spinning and had settled before he reached down to pick it up. With a suddenly dry mouth, Kirala stared at King Ixa’taka as he rolled the coin between his fingers carefully, then turned to look at her. 

“In our darkest hour, I was given the power to summon the ancient Gigas Grendel and told to use it. In doing so, I nearly doomed my kingdom and everyone in it to destruction again. And it was Vyse and his friends who saved us.” 

The king gave her a warm smile and walked over, putting the coin back in her hand and wrapping her fingers over it. “Now, another Blue Rogue has saved my people once more. Thank you.”

Kirala tried to think of what to say, discarding one sentence after another. She sighed and shook her head, pulling her hand back. “I did not do this thing as a Blue Rogue, your majesty. But you are welcome.”

The king pondered her response and her reticence, shrugging them off. “We owe you a debt that I may never be able to repay. But I must try to repay it. Kirala of Yafutoma, formerly of the Blue Rogues. What do you desire as a reward? If it is within my power, it is yours.”

Her head swam and Kirala reeled slightly at the sheer scope of that pledge. Ixa’taka was a young kingdom, still struggling to right itself after subjugation and war - a young kingdom with many friends. What King Ixa’taka could bestow on her were not small things.

But what he could grant as a reward was secondary to the far more pressing question: What did she want? Not just in the moment, but in her future as well? 

What had she come here for in the first place?

The silence dragged on long enough that the king himself coughed nervously, seeking an answer. Kirala finally worked up the courage to look up at him and compose an answer.

“I came here to be a builder, not just for houses, but for places and people. If you want to give me a reward, then let me continue to work here. Let me find out who I am as a builder - not who I am as a Blue Rogue and warrior.”

He didn’t quite seem to know how to react at first, but settled for a small, disbelieving laugh and a slow nod of his head. “That I can grant you, Kirala of Yafutoma.” Said the king. “But I thought more along the lines of a more material reward.”

Kirala looked over to her belongings set along the table set by the wall. “I could use some new dresses, I guess.”

The king smiled. “Then I will have some new clothes made for you, clothes fit for a queen.”

Kirala rolled her eyes. “I am no queen.” The king chuckled, letting her have the last word.

***

1 Week Later

The work continued on, and after a few wary glances from Ganket’s (her) crewmembers over the first two days, everyone relaxed and got on with the business of repairing the ancient palace that King Ixa’taka had once called home, and would again. In a move that caught Kirala somewhat by surprise, new shipments of supplies - quarried stone, wood, better food, Loqua - somehow always found a way to their worksite even when they hadn’t been requested. Kirala was almost beginning to relax again, now that the warrior could rest for a time and the builder was needed more.

Almost. She would have, if not for a very subtle change around the construction site; King Ixa’taka did not return to wherever he had been living before. Ruined palace or not, he was now staying there as a permanent resident. 

And he always came by every day at lunch to say hello, and once more at dinner. At first, he didn’t stay for long because everyone tended to get skittish and clam up when he was around, so his conversation was limited to gentle requests about her progress on the rebuild or if she needed anything. The number of construction workers who sat at her table thinned out until only a token pair lingered, possibly for moral support, and he stayed longer, turning towards questions about her life before coming to Ixa’taka to work. To his credit and her relief, he didn’t ask Kirala to tell him stories about her adventures serving with High Admiral Vyse Bluevane and the famous Blue Rogues, instead he turned the question more towards her life in her homeland of Yafutoma.

And then at the end of his first week of visiting during their breaks, he instead asked for a favor: He wished her to teach him how to speak Yafutoman.

It made sense that he wanted to learn. Yafutoma was by far Ixa’taka’s closest neighbor, not counting Valua to the north-northeast. A wise ruler would want to be able to speak to Yafutoman visitors and diplomats in their own language. And yet…

“Why me?” Kirala asked him. “There are others you could learn from. Good tutors. Scholars.” 

King Ixa’taka shook his head. “No. I wish to learn from you.”

“In what time?” She countered plainly. “I am already working on rebuilding your palace.”

“Ganket tells me that you are his equal, his replacement. You do not need to spend all your time carrying heavy stones.”

“And forget how hard some jobs are?” Kirala folded her arms. “My crews trust me because I know how hard they work. I ask no one to do a job I would not do myself.”

“There are many ways to build.” The king declared. “Please, Kirala. I want to know your people better. I want to be able to work with them. Talk with them. I could get a tutor, yes, but they would not know me or my people. They would be lost. But you know my people. You have known many peoples, seen many lands. Peoples and places I have never been to. I know I ask much of you, but I can make it worth your while.” And Kalifa rankled under that assertion, scowling. 

To his credit, the young monarch wilted. “I apologize.” He said, shaking his head. “I…I cannot force you to do this. I can only ask. But I spoke truth. I want you to be my teacher in your language.”

“Again, I ask; why me?” Kirala demanded. “You are a king. You could ask for anyone. Why do you ask for me to teach you? Tell me the truth. Tell me your true reason.”

The king fidgeted in his seat for a few moments, and finally spoke. “We are not so far apart in age, I think. But I have lived a secluded life. You have traveled the world, seen what is good and what is evil of it. Any tutor could teach me to speak your language, yes. Any teacher could speak to me about the world. I am intelligent - But I have such limited experience. And experience is the source of wisdom.”

The eldest Setsu daughter stared at him, searching for some sign of deceit. She saw none. There was just a sense of honesty, and nervousness. He did not have the build of a warrior, as Crown Prince Daigo did. He did not have the seasoned confidence of High Admiral Vyse, the surety of King Enrique. He was…

He was so young. Not by age, no. But naive. Inexperienced.

But he was trying to change that, to be better. To learn who he was - just like Kirala was.

She sighed and nodded. “At night, after we eat. We will have one hour. But you still have a kingdom to rule. And I have more work to do, highness.”

The king of Ixa’taka smiled. “This is true. If I could ask one last favor of you, though?”

“You are out of favors, highness.”

“This one is small.” The king quickly clarified. “When you are teaching me, could you use my name, and not my title?”

Kirala blinked twice, thinking on it for a very small amount of time. “I…Yes, I can do this. What is your name, highness?”

“Pachacuti.” The ruler of Ixa’taka told her. 

That’s a mouthful of a name, Kirala thought, but she nodded, and began their first lesson.

***

3 Weeks Later

Pachacuti made for a good student. He struggled with the language (And honestly, Kirala had expected him to, every other language in the world was so backwards compared to the sentence structure used by the Yafutoman dialect!) At least in Yafutoma, a portion of their education had been to learn a few phrases in what she knew now was Mid-Ocean tradespeak, the language used by Daqat the unforgiven from the old stories, who had stolen Princess Kikue Tokugawa and flown off into the night. Knowing what she knew now, about how ‘Daccat’ had taken Kikue from an unwelcomed, loveless arranged marriage and loved her and lived with her and their fellow wife Yasmina, put the story into a different perspective. Kirala wondered how her people struggled to deal with the story now. Had they rewritten it? Dismissed it as western lies, even in the face of the evidence? It didn’t matter, she supposed. 

Kikue and Yasmina and Daccat had known their Truth, had lived their lives. And now Kirala was trying to live hers.

“Were you bored?” Pachacuti asked her, thirty minutes into one of their evening study sessions. Kirala looked at him as he leaned over the bound paper he’d been using to take notes with. 

“Bored?”

“You said you came here to be a builder.” He explained. “But the Blue R - sorry, the Mercantile Marine has been very busy. Expanding. Helping. Was the work there boring, even when there was so much of it?”

Kirala huffed. Of course. She knew there was intelligence behind those eyes of his, it shone through always, but every so often he became particularly insightful. “No. There was work. And it was not…boring.”

Pachacuti frowned. “So did you lie then?”

“No.” Kirala dismissed the accusation. “I needed to learn who I was.”

“You are Kirala, and you are many things.” The king pointed out. “It is almost as if you…”

“If I…what?” Kirala asked him, meeting his eyes and refusing to back down from it.

He blinked. “Were you running from something? Or someone?”

He was far too insightful. The builder sighed, and that reaction made him seem even more worried. “Kirala, do you need protection? Is there someone who wishes you harm?” She startled at the assertion, and let out a small laugh before she could stop herself. It only made him more confused.

“No, Pacha.” She said, shortening his name, too filled with humor in the moment. He relaxed at her answer, and his eyes softened. “No, I do not need protecting. We have studied my culture somewhat these weeks, along with my language. What do my people value?”

The king who was perhaps two or three years her senior considered the question. “...Honor.” He began, working through the list. “Peace. Prosperity. Family. Calm. Consistency.”

Kirala nodded. “All true.” She agreed. “Among my people, there is a saying; May you live in interesting times.” Kirala could see him trying to work through the wording and she took pity on him, repeating it in Mid-Ocean tradespeak. “Why do you think we have this saying? It is used as a curse, not a blessing or prayer.”

Pachacuti turned it over in his mind. “If Yafutoma values peace, and calm, and consistency…then times where these are gone are terrible times.”

“Disasters. Famines. Droughts. Wars.” Kirala confirmed. “Times full of change. Chaos. Pain. These are interesting times to us. And we fear them.”

“But…change is everywhere.” Pachacuti argued. “The jungle remains, but trees die and fall, and rot, and are used as food for the next trees. The predator hunts, but grows old and perishes, making room for the young. Nothing lasts forever, not even the stones.” He gestured to the walls of his castle. “Not even the mountains.” 

Kirala hummed. “I have learned this. That change comes, if we are ready for it or not.”

“...And change came for you.” Pachacuti realized. Kirala stared at him again. “Am I wrong?”

“No.” She forced the word out. “You are not.”

“...you do not need to tell me if you do not want to.” He hedged. Thoughtful of him. She valued the quiet friendship they had been developing. So did he. If he didn’t he would press for an answer, force it out of her. But he left a way for her to retreat if she wished. His hands were gentle hands. A scholar’s hands, not a warrior’s. 

“No, it is all right.” She reassured him. “I just…how to say this?” She mused, half-aloud. No. Just tear the bandage off. “I have a sister.” Kirala admitted. Pachacuti’s eyes widened. “A younger sister.” She clarified. “When Vyse and his friends came to our lands in his ship, after he saved us, she and I went with them because Crown Prince Daigo asked us to. On our journey, she fell in love with a young man. An adopted son of Centime, Hans.”

King Ixa’taka’s eyes widen in recognition. “Ah, yes! Hans! I know him and his brother Lapen well! They are good sons of Centime. I had heard he had been married recen…” Some switch tripped in his mind and he stopped himself short. “...Oh.”

Kirala could feel the old sting burning in her heart, and undoubtedly it showed on her face as she tried to force a smile. “Yafutoma has…expectations. It is expected for daughters to marry, to have families. Many children. Prosperity, not measured by wealth, but by the size of your family. If you can support a large family, you are prosperous. We shared a house, my sister and I. But she is married now, and I…” Kirala mustered a loose shrug. “I was in the way. By our tradition, she has, um… surpassed me.” She couldn’t find the right word in Mid-Ocean, and used Yafutoman instead. The King nodded, piecing it together.

“So because she got married before you, she is somehow…better?” He summarized, sounding doubtful.

“By Yafutoman traditions. Yes. A better daughter.”

“Looper droppings.” Pachacuti shook his head. “Kirala. You are not a failure. You are brilliant. Wise. Skilled. Breathtaking. You are a warrior and a hero and a builder - a teacher. And you care. I respect your ways, your traditions. We value family and children also, yes. But a woman here, in Ixa’taka, can be more than just a mother and a homemaker.” He smirked a little. “I think the Amazons of Ixa’ness would gladly argue against anyone who said differently.”

Despite herself, Kirala snickered and carried a genuine smile. And that made Pachacuti smile even wider and lean back.

“So. I hear that you are almost done here - that the plans are set and that the crews you have been training should be able to finish up here.” He said, changing the topic. “There is another project we will be starting soon I was hoping you might help with.”

“Oh?” Kirala asked. “And what would that be, Pachacuti?”

“...You can call me Pacha.” He mumbled, blushing a little. “I…liked that name.” 

“...Pacha.” Kirala repeated, glad that the nickname she’d come up with in a spur of the moment was one he could put up with. “What is the project?”

“Fina Bluevane, the Silver Priestess, has been teaching classes over the radio for any who listen. I want to build a school here in Ixa’taka where the children - all of the children - can come and study and learn, if they wish to. A Royal School. And I can think of nobody better to design it to be strong and stand the passing of the years than you.”

“A school.” Kirala mused thoughtfully. Wood? No, stone. No, wait…mortared stone. And thick woodwork. Perhaps built in a way that used the land itself for support, and cooling…

“A school.” She repeated, smiling. “I can build that.” And Pacha smiled even brighter.

***

1 Month Later

Kirala ended up drafting up plans for two schools, because she was reminded about something that had been taught to her back during her apprenticeship; Perfect is the enemy of good. The first school had been a quickly constructed thing of wood on a smaller plot of land that utilized the tree canopy along one edge of a clearing in the lowlands. It was clear of the floodplain, but not on the best parcel of land, and resembled an oversized longhouse.

The true project would take far more time, as Kirala realized that she needed access to resources she lacked to plan the building’s construction. She needed to see how deep the soil went before they would hit the continental bedrock, if there were any underground aquifers in the way, if there were any obstacles at all to building the structure as planned. 

For the first time since she had stepped onto the ship that had taken her to Ixa’taka, she needed to contact the Blue Mercantile Marine again. With some fair amount of inward grumbling, she flew back to the palace, approached Pachacuti and told him that she needed to use the newly installed palace radio to reach out to Centime.

“...of course you can.” The young king said, closing the book he had been reading and giving her a concerned glance. “You didn’t think I would refuse you, did I?”

“Possibly.” She hedged. “This is a request, Pacha, not official business.”

The young king just smiled. “I would refuse you nothing. Go ahead. Centime is closer. Would you want to call him first? We do not yet have the…how did they say…range, to reach all the way to Crescent Island?” She thought about that and he shrugged. “It is another project. It can wait.”

“Another project?” Kirala teased him. “Are you thinking of excuses to keep me here now?” Pacha didn’t laugh or deny the suggestion. He stammered a bit, froze up, and…and blushed. Kirala blinked at him, confused. “Pacha?”

“Um.” The king stood up suddenly and gestured to the door. “The - the radio is this way. I will take you.” And he led the way, walking them through the palace until they reached a room that had once been an indoor training court complete with open windows. Now there were newly installed moonsteel glass panes in them, and delicate electronic equipment was lined up against the far wall in a setup that Kirala immediately recognized. There were two Ixa’takan radio technicians on duty, one listening to messages and writing them down and another transmitting messages as they came in. The two men stood and bowed in the presence of their king.

“Please, sit.” Pacha gestured them back down again, and they did so hesitantly. “You remember Miss Kirala of Yafutoma, yes? She has need of the radio. Could you take care of her?”

“Yes, your highness. At once.” The elder of the two quickly agreed. Pacha nodded to them and then turned to face Kirala.

“I must excuse myself. There is royal business to see to. You will be all right on your own now?” He asked.

“Yes, of course.” Kirala nodded. “Thank you, Pacha.” And in spite of everything, he ended up blushing again before giving a small bow of his head and ducking out of the room.

Kirala stood there, wondering what that was all about before the elder radio operator cleared his throat. “What can we do for you, Friend Kirala?” The man asked.

“I need to call the Blue Mercantile Marine.” Kirala explained. “Can we contact Centime?”

“Of course!” The younger man said brightly, bobbing his head up and down with plenty of energy. “Anything for the future q…” He was cut off when the elder Ixa’takan cuffed him on the back of the head and hissed in pain.

“It will be no trouble.” The older fellow said, giving the younger one a mild glare. “Have a seat here, it will take us a few moments to reach him.”

It was not all that different from using the radio stations at Crescent Island and Pirate’s Rest. An outbound broadcast on the correct channel soon had them linked in with the local Blue Mercantile Marines, who forwarded the contact request to Centime who was away from the radio and undoubtedly tending to business with his orphanage, if not other concerns. The reward for a job well done among the former Blue Rogues was often more responsibility and fewer opportunities for rest, and Centime had nearly as much on his plate as High Admiral Vyse and his wives did. But after around five minutes of waiting, Centime’s crackly voice came over the wireless.

“...entime here. Who is calling again? Please confirm.”

“Centime. It is Kirala, of Vyse’s crew.”

“Kirala? Urala’s sister? I had heard you might be around in Ixa’taka. The word on the street is that you were responsible for repelling Baltor the Black-Bearded and bringing him to justice.”

“It was better than letting him walk over everyone.”

“And isn’t that the truth. How have you been? What have you been up to since you left the Frontier Lands? Something about construction, wasn’t it?”

“There have been a few things I have been working on, yes.” Kirala agreed. “I am calling you because of one.”

“Oh? Do you need some help? Extra manpower?”

“We have the workers. But I need knowledge. We need the means to see in the ground, to look for water. Thick rock. Things that could ruin a stone foundation for the building I am planning. Could you pass a message along to Crescent Island, to Fina and Aika for me? If they know of a way to help?”

“Well, I suppose I could. And if they do come up with anything, my son Lapen and his husband Lawrence are coming for a visit soon. I could have them bring it along.”

“That will be fine, Centime. Thank you.”

“No problem. Um, before I let you go, Kirala…” Centime went from confident to hedging his words, and she leaned in closer to the radio’s speaker. “Is…Is there anything you want me to pass on to your sister Urala? I was going to be calling Hans later today, and it wouldn’t be a problem.”

And there was a loaded question, if there was one. She had left because Kirala had felt like a stranger in her own home, because her sister was getting married and was starting a family of her own. She had left because she could not think of anything to say to Urala that wouldn’t be jealous, or hurtful. 

“Tell her…” Half a dozen things flitted across her mind and were just as quickly discarded. “Tell Urala that I hope she has found happiness and prosperity in her marriage.”

“Is that all?”

“That is all.” Kirala agreed. “Goodbye, Centime.”

“Farewell, Kirala. May the Green Moon watch over you.” The radio crackled as he disconnected, and Kirala stood up from the radio’s chair. That was done. Now for other matters…

Her stomach rumbled. Kirala sighed and gave the two radio operators in the palace a nod as she walked out. A meal first. The work would come after.

***

The Royal Academy (Construction Project)

Central Ixa’taka

0 N.A.C. 8th Month, 28th Day

It felt…strange, at least at first, to be working in close proximity with two former shipmates after having spent months living outside of the sphere of influence of the Blue Mercantile Marine. But as Ganket had often said in the past, there was labor, and then there was skilled labor. And the kind of skill and precision that she needed to excavate and lay a proper foundation for a stone building meant to stand the test of time was much different than the work of lugging stones and laying down mortar. The many construction workers she had at her disposal for Pacha’s pet project of a school were good for a lot of things, but the more complex machinery that Lapen and Lawrence had brought along with them at her request needed a more delicate and practiced touch.

She had thought Lapen more of a ship’s engineer, a part-time weapons designer. But the skill he’d once used in keeping the Delphinus in top form, and the lessons he’d picked up working under Aika and Fina with their high technology paid off in unexpected dividends. A new mechanical automaton under Lapen’s command had quickly become a fixture at the site, and more than once she’d caught the schoolchildren from the wooden longhouse nearby wandering out during their rest periods to gawk at their work. Quarried stone was hauled in, and a severely downgraded version of the Delphinus’s Moonstone Cannon was used to make precision cuts. What would have taken days of working with chisels and hammers now took only minutes, once Lapen’s mechanical friend was fully recharged. 

And even before they had started the stonework, Lapen’s first act of swords to plowshares was a modification to the sensor suite that the Delphinus had once used to scour the Deep Sky for Fina’s skyship. The thing that had once allowed them to look for irregularities in the mud of that hellscape gave them clear images of the Ixa’takan soil. It allowed them to avoid a gnarled mass of tree roots and an underground aquifer - obstacles that would have slowed construction by months. Or possibly years.

It didn’t mean the undertaking was any less monumental - quite literally. 

One night, as they were resting after the day’s work, she sat with Lapen and Lawrence at dinner. “I have to admit, I did not think you would stay this long.” She said to them. Lawrence looked up from the book he’d been reading for the past few days - some adventure novel about a warrior in the Valuan highlands from 500 years past - and raised an eyebrow while Lapen just chuckled a bit. The engineer who favored purple clothes folded his arms and leaned his head back a little, considering.

“Well, it’s tedious as hell, but you looked like you needed a hand.”

“He’s bullshitting you.” Lawrence cut in with a deadpan voice. Lapen sputtered and gave his husband a glare, but the ship’s helmsman just rolled his eyes, unfazed. “Admit it, you were getting bored. Then Centime called us up with your request, Kirala, and he got all excited again. If this was really as tedious as Lapen says it is, then he would’ve packed us up a week ago.” 

“Traitor.”

“Love you too, bitch.” Lawrence smirked, and Kirala cackled as Lapen deflated and sighed.

“Fine. Since I’ve been sold out, yeah. This is kind of fun.” Lapen confessed. “Not to mention, since the Bluevanes have a son and a daughter now, it’s a good time to get the heck away from everyone else until things settle down.” And Kirala had to nod at that, feeling a pang of yet more jealousy - by the standards of her people, Vyse and his two wives were prosperous with the births of their firstborn children now secured. 

Lapen let out a sigh and folded his arms, relaxing. “It’s…been different. Most of my life I was making weapons, ways to hurt folks that got in my way whether they were pirates or the Armada. But here, we’re building something. Something to help people, something that will last.”

Kirala nodded. “Much like we built up Crescent Island. And Pirate’s Rest. It is much harder to make a thing than to destroy it.”

“Is that why you came out here?” Lapen asked her. “For the challenge?”

“...Yes.” Kirala hedged. “But also…” Lapen kept quiet, waiting for her to finish her sentence. “...To find myself.”

“I didn’t know you were lost.” Lapen said, surprised. “What happened?”

She shrugged. “My world was too small. But here, it is bigger.”

Lapen looked around them, the massive clearing and the jungle all around them, and in the background, the massive mountains that made up the western and northern border of the jungle kingdom. So did Kirala, taking it all in. She’d grown used to it and the climate so unlike Yafutoma aside from the depths of summer, but with someone new to it, she saw it again with fresh eyes.

She realized…she loved it here.

“Yeah. It’s pretty big, all right.” Lapen conceded. And then he shook his head, breaking the moment. “Okay. So tomorrow, we’re starting on the eastern foundation?”

“Yes, but you will need to work with Ganket on that.” Kirala said. “I will be flying to the palace tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Lapen blinked. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. Pacha said there was something he needed my advice on, and we have some language lessons to catch up on.”

There was a gleam that grew in Lapen’s eyes as she spoke, until he was smirking again. “Hmm. Yes, I’ll just bet you two have lots of lessons to deal with.” Kirala stared back at Lapen blankly, and the blond-haired man reacted in surprise. “Wait, you mean you don’t…”

He got a thump to the chest for his trouble from Lawrence, who spoke up while Lapen was busy coughing like mad. “Don’t worry, he’ll take care of things here while you’re gone. And I’ll make sure he doesn’t goof off too much.”

“...Thank you. I think.” Kirala said, giving her head one last shake. These Westerners…they could be so strange sometimes.

***

North Ixa’taka, The Misty Mountains

8th Month, 30th Day

When she had arrived at the palace, Kirala had been expecting Pacha to show her some other bit of needed construction work or to pick her brain regarding the Yafutoman language. She had not expected him to have another airship already fueled up and waiting for them, a strange mixture of Ixa’takan and Yafutoman design that took on an almost organic appearance. The name painted on the hull was one that surprised her, not only for the name itself but also because it was written in Mid-Ocean tradespeak as well as Yafutoman characters: The Pathfinder.

“What is this? You wanted me to see a new ship?” She had asked him. And Pachacuti had smiled and shook his head. 

“No. The ship is to take us to what I wanted you to see.” And so they had climbed on board with a single pilot and a galley cook for company and flown off, gaining altitude as they went until they were rising above the thick clouds that gave Ixa’taka its characteristic rainy weather and approaching the high peaks of the Misty Mountains that gave Ixa’taka its northern border. They had weighed anchor as night approached at the base of some stone stairs and made camp, Kirala setting up a tent with the woman cook and Pacha with the ship’s pilot. Dinner had been a quiet affair with a campfire stew and the king of Ixa’taka asking Kirala all about her latest exploits. She had been glad to tell him about how well the school was coming along with the help of Lapen, and how her construction teams were finally at a level of skill that she felt was adequate to leave them alone for longer stretches. He seemed pleased by that answer. In turn, he explained that the airship they had rode in on was a prototype cobbled together by some Yafutoman and Ixa’takan engineers as a proof-of-concept idea for a variable altitude airship meant solely for Ixa’takan airspace; less expensive, less range, and less ability to stand up to the kind of storms that the North Ocean and Yafutoma’s eastern frontier routinely saw. Perfect for the terrain they were staying in now.

And now on the next morning, Pacha accepted a picnic basket prepared for them by the cook, left The Pathfinder anchored at the base of the old and preserved temple that Fina had spoken of fondly, and descended back down into the clouds of the early morning via an ancient transit lift.

Pacha had taken her to see Rixis.

“The city of clouds. Or the city in the clouds.” He said, as they strolled through the dilapidated stone ruins as daylight began to finally burn away the mists that had gathered overnight. “This place was spoken of in our legends, the lost city of Rixis from a time long ago. A time before the Rains of Destruction. It was only the High Priests who knew the truth, that it still existed and could still be reached. They had done so to keep the secret of the Green Moon Crystal’s location protected and safe.”

Kirala nodded, one hand close to the hilt of her sword. Even though the threat of a wild monster attack was minimal, such things had happened before. And for as good as she and Ganket’s crew had proven to be with hammers when such things occurred, the sword felt more natural now that she did not have to keep her training concealed. Pacha smiled and kept talking, not at all disturbed by Kirala’s love of silence. He enjoyed talking, and…she didn’t mind listening. He always had something new to say.

“Vyse and his friends, back before they flew on that great metal ship of theirs, came to Rixis in search of the Green Moon Crystal. They saved us from ourselves…saved me from myself. Isapa had convinced me to use the Crystal to resurrect Grendel, to command the Gigas to drive out the invaders. I nearly destroyed my own kingdom because of that act.” He shook his head. “And after all of that, Vyse still helped us. He returned to us the Golden Mask, the symbol of rulership among our ancestors from that long ago age. Parting with the Green Moon Crystal was not so terrible when he gave us back another lost treasure in exchange.”

Kirala nodded again, her eyes already back on the dilapidated city. “I knew of this place. But I did not think I would ever come here.” She separated from him and approached one of the buildings built into the side of the mountain, gently stepping around the edge of a blasted crater that had taken another structure out completely. After a bit of hesitation she stroked her hand along the outer wall, and then stepped inside.

There were details here that others would overlook. She’d heard details from some of the crew, and once Aika had spoken about it, but Aika was a ship’s engineer more than a builder. There was more than quarried stone at work here. Yes, she could make out the timeworn remnants of mortar and placed stone, but further back, along where the walls and the support beams and the floor had been…

“They carved their homes out of these mountains.” She said with reverence. “Where they could…they used the stone as it stood. As the mountains provided.” It was a style of building that spoke to a sense of organic understanding, far beyond what the Yafutomans even did. Back home, they built their homes out of wood and stone and occasionally metal, though that was rare as metal was precious. Or it had been. 

The ancient Ixa’takans had lived in tropical forests, in a landscape that forever was changing. Even now, they lived in treehouses, one with the land. It made a fair amount of sense that Pacha’s ancestors had taken to stonework with the same mentality. Living with the land.

“I thought you might enjoy it.” Pacha said hopefully. There was some concern in his voice also, as if he thought she might have become mad at him for arranging this trip.

“I do.” She said, looking back at him and giving an earnest smile. “This is so…what is omoshiroi, ah, interesting!” 

Pacha dug the toe of his sandal into a patch of grass stubbornly growing nearby. “I…am pleased to hear it. I could give you a tour, but perhaps you should lead? To me, these are old ruins. Sacred ground, because my people once lived here, but I do not look at things as you do. You see farther than I do. You…you are…”

He seemed to stumble on the end of that sentence, and gave up with a shrug. “Just. Please, do not walk where it isn’t safe. We are very much alone up here. If something happened to you, I could never forgive myself.” He looked away as he finished saying that, and it was earnest.

Kirala shook her head. “I am stronger than you know, Pacha. You do not have to worry.”

“You are stronger than me. But I will still worry.” He admitted. “I have faith you will be all right. But I will still worry. Call it a king’s prerogative.”

“Hmm.” Kirala side-eyed him, then gave the ruined building one last look before stepping back out into the open and going past him with a gentle tap to the shoulder. “Keep up then.”

“As the lady commands.” Pacha chuckled, falling in step behind her.

The next few hours passed by very pleasantly. When Kirala had a question for Pacha, she asked and he answered. She got to see more ancient Ixa’takan buildings and started filling out page after page of diagrams in a sketchbook that had been thoughtfully packed away in their picnic basket. As the last of the fog burned off right as the sun reached its apex, they sat together on a ledge overlooking a bigger crater from the Rains of Destruction that had since become a small lake, eating skewers of spiced meat and roasted vegetables, imported fried rice, and a sizable jug of Loqua that they split between them. The alcohol loosened up Pacha enough that he even began to crack a joke or two - good ones - and Kirala found herself laughing like a loon, with no one around to judge her outbursts. Her laughter seemed to encourage him even more, and the jokes became wilder as they packed up the basket and started walking again.

“Where did you even learn these?!” Kirala got out between gulps of air. Her sides hurt from it all.

“Ah. You would have to blame Isapa for these jokes.” Pachacuti explained. “Of course, I did not ever think I would be able to share any of them myself. My people carry certain…expectations…about how their king should act.”

And if that wasn’t a sobering remark, Kirala didn’t know what was. “Many people have expectations for how others should live. Sometimes we have to follow them. But not always.”

“Perhaps not.” Pacha allowed. “You are braver than I am, I think.” Kirala almost asked him for what, but kept her tongue and let the comment go unremarked. She took another glance around, able to see farther in the afternoon light than they had been able to in the morning fog.

From their vantage, she could see most of Rixis laid out beneath her, around her…above her. And there was a layer of clouds still above them that the Misty Mountains passed through, which led to the peaks where their airship was still parked.

“Why did they live here?” She asked him, changing the subject.

“Hm?”

“Your ancestors. Why did they live in Rixis? The air is thinner here, the wind is colder.” She had adapted to it, as Yafutoma had several settlements in the Upper Sky, but for people used to being in the lowlands, living in the tropical jungles, it had to be uncomfortable. She had caught Pacha breathing hard every so often during their excursion, and had needed to slow her pace so he could catch his breath and not pass out. “If they did it to protect from invaders, it would make sense. But nothing really grows well up here.”

“If Quetya Fina Bluevane is right, the Old World had access to much better technology than we possess. Machines that made living at this height easier. But such things did not survive the passage of time, not like the buildings. Everything else…we lost.” He said regretfully. They walked along for another 50 paces before he spoke again. “But no, it was not for defense that they lived here in Rixis. This was not a warrior’s city, or a place of great trade. Fina’s records…They say that Rixis was a place of learning.”

Kirala stopped walking, both because she could hear him begin to start panting again and because his words surprised her. “Learning?” She repeated. “Like the Royal Academy we are building now?”

“Much more.” Pacha admitted with a shrug and a smile. “Many people look up at the night sky and wonder what is out there in the sea of black, among the stars and the milky river that flows across it. My ancestors did more than wonder. They studied the night sky. The Moons. The stars. They created giant viewing tubes, like a Mid-Ocean ship’s spyglass fifty times bigger, and put them on top of the mountains. Where the air is thinnest. Where the sky is clearest. People came from all over the world to learn in Rixis.”

Kirala could imagine it. She knew full well the value of a good ship’s spyglass. If such things were made, scaled up in size…

…What wonders had the people of the Old World known? What had been lost?

“It must have been something.” She said. Pacha hummed a bit. 

“For generations, Ixa’taka was alone. And then Valua came. They looked at us and thought we were less than them. Beneath them. They enslaved us, burned down our homes, made us work to feed their machines.” Pachacuti’s voice had such pain in it as he remembered how terrible things had been before Vyse and the Blue Rogues had come along. “Only the Blue Rogues saw us as their equals at first. Even now, in this new world, there are still those from Mid-Ocean who have that same look in their eyes as the Empire once did. The pirate you killed just did more than have that look, he acted on it. Even among those who work with us and tolerate us…Sometimes it is not that they feel superior, but that they pity us. Or feel that they need to look after us. They do not believe we can stand up with them as equals.” He looked at her. “It has defined my reign. This scorn. This hatred. This pity. And it must change. I want them to look at Ixa’taka not as a land to take from, or a people who are less, who must be pitied. I want them to look at Ixa’taka as I do, as a land that has something to offer to the world, something to contribute. I want them to see the land that I see.” His eyes darkened. “That you saw.”

Kirala took a step back at that, at the intensity he suddenly spoke with. “I…”

“You came here because you wanted a challenge. Because you wanted to build something.” He declared. “You are a hero to my people. Everything you have done, and every life you have touched. You are Kirala of Yafutoma, but you are also Kirala of Ixa’taka. This is your home, so long as you want it. I…”

He was rambling, and Kirala knew it. So too did Pachacuti, because his face went red as he stopped and looked down at his feet. “I…I want you to stay. With me.”

“Why?” Kirala blurted out, and Pacha looked back up with such emotion that it knocked her breathless. 

Adoration. Respect. Longing.

“...Oh.” She whispered, and blushed in turn. Pacha slowly stepped closer to her, reaching for her hand.

“I have come to care for you greatly.” Pacha said, threading his fingers between hers. “I thought you knew. I mean, everybody knew.”

All this time. The pieces that hadn’t added up in the design all fell into place. He had been in love with her all this time. Clothes fit for a queen.

She had come to Ixa’taka looking to find herself. To see who she was outside of the long shadow of her sister’s success in marriage, the reputation of High Admiral Vyse of the Mercantile Marine, of all of it.

Kirala was a builder, and a warrior. She was a protector and a paragon. And she called the king by his first name, liked his company, and laughed at his jokes.

“I didn’t see it.” She groaned, pulling back and putting a hand to her forehead for a moment before laughing. “I am sorry, Pacha. I should have.”

He fidgeted in place. “Do you have any feelings for me?”

“I don’t know.” She blurted out. “I didn’t see it. It…it is like that radar system we used to find the roots and problems underground when we set the foundation for your Academy. I could not see it.” She could see his face falling as she rambled on, trying to give a reasonable explanation for why she was so out of sorts. She was quiet for a few seconds, trying to process it all, when she had gone for so long just putting any thought of romance out of her mind as she focused on other things, things she had considered more important until Urala had gotten engaged and then they weren’t. Belatedly, she realized how crestfallen Pachacuti looked, how he was taking her words as a deathblow to his own affections. “But…I would like to find out.” She hedged, looking at him carefully as he reacted first in surprise, and then with steadily increasing pleasure.

“Yes.” The king nodded. “I was…I wanted to ask you if I could court you.”

“Court me.” She repeated. Pacha bit his lip and nodded again. She made a show of thinking about it, then nodded. “Yes. You can.”

Pacha breathed out and laughed a little. “You really didn’t know?”

Kirala just shook her head. And then she smiled again, just a little. “It was a little subtle for a king.”

“Humph.” He pouted a bit before smirking at her. “I will have to be more blatant then.”

Pacha’s happiness seemed to burst from the seams, and he leaned in to kiss her swiftly, with little force. She blinked at the awkwardness of it.

“Um. I am sorry. I have not had much practice at this.” He confessed, blushing. Despite her own blush, Kirala wrapped her arms around him and pulled his forehead against hers, looking deep into his eyes.

“Can we try that again?” Kirala whispered, and Pacha nodded. 

Their second kiss lasted much longer.

***

1 Week Later

They both still had their normal duties to attend to, the ruling of a nation and the building of structures to withstand the test of time, but Kirala did set some time aside in the middle of the day for them to get together. ‘Long lunches’ gave them time to start the day seeing to their jobs, then come back afterwards to finish them. Kirala found herself deferring more of her authority to the more capable, reliable members of Ganket’s crews (Crews!) who showed a knack for leadership and level-headed thinking. She got them started on the day’s work with assignments and then got back together with them at the end to check on their progress and deal with any problems that popped up. There were a few hiccups, but it showed promise.

One thing that she insisted on was training Pacha in how to defend himself. The skills that she had developed under her father and mother as a ninja, she now tried to pound into him. Along with a basic regimen of stretching, running, and resistance training. Even though he protested at first, she’d argued strongly for it. “In Yafutoma, the Emperor is not some untouchable figurehead. Our leaders are trained in the ways of self-defense, in the way of war. You told me how helpless you felt against the invaders, yes? This is how you keep it from ever happening again, so you can defend yourself and your people.” He’d reluctantly agreed after that, and was quickly piling up bruises and calluses for it.

Although it was doing some rather good things for his figure…And, if the way he looked at her every so often when they stopped for a water break was any indication, it was getting her back into shape too.

“Are you ready?” She asked, putting the now emptied water gourd off to the side of their makeshift sparring ring. He wiped off the last of the sweat from his forehead and gave her a weary look.

“If I said I wasn’t, would you let me stop for the day?” He grumbled. Kirala just smiled, and he sighed and stood back up again. “All right. Let’s see if I can last longer than two minutes with you.” Kirala raised an eyebrow and he blushed. “Not in that…we haven’t even…you know what I mean!”

“Hmm.” Kirala assumed a defensive pose and gestured at him. “You’ll never win if you keep getting distracted. Come on, Pacha. Pretend I am an assassin that has come to kill you in the middle of the night.”

Pacha exhaled quickly, gave one last nod, and then charged at her. She didn’t have to work too hard to block or deflect his incoming punches and kicks, although he was finally beginning to take some of her lessons to heart and not always letting his eyes betray him. It wasn’t over in the first ten blows, and then she counterattacked, forcing him backwards and on the defensive. 

He was doing better at defending himself, although that may have been due more to him being so tired and worn down that his instincts were finally kicking in and overruling that big brain of his. Kirala was forced to push a little harder, and in spite of his newfound focus she was gaining ground…

Then the sound of heavy footfalls came racing towards them along with a sudden shout. “Lady Kiralaaaaaa!” She shouldn’t have been distracted, but being called ‘Lady’ as if she were some highborn woman startled her enough to throw her off of her rhythm. And that was all that Pacha needed. 

It took the king of Ixa’taka, only 2 years her senior, exactly three moves to deflect, unbalance, and then hurl her to the ground before sitting down on her legs and pinning her arms above her head. At first she had the wind knocked out of her so she could not say anything, but then she became intimately aware of the position that they found themselves in. By the suddenly frozen look on his face as a bulge pressed down between her legs, Pacha had as well. It didn’t stop her from watching his muscled chest rise and fall - or stop him from looking down at her own as she did the same.

The footsteps slowed and a feminine meep sounded out. “Um…Your majesty…My Lady…”

Kirala recognized the voice; Nina, a young woman from Ixa’ness Village who had signed on with the palace to help keep track of Pachacuti’s daily events, and who more frequently had found her services loaned out to Kirala as well. 

“Yes, Nina?” Kirala responded in a loud voice, still pinned down. She was amazed that Pacha hadn’t moved to get off of her, but she didn’t feel the urge to break free either. She could feel a moment hanging over them, and did not want it to break. Delaying it was annoying enough.

“Um, there is a message that came for you over the radio.” The young woman said meekly. No doubt she was blushing wildly. “Tikatika and his three wives were wondering if they could come and meet with you next week, regarding possible building projects and improvements in Ixa’ness.”

Kirala’s blush deepened as she felt Pacha’s interest begin to rise, rubbing against her. “And do I have any openings in my calendar?”

“Um. If his Majesty is willing to give up a lunch meeting…?” Nina suggested with a whisper.

“Well, Pacha?” Kirala said, looking up at the red-faced young king. “Do you think you could sacrifice a lunch for an old comrade and his wives?”

“I suppose I should.” Pacha declared, trying to sound magnanimous and coming off instead as stiff. In more ways than one, Kirala thought as she squirmed and tried to free her arms. His grip on her wrists only tightened, keeping her held down. “You can make it up to me by having dinner with me later on.”

“...Acceptable.” Kirala said, swallowing thickly. Pacha finally smiled, letting it turn to a smoldering smirk before he looked up and over, letting his smile drop into a stern frown. 

“Well? Was there anything else, Nina?” 

“N- no! No, nothing else!” The girl stuttered.

“Then you are dismissed. And please let everyone else know Lady Kirala and I are not to be disturbed.” Pacha commanded. The girl took off like a shot, her footsteps fading in the distance, and the heavy moment resumed as Pacha looked down at Kirala with open longing.

Kirala felt heat gathering in her breasts, in her loins, and knew it wasn’t from the warmth of midday.

“I have beaten you.” Pacha growled out. 

“I was distracted.” Kirala weakly argued. Pacha just smirked and leaned down, earning a whimper from her as he branded her lips with a kiss and then pulled back far enough to lick and breathe on her ear.

“Unless you want me to stop, I plan on claiming my prize. And this time, it will not be over in less than two minutes.” He teased her, and Kirala moaned, tilting her head back and exposing her neck for him to ravish. Even when he pulled his hands from her wrists to disrobe her and fill his hands with her heaving bosom, she kept them above her head, surrendering. At his urging, she let her cries fill the air as he took her at last, leaving no doubt as to who the king of Ixa’taka was bringing pleasure to. The thought of being overheard, of being witnessed, was a wholly un-Yafutoman thought that drove her wild. So too was when he rolled over and pulled her on top of him, letting her take the lead to draw her own pleasure from him with one gyration after the next. 

But she was no longer just Yafutoman. She was no longer just a ninja, or a carpenter, or a Blue Rogue. Her home was not a place. 

She collapsed on top of him after they finished, letting her racing heart finally slow as the proof of their love dripped out of her and slid down his thighs. He traced lazy circles on her back and she threaded a hand through his matted hair, and they both smiled in satisfaction as they looked at each other. Satisfied.

“Will you stay with me?” Pacha asked her gently. 

“This is my home.” She replied, yawning and ready for a nap.

His hand went still on her hip. “Would you be my queen? My wife?”

“...Ask me tomorrow.” She demurred, shutting her eyes. And Pacha thankfully got the hint, going silent and allowing her to use him as a pillow as she dozed off.

They woke up a few hours before sunset, the day utterly spent. Neither of them felt it had been wasted though. Not even the knowing looks from everyone else ruined the moment. To her joy, nobody said a rude or angry word about it at dinner, or the next day after she spent the night with him. 

Or the night after that. Or the one after that. They acknowledged it without words, acknowledged her. Pacha kept asking for her permission to marry her every night, and she always told him to ask her tomorrow.

Until the fourth week…when she finally said yes.

***

The Royal Palace, Queen’s Suite Anteroom

Ixa’taka

10th Month, 25th Day, Year 0 N.A.C.

“This is truly a year for blessings and weddings.” One of the seamstresses in Kirala’s “Queen Suite” clucked happily as she and the other women danced around her with thread, pins, and needles. All of them, whether Mid-Ocean, Yafutoman, or Ixa’takan, did so under the watchful gaze and ultimate authority of “Calamity Clara”, proud wife and mother to be (With a swollen belly to match). Kirala rolled her eyes as the woman kept on and glanced over to Clara, who looked up from her notebook and countered with a knowing smirk of her own. “First, everyone who High Priestess Fina married before that terrible battle at Soltis, then the Bluevanes themselves, and not long after, King Enrique and Moegi and Crown Prince Daigo and Laurette. Not to mention everyone who has found love since in this new age! I haven’t seen such business in so long!”

“I think there will be a growing demand in childcare to match it.” Clara added dryly, unconsciously palming her abdomen before reaching for her writing pen. “Now stay focused, ladies. Some of you are new, but we did stunning work for Enrique’s coronation and wedding and better work for Daigo’s, but this must be our masterpiece!”

“Why is that, exactly?” Kirala asked, wincing as one of the other seamstresses working for Clara hemmed some fabric around her ankle tighter still and accidentally pricked her with a safety pin. “Ow.”

“Apologies, Queen Kirala!” The woman said cheerfully, but didn’t slow in the slightest. “I think we need to hem another inch here, Miss Clara.”

“Another inch, got it.” Clara carefully marked the suggestion down in her notebook before turning her attention back to Kirala. “And to answer your question; At Enrique’s wedding, the Yafutoman Imperial family insisted on sourcing their own tailors for the bridal dress, so all I was able to do were spot corrections and dresses for select members of the wedding party. At Daigo’s wedding, they allowed me greater leverage as Laurette was a fellow Blue Rogue and I pressed for some creative control for the sake of our alliances, and a fusion of east and west. This time around, I maintained full creative control of your wedding dress from the outset, so you are all mine.” The smile she gave then was more than a little predatory, and Kirala laughed nervously.

“Well. The wedding is next week, so you will have to work quickly.”

“Kirala, lest you forget, my husband and I used to run raids on Imperial Valuan military outposts and ships under much tighter deadlines.” Clara countered, her red hair bouncing around her face as the glow of pregnancy caused her smile to brighten to full incandescence. “We don’t have cannon shells screaming at us this time around, even. Trust me. This dress will. Be. Perfect.” She sighed and set her notebook down, setting both hands in the small of her back and pressing them in until a small crack sounded and she relaxed with a louder sigh. “Damn water weight.” She grumbled. “Something else you’ll have to look forward to soon, Kirala. You decided to marry a king, and kings require an heir and a spare.”

“Given the look he had on his face when we came in right after your breakfast, you’re probably going to end up with three children at least!” Another seamstress gushed, and that caused the room to devolve into titters and saucier laughs. Kirala found herself blushing at the implication, and the laughter picked up as they noticed her reaction.

All the laughs stopped when there was a knock on the door. “Yes?” Clara called out.

“Um. Lady Kirala has a visitor.” The Ixa’takan palace servant on the other side of the anteroom door announced.

“Oh, does she?” Clara hummed. “Well, you can tell his Majesty that it’s bad luck to see the bride to be in her dress before the wedding, so he’ll have to wait until we finish up and she’s in her normal clothes before he gets her naked again!” Kirala’s blush went Pyrum-red as all the other woman fell apart laughing. The person on the other side waited until the laughter died down again before speaking. 

“It is not the king. She has a visitor from home.”

Home? Kirala’s eyes widened at the idea. Her parents? But they weren’t due for another few days yet. Their last transmission said that they had just purchased tickets on a transport ship that was leaving today. Or was it someone else from Yafutoma? A different member of the Setsu Clan? A messenger from the Imperial Palace? 

Clara caught her attention, and Kirala shrugged and gestured towards the door. They might as well find out who it was. 

“They can come in, I suppose. But not a word about the dress! I don’t want anyone in the palace gossiping about it until after the wedding, you hear me?” Clara ordered.

The door opened, and Kirala could see the palace servant out in the hall, standing with his back turned so he could not see inside. The person who came inside was someone that Kirala hadn’t expected to see until the wedding. Not on her own, at least.

But apparently pregnancy didn’t stop her younger sister Urala from making an impromptu trip halfway around the world. Urala, sporting a bump that was a few inches less than Clara’s, stood nervously as the door closed behind her. The two daughters of Clan Setsu’s head family stared at each other, together again after an absence of many long months. Kirala’s tongue felt rooted to the roof of her mouth - she didn’t know what to say.

“Sister.” Urala blurted out, but she seemed to struggle with what to say next. Silence weighed heavily over everyone as Kirala and Urala stared at one another, trying for smiles that ended up looking more like grimaces as one false start of conversation after another happened.

Clara, bless her heart, could read the room. “Perhaps, ladies, we should step out and leave these two sisters to catch up. I believe we were due for a break anyways. Kirala, would you like us to bring you back something to drink?”

“Um. Garpa juice.” Kirala fumbled a bit. Clara nodded and gestured to the door, and everyone filed out. Clara was the last out, and stopped off of Kirala’s elbow long enough to lean in and whisper a message.

“I will be outside if you need me to rescue you.” Kirala stared at her, wondering where the older woman had gotten the idea that she would need rescuing from her sister for any reason. It took her a moment to realize she meant that in a social context - not one of battle. Clara just smiled and walked out, closing the door behind her.

Urala bit her lip and gestured at her. “That dress will be lovely when it is finished.” She said, reverting to Yafutoman. Kirala relaxed as the words of her native tongue were spoken with perfect fluency.

“Clara is really giving this her best effort.” She answered. “She sees it as a personal challenge, I think. Or perhaps just an opportunity to make a former Blue Rogue shine as brightly as royalty.” Urala laughed a little and nodded. Kirala gestured to her. “It is good to see you, but where is Hans?”

“He was going to visit with Centime and the rest of his family. I…I wanted to come see you myself.”

Kirala nodded, looking off to the side. “It is good to see you. I should have said that first, I am sorry. I was just surprised. I thought you would send a message first.”

“Maybe I should have.” Urala confessed. “But when we heard that you were going to get married…I didn’t even think about it. I grabbed Hans and we chartered a voyage here as fast as possible. We could have come with Vyse and the others - they will be arriving in the Delphinus - but I didn’t want to wait.”

Some primal part of her brain immediately thought of all the negative reasons why Urala might have come out; to talk her out of it, to brag about her own marriage, to try and offer advice as ‘the better sister’, and Kirala squashed them all down. She was the older sister, she had to act like it.

“Well, I am glad you are here.” Kirala gestured to a couple of chairs that had been pushed off to the side of the room to make space for the dress prep. “Would you like to sit for a while and talk?” Urala bobbed her head once and they went to sit down. And once again, Urala fidgeted in her chair, with the conversation stopping cold.

Kirala took the lead. “How are things back at Crescent Island? At Pirate’s Rest?”

“They are busy.” Urala said. “More people have been coming through - traders and craftspeople, mostly. We’ve been so busy at the restaurant that I had to hire more help. I would have needed to anyways, what with…” Urala gestured to her gravid midsection. “Gordo’s been expanding as well. He’s opened up traveling restaurants on the routes between Valua, Nasr, Sailor’s Island…he even has plans for a few more to go in the Silver Sea and closer to Maramba as well. Even one on the way to Esperanza. But he needs to build up his chefs more, get more trained cooks and servers first, so he’s been sending me people to train up for his enterprise.”

“Wait. Wait, wait.” Kirala held up a hand and an eyebrow. “So, he sends you workers, who probably are so untrained that they drop every second plate that goes out from the kitchen, and then once they’re finally at a level that’s acceptable, he takes them back for his own restaurants? How does that help you?”

“For one, he pays me to get them into shape. So that’s extra money in our pockets. Second, my place on Crescent Island is listed as an affiliated restaurant and the Frontier Lands is off-limits to his expansion project, which means that I don’t have to worry about losing business. And third? The sheer amount of goodwill invested in anyone connected to the Blue Rogues, especially anyone who was an original crew member to Vyse, means that a lot of my customers come for the novelty of saying that they met one of us. And some day, when these cooks and servers go out and serve my food to people who’ve never been to the Frontier Lands, they will tell their customers where they learned. And they will tell them.”

“So…free advertising.” Kirala summarized, pondering it. “Was that Gordo’s idea?”

“No. Believe it or not, it was Osman’s.” Urala chuckled. “But Gordo saw the logic in it. His goal was spreading good food around the world and exposing people to all the different kinds of food that are out there. Her goal was making money. Still, running the books in the Mercantile Marine keeps her busy enough she’s letting him run things…with a small consulting fee.”

Kirala nodded, accepting the new information but frowning as Urala kept rambling on. Her sister had never been one to waste words or gossip, something she had learned to get the best tips possible when she’d first started working as a serving girl at her restaurant back in Yafutoma. 

“Mother and father would have probably told you when they got here, but Crown Prince Daigo has asked the Clan Head for clan members to train a few of the former Tenkou who are skilled in close combat as proper shinobi. He’s even asked us to reach out to any other members of the Clan who are interested, to found a new…”

“Urala.” Kirala cut her off, reverting to Mid-Ocean tradespeak. The shift derailed Urala’s next rant cold, and her younger sister stared as Kirala folded her hands in her lap and breathed in and out slowly. “What is wrong? Why are you so nervous?”

Urala gaped a few times, and her hands fluttered like birds around her. She breathed shallowly a few times, then reached some kind of a decision because she then closed her eyes and stopped hyperventilating. “We…I have not seen you since you left right after my wedding.” Urala began. “Hans and I came home after our honeymoon, and we found the house empty. I found your note. I didn’t know what to think at first.” She bit her lip, looking down at the floor. “I felt like I had driven you away. I thought you were angry with me.”

Kirala went still as a statue. “I would have been in the way. You were starting a family of your own, you deserved a house of your own. Leaving just made sense. At the time…I didn’t see another option.”

“But you didn’t have to leave!” Urala insisted, her voice cracking as her eyes started to fill with tears. “Even if you didn’t want to live in the same house, you could have stayed! There was space enough in the village!”

Kirala shook her head. “No. There wasn’t. Not for me. You didn’t drive me away.”

“How?” Urala pressed her. “Tell me how I did not drive you away, because I have felt so guilty over this. We didn’t know where you had gone off to, and then suddenly word came that Baltor was dead in Ixa’taka, and you had claimed the bounty. You are my sister and a Blue Rogue, but you were here working for scraps. Suffering! You could have died because of that monster!”

Kirala frowned, shaking her head. “We are daughters of the Setsu Clan, Urala. Do you think so little of my skills? Did you think a trained shinobi would ever lose to a pirate like him, with the darkness as my ally?”

Still trembling, Urala shook her head. “I can still worry. I blamed myself.”

“I did not leave because of anything you did.” Kirala emphasized. “You found a place for yourself. You had made a home, found a husband. I had not. I did not know what to do next. There was no real work left for me to do at Crescent Isle, at Pirate’s Rest. I am a builder, and surrounded by Vyse and the others, there was nothing left for me to build. Nothing left for me to do. You getting married…maybe it played a part of what made me leave, but it was not the only reason. I did not know what my place was, only that I would not find it if I stayed and watched you and Hans raise your family while I got older.”

Urala sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “So you left.”

Kirala nodded. “So I left. I came here because I heard they were building. That they needed help. Falling in love…I did not expect to. I did not think it would happen. Before Pacha fell in love with me, I fell in love with this place. I fell in love with Ixa’taka.” She smiled. “It needs a lot of work, but nobody here was ever afraid of taking on the hard jobs. You did not drive me away. You did not make me hate you.”

“Even though by Yafutoman tradition, I had usurped you?” Urala asked, whisper-quiet. 

Kirala huffed. “How about we accept that there are parts of Yafutoman tradition that neither of us has to pay attention to if we do not wish to? We are old enough to be married. We are old enough to know what we want out of life. Here, in this place, I am happy, sister.” Kirala tilted her head to the side. “Are you happy?”

Urala dried her eyes, thinking on it. “I think I am.” She finally said. “Now that I know you do not hate me.”

Kirala chuckled. “Didn’t you get my message?”

“Where you wished that I had found happiness and prosperity in my marriage?” Urala quipped, raising an eyebrow. “Yafutoman sayings sometimes hide their meaning, remember. I didn’t know for sure.”

“You are my sister and I love you.” Kirala sighed. “All I ever wanted to do was give you the room you needed to become the woman I see before me. You didn’t need your big sister getting in the way.”

“...I love you too, you know. And you will always be welcome in my home.” Urala promised.

“As you are welcome in mine. Although visiting yours might be difficult with my husband’s job. It’s hard to get away when you run an entire country.” Kirala teased her back, and Urala groaned as Kirala cackled.

“Well, you’re welcome to him, I suppose.” Urala countered with a small grin. “He’s a little too old for me.” Kirala gently leaned over and smacked her younger sister in the arm, which resulted in a small skirmish of playful slaps before the two fell into laughter.

The door to the antechamber opened up again, and Clara came back in with two cups of Garpa juice. “Non-alcoholic.” The dressmaker declared, setting the drinks down in front of the two Setsu sisters. “There we go. Everything all right in here, ladies?”

Urala and Kirala shared another look as they reached for their drinks, and Urala winked at her. Kirala smiled gently and leaned back in her seat, savoring the bright fruit flavor of pasteurized juice.

“Everything is perfect.” She said.

***

10th Month, 30th Day, 0 N.A.C.

The Queen’s Suite

The temperature tonight was semi-warm and humid, and there was only the need for a single sheet and one thin blanket. It was something that Kirala still compared to her experiences in Yafutoma, where the biting evening winds often called for thick walls and heavy blankets to offset the difference. Here, the wind was far less angry, and the mosquito netting hung as a curtain around her bed waved gently instead of wildly. It was comfortable, just chilly enough to help her become drowsy, just warm enough that she didn’t shiver.

Of course, the warm body pressed up against her didn’t hurt either. Pacha yawned, one arm roped around her waist, pulling her close as he spooned behind her with his lips close enough to her neck to kiss her there if he wanted. 

“You know, it is considered bad fortune for the husband to be to see his wife before the wedding.” Kirala mused. Pacha’s hand tightened over her abdomen for a moment before relaxing.

“Really? Or is that just to see her in her wedding dress, as the Mid-Oceaners say?” He asked muzzily.

“...Maybe the second. But Yafutoman standards can vary, so some would say what we just did is very wrong.”

“What we just did?” Pacha teased her, rolling his hips up against her in a way that made his sleeping dragon twitch a little. Kirala rolled her eyes and slapped his forearm, getting a laugh from him. “Perhaps. But tomorrow is just ceremony, as far as I am concerned. A very important ceremony, yes, and I would not deprive High Priest Isapa of his chance to win his little wager with the rest of the priesthood and marry us off. In my heart, I am already your husband. Have been your husband for many nights now.”

“Flatterer.” Kirala hummed, blinking a few times as she processed his words. “Wager? What wager? Has Isapa been betting on me?” Not that she would be surprised. Even aboard the Delphinus, the story of the infamous betting about which woman Vyse truly loved and took to his bed had ascended to almost mythical status, one repeated on and off again back at Pirate’s Rest and at Urala’s tavern on Crescent Island at least once a week during her residence among them.

“No, not you. On me.” Pachacuti corrected her. “Many believed I would never be married. Some…some even thought I preferred the company of men.”

Do you, Kirala almost asked, but tamped down her first impulse and churned up her sleepy mind to ask a better question instead. “What is the Truth of it?” She asked, and then strained as his breathing slowed and he nearly stopped, thinking on it.

“For a long time, I had no interest in intimacy.” He admitted, almost shamefully. But then this must have been a secret to his people. “I could look at a woman and appreciate her face, or the curves of her body, but I did not feel the wanting that Isapa always spoke of. He would bed a different woman every night if he could. Once I asked him what type of woman he was most attracted to, and he immediately blurted out, ‘tits and a heartbeat.” The vulgarity of that remark made Kirala crack out a laugh, and Pacha snuggled in tighter against her. “Go ahead and laugh. It is funny now. For so much of my life, there were always more important things to focus on because of Valua and the occupation, the subjugation of my people. It was easy to hide that shameful part of myself, the lack of interest I had in sex. Every time my advisors would hint at me needing to get a woman with child to continue the royal bloodline, I would get almost ill at the thought, and war allowed me to deny them the search for a bride.”

“So what changed?” Kirala gently pulled his hand away and turned over so she could face him. In the dim light of the moon shining through her window, not stopped at all by the almost translucent mosquito netting, she was shocked to see there were tears in his eyes. Happy tears.

“I met you.” He confessed. “At first, I was just amused. Here was a foreign woman from our distant friendly neighbors to the west, a woman valued by several of my people, who was not intimidated by my status. You did not care that I was a king. You looked at me as just another man, and…I found it so different, it intrigued me.” He took her hand in his, interlocking their fingers. “And then the pirates came and you fought for my people. I was in awe, wondering who you were. And to find out you were a Blue Rogue?” He shook his head. “That was when I felt it. I felt…a stirring. For the first time in my life, I was interested in a woman. Not because of how she looked - well, all right, not entirely because of how she looked…” He corrected, as she raised an eyebrow, and she smirked afterwards. He sighed and shook his head. “And every day I spent in your company, learning to speak your language, just being with you, that feeling deepened. And it became love.”

He took their joined hands and pressed them against his chest, letting her feel his heartbeat. “I do not care what tradition says about seeing or being with the bride before marriage. I…” He paused, then switched to Yafutoman. “My heart beats because of you. I never want to know another day when I am not with you. I know what love is now, and I want to share it with you. I want to share my life with you. The mystery of life is seen. I know it now. You are my home.”

“I am your home?” Kirala repeated, croaking out the word as she too, began to tear up. Pacha blinked.

“Is…is that wrong? I meant to say you made this place a home.” He blurted out, embarrassed.

Kirala shook her head and buried her face into his chest. “It’s okay. It’s good.” She whispered. You are my home too.

***

Lake Titalola, Central Ixa’taka

11th Month, 1st Day, 0 N.A.C.

There had already been two royal weddings on Arcadia in just under a year, but the third was shaping up to be quite the occasion. Crown Prince Daigo and his wife Laurette were there. So too were King Enrique du Valua and Queen Moegi. And to round up the royalty cake, with the mighty Delphinus stationed nearby and acting as witness and defender alike, High Admiral Bluevane and his wives (And their two children!) were also among the gathered. Valua would have held such an assembly in a church with rows of pews. Yafutoma did their weddings at the great shrines dedicated to the spirits and their ancestors. Fina had conducted her own wedding (A private ceremony, one that Kirala had only heard about secondhand) under the light of the Silver Moon, naked alongside her spouses.

The royal wedding of Pachacuti Ixa’taka and Setsu Kirala was held outside next to the clear waters of Lake Titalola, under the light of a midmorning sun on a day where there came no clouds, no rain showers, not even a hint of fog. Unlike a Mid-Ocean or Yafutoman wedding, there was no bride’s side or groom’s side. Seating was a free-for-all. Approaching from the back of the absolutely enormous tent set up for the wedding itself, Kirala bit her lip as her father and mother waited to escort her. Her mother had happy tears in her eyes, but her father just wore a proud smile.

“Are you ready, my little builder?” Her father asked. Kirala smiled and nodded, shifting in her dress. It was a resplendent thing, some of Clara’s best work. With Yafutoman silk, she had created a dress that had the trademarks of a Yafutoman wedding kimono, but only to a point. Gone were the long sleeves meant to hide her arms and hands from view, shortened with Ixa’takan sensibilities. The long train common to Mid-Ocean weddings of high status had been completely replaced by one made of leaves, and at her waist hung the swords that she had used to defend innocents from the evil of the Armada and Black Pirates alike, and around her neck, the Blue Rogues challenge coin hung in an amulet specially made to fit it. Kirala was a woman who stood, finally, at peace with all the different parts of herself. And she would show off all of them, for she was ashamed of none of them.

“You look so beautiful, Kirala. I am so proud of you, I…I…” Her mother’s lips trembled.

“Peace, Raiko.” Her father hummed, smiling down at his wife. “We will cry for our good fortune and prosperity later. For now, we must go. It is time.”

Kirala slipped her arms through theirs and the three walked through the gathered towards the rest of the wedding party at the front of the tent. She was stunned at how many faces she recognized.

There was Ganket and so many faces from the crews she had worked with. There, at the back and one of the first people she passed by was Kalifa, a fellow Blue Rogue who had started her on her journey. The Nasrian woman gave her a knowing smile and tilted her head just enough that Kirala caught a glimpse of her eyes beneath those constantly shaded glasses of hers. Her eyes were full of pride…and playfulness. Kirala raised an eyebrow at her. Did you see this? Did you know? She thought. And Kalifa, a woman whose entire career aboard the Delphinus as a Blue Rogue had been marked with mystery and intrigue just winked at her and turned to look forward at everyone else.

There on the right, she saw proud Tikatika, surrounded by the young women who had once been known as the Ixa’ness Demons, the pride of their village. Even now, the former ship’s lookout refused to go without his mask. He was a warrior through and through - and the Ixa’ness Demons had all decided to share him. She almost dreaded what their children would turn out like.

There, she saw Centime and Clara, and Lapen and Lawrence. To her left, she saw gruff Gordo twirling that thin mustache of his and beaming. The man had reason to feel pleased; he was the one providing the catering.

There were more than a few Yafutomans present; higher ranking members of the Setsu Clan than her mother and father, and more than a few Tenkou. The reason for their presence was obvious when she realized that the Crown Prince and his wife Laurette, well into her third trimester by the look of it, were there to support her.

And at the front, clustered closest in, Kirala saw Hans and Urala smiling widely at her as she neared. So too were King Enrique and Queen Moegi, who wore a loose dress with one hand gently cupping the underside of her swollen belly. Beside them were High Admiral Bluevane and his wives, each carrying their sleeping children in swaddle swings. Children, and the promise of children…Signs of nascent prosperity. Signs of peace.

All of them had come here to bear witness along with the host of Ixa’takan society. All of them were here to share in her joy and her blessing. But she lost sight of all of them when she finally caught sight of her dear Pacha.

Pachacuti Ixa’taka, king of all the lands beneath the Green Moon, looked at her as though she hung the stars in the night sky. He’d been nervous before in his flowing, loose robes and ceremonial headdress, but the moment she came into view all of his worries seemed to disappear. 

The High Priest said something in Ixa’takan that Kirala missed out on, likely some kind of a blessing given how the other Ixa’takans aside from Pacha all chanted the same response. “What a wonderful day has come.” Isapa went on, his voice boisterous and proud. Kirala heard him, but did not look at him. Her eyes were on Pacha alone. “I give thanks to the spirits of nature and to the Green Moon that I have lived to see it. We come here, in front of these witnesses from lands around the renewed world, to see these two people come together. They have decided to walk together and share their lives, their troubles, their joys.”

It took a gentle nudge from her mother to send her stepping forward, and she reached for Pacha’s hand. 

“Kirala of Yafutoma, of the Setsu Clan, of the Blue Rogues, of Ixa’taka. Is it your wish to be with this man, King Pachacuti Ixa’taka?”

“Yes.” She said, smiling as her eyes traced the curve of his chin and his lips. 

“Pachacuti, King of these lands, steward of the people beneath the Green Moon. Is it your wish to be with this woman, Kirala of many lands?”

“With all my heart, yes.” Pacha whispered, slowly nodding his head.

“Then we will continue.” Isapa droned, and the wedding went on. Kirala vaguely heard the words, moved with Pacha as she was asked as they walked together in a circle, drank Loqua from a special chalice, shouted loud enough to make brightly colored birds take flight. She did all these things and yet remembered none of them.

But she remembered Pacha’s smile. 

***

There was food afterwards. And dancing. Lots of food, with dishes from around the world. Moons, there was so much food. The Ixa’takans there for the wedding reception seemed to take pride in dancing and singing and chanting as loud as possible to work off their full stomachs, then they would turn around and dive back into the Loqua and more food and repeat it all over again. There was so much energy that soon the former Tenkou and the members of the Setsu Clan, prideful though they were, jumped into it as well. So too did the Blue Rogues and the visitors from Valua and Mid-Ocean They shared dances of their own - Yafutoman dances, Nasrian dances, Valuan dances, and even the simple line dances and jigs of the unaffiliated islands everywhere else. For the entire day, it seemed as though the entire world came together to party, to dance, to drink, to live, with no reservations. And everyone wanted to give their personal congratulations, to speak with Kirala and Pacha. She scarcely had time to get down a few bites of food here and there and some garpa juice - there was never time enough for any of the alcohol being offered, even though everyone seemed happy to toast their marriage and fortune. There was a heaping pile of wedding gifts she would have to sort through later.

Later on in the evening, Kirala finally found the time to meet with Vyse, Aika, and Fina. The leaders of the Blue Mercantile Marine were as friendly and as warm as they had always been.

“We can’t stay much longer, I’m afraid.” Vyse apologized, looking tired but proud and settled. Fatherhood seemed to be a mantle he wore as well as he had captain, liberator, hero, and high admiral of an entire faction. “We have to get these two little ones to bed or they’ll be up all night, Slipara spells or not. But we had to catch up with you first.” He was holding on to his son while Aika cooed and stroked some of the hair out of their daughter’s face. “I’ve heard a little of King Ixa’taka’s plans for rebuilding Rixis and the settlements in the Misty Mountains, and the next steps with making Ixa’taka a place of learning and…examination of the stars?” He glanced over to Fina for confirmation, and the Priestess of the Silver Moon smiled and nodded. “I have no doubt that you are involved in those moves, and not in a small way. And we’re proud of you for it. If there’s anything that we can do to help you, all you have to do is ask. We’re just a radio call away.”

“And half a world.” Kirala pointed out.

Vyse chuckled. “What’s half a world of distance these days? You’re a Blue Rogue, Kirala.” He gestured to her challenge coin, hanging proudly around her neck. “And Blue Rogues always help out those in need.”

It was the same sentiment that her family and the leaders of Clan Setsu and Laurette and Daigo and even Enrique and Moegi had offered. That their help was there if it was needed. They were living in a new world, with friends everywhere looking to rebuild and change the world for the better. 

“I will.” Kirala promised, giving Vyse a handshake in Western fashion. She then turned and hugged Aika, making enough room so the baby wouldn’t be squished. “But you should know that the kind of construction this will need will take years.”

“Bah, time.” Aika rolled her eyes. “We have time now, Kirala. We have all the time in the world for what matters.”

Kirala sniffled and turned to hug Fina. “I will not forget you. You will always be welcome in Pacha’s…in our kingdom.”

“Never had a doubt in my mind.” Vyse chuckled, a laugh that Aika mirrored. But strangely, Fina didn’t. In fact, as soon as Kirala had hugged her, the last Silvite had seemed to freeze up. Kirala pulled away and looked at her, noticing how Fina’s eyes were wide and her mouth was parted in a silent ‘o’. “Fina? Is something wrong?”

Fina blinked twice and closed her mouth, then smiled and shook her head. “No, nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” She gave Kirala a second hug, a tighter one, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Congratulations.” She spoke in soft Yafutoman, which made Kirala blink and wonder before she noticed that Fina had conjured up Cupil to float down between them - and gently smushed the pillowy creature against her abdomen.

Realization kicked Kirala hard in the head as Fina pulled back and gave her one last wink before rejoining her husband and wife and their children.

“May the Moons protect and preserve you, Kirala.” Fina said, bowing slightly after giving the prayer.

“May the winds guide you safely home.” Kirala replied, issuing a popular Yafutoman saying for well-wishes. 

And then they left.

Kirala returned and went looking for Pacha, who had opted to leave the party for some peace and quiet aboard the royal airship, parked on the ground overlooking the celebration that showed no signs of stopping. It took her a while to pick him out, meandering through the crowds until Isapa took pity on her and said that she would have better luck finding her new husband ‘in a place where there aren’t people around, but he can watch the world go by.’

He was standing at the rail of their airship, a small, apologetic smile on his face as she walked the foredeck to join him. Of course - he would have seen her coming. “Hello, my beloved.” Pacha greeted her. “I’m sorry for disappearing. The crowds…it was too much. I had to get away from everyone for a bit. I’m not used to being around so many people for so long.”

Kirala leaned her back against the rail, shoulder to shoulder with him as she looked sideways to memorize the lines of his face in the moonlight and the glow of the bonfires burning down at the party below them. “Why is that? Wouldn’t a king always be surrounded by people?”

He shrugged. “No. Once the Valuans came…my people learned to hide. To spread out, so they would have a harder time finding us. Enslaving us. Growing up, I had few companions. The priests. My guards and servants. But…few others.” Pacha exhaled. “It is something I will need to overcome, in this new world.” He smirked at her. “You will have to help me with that.”

“I suppose I could,” Kirala conceded with a teasing grin, “but I’m already giving you language lessons and training you in self-defense. I will probably end up training at least one unit of your royal guard in the Setsu style to protect us. What will you give me in return?”

“My heart. My kingdom. My people. Everything I have, and everything you need.” He vowed solemnly. It was an answer that he blurted out, one that carried none of the ceremony of the vows she barely remembered speaking at their wedding that morning…but it struck her in a way those earlier words hadn’t. 

She swallowed thickly and fought down the burning presence of tears in the corner of her eyes. “That will work. I’m happy to have you all to myself for a little while tonight anyways.” She turned away from him and looked out over the party, lifting her eyes up in time to see the Delphinus begin the process of slowly rising up and away into the night sky. “Look. Vyse and his family are leaving.”

“For now.” Pacha agreed. “But they will undoubtedly come back.” She heard him shuffle a little. “I cannot believe that so many people came. You have a lot of friends, Kirala.”

“They are your friends too, now.” Kirala pointed out. “That is how this should work. There may be times that you want to be alone, or I will. There will be times that we will need some space or to be away from everything.” She gestured around them. “Case in point. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“No. No, never.” Pacha repeated, wanting her to know it. “You have given me so much, Kirala. And there is so much work to do to rebuild Ixa’taka, to make it a place of wonders that it has not been since the ancient Rains of Destruction. So much work.” He shook his head. “So much to do, it is almost overwhelming. It would have been overwhelming. If not for you.” Their eyes met again, and she could see he was misting up. “You have brought me such hope that I might be strong enough to see it through. Because you are willing to do the work along with me. I think that was why I despaired about ever finding a wife - the women Isapa always suggested looked at the role of my queen as a life of leisure, of pleasures without work. Idleness. But you could not stand to be idle. Never. That was what brought you here. It was what brought you to me, right when I needed you the most.” He put a hand to his heart. “I do not know if I believe in soulmates, as the Mid-Oceaners do. But I know that I am a better man, a better king, because of who you are, what you do.”

Kirala stood quietly for a bit, processing his words. “I think…it is the same for me.” She admitted. “I like who I am now, who I have become. It can only get better from here. Ixa’taka will shine, Pacha. People will come to this land not to take, but to learn. It may take us our entire lifetimes, but we can do this. What you dream of, I can build.” She held out her hand, and wordlessly he took it. “I am a Builder. It is what I do.”

He swallowed. “You have given me so much.” He said. “I…I am nervous. There is one thing more I want to ask for, but…”

“What is it?” Kirala tilted her head to the side, not resisting when he stood up and pulled her into a gentle embrace, until barely the space of a hand separated their faces. “Ask, Pacha. Ask.”

He blinked rapidly, working up his courage. “Would you give me a child? Maybe two? Three?”

Oh, the silly man.  

Kirala leaned her head up a little and kissed him, not resisting when he deepened it or when his hand came up to palm her breast through her wedding dress. When he stopped kissing her, though, she reached up and guided his hand down until it came to rest above her pelvis.

“Oh, Pacha.” She giggled. “I think we’ve already started.” And she laughed when his eyes lit up and he spun her around with a shout of joy.

She was a Builder. She had built a place for herself in the Blue Rogues, in Ixa’taka, and in Arcadia. She had built a home with Pacha.

Together, they would build a new family. And new hopes.