Barquero no Yomi.

  Kumo has not had to take another's life in many years. He can say he grew accustomed to peace, to not having to ferry men into the afterlife. That is not to say his instincts have become soft. On the contrary, the war taught him he can never afford to be weak, not if he wishes to protect those he holds dear, and he cares for his young Scions deeply. It is not just his sense of duty that his eyes, although appearing aloof, become sharper. Kumo is loyal, and what greater way to show his devotion than by extinguishing the threat to his masters?

  There is no mincing of words, no preamble to allow his opponents to prepare. One moment, Kumo was in front of them, and the next, he had disappeared after stepping into the shadows. One of the masked men gave a signal, and two of those at the back attempted to run, most likely to follow after the children. They did not get far before Kumo struck, an arm snaking around one of their necks, the blunt handle of Kumo’s pick-lick knife driving into ribs hard enough to crack breath from the man’s lungs. The man dropped, wheezing, but the second spun, steel whispering free. A sword hissed toward Kumo, and he twisted aside, driving the pick’s handle into the attacker’s wrist. The sword clattered, but the man lunged again, catching him with a shoulder and slamming him against the wall. Kumo answered with a series of strikes, the last a knee to the jaw.

  Although prepared to kill, he preferred to subdue them, but the men did not appreciate his clemency. The first man had recovered, offering aid to his comrade, and together they cornered Kumo between them, and his mercy died. He ducked the first swing, slipping behind the second man, and sank the pointed edge of his pick into the back of his skull. Flesh and bone gave way, the man falling instantly dead, while Kumo did not halt in the slightest. He rounded on the first man, twisting the man’s arm, forcing him to drop his weapon before taking his life much in the same way as the man’s friend.

  Seeing as their comrades were now dead, the remaining men joined the fray, and Kumo dealt with sword strikes simultaneously coming from different directions. It made it challenging to weave around and retaliate, but Kumo is used to such uneven odds. What he did notice was the men's prowess in martial arts, and he respected their skill, although Kumo knew he was still better. He employed the tactic of using the enemy as a shield, turning their attacks against them. Then, when the opportunity presented itself, he would lash out, his weapon plunging into more skulls. One after another, bodies fell to the floor, lifeless; meanwhile, Kumo stood unscathed.

  Admittedly, Kumo had never been adept at direct physical confrontation; his skill set leaned toward careful stalking of his prey before catching them off guard. Quiet kills is what he had racked up during the war, although that is not to say he was any less dangerous when outright challenged. The litter of bodies in the alley is evidence enough.

  “Tell me the name of your master?” Kumo questioned. Even as he tore through his opponents, Kumo kept a rational head. He had ensured to keep at least one of them alive for interrogation, despite that never being his strong suit. Warden was better at coaxing information from mouths unwilling to talk, but Kumo supposed he could manage if it came to that.

  “No,” replied the man, his voice calm. Then the man convulsed, and for a moment Kumo thought he was trying to break free, until he heard the gurgling. Kumo attempted to remove the man’s mask, wanting to administer aid because he could not have the man die without getting information from him, but when he lifted the mask an inch, it caught fire. Kumo jumped back as the man’s body became engulfed in flames. They must have devised a contraption rigged by the removal of their masks, an insurance that their identities would remain secret. He decided to hold off on investigating the others, keeping his distance as he counted the bodies. “One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Si—there were seven. I’m missing two.”

  Kumo did not waste another moment, scaling the building nearest him and then running along the rooftops in search of where the children might have run off to.

  —————

  “Nathaniel! Come back!”

  Cian gave a quick apology to the woman he nearly knocked over in passing. She scolded him, but he ignored her in favor of gaining ground on the small child running ahead of him. Although it was dire for him to catch the younger boy, Cian could not help feeling slightly impressed. Nathaniel, even while malnourished, ran more swiftly than Skadi had while trying to evade him and Keegan. He attributed it to the fear the child must feel; nothing else would explain how Nathaniel could move so ungracefully, whilst also daringly. The child dived between the wheels of moving carts, skirted around the legs of galloping horses, and avoided being trampled by the adults much bigger than him.

  “Please, Nathaniel! Stop running!” Cian begged, his breathing already labored. He is no slouch, yet following the path Nathaniel paved was no simple task. If he wanted this chase to end, he needed to cut off the boy, but he was afraid of losing him. There were too many people on the streets, and Nathaniel was so small. “My Lord, please! Trip him, make him stumble, anything that won’t bring him harm, but allow me to grab him!”

  After he finished praying, someone swung open their carriage door just as Nathaniel was about to pass by. To avoid colliding with the door, Nathaniel skipped to the side, but he had done so at such a sharp angle that he tripped over his legs. Since he was amid a cluster of people, and without a proper footing, he bounced off of them until he fell harshly on gold-painted steps. For a moment, Cian worried that Nathaniel had gotten injured, possibly spraining an ankle, but no sooner had the child fallen than he scampered up the steps on all fours. Nathaniel's resilience seemed to know no bounds, and that in itself was telling as to what kind of life the child lived.

  Cian rushed to follow, and when he reached the bottom of the stairs, he looked up to see Nathaniel entering one of the many gambling houses. Above the tall, double doors of dark oak, inlaid with stained glass patterns, is a sign surrounded by blinking lights, creating a hypnotic display. The sign read, Pandemonium. He hurried after the boy, bursting through the same doors, and immediately came to an abrupt halt. Inside, the bottom floor opened into a great hall glittered with chandeliers of glass, while wall lamps flickered from behind shades shaped like curling ivy and masks. Card tables were set across the center of the room, their green felt surface crowded with various men and women. The sound was a symphony of dice rattling, coins clinking, and laughter that rang a little too loud.

  Along the edges of the room, gambling machines of brass and iron sat in rows, their levers pulled rhythmically by the patrons sitting in front of them. Behind velvet curtains at the far end, a glimpse of smaller, more private tables could be seen. A long mahogany bar stood to one side, its mirrored shelves glowing with amber bottles. The air was thick with perfume, smoke, and the tang of spirits, while a string quartet played from a corner, their music lively and spirited.

  This was his the first time in a gambling house, and he quickly assessed that he did not like it. The bright interior and jovial mood did not sit well with Cian. He was not sure why, and could not dwell on the feeling for long because passing by a table with a large, spinning wheel was Nathaniel. Now that they were in a closed environment, Cian saw his opportunity to flank the child, although he did this by running across the tables. Cards, playing chips, and dice were flung about as he leaped from one table to another, keeping Nathaniel within eyesight. “You all have my sincerest apologies!” Cian cried when he had to twist around a large man attempting to capture him.

  Nathaniel and he continued to run parallel to each other until the child veered to the left, and Cian jumped after him, rolling on the floor before getting to his feet. Now he was but a meter away, and Cian stretched out his hand, intending to grab Nathaniel by the back of his tunic. It takes him by surprise when he succeeds, but not because of his own doing. In front of them stood two of the masked men from before, and Nathaniel had bumped into one of them, sending him backward into Cian’s awaiting hold.

  “Don’t run,” Cian said quickly, pulling Nathaniel sharply behind him as he stepped away from the masked men. “I can’t protect you if you do.” The boy struggled for a moment, but Cian’s ending words seemed to have gotten through to him. Nathaniel hugged Cian from behind and, in a teary voice, said—“Please, don’t let them put me under the dirt.”

  From within his robes, Cian pulled forth the knife he had taken from the restaurant, and a second one whose serrated, polished blade glinted in the light. He was unsure how to fight the men whilst guarding Nathaniel, but he would figure it out. With a deft twirl of his primary weapon, Cian stood at the ready, just in time as one of the men came at him with his sword. Cian blocked the attack, and he had only a moment until the second man attempted to attack him from the side. He had been prepared to counter both of them, but the second man was sent stumbling backward, clutching at his head after a coffee cup had smashed into it.

  Following after the cup was Keegan, doubling down on his attack with a well-aimed knee to the man's face. If his brother was there, then Wukong must not be far behind, so Cian pushed his opponent, turning to duck out the way with Nathaniel. In that exact moment, Wukong came from behind with a swinging kick, hitting the first man across his masked face. “Keegan, catch!” Cian called out, tossing the restaurant knife toward his brother. Keegan caught it, instantly parrying an attack from his opponent. “Wukong!”

  As with his brother, Cian tossed his remaining knife to the other boy, and Wukong caught it with ease, although he did a bizarre thing. The boy became momentarily distracted as he examined the blade, and his brows furrowed in question. He almost pays for this folly as his opponent underhandedly swipes his blade, narrowly missing Wukong, had the boy not blocked it. Cian surely would have reprimanded Wukong for such a beginner's mistake had he not been occupied with the new threat behind them.

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  Their uniforms suggested that the group of men heading their way was the keepers of the gambling house. Amongst them was the large man from before who had tried to capture him, and he appeared impressively angry. Cian did not need these men adding to their plight, so he scooped up Nathaniel and ran towards them while hollering for help.

  “We need your aid!” Cian shouted as he neared the keepers. “Those men are trying to k—!” He is unable to finish his sentence because of the large man swinging a fist at him. Cian tucks Nathaniel closer to him as he dips under the man's arm. “Listen to me!” Cian pleads, dodging a whirlwind of attacks from not just the man, but his associates as well. With Nathaniel in his arms, Cian's agility is hampered. At the cost of his well-being, Cian shields Nathaniel, taking direct hits, yet determined to remain on his feet. “Please, listen!”

  Cian could not understand why the keepers did not cease in their assault. They kicked, punched, and attempted to grab him, and all the while, Cian kept on the defensive, but Nathaniel began to whimper in his arms. What made matters worse is that he had just given his only weapons to Keegan and Wukong, and now the keepers pulled out knives of their own. This was no place for Nathaniel to be. He needed to find somewhere to hide the child at least until he could talk some sense into the men. As his eyes searched for a safe haven, Cian hissed when one of his opponents managed to slash him across the shoulder.

  “Those men are trying to kill us! I'm not the one you should be fighting!” Cian yelled in frustration. It did not help that he had glanced back and saw his companions engaged in combat. The masked men’s skill was evident in how they corralled the boys, restricting their movement. Their situation was getting dire, and Cian could not accept that this was their end. They did not survive through those caverns only to be brought down by keepers and masked assassins. Most significantly, Nathaniel had not escaped the horrors he went through just to wind up in the arms of his captors again.

  A cry, one full of the resolve, tore past Cian's lips, and the most peculiar thing happened. There came a responding yelp, indeed a yelp from Wukong. From his angle, Cian could not see how Wukong's hand jutted out, and the knife he had been holding came loose. It sailed through the air in Cian's direction, seemingly weaving through the obstacles of people surrounding him. He had spun in time with the arrival of the blade, catching it by the handle. It had been a move brought about by instinct, something Cian surprised himself with. Then what was even more startling was how he felt a tug, and he had only seconds before he began wielding his knife with new proficiency.

  Cian fought ferociously, like an unchained beast seeking blood, his muscles straining as his body contorted to see his attacks through. Nathaniel clung to him tighter than any snake coiling around their prey, the poor boy having to bear Cian’s sporadic movements. The keepers were also not faring well against Cian’s onslaught. His wounds were nothing when compared to the many lashes he inflicted. The boy’s strikes were also well aimed, cutting behind knees, causing men’s legs to give out underneath them, and presenting an opening.

  With only one weapon between them, Wukong and Keegan had been forced to share the restaurant knife. Their teamwork was rather crude; neither of them was used to fighting together, the last time being under Lake Kai, and even then, Cian had helped to balance them. Still, the boys were managing, although they were keeping defensive as they could not risk striking out without the other being able to defend against the second masked man. They needed a shift in their fight to see some sort of progress, and Cian was the one to give it to them.

  “Switch with me, Keegan!” Cian commanded after Keegan had given the knife to Wukong. His brother turned around at the sound of his voice and had a moment to comprehend what Cian meant before his arms became full of Nathaniel. Cian no longer had to worry about the child accidentally getting hurt, and his movements became more robust. His knife parried the two masked men, one of them sustaining a cut to his side after Cian bent under his sword. The other stumbled when Cian plunged his knife into the man's thigh.

  The masked men and keepers grew wary of Cian because, alone, he shifted the tides. A mere boy had caused most of them to bleed, and was wily enough to evade them whilst holding and protecting a young child. Now, without the hindrance, they could only imagine how much more vicious he would be. Cian, for his part, is as bewildered as they are. He is a skilled martial artist, but his movements in the gambling house were beyond what he had trained for. It made no sense, but he decided to trust the thrumming in his fingers as he clutched his weapon. Considering it was what kept them alive, he chose not to question it.

  Cian is tired, yet that does not stop him as he rejoins the fray. Slashes, more wounds inflicted, and an excitement ran rampant. He hardly noticed that Wukong was fighting alongside him. There was no need to orchestrate his attacks around the other boy when what he was doing worked. It should have been alarming how enthralled Cian became in the fight, despite how much his limbs ached and his breath labored. The thrumming was a comforting feeling—fed by the blood Cian drew. He might have lost himself in it, already having slipped a step deeper, had the woman not shown up.

  She came draped in layered robes of creamy white and lavender-pink, the fabric long and flowing as she soared through the air. The sleeves and hems of her robes burst outward in a whirl, blooming and folding like petals caught in the sudden wind. Her hair, off-white, glossy, and unbound save for a single ornament, fluttered behind. Her sharp features—arched brows, striking crimson eyes, and lips touched with carmine—were marked by a small beauty spot above her mouth. The woman’s fair skin was kissed with a warm undertone that warmly caught the light of the gambling house as well as the golden threads inlayed in her clothing.

  While descending, she folded her body in a swift arc before she came down heel-first, striking against the crown of the masked man’s head, who had been about to attack Cian from behind. There is a sickening crack before he crumpled without a sound, and she landed lightly, the flutter of her robes settling around her. With one enemy dealt with, her hand slipped within her sleeve, and she drew forth a fan of polished gold. It snapped open with a sharp metallic whisper, the ribs catching the light in a blinding blaze. Then she moved. The second masked individual, having been frozen at the sight of his fallen comrade, quickly recomposed himself, ignoring Cian to attack the new threat before him. The woman’s fan flashed in a wide arc; she spun once, twice, before the weapon bit cleanly past his guard and across his throat. Instantly, the man burst into flames, catching the woman by surprise, but just as swiftly, she pulled part of her robes around the man’s head to suffocate the fire.

  Silence reigned over the gambling house, the other patrons having left once the violence started, and it felt oppressive as Cian watched the woman flick crimson off her fan before using it to cut off the part of her robes singed from the fire. Afterward, she closed the fan and turned toward them. “Someone explain to me why I had to take the lives of these two men, and why flames almost engulfed one?” the woman asked, her head moving sharply to look around at the keepers, before moving to Cian, Wukong, and settling on Keegan and Nathaniel. “I beg your pardon, Daughter Seraphina. We were attempting to apprehend all trespassers, but we lost control of the situation,” the big man from before replied. He hobbled closer, favoring one leg over the other, and he cast Cian a seething look. “And was it your idea to regain control by attacking children?”

  “Of course not, my Scion! You must understand that the boy had come in and caused a mess at the card tables. He wouldn’t listen when we shouted for him to halt.”

  “Was it before or after you witnessed him engaging in a fight for his life?”

  The man fell quiet, Daughter Seraphina’s words successfully cowing him, and Cian became all the more nervous. Cian must admit he is not well-versed in the families of other tribal leaders besides Wukong’s. If he is remembering correctly, Patriarch Julian has six children, and Seraphina is his eldest daughter and rightful heir. It makes sense that she would be in the city. Although Cian does not know in detail how Faux Point is divided, he is aware that Semper Dante Luce is within the Patriarch’s quadrant. As heir, she would be expected to learn how to govern her father’s domain, and in this moment, Cian is grateful for her watchfulness.

  “Daughter Seraphina,” Cian said, lowering his weapon and placing a hand over his heart before bowing. “You have our deepest gratitude for saving our lives. I also apologize for the initial ruckus I caused. Maybe if I had handled a thing a bit differently, there wouldn't have been a misunderstanding between ourselves and your keepers.”

  “Raise your head, Son Cian.”

  Cian obeyed, but a questioning look remained on his face. “You know me?”

  “I know you as well as Son Keegan and Son Wukong. As the future matriarch of my tribe, it wouldn't do well for me not to know the other tribal families. My father had informed me of your arrival, and I remember your faces from an old photograph, although you were younger in it,” she replied. Her eyes had left him to look at the other two, but they appeared more focused on the child Keegan held. Seraphina glided across the floor, or it seemed like it because of how graceful her movements were. She came close to Keegan and her face shifted into something gentler, almost motherly, as she peered at Nathaniel, who cowered from her. “I must admit, this face I've never seen before. Hello, little one. What is your name?”

  Nathaniel did not reply, most likely remembering what had happened at the restaurant, and Cian was hesitant as well. Seraphina took their silence in stride, and the keepers baulked when she knelt on the floor. “You have my word as daughter to Patriarch Julian, and heir to Adoptore's matriarchy, that no more harm will come to you. I will keep you safe, little one,” Seraphina said, voice like a calming balm and filled with subtle sweetness. It was enough to draw Nathaniel from hiding as he finally responded. “Nathaniel Yatim.”

  Cian waited, searching for any signs that Daughter Seraphina would become hostile, but she never changed. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Yatim, or shall I simply call you Nathaniel?”

  “Nathaniel! I'm not a grandpa.”

  Seraphina chuckled lightly. “No, no, of course you're not. My apologies, Nathaniel.”

  Nathaniel mulled over the woman in front of him and seemed to come to a conclusion. The small child leaned away from Keegan and spread his arms for Seraphina to carry him. She happily obliged, standing up with the child.

  “You are tender as you are lovely, Daughter Seraphina,” Kumo said, standing beside Cian and startling the wits out of him. A bright smile bloomed across Seraphina’s face. “Sir Kumo, I've not seen you in years!”

  “I would have been better had we met at your father's house, but the Lord has His reasons. I thank you, Daughter Seraphina, for protecting my young Scions and Son Wukong. There would be no redeeming myself had they been seriously wounded or worse under my watch.”

  “Your thanks and that from your Scion are too much,” Seraphina replied humbly. “Now, I understand I will need a report from my keepers, my fellow Scions, and you, Sir Kumo. I want to know why assassins were in my gambling house, and why this child looks beyond weathered, but it can wait until tomorrow. Nathaniel must be taken to Archdoctor Leech, bathed, and given a change of clothes.”

  Seraphina gestured sharply. “Mr. Paige, see that the bodies are stored somewhere safe for an examination tomorrow. I also want some of the keepers to patrol the grounds and surrounding area for any potential threats. Sir Kumo, meanwhile, shall escort me and the children home to my father’s house.”