September 7th, 1911 (Meiji 44)

Kiev, Ukraine

"Mama?"

The blonde woman smiled at her daughter. "What is it, Maria?"

"Why does Papa look so different?"

Katrina Tachibana bit her lip. She should have been expecting it someday soon, really; it was plain to see how different her dark-haired, brown-eyed husband was from the Russians. Both she and her daughter were blonde with piercing green eyes – as were most of the people in the streets of Kiev.

"Well, little one, Papa comes from a land far away from here, across the ocean, called Japan." She continued chopping vegetables as she spoke. "His emperor sent him here to make friends with us."

The daughter of the ambassador had been struck by the tiny, soft-spoken man the moment he introduced himself in flawless Russian. They had began a love affair soon after and to marry him, she had given up friends, family and home.

Daisuke – and a number of years later, little Maria – was all she had in the world now, and she could not be happier.

To escape her father's anger, they had fled together far from Petrograd, to the city of Kiev. Far enough from her family's reach, yet busy enough so Daisuke could continue working without attracting too much attention from the locals. He was a city man through and through; Katrina doubted her husband could last long in the harsh Northern wilderness.

A crunching sound outside distracted Katrina from her memories. "Papa's home!" said the little girl excitedly, running to the door.

Daisuke, red from the cold, stood heavily wrapped up in a greatcoat with a bulging sack in the snow beside his feet. His wife stifled a laugh in her apron as he put it down to pick up his daughter. "I will never get used to seeing you like that," she quipped, mischief in her eyes.

He laughed. "To be honest, wife, when I signed up for the diplomatic service fresh out of the academy, I did not expect to end up married to the most beautiful girl in Russia."

Maria ignored them, her eyes fixated on the sack. "What's in there?"

"Food, child." Daisuke addressed his wife as he bent to open it. "Andrei was most generous with distributing the surplus stock this evening – and there were few customers. I think we shall have enough for a week or two."

She nodded. "And what news in town?"

The man's face darkened briefly. "... Maria, child. Would you please go play in your room for a moment?"

"Yes, Papa."

He moved forward, touching Katrina's arm. "The communists are blaming the state of the country on foreigners," he said in a low voice. "Andrei told me a party was seen a few days from here, though they are only coming to gather supporters."

Katrina gasped. "We must flee – they will kill you if they see you!"

"We will not." His eyes flashed. "It is fortunate Maria takes after you. If they come here, you will take her, and go back to Petrograd, to your father."

"We are not leaving you behind!"

"You must!" Daisuke gently squeezed his wife's hands. "If they were to find us all, they will surely kill you and Maria as well."

She bowed her head, holding back tears.

After dinner, Daisuke called for Maria. "A present for you, little one," he said with a smile, presenting her with a small pouch. A tiny wooden plaque hung from it by a woven silk cord.

She took it carefully in her hands, recognizing it to be a treasure; the delicate, exotic nature of the material suggested it came from the same faraway place as her father. "Papa, it's beautiful! What is it?"

He turned the piece of wood over, showing her carved kanji. "A good luck charm from a temple in my hometown, Maria."

"Where?"

"Tokyo, in Japan... the imperial capital. Perhaps you and Mama and I will go there someday." Daisuke blinked and gently eased the drawstring of the pouch away from her fingers.

"Never open the pouch – it contains a spirit that will protect the owner. My father gave it to me many years ago and now I give it to you, child."

"Thank you, Papa!" She flung her arms around his neck – at eight years of age, her arms already long enough to encircle it.

"You have grown up so fast," he said affectionately.

March 20th, 1917 (Taisho 6)

Kiev, Ukraine

Daisuke arrived home in a flurry, eyes wide with panic. "Katrina! Maria! Pack your things, we must leave!"

Fourteen-year-old Maria poked her head out of the sitting room. "What is it, Papa?"

"Petrograd has fallen to the socialists, the Tsar has abdicated. The soldiers are coming to Kiev, you must go!"

"We are not going anywhere without you, Daisuke!" The Russian woman, her blue eyes steely, strode out of the kitchen. "Or do you discard our promises to each other?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose; the Japanese man was greying prematurely at the temples. "I do not, my wife. But if it will keep you and Maria alive, then I will."

Katrina softened. "We will leave here," she said quietly. "But we will not leave each other." She turned to Maria. "Pack some things, child. Only the most important things."

"Mama – "

" – and hurry. We must not lose a moment."

Bundling herself in her favourite coat, Maria stuffed the little pouch into her shirt.

March 29th, 1917 (Taisho 6)

Odessa Harbour, Ukraine

"Safe passage to America for three," muttered Daisuke, his face heavily muffled in a scarf.

"That will be six thousand rubles, comrade."

He cursed, fumbling in his pocket for the notes. Counting the sheaf of currency, he thrust it into the bearded man's hand.

"Very well," said the sailor, after counting the money. "Board this ship here, tonight at midnight. Hide yourselves in the lifeboats. If you are caught, I know nothing. Da?"

"Understood."

Daisuke returned to his family behind the port building. "We have passage, tonight."

"Where are we going, Papa?"

He rested a hand on her shoulder. "America, child, the land of freedom. We will be safe there."

"So Comrade Beketov was right," interrupted a gravely voice from behind them.

"And not stone drunk on the cheap vodka as he always is," added another voice.

The little family whirled around. Men in army-issued greatcoats stood there carrying rifles. Their leader, an impressively bearded man, carried an old sabre.

"A foreigner and his family. Living off the wealth of Mother Russia together with the cursed Romanovs. Thought fleeing to America would spare you and your blasted family their fates?"

Daisuke moved in front of the women, arms spread protectively. "Let them go and I will go with you quietly."

"Daisuke – !"

"Katrina, please, now is not the time."

The leader's face darkened. "Think you would bargain with us, filthy Jap? Take them all."

Maria's eyes flashed fire. "Don't touch my Mama and Papa!" Darting forward, she seized a pistol from the holster of the nearest man and brandished it, the way she had seen the soldiers in the harbour do it when the family had been in hiding. When they had done it, things had gone their way without fail.

Early in life she had learned death was power.

The bearded man burst out laughing. "So you would kill us all if we did not obey, little one?"

"Just let them go," she repeated, her voice trembling.

One leering soldier took a step forward – and hastily withdrew his boot as a shot rang out over the flagstones, leaving a neat indentation where his foot has previously been.

The man stopped laughing. "Nu, e chort staboy – where did you learn to shoot like that, girl?"

Her chest heaved from the recoil of the gun – Maria was not about to reveal that years before, the day she had overheard her parents talking about the soldiers, she had found her father's old service revolver and had been practicing with it. Her father, though, understood what she had done and looked away.

"Eh, she would be a useful comrade, would she not, Dmitri?" One of the soldiers patted the leader's shoulder. "A little more training and she would be a fine sniper for the Revolution."

"... Yes." He barked orders at his men. "Take away the other two. You, girl, come with me."

"Papa! Mama!"

Her father broke away from his captors and went to her. "Maria, child, take care of yourself." He touched her coat where he knew the pouch hung. "The spirit will continue to watch over you."

"Papa!" The burly leader's arms were the only thing keeping her from running after them.

"Be strong, Maria!" managed Katrina.

"Mama!"

They wrested them away, still struggling. "We'll meet again someday in Tokyo, Maria!"

Tears streamed down Maria's face as she watched her parents disappear from sight in the mist.

"What is your name?"

She looked away and refused to answer.

Her captor spun her around roughly. "Answer me!"

Maria remained obstinately silent, fixing him with an icy glare. With a growl, the man raised his hand to slap her – and paused when his wrist was caught in an iron grip.

"Violence will solve nothing, Comrade Molchaoff – as I have often mentioned." The speaker was a newly-arrived soldier in sunglasses.

Molchaoff spat. "Pfeh! You may be one of the youngest captains, Kazapov, but that doesn't give you jurisdiction over – "

" – Odessa Harbour is my designated area," cut in the captain firmly. "You were trespassing over my jurisdiction, Molchaoff. I was not in time to save the parents, but you shall not have her. I know that young girls have been disappearing in your ward – unsympathetic to our cause and otherwise."

He flushed crimson. "You have made an enemy today. One day, you will reap what you sow. Men, move out!"

Then Maria was left alone with the captain.

"Don't be afraid, child," he said, dropping to one knee. "You're safe now."

She sniffed – and hastily stopped. Maria hated her helplessness, hated the fact she was a young woman of fourteen and still unable to hold back her emotions. Her fear betrayed her, made the soldiers mock her and take her parents away.

"My name is Yuri. What's yours?"

A small hesitation. "Maria Tachibana."

"Pleased to meet you, Maria." He stood up. "I don't have much to offer, but you can stay in my barracks for the time being." Yuri's face turned serious. "But allow me to say this. We fight for a noble cause, nobler than scum like Molchaoff represent. We fight for freedom. Your talents would be wasted as a peasant girl, to be frank. Would you consider joining our cause and becoming a soldier for the Revolution?"

Maria clutched the precious pouch under her coat. She would survive this and grow strong, and then she would kill him and the other soldiers.

And then she would go to Japan and find them again.

"... Yes, sir."

June 19th, 1920 (Taisho 9)

New York City, America

"Because Tokyo is a very important city for us."

Maria eyed the woman carefully, taking in every syllable of her deliberately enunciated English. After losing Captain Yuri in the final days of the Revolution, she had come, in search of that freedom her father had talked about.

She smiled bitterly. Becoming a hired gun for the Mafia had not been her idea of freedom.

"Is that all?" she asked. The woman gave a start. "You must have another reason for wanting to save the city." Jaded green eyes stared back almost defiantly.

The woman – Maria dimly remembered her being called Ayame Fujieda – took a moment to respond. "I have lots of memories of the city."

"Lots of memories?"

"Yes."

Maria turned away. She detected pain in the woman's voice – the loss of someone close. Memories not as pleasant as her words suggested; memories one would travel great lengths to escape.

"... In that sense, I can understand. I also have..." Maria looked up at the sky, lost as she allowed the memories to return freely.

Going to Japan, after all she had been through... she had grown and aged so much in only three years. Maria had accepted the fact of her parents' deaths long ago; they were never going to be waiting for her in Tokyo, under the city lights.

"... Goodbye, my memories," she murmured in Russian.

Maria turned back to Ayame. "When do we leave for Japan? It would be – difficult – for me to go immediately..."

She looked momentarily taken aback but recovered quickly. "I understand. It will not be a problem – we will settle your ties with the Mafia." Ayame stood up. "There will be a ship in the harbour for Tokyo in November."

As she turned to leave, she paused. "... Happy birthday, Maria."

The sound of her footsteps receded, leaving the Russian alone with the simple words; remembering precisely how long ago it had been since she had last heard them.

December 25th, 1920 (Taisho 9)

Tokyo Harbour

The ship's horn resounded; three long blasts. Maria looked up from her text book. Calmly, she closed it, slipping the volume into an open suitcase and leaving behind the immaculate room.

Today was the first day of the rest of her life.

The harbour was just as bustling as Odessa had been all those years ago, except she was no longer that frightenened girl clutching the heavy gun. Maria had grown beyond her. People, dark-haired and eyed like her father, thronged the streets, chattering in that tongue she had laboured to learn.

She hesitated on the gangplank for a moment. Was it finally time to leave it all behind?

"Maria."

For one moment, the Russian girl saw the familar figures of her parents waiting for her at the bottom. Her heart leapt; they had kept their promise.

Then the illusion shattered, leaving the kindly faces of Ayame and another man there, both in green uniforms.

"It is good to see you again, Maria," said Ayame in English. "This man is General Ikki Yoneda."

"Pleased to meet you," she answered in flawless Japanese. "I am Maria Tachibana."

The man grinned widely. "Well, I'm glad you went to such trouble to learn Japanese, though it is a pity especially after Ayame-kun spent ages learning English."

"General!"

"So why don't you come with us and I'll brief you on what's going to be happening. I'm afraid the theatre hasn't been finished yet, so maybe you'll come stay with me – "

"General Yoneda!"

Maria allowed him to take her suitcase. He reminded her of her father – though the new Maria would rather die than reveal anything that might betray her someday. It was a flaw, a weakness; to be eliminated.

But this was new Maria, determined to make something worthwhile of her life. And maybe she would manage to protect something precious this time.