The Blood of Naipon: The Return

by SakuyaGoddess

Chiasa Miller has always been fond of the myths and legends of Japan. A university undergraduate with autism, she sees her world through the romantic eyes of a storyteller. Her favorite tale is that of Tomoe Gozen, the Disfavored Hero. If only Chiasa had known the tale was true. Based on the backstory of Lady Eboshi's descendant Natasha Fatale.

93

The Blood of Naipon

The Return

SakuyaGoddess

Note to Reader

The Blood of Naipon is my fanfiction sequel to Jessica Amanda Salmonson's Tomoe Gozen saga. It concerns what happened in Naipon eight hundred years after the wars waged by the character Tomoe Gozen's husband, Lord Kiso Yoshinake. However, my novel is also an allegory of Rocky and Bullwinkle. The story of my protagonist, Chiasa Miller, is based on the backstory of Natasha Fatale. By writing Natasha's backstory, I have shown my proof that Hayao Miyazaki's 1997 film, Princess Mononoke, may be a prequel to Rocky and Bullwinkle.

To help you understand my novel, I will describe three of its characters. I have mentioned that Chiasa represents Natasha; they are both young orphaned women who use the stories of their ancestors to search for their families. Chiasa was raised in the United States, but she is a descendant of the Naiponese Tomoe Gozen. As for Natasha, she belongs to the bloodline of Princess Mononoke's antagonist, Lady Eboshi. Natahsa did not make this discovery until she had been raised in Romania for the first nineteen years of her life. Both she and Chiasa embark on journeys that take them to lands they could only have dreamed of. They face many hardships, but they find people who care for them and show them the way.

The Blood of Naipon also concerns Lord Isamu Inaba, a Naiponese daimyo who seeks to overthrow his shogun and unite the clans of their country. Isamu represents Fearless Leader, the main antagonist of Rocky and Bullwinkle. Both men are scar-faced tyrants who yearn for power and immortality, and both are willing to attain them in whatever way possible. They are also supported by subordinate men who carry their bidding; Boris Badenov spies for Fearless Leader, and Hisoka Ishikawa is a vassal of Isamu. Like his Rocky and Bullwinkle counterpart, Hisoka has fully sworn himself to his master. The vassal spies in outside lands such as the United States, prioritizing Isamu's needs above his own.

Because this novel is based on many stories, I hope it will appeal to a variety of readers. I have embraced the heroism of Salmonson's heroine Tomoe, and I have brought the inner strength of Natasha Fatale to life. Even if my works were to not be praised until I am gone, it would be more than an accomplishment for me. As an author, I hope my works will live on in the hearts, minds, and spirits of curious individuals. The success of a story is determined not by the skills of its author, but by the praise of its readers.

Until we meet again,

SakuyaGoddess

Prolegomenon

Naipon the Anchored Empire

the Land of Marsh and Reeds.

Naipon of peak and valley

river, stone, and tree.

Naipon of the Thousands of Myriads

who animate the world.

Naipon between the Heavenly River

and the lands called Roots and Gloom.

Naipon where warriors stalk

and are stalked by

the invisible and the seen.

Naipon where good and evil meet

exchange identities

and meet again.

Naipon where strange beasts roam

and stranger men.

Naipon of the Sun's womb.

Naipon of steel.

Naipon in glory and pathos

sweetness and terror

Naipon.

Chapter 1

Chiasa Miller was still. Any movement she made was merely a breath or a heartbeat. The summer heat was at its height, but her body was like ice. Every sound around her was a whisper, remaining silent for her sake. She could barely make sense of the world, and she did not wish to.

If she had been more still, she would have lost the feeling of her book. She was surprised it had not fallen from her hand at that point. A tiny leaf fell upon a page, but she did not remove it. The object merely drew more of her attention to what she had found. There was no difference between herself and a pursued deer.

"That can't be," she said. "I thought…"

Her grasp on the book tightened. The ground seemed to move forward, mimicking a roll of silk. The lake in front of her became a spiral, encircling her as she sat. Before her stood a woman dressed in cream and charcoal. Her eyes widened as her face met with Chiasa's.

I don't know! Chiasa screamed in her mind. I don't know! Please, forgive me!

At last, the book fell from her hand. Chiasa screamed as it happened, but the lake was a distance away. She bent forward, not wanting to leave the bench. Regaining her senses, she read what it had to say, Shi-u gazed at her struck sword and began keening and pulling like a beast with its leg in a trap. To Tomoe's amazement, it came out!

"Why?" the young woman asked herself.

Skimming over the pages, her desperate eyes caught the book's final sentence, Sheathing her sword, then pulling the sheathed weapon from her belt to use for a cane, the esoteric nun limped away from the Beach of Tears.

The book was a paperback, but she was careful not to close it roughly. It had been printed decades earlier, and its pages were yellow. To accommodate for age is always wise, but it was not Chiasa's only motive. There was still something within her, demanding to be heard. It was one of many she could never silence.

Out of all the books Chiasa had read over the summer, her favorites depicted the tale of Tomoe Gozen of Heida. They were based on the story of history's Tomoe Gozen, combining it with the myths and legends of Japan. In Naipon, the fantasy-based Japan in the books, Tomoe was said to have faced human and supernatural foes. Many of them had bested her at times, but she had managed to triumph over all of them. Why now did she have to fall?

Of course, Chiasa did not know if Tomoe had truly been defeated. How could she know? The death of Tomoe's last opponent, Shi-u, was clear in the text, but that of the famed warrior was not. There were no later books to reveal the truth. Only the author knew it, and she was inaccessible.

Perhaps, the last book was meant to end with a cliffhanger. The other books had ended as such, making Chiasa want to read all of them. And yet, the other endings seemed more triumphant that what she had just discovered. The first book ended with Tomoe restoring her honor, reminding the Naiponese she was not a willful servant of the sorcerer Huan. In the second book, Tomoe triumphed over a friend who had betrayed her, killing him in a duel. The final book depicted Shi-u severely wounding Tomoe before dying by the famed warrior's blade.

Chiasa could have easily created an ending. In a shrinking world of growing connections, anyone could access any work and add their thoughts to it. Fanfiction authors were already adding their own endings to movies and television shows, showing their disdain for cliffhangers. Chiasa knew the ways of fanfiction, for she had written books of such a genre. She had every skill she needed to end Tomoe's life or heal her dueling wound.

A voice was telling her to make an ending, but another voice had its own ideas. In her English classes, she had read plenty of stories with cliffhanger endings. Her teachers had challenged her to imagine why authors would include such elements in their stories. Many class discussions on this topic revolved around themes such as overall themes, sympathy for characters, and rhetorical questions. There were even some cliffhangers Chiasa was fond of.

Despite all of the thoughts flowing through her, one question remained: Why? It remained as Chiasa came to her feet and departed from the lake. She was usually known to gaze at the old buildings on her walks, but they were passing her like shooting stars. Even in the middle of August, the sun's heat was almost gone. Chiasa was like a ghost, passing with only one purpose. She did not even take the time to buy the ice cream she had planned to purchase for her snack. There were too many visions of Tomoe Gozen limping away from the Beach of Tears.

"Miss, are you alright?" a voice sounded from behind her.

Chiasa turned around to see a young man looking at her. He looked Asian, nearly resembling the men in Tomoe's story. The top of his head was shaved, but the rest of his hair was jet-black, hanging at his shoulders. His appearance was that of a man slightly older than Chiasa.

"It's nothing!" Chiasa gasped. "I was just…"

"If you're hot, I understand," the man nodded. "Illinois summers are ridiculous, especially in August."

Chiasa blushed, "I'm alright, but thank you. I was just on my way to the antique shop."

"You know," the man said, "that's where I'm headed. We could go together."

"Thank you," Chiasa nodded. "That'll make things convenient for both of us."

"But, we should take the time to cool off first," the man continued. "Maybe, we could get ourselves a cold drink or snack or something."

"Well," Chiasa shrugged, "I was thinking about getting an ice cream at the parlor, but I've been so rushed with going to the antique shop."

The man smiled as he asked her, "Can your visit wait? The shop won't close for another few hours. Besides, I'm a bit hungry myself."

His words were what helped Chiasa to feel her own stomach. It was growling, and her family would not be having dinner soon. She sighed, "I guess we could get some ice cream."

She knew her choice would mean taking a longer walk, but she could not function well without a full stomach. After all, she loved the taste of ice cream. She had already walked to the parlor a few times that summer, trying the flavors she could not usually find. She discussed her trips with the man as they walked together, and he seemed quite impressed.

"I see why you're trying all these new flavors," he smiled. "You cannot come to ice cream parlors every day, and when you come, some flavors are always there."

"Indeed," Chiasa nodded. "I like to be a little adventurous from time to time."

"Oh, that reminds me!" the man gasped. "I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Haruki Yoshida. What's yours?"

Chiasa's introduction was more formal, "My name is Chiasa Miller. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too," Haruki chuckled. "It's not every day I make new friends."

"I am honored," Chiasa nodded.

There was a bit of silence for a moment. Haruki seemed to be waiting to speak, but there was nothing for him to say. Chiasa herself was waiting, expecting Haruki to continue their conversation. Both of them were waiting, each one unaware of what the other was thinking. That was when they arrived at Frosty's, the local ice cream parlor.

Aside from its usual flavors, Frosty's offered specials for the summer. Chiasa knew she wanted a scoop of carrot cake, a flavor she had yet to try. As for Haruki, he waited for a short time before deciding to order a scoop of banana pudding. Chiasa offered to pay for his snack, wanting to treat him with courtesy.

"Don't waste your money on me," he said. "I'll pay for both orders."

When the scoops were ready, Haruki placed a gold ingot on the counter. The cashier was puzzled, for she had never been paid in such a currency.

"Are you sure this is what you'll pay me?" she gasped. "We can't make change for anything over twenty dollars."

"Please," Haruki smiled humbly, "keep the change. You might need it."

Chiasa was quick to ask her, "May we please take the scoops to go?"

The cashier was just as quick to fulfill the request. She had hoped for a calm day on duty, and she knew arguing with a high-paying customer would eliminate such an opportunity. Once the scoops were bagged, Chiasa led Haruki to a small table outside the parlor. To her surprise, he sat her down.

"Consider this as a sign of respect," he said.

Chiasa was fond of his gestures, but they were beginning to annoy her. No one she knew acted so humbly in casual experiences. The Japanese stories she loved had motivated her to be polite, but she knew that being overly polite at an American ice cream parlor was not necessary. Keeping her thoughts within her head, she passed a spoon, some napkins, and the banana pudding ice cream to her companion. She then took her own ice cream and utensils, growing excited at the promise of a new flavor.

"What an interesting dish ice cream is," Haruki said after his first spoonful. "You serve it cold to enrich its flavors. And yet, you can keep it cold for so long."

After swallowing a spoonful herself, Chiasa replied to him, "Ice cream always melts at some point. You can't fiddle with it for too long."

She found herself enjoying the scoop of carrot cake. The cinnamon ice cream had been mixed with cheesecake frosting, and the chunks of carrot cake were still chewy. Out of all of the ice cream flavors she knew, Chiasa preferred soft, chewy cakes and cookie dough. The flavors in her mouth would have kept her occupied if Haruki had not asked her, "Are you from around here?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I've lived in Richardson for my whole life."

"Really?" Haruki smiled, sounding amazed. "I wish I could say the same, but I've had to come a long way to get here?"

"How long?" Chiasa asked.

Haruki chuckled, "Longer than you could possibly imagine. Such a path can't be taken by everyone."

As he ate more of his ice cream, Chiasa spoke again, "Of course, I won't be living here for very long. Next week, I'll be starting college."

"College?" Haruki gulped. A short time passed, making Chiasa suspicious. She began to consider leaving when Haruki said, "That's … a big accomplishment. Your parents must be proud."

"They are," Chiasa smiled. "I'm going to study to attain a museum-based career. I'm fond of history, and I hope to study it."

"We need more people like that," Haruki nodded. "My family takes great pride in historians. Of course, we've always had to."

"It's okay for people to have different interests," Chiasa said reassuringly. "It's what makes the world captivating."

"Wow," Haruki said, growing still. "That shows ultimate wisdom."

Chiasa laughed out of appreciation. She was not a boastful woman, but she was fond of being complimented. To seem more humble, she asked Haruki, "Do you have any hobbies?"

Haruki was silent again. He seemed as though he were waiting for something. Chiasa looked away to seem unsuspicious, but curiosity was licking her like a flame. She could only eat her ice cream and wait.

"I'm a farmer!" Haruki exclaimed out of nervousness. "Yes! I'm a hardworking farmer, just like my parents. And their parents. And their parents before them."

"That's an important job as well," Chiasa replied. "Everyone needs food, and food needs people to make it. I thank you for your service."

"Not a problem," Haruki blushed. "I like working, but I'm glad to be out here. It's fun to take a break once in a while."

"That's what I've been told in high school," Chiasa said. "I study a lot, and my parents and teachers never wanted me to overwork."

This was the third time Haruki grew silent. His eyes gave a thoughtful look, nearly frightening his companion. Strange thoughts ran across her mind.

"So," Haruki continued, "what's bringing you to the antique shop?"

Chiasa was careful to keep her suspicions out of her tone of voice, "I have a friend who works there, and I would like to talk to him about something important."

"As a matter of fact," Haruki said, "I too have a friend there. His name's Benjiro Yamazaki."

"I believe that is the friend I wanted to see," Chiasa chuckled. "I've known him since I was a child."

"I can say the same thing," Haruki nodded. "Once, when I was five years old, Benjiro saved my life."

"He did?" Chiasa gasped.

"Oh, yes!" Haruki said excitedly. "I was on a sailing trip with my parents, but our ship was quickly taken by a storm. I was separated from them at sea for many days. Luckily, Benjiro could see me from his ship. He picked me up and returned me to the mainland, where my parents were waiting."

"It's a good thing you're safe," Chiasa replied. "I hope you're doing better now."

"Not to worry, Chiasa," Haruki smiled. "I guess I should've known it's pretty dangerous in … Canada?"

He's the strangest man I've ever met, Chiasa thought. Hopefully, Benjiro can help me understand him.

Both scoops of ice cream were gone by that point. Chiasa was relieved it was so, for her desire to go to the antique shop was not urgent. It had been urgent earlier, but she was now more desperate.

Benjiro Yamazaki was used to being a strange man. He had been labeled as such ever since he first came to Richardson. His arrival was not much of a spectacle; he came in an old car with only his money and two suitcases. And yet, there was something to him the people could not understand. None of them felt threatened, for Benjiro was a respectable man. Many tried to identify what puzzled them, but none were successful.

Perhaps, it was his interests. The antique shop sold a variety of items, and many of them were strange. Customers would find plates of Depression glass, or elaborate grandfather clocks, or chairs that seemed to belong in an old couple's home. Benjiro never spoke of liking the items, but he always seemed happy to sell them. While he was fond of earning money, the happiness he displayed had no connection to it. It was as though he saw the antiques as important parts of a home.

His strangeness might have been in his appearance. He was a humble man of middle age, but the loss of his youth never seemed to shame him. And yet, to gaze at his face was to stare at an ukiyo-e painting. He was not a man who threatened, but his calm, bagged eyes gave a certain energy. His reassuring voice was like the proud call of an actor presenting himself to his anticipating audience. Some customers wondered if he had ever worked in such a position.

It might have been his behaviors that highlighted him. He sometimes worked with others, but he was almost always found by himself. Even with antiques becoming less favorable in the shrinking world, Benjiro was a dedicated man. His dedication was clear whenever a customer set foot into his place of business. It was usual for him to smile, recommending what he believed a customer would want. Some were annoyed by these actions, some were honored, and all were intrigued.

Benjiro was fond of all people, but to him, children were especially precious. Adults in the world were used to their ways, seeing them as perfect and unchangeable. They taught the children to keep the same thoughts, but a mind can never truly be controlled. Children are curious, being new to the world they know. They modify the ideas they find, or create their own. As they grow, they create new norms, which are modified by their children. Benjiro knew the process well, for he was once a child.

It was not often for children to enter the shop. They had plenty of other things to do, younger children were taking more interest in newer items. But when there were children, Benjiro was honored. He would show them all his shop had to offer, exciting them with the stories behind the antiques. The children would listen, being reluctant to fidget or daydream. Their parents were still puzzled by Benjiro, but they never failed to respect him as the children were.

Being fond of children, Benjiro knew how to interact with Chiasa Miller. He had met her when her father took her to the shop in search of a gift for her mother. Chiasa was four years old at the time, and she was a curious woman. Benjiro was quite pleased, exciting her as he led her to every corner of his place of business. It was Chiasa who picked the gift that day, which was a Buddha statue on a lotus-shaped altar. Neither of Chiasa's parents were Buddhists, but the statue's beauty was enough to make them thankful. It was Benjiro who had helped Chiasa select it.

Ever since the day they met, Chiasa made many visits to the antique shop. The visits should have been enough to tire her out, showing that few came to purchase the antiques. And yet, there was something that kept her coming. Benjiro was not married, nor was he a parent, but he intrigued her in some way. And she always intrigued him, bringing wonder to his already wondrous job. He spent the next fifteen years watching her grow, gaining new interests while keeping some of her old ones.

On some occasions, Chiasa brought friends to the shop. They varied from giggly girls to generous boys to curious teachers. She brought friends less frequently as she grew older, but they still came from time to time. However, such a circumstance would not have affected the visits. Chiasa already had a friend in Benjiro, and he had one in her.

It was the scarcity of her companions that made this visit special. Benjiro was happy to see his friend return to him, but the sight of her companion widened his eyes. While he acted as such every time Chiasa brought someone else, this companion was especially intriguing. If one were looking into the shopkeeper's eyes, they would not have labeled their expression properly. Some would have guessed recognition, while others would have chosen unfamiliarity. In both scenarios, Benjiro's gaze was not normal. For a split second, Haruki seemed to return it. And then, Benjiro resumed his usual joyful tone.

"Good afternoon, Chiasa," the shopkeeper smiled. "I am honored to see you have returned to this humble den."

"It honors me to come, Benjiro," Chiasa nodded. "This is my safe place."

She did not notice the nervous expression on Haruki's face. Benjiro returned it, being just as hidden. To avoid suspicion, Benjiro said to her, "I hear your first year of college is nearly upon us. That must be very exciting."

"I have mixed feelings," Chiasa shrugged. "I'm excited to take classes I like, but I'm afraid of failing them."

"You?" Benjiro chuckled. "Afraid to fail academically? That should be the last of your concerns. You always have earned As and Bs."

"I'm feeling what you're feeling, Benjiro," Haruki nodded. "I've just met Chiasa, and she seems to know everything."

The soon-to-be college student was blushing. Her fondness of compliments had been mixed with her fear of failure. They were flowing through her like waves in an angry ocean.

"What will you be taking this year?" Benjiro asked his old friend.

Chiasa had told many about her classes, but she kept a friendly tone in her answer, "This semester, I'll be taking World History, Quantitative Reasoning, Art History, Human Rights, and Choir."

"These choices do not surprise me," Benjiro replied. "You have always taken an interest in history, and your voice is that of a goddess."

"You can sing?" Haruki asked Chiasa excitedly. "You never said that."

"I have taken choir classes in all four years of middle school and all four years of high school," Chiasa explained. "My teachers always said I have a strong alto voice."

"Can you sing for me?" Haruki smiled.

"Maybe later," Chiasa blushed. "I don't think an antique shop is the best place to sing."

Benjiro then spoke, "Trust patience, noble Haruki. In time, you may hear Chiasa's voice. That is all I can say at this moment."

More nervousness grew within Chiasa. No one had warned her she would sing for her companion, and she did not like singing outside of class or concert settings. She sometimes sang to herself, but those occasions were different. To lose her nervousness, she would need to navigate her conversation. Her purpose had to be clear in her mind.

"Benjiro," she said, "do you recall a franchise of fictional novels about Tomoe Gozen of Heida?"

The shopkeeper suddenly paused, feeling a flame in his soul. The mention of Tomoe's name was enough to trigger him. His smile seemed to stretch across his cheeks as he spoke, "The Disfavored Hero? The last avenger of Okio? The Thousand Shrine Warrior?"

"Yes," Chiasa nodded, being excited herself. "I have finished the last book."

"And what a legend!" Benjiro laughed with fondness. "Being familiar with it myself, I suppose you have thoughts on that sad duel at the Beach of Tears."

"That is why I came," Chiasa replied. "I know Tomoe killed Shi-u, but not without getting a serious wound. Did she live, or did she die?"

"Who knows?" Benjiro grinned. "Perhaps, it is up to us to decide."

Chiasa bit her lip. Benjiro's answer had already crossed her mind, and she had not been hoping to hear it out loud. She asked him, "Is it possible for readers to guess incorrectly?"

Benjiro was still grinning, "Some say this whole world is an illusion. We always decide what is right and what is wrong, but no one is there to verify our choices. If that can be so for our lives, it can be as such for a book."

Haruki winked at the shopkeeper, but he did not show a reaction. Instead, he looked at Chiasa, who was failing to show her pain.

"Little Chiasa," Benjiro sighed, "I know so much has happened to you. Your mind has been scattered like grains of rice, and your journey has only begun. Perhaps, I can give you something that can help you."

He stood up, letting her know she was expected to follow him somewhere. She did just as such with Haruki close behind her. Benjiro led them to the back of the shop as though they were shoppers. However, he did not gaze at his products as he usually did. He was quick to reach the closet, which was always kept shut.

"Wait by this door," he said. "I will not need much time."

Haruki seemed tempted to follow him, but whatever temptation he had was being resisted. Benjiro entered the closet quickly, not giving his visitors a chance to look inside. They waited for a short time as ordered.

"You say Benjiro saved you?" Chiasa asked Haruki.

He chuckled, "Oh, that. Ever since that day, I've been in his debt. It's my job to…"

Benjiro departed from the closest. There was not much time between the opening and the closing of the door. In his hand was a katana in a scabbard.

"Oh my!" Chiasa gasped. "I never knew you had a katana here."

Benjiro nodded, "Sometimes, facts are given to us one-by-one. I have awaited the right time to give this to you, and I know the time has come."

He placed the sheathed weapon into the young woman's hands. She held it carefully, knowing she would have to take similar actions in a museum career.

"This is a true blade of folded damascus steel," Benjiro explained. "You must guard it well, for it now holds your soul."

"I don't understand," Chiasa shivered. "What's happening?"

Benjiro paused before giving a short reply, "This is your destiny."

Chiasa remained confused. She knew she sometimes trained at the Wang Dojo for recreation, and she had never kept it as a secret. And yet, there was something that had remained unclear. Wanting answers, Chiasa studied the relic in her hands. The scabbard was made of smooth, polished wood. On it was an image of three bars inside of an octagon.

"That katana belonged to the Inaba family," Benjiro continued. "It was forged by the swordsmith Akira, and it has been wielded by powerful hands. Somehow, it has survived every battle it endured. And, it will remain as such if fate is in your favor."

"You want me to keep this?" Chiasa asked him. "How much is it worth?"

Benjiro smiled again, "No sum of money can equal its worth. Only duty, honor, courage, integrity, politeness, compassion, and sincerity."

"The Bushido Code!" Haruki gasped. "Does this mean Chiasa's gonna be a samurai?"

Benjiro gave another short reply, "Only she knows."

"I'm sorry about this, Benjiro," Chiasa said nervously, "but I still have no idea what's going on. What do I do with this katana, and what will happen to Tomoe Gozen?"

"If we receive all at once," the shopkeeper answered, "the meaning of life is no more. Now, do what must be done."

"What about me?" Haruki asked. "I have so many…"

"Stay with me, young boy," Benjiro said. "Chiasa's fate is hers alone."

Chiasa thanked her friend and left the shop. An emptiness conquered her, for she had nothing. Nothing she had sought.

Chapter 2

For all her life, Chiasa had known Richardson. It was where her parents were. It was where her schools were. It was where her friends were. It was where she was. She had been to many places, but Richardson was her home.

It was true that Richardson was not the grandest town to stand. There were plenty of old buildings, some being abandoned. The businesses were local, with the exception of McDonald's, Shell, American Family Insurance, and Berkot's Super Foods. There were children in the town, but they were growing quickly. Those who had already grown were moving to the cities, returning on only special occasions. If it were not for the local newspapers that spread to historical societies and other towns, Richardson would have faded into thin air.

While the town was almost a ghost town, there were some reasonable qualities to it. The public schools were always praised in their reviews, ranging from a preschool to a high school. There was a reasonable park for leisurely recreation, and the sidewalkers were safe for cyclists. The housing was also decent, with only occasional bad reports. It was reasonable enough to make the town almost completely White. If Chiasa's mother had married a man of her race, she might have never called Richardson "home".

Like her mother, Chiasa saw herself as a part of the town. She had been in its newspaper on some occasions, performing in concerts or winning public speaking contests. And yet, even without such reports, Chiasa would have referred to herself as a native. Even despite being born in another town's hospital as her parents had said, Richardson was her home. She had been taught such, and she had accepted it.

Out of all of the things to explore in her town, Chiasa was especially fond of the changing seasons. Even with the organized pattern scientists had established, the seasons were different every year. The differences intrigued Chiasa, whose spirit was very much artistic. But even with differences, the harmonious pattern of nature was there to guide the woman's mind. The warm summer sun set a calming tone with the grass and the trees. In autumn, the leaves became rainbows as they blew across fields of gold. The snow of winter always shone in the sun, and the snowflakes seemed to paint what they touched. And the spring was a time of rebirth, letting flowers present themselves to whoever dared to gaze at them.

The wonders of Richardson and its seasons were two reasons why Chiasa loved to write. Every story has its own face, as does every season. And Richardson mixed the old with the new, establishing a mixed tone. There were many stories in Chiasa's mind, but only so many met paper. She never wrote single ideas, for her mind could hold so much.

Chiasa remembered her unwritten stories as she departed from the antique shop. They were mainly ideas of certain scenes, themes, or individual characters. She had never written them as stories because she liked to finish what she started. There were a few written stories she had never written, and she was not fond of them. Whenever she had writer's block, she would grow anxious.

As much as she loved writing stories, Chiasa loved sharing them with others. She loved to entertain the people she saw, exciting them or making them laugh. Sometimes, she would publish her stories online to attract more readers. She was not a professional writer, but she was dedicated. If she was not studying for her classes or training at the Wang Dojo, she would write.

Chiasa dreamt of working at a museum, but she also wished to be a famous author. While writing was only her hobby at that point, she had many plans for her stories. She wanted to be revolutionary, creating literary landmarks that would be studied by historians and taught by literacy instructors. Even while prioritizing her career goals above her personal goals, Chiasa's dream of writing was enduring like a deity. This was something else that impressed those who read her works.

Out of all the topics Chiasa's books concerned, Japanese culture and myth were the most recurring. Her ancestry helped her relate to the Japanese, but there was more to her source material. Having autism, her interests tended to appear as obsessions. She was used to being raised by a Japanese parent, but her interest in the culture became prominent when she watched the movie version of the first Tomoe Gozen book. The Disfavored Hero was a revelation for eight-year-old Chiasa, amazing her with its vast landscapes, strange creatures, intense battles, and memorable heroine. She had seen the movie long before reading the book, not knowing it was based on a book, but she loved it dearly. She wanted her stories to be as memorable as The Disfavored Hero, even though the movie and its source material were not popular.

Despite her preference for full ideas, Chiasa's unwritten stories comforted her from time to time. She imagined a girl and her pet duck fighting with martial arts, or a girl rebelling against a dystopian shogunate in the future, or a girl who befriended dinosaurs on an undiscovered island. Recalling such ideas reminded Chiasa of where she was when she had thought of them. The story of the girl and the duck was inspired by the Miller Family's vacation in New York City, which was the story's setting. The walking robots at a past cartoon convention made Chiasa imagine a futuristic shogunate. As for the dinosaur island, it was based on a comment a boy in her ninth grade biology class had made concerning Galapagos iguanas, "They look like dinosaurs". Such memories made Chiasa smile, for they were happy occasions. She was fond of the bus tours in New York City, the cosplays at the cartoon convention, and the movies her biology teacher had shown her class.

Now that her college years were approaching, the memories were gaining a ghost-like presence. Her duties as a student would call her away from Richardson, separating her from her friends and family. Inspirations for future stories would be in Jonathan University, or at least in its host city of Sapphire City, Illinois. In her new adventures, Chiasa's stories would remind her of all she had left behind. Of needing to let go of them.

While she was sad to leave her past behind, her future seemed promising. Jonathan University offered rich degrees in history and museum studies, and its autism program was well respected. Since Sapphire City was in the Chicago metropolitan area, Jonathan University's students could study at Chicago's museums. Chiasa would be dedicated to her studies, as would her classmates. Her parents often told her she would grow more independent and confident, traits all adults are expected to show. Chiasa already had some parts of these traits, but she was intrigued by her opportunity to find more.

The woman's mixed feelings of her approaching future were enough to confuse her. She was scared at some moments and excited at others, and the joys and pains of the end of summer were ever-present. She also feared failing the subjects she had chosen to study, despite being skilled at them. There was also the empty promise of finding new friends. No one could tell her if she would find them, or if any would keep in touch with her. Out of all she had faced in her life, the beginning of her college years was the most complex.

Chiasa understood her friend Benjiro had intended to calm her. His message was for her to be at peace with herself, whether reading her books or starting the next phase of her life. And yet, he had only left her more confused than she originally was. The katana he had given her did nothing to erase her confusion, despite its role as a gift. There was also the symbol of the Inaba, whom Chiasa had never heard of until that day. As she carried the relic to her house, she could not help but gaze at the symbol on its scabbard. An unfamiliar symbol it was, demanding her to learn more.

No sooner had she entered her house than did she rush to her office in the basement. It was where she had always done her homework or written her books. She placed the katana on her desk, where her laptop computer was positioned. Excitement flowed through her like water as she opened the laptop and entered "Japanese Inaba Clan" into its search bar. In almost no time, many results concerning the Inaba appeared.

The results mainly described the Inaba as a samurai clan that rose to power in Japan's Sengoku and Edo Periods. This intrigued Chiasa, who was already fond of Japan's rich history. As her research progressed, however, little other information could be found. The Inaba were not listed as the founders of an empire, nor were they famed for attempting to conquer one. It was as though only Benjiro knew the answers she was searching for.

"Welcome back, Chiasa!" a voice sounded from upstairs.

It was Chiasa's father, Albert. He was a White man who was known for his tall stature and bright red hair. Since Chiasa had forgotten to greet him on her return, she was quick to feel guilty.

"Hi, Dad!" she shouted back. "How are you?"

"I'm fine!" he answered. "Come up and talk to me!"

Chiasa was disappointed to pause her research. She was desperate for the truth, and only its reveal could calm her. And yet, she wanted to respect her father. Even if she did not believe in the Japanese value of familial respect, her kind heart would have led her upstairs. She also enjoyed speaking with her father, who seemed fun in his conversations. He smiled at her as she ascended up the stairs.

"How was your walk?" he asked in a friendly tone.

"It was fine," Chiasa said. "I went to the park and read, and I had carrot cake ice cream at Frosty's."

"Sounds like fun," Albert nodded. "It's so nice you're taking advantage of the good weather."

Chiasa wanted to continue speaking of her walk and her ice cream, but she wanted to clear her mind of her worries. This led her to say, "I've finally finished the third Tomoe Gozen book."

"Good," Albert replied. "And how was it?"

His daughter made her tone more thoughtful, "It was interesting. Tomoe won the final battle, but the author never revealed if she lived or died. Her opponent Shi-u struck her in the leg."

Albert gasped, "Tomoe lost her leg?"

"No," Chiasa sighed. "She didn't lose it, but the wound made it difficult for her to walk. Would she have died if the wound got infected?"

Chiasa hoped her father could answer her. As an emergency room physician, he was quite skilled in anatomy and diseases. Therefore, she was disappointed by his answer, "I don't know. It depends on how she treated the wound."

Chiasa bit her lip. The book had never revealed how Tomoe had nursed her leg. All she knew was that the famed samurai used her sheathed katana as a cane. Hoping not to seem impatient, the soon-to-be college student said, "It's okay, Dad. Maybe, the author ended the series with a cliffhanger for dramatic effect."

"That could be," Albert said. "Did anything else fun happen while you were out?"

Chiasa was quick to say, "I met this interesting boy named Haruki. He paid for my ice cream."

"A boy?" Albert chuckled. "Is he in love with you?"

"I don't think so," Chiasa blushed in embarrassment. "All I know is that he's very fond of the concept of ice cream, he can pay in ingots, he's from a family of farmers out of town, and he's friends with Benjiro."

"He is, is he?" Albert continued. "Has Benjiro told you about him before?"
"No," Chiasa sighed. "Today was the first day I've ever heard of him. What makes things more interesting is that Benjiro gave me a katana."

Albert did not speak. His skin grew pale, and his eyes widened. Chiasa began to wonder if she had somehow offended him. She knew he was not fond of her large interest in Japanese culture. Perhaps, he wanted her to exchange the katana for a European sword.

"Are you alright, Dad?" she asked, showing concern.

"Of course!" Albert gasped. "It's just that … I … I've just realized I have something important to do on the computer. Sorry to be inconvenient, sweetie."

"It's alright," Chiasa smiled sweetly. "You do what you need to do."

"Thanks, sweetie," Albert said, returning the smile. "I promise I won't take long."

"Don't worry about it," Chiasa nodded. "I was looking up things on my computer anyway."

Father and daughter exchanged thanks and went on their ways. As Chiasa returned to her office, the thought of her father's strange reaction troubled her. He seemed as confused as she was when Benjiro gave her the katana. The cliffhanger in the book she had finished was now part of a list of concerns. She could not imagine a more unfulfilling day.

She continued researching the Inaba, but her efforts remained fruitless. She began to wonder why Benjiro had given her the katana of a clan that was not well-known. Many figures in history go unknown, as do artifacts. However, there was something Chiasa found especially troubling about the katana. Perhaps, it was merely a piece in a larger puzzle.

After two hours of searching, Chiasa decided to take a break. She felt the stress she felt when completing school projects or studying for texts. She felt as though she were a failure whose only purpose was to prove her uselessness. She had been an achieving student, and her class rank was fifth, but she still felt the pain of failure. Wanting to distract herself, she departed from her office and entered the storage room.

This was not Chiasa's first search through the storage. She had always been awed by the relics she found, whether they were from her father or mother. As items of the past, they seemed to possess minds of their own. Chiasa could not help but examine her mother's dolls, her father's yearbooks, or her grandfather's collection of fossils. The strange beauty of relics was one reason why museum work appealed to her. She had seen every relic the storage room had to offer, but she remained fond of them.

While familiarity was the woman's guide, she did come across a box she had never seen before. It was in the corner of a shelf, hidden by old framed pictures. Chiasa was surprised she had not found it sooner, for she knew herself as a diligent seeker. However, she recalled being delicate with the photos that served as its shield. She had not wanted to stain them with fingerprints, nor had she anticipated breaking them. With the care of a collection manager, she placed the framed photos on the ground with the glass up. She then picked up the box and brought it close to her.

Seeing and touching the box helped her to realize it was made of cardboard. She wondered if it had been used to ship something to her house, for its appearance resembled mailed packages. It was not long before she found two words written on its topmost flaps, "For Chiasa". The words froze her, filling her with excitement. The thought of what the box held was evolving from a simple curiosity. The box might have been a present her parents had forgotten to give her. Perhaps, it was a late shipment they never noticed. There was even the possibility of the box being the item of a joke. The scenarios differed, but they bore one similarity: what was in the box was for Chiasa.

The flaps were not taped, but they were not bent from openings. This made Chiasa more careful to open them in case the box was valuable. She decided it was when she found a woodblock print of Tomoe Gozen. Chiasa decided it was the historical Tomoe and not the Naiponese Tomoe. She knew her novels to be works of fiction written by an American author. On the print, Tomoe was riding a white horse into battle, having her swords, bow, and quiver strapped to her. She also bore a naginata in her hands. Its blade was the color sunlight has as the sun prepares to set, but it was marked with a rosy glaze.

For a moment, Tomoe's naginata reminded Chiasa of the Golden Naginata, a weapon the Naiponese Tomoe had wielded. Its blade was of the same colors, resembling lightning. Chiasa recalled that the Naiponese Tomoe had named the Golden Naginata "Inazuma-hime", which is Japanese for "Princess Lightning".

What are you thinking? Chiasa asked herself. There's no such thing as Naipon or the Golden Naginata. Stick to the facts.

That was when she found a small sheet of paper on the corner of the print. The sheet was small, having been folded many times. Curious, Chiasa removed it from the box and unfolded it. Reading documents is a skill of museum workers, and Chiasa had already mastered it. The sheet's once hidden face read in Japanese, Tomoe Gozen of Heida with Inazuma-hime.

Chiasa stood still in disbelief. The box may have been a prank after all. The painting bore an aging appearance, but someone might have designed it as such to fool her. If she had not reread the paper, she would have missed what the bottom of its face had to say, If Tomoe could persevere through life and failure, so can you. Hold your Lightning Princess in your hand, your wisdom in your mind, and your courage in your heart. Until we meet again.

The paper nearly fell from Chiasa's hands. A voice was telling her the box was a joke, but another was saying something else. Chiasa searched the paper for more answers, but there were none. No place. No date. No name. Even with her skill at reading in Japanese, she was lost.

With a racing mind, Chiasa placed the paper on the shelf and picked up the woodblock print. She turned it around in search of something else, but all that appeared was the symbol of the Inaba. She remained confused, for Benjiro was not known for playing tricks.

"Chiasa!" her mother called. "Dinner's ready!"

"I'll be there in a minute!" Chiasa shouted back.

Being quick and delicate, she returned the print to the book, folded the paper, and placed it on the print's corner. She then closed the box's flaps, trying not to bend them. She did not ascend the stairs until the box and the framed pictures were in their rightful positions.

"Chiasa!" her mother called again.

"I'm going as fast as I can!" Chiasa replied.

She ran up the stairs so as not to keep her parents waiting. The kitchen greeted her with the pleasant smell of shrimp teriyaki rice bowl. It was a signature dish of her mother, Kayoko.

"I hope I wasn't taking too long," Chiasa sighed. "I was working on something in the basement."

"That's alright," Albert smiled. "Do we look mad to you?"

Kayoko looked up from the stove, her face aimed at her daughter. Both of Chiasa's parents seemed happy to see her.

"No," Chiasa answered.

"Then, don't worry about it," Albert continued. "Have a seat and enjoy yourself."

Of course, Chiasa set the table before sitting. She liked to help others when she could, and setting the table was not difficult for her. She filled the drinking glasses, displayed the silverware, and positioned the three servings of the meal. Even with the many thoughts in her mind, Chiasa was happy to swallow her dinner. It was one of her favorite dishes, and each bite brought back pleasant memories of past meals.

"So, Chiasa," Albert said, "your mother has something important to discuss with you."

"What is it, Mom?" Chiasa asked her.

Kayoko swallowed a mouthful of water before she answered, "I know your school year is almost here, and I was thinking about having one last adventure with you this summer."

By this point, Chiasa and her parents had done many things since she finished high school. They had celebrated Albert's birthday in Branson, Missouri; seen Momijigari in Bloomington, Illinois; and enjoyed an exciting dinner at a Brazilian steakhouse. The fun Chiasa had endured that summer was a reason why she was anxious about starting college. Knowing this, she asked her mother another question, "What did you have in mind?"

"I know how much you love the Field Museum," Kayoko grinned, "And I see we only have a couple weeks left of your summer. Perhaps, we could go to the Field this weekend."

"The Field?" Chiasa gasped. "I would love to go there. Thanks for thinking about it."

Out of all of the museums she had seen, the Field Museum was Chiasa's favorite. Ever since she was seven years old, her parents had taken her on trips to the museum to show her its many exhibitions. The complexities of the exhibitions and the stories of the relics inspired the young woman, making her want to work with them as an adult.

"Does Saturday sound like a good day to go there?" Kayoko asked.

It was not long before Chiasa said, "I've been checking my calendar, and I have nothing planned for Saturday. No school shopping, no volunteer work, and no lessons at the dojo."

"I'm also free that day," Albert added, swallowing a bite of his dinner. "It would be nice for us to spend time together before we have to part."

Chiasa could not wait to enter the museum she loved. She had not been there in two years, and she was desperate to return to it. However, she recalled that the day had not always been pleasant for her. Hoping to seem polite, she routed the conversation, "I also have another idea of something we could do together. We could explore the storage room."

"Why would we need to do that?" Kayoko replied. "To help you practice for a museum career."

"No," Chiasa sighed. "To look at something strange I found down there. Have either of you noticed there's a box for me in the storage room?"

"A box?" Albert asked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"It's behind Grandma and Grandpa Miller's wedding photos," Chiasa explained. "It looks like a cardboard box you'd find in the mail, and it's labeled, 'For Chiasa'. I found a note in Japanese and a woodblock print of the Naiponese Tomoe Gozen inside of it."

Albert and Kayoko were completely still. Their dinners had yet to be finished, but neither husband nor wife could move.

"Mom, Dad, are you alright?" Chiasa asked them.

"We…" Albert shivered, "it's just…"

"We're fine," Kayoko said for him. "We've just realized we have something important to discuss after dinner tonight."

Chiasa panicked, "Have I done something wrong?"

"No, sweetie," Kayoko sighed calmly. "This is something between me and your father. You have nothing to do with it."

What was left of the three dinners disappeared, but it did so in silence. As Chiasa placed her beloved meal into her body, she could not help but glance at her parents. Albert Miller's eyes seemed to be weighed with regret. Kayoko Miller did not appear as emotional, but her breathing was not stable. Having autism, Chiasa could sense her mother's breathing. She wanted to speak of pleasant topics, but none could depart from her mouth. She feared such an action would further unsettle the man and woman sitting with her. When at last the meal was over, Chiasa volunteered to fill the dishwasher.

"That would be much appreciated," Kayoko sighed with relief. "While you're busy, your father and I will discuss private matters in our room."

"Okay, then," Chiasa nodded. "Please, take your time."

Her parents quietly left the table, bringing their dishes to the sink. Chiasa pretended not to mind them as she completed the chore she had volunteered herself for. However, she was tempted to observe them. They had not acted in such a manner since the night they had argued on whether or not to have her confirmed as a Presbyterian. Of course, they did not seem to be disagreeing on the current matter. They had seemed equally surprised when Chiasa mentioned the box that was labeled to her. Whatever its purpose was, they knew more about it than she.

Chiasa hurried herself as she put the dishes away. Placing plates, glasses, and silverware into the dishwasher was not a challenge; she had been practicing the tasks since she was a child. It was washing the pots and pans that worried her. Seeing her parents were not there to wash them, Chiasa took to completing their work. Since she was observant as a person with autism, she tended to spend a lot of time cleaning a single item to be sure all of its grime was gone. Her work ethic was useful for many, but she tried to balance it with quickness that night. If she were to learn what her parents were thinking, she would need to listen to them.

Once the dining dishes were put away and the cooking dishes were clean, Chiasa was quick to approach the master bedroom. She was not surprised by its closed door, for her parents did not seem to want to speak with her. As her ear neared its surface, she heard a heated argument between her mother and father.

"It's time we told her!" Kayoko snapped. "How much longer can we hide it!"

"As long as we can!" Albert growled. "As long as she's oblivious, everything will be fine!"

"She won't remain oblivious! Now that she has found the box, there is nothing else we can do!"

"Except keep our goddamn mouths shut!"

"That will no longer be effective! Even if we were to be silent, Benjiro would tell her!"

Chiasa's eyes widened at Kayoko's mention of Benjiro. She remembered her katana, which bore the same symbol as the woodblock print of Tomoe.

"I know this is difficult for you to understand," Albert barked again, "but we have to keep trying! Do you think I want to see our little girl killed?"

Killed? Chiasa gasped in her mind.

Her father had revealed a keystone part of his argument. Whatever her parents were hiding, it determined her chances of survival. However it did so, she was afraid to find out. And yet, something was telling her to learn.

"She's not a little girl anymore!" Kayoko continued. "She may always be little in your heart, but you need to let go! We're sending her to college, for the gods' sake! If we don't tell her the truth now, when will we tell her?"

There was silence. Chiasa was almost sure she could hear her parents breathing. Her anxiousness was intense, making her feel it in her skin. She felt as though someone had attached her to the floor, but she quickly ran to the living room couch. She heard her parents approaching their bedroom door, and she did not want them to know she had listened to them. Therefore, they found her laying on the couch, seeming to be in the midst of a daydream.

"Chiasa," her father said, "do you have a moment right now?"

"Me?" she gasped. "Of course. What do you need?"

"This is an important topic," Kayoko sighed, "but you're not in trouble. Come let us join you."

Chiasa sat up, each of her parents seating themselves at her sides. Both of them seemed as anxious as their daughter.

"Are the two of you alright?" she shivered.

Albert's reply was filled with remorse, "Your mother and I should've told you this a long time ago. Now that you've found that box in the basement, there's nothing else we can do."

Chiasa had learned that from their argument, but she did not show it. And yet, she did not make herself seem surprised. Her parents seemed to know the moments when she feigned emotions.

"Kayoko," Albert said to his wife, "would you be willing to say this?"

"Of course, dear," she nodded. She seemed ashamed in her reply, and what she said to Chiasa bore the same emotion, "Honey, we love you with all of our hearts, but we've been dishonest with you all these years."

"What do you mean, Mom?" Chiasa gulped.

Kayoko sighed, pausing before she said, "You were adopted."

Chapter 3

Life has always been prone to surprises. Some are celebrated, bringing luck and good fortune to those who find them. Others are discoveries some wish were never made. The effects of a surprise depend on circumstances, each differing from others. Surprises often go unnoticed to the world, being important to none other than those who find them. However, the most well-known surprises are those that affect so many. They are what tend to be studied by historians and discussed by teachers.

As a learning historian, Chiasa knew how to tell large surprises apart from small ones. And yet, what her parents had said to her was almost both. It was relevant to none but the three of them, but her life had been forever transformed. She could not unhear what had been heard. She could not undo what had been done. She knew to accept what she had been given, but she could not bring herself to do as such. Her parents–her adoptive parents–could see it in her eyes.

"We're so sorry," Albert sighed. "When you were young, it seemed too soon to tell you. And when we were finally ready, too much time had passed."

"I don't understand," Chiasa shivered. "How did this happen?"

"We don't know, honey," Kayoko said, finding that difficult balance between honesty and politeness. "When we found you, you were left with only what you found in the old box."

After a short pause, Chiasa asked her adoptive parents, "Can you please tell me the whole story of how I was adopted?"

"We can try," Albert nodded solemnly." But, keep in mind, this is a difficult topic for both of us. It may take a while for us to discuss it."

"It's alright," Chiasa said. "I don't have plans tonight."

Albert then addressed his wife, "Could you tell her, dear? You're better at discussing these things than I am."

After silently accepting her husband's offer, Kayoko looked at Chiasa, telling her everything there was to be told, "Before you entered our lives, Albert and I had one biological child. Her name was Clara, and she was born on a beautiful October morning nineteen years ago. Albert and I had already been living happily together, but Clara was a new world. She was proof that an American racial minority could live harmoniously with the White majority, and that minorities could lead happy, prosperous lives. We named her Clara because it is Latin for "bright", and we saw a bright future awaiting that baby on that bright morning. And then…"

Kayoko was on the brink of tears. Chiasa could sense her sorrow, but she still asked her, "Are you alright?"

"We said this is a difficult topic," Kayoko sniffled. "This is why."

"Could I tell the rest of the story for you?" Albert asked.

"I thank you for your offer," Kayoko sighed, "but I think I should continue." And she did, "Two months after Clara's birth, the goddess Izanami came for her."

Chiasa hung her head. Being raised by a Shinto parent, and having studied Japanese mythology, she knew Izanami was a goddess of death. In the Shinto creation myth, Izanami vowed she would kill one thousand humans every day. Whenever Kayoko spoke of Izanami "coming for someone", Chiasa understood the person had died. Gods can seem cruel in the old stories, and Izanami's story makes this clear.

"What killed her?" Chiasa sighed, showing her respects.

Kayoko's answer bore a solemn tone, "It was SIDS. I woke up one night to feed her, but she was cold. I woke up your father and called 9-1-1, but it was too late."

"What made it worse was that it was the Holiday season," Albert added. "You know that at that time of year, Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus."

"Yeah," Chiasa nodded. "I know."

Albert continued, "I am a devoted Christian, but that night, I was mad at God. I asked him why we should celebrate his son's birth when our daughter had died." He started to cry, "I demanded to know if there really are miracles."

Chiasa's adoptive father was close to weeping. She wanted to touch him in a comforting manner, but she could not. Her autism made her sensitive to touch. She feared touching Albert would lead him to touch her in the future, or worse, kiss her.

"It's alright, Albert," Kayoko said, forging a reassuring tone. "I'm getting to the happy part of the story."

Chiasa sat still. As a seeker of the truth, she needed to hear all of it to be at peace.

"The next night," Kayoko continued, "We heard a knocking on our door. We were confused because we heard it at 9:00 in the evening. And when we opened the door, we found a beautiful baby girl on our doorstep. She appeared to be Japanese, and she was found with only a woodblock print and a note. There was no name and no address. We waited for someone to claim her, but no one did. With no one else to raise you, we claimed that duty as our own."

"When you found me," Chiasa asked, "what were you thinking?"

"We were surprised to see you by yourself," Kayoko replied. "The note that was with you was confusing, and the only parts of the print we recognized were the onna-musha and the family symbol. We thought an Inaba would come for you, but our guess was not correct. With that outcome, we decided you were a blessing from our gods."

"A blessing," Chiasa sighed. "An autistic woman who's unsure of herself is a blessing."

Albert smiled, "Think of the wonderful young woman you've become. You're kind, smart, and pretty. Who could ask for more in a child? We love you every bit as much as we loved Clara."

"And, about Clara," Chiasa continued, "was it wrong of me to replace her?"

"I first thought God sent you to replace the baby he killed," Albert said, "but now, I've learned to look at it differently. No one can replace Clara, but no one can replace you either. Perhaps, God killed Clara and gave you to us to teach me that. To teach me what it means to accept and to let go."

"I had the same thoughts about my gods," Kayoko added. "At first, I reprimanded Izanami for stealing what her husband had given to us. But then, I realized she comes for everyone at some point. Someday, she will escort me to the afterlife. As humans, who are we to question the cycle of life? I realized Izanami might have chosen to remind me I am human."

Silence followed. For years, Chiasa had studied religions and philosophical questions. Such aspects of culture are often prominent in the events of the past. As a young historian, Chiasa desired to understand them from the heart. The revelations of her adoptive parents, hidden no longer, reminded her of this desire. She could only imagine how they could help her to understand the events she would study as a working adult. And yet, there was still something missing. Something every orphan seeks at some point.

"One more thing," Chiasa said to her adoptive parents, "if finding me was important for you, why did my biological parents have to lose me?"

"We don't know," Albert said. "We never knew them."

"Remember," Kayoko added, "Benjiro did shed a little light on the subject."

Benjiro. Chiasa recalled her adoptive parents had mentioned him in their last argument. She froze herself, wondering how her friend was connected to her discovery.

"We knew Benjiro long before we found you," Kayoko said to Chiasa. "I believe he and I were Richardson's only Japanese residents. Our meetings with him were frequent when we were searching for your family. The situation was urgent, but he never seemed perturbed. He told us it was your fate to be in Richardson."

"The guy had me on the edge for a while," Albert interrupted. "One day, he said he saw you leaving this world. I thought it meant you were gonna die, and he never clarified himself. There's also the time he warned us not to give you to anyone untrustworthy, but every parent's worried about that. Who knows why he brought it up?"

Chiasa inquired, "What else does Benjiro know about my origin?"

"He is the one who named you," Kayoko replied. "Seeing that no one was coming for you, we decided to give you a name. Since we found you during the Holiday season, your father suggested naming you 'Noel' or 'Natasha'. I found his suggestions to be interesting, but Benjiro had other ideas. After holding you and looking into your eyes, he said 'Chiasa', which means 'one thousand mornings' in Japanese."

"Why 'Chiasa'?" Chiasa asked.

Kayoko smiled fondly as she said, "He claimed he saw a thousand things in your future. A thousand dreams. A thousand opportunities. Neither I nor your father could doubt his wisdom."

"And, did Benjiro ever tell you what the note and the woodblock print meant?" Chiasa shivered.

Albert sighed, "He only said you would find out at the right time." He then tried to sound more hopeful, "Since the print and your new katana have the crest of the Inaba, maybe the Inaba have something to do with it."

"I hope so," Chiasa said. "I've been researching all afternoon, and I haven't found anything significant about the Inaba. All I know is that they're a samurai clan that rose to power in Sengoku and Edo Japan, and it still exists. If I don't find anything else about the Inaba, I'm screwed."

Kayoko suggested, "You might learn more about them at the Field Museum. Right now, they have a temporary exhibit about samurai culture."

"That's true," Chiasa nodded. "And, what if I don't find anything? What would my family, I mean my biological family, think of me?"

"Don't worry about it," Albert smiled gently. "You'll always have a place with us. We might not have made you, but you are a part of us. And, we are a part of you. We are your family."

"I know," Chiasa replied, "but I still want to know more about my biological family. Who are they, where are they, and why did they leave me? What if they didn't even want me?"

"You don't know that," Albert said. "Maybe, they wanted to keep you, but they couldn't give you a good life."

"Maybe, they lost you and never knew about it," Kayoko added. "And, who knows? They might have let you go for your safety."

"My safety?" Chiasa gulped.

She recalled what Albert had asked Kayoko in their last argument, Do you think I want to see our little girl killed?

"Don't worry about it," Albert chuckled. "Just take pride in what you already have. Soon, you'll be in college, and you will be the sculptor of your future."

Chiasa was silent. She had been through so much that day, and she had yet to grasp it all. Her parents, who could read her emotions, could easily see her pain.

"I'll tell you what," Kayoko said to her. "Tonight, we can have a movie night, and we'll enjoy ourselves at the Field on Saturday. How does that sound?"
"I guess we could do that," Chiasa sighed.

Albert added, "To make it special, you get to choose the movie. It can be anything you want. Even that crazy movie about the fish."

"Okay," Chiasa smiled, feeling slightly better. "How does The Disfavored Hero sound? I haven't seen that in a while."

"Sounds good to me," Albert nodded. "A movie might be what we need to cheer ourselves up."

Chiasa was excited to see her favorite movie. She decided watching an inspiring heroine would give her the strength to accept the truth. The note for her had concerned the importance of strength. However, as the movie passed before the Millers, Chiasa could not help but think of the box. Tomoe Gozen had been the woman depicted in the print. The famed onna-musha might have been a window to the past. Chiasa imagined she was such. And while that window was only a shadow in the movie, she seemed to be speaking to Chiasa, demanding her to search.

It was only a matter of time. The tide of fate had finally turned. Rumors were spreading across the land like a wildfire. There was not a single individual who did not know of what had happened. Some had expected it, some were surprised, and all were anticipating. Anticipating what was yet to happen.

For years, Isamu had prepared his body and his mind for such an event. He was confident in his gods being in his favor. As he rode his black stallion across the field, he thought they were smiling at him from the sky. At long last, he would fulfill his destiny. What had been taken from him would be his once more.

One could tell the man was at peace, for he was wearing his kamishimo and not his armor. And yet, he felt as though he were fighting. The energy that comes with defending oneself was flowing through him, drowning his soul. With the light wind of late summer blowing on his face, his vision was that of an eagle. He could almost hear the cries of warriors.

Clear vision has always been a useful tool, but it was what almost destroyed the man's spirit that evening. From a distance was a patch of green standing perfectly still. As his horse approached it, Isamu felt as though his heart had stopped. The battle cries around him were silenced, making way for another sound. A sound of gentleness.

What have you done to me? a woman's voice seemed to say.

Isamu halted his horse, losing his breath. He held his head, for his world seemed to be spinning. No other human could be seen, but a woman's silhouette seemed to be approaching him.

What have you done to me? she asked him again. Have you forgotten?

"Go away!" Isamu screamed. "You are a ghost! Your intentions are evil!"
Am I? she shivered. Please, tell me you have not forgotten.

"What do you want? I have borne the guilt for so many years! Why now have…"

"My lord!" a voice sounded from afar.

Isamu turned his head to see a figure running towards him. He was dressed in peasant clothing, and his straw hat shadowed his face. Isamu climbed from his horse, awaiting the second man. Once he was close to the former, the man did not hesitate to bow, removing his hat from his head.

"You have finally returned, Hisoka," Isamu nodded. "Was there trouble in America?"

"Forgive me, my lord," Hisoka said as he stood upward. "I had never imagined that land having so many ronin. And to believe ours has too many."

He was tense. He knew his life was in Isamu's hands, but he did not show his fear. That was what cowards had done in the past, and such people were seldom respected.

"Forgive me for my impatience," Isamu sighed. "I have no power over the lands beyond my domain. My only request is for you to report to me what it was you found."

Hisoka obeyed his master as he always had, "There is a strange force rising in America. A gift of our people has already been given, and another will soon meet its fate. A spark has been made, and it may become a flame."

"A gift of our people," Isamu repeated to his follower. "None of our treasures have been taken to that other world. Did you see the giving you speak of, and were your eyes clear?"
"Yes, my lord," Hisoka answered. "The Americans have been the least of our concern for almost nineteen years now, but times have changed again. Two souls have gone astray."

Isamu did not seem convinced, "Only two?"

"I found only two," Hisoka said. "But, if there are more, I will find them if you wish."

"Pay close attention to the two you have found," Isamu replied. "If they possess 'gifts' of this land, they must be watched. We have received great trouble from the Americans, and to earn more would be a devastation."

"I understand. I will watch them and their gifts, and I will ensure they do not threaten our cause. I will kill them if I must."

"No! The time to kill them has not come. They might be of use to us."

"But, my lord, they live among outsiders. They may not be open to our cause at all."

"Do not give in to your instincts. They are useful only in battle."

There was silence. Hisoka was tempted to argue with his master, but he was stopped. Isamu had always demanded obedience. Respect was also a virtue to their people. Disrespect was unforgivable, especially if it was shown to those of higher status. Hisoka bowed to show his respect, and he departed in the direction from which he came. Thus, he only saw his master as he knew him.

When Hisoka could no longer be seen, Isamu fell to the ground. His dignity was all that kept him from weeping helplessly. He had ventured to faraway lands, and he had faced many dangers, but they were not what had broken him. It was something neither man nor god could overcome. As he returned to his feet, he scanned the field, awaiting a return.

Chapter 4

Albert and Kayoko had hoped their adopted daughter would not struggle with the truth. Part of them did not want her to, for she already had much to balance. She would need the energy to adjust to life in Sapphire City, staying on a campus and meeting people like herself. And of course, there was the hope that Chiasa would be thankful for their honesty. Honesty is praised by all of the religions of the world. The Millers also believed in the saying that the bitterest truth is better than the sweetest lie. They expected the window to peace to be opened, for they had finally been honest.

Chiasa had always been content with honesty, but her discovery was bittersweet. Until she had known, she had been content with her life. Neither Albert nor Kayoko were perfect parents, but she had never loathed them. She was not fond of Albert's wish for her to be a fundamentalist Christian, but she thought him funny and understanding. As for Kayoko, her practicality and resourcefulness often overshadowed her seemingly short temper. Each of them seemed to compliment one another, adding balance to Chiasa's life.

Now that the truth was clear, Chiasa did not know how to think of the Millers. She had always imagined her personality as a combination of theirs. She liked to be efficient, but she had never intended to be sharp. Now that they had been honest, they had become puppets. They had entertained her in the absence of her true parents. She no longer felt connected to Albert nor Kayoko, for she had not come from them. She was alone with no one like her.

The soon-to-be college student did manage to live her life as planned. She still anticipated studying in Sapphire City, and her vision as a museum employee had remained clear. The instructors at the Wang Dojo still saw her, and her lessons in martial arts and swordplay continued. She also anticipated visiting the Field Museum, and she did not abandon her fantasies of the temporary samurai exhibit. It was as though her parents had never spoken, when in fact they had.

Only one part of her had been damaged. Throughout her adolescence, Chiasa had wanted to be her own character. She was proud to have traits of her adoptive parents, but her wish was not to be their copy. The desire of every young soul had burned brightly in her heart and mind, filling her with the courage to explore the joys and pains of life. She would build her identify, with her parents as only a foundation. With her discovery came the loss of that foundation.

On the nights that followed, Chiasa would see her true parents in her dreams. She could never find their faces, for their identities had remained unknown. They reminded her of the noppera-bo from Kayoko's stories. Each dream was different from the last, but they were similar; Chiasa would find her parents and approach them, only to find they had remained far away. On some occasions, the parents would stare at her, showing the pale, white skin that stood where their faces should have been. They seemed to call to her, but neither spoke.

Chiasa had researched as she had planned. Her research on the Inaba had not ended, but it was now balanced with research on the Naiponese Tomoe Gozen. Chiasa now loved her story more, for the onna-musha still seemed like a window. Information on the Naiponese Tomoe was as scant as that of the Inaba, but Chiasa did not cease to persevere. If she were to find her parents, she would have to search for them. Any name, address, or number she could find was of great value.

All become curious once in a while, but curiosity was not Chiasa's only guide. Ever since she was a child, the Shinto Kayoko had taught her the virtue of filial piety. It was said to bring good luck to individuals, for ancestors were said to bless descendants who respected them. There were also the Japanese fairy tales where the heroes and heroines made choices on behalf of their families. Sakura-ko, the beautiful geisha of Yedo, had sold herself as a geisha to feed her widowed mother. Momotaro conquered the demons of Onigashima on behalf of his parents and their village. Why should Chiasa abandon her parents after Sakura-ko and Momotaro honored theirs? If Chiasa were to embrace her Japanese roots, she would have to behave as her people had.

Despite her fruitless efforts, Chiasa researched whenever she could. The story of Tomoe Gozen kept her going, reminding her that the onna-musha had never given up so easily.

Follow me, Chiasa, Tomoe seemed to say. You are a samurai like myself.

Chiasa was not an official samurai, but she felt as such. That feeling had been born when she first watched The Disfavored Hero, and it had grown alongside her body. If she were struggling with an assignment from her school or an activity at the dojo, she would remind herself to be a samurai. She had planned to continue giving such reminders in college and the workforce. She would give one on her deathbed if necessary.

And then, on the next Friday afternoon, Chiasa found an article: "Historian Believes in Parallel Dimension". The article did not come from a well-known source, nor was it a recent post, but Chiasa was hopeful. Naipon was said to exist in a parallel dimension, and historians are often credited for being trustworthy. She had plenty of time to read it, for her dinner would not be served for another two hours. With the curiosity of a museum worker and the spirit of a samurai, Chiasa opened the article, exposing its story to her desperate eyes:

What do you think of when you hear the word "samurai"? Shining katanas? Scary armor? Gruesome battles? A lot of that is romanticized in popular culture, but Irene Flowers saw so much more than that. To her, those elements were only the surface of samurai culture.

Chiasa knew the name "Irene Flowers". She was an American historian and curator who was famous for her research on East Asian cultures and history. Being familiar with such topics, Chiasa had studied much of Flowers' research. However, none of it had made reference to a parallel dimension. Intrigued, Chiasa read with all her heart:

All her life, Flowers had been fascinated by the cultures of East Asia. They were windows to the past to her, having survived the course of time. The cultures of Western civilizations such as Egypt and Rome were nearly forgotten, being overshadowed by modern ideas and faiths. The East, however, was isolated from the West. China did not fall as Rome had, nor were the Japanese invaded by the Vikings. Therefore, the Asian peoples who dealt with the Boxer Rebellions and the Russo-Japanese War fully knew the customs and beliefs of their ancestors. This made Flowers' work easier, giving her more outlets for research.

It was a temptation to read the whole article, but Chiasa knew to skim through the next paragraphs. The information found within them were facts she already knew: Flowers' early life, the beginning of her career, and her accomplishments with collecting East Asian articles. As Chiasa began to question relying on the article, she came across a fascinating word: "dimensions". That word alone was why she had opened it. She had not wasted her time after all.

Late in her career, Flowers began to write about the possibility of parallel dimensions. She never mentioned such things in her exhibitions, but the topic was one she was fond of. Throughout the late 1970s and early 1980s, she spent her spare time searching for methods of entering one. Some say this hobby was a product of mental insanity, but her nephew, archivist Kevin Adams, had other ideas. He gladly expressed his thoughts to the Field Museum's director Bernardo Estavez:

"While studying a 1690 account of an anonymous samurai from the Sengoku Period, my aunt translated the name 'Naipon'. She initially thought it was a misspelling of 'Nippon', but her research proved otherwise. The samurai had seen another world."

He recalled Flowers telling him of a legend in the account mentioned in the above quote. It depicts an unnamed samurai almost dying in a battle in 1490. An arrow pierced his heart, but he did not wake up in the Land of the Dead. Instead, he found himself in a field he could not recognize. He was found by a female archer in a golden kimono, and she was said to have recently fired an arrow: the arrow that had pierced him. He swung his katana to strike her, but she disappeared.

Wondering what had happened, the samurai decided to explore his surroundings. When he came across a village, he asked the people if they knew of his clan. After they all answered "no", the samurai traveled to more villages. All of the people he found gave him the same answer. Since his last battle had been fought near his clan's native region, he wondered if he had been taken so far from it. Eventually, he asked an elderly man to name the country where they were. The old man gave a simple reply: "This is Naipon the Anchored Empire".

Chiasa grew excited. Never before had she known of Naipon being mentioned in something other than her novels. Perhaps, her woodblock print was a reliable tool.

"Naipon" was not a nation the samurai had known, but it very much resembled his native "Nippon". The people spoke the same language, respected the same gods, and practiced the same traditions. Even their leaders were reflections of Nippon's. As tempted as he was to return to Nippon, the samurai was very much intrigued by Naipon. He traveled its many regions, explored their cultures, and befriended many of its people. He was also said to have seen creatures the Nipponese had only seen in myths and legends. At one point, the samurai wondered if living in Naipon would change his life.

The next part of the story is a mystery, not having been found in the original account Flowers studied. She did find other accounts of the same tale, but their descriptions vary. Some say the samurai married a Naiponese girl and gave her children. Some say he was kidnapped by the demons of a forest. There are even accounts in which he became a god. Regardless, however, they all say he eventually returned to Nippon after becoming homesick. He felt as though he had betrayed his family and his clan by staying in a strange land for five months.

Not knowing how to return to Nippon, the samurai consulted a Shinto priest for help. The priest informed him of a portal within the Mount Fuji crater. Those who leapt into the crater while wearing an omamori only priests could prepare. The samurai greatly thanked the priest, who prepared an omamori to help him on his journey. The samurai wore it under his armor to ensure it could never be lost.

On his journey to the famed volcano, the samurai encountered three obstacles: a band of robbers, a forest of leeches, and a demon disguised as a courtesan. He was successful in overcoming the obstacles, and he managed to reach the volcano in three days. However, upon reaching the crater, doubts began to overwhelm him. What would his clan think of his desertion? What would his family think? Would he be safe in Nippon? He decided he would not know until his journey was complete.

The samurai found himself in Nippon after jumping into the crater. Five months had passed in Nippon as they had in Naipon, but so much had happened. The samurai's clan had fallen, and his family was missing. He opened his omamori in blind grief, expecting it to restore them. After nothing happened, he journeyed to the east and was never seen again.

Even after hearing similar stories, Chiasa was fond of the legend recounted in the article. It had never been heard through her mother, nor had she come across it in other media. She began to wonder if Irene Flowers was the first researcher outside of Japan to study it. Only the article could tell her more.

Not long after uncovering this legend did Flowers become obsessed with it. She studied every account of it she could find, yearning to learn more. Her discovery was close to being revolutionary, considering that she was the first person outside of Japan to study the legend. However, her opportunity disappeared when she began to label the legend as fact. She tried to identify the unnamed samurai as a historical figure, researching the biographies of Sengoku samurai. She also looked up Japan's Sengoku clans to see which ones could have fallen in 1490.

What was responsible for this turn in Flowers' career? Some researchers have suggested she was mentally unstable, being incapable of the job she performed. Some lean more towards Flowers having autism and obsessing more with myths and legends than actual history. There is, however, an individual who claims Irene Flowers' theory is valid: Benjiro Yamazaki.

Chiasa almost lost her breath. She and Benjiro had spoken of many things, including Flowers and her accomplishments. And yet, he had never told her Flowers might have believed in a parallel dimension. Chiasa's thoughts were racing, forming an endless list of possibilities. If Benjiro had hidden the katana, her origin, and Flowers' story from her, what else had he concealed?

Yamazaki was a close companion of Flowers. Like her, he was a historian who specialized in East Asian history. He came across the legend of Naipon shortly after Flowers did so, and he learned of her discovery once his had been made. The two researchers met at the USC Pacific Asia Museum, where they agreed to collaborate in their research. A few years later, they were joined by Kevin Adams.

The project received harsh criticism from the public as soon as it began. However, it was not until 1985 when the public's disdain reached its peak. At that point, Flowers suggested to her collaborators that the original account of the legend had been written by a member of the Inaba clan. It had been retrieved from the clan's home, Mino Province, and its anonymous giver claimed to be descended from the Inaba. Yamazaki stopped collaborating shortly after this discovery, warning Flowers it would destroy their project. Unfortunately for Flowers, he was right.

The Inaba. Chiasa's heart raced as she recalled the symbols on her woodblock print and her katana. Everything was coming together. A voice was telling her she had found what she had needed to find.

On the day Flowers and Adams were about to present her theory to the USC, they were attacked by a crowd of angry critics. They harassed the two researchers, throwing objects and shouting curse words. Aunt and nephew managed to escape, but they disappeared shortly afterward. Adams was located in Los Angeles two months later, but Flowers was never found. Her last known sighting was at the Del Mar train station, but no one could recall which train she boarded.

There are many theories on what happened to her. Some say she abandoned her career and lived and died on the streets, always staying unrecognized. Some claim she moved to Japan or China, where she continued her research in secret. There are also theories that she found the parallel dimension she was looking for and chose to live in it. The mystery of her fate gained as much popularity as the legend of Naipon, and it has been discussed in many conspiracy theory television shows and websites.

Regardless as to what happened, the origins of the legend have remained a mystery. After Adams was recovered, he abandoned his aunt's project altogether, only mentioning it in interviews such as his meeting with Bernardo Estavez. There are still some who believe Naipon's dimension could in fact exist, but evidence of such a possibility remains scanty. People have tried to travel to Naipon themselves, but no one has picked up on Flowers' project. Some say we might have to wait for someone from Naipon to complete the task and come to our world.

"Historian Believes in Parallel Dimension" was one article, but it seemed like many for Chiasa. Already, she had found ideas to support what she had found days earlier. Missing pieces had been found, and found pieces were coming together. And yet, out of everything there was, something was missing. Chiasa did not need to reread the article to identify it.

After recording ideas in a notebook, Chiasa turned off her computer and ascended from the basement. She left a note on the kitchen table; Kayoko had yet to return from her job, and Albert was napping. With only her notebook, pen, and cell phone, Chiasa started down the path to the antique shop. Going there was not a challenge, for the sun was shining and the path was familiar. Her challenge did not come until she reached her destination.

Upon reaching the shop, Chiasa noticed a sign on one of its doors. It was marked "For Sale" in large red letters. This surprised Chiasa, for Benjiro had not mentioned closing his business. She stood there for a while, letting herself adjust to what was happening.

"Excuse me," a voice sounded. "Is something wrong?"

Chiasa turned to see a man standing by her side. She wondered if she had seen him prior to the encounter. His eyes said she had, but his nose and mouth were beneath a black bandana. What could be seen was shaded by a black cowboy hat that stood upon his head. It was the same color as his leather jacket and pants. Curious but suspicious, Chiasa asked him, "Did you ever hear about this establishment being put up for sale?"

The man in black was silent. He had already shown himself to be unsettling, but there was something Chiasa found especially perturbing. She could not identify it, but she could sense it. She could have sensed it if the man were a distant shape. It grew stronger as he said, "What has happened has happened."

"I understand," Chiasa nodded.

The man then asked her, "Do you happen to know of a Yamazaki?"

"Who?" Chiaza shivered.

"A Mr. Benjiro Yamazaki. He is said to be quite famous."

"Of course not. This is only a small town."

"Are you sure of it?"

"Yes."

More silence. Chiasa knew she was vulnerable, and the man in black seemed to know the same. The soon-to-be college student prepared her hand, knowing to call for aid on her cell phone if necessary. That was when the man sighed, "Forgive me for my harsh tone. My day has been quite difficult."

"I understand," Chiasa said. "I hope it gets better."

"As may yours," the man replied as he walked away.

Chiasa did not leave the area until she was sure the man was gone. She did not want to fall victim to crime, especially on the day before a planned trip. She would follow through with her plans at home. Her walking face was faster than it had been earlier. Even with the spirit of a samurai, she was afraid. All humans feel fear at some point.

When she was finally home, she turned on her phone and clicked her phone app. Since Benjiro's surname began with "Y", Chiasa had some scrolling to do before she found his name. She did not hesitate to click it, but he never called her back.

Why are you doing this to me? she groaned in her thoughts. I thought you were my friend.

Chiasa did not speak of the shop or the man in black until dinner. She expected her adoptive parents to be concerned, but her surprise was less than favored.

"People sell businesses all the time," Albert shrugged. "At least you can still call Benjiro."

"Don't you mind about the man," Kayoko said to her. "You did all the right things."

Chiasa was alone. Her adoptive parents would not listen, and her true parents could not be found. She stayed silent for the rest of the meal, knowing neither Albert nor Kayoko would pay mind to the article she had found.

The next stop will be Museum Campus/11th St.

The announcement did not surprise the Millers. They had taken many trips to Chicago by train, and the Field Museum was their most common destination. If the announcements had been muted that day, the Millers would have recognized the landmarks they passed. Chiasa found them especially familiar. With her autism, she could remember many details of her memories, including what she had worn.

A moment before the announcement, she had been reviewing her notebook. Her adoptive parents had always allowed her to entertain herself on their train trips. She had never been a nuisance to other passengers, nor did she want to be. She had been writing a story on her phone, but she had kept her notebook on her lap for much of the ride. It was where she had taken her notes on the Inaba, the Naiponese Tomoe, and now "Historian Believes in Parallel Dimension". Her notes would be of use to her on her visit.

Once the passengers learned of what the next stop would be, Chiasa closed her notebook and put her phone away. As much as she wanted to visit the museum, she was somewhat disappointed to stop working. The novel she was writing had yet to be titled, but the protagonist was very much herself. It was the story of Hina, a young woman who had also made the discovery of being adopted. She had begun a search to find her own true family, leading her to leave her home in Missouri in search of them. Since Hina was her reflection, Chiasa knew how to understand her. She was almost like a friend, giving Chiasa the comfort she needed to move on. Putting the novel away resembled saying goodbye to that friend.

Once they had readied themselves, Chiasa and her adoptive parents walked into the train's door corridor. The windows were thinner than those in the cars, but they stood tall. Behind one set was Lake Michigan, shining in the morning sunlight. The Millers could barely see its top, but a faint shade of blue was present. The other set of mirrors presented a view of the city, praising its skyscrapers. As much as Chiasa loved the countryside, she saw the city as having a different kind of beauty. Something that could be grasped only by those who could be in the city themselves.

As much as they were awed by the landscape, the Millers knew to await their stop. They were not hesitant to depart from the train, for they did not wish for it to carry them away. A gentle breeze blew upon them as if to welcome them to the famed Chicago. Even with all of her thoughts spinning in her mind, Chiasa was at peace. She would have a new adventure at the museum. One last adventure before those she would have in Sapphire City.

"Chiasa!" a voice cried.

The Millers froze. The voice's tone resembled that of a man being attacked. They searched the area, expecting to find someone running. That was what they found, but the runner did not seem to be in danger. He was by himself, and he did not seem to be in pain. He slowed himself as he approached them.

"Good morning to you all," he panted. "Sorry I'm late."

All of the Millers were confused, but only Chiasa could bring herself to speak, "Haruki? What are you doing here?"

Haruki slowed his breathing before answering her, "I was supposed to wait here for you, but I got delayed. There were things I had forgotten to do."

"I understand," Chiasa shrugged, "but, why are you here in the first place?"

"That's simple," Haruki smiled. "Benjiro and I are going to the Field Museum today, and we learned you and your parents were coming. We decided to greet you here and accompany you, but Benjiro went some other way."

"Chiasa, who is this?" Kayoko asked her, almost sounding sharp.

Chiasa sighed, "Mom, Dad, this is Haruki Yoshida. He's the boy I met at Frosty's the other day."

"Well," Albert chuckled, "it's a pleasure to meet you, Haruki. How was your trip?"

"Excuse me, Albert," Kayoko said to him, "but can you and I talk amongst ourselves?"

"Sure thing," Albert nodded. He turned to Chiasa and said, "you wait here with your friend. We won't be long."

"Don't worry about it," Chiasa said. "You just take your time."

Her adoptive parents entered the station's corridor, leaving her with the strange boy. She thought she could see them arguing, but their words were inaudible.

"The city really is a nice place," Haruki smiled. "Lots of places to see, so many people, and of course, the lights at night. Hard to find those where I'm from."

"Cities are amazing places," Chiasa replied, "but I'm still confused. Who ever told you that my parents and I are going to the Field Museum? I haven't seen you since Wednesday, and my parents have never mentioned finding you."

Haruki widened his eyes, standing in silence. He appeared as though someone had shot the back of his head. The twitching of his fingers suggested he was struggling to imagine an answer. Chiasa's suspicions were at their peak when he said, "I came to see Benjiro on Thursday, and I overheard him talking on the phone with your father. They were talking about all the trips they had planned. After they hung up, Benjiro invited me to come with him. We decided to greet you as a fun little surprise."

"Well," Chiasa nodded, "we always like surprises."

Her suspicions remained, but she did not tell him so. She decided having him be paranoid would further conceal the truth from her.

"Anyway," Haruki continued, "Benjiro's waiting for you at the main entrance. He's really excited to see you. When we talked about surprising your family, he went on and on about you."

"I'm sorry if that got boring," Chiasa giggled. "I don't want to seem like a show-off."

"Oh no, you're not!" Haruki gasped. "He's just very fond of you, and he's made me fond. I'm sure you'll make a lot of friends at college."

Chiasa blushed, "I hope so. The autism program is supposed to help me connect to other students. But, my main fear is doing well academically."

"Which you will," Haruki nodded. "By the way, I recall learning that you're quite the talented singer. Is this a good time for you to sing me a song?"

Before Chiasa could answer him, they heard Kayoko calling, "We're here, Chiasa!"

Saved by the bell, Chiasa thought.

She turned around to see her adoptive parents approaching her. Albert's pace showed excitement, but Kayoko's was slightly slowed.

"Chiasa," Albert said, "your mother and I have come to an agreement. It's okay for Haruki to come with us and enjoy the museum."

"Really?" Haruki gasped out of excitement.

Kayoko sighed, "We are always fond of the friends our daughter has."

"Thank you so much!" Haruki cheered. "This is gonna be an amazing day!"

And hopefully, a productive one, Chiasa gulped in her mind.

She had not imagined her parents becoming suspicious of her note-taking. They had always been fond of her studying her favorite topics, and they respected her nature as a studious student. Haruki, on the other hand, was still very much a stranger. No one could tell her if he would question her actions. Her only hope was Benjiro, who had always complimented her hard work. If Haruki troubled her, she hoped, Benjiro could be her ally.

Chapter 5

Benjiro was close to pacing. He knew the Field Museum to be a joyous place for many, but the visitors had not seen what he had. He knew he could see things others could not, but such a skill did not always entertain him. His dream from the previous night was still a living vision. It ran freely through his mind as if to possess him. It was not the first time such a dream had come to him, but peace had yet to find him.

Many images could be found in the dream: an archer woman in a golden kimono, an army of demons wielding weapons of stone, the hideous laughter of an elderly man, and a young woman with a wakizashi slitting a painted face of Tomoe Gozen. If the images were bad omens, he would have to avoid similar circumstances before too late. And yet, something almost told him not to know. Destiny can be found, but none can alter it. He had learned that long ago.

"Hey there, Benjiro!" a cheerful voice called.

He almost gasped, having to return his mind to the world. Not far from him was Haruki, leading a familiar band of people. Only one part of the spectacle unsettled the antique seller.

"Haruki," he snapped, "what are you doing here?"

The boy laughed, "Didn't you want me? We're friends, right?"

Benjiro's gaze met Chiasa, who wore his surprise and worry. They were silent, but they exchanged many words. Chiasa was the first of them to speak, "It's good to see you again, Benjiro. Haruki's excited to be in the city today."

"I see," Benjiro said, hiding uncertainty. He turned to Haruki, "And, I can assume your trip was safe."

"You're not mistaken," Haruki beamed with excitement. "I … there was hardly any traffic at all. What a surprise?"

"No traffic," Kayoko repeated. "On a Saturday."

"What luck was that?" Haruki smiled. "I was driving … the only car on the road."

The face Kayoko wore for her husband was drenched in concern. To her surprise, Albert smiled reassuringly. Neither of them knew of Chiasa watching them.

"Now, then," Benjiro continued, "I suppose we must do what we have come to do."

Chiasa was relieved by his words. After all that had happened until that moment, she was relieved to find a distraction. The Field Museum was almost her second home, welcoming her with its halls and displays. Her adoptive parents, Benjiro, and Haruki trusted her to lead them, for she had been there many times. Benjiro also knew the woman would have to lead at some point. He decided letting her lead a group at a museum would prepare her for what awaited. As for Haruki, he was excited to learn more about his new friend.

Like the landmarks of Richardson, the Field Museum's exhibitions reminded Chiasa of pleasant events. To find the skeleton of the triceratops was to find a seven-year-old Chiasa having a conversation with it. Some found the face of the Aztec sun stone to be foreboding, but it reminded Chiasa of the time her nine-year-old self had been mesmerized by its eyes. As for the statue of Maitreya, it almost spoke to her, treasuring every moment when her thirteen-year-old self had reenacted Buddhist legends in her daydreams. Unlike many young people she had known, Chiasa adored the museum more than many other places. She often hoped it would be a place in which she would work, finding inspiring young people who were like herself. She would even be a role model for those with autism, reminding them they could still live happy, successful lives.

There was great joy to be found in the displays, but there was something else as well. Chiasa had not found it on her other visits, but it was now standing clearly before her. It was not designated to a single area. Everywhere she looked, she found her younger self having fun with her family. Her adoptive family.

Even with her distractions, her longing was a demanding force. The Millers still seemed like her family, but they were not the reason she lived. Her true family was out there, awaiting the return of their lost daughter. If she were to feel complete as an adult, she would need them to see her. To accept her. To give her the power to progress.

With the mystery of her family came those of the Inaba, Tomoe Gozen, and Naipon. Whatever the truth was, she needed to find it. Now that Benjiro seemed to have some connection to it, he needed to be consulted. She would wait until the next moment of rest, but she would speak with him. For her, it was destiny.

Recalling her search, she remembered learning about the museum's temporary exhibition. It was supposed to concern samurai culture and its influence on Japanese history. The museum's website had revealed some of its displays would be those that had been arranged by Irene Flowers. Whether Flowers was a pioneer or a maniac, she was a part of Chiasa's quest. Even if she had no connection to Benjiro, her role was like his.

Before Chiasa could suggest coming to the exhibition, Haruki asked her if he could go to the restroom. Once she obliged, her adoptive parents made the same request.

"The three of you are not our prisoners," Benjiro said. "Chiasa and I can await you at the samurai exhibition."

"Is that where you'd like to go next?" Chiasa asked him.

He smiled, "It is what I have been waiting for this week."

"Well then," Albert chuckled, "we should be on our way."

"You take your time," Chiasa said in a friendly tone.

As her adoptive parents and Haruki went on their way, she felt her body growing tense. For her, it was a feeling that always came with nervousness. She wanted to speak with Benjiro, but something seemed to be saying otherwise. No one could tell her if he would listen, or if he would help her. She had the option of avoiding unwanted circumstances. And yet, there was no one to say they would happen.

"It helps we are all who remain together at this moment," Benjiro said to her. "There is something I have to discuss with you."

"There's something I'd like to talk about as well," Chiasa nodded. "You go first."

When her friend spoke again, he seemed just as concerned, "Last night, I had a dream of many visions. Deciphering dreams has never been a challenge for me, but my recent visions have been troubling. Have visions appeared in your last dreams?"

"No," Chiasa answered, almost asking.

Benjiro's tone grew more serious, "The first image was a beautiful woman in a kimono of gold. She held a fine bow with which she used to shoot an arrow. The arrow flew almost like lightning, striking my heart."

"That reminds me of the legend of Naipon," Chiasa nodded.

"Naipon?" Benjiro gasped.

He was frozen. Chiasa was greatly confused, for was not the type of man to stop in the center of a walkway. She could hear him breathing as if to calm himself.

"Forgive me," he sighed. "I was only having a devastating memory return to me."

Chiasa decided he had referred to Irene Flowers. She was tempted to ask him about her, but she knew not to change their conversation so suddenly. To ensure he did not grow suspicious, she asked him, "What were your other visions like?"

He sighed, "They were just as startling." They continued walking as he spoke, "I became blind when the arrow struck me, and I wish I had stayed as such. When my vision returned, I found an army of demons with weapons of stone. They resembled the demons the sorcerer Huan had summoned in Tomoe Gozen's story."

"Were Huan, Tomoe, or Ushii there as well?" Chiasa asked.

"I do not know," he friend replied, "but I could hear an old man laughing. Perhaps, it was Huan. There was also a large painting of the Naiponese Tomoe Gozen before my very eyes. As I recognized her…"

"Chiasa!" Haruki cried.

"They're here?" she gasped. "That was fast."

Benjiro sighed, "I realize our time has been cut short. To ensure our talk was not in vain, you must keep this with you."

He removed an omamori from his pocket and placed it around her neck. It was a fine omamori of red thread, and it was marked with a white symbol with three commas. Chiasa knew the symbol as the Naiponese Tomoe's, having been the onna-musha's emblem in her battles near Kyoto.

"You may not know why you have received this," Benjiro said, "but you will learn in time as we all learn."

That was when they were approached by their three companions. Haruki was as eager as he had been previously, and Albert and Kayoko seemed content.

"You guys are just in time," Chiasa smiled. "We've just arrived at the exhibit."

She had spoken the truth. Not far from her and Benjiro was a dark corridor with glass doors at its end. A large banner hung in front of the corridor, marking it as a space for temporary exhibitions. The banner depicted a suit of samurai armor from the Muromachi Period. In front of it was the current exhibition's name, Legacy of the Samurai. The excitement of exploring a new exhibit was strong in the group of five. It grew stronger as they scanned their exhibition tickets and passed through the glass doors.

In every museum, an exhibition is another world. One enters a space separate from the world they know. Once inside, they are surrounded by objects they would not expect to find. They explore the objects, wanting to see beyond what they can see. This was what Chiasa felt when she entered Legacy of the Samurai. The light around her was dim, but she did not mind. The dimness enhanced the effect, telling her she was no longer in Chicago. She was in a land of fearless warriors.

As a future museum employee, she knew to differentiate history from fantasy. She loved the myths and legends of Japan, and she adored the stories of the Naiponese Tomoe, but she understood the role of real samurai. They were the tools of powerful men who were famed for conquest and authority. Courage, honor, and compassion were essential to the samurai, but loyalty overshadowed them. A samurai was expected to place his master above his family. Failure to serve a master required a samurai to kill himself in a ritual known as seppuku. The life of a samurai was never his own.

There were times when Chiasa wondered how the samurai of history had viewed their world. They were conscious humans, but their loyalty was what defined them. Only they knew if they truly believed in what their masters believed. This thought crossed Chiasa's mind as she explored the exhibition. Every weapon and suit of armor reminded her of the benefits and consequences of being a samurai. Even with the honor they won and the trust they were shown, they were pawns in a game they could not see.

If I could close my eyes and awaken as a samurai, she thought, would I do it?

If not for her sharp memory and watchful eyes, her philosophical thoughts would have blinded her from her mission. She would have been like the samurai of history, focusing only on what they could see. The emblem of the Inaba appeared on a suit of armor. As her eyes transitioned to the display's description, they caught the name "Irene Flowers". Chiasa could not imagine if she had been oblivious to other Irene Flowers artifacts, but it did not seem important at that moment. She read the label with the eagerness of a samurai, but it merely described the breastplate as being from the Inaba. She felt as though she were a falling leaf.

"Are you alright?" a voice sounded.

She turned to see a young woman about her height. The woman wore a blue shirt and tan vest, the uniform of a museum guide. On it was a name tag labeled, "Ai". Chiasa could find other ways in which Ai resembled her: she appeared to be Asian, her hair was long and straight, and her eyes bore a curious hunger. Chiasa found her appearance to be a good omen. She said, "Everything's fine. I'm just curious as to how Irene Flowers acquired this piece."

"Irene Flowers?" Ai smiled. "Many museum workers know about her. We're thankful for her hard work in studying East Asian history."

"All of it?" Chiasa asked.

Ai nodded, "Yes. Even her conspiracy theory about the legend of Naipon."

"That theory is quite a topic," Chiasa chuckled nervously. "Too bad it cost her her reputation. She was an extraordinary woman."

Ai was silent for a moment. Chiasa assumed she was about to leave, but the guide made a motion. She said, "Come with me to the corner. There's something special I have to show you."

"About this exhibit?"

"I promise it won't take long. I just thought that as someone curious about Irene Flowers, you'd want to know about it."

Chiasa looked at her four companions. Haruki was gazing at a naginata, Benjiro was studying the end of the Sengoku Period, and Albert and Kayoko were resting on a bench. To Chiasa, they would not miss her if she stepped away for a short time. She let Ai lead her to a corner, wondering what it was the guide had to tell her. Chiasa found a strange eagerness in her face as they walked. The soon-to-be college student had been eager many times before, but Ai's eagerness was almost unearthly.

Once they had settled, Ai did not hesitate to speak, "The legend of Naipon is not widely talked about these days. Most people disregard it as an urban legend or a conspiracy theory. I, however, have my own thoughts."

"Alright," Chiasa nodded, being a patient visitor.

"Anyway, I'm beginning to wonder if the person who gave Flowers the first account of the legend was Naiponese himself."

"Naiponese?"

"Yes. Their interaction was the first time anyone who was not Japanese had heard of the legend. And, even then, it was not very popular on the Japanese islands. Only a few people knew it, and all of them were from Mino Province. Flowers even claimed the person she met proved he was Naiponese. He told her about Tomoe Gozen."

"As in the wife of Minamoto no Yoshinaka?"

Ai was grinning. She dramatically paused the conversation only to answer Chiasa, "Not Kiso Yoshinaka, but Kiso Yoshinake."

A chill fell down Chiasa's spine. She gasped, "Do you mean that the man who gave the Flowers the account was talking about the Naiponese Tomoe?"

Ai grinned, "The giver was named Toshiaki Inaba, and he claimed to be a part of the Inaba Clan. He did not have enough evidence to prove this claim, but he had complete faith in it. That was when Flowers realized he was referring to the Naiponese Inaba and not the Japanese Inaba. Unfortunately, neither he nor Flowers could prove that the Naiponese are a real people. All who believe in their claim are people like me."

"And, why do you believe in Flowers' theory?" Chiasa asked.

"I've been to Naipon myself," Ai replied. "I will prove myself to you right now."

She reached into her vest pocket and removed a hirauchi kanzashi. The hairpin was gilded in a coating that nearly resembled the decorated armor Chiasa had seen. On its round surface was an image of an iris blossom. The accessory was placed into her hand, enchanting her with its strange beauty. In a room filled with relics of war, the object of beauty was a spectacle. A reminder that beauty can be found even in unexpected places.

"Chiasa, are you alright?" Haruki asked her.

She found Haruki approaching her from behind. To avoid suspicions, she placed the hairpin into her pocket.

"I'm alright," Chiasa blushed. "I was just intrigued by the exhibition."

"You should be," Haruki chuckled. "I've never seen anything so amazing."

She looked back where Ai had been standing, but the guide was not there. Surprised, Chiasa looked around to decipher her from the other visitors. Not a single one was wearing her regalia, nor did their faces resemble hers. There was, however, an Asian woman who appeared to be a bride-to-be. She wore a white shiromuku, and her face was greatly shaded by her wataboshi. She was accompanied by six young ladies in kimonos.

"Hey, Haruki," Chiasa motioned, "I think someone's getting married."

Haruki sighed in a dreamy tone, "Young love is such a beautiful thing. Even when the wedding's at a place for scholars."

Chiasa peeked at the bride-to-be again, for such a sight was not a common attraction at museums. The shadow from her wataboshi almost made her eyes invisible, but the lower part of her face could be seen. Her nose and mouth were covered by a surgical mask. Chiasa was unruffled, for the tradition in Japan was for the sick to wear such masks until they were healthy. Even those with colds upheld it. And yet, there was something strange about the bride-to-be. Something only Chiasa seemed to notice. There was a strangeness in the woman's eyes, almost displaying unearthliness.

Chiasa was relieved the exhibit's path was not crowded, but she was disappointed. Staying clear of the strange woman meant hurrying through the exhibit, losing all opportunities for research. She looked at the bride-to-be again, who almost seemed to be grinning at her. The soon-to-be college student was quick to find a guide. She reported the bride-to-be to him, knowing the policy of reporting mysterious characters. However, the mysterious character was gone when the guide searched for her.

"It looks all clear, miss," he said. "But, if you see her again, be sure to report her location immediately."

Chiasa was one to follow such orders, but the bride-to-be did not appear again. She awaited the strange woman, even as she did her research. Unfortunately, her efforts at the museum were as vain as her searches on the Internet. Whenever she found the name "Inaba" or "Irene Flowers", she was reading an account that had no connection to the legend of Naipon. Even with Flowers' theory being an urban legend, Chiasa was disappointed not to find it.

To expand her chances of succeeding, she searched for accounts of Tomoe Gozen. There were a few to be found, but they concerned the Japanese Tomoe. The only mention of Naipon she found had come from Ai. Chiasa was tempted to ask a guide about Naipon, but she hesitated. If Flowers had been ridiculed for her theory, no one could say Chiasa would not meet a similar fate.

Throughout the rest of her adventure, Chiasa felt a heavy emptiness in her heart. It did not come from seeing the bride-to-be, nor was the truth about her family responsible. It was the emptiness that comes with failure. She had never been obligated to research Naipon, but it had become her duty. A duty she had failed.

The evening passed as though nothing strange had happened. The Millers and their friends stayed at the Field Museum until it closed. Once they left, they rode a taxi downtown to a pizza restaurant. They ordered deep dish pizza, for Chiasa was not sure if it would be served at the dining hall at Jonathan University. Its rich flavors flowed through her mouth like an ocean, but they did not distract her from her emptiness. Both of her adoptive parents mentioned she did not seem alright.

"I'm fine," she would say. "I'm just stressed about college."

In both cases, Albert would tell her, "You're gonna be fine. We're not worried about you."

"I believe I know how you can restore your confidence," Benjiro said after the second occurrence. "Do you remember what the Japanese say about the sakura tree?"

Chiasa nodded, "If you wish upon the tree, the wish will come true."

"Perhaps," Benjiro grinned, "a wish upon a sakura tree can help you. It may be the end of summer, but there is still a tree you can wish upon. The souffle pancake restaurant next door has a tree with fake sakura blossoms in its window."

"Will the wish come true with fake blossoms?" Chiasa asked him.

Benjiro chuckled, "What difference is there? You are a brave young dreamer who wants a prosperous future. I am sure the gods can speak to you through anything. In fact, you should go and make the wish now before Amaterasu reaches her bed."

"Someone should accompany you, sweetie," Kayoko said to her. "The city's not a safe place."

"I'm sure she'll be alright," Benjiro said. "She is eighteen years of age. And, if you consider the Japanese aging process, her age is nineteen years."

"I'm with you, Benjiro," Haruki nodded. "You should've seen her at the Field, Kayoko. She studied like an ancient scholar."

"She's always been like that," Albert added, showing pride in his tone.

Chiasa did not know who to support. She was an obedient daughter, but she knew of her capabilities. She was also one to avoid conflicts whenever such an action was possible. However, she did not have power over the people who had eaten with her. They looked at Kayoko, awaiting her answer. At last, the mother sighed and spoke to her adopted daughter, "I suppose I could let you go for a little while. However, you must be sure to stay out of trouble."

"I will, Mom," Chiasa replied. "I always do."

"I'm not worried about you out there," Albert smiled. "I know you're not gonna get into some stranger's car and get drunk with him."

Chiasa laughed, "You never need to worry about that. I don't even drink."

After bidding brief goodbyes to her companions, she stood from her chair and departed from the restaurant. She knew the souffle pancake restaurant was nearby, but she could not resist standing still. The spell of the city had been cast on her again. Her omamori seemed to disappear, for the sights of downtown Chicago stole her senses. All sorts of people were walking in many directions. Bright colors and strange noises filled the streets. A few street musicians added to the melody, playing their drums made from plastic buckets. A golden light turned the scene into a painting, announcing the coming sunset. There was even a Japanese bride and six attendants approaching Chiasa from the sidewalk.

The presence of a bride is a symbol of happiness. Those who watch her imagine the future she is approaching, and the many joys her bridegroom will give to her. For Chiasa, however, the presence of this particular bride was unsettling. The shadow on her eyes and the surgical mask on her mouth reminded her of something unpleasant. Since she had seen the bride previously, Chiasa wondered what had become of her wedding and her bridegroom. Should the bridegroom not be with his new wife?

"Excuse me, miss," the bride said to Chiasa, "are you lost?"

The bride's voice was gentle, but Chiasa was not the least bit unruffled. The unearthliness of her eyes was present once more.

"I am not lost," Chiasa shivered.

"Why do you stand, then?" the bride inquired.

Chiasa did what she could not to sound worried, "I was enjoying the city. It's quite marvelous."

The bride nodded, "So, it is, as if your face."

"Thank you," Chiasa blushed, remaining nervous.

"I know how I can make your lovely face even lovelier," the bride continued. "There is a special kind of powder made for girls who crave beauty. I myself use it, and I am proud of its work. Perhaps, you would like to try some on."

"No thanks," Chiasa said, smiling politely. "I'm good."

Even if the bride did not seem suspicious, Chiasa would have refused her offer. She had many memories of her adoptive mother warning her not to trust unofficial vendors.

"I do not believe you understand," the bride sighed. "Today, I have applied much of this powder to my face. Tonight is the night I wed, and I wish to be beautiful for my destined husband."

Chiasa's smile became forced, "I'm happy the power worked out for you, but I currently don't find myself in need of makeup. Thanks anyway, though."

The bride reached into her sleeve, removing a small tin container. As she opened it, Chiasa could see the white powder it held. The bride calmly said, "All I ask is that you apply some powder to your face. It would be an unforgivable sin for me to hide the secret of true beauty."

"Thank you," Chiasa said more firmly, "but I really don't want any powder."

The bride was still, but her breathing grew tense. She then growled, "You will wear it."

She ran to Chiasa, intending to dump the powder onto her face. Chiasa was quick to turn and run away. She could hear the bride and her attendants running behind her. The soon-to-be college student scanned the streets, searching for anyone who could help her. Many people were stunned by the chase they saw, but they could not move. Their fears had chilled their bones.

The city's beauty turned to chaos as Chiasa ran. The neon lights that were appearing became quick flashes, making the city resemble a video game. The faces of the people she passed seemed to disappear. At one point, she heard some of them screaming. She looked to see her pursuer, and her fear was strengthened. The bride's wataboshi had been blown away, revealing an eyeless face. Chiasa's eyes widened at the spectacle.

"You have refused to accept my beauty," the bride growled. "Now, welcome my utter ugliness!"

In a single heartbeat, the bride ripped the surgical mask off her face. The action by itself was enough to surprise Chiasa, but that was only the start of her horror. Now that the bride's face was free of its coverings, it was clear that its only feature was a large mouth filled with black teeth. Chiasa froze, completely shocked. The six attendants laughed at the frightened woman, and their laughing was not silenced by their disappearing features. Unlike the bride, however, the attendants had no features at all. The people watching them were just as frightened, but they did not know to fight or flee.

"You are noppera-bo!" Chiasa gasped. "Faceless yokai who play tricks on humans. But, I thought your tricks were supposed to be harmless."

The bride grinned, "You may refer to myself as Ohaguro Bettari. And, I'm surprised you haven't fallen to your death. But, then again, we are not in the mountains."

"What do you want," Chiasa growled, trying to hide her fears.

Ohaguro Bettari cackled, "A great and powerful man has sent me to deliver you to him. He claims your presence will help him achieve his wildest dreams. However, I see no point in keeping you alive. You humans are careless creatures who have no fondness for the world, or for life. You would not mind if I had you for my next meal."

Chiasa felt a warmth on her chest. She looked downward to find her omamori glowing. When she touched it, her Inaba katana appeared on a strap on her body.

"You wish to die a warrior's death?" Ohaguro Bettari cackled again. "What a waste. I'd prefer you die not like a man, but like a woman."

She removed another container of powder from her sleeve. As she prepared to open it, Chiasa unsheathed her ancient weapon. She heard some of the bystanders gasping and muttering. The six attendants appeared to be doing the same. She then heard the sound of the container's lid being removed. She leapt to her side as Ohaguro Bettari flung its contents into the air. A woman watching them screamed as the powder landed on her face.

"Do not worry, little samurai," Ohaguro Bettari said. "I have plenty of tins."

Chiasa was horrified again as she looked at the powdered woman. Her face decayed like a fruit, leaving only a skull. The man she was with screamed, knowing he was helpless. Chiasa pitied him, but she knew of the larger threat. She looked at Ohaguro Bettari to see her holding a third tin. The woman ran to her side again, positioning herself behind the black-toothed yokai.

What happened next was fast. If anyone attempted to recollect it, they would have failed miserably. Chiasa suddenly found herself standing still, her blade having been swung. She found red markings on her steel. Unsure of herself, she looked at what had once been Ohaguro Bettai. The creature's head was on the road, its mouth showing all its hideous teeth. The rest of the body was lying in the ground. Chiasa did not have to look at its neck to see the puddle of blood.

The woman had frightened herself. She had experienced her first fight. She had been in many fights at the Wang Dojo, but those were mock fights. Never before had she taken a life. Even while her actions had been made out of self-defense, something taught at the dojo, Chiasa now had a horrifying power. She could feel it, as could the bystanders.

"Chiasa!" a voice cried.

It was Benjiro's. Chiasa found him, Haruki, and her adoptive parents running to her. The four runners stopped themselves when they found the decapitated corpse. The six attendants ran in all directions, not wanting to meet a similar fate. Only Benjiro did not show fear. He spoke to Chiasa in a serious tone, "What have you done?"

"I don't know," she shivered. "There was a yokai, and I think I killed her."

"A yokai?" Haruki gasped.

Chiasa took some time to recollect the previous events, "There was a yokai with only a large mouth with black teeth. She was dressed like a Japanese bride. I think her name was Ohaguro Bettari."

"The black-toothed bride," Benjiro growled.

Chiasa nodded, "She said a powerful lord had sent her to take me, but she wanted to kill me instead. She called human lives meaningless."

Benjiro then gave her orders, "Clean your katana, put it away, and come with me."

Chiasa gulped, "What are you…"

"Do it!" Benjiro snapped.

Chiasa wiped her katana on Ohaguro Bettari's shiromuku. She was quick to sheath the weapon, making sure she could not be convicted of manslaughter. However, she knew the bystanders could report her to the authorities at any time. She looked at her adoptive parents, who seemed just as horrified.

"Benjiro," Haruki said quickly, "what are we gonna do?"

"Take Mr. and Mrs. Miller to Richardson immediately," Benjiro answered. "Take them just as they came, and keep them safe. Chiasa will come with me."

He ran down the sidewalk at the moment his mouth closed. Chiasa was quick to follow him, but her mind was still balancing thoughts.

Chapter 6

He had to return. He had hoped such a moment would not come so soon, but it had. Even after sending many prayers to the gods, his duty was to return. Isamu was not one to show cowardice, but he was greatly tempted. Out of all of the people in the world, he was the one to have to go. He was overcome with doubt.

As he readied himself and his horse, many thoughts sprouted from his doubt. He was surprised, for doubt had yet to become his acquaintance. And yet, some might say it was inevitable. Not a single human carries doubts, nor are they free from regret. Isamu had learned these lessons long ago. Long enough ago to expect peace. Peace merely had yet to come to him.

The sure man did not look back as he rode beyond his residence. If he were to fulfill his duty, he could not cling to what tempted him to stay. As a monk leaves his earthly burdens, Isamu left his. His mission might as well have been a pilgrimage. He was clearing his mind, focussing only on what had to be done. He had never imagined being religious, but his life was his own pilgrimage. The only difference between him and a true pilgrim was that he looked to the future.

Throughout his life, Isamu had looked to the future. He had hungered for fame for many years, and he had craved adventure even in his youth. Those who knew him knew of those desires. Not a single obstacle to fame or adventure had slowed him. One could know this by looking at the scar on his face. It was a long, thick, vertical scar that peaked above his left eyebrow, crossed his eye, and ended at his jawbone. The pain that came with receiving the scar had been great, but it only briefly troubled the man.

Whether allies, enemies, or strangers, those who saw Isamu knew better than to challenge him. His allies and his enemies knew of his many feats. Some of them even knew the names of humans and monsters who had died by his katana. As for strangers, a single gaze at his scar was enough to intimidate them. A scar is a sign of a struggle, and the greatest struggles birth the most hideous of scars. Isamu did not need to tell strangers of struggle, for his scar could speak.

All who spoke with him, regardless of knowing him, could notice his stiffness. Some could say it was the stiffness of warriors who have been in many battles. To others, his stiffness was natural. To all, it was foreboding. Even when he did not make clear threats, they could be sensed in his tone. His tone almost resembled that of King Emma, who ruled over the lands called Roots and Gloom. Those lands sometimes claimed those who were brave enough to oppose Isamu, whether in a discussion or a battle.

The people who saw Isamu on their journey were careful not to attract his attention. They had many concerns, and they knew a fight with Isamu would only lengthen their lists. The peasants he passed minded their fields, wanting only to feed themselves and their families. Other travelers focussed on their journeys to stay out of Isamu's path. Even the wandering monk he passed was intimidated. He was almost a demon who would devour any human he could find.

The adventurous man did not mind being avoided. He had been avoided for almost nineteen years, and it had yet to upset him. In fact, there were times when he considered his condition to be advantageous. He did not have to rush himself on his journeys, for there was no one to slow him. He could find what he wanted in so little time, and he would find the time for more tasks. He had never imagined asking for more.

He still enjoyed having few human obstacles, but there was one thing that was troubling him. It had not occurred to him until recently. Whatever it was, he knew it did not desire neglect. For so long, he thought he would never feel such an urge. And yet, he could not have known it would happen. No one could have told him.

What emptiness he felt grew stronger at the sight of Inari's Forest. For so long now, he had associated it with bad omens. There were legends of humans entering the forest never to return, but such tales had never intimidated Isamu. He had been in and out of the forest many times, and he had spent a few nights beneath its trees in the past. He had not known the horror of the forest then. Whatever repelled him was not the tales, but something else.

"Has it truly been so long?" he asked himself.

The last time he had seen the forest was when he had last spoken with Hisoka. And yet, he had not even entered it at that time. His emptiness had guarded the mysterious woods, demanding he leave them in peace. The guard was still present, even though Isamu did not feel as threatened. He knew his duty would be in the forest, but there was still something else.

The forest was believed to be the home of the god Inari. Out of all the Thousands of Myriads, Inari might as well have been the strangest. Whether worshiped as a god or goddess, no one knew Inari's true gender. The deity was often associated with the wild, but was also the guardian of agriculture and industry. Foxes, often known as mischief makers, were the messengers of Inari. Perhaps, the deity's strangeness was why some feared the forest.

As he entered Inari's Forest, Isamu found a red mark passing him. He did not have to look closely to know it was a fox. Two more passed him on his other side, frightening his horse. He stroked its neck to calm it, but he himself was rushing his mind. For years, the very sight of foxes had been enough to unsettle him, even with his adventurous spirit.

The foxes were gone by the time the horse was calm again. Isamu was relieved, knowing he could continue his journey. However, a sudden stroke of white began to cross his path. It stopped, its head facing him. The horse and its rider remained still, but only the horse was calm. Isamu recognized the white thing as a fox, but it intimidated him more than red foxes ever had. In the old myths, white foxes were the messengers of Inari.

This particular fox did not seem frightened by the horse nor the rider. It was watching them, but it's watchfulness was not a warning. It was the watchfulness children show when they see a candy vendor or the first blossoms of spring. The fox did not move from its place, nor did it turn its head. It was simply there.

The actions of the fox were concerning for Isamu. He could not imagine what Inari would want with him. There might have been gods who were not fond of his duty, but Inari did not seem to be a candidate. The forest was property of the deity, and Isamu's duty was to be performed in the forest, but it was not to antagonize the deity. The reason for Inari's interest was as mysterious as Isamu's emptiness.

After watching the fox for some time, Isamu came upon one thought. One reason why Inari would be mindful of him. What he remembered had happened so long ago, but it was still clear in his mind. He had not thought of it for so long, but it was clear. He could almost see someone standing with the fox. Someone he could recognize.

"Lord Isamu!" a voice sounded.

The white fox ran, and the horse whinnied in panic. As the rider calmed his steed, he found a figure running towards him. It was a young woman in hakama trousers and a straw hat. She was no older than twenty, but her excitement was that of a child of five years.

"Lord Isamu!" she shouted again.

Isamu nearly groaned. Of all the people he had been with, she was among the few who did not outwardly fear him. She may have feared him at one point, but it was at a time he could not see her. When she was finally near him, she threw her hat to the ground and bowed.

"I have come as you have requested, my lord," she said.

Isamu sighed, "Your timing is improper, Katsu. If your intention was to greet me, you should have awaited me at the Dragon's Neck."

"Await you?" Katsu laughed. "My lord, that would be improper. It would seem as though I were of higher rank and not you."

"Your instructions were to come to the Dragon's Neck," Isamu said, "not to search for me."

Katsu smiled, "Do forgive me, my lord. I am merely excited by this mission we are on. It is not normal for one to say, 'Look at me. I have spoken with the Great Master itself'."

"I suppose he is a man to treasure," Isamu nodded. "However, you must pay attention to my orders from this moment onward. Remember, a good samurai is one who obeys her master."

"Of course, my lord," Katsu replied. "I shall do better.

Isamu accepted her answer, but he did not believe her. She had sworn her loyalty to him, and she had never been known to double-cross, but he could not trust her. Katsu was a frivolous woman who resisted almost all forms of control. There had been a time when Isamu considered her to be an enemy spy. He would investigate her intentions, but this was not the time.

Isamu was the master of Katsu, but she seemed to be leading him down the forest path. She was walking ahead of his horse, brewing with anticipation and excitement. Isamu knew she was not truly leading him; she knew of his rank, and both of them knew their whereabouts. However, he was almost tempted to strike her with his steel. If not for the current task, he might have done it. The Great Master had forbidden its allies from shedding their blood on his land.

Katsu's excited quickness was why she and her master approached the Dragon's Neck in almost little time. It was a murky little stream, barely resembling a celestial dragon. Neither Isamu nor his companion were fooled, for it was not their first visit. The adventurous man climbed down from his horse and bound it to a strong tree. Familiarity was why the horse did not know fear as it drank from the stream.

While she had been in front of her master on their walk, Katsu backed herself up to his side. They took off their sandals, knowing they would not be needed where they were going. They then walked simultaneously into the water, taking deep breaths before their heads were submerged. As though the murky stream were a pristine pond, master and follower swam downward as though they were dolphins. Grime stained their clothes, but they paid no mind to it.

After some time swimming, they found a small cave that was sealed by a rock. Katsu picked up the rock to let her master swim through the entrance. She sealed it as she entered, confirming they were not being followed. They had been in the cave many times, but they were still awed by its interior. It resembled an ancient temple, having elaborate stone walls and columns.

It was a temptation for them to admire the interior forever, but they did not hesitate to swim to the decoration on its floor. The decoration was a large circle that resembled the lunar calendar, having the names and images of the twelve animals of the zodiac. At its center was a smaller circle depicting the dragon and phoenix. Isamu and Katsu landed in the center, concentrating on what they sought. Not until they concentrated did the water within the cave begin to drain.

The draining was a quick process, ending almost shortly after it had begun. Isamu and Katsu opened their eyes to see that their clothes were dry and clean. Katsu smiled to show her enjoyment of the adventure, but Isamu's scarred face was indifferent. The flames of his youth had been quenched long ago. Katsu knew that well, but she had yet to accept it. Her desire to see her master excited almost led her into leading him again. However, her wish was not to be punished for disrespect. She left the duty of walking in front to her master, quelling her disappointment.

Isamu led his follower out of the elaborate place and into a garden. It was late summer above the Dragon's Neck, but the garden below displayed all of the seasons at once. To the north was a forest covered in white. The east was overwhelmed with the energy of the blossoms. Everything to the south was so green, and the colors of the leaves and chrysanthemums to the west were like a painting. So many beauties surrounded the aging man and the young woman, but they still continued on their way. They proceeded to the north, almost regretting not packing warm clothes.

Far within the winter forest was a mansion. It resembled those in the Celestial Kingdoms of Ho, displaying bright colors with a grandiose structure. Isamu and Katsu climbed the stairs to the front door, being sure not to be distracted by the proud building. The adventurous man knocked on the door with only a few thoughts in his mind. A raspy voice sounded, "Who has come to the residence of the Great Master?"

"It is I," Isamu said, "Lord Isamu Inaba. I come with only my retainer Katsu."

"You may proceed," the voice replied.

The doors were not being touched, but they opened at the moment the voice was silenced. Isamu and Katsu stepped into the mansion, being relieved by its heat. They walked from the grand doorway to two elaborate smaller doors. They were marked with images of dragons flying harmoniously in a pure, azure sky. Katsu opened the doors for her master, who led her into the room behind them. A small, jade-colored light in the back of the room was its only source of light. That feature became more prominent as Katsu closed the doors. She and her master approached the light and bowed to it, knowing they were in the presence of the Great Master.

"You have returned to me, Lord Isamu," the Great Master said in a voice scorched by age. "I suppose you have come to tell me something important."

"I have, Great Master," Isamu nodded. "It seems as though something has happened in America. Something devastating for us."

"In America?" the Great Master laughed. "What can the Americans do against us? Our lands have magic and beasts while theirs has neither. And, the Americans who came to your land all those years ago did not have the courage to stop us."

"I understand, Great Master," Isamu said, "but my retainer Hisoka has seen things we have not. When he first spoke of them, he said a gift of my people had been given in America."

"A gift of your people," the Great Master repeated. "I cannot imagine a reason why one of your people would give one of our treasures to someone in an inferior land."

"My thoughts were like yours," Isamu continued, "but he has confirmed two of my kind walk upon American soil. I ordered him not to kill them, thinking they might be of use to us. However, one of your demons has already fallen. It was the demon named Ohaguro Bettari."

The Great Master sighed, "Her death does not surprise me. She was always more of a trickster than a warrior."

"While that may be true," Isamu replied, "I do not believe it would be wise for us to underestimate the two who have gone astray. Especially not the one who slew Ohaguro Bettari."

"And, which one was that?" the Great Master asked.

Isamu was silent before he said, "I do not know. Hisoka said it was a young woman who very much resembles us."

"A young woman?" the Great Master laughed again. "I have not heard of such an incident in over eight hundred years. Not since I had that one some have called 'Neroyume'."

"The woman I speak of resembles Neroyume in every way," Isamu sighed. "I believe she may be a greater threat than the other one who has gone astray."

"I say the one like Neroyume has to die," the Great Master replied.

"No!" Isamu gasped.

All was still. The Great Master and Katsu looked at Isamu, making him reflect on what he had said.

"Please, forgive him, Great Master," Katsu shivered. "So much has happened in the world above this place. He could never imagine double-crossing you."

"Very well, young retainer," the Great Master nodded. He then returned his attention to Isamu, "I do suppose you recall the prophecy. The one of the second Neroyume."

"Yes, Great Master," Isamu nodded. "However, none of us can be sure if she will oppose us. If we can give her hospitality, she may choose to be one of us."

"Imagine that!" Katsu beamed with excitement. "Another female retainer of Isamu by my side! We would slay our enemies by the thousands, painting a trail of red behind us!"

Isamu was blushing, but the Great Master chuckled, "I can see where that could be advantageous, young retainer. And, with the young woman as one of us, we could keep our weapons clean while preventing the prophecy from being fulfilled."

"That, we can achieve, Great Master," Isamu said. "I will send a message to Hisoka at once."

"Send it while you are here with me," the Great Master motioned. "That would allow it to arrive without delay."

Isamu closed his eyes, remembering all he had been taught. As he pictured Hisoka, an image appeared in the adventurous man's mind. It was a strange image, for it showed Hisoka with a metal object Isamu had never seen before.

For some time, Benjiro's fondness of the world was absent. He did not look around to see the city's beauty, nor did he look at Chiasa. Not a word departed from his mouth. His pace remained unchanged, regardless of the number of pedestrians he passed. There was almost no difference between him and a madman.

Chiasa mimicked her friend's actions, but she lacked his sureness. She could not help but take quick glances at the sights they passed. Whenever a pedestrian appeared in her path, she would apologize while moving around them. One did not have to know her to know her feelings; they were present on her face. Her eyes were wide with shock, and the gestures of her mouth were not calming. When Benjiro entered a parking garage, she hoped he would slow his pace to be courteous. Therefore, she found only disappointment when he did not.

When they finally approached his old, black car, he had yet to slow himself. He ran to Chiasa's side, opening the door to the front passenger seat.

"Get in!" he snapped.

Chiasa felt as though she were in a crime movie. Her once calm friend was now behaving recklessly, expecting her to do the same. She quickly sat down and buckled her seatbelt, hoping to please him. She assumed she had, for he paid no mind to her while backing up the car. He drove carefully through the parking garage, but his departure from it was followed by fast paced driving. He was careful not to exceed speed limits, but he was still a fast driver.

Hoping not to overwhelm Benjiro, Chiasa remained silent and motionless as he drove. She could only imagine the thoughts that were running through his mind. If his dreams from the previous night had been chaotic, no one could say his daytime thoughts were more orderly. The rapidness of his driving made her feel as though the wind were blowing on her face. Perhaps, she was in a crime movie. She had already killed someone, and she was obeying her friend without questioning his behavior. Her only act of disobedience was brief, barely being noticed. She quickly glanced behind herself, savoring one last look at the Chicago skyline.

"I am sure you have a thousand questions concerning the events of today," Benjiro said to her.

She had not expected him to speak. He had been silent for much of their trip, speaking only to instruct her. However, she knew leaving his question unanswered would be a rude gesture. She swallowed her shock as she said, "I do have a lot of questions, but I can summarize them in a single one: What the heck is going on?"

Benjiro spoke in a defeated tone, "I fear you have learned more than what you were supposed to know. And now, we cannot undo what has been done."

"I don't understand," Chiasa replied. "What has been done?"

Silence returned to them. Benjiro's face displayed concern, worrying Chiasa. He knew more than her, and she had accepted it long ago. And yet, there was something that remained unacceptable. This thought crossed her mind shortly before Benjiro spoke again, "I realize you have studied the legend of Naipon. Did you learn about Irene Flowers in your research?"
"Yes," Chiasa nodded. "She came up with the theory that Naipon is a real place. Didn't you and her nephew help her make that theory?"

Her plan had not been to mention Benjiro's contributions to Flowers' theory. However, he had mentioned her having many questions. She felt that if he had truly planned to be honest with her, she needed to do the same for him.

"So, you truly have researched the legend," Benjiro sighed. "I hoped it would not come to this, but I have already told you that you have learned too much. Therefore, tonight is the night you learn that Naipon is in fact a real place."

"It is?" Chiasa gasped.

Out of all she had anticipated, her goal had not been to prove Naipon's existence. She had interest in how the Naiponese Tomoe Gozen was connected to her past, but she had not believed the woman was real. Even after all Flowers had claimed, and after all Ai had told her, Chiasa's mission had not been to turn myth into fact. She had researched simply to learn more about herself. To meet the family she had never known.

"Your confusion refuses to be hidden, I see," Benjiro continued. "I have been forbidden from speaking of this to anyone, but some in this world have said that the truth is one of three things that can never be hidden, the other two being the sun and the moon. If you are to know the truth, you must not share it with anyone in this world."

"I understand," Chiasa nodded solemnly.

Seeing the young woman had made a promise, Benjiro spoke with the sincerity of the stars, "For all your life, you have known me as part of Richardson's minority. The town may be, as some say, 'in the middle of nowhere', but it was made for the wealthy. Even with the farmers who call the land their home, what can be purchased is too expensive for those with little money. I understand you and I have fared well for a racial minority. Even if your father were not White, Asians fare well compared to most racial minorities in this country. I do look very much like an Asian, but that is not my true race. I am not Japanese, but Naiponese. Benjiro Yamazaki is not even my real name.

"I was born in the island nation of Naipon many years ago. You can consider it to be many years, for time in this dimension passes at the same rate as mine. Since I was left at the Thousand Road Shrine as an infant, I was brought up to be a holy man who could connect the Naiponese to the Thousands of Myriads. At the age of twelve, I performed a number of miracles for the people, impressing them and my master. I was beloved by every Naiponese, from servant to Mikado, but I was never one to be consumed by pride. Such a thing would have blinded me from my duties, making me unworthy for the gods.

"On a day when my age was still twelve, a familiar man came before us. His name was Toshiaki Inaba, and he was from this world's nation of Japan. He was a descendant of the Inaba samurai who had come to Naipon hundreds of years earlier, and his relatives served as messengers for the Naiponese and the Japanese. Toshiaki was our trusted friend, but on that particular day, he brought with him a beautiful stranger: Irene Flowers.

"Irene claimed to have come from America, a nation that shares this dimension with Japan. We could recognize her word as the truth, for her clothes and belongings resembled those depicted in Toshiaki's reports. Toshiaki told us they had come to Japan to study the history of its Inaba clan, which bears the same name as Naipon's. Irene was fascinated by my culture, having believed until then that dimensions besides her own could not exist.

"The historian made many Naiponese friends, but none were as close to her as me and my master. Most of her nights in Naipon were spent at the Thousand Road Shrine, where my master and I taught her Naiponese Shinto. It is very much like Japanese Shinto, even honoring the exact same gods. Sometimes, Irene would bring me treats from the marketplace. I was never a greedy boy, but I loved the things she bought for me.

"In our time spent with Irene, we learned that Japan's history as well as its Shinto resembles Naipon's. Both nations are ruled by Mikados, and both were subjected to the power of shoguns. Unlike Naipon, however, Japan abandoned its shogun class. Its Mikado must cooperate with heads of government, but they do not minimize imperial power as the shoguns had. Unfortunately, word of this reached the Naiponese shogun, who was very much enraged. I suppose he feared stories of Japan would inspire the Naiponese to overthrow him and restore their Mikado to complete power.

"On a cloudless night when the moon was full, the shogun's forces came from Kamakura to the Thousand Road Shrine. They had come for Irene, Toshiaki, and all of their friends. My master and I sent Irene and Toshiaki as far away from the shrine as we could, but a samurai's arrows took my master's life. I urged my two friends to go to their dimension, never to return to my homeland. And for a long time, I assumed that is what they did.

"A few days later, I found an American historian named Benjiro Yamazaki. He had come to the city of Edo, having just traveled from this dimension to mine. I urged him not to stay, warning him of what the shogun had planned for Irene and Toshiaki. I am still grateful he accepted my word. They say in this world that while many receive advice, only the wise profit from it.

"Many years later, I was told to come to America. The reason behind that request is complicated, but I could not question it. When I arrived in this country, I learned Benjiro Yamazaki had worked with my dear friend Irene. Unfortunately, that discovery came with a report of his death. Apparently, he had killed himself to protect the Americans from the Naiponese shogun. To honor my American friends, I took his name and moved to Richardson. You may still refer to me by his name if you would like."

Chiasa was tempted to ask him for his real name. However, she knew such a gesture would have been seen as rude. Therefore, her question was, "Since you have told me so much about Naipon, did you have something to say about Tomoe Gozen of Heida? My parents told me you knew they adopted me. When I was a baby, they found me with a woodblock print of Tomoe on their doorstep."

After a brief moment of silence, Benjiro said, "You will find what you seek in time. For now, however, I will tell you that Tomoe Gozen is your ancestor."

"My ancestor?" Chiasa shivered.

Benjiro nodded, "From the moment I first saw you, I knew you carried her blood. Unlike the Shinto priests of Japan, Naiponese priests can learn of a person's ancestors by simply looking at a person. It is a special kind of magic we attain through years of experience. I knew you were a special woman, and I never lost faith in my discovery."

"Since I'm a descendant of Tomoe," Chiasa continued, "what am I supposed to do?"

"For now," Benjiro said, "your job is to stay safe. If you learn more than what you already know…"

His cell phone was buzzing. Chiasa was disappointed by the interruption, but she knew the person calling Benjiro was oblivious to their conversation.

"Chiasa," he asked her, "would you please put my phone on speaker?"

"Of course," she said.

At the moment the phone was on speaker, Haruki Yoshida's voice was blaring, "Benjiro, it's an emergency! The Millers are … the Millers are…"

"Haruki, calm down," Benjiro sighed. "Control yourself and tell me everything that has happened."

Haruki breathed in deeply before saying, "I was with Mr. and Mrs. Miller on the train back to University Park. One moment, we were all relaxing, thinking of our trip to the Field. The next … the next …"

"What happened to my parents?" Chiasa snapped.

"They're dead!" Haruki screamed.

"Dead?" Chiasa gasped.

Haruki shivered, "There was a … an accident, and … I'm the only survivor. A man in black did it. I jumped out of a window as the train derailed into a lake."

"How can you be sure the Millers are dead?" Benjiro inquired.

"I'm speaking with a clear conscience," Haruki gulped. "I tried to save them, but they had already drowned. Everyone had drowned."

"Who was this man in black you spoke of?" Benjiro continued.

"I can't say his name," Haruki sobbed. "He told me that if I ever say his name, he'll kill me. I can't do this, Benjiro. I…"

The boy hung up. Benjiro and Chiasa were silent in the car, hearing only its motor.

Chapter 7

Every story Chiasa knew had morals. Whether they came from a book she had read or a fairytale she had been told, there was at least one lesson to learn. She knew such lessons were central to stories, giving purposes to the adventures of the characters. Knowing many stories, she had decided the first storytellers had used morals to coax others to be obedient. They needed examples to understand the consequences of their actions.

The morals of Tomoe Gozen's stories could not be found at first sight. Each novel was filled with immense details of landscape, characters, and fights. Some hated the stories, claiming their author should have developed the morals. However, Chiasa was not among them. Her experience with reading older works for her classes helped her to appreciate them for morals that could not be found at first sight. Her experience was not always pleasant, considering slow-paced works such as The Scarlet Letter and Ethan Frome, but for her, it was worthwhile.

Every Tomoe Gozen novel she read seemed to have an initial moral. The Disfavored Hero emphasized the importance of wisdom, emphasizing the faults of a brash teenage Tomoe. The Golden Naginata presented themes of love, including its fragility. As for Thousand Shrine Warrior, its moral concerned the beauty of life. With every moral the character Tomoe learned, she grew stronger and wiser. Chiasa had studied them carefully, hoping to become strong and wise herself. She had expected such a process to be quick, for she did not have to fight or wander as Tomoe had. Now, so much had happened in so little time.

Not much distance was left between Benjiro's car and Richardson. Such a factor would have relieved Chiasa in any other situation. It would have meant she would not be burdened by a wait for home. For a shower and a bed. For peace. On this night, however, home was the last destination she would have requested if given the choice. Her hunger for more knowledge had yet to be satisfied, and it had already grown more than two-fold. Her true parents remained John Does, Naipon was indeed real, and her adoptive parents were gone.

It was not rest the young woman wanted, but knowledge. She was more than tempted to access her computer and research all that Benjiro had discussed with her. Neither her physical nor her mental tiredness affected her desire. She would find her answers, even if it meant sacrificing her health. If Tomoe Gozen could make sacrifices, so could she.

"I suppose it is too late to move your things to my house tonight," Benjiro said to her. "Perhaps, we can wait until Amaterasu is with us again."

"That's fine," Chiasa nodded. "Since I'll be going to college soon, it won't make a difference."

It was not long before Benjiro's car was on the hill that neighbored Richardson. Chiasa knew her friend would drive to its top, make a left turn, and descend down the slope. The McDonald's would be nearby, as would the local gas station. Chiasa had known these features of the town since childhood. And yet, they were now strangely different.

Different. That word stole Chiasa's mind from her, returning it to her eighteenth birthday. Such an event marks the beginning of adulthood for Americans, and Chiasa had until recently identified herself as American. However, her eighteenth birthday was special in another way. With all that had happened, her memories of the event had never been clearer.

The day she recalled was the day she had finished her Winter Exams at Richardson Senior High. She had felt victorious while finishing them; her grades were high, and the Holiday season was approaching. She had been stressing over them, but her victory changed her stress into relief. And then, her relief was bewilderment. Her adoptive parents had her enter their car, and they drove her into the countryside without speaking a word.

Chiasa could not have imagined what was about to happen. As an individual with autism, she preferred plans to surprises. She knew the possibility of her being in trouble was as great as that of a wonderful occurrence. She was desperate for an answer, but one did not arrive until thirty minutes had passed. Her parents had taken her to Mokena, Illinois, a place she had not known until that day. It was not until the car was parked when she made her pleasant discovery; her adoptive parents had taken her to a rotary sushi restaurant.

Chiasa had always wanted to visit a rotary sushi restaurant. She had heard of them on television and in movies, and such references had always fed her curiosities. Her first visit was a pleasant celebration of her birthday and the end of her exams. It was also when Kayoko had said to her, Worries can be guides, but they can also be blinders. If you ever sense them again, remember your situation.

"Now that you're an adult, you'll find a lot of changes," Albert had added. "Things may be different as time goes on, but you just have to stay true to yourself."

Stay true. Remember your situation. What good would such advice do me now? Chiasa thought. Albert and Kayoko were no longer there to prove their word. Haruki was too afraid, and Benjiro remained secretive. These thoughts were spinning with her memories, nearly blinding her from the beauties of Richardson. The creative spirit that had inspired her for almost nineteen years was like a ghost.

Silence passed when Benjiro parked the car. He allowed Chiasa to stay by herself at her house, for she was a legal adult. She was confident in herself, but it was not the confidence she wanted. She was deathly still as Benjiro drove into the night. Only her hair was moving, running on the light evening breeze.

She would have remained standing forever, but her thoughts were too clear. Yearnings were flowing through her, and they needed to be satisfied. She was quick to enter the house and journey into the basement, to which one of her yearnings was crying. She searched through the storage, letting the yearning control her mind and flesh. And then, her hands were holding the woodblock print of Tomoe Gozen wielding the Golden Naginata.

"Respected grandmother," Chiasa shivered, "why am I here?"

For the young woman, the question was sincere. Why was she there? What was it Tomoe's family had done with her? What could Tomoe have done to change what had happened? Chiasa knew Tomoe had given up her newborn son, hoping her former master Lady Toshima Shigeno would adopt him. However, there must have been some instance in which Tomoe could have changed everything. Everything that had brought her descendant to where she was now.

The weight of the Inaba katana had become unbearable. Benjiro had let her take it, for it was hers. And yet, everything she had seen was already too much. What her friend had told her held some answers, but they were not enough. What connected her to the Disfavored Hero had yet to be learned.

Suddenly, Chiasa found the note that accompanied the print. Barely remembering what had been written, her eyes were quick to explore the written print, If Tomoe could persevere through life and failure, so can you. Hold your Lightning Princess in your hand, your wisdom in your mind, and your courage in your heart. Until we meet again.

"What does this even mean?" Chiasa growled. "What in the name of the Thousands of Myriads does this even mean!? Is that too much to ask!?"

If she were not the careful person she was, she would have thrown the print and note onto the ground. The temptation was strong; only her dream of working at a museum protected her. The writer of the note was anonymous, and the allusion to the Golden Naginata had yet to have a clear purpose. Chiasa had nothing and no one.

She had to use all of her willpower to neatly put the storage away. When it had been stored, however, she ran to her room like a frantic deer. She quickly opened her door, nearly slamming it on the wall. It was not long before she threw herself onto her bed, sobbing uncontrollably. She knew no one could have heard her, but such a factor was irrelevant. It did not even matter that she had yet to turn on the lights.

"Why?" she asked out loud. "Why? Why?"

It had been years since she had acted in such a way in public. Her adoptive parents, Benjiro, and her teacher had taught her to compose herself and bear a professional appearance. Only behind her walls could she vent. Only behind her walls was she safe. Safe from all that had happened.

Chi … a … sa …

She stopped sobbing. She thought a sound had come across the air, but there was nothing. And yet, the bumps on her skin remained prevalent.

Chi … a … sa …

"Hello?" she cried out. The sound was too faint to have come from a guest, but Chiasa was not a woman of judgemental thoughts. She awaited a reply.

Chi … a … sa …

"What's going on?" she called, nearly snapping. "Who are you?"

An unexpected feeling was on her shoulder. It was as though someone were touching it. This worried Chiasa, who knew only she occupied the house. Never had she expected company for that night. Never had her adoptive parents nor Benjiro spoken of company. She returned to her feet to find a woman facing her.

The woman's appearance itself was unusual. Chiasa had not let anyone into the house, nor had she heard other mysterious sounds. And yet, the strange woman was herself a mystery. She seemed to be Japanese, for her eyes and face shape were familiar to Chiasa. She was dressed in samurai armor, and a katana and wakizashi were at her sides. Something was speaking in Chiasa's mind, but she could barely decipher its message.

What made the guest more mysterious were her unearthly features. She was a faint figure, but she could be seen in spite of the darkness. There was no wind in the bedroom, but her long hair was flowing. As Chiasa observed the guest, she realized the woman's feet were nowhere to be found.

"Who may you be?" the young woman asked her.

The guest did not answer her, sighing, "It shames me you fail to name me after so many years."

"I'm so sorry!" Chiasa gasped. "I'm no good with names. Would you please tell me who you are?"

"You know the answer," the guest replied. "Trust your memories."

There was a short pause. Chiasa gazed at the woman, wondering where she may have seen her. She was confident she had seen the guest's face somewhere else, but such a memory was faint. And yet, so many memories were flowing within her mind. The answer was standing before her. Why could she not find it?

Being careful to keep her patience, Chiasa moved her eyes to those of the woman. The faint yet bright eyes were very much like hers. They were soft and thoughtful, yet they possessed the sharpness found in all who are clever. Chiasa was sure the woman's figure had no colors, but a faint hazel hue seemed to be resting in her eyes. It was a hue like that of Chiasa's irises: green with a brown ring around the pupil. Two colors identified as one. The woman might as well have been Chiasa, but Chiasa knew better. She had seen the woman, but she could not recall being anyone besides herself.

Suddenly, a new energy was in the young woman's body. It was an energy that had come to her many times before, but it felt new. The name of the mysterious guest was flickering like a light, tantalizing the soon-to-be college student. And then, something happened. Something that took Chiasa by surprise.

"Tomoe!" she gasped. "You are Tomoe Gozen of Heida, wife of Lord Kiso Yoshinake!" She bowed deeply, "You are the Disfavored Hero. You are the last avenger of Okio. You are the Thousand Shrine Warrior."

"I am your ancestor," Tomoe said.

"Oh honorable grandmother," Chiasa proclaimed, "I am not worthy of your presence. Please, forgive me."

"You may rise, granddaughter," Tomoe nodded.

Chiasa obeyed her ancestor, feeling the new energy grow. She could not imagine what could have summoned the Naiponese spirit. Chiasa had asked her a question, but she had not expected an immediate response.

"I see you are fatigued and distraught," the spirit continued. "I have seen all you have since. From the very moment you were born, your eyes and mine have been the same."

"Respected grandmother," Chiasa said, "time has been short since I learned of our connection. Recently, I have been in search of my true family, including yourself. Now that I have found you, I wish to find the others. May I ask where they may be?"

Tomoe sighed, "The answers will come to you in time. For now, you are to listen to my voice and mine alone."

Chiasa was now impatient, but she knew to hold her tongue. Her Shinto roots warned her not to question the authority of her ancestor.

"I understand, respected grandmother," she replied. "I will accept what you have to say."

After nodding at her descendant, Tomoe continued to speak, "A horrible force has awakened in my homeland. All of the gods know of its presence, but only so many humans share their awareness. I am especially concerned, for it is a force that was believed to have fallen years ago."

"What is this force?" Chiasa asked.

Tomoe tried to hide her shame as she answered, "Even I have yet to identify it. I feel as though I have seen this horrible force, but my memories are faint."

"Why is that so?" Chiasa inquired. "You were a great warrior who conquered many foes, and you are now one of many spirits who are wise…"

"Listen, granddaughter!" Tomoe snapped.

Chiasa was quick to silence herself. She feared what would happen if they continued to question the ancestor she had held dear for so many years. The young woman then shivered, "Forgive me, grandmother. I am concerned for your people and for mine."

Tomoe then spoke as though her granddaughter had never spoken, "You will be needed in my homeland, but that time has yet to come. For now, your duty is to stay in this world and face what is at hand."

"What is at hand?" Chiasa shrugged. "I do not understand."

"You must prove yourself worthy of what is to come," Tomoe said. "Great things may await you, but they do not await those who cannot attain them."

"How must I prove myself?" Chiasa asked desperately.

"You are to find your own path," Tomoe answered, "as I found mine."

The spirit's figure was growing faint. Its light was dimming, becoming one with the darkness of the room.

"Wait!" Chiasa gasped, almost reaching outward. "I still do not understand! I need you!"

The spirit did not speak. Her figure grew fainter and fainter until nothing remained. A moment passed, and Chiasa realized she was alone again. She fell to her knees and grabbed the carpeting, nearly ripping it. More tears rolled down her cheeks. For her, all that could be heard was her memory of the note she had read:

Wisdom, courage, and Princess Lightning, she thought. Wisdom, courage, and Princess Lightning.

Throughout her life, she had been told to be wise and kind. To her, the current situation should have been like the others. Why now did the qualities she desired seem so far away? Could she truly find her Golden Naginata? Could she prove herself worthy of entrance into her homeland?

Chiasa's thoughts were swiftly flowing, but they were interrupted by knocks on her front door. She was quick to come to it, expecting the current visitor to be more ordinary than the last. She opened the door to see Haruki Yoshida standing in the night.

"Sorry to come so late," he shivered. "Do you mind if I spend some time with you here?"

Chiasa was not afraid. She knew Haruki by this point, and he had never shown himself as dangerous. He did seem strange to her, but strange does not always mean unsafe. She obliged, offering him food and drink. He refused both offers, but he was grateful to be underneath a roof. Once Chiasa had turned on the living room light, she and her friend sat on the couch.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your parents," he said with concern. "This must be very hard for you."

"I understand," Chiasa sighed. "They were my adoptive parents, but you still honor me."

"Adoptive!?" Haruki gasped. "Benjiro told you!?"

"Told me what?"

"Everything. Being adopted, being a descendant of Tomoe Gozen, having been…"

Chiasa had grown inquisitive. She had never been fond of missing information, but her patience had run out by this point.

"Having been what?" she inquired. "Stolen? Lost? Abandoned?"

Haruki was sobbing, "I have no idea, Chiasa! I'm sorry! Benjiro didn't want me to tell anyone!"

Chiasa calmed herself, "I'm sorry if I seemed impatient, Haruki. I'm just concerned about who my family is and where they are now."

"I understand," Haruki sniffled. "I too am an orphan, you know. But, if Benjiro could help me, I'm sure he'll help you."

Chiasa remembered Haruki's tale of Benjiro saving him from a shipwreck in Canada. She had doubted it when he first spoke of it, for he had not mentioned Canada in a sure tone. Now, Benjiro's Naiponese background made the story more suspicious. What was a Naiponese priest doing in Canada? Had other Naiponese priests gone there in the past? Were others considering such trips?

To hide her suspicions, Chiasa changed the subject of the conversation, "So, you say a 'man in black' was responsible for the deaths of my adoptive parents. Do you know much about him?"

Haruki was silent and still. His eyes were widening as if they were a second and third moon. Chiasa could sense anxiety flowing from him; such a feeling came to her whenever she took exams. However, this was not like her exams. She had taken them with a purpose, but Haruki had none. It was as though he were hiding something.

"I have said this once before," he sighed at last, "but I will say it again: I can't name the man in black. He said he'll kill me if I do so."

"Does this mean you have made contact with him?" Chiasa asked.

"It was a horrible experience," Haruki explained. "I was riding on the train with your parents, or adoptive parents, when I heard a strange sound. In fact, everyone in the car could hear it. They wanted someone to investigate the train, but none of the conductors volunteered. And so, I was alone when I checked every car for something unusual. My search brought me to the roof, where it all happened.

"There, standing before me, was a man in black clothing. His hakama were black, his kosode was black, and his jingasa was black. Even the scabbards of his katana and wakizashi were black. I tried to contact him, but my voice fell upon deaf ears. The point of his katana scraped the roof, leaving a horrible mark. I threw my shoe at the man, but he caught it. He then threw it at me, nearly making me lose my balance. I saw his face for a split second, and he did not need to speak to tell me his name. I've always known it by heart.

"By the time I had regained my focus, he was messing with the train's wires. He sliced all of them, causing the car and those behind it to derail. I ran towards the man, but he grabbed me by the neck. He said, 'I saw your eyes, boy, and they tell me they have seen me once before. If anyone knows of that incident, I will return for you. I always have my ways.' He then threw me into the car, disappearing into the night. I tried to warn the passengers of what was happening, but they were too afraid to listen. I had to jump alone as the train fell into the nearby lake.

"When I was finally on my feet again, I jumped into the lake to find you adoptive parents. Alas…"

He was on the verge of tears. Chiasa was tempted to speak, but she feared words would worsen his situation. After some time, however, she said, "Thank you for what you have done. You were brave to face the man in black."

"You really think so?" Haruki shivered.

Chiasa nodded, "I cannot imagine what would have happened if you had acted differently. You may not have saved the passengers, but you saved yourself."

"What's the point?" Haruki groaned. "Good people always save others before themselves."

"You are a good person," Chiasa continued. "Ever since I met you, I have known you to be good. I would never ask you to change."

More silence. Haruki still seemed to be hiding something, and Chiasa wished to identify it. This time, however, he seemed more thoughtful than anxious.

"Even in the most dire of times," he asked, "would you still believe in those words?"

"Of course," Chiasa said. "Why would I not?"

Haruki slowly turned his head towards her. He sighed, "You must know that the man in black is always an enemy, but I am always a friend."

"And, I will always be your friend," Chiasa replied. "Our situations may seem hopeless, but I believe we can find solutions."

She found it difficult to believe she had said what had come from her mouth. The hopelessness she had been feeling earlier was nearly gone, existing only in memory. She was surprised enough to become as silent as her friend. Time passed, but neither of them changed their positions. Of course, Chiasa did look at the clock, relieved to see only five minutes had passed.

She addressed Haruki, "Since you're already here, is there something you'd like to do?"

"Perhaps," Haruki nodded, "something fun is just what I need. Got any good movies?"

At first, she did not know how to answer him. She did not feel the energy to watch a film, for she had not planned to do so. And even if she had, she could not make a choice; she had already watched The Disfavored Hero with her adoptive parents. Of course, there was one film she could think of. She had not seen it since she was fourteen years old, but she knew it well.

"Have you ever heard of a musical called Lady Eboshi?" she asked Haruki.

"Yes," he shrugged, "but I only know the name. Could you please give me a spoiler-free explanation on what happens?

Chiasa now felt energized again, "Much of Lady Eboshi is focused on a Russian Romanian woman named Natalya Ivanovna Filatova, but she prefers to be referred to as "Natasha." Shortly before she turns nineteen, she learns her parents are actually her adoptive parents."

"Just like someone else I know," Haruki chuckled.

Chiasa smiled "Anyway, Natasha Ivanovna is heartbroken upon realizing she does not belong with her 'family.' Since she's part Asian and they're not, she knows they might not have sired her. And yet, to have them confirm it is too much. That's when she starts having visions of a feudal Japanese conqueror known as Lady Eboshi."

Haruki was now grinning, "A conqueror, you say. That's a lot of prestige."

"It is," Chiasa nodded. "Anyway, it turns out Eboshi is Natasha's distant biological ancestor. Upon learning this, Natasha Ivanovna becomes desperate for her true family's history, wanting to be with them again. She even moves to the United States in the process."

"That is quite a story you've got there," Haruki beamed with excitement. "I'd love to see it."

"Do you have the time to watch it with me tonight?" Chiasa asked him.

"Of course," he said. "It's only 7:30."

The musical could easily be found on the Millers' television. The Millers had purchased access to a variety of streaming services, and Lady Eboshi was free on many of them. It was a recording of the show when it first aired on Broadway, which was where Chiasa had first seen it. She was nine years old at the time, and she loved it even then. For her, it was an adventure to see the dancers in their elaborate costumes, to wonder about the vast sets as they were changed, and to listen to the heartfelt songs. Their effects were not as intense as she and Haruki viewed them through the television, but they illuminated various memories in her mind. Of course, so much had happened since the descendant to Tomoe had been introduced to the musical.

Out of all the story had to offer, what stole the attention of Chiasa that night was its protagonist, Natasha Ivanovna Filatova. Her acting was stunning, and her singing was like that of a deity, but there was something else. Aside from this viewing being based on a television recording, there was no difference between it and the one in New York City. And yet, Chiasa noticed something she would never have found in the past. It was not long before she recalled what she had said to her adoptive parents after watching the live performance "She's kind of like a fairytale princess."

Albert's reply was nearly automatic in the memory, as though it had been rehearsed, "A princess, you say? She may be descended from the last Pottsylvanian royal family, but I wouldn't call her a fairytale princess."

"Why not?" young Chiasa asked. "She has ambitions, she goes on an adventure, and she performs many acts of heroism."

"Ah, yes," Albert sighed dreamily. "And, don't forget the kiss of true love she shared with Boris Dimitrievich Badenov."

Chiasa recalled her nine-year-old self growing slightly annoyed, "Love doesn't make someone a princess. Besides, Boris Dimitrievich wasn't a prince."

"Chiasa?" Haruki said.

Chiasa disappeared from her memory, finding herself in her living room. Hiding her embarrassment, she gave a quick "Yes?" to her friend.

Haruki asked her, "If the spirit of Tomoe Gozen came to you as Lady Eboshi's spirit came to Natasha, how would you know?"

What a stupid question, Chiasa thought. I knew because I knew.

Nearly a thousand thoughts were in her mind. She paused the television to examine them carefully. She had not expected Haruki to ask her the question, for she had not spoken of her encounter with Tomoe's spirit. And yet, the scene of the musical at which she had paused it could not have been more coincidental. It was towards the end, at which Eboshi's spirit made her final visit to Natasha Ivanovna. At this point, Natasha Ivanonva had gotten amnesia after failing to assassinate Felix Ulrich, the Fearless Leader of Pottsylvania. It was at the moment when Eboshi was about to say, "Granddaughter, where are you going?"

Granddaughter, where are you going? It was at that moment when Chiasa wondered if Tomoe would ask her such a question. Hoping not to let Haruki grow impatient, she said to him, "If the spirit who came to me truly were my ancestor, I would recognize her as a child recognizes its parent."

"But, she's eight hundred years dead," Haruki replied. "How would you know if it's her?"

Chiasa calmed herself, "There is a consciousness beyond what is known. It is something individuals who are not familiar with the faiths of East Asia do not always understand."

"Don't worry," Haruki chuckled. "I'll always have your back, just as Boris had Natasha's."

Chiasa could not help but laugh herself. Perhaps a laugh was what she needed to make it through the night.

Chapter 8

The afternoon sun was shining brightly, as were the fields. It was another day on which Chiasa's imagination had taken wing. Like many of the Shinto faith, she associated the sun with the smiling face of Amaterasu. The fields, hills, and forests that passed seemed to be smiling with her. This time, however, there was a new thought in the young woman's mind. It was an array of thoughts woven into one.

The day for her to come to Jonathan University had finally come. As much as she had been excited, some feeling of dread was within her. She was mainly concerned about her academics, despite her success in middle school and high school. There was the pressure to be social, but it was not as prominent as her fear of bad grades. And then, there were the events she had undergone in the last days of the concluding summer.

She would search for answers, but the search would be delayed. There would be books to read, papers to write, and classes to attend. And, social activities would keep her occupied whenever schoolwork did not. As much as she wished for academic success, the thought of abandoning her quest for the truth was too much for her to bear. She would have to wait until a break in the semester, and even those were prone to events. If only she had learned of the truth at an earlier time.

Many of her new thoughts were worrying her, but there was one reassuring thought among them: Benjiro was caring for her. In the time between the train crash and the trip to Jonathan University, he had let her stay with him in his home. He would respect her plans for her adulthood, but he would support her whenever necessary. Chiasa had been very gracious, refusing to veil her soft, polite nature. And now, her old friend was doing her the favor of driving her to college.

The Naiponese priest and the descendant of Tomoe Gozen were quite compatible, but they could not speak on their journey. They found no reason to speak. Benjiro was driving, and Chiasa was thinking. Benjiro had offered to play music on his radio, but Chiasa refused. She needed a quiet space, for only silence could nurture her thoughts. Silence and the passing landscapes.

Amidst her thoughts, Chiasa recalled Haruki's warning of the man in black. She could not recall seeing such a character in Chicago. In fact, the only faces she had paid attention to in the Windy City were Ai, Ohaguro Bettari, and the woman whose face had been melted. Then, of course, there was another instance. She had seen a man dressed in black when she realized Benjiro's antique shop. He had asked her about Benjiro Yamazaki. He had not revealed if he was thinking of the antique seller or the historian, but such a specification would not have made a difference. Chiasa had refused to speak with the man because he was a stranger. Now, she had another reason to avoid him.

What if the man were to find her at her university? Such a possibility was unlikely, for Jonathan was a private school with a protected campus. Then again, there were plenty of opportunities for her to leave the campus. One of her classes could have scheduled a field trip, or she may join a club that sometimes left the campus. There was also the possibility of making friends who wished to dine or shop in downtown Sapphire City. At any of those opportunities, the man in black was likely to strike.

If the strange man were to find her, what would she do? Would she fight? She was skilled in swordplay and martial arts, but she did not want to get into trouble. Benjiro had cleared her name from the incident with Ohaguro Bettari, but he would not be available to save her in Sapphire City. Would she call 9-1-1? It was a reliable service, but the authorities would take too long to stop the man. What about new friends or professors? They would want to see her safe, but they could not guarantee actual protection.

Chiasa would have dwelled on her thoughts for a while, but she noticed the sight of downtown Sapphire City. It was a beautiful old town like Richardson, but it was bustling and proud like Chicago. There was a variety of shops, restaurants, and other attractions that guaranteed enjoyable times. Many of them had Spanish titles, for forty-two percent of the city's population was of Hispanic or Latino origin. There was even a glorious bridge above the shimmering Fox River. The bridge seemed to speak to those who crossed it, assuring them all would be well.

As the parking lot of Jonathan University grew closer, Benjiro spoke in a proud tone, "Today, Chiasa, is the first day of the rest of your life. Cherish it."

"I'm still a little nervous," Chiasa shivered. "What if things go wrong? What if it turns out I'm not ready for college?"

"I know you are ready," Benjiro smiled. "You must believe in yourself as Tomoe Gozen did hundreds of years ago."

Wisdom, courage, and Princess Lightning, Chiasa reminded herself. Wisdom, courage, and Princess Lightning.

Of course, Chiasa still had yet to know what the note meant by "Princess Lightning." At this point, all she knew was that it was the name Tomoe had given to the Golden Naginata. Would she wield such a weapon as her ancestor had? She had left her katana in Richardson, knowing weapons were prohibited on the campus. The Golden Naginata was also in Naipon, standing on the top of the mountain Kiji-san under the protection of a kirin. Would she find a weapon like it in Sapphire City? Anyone could have answered her.

As much as she wanted answers, Chiasa stored her thoughts away when the car was parked. She and Benjiro took two portions of her belongings, approaching her dormitory. Once inside, they were greeted by a short, smiley heavy-set woman.

"Good afternoon and welcome!" she said in a friendly tone. "I'm Ms. Miles, and I'm the director of the Stone Route Autism Program here at Jonathan University."

Benjiro and Chiasa bowed to her in the traditional Japanese fashion. She blushed, but Benjiro spoke humbly, "Good afternoon, Ms. Miles. This is Chiasa Miller, a new student."

"Good afternoon," Chiasa nodded.

Ms. Miles kept her smile as she faced the young woman, "Well, welcome to Jonathan University, Chiasa. We're happy to have you here."

She directed Chiasa and Benjiro to a meeting room where students were receiving their keys. As much as the young woman was nervous, she was hesitant to show it. She knew college as a place where teenagers become adults, and she wished to appear as mature as she could. However, she sighed with relief upon realizing she would not have a roommate. As an autistic student in the Stone Route Program, she would be entitled to a personal room in which she could study and vent.

Once she had her key, she and Benjiro were responsible for setting up her room. It was located on the second floor of the dorm, providing her with the option of using the stairs to get to places. Her room was not too far away from the stairs, but it was close enough to the restrooms. Of course, preparing the room for the school year was a bit of a challenge. Chiasa and her long-time friend had to take many trips in the elevator, carrying loads of furniture, clothing, and decorations. Sometimes, they would pass families performing similar tasks. All they could do was smile, wave, and say "hello."

Chiasa was happy to be starting a new phase of her life, but her memories of her situation remained. To her, it was her parents and not Benjiro who should have been with her. Popular American culture had enshrined the transition from high school to college as a right of passage in which families watched their children become independent and confident. To think Albert and Kayoko could have been there congratulating her. And, that was when Chiasa made another discovery: she was yearning for her true family.

She knew visits from her biological family would be impossible, for they were Naiponese. However, Chiasa remained intent on finding them. If she were to know herself, and if she were to truly honor her family, she would need to find them. Her discovery of her orphanhood was still recent, but she felt as though it had been eons since she had made her unalterable decision. Not even the Thousands of Myriads could stop her now.

When at last the room was ready, Chiasa and Benjiro took the time to admire it. Her bed had been raised above her desk, providing more space for the small area. There were posters of Japanese landscapes, Shinto deities, and Tomoe Gozen of Heida. A framed photo depicted Chiasa standing with Naomi Sakamoto, who had played Tomoe in the film versions of The Disfavored Hero and The Golden Naginata. Smaller photos showed Chiasa with her adoptive parents, exploring sights on vacations, or posing for her senior pictures. The windowsill had been adorned with a bell shaped like a geisha, a Japanese doll representing luck, a fake bonsai tree, a succulent, a miniature shrine gate, two small baskets, and a queen conch from Sanibel Island. A green carpet laid on the floor, and a jar of chocolates stood on Chiasa's personal green cart.

"This place looks so nice," Chiasa smiled, feeling relieved after so much hard work. "Thanks for helping me set it up, Benjiro."

Benjiro chuckled, "If you are to live here for nine months, you might as well live in comfort."

Chiasa laughed with him, but her laughter was cut short. She grew still, clutching her shirt. She was wearing the omamori Benjiro had given her, for she wanted a part of him to stay with her.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

She shivered, "I'm just worried about what awaits me this year. Will I pass my classes? Will I find my family? Will I…"

"I must cut your words short," Benjiro said. "From the moment I first saw you, I knew your life would be filled with endless opportunities. That is why I named you Chiasa. Even when hope seems lost, you will find it. You have everything you need to find it."

"Are you sure?" Chiasa gulped. "It doesn't feel like it right now."

Benjiro nodded, "I believe in you, but you must believe in yourself. And when December comes, I will take you back to Richardson."

"What about Naipon?" Chiasa continued. "The spirit of my ancestor Tomoe Gozen came to me, and…"

"Tomoe!?" Benjiro gasped.

Shame came upon Chiasa. She had forgotten to report her encounter with Tomoe to Benjiro, and he always preferred to be told of such things in advance. Knowing she could not undo her delay, she recalled everything she had seen for him.

"A Naiponese spirit appearing in America?" Benjiro thought out loud. "That is far from natural."

"Are you saying Tomoe's visit was as bad as my fight with Ohaguro Bettari?" Chiasa asked.

Benjiro paused before revealing his answer, "You are learning too much, Chiasa. You must focus on what is at hand, and your college experience is what is at hand."

"I don't intend on forsaking my studies," Chiasa replied, "but there's still so much going on."

"The world is like that," Benjiro sighed. "At some point, you will wish you had never learned what you are learning."

Chiasa could not forget those words. Not when she was having her introduction dinner with the other families, nor when she bid Benjiro a last goodbye. She knew the wisdom of what he had said, but it did not mean she was fond of it. As she watched Benjiro begin his drive back to Richardson, she felt for her omamori again. She took it out of her shirt, studying it.

It was a beautiful omamori, even with its simple design. The white commas seemed to speak to her as they danced upon the red background. She now saw Tomoe's symbol as her own, knowing of their connection. Did the Disfavored Hero know of what would happen to her descendant in the time to come? Did the gods know? Was fate itself aware?

"Are you alright?" a voice sounded.

Chiasa turned around to see a young woman facing her. It was a young White woman of a height similar to hers. Her long, auburn hair was wavy, hanging on her shoulders. There was a softness in her gray eyes, and it was telling Chiasa she could be trusted.

"I'm fine," Chiasa answered, feeling quite embarrassed. "I'm just nervous about college."

"I understand," the woman nodded. "I'm a sophomore, and I'm still worried."

"Thank you for understanding," Chiasa blushed. "My name's Chiasa Miller, by the way. What's yours?"

The woman's tone grew brighter, "I'm Katie. It's nice to meet you. Are you in the Stone Route Program?"

"I am," Chiasa smiled. "As a student with autism, I am excited to be a part of it."

"So am I!" Katie beamed with excitement. "When I lived here last year, they didn't have the program. I'm so glad they're making changes."

Their conversation continued at a steady, pleasant pace. Chiasa had been frightened of what was awaiting her, but Katie was far from frightening. In fact, the two women were already beginning to see themselves as friends. This relieved Chiasa, whose memories of her adoptive father's insistence for her to be social remained fresh in her mind. If anything or anyone would help her through the months ahead, Katie would.

Chapter 9

It was not the night of the new moon, but there was no moon to be found. Somehow, Tsukiyomi had refused to show himself, much to the disdain of his father. The one to blame was not him, but his brother, who had already concealed the stars. The only lights on that wintry night were those of the humans, who needed constant light to live and work. The snow was all that complimented them.

Many Naiponese were known to be mystified by such nights, but Hisoka was not among them. In fact, he treasured the nights on which the light did not come. Tsukiyomi was not as radiant as his sister, but he was burdensome for individuals such as Hisoka. On this night, he needed the darkness. It was his only ally, and it was his only friend. He had learned that long ago.

The snow was not falling that night. For Hisoka, it was another blessing. He could not afford to be outlined nor stalled by frozen water. However, he was prepared to act in case the weather suddenly changed. He held the rooftop's undersurface, awaiting any type of surprise. There was a light beneath him, but he dared not enter it. While the cold was unpleasant, the warmth from within the palace could not tempt him.

He knew what he was doing resembled the actions of the ninjas. In Naipon, they were spies and assassins known for working incognito. Hisoka was ashamed to be acting at their level, for ninjas were often infamous for dishonorable acts. He, however, was not willing to cease his actions. Doing so would have meant certain death, and he would be killed by his master if not his enemies.

The sounds of drunken speech and laughter formed a cacophony within the palace. A shamisen was being played, and a woman was singing, but music could not lessen the harshness of the sounds. Some men were shouting for more drinks, failing to conceal impatience. Hisoka found himself groaning in his mind, but he was careful to silence his sigh before he could release it. His task was not to judge the people. In fact, he was somewhat relieved that the tasks of ninjas are not as dishonorable as those of drunks.

He did not need to look inside to see what was happening, nor did he need to listen. The men had been hypnotized by song and lulled by drink, and they were acting more like children than adults. Food was being served with the drinks, and it was disappearing at a quick pace. Standing before the men were geishas dancing as those they were swaying blossoms. Their sleeves and their fans were the petals, and the aroma was their faces.

A great cheering sounded when the music ceased, signaling the end of the performance. There was a slight pause before Hisoka could hear a geisha speaking. He was not moving, but he felt as though he were stopping himself. Everything around him seemed to freeze. His ears were now his eyes.

Great Lord Matsumoto, the geisha fawned, I suppose you are familiar with the tale of Akinori.

Akinori? a male voice chuckled, belonging to Lord Matsumoto. I have not heard that name in a long, long, long, long, long time.

How strange, the geisha replied. They say it is among your favorites.

Emiyo, Lord Matsumoto fondly sighed, as a man nearing his end, I have seen so much. I may know the tale of Akinori by heart, but the world is not of the same mind as it was in my youth. It surprises me to know you know it.

The geisha named Emiyo then said, Perhaps, my telling of it could shed some light for your youthful companions. They say it was once beloved by all the men of Naipon.

Do you mean to comfort me, young one, or are you merely searching for Akinori's omamori?

Hisoka froze himself again. Everything was clear at that moment. He had come so far. Why should he fail himself now?

What would geishas do with omamori? Emiyo grinned. We are the givers of blessings, not the receivers.

But, the omamori that belonged to Akinori is not like the ones that can be purchased, Lord Matsumoto chuckled again. That particular omamori is more than a mere trinket for children. They say anyone who keeps it can find whatever they wish for as long as they keep it close.

And, what wishes have you made?

Too many. I wished for many sons and a lot of wealth, but I have begun to lose faith in the magic. All of my six sons have died strangely.

I am sure they died in good spirits, seeing how happy you are on this night.

Lord Matsumoto retained his drunken tone, but it grew more dismal, There was a peasant rebellion not too far from this palace during the previous autumn. I sent my sons to put it down, knowing they were more powerful than all of my samurai. It pained my heart to lose the growers of my food, but disloyalty must be quelled at any cost. My sons succeeded in killing all of the peasants, but their success was not natural. Lightning struck all of their blades, filling them with a fire that burned them from within. They then killed all of the peasants at the speed of falling water, but they fell shortly after their foes had fallen. I have kept the omamori of Akinori close to me ever since.

Emiyo now spoke with concern, I am pained to know of such a tragedy, my lord. Whatever may I do to alleviate it?

Just give her the charm, my lord! another drunken man laughed. What can a geisha do with it, anyway?

As I have said, Lord Matsumoto said, anyone who keeps the omamori finds whatever they wish for.

And, what will Emiyo wish for? the second man laughed again. More fans? Hair ornaments? Sake?

I live for sake! a third man shouted.

Please, my lord, Emiyo said humbly, if the omamori is in my hands, I shall use it wisely. It has been rumored that conflicts such as the previous rebellion have become common throughout Naipon, but a single wish upon the charm can end all of that.

Why should you and not I make the wish, then? Lord Matsumoto yawned. Our wishes are the same.

Emiyo was blushing, There is one thing I know which you do not, my lord. I know of a dark force that has risen, and only I know how to conquer it.

A dark force? Are you Tomoe Gozen, now?

I am honored to be compared to such a hero, but I speak the truth. I have seen the force with my own eyes, as have my companions. We have seen it more than once.

More than once? You are the great Tomoe.

Please, my lord, let me use the omamori of Akinori. I will only use it once. When I am finished, it shall be returned to you at the soonest moment.

The soonest moment?

Yes. I have always kept my word, have I not?

At this point, the other geishas as well as the men were laughing. Lord Matsumoto had joined them, but Emiyo had not copied him. Hisoka knew that.

I suppose one try could never hurt a soul, Lord Matsumoto said in a jovial tone. Such as blessing the omamori is with me as we speak.

Hisoka could not hear him nor Emiyo, but he could make assumptions. The omamori might as well have been around the daimyo's neck, or in his sleeve. Perhaps, it had been carried in a separate bag. Regardless, the man underneath the roof knew what was about to happen.

By the power invested in me by the Thousands of Myriads, Emiyo proclaimed, I hereby make this humble wish upon the sacred omamori of the great samurai Akinori.

At the very moment she spoke, Hisoka swung himself from the roof into the gathering room. With him came many more men, each of them sharing his goal. The drunken men who witnessed them were stunned, but the geishas held another perspective. The once swaying blossoms became the flowers of weeds, removing various weapons from their kimonos. Emiyo placed the treasured omamori around her neck, tucking it into her kimono.

"You!" Lord Matsumoto shouted. "It was all a trick, was it not? There was a voice telling me not to give you the charm! It is too late to listen to it, but I shall make up for that folly!"

He tried to stand, but he was greatly weighed down by sake. He fell to his back, finding nothing to grab. Emiyo unsheathed a katana and decapitated the poor daimyo. His head landed on a nearby table, decorating a plate of food with a sickly garnish. Many of the drunken men tried to act, but they were weighed down themselves.

Within the blink of an eye, Hisoka and his companions were running towards their drunken opponents. They did not expect much of a challenge, knowing of sake's ability to drown the cleverest of minds. However, the drunken men did what they could to stand and prepare their chopsticks as weapons. Some sticks were thrown, becoming obstacles to the geishas and the men who had been hiding. Each stick was sliced by a larger blade, but many came at a time.

Despite the amount of sticks that were thrown, it seemed as though some of the drunks were more clever than the others. Those who were not as clever had prepared to use their chopsticks as daggers, assuming they could penetrate Damascus steel. Such thoughts were quickly proven imprudent when the men lost their stick-holding hands. The men who had thrown their sticks tried to run towards the attackers, but sake made them lose their sense of direction. At this point, the geishas and the men who had hidden did not find problems killing the drunks, standing or running.

"Such a waste of time," Emiyo sighed once the last drink had fallen. "Why did we bother killing these poor fools? They could barely lift a blade."

"Wait, Katsu," Hisoka said to her. "Our mission is far from over."

The door slid open, revealing hordes of armored samurai. They encircled the attackers, outnumbering them.

"We see you are trespassers on our lord's property," one of them said, "and his head stands clearly on his last meal. But now, your luck has disappeared with his life."

"Our luck?" Katsu grinned. "Our attack had been planned many days ago. Your lord did not know of our presence until tonight."

"How dare you insult Lord Kenzo Matsumoto!" the samurai snapped. "He was a wise and noble daimyo who ruled this province for generations."

Katsu laughed, "It is clear you did not see him at tonight's banquet. He was drowning himself in sake and pleasure as though tomorrow would never come."

"Do not insult a samurai, girl," the samurai growled. "I will give you and your companions an opportunity to surrender. You may take it, or you may fight to your deaths."

"We never surrender!" Katsu proclaimed.

Hisoka glared at her, "Let me speak to this man."

"What difference does it make?" Katsu groaned. "We will…"

Hisoka silenced her. He turned around and blocked a samurai's blow, barely saving his kidney. At that moment, all of the samurai ran towards the attackers. They unsheathed their weapons in preparation for a great bloodbath. Noticing this, the geishas and the men who had been hiding dashed between many of the samurai, confusing them. It was not long before the samurai were fighting one another instead of their opponents.

The attackers continued acting quickly once they had made their escape. Being sure every samurai was inside of the palace, they closed and locked its doors. Some of the men and geishas threw lamps at the walls, setting them on fire. Within a breath of air, the palace had become a glowing inferno in the cold night. The men and geishas were quick to escape from it, by foot or horseback. Hisoka and Katsu rode side-by-side as they always had.

"Why must you always be so rash?" Hisoka snapped at his companion. "You were leading us into a slaughter."

"I was leading us into the last battle," Katsu sighed.

"The last battle?" Hisoka asked, exasperated. "There will be more battles to come. The struggle is only beginning. Once again, you are thinking rashly."

"And you are failing to appreciate me," Katsu said. "Five years of service, and you have never thanked or complimented me."

Hisoka had lost his patience, "I need you to listen to me! Lord Isamu needs us to stay alive so we can help him when the time comes! It has been six months since the gifts of our people have been given in America. Our daimyo had been losing patience all this time, and his aging has not ceased. If you die, I will be blamed. And, if I die, you will be blamed."

"And, if we both die?" Katsu grinned.

Hisoka was silent. He knew better than to engage in an argument, especially if Katsu were involved. He could hear his father scolding him for the very thought of arguing.

Why must you be a stubborn son? his father, Hayato, would ask of him.

As a child, Hisoka would always speak of being free like the hawk, who flew without having to live in fear. He found such a remark to be inspiring, but Hayato would always counter it.

The hawk is a stranger to fear, he would say, but he knows no honor.

Hayato would then lecture on how respect, especially towards fathers and leaders, was central to Naiponese tradition. It was a common discussion between the parents and children of the land. It was true that women were expected to follow men, but something was telling Hisoka not to summon Katsu's tongue. It was the reason why one does not awaken a sleeping beast. And Katsu had more power than a beast could dream of.

I … sa … mu … I … sa … mu …

The air was still, but a wind was blowing. Inaba Castle had been sealed for the night, but it was of no effect. Even with the windless night, there was something blowing. Lord Isamu did not need to awaken to sense it. He had been expecting it.

I … sa … mu …

Why was it coming? As courageous as the lord was, he could not fully grasp what was happening. Protective charms had been hung, and a ring of purification salk surrounded his futon. His katana was by his side for desperate measures, having been blessed by a priest. He should not have been an easy target.

I … sa … mu …

It could not have been Yuki-onna, who had died in childbirth centuries ago. Nor could it have been Shin-yuki-onna, a victim of Neroyume. Demons were not known to walk the earth as spirits. Whatever it was, Isamu would face it. Sleep would not be an obstacle, for it never had been. He would open his eyes at the moment of truth, and he would strike.

I … sa … mu …

It was true he could hear it in his dreams. And yet, there was something only his dreams could show. He was standing in the blackness, dressed in his full suit of armor. He listened, awaiting the battle he knew would approach him. A warrior always awaited.

A figure did come running towards him, but it was not another warrior. It was a single white fox. It was running like a warrior, but it had not come to fight. The daimyo could see a sense of playfulness on its face as it came closer. It was almost as though he were watching a dog.

When at last the creature was with him, it rubbed its head on his legs. Isamu was relieved for a moment, deciding the fox was not an enemy. He looked ahead to find more foxes following their predecessor's example. He thought he could see another figure with them, but the image was faint. It disappeared before he could examine it.

Suddenly, a bright light began to overcome the darkness. The foxes ran towards it at once, leaving behind the man they had greeted. They surrounded the spectacle in an orderly manner, sitting as though they were court officials. They watched only the light as it grew brighter. If Isamu had squinted his eyes, the foxes may as well have been statues at a temple.

The daimyo thought he could see the faint figure again. It was now standing within the light, becoming a clearer sight. The haunting presence remained, but it now stood with a strange sense of joy and comfort. Words failed to give him a proper description of what was happening. Never before had words failed so miserably.

Isamu would have remained frozen for a while, but the sound of steel freed him from his trance. His opening eyes returned him to reality, showing him a figure standing above him. He grabbed his katana and unsheathed it, blocking a blow that would have decapitated him. He briefly saw the face of the attacker glowering at him. There was not much light, but it was clear before his eyes.

"I see you have returned at last," he said, showing no fear. "I was beginning to decide you were not coming."

The attacker did not speak. The blade swung towards Isamu as he leapt out of his futon. He could hear his guards warning the others of attack, but he did not need their warning. He fought with the attacker as though they were animals fighting over a carcass. They might as well have been animals in a dream in which they were human.

My lord! a servant cried. Hisoka Ishikawa and Katsu return with the omamori!

"You dirty bastard!" Isamu's opponent barked.

Anyone would have taken offense to such a remark, but Isamu was not like most fighters. He stood calmly, seeming as though he were about to surrender. He walked backwards, providing his opponent with more space. The opponent then ran towards him like the foxes in his dream. The playfulness of the foxes was absent, but the movements were nearly perfect reflections.

After a short time, the opponent was screaming. It was a scream not of rage, but of pain. Even with the dim light in the room, Isamu could see blood on the floor. The opponent was now limping, but Isamu did not make a death blow. That was not his intention.

The opponent slowly entered the hallway. Guards were standing in many places, but Isamu ordered them not to strike. As confused as they were, their only option was to obey their master. Deciding all was well, the daimyo dressed himself and entered his throne room. Hisoka, Katsu, and other retainers were bowing before him. His opponent glazed at them before stepping through the door, wearing rage and grief.

"Welcome, my retainers," Isamu said to them. "I suppose this night was quite arduous for you."

Hisoka sighed, "It was, my lord, but we were successful. As of this night, the omamori of Akinori is yours."

Isamu was now grinning, "Those are the words I had been hoping to hear. With that magic charm, we are closer to our goal than we have been."

"You are wise, my lord," Katsu nodded. "And, what is it you wish for?"

Isamu replied, "The omamori does not grant immediate wishes. Its powers are beyond a simple understanding, but I do intend to harness them."

Chapter 10

No one at Jonathan University needed a calendar to know the holidays were in the air. Lights had been displayed all around the campus, lighting the nights and the cloudiest of days. Large wreaths had been hung upon the dining hall and Jonathan Hall. The approaching Christmas did not seem destined to be white, but the snowflake stickers in the windows of dormitories seemed to solve that problem. Even the statue of the university's mascot, Buster the Bronco, displayed holiday cheer in the wreath he wore on his neck.

With the holidays came joy in the hearts of many students. They could not stop themselves from imagining the joys that awaited them at their childhood homes. Whether their plans were related to Christmas, Hanukkah, or another tradition, their excitement was growing stronger. Some students were greatly overcome by it, forsaking their studies for the sake of being "jolly." The university could do only so much to help them, offering holiday concerts as well as academic resources.

As an observant individual, Chiasa Miller was not blind to the festivities. In fact, she had been looking forward to them. The holiday season had always been among her favorite periods of the year. It was a time in which the people spoke of joy, laughter, and sharing exciting traditions. As a child, she had always thought of the period as magical, knowing people would do what they could to be in the best of spirits. She had grown to be more accepting of realities as an adult, but she had not lost her appreciation of the festivities.

There was some joy that came to her in this particular holiday season. Like many students, she was looking forward to sleeping in a house instead of a dormitory. She had never fallen behind in her studies, and she had grown quite fond of independent life, but she felt as though a part of her had remained in Richardson. Even with the deaths of her adoptive parents, the holidays were making promises. She had already celebrated Hari-Kuyo with Benjiro, remembering Kayoko Miller's family had come from Japan's Kyoto region. Now, she would celebrate one of Albert's favorite holidays.

Chiasa could feel a sense of cheer from within, but a small sadness remained. Her predictions of losing time to her studies had come true. She had accepted this outcome, wanting to be a successful adult, but she had been planning independent studies for the holidays. Now that they were approaching, she could not imagine how research of the Naiponese would interfere with them. Could she still celebrate, or would she have to make a sacrifice?

She did not have close relatives who expected to see her at Christmas, but she did not know what Benjiro would think of her. He was not a Christian, nor had he intended to be, but he celebrated Christmas. Chiasa could not help but fear what he would think of her studies. He had already chosen to keep some of his stories of Naipon hidden from her, and he and the spirit of Tomoe Gozen had preached of patience. It did not help that she could recall the year in which Albert scolded her for reading ahead for her tenth grade English class instead of singing Christmas carols with him. She had not needed to read ahead, but it had been her desire to finish her upcoming assignments early. Who could assure her Benjiro would not act in a similar manner?

Figures such as Benjiro and Kayoko had always assured her she was making wise choices, and there was some evidence they could rely upon. She had earned straight As in her classes for many years, and she was greatly concerned with her academic success. In fact, she was known to care for all of her tasks, even her research on Naipon. Kayoko had also assured her she was becoming more independent as an adult. She would speak of how adults made their own choices and expressed themselves without regrets. Perhaps, morals would be of use for the young woman.

Chiasa had no intentions of changing herself, but it seemed as though there were people who wished for her to change. Distant relatives of her adoptive parents had sometimes told her she would have been "better" with a sibling, acknowledging they were siblings themselves. They wanted Chiasa to be more social, focussing less on her studies and more on finding new friends. Chiasa had always hated such remarks, preferring to follow the example of Azo Hono-o before that of her relatives. She was often thankful her autism made her more resentful of conformity. No one at the university had made such remarks, but there was one person who seemed blind to her needs: Camila White.

Camila White was the Museum Studies professor. It was her fifteenth year as a university professor, and her third year at Jonathan University. She was known for her friendliness towards students and her determination to follow lesson plans. Such qualities made her an unlikely candidate as one who offended Chiasa. And yet, the two had nearly found themselves in a conflict on one occasion.

It was one week before the university's semester exams. Chiasa had not studied yet, focusing on more immediate assignments. She had a study plan, but it did not mean she was free of stress. Her usual fears of failing her classes and becoming unrespectable were tormenting her, making her cry on occasion. Sometimes, her tears would attract the attention of friends or sympathetic professors. Surely, thought Chiasa, the benevolent Professor White would be of aid.

Chiasa had waited for her classmates to depart, not wanting them to think of her as immature. She asked Professor White if she could speak with her, and the professor obliged. Chiasa then spoke of all of her concerns with finals exams and study time. She vented as though she were speaking with Albert or Kayoko, placing all her trust into the professor. Chiasa preferred to vent in front of people she trusted.

After venting, Chiasa awaited a sympathetic reply from Professor White. A reply in which she would be reminded of her success as an independent, intelligent young woman. However, Professor White simply told her to prioritize her assignments. Chiasa then revealed she was doing so, but Professor White retained her instructive tone. She spoke of how college is a busy period in life, of how students must always prioritize, and of how careers require prioritization as well. There were no compliments for Chiasa. There was no assurance. No emotional support.

Doing what she could to seem polite, Chiasa thanked the professor and departed from the classroom. Her floods of tears did not come until she was a good distance from it. She hid her face so as not to attract attention, but she was almost in need of it. All that soothed her at that moment was the thought that she would not have more classes for the day. Knowing this, she walked across the campus to its coffee shop to purchase a snack. Snacks comforted her, and she felt she deserved a reward for her diligent work as a student.

The snack she purchased was a chocolate muffin, her favorite coffee shop treat. She knew she could eat one for her snack, for her previous breakfast was oatmeal and a banana. She had ordered chocolate muffins from the coffee shop a few times before, but they were rarely offered by the dining hall. Even with the variety of other pastries she liked, she wanted a chocolate muffin. It brought her comfort, which was something she needed.

Chiasa's snack was a "for here" order. She did not want to waste paper by purchasing a bag, and she wanted a different atmosphere for eating. There was much chattering in the coffee shop, but it did not bother her. As long as the other customers did not sing, hum, or whistle, she would be alright. She sat on one of the cushioned seats, wondering if cubicle workers had similar experiences. At the moment she took the first bite into her snack, a feeling of relief came to her. The bite's surface had a slight crunch, but its bottom was moist. Chocolate was the prominent flavor, and Chiasa enjoyed eating chocolate.

Sitting and eating gave her some time to reflect on her talk with Professor White. She did not need the advice she had been given, she thought, but it was worthy. Professor White did not know her as more than a student, and she may have considered her practical advice to be more useful than emotional support. Perhaps, all Chiasa needed for comfort was the muffin. As more of it disappeared, she began to wonder what would have happened if she had not spoken with the professor at all.

Chiasa was familiar with Kayoko's lectures on how adults act. They were often centered on adults being more practical than emotional. Adults never cried, nor were they supposed to refer to themselves as "idiots." Such conversations had grown more typical as Chiasa's high school years progressed. In one conversation, Kayoko had said that Chiasa could not need someone to walk her down the street and compliment her beauty.

Chiasa understood her adoptive mother had been concerned about her. Both women wanted her to be a successful adult, and they could not have disagreed on wanting the best for her. However, some of Kayoko's remarks were centered on the supposed need for Chiasa to act differently. Chiasa had always ridiculed such advice as demands for her to change, resembling the remarks of more distant relatives. Change was the last thing she wanted.

Chiasa had always treasured being herself. People had complimented her for her qualities, and she loved her interests too much to let them go. She had also been exposed to many novels, movies, and television shows in which characters learned that individuality was more important than conformity. After so much time of learning to stay true, why change now? Why change when she had her entire life to live her own way?

It was true individuals such as Kayoko and Professor White were needed in the world. Without practicality, there would be no productivity. Chiasa had never despised practicality, for it had helped her complete many arduous assignments. Perhaps Kayoko and Professor White wanted her to balance practicality with her emotions. Balance was central to many East Asian faiths, including Shinto. Chiasa had yet to grasp the concept of balance, but she was confident in doing so. She would have her entire life to complete such a task, and she would gain experience in time.

When at last the muffin was gone, Chiasa stood up from her seat and dropped her wrapper into the garbage bin. After washing her hands and placing them into her gloves, she began the short journey back to her dormitory. She would work on her homework that night, ensuring a successful first semester of college. As she planned her schedule for the night, she nearly forgot she had been crying earlier.

Daydreams fluttered in her mind as she walked. Her active imagination had lasted through the semester, and she could not imagine it disappearing. She saw herself as a samurai fighting demons, righting wrongs, and saving the world. Of course, these thoughts were mixed with worries about what her beloved ancestor thought of her. Was she doing enough, or was she not yet worthy of what was "to come?"

"Mission students?" a voice sounded. "I understand you need to be somewhere."

The voice interrupted Chiasa's thoughts. She knew she had heard it somewhere else, but it had been so long.

"We are on a mission from God," another voice said. "It is our duty to find souls such as yours and teach them of his wonders."

"Which god do you serve?" the first voice asked.

Chiasa looked towards her dormitory to see three figures standing at its north entrance. One was dressed in typical winter clothing, but the other two were in black robes. A rope necklace with a cross charm hung from the neck of a robed figure, and his companion was holding what appeared to be an old book. It was not long before Chiasa realized the robed figures were evangelists. As for the third figure, his identity remained a mystery. Chiasa walked towards him, hoping to see his face.

"He was crucified by Pontius Pilate," one of the evangelists explained, "and he descended into Hell. However, on the third day, he rose to Heaven and is seated on the right hand of the Father. Someday, he will return to judge the living and the dead."

"Wow!" the third figure smiled in awe. "That story sounds a lot like those of Buddhist monks who witnessed the torment of the damned in the Lands of Roots and Gloom. Did those tales inspire yours?"

The other evangelist sighed, "It is true that tales can be parallel, but our tale is the one true tale. It is only through the light of your lord that you can attain salvation."

"Only through your lord?" the third figure shrugged. "How can you be sure his tale is true and mine are not?"

Chiasa was tempted to roll her eyes. She was often intrigued by discussions of faith, but she loathed those that became arguments. She hoped the third figure would hold his tongue before it was too late. His face grew clearer as she approached him, taking her to an almost distant time. It was a face that had seldom appeared as serious, but it could show concern when necessary.

"Haruki!" she gasped.

The three figures turned around at the sound of her voice. The evangelists seemed confused, but the third figure was wearing a wide smile.

"Chiasa!" he proclaimed.

The two friends quickly approached one another, nearly running. They did not embrace, but they exchanged friendly greetings.

"You know this girl?" one of the evangelists asked.

Haruki laughed, "Know her? She and I go way back. We're practically siblings, only closer."

Chiasa knew he was exaggerating. Their first meeting had been only six months ago, and they had not seen one another since the previous August. And yet, she felt as though she had been reunited with a long lost friend.

"Praise God," the other evangelist nodded. "As you can see, Haruki, he can work miracles. Perhaps, he brought you to us so your friend could come to you."

Haruki seemed tempted to speak, but Chiasa looked at his face. Her silent expression warned him not to begin an argument with the two young men. He turned towards them and said, "Thanks for your advice, and I wish you luck for the rest of your journey."

"Amen," the evangelists replied.

When a good distance stood between them and the two friends, Haruki asked Chiasa, "How have you been? Did the man in black give you any trouble?"

Chiasa had nearly forgotten about the man in black. It had been months since she had last heard of him. She wondered if he had been watching her all this time. To feel safer, she led Haruki into her room. She discussed her university experiences with him, intriguing him at every moment. There was no mention of danger, nor had she ever felt unsafe on campus. Haruki was relieved to know it.

The boy took great pleasure in listening to Tomoe's descendant. Her classes seemed intriguing, the campus' activities had entertained many, and her new friends had pure hearts. Chiasa had not needed to worry about eating "college food," for the dining hall's dishes were of high quality. Haruki thought of her as fortunate to have a personal room in which she could study and vent. And the Stone Route Program had been beneficial for her, giving her mentors and study time.

When Chiasa had finished speaking, Haruki asked her, "Now that your first semester is coming to an end, what are you gonna do?"

She struggled to find an answer. There were holiday festivities she hoped to perform, but she did not know if Haruki would support her personal research. Hoping not to seem suspicious, she answered, "I plan on taking it easy until the next semester starts."

"Looking for Naipon, are ya?" Haruki grinned.

"What makes you think that?" Chiasa gasped.

The only other instance in which he had spoken of Naipon was their last conversation, and it was a measure of last resort. Perhaps he had remembered it clearly for the last four months. Chiasa's mind was like that.

"I know how desperate you are to find your family," Haruki explained, "and I mean your true family. And, we both know you're of Tomoe Gozen's bloodline. Perhaps she's the key to the truth."

"Where are you going with this?" Chiasa inquired.

Haruki was eager to answer her, "It is obvious you got information from a ghost, and ghosts don't talk to the living for no reason. Of course, they can only arrive at certain times in the night, depending on circumstances. We could look for Tomoe's spirit in the Underworld as she did with Okio's spirit, but that might be a little complicated. There's demons, other ghosts, and tests of the heart. Therefore, conjuring is our best bet for now.

"You may have seen this, but there's a cemetery close to your campus. Cemeteries are perfect places for the living to make contact with the dead. Tonight, we can go to the cemetery and make an altar to Tomoe. If we respect her spirit and give it offerings, she may come to us."

"Does it have to be tonight?" Chiasa asked.

Haruki nodded, "If anyone comes up with the idea of conjuring the dead, the dead have to be conjured as soon as possible. Otherwise, the dead may be more reluctant."

"But, I have homework I would like to complete," Chiasa shivered.

Haruki laughed, "That shouldn't be a problem for you. You always stay on top of it, and you always make time for it. What is it you have to do for tonight?"

"Just a paper that's due next week," Chiasa shrugged.

"Perfect!" Haruki beamed with excitement. "Work on a good portion of that until dinnertime, then eat some exotic noodles or plantains at your dining hall, then meet me at the parking garage. I have a car we can take to the cemetery."

Chiasa had some concerns. She was not sure if the university would allow her to go to a cemetery at night. She was an independent adult, and Mexicans often went to cemeteries for comfort, but the United States' White culture was known to disdain such places. There were also the chances of dangers such as unwanted spirits or the conjuring going wrong. If Tomoe's spirit decided her descendant was not worthy, and if there was danger, Chiasa would be left to fend for herself.

Her concerns were quite valid, but there were also promises. It was possible Tomoe would deem her worthy after all, granting her passage into the Anchored Empire. The young woman would then be closer to the family she once had. And, the conjuring might summon her true parents as well as Tomoe. That would bring her even closer as the spirits may tell her about themselves. The promises were tempting, and Chiasa had been waiting for such opportunities for months now. Of course, there was one factor that needed to be acknowledged.

"I'll conjure Tomoe's spirit with you," she said, "but we'll need to find offerings."

"I trust you to be creative," Haruki replied.

No! Chiasa thought. Not another vague answer!

It was almost a temptation to turn her thoughts into speech, but the young woman was too polite. She merely nodded and said, "I will do what I can."

"Thank you," Haruki smiled warmly. "You're such a reliable person."

"How do you know that?" Chiasa sighed.

She was losing self-confidence again. Offerings were essential to the conjuring, and their absence or the wrong offerings were enough to ruin it. A voice was telling her to give up, to perish the thought of such an activity. If not for a small flicker of hope, she would have listened.

She stood firmly. It had been centuries since she had last done so, but she had yet to forget how. No one could be seen with her, but she knew she was not alone. She held her ground, waiting for the last possible moment. It would come.

The only feature of her posture that concerned her was her blade. One could not determine if it was different from what she had wielded in the past. Even after years of experience it was a mystery. She was no longer carefree, but she hungered for knowledge. Only her concentration could calm her hunger.

I have been waiting, little one …

Her hand was on her blade. She could sense a presence standing before her. She could not tell if it were one she knew, but that did not matter at the moment.

"If you have indeed come for me," she said, "come to my face. If not, I suggest you leave at once."

Time flies …

At that moment, the earth began to tremble. She could sense it, as could the presence. A voice sounded, resembling one she knew.

It is time, she thought.

Dusk was nearly gone. Time was rushing, but it was also lagging. Chiasa did not know how to feel. She had completed a large portion of her paper, and her evening meal was gone, but she felt quite lost. Her body was in one place, but her mind was in many.

She had searched around the campus, but nothing was satisfactory. What was available in the hangout area and the vending machines was of low quality, and the items at the gift shop were too unusual. The Christkindlmarket was too far away. If she could not find something, it would be all for nothing. She could not afford to give up now.

She looked at her plastic bins, considering desperate measures. Many of her snacks had been consumed, but some remained. Among them were cookie dough bits she and Benjiro had purchased at the Christkindlmarket. There was a jar of balls of chocolate chip cookie dough that had been dipped into German milk chocolate. Next to it was a jar filled with sugar cookie dough balls covered in white chocolate and powdered sugar. Chiasa had been good about saving them, but her patience was now running out.

I can't give one of those away, she thought. They're for my Stone Route teachers.

And yet, university students were known for giving gifts to their teachers. Some did at times, but those were rare occasions. The idea for Chiasa to do so had been Albert's; he had encouraged it since she was in elementary school. As she got older, Kayoko had spoken of how gift giving for teachers was an activity for children alone. Perhaps it was time to listen to her.

Not wanting to be too extravagant, Chiasa removed the jar of chocolate chip cookie dough balls from its bin. She was sad to lose a present for a beloved teacher, but she knew desperate times sometimes call for desperate measures. She was about to close the bin when she saw the jar that remained. It seemed sad to be without its companion. Shinto shows that all beings have spirits, even inanimate objects. Feeling a pang of guilt in her heart, Chiasa took the second jar.

"Respected grandmother," she said to herself, "I know American treats are sweeter than Naiponese treats, but these are all I have. Please, bear with me."

She rushed from her room, hoping Haruki was not worrying. It was as though she were an official samurai running into battle. She could feel her omamori pressing against her chest. Would it interfere with the conjuring? She decided it would be alright, knowing omamoris were believed to possess protecting powers. If the conjuring went wrong, she would need protection. Protection the spirit of Tomoe could not have dreamed of giving.

Chapter 11

Everything was stiff and still. It was clear the winter had arrived, for all seemed frozen. Yuki-onna and Shin-yuki-onna were long dead, but their spirits seemed to remain. Haruki almost thought he could see their phantoms floating past him. He should not have been surprised by this turn of events, for his home was of a similar climate.

Am I simply homesick? he wondered. What is it I yearn for?

There were some lights on the houses and trees he saw. Some were white, some were of colors, and some were projections. In a few windows were trees with lights and decorations of their own. Haruki looked at one window, seeing a man and a girl placing fake candy canes onto the tree in their home. They seemed happy, telling stories and jokes. It was a warm moment, but it merely made Haruki feel colder.

As Tsukiyomi ascended up the sky, Haruki deeply thought about the man and girl. Their presence reminded him of his parents and everything he could have done with them. Had the man sired the girl, or was she another orphan? Haruki could not have answered the question, for the man and the girl had similar tones of dark skin. He could not come to them, let alone speak to them.

"Haruki!" a voice cried.

He turned around to see Chiasa running towards him. She was carrying two small jars, being careful not to drop them. With her were two young women and a young man whose ages were only slightly higher than hers.

"Haruki!" Chiasa cried again.

He smiled, giving her the greetings of a longtime friend. They still chose not to embrace, but they exchanged smiles. That was when he looked at the three companions who had accompanied her. He had never seen them before, nor had they seen him.

"Haruki," Chiasa explained, "these are three of my friends from college: Katie, María, and Jorge. They would like to accompany us for the conjuring."

"Accompany us?" Haruki asked, confused.

Chiasa tried to retain her patience as she answered him, "I came across them as I was coming to you. Katie and I have been close friends since the beginning of the semester, and I met María and Jorge as it progressed. They asked where I was going tonight, and I told them I had duties to tend to in the local cemetery."

"That did not frighten us," María nodded. "Jorge and I are Mexican, and we like going to cemeteries for comfort."

Chiasa smiled at her before speaking again, "My friends enjoy spending time with me, but homework has been making that impossible lately. They hope they can join me tonight when my workload is light."

"Plus," Katie added, "she writes some of the best stories I've ever heard. You should've read her story about the orphan girl named Hina."

After a short time of silence, Haruki requested that the three friends excuse him and Chiasa for a moment. They agreed unanimously, wanting to respect their privacy. The two smiled at them before walking to the end of the sidewalk. At their destination, however, their smiles disappeared.

"What were you thinking?" Haruki inquired. "What on Earth made you want to take those three along?"

"I'm trying to be nice to them," Chiasa shivered. "They want to spend time with me, and they're my friends."

Haruki sighed, "Their lives will be in danger if the conjuring goes wrong. You should know that."

"I do," Chiasa snapped, "and it's what I was thinking when my friends offered to come with me. I thought about the consequences and benefits of taking them, and I decided they would watch us if they kept a good distance from us. If something goes wrong, they can run and get help."

Haruki sighed again, "One cannot simply run from spirits. In fact, some spirits are attracted to running."

"I know that," Chiasa nodded, "but we have my omamori from Benjiro. It is said to bring good luck and blessings, and it bears the symbol of Tomoe Gozen."

She showed him the omamori to prove herself. Haruki's eyes widened at the sight of it.

"That's a powerful charm," he gulped. "How did you get this?"

"I do not know," Chiasa answered. "All I know is that it is a gift from Benjiro."

"Well, do keep it close," Haruki said. "If you lose that thing, it's the end of the line for you."

"Does this mean my friends can accompany us?" Chiasa asked him.

Haruki did not speak until a moment had passed, "Considering you have a powerful charm, I will allow it this time. However, such exceptions may not be made in the future."

"Thank you so much," Chiasa smiled out of relief. "I do not know how to repay you."

You will know in time, Haruki thought.

The two friends were quick to return to their companions, who had not minded their absence. In fact, Katie was showing videos on her cell phone to María and Jorge."

"Hey, guys," Chiasa said to them. "We're ready to go whenever you are."

"Perfect timing," Jorge chuckled. "Something funny just happened in Katie's video." He laughed vigorously before saying, "The cat jumped out of the sink and into the bathtub."

"We like showing videos to one another," Chiasa explained to Haruki. "It's almost our tradition."

"Videos?" Haruki asked. He then quickly said, "That sounds like fun. Perhaps after the conjuring, we could watch some."

"That's a great idea!" Katie exclaimed. "I'm practically the queen of YouTube."

"The conjuring should be fun too, though," María added. "It will almost be like Día del Muertos."

"Yeah, this trip is so giving me Coco vibes," Katie nodded.

"Vibes?" Haruki asked her. "What is a vibe?"

Katie gave her response in a surprised tone, "You've never heard of vibes? Where are you from?"

Chiasa was quick to say, "We should start going to the cemetery. I'm afraid the spirits may be growing impatient with us."

Her three friends obliged, and they were on their way. The moon was full that night, lighting their path. There were plenty of lights to be seen, but the moon was shining regardless. Tsukiyomi was not known to fear artificial lights. His light placed a small whiteness on the path ahead, complementing the lights of the holidays.

Chiasa was fond of the lights she passed, but she could not help but gaze at the moon and stars above. They had been in the sky since the creation of Earth. They had been watching the planet from the beginning; the holiday lights were merely new additions. Change and continuity were standing side-by-side that night. Chiasa had seen both in many places, but rarely had they been so clear.

For a while, she wondered if Tomoe had ever thought like her. She recalled the Thousand Shrine Warrior's first visit to the Temple of the Gorge, a day on which the snow was falling. Tomoe's recollection of youth and aging could be heard in the woman's mind. She was more mature than the younger Tomoe, but she could think like the older Tomoe. Would it be as such once she had aged?

The snow seemed to answer her, falling for the first time that December. It seemed to purify the world, encasing it within a thin white sheet. Perhaps Chiasa's experience in the cemetery would resemble Tomoe's in the Temple of the Gorge. Chiasa was almost confident in such an outcome, but one thought held her back. It was a thought that had not come to her since the previous summer.

My adoptive parents found me on a night like this, she remembered. My nineteenth birthday is almost here.

"We're here, Chiasa," Haruki said, interrupting her thoughts.

She opened her eyes to see a black gate at her side. Its top read, Sapphire City Cemetery. The lights of the moon and the homes made the words clear.

"Not a minute too soon," Katie acknowledged.

Chiasa softly nodded as Haruki opened the gate. She led her friends into the attraction, feeling a sense of eagerness and anxiety. She then addressed Haruki, "I understand Tomoe Gozen is not buried here. Where can we summon her?"

"That's no problem," Haruki smiled cleverly. "We just have to find a hill on which we can set up our altar."

"There's one!" Jorge exclaimed excitedly. "It's over there to our left."

"You lead the way, then," Chiasa said to him.

They passed many graves, being careful not to walk upon them. As they walked, Chiasa could not help but notice how little light the cemetery had compared to the sidewalk. There were some graves with decorations, but few had lights. This was a place where Tsukiyomi's hard work could be seen. This was a place where he could be respected. A place of the old ways.

When at last the friends were at the hill's peak, Haruki instructed them, "If this ritual is to be a success, every part of it must be done right. I've brought almost everything we need: a mitayama, a funeral tablet, a woodblock painting of the deceased, candles, matches, and decorative plants." He turned to Chiasa and asked her, "You brought offerings, right?"

"Yes," she nodded, showing him the jars of cookie dough.

"She'll love those," Haruki chuckled. "Even the dead need sweets from time to time."

Katie and María laughed with him as he placed the mitayama upon the hill. He instructed his companions on how to display the other items on top of it, making sure they were carefully positioned. They enjoyed completing their tasks, but one detail nearly froze Chiasa in shock.

That woodblock painting! she gasped in her mind. It's the one from my basement!

She was tempted to ask Haruki how he had attained it, but she knew time was not on their side. Instead, she opened the jars of cookie dough and placed them where Tomoe's spirit could reach them.

Please work, Chiasa's thoughts stirred. Please work.

"What are you doing, Chiasa?" a voice cried.

She turned around, knowing the voice did not belong to any of her companions. They turned with her, having heard it themselves. They found a young Japanese woman running towards them up the hill. A faint image appeared in Chiasa's mind.

"Ai!" she gasped. "What are you doing here?"

Ai stopped herself to breath at the peak's hill. As the sixth wanderer calmed herself, Chiasa introduced her to her friends.

"You work at the Field Museum?" Katie asked Ai in an excited tone. "How cool is that?"

"You must get a lot of visitors," Jorge nodded.

Ai was panting, "Please … hear … me out …"

Chiasa could recognize something was not right. For the last nineteen years, she had interacted with worried or frustrated individuals. Their tones were unique, but there were common features. Such features could be found in Ai's. Hoping not to seem worried herself, Chiasa asked her, "What is it that troubles you?"

"You must not conjure any spirits tonight," Ai said desperately. "There is something wrong in the Land of the Dead."

"And, what would that be?" Chiasa continued.

Ai retained her worried tone, "I do not know, but you must not search for it. A search would bring certain doom."

Chiasa was now inquiring her, "What about Tomoe Gozen? She is the only ancestor whom I know, and I need her to locate my family."

"You'll find them in time!" Ai snapped. "For now, you must…"

She froze. Chiasa and her friends grew confused as Ai looked to the sky with wide eyes. She screamed, reaching towards the moon.

"Ai, are you alright?" María gasped.

At that moment, Ai was nowhere to be seen. In her place was a gilded hirauchi kanzashi. An image of an iris blossom stood on its flat surface, radiating a strange beauty. Haruki's face grew stiff as he picked it up. He looked at Chiasa and said, "Keep this with you."

"I don't understand," Chiasa shivered. "What does the hairpin mean? Why was Ai here?"

Haruki placed the pin into her hand, "This object is a sign that will someday bring you salvation. As for Ai's message, don't worry about it. You can do what you want."

"I say we go now," María said. "I'm getting scared."

"But, I was hoping to speak with Tomoe," Chiasa gasped.

"It's too dangerous," Jorge said. "I don't think that woman came for nothing."

"How do you know?" Haruki asked him. "She might've been simply crazy, or it could've been a prank."

"A prank?" María snapped. "She was screaming. "You call that a prank?"

Katie spoke in a calmer tone, "I say Chiasa should decide what we do. After all, the conjuring was her idea."

María was tempted to protest, but Katie glanced at her. Chiasa grew tempted to watch them, but she was soon being watched by all three of her companions. They were still in the cold December air. Their eyes were thoughtful, revealing a shared desire for knowledge. Had she not watched the world with eyes like those?

Tomoe's descendant sighed, "I understand the dangers we may be inviting, but we have come too far to turn back. Every hero's journey has its obstacles, and this is one of ours. You are free to leave if you so choose, but I choose to stay."

Silence remained, as did the watchful eyes. As Chiasa gazed back at them, she wondered if she had been right to take her friends to the cemetery. Jorge had spoken the truth when he mentioned the reason behind Ai's coming. His words were Tomoe's, which were Benjiro's. And in stories, the flaw of the heroes was often their inability to listen. A pang of guilt flew across her stomach.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Haruki had beaten her, "You are a brave young woman, Chiasa. I trust you."

"As do I," Katie said.

She and Haruki came closer to Chiasa and stood by her sides. Now, María and Jorge were facing three seekers instead of one.

"It seems as though their minds are made up," Jorge said to María. "As much as I wish to stay safe, I cannot let anything bad happen to my friends."

He came to Haruki's side, standing boldly like a soldier. Realizing she was now alone, María sighed and approached him. Her reply was reluctant, "If it means that much to you, it means that much to me."

"Thank you so much," Chiasa sighed in grateful relief. "This means so much to me."

"We know," Haruki nodded. "Let's get it done, then."

Seeing the mitayama was ready, Chiasa approached it with a great fire burning from within. As the adopted daughter of a Shintoist, she knew to bow to it and clap.

"Chiasa, look!" María gasped. "Someone's here!"

"Is it Ai?" Chiasa gulped.

María shook her head, "I can't tell 'cause it's so dark. If you don't want to make a scene, make it quick."

"Be reasonable," Haruki said to her. "Cemeteries are places to honor the dead, and we're honoring the dead." He looked at Chiasa, "Just keep doing what you're doing, okay?"

"Alright," Chiasa answered.

Her friends felt many things as she bowed to the altar. There was excitement, hope, suspense, regret and so much more. Only the gods knew what was to come.

"Respected grandmother," Chiasa proclaimed, "when we were last together, you revealed I must prove myself worthy of your homeland and your legacy. I have studied ceaselessly behind the desk of a scholar, but my heart and soul have remained ever-faithful. I request only your presence on this night of the full moon and cold air. If I am worthy, bring yourself to me and show me the knowledge only you can offer. Show me the knowledge of where I came from and who I am meant to be."

Silence. A slight thought came to Chiasa, warning her the ritual would be in vain. She nearly considered the thought to be in the right, but something stopped her. It may have been hope, or perhaps it was longing.

"Great ancestor," Chiasa said, "I thank you for granting me permission to summon you. Please, accept my offerings and be at peace."

More silence. María tried to warn Chiasa of the figure she had seen, but the warning fell upon deaf ears. Tomoe's descendant could hear only her own thoughts as they spoke of giving up and keeping hope.

"Please, respected grandmother," Chiasa begged, falling to her knees, "come to me on this night. Your descendant is suffering, and only you can save her."

"Come on, Chiasa!" María called. "We have to go!"

What am I doing wrong? Chiasa asked herself. What more could the spirit want?

She suddenly felt Ai's hirauchi kanzashi in her coat pocket. At that moment, she wondered if Ai had come simply to give her a missing part of the altar. Rising through a sky of hope, she opened her pocket and placed the hairpin onto the surface of the mitayama. That was when the golden flames of its candles turned blue. They grew larger and larger, but the altar did not turn to ash.

"I think it's working!" Chiasa exclaimed.

"What's working?" a voice snapped.

Chiasa turned around to see Professor Camila White glaring at her.

"Professor White!" she gasped. "What are you doing here?"

María sighed, "I tried to warn you."

"Enough's enough," Professor White continued. "It's time to stop playing and go back home."

Chiasa grew defensive, "Playing? We're not playing. We're making contact with my ancestor. Is that not what is done in cemeteries?"

Professor White opened her mouth to speak, but nothing escaped. She and the five friends had their attention stolen by the mitayama, which was now glowing like the sun and shaking like a banner. The hirauchi kanzashi began to float above it, radiating its own glow. Chiasa turned back towards the altar and proclaimed, "Great respected ancestor, it is an honor to be in your presence. Please, forgive me if this disturbance does not please you."

Stop! a voice screamed. Leave me!

Chiasa did not know what to make of what was happening. She asked the voice's owner, "Is that you, respected grandmother?"

Leave me! the voice screamed again.

"Who's in there?" Professor White cried.

That was when Haruki ran to her. He did not hesitate to say, "Get out of here as fast as you can, and don't look back." He then looked at Chiasa's other companions, "The three of you do the same."

It was not long before Chiasa and Haruki were glowing. Their glows were faint and red, making them seem spirit-like. Professor White screamed and ran, never showing a sign of her face. Katie, María, and Jorge had been instructed to do the same, but they remained in their places.

"Go now!" Haruki ordered them. "If you value your lives, go!"

They're in a trance! Chiasa thought. I must do something.

She removed the jar of sugar cookie dough balls from the altar, apologizing to Tomoe. Chiasa did not hesitate to throw handfuls of the treats at her petrified friends.

"Get out of here!" Haruki shouted again.

He and Chiasa were more hopeful, but only Katie's consciousness was restored. She turned around and ran as a green light shone from beneath the mitayama.

Thank you for inviting us, young one, a voice sounded.

Chiasa and Haruki knew it was not the voice that had been screaming. This thought barely crossed their minds as samurai warriors came charging from the green light. Chiasa then looked at María and Jorge, who remained frozen. They seemed to be growing weaker, and their eyes were turning red. The redness seemed like another glow, but Chiasa was quick to recognize it as blood. María coughed uncontrollably, spitting more of the red substance onto the ground. As the samurai surrounded the four seekers, the lifeless corpses of María and Jorge fell to the ground.

Haruki looked at Chiasa and said, "It's too late to save them. Tiny demons have entered their heads through their eyes and eaten their brains."

"Those demons are our allies," a samurai added. "It was by chance we met in Hell."

"Great warriors," Chiasa addressed the samurai, "to whom may I be speaking? I have only summoned Tomoe Gozen of Heida."

The samurai were laughing. Only one managed to speak, "It seems as though your timing is poor, young one. Now, we have to present your head to her as a trophy."

"Yours and the boy's!" another cackled. "We need absolute proof of our victory."

Chiasa felt a warmth on her chest. It was not long before she realized it was coming from her omamori. She touched the warmth to confirm its source. It was indeed the omamori, but she did not expect to feel something heavy hanging on her left side. She then realized she was wearing her strapped Inaba katana again. Knowing this, she was quick to grab its handle.

"I see you are like us," one of the samurai nodded. "If that is indeed so, I request you fight."

"I was hoping such an event would not happen on this night," Chiasa replied, "but it seems I have no choice. Who must I face?"

"You will face all of us," the samurai grinned, "and the boy will not help you."

Black snake-like creatures emerged from the ground, binding Haruki's feet to it. He fell to the ground as he struggled to free himself. He attempted to rise, but more of the creatures bound his hands. As Chiasa grew tempted to help him, she heard the sound of sliding steel. She did not need to look at her opponents to know what they were doing. However, she was hesitant to let her own steel slide.

"This is your last chance for mercy," she warned the warriors. "If you leave me in peace now, you will not be harmed."

"It is not us who should fear being harmed, little one," a samurai sneered.

All of her hesitance was gone. She escaped his line of fire, blocking another blade with hers. Two more blades approached her, but she dodge them. She scanned the area, realizing she was surrounded by twenty armored men. There was not much space between her and her opponents, and the space was quickly shrinking.

Her body was now a river. It was swift and strong, but its waters were becoming contaminated with panic. She did what she could to control it, but there is only so much a human mind can do.

Come on! she urged herself. Don't be stupid! Remember your training!

She knew she was in a real battle, but her mind took her to a mock battle she had fought at the Wang Dojo. She was fourteen years old at the time, which meant she had been training for four years. In that particular mock battle, she was surrounded by older students. They were holding staffs like hers, doing what they could to strike her. She could not control her panic so well then, and her instructor was not blind to it. She ordered the older students to step back so she could approach the young woman.

The words of the instructor were still clear in Chiasa's mind five years later, Sometimes, the mind is stronger than the hands. When the hands cannot aid you, use the mind.

Use the mind, Chiasa thought. Somehow, I need more space for fighting. If only …

"Chiasa!" a voice cried.

It was Katie. She was running towards the battle, oblivious to what was happening. The samurai stopped their battle to face the intruder. Beneath their noses, Chiasa departed from their ring. She was tempted to warn Katie to turn around, but her instincts were louder than her heart. And yet, she fought all of her senses to avoid watching Katie have her brains eaten.

Police! Freeze! another voice sounded.

Chiasa felt more pangs as she heard two men screaming. She assumed they were unfortunate officers who had no knowledge of Naipon, its spirits, or its demons. The sound of bullets was suddenly prominent, forcing Chiasa to throw herself to the ground. She glanced at the samurai, who were realizing their opponent was nowhere to be seen. What followed was the sound of a third man screaming.

It's useless! a fourth man grunted. Everytime we do something, we lose more men!

Stay low, said a female voice. I think it's best we wait for a clear shot.

The twenty samurai turned around and saw Chiasa on the ground. She was not slow to see them, and she rose to prove herself. She expected them to seem more worried, but her opponents had other ideas. They jumped into the air, uniting themselves into a single body. It was not long before they were a twenty-foot samurai with an angry blade reflecting the moonlight.

"Earlier tonight," he said to the young warrior, "you offered to allow us to surrender. Now, we will give you the offer."

"How can I trust you?" Chiasa glowered. "You have already murdered six."

"Tis the demons you should be scolding girl," the samurai cackled. "Their appetites are never satisfied."

"Now, I will return the offer to you!" Chiasa snapped. "You can surrender, or you can face your end!"

The samurai ran towards Tomoe's descendant, intent on crushing her. She, however, was not one to be swayed in a fight. She leapt away from the giant's feet, glancing at his body and her ground. He crushed many graves as he charged.

If I could strike him… said her thoughts.

She suddenly felt a wooden surface on her back, and her feet were not even on the ground. She looked up to see wide steaks blocking the stars.

The old oak tree! her mind gasped.

She had heard many rumors of the Sapphire City Cemetery's oak tree. Some said it touched Heaven, some claimed it held the souls of the murdered, and some were sure it had been planted during the American Civil War. Chiasa knew she was not a good climber, but climbing was not her plan. She sheathed her katana and wrapped her arms around the ancient stump. Patience was now her ally.

"At last," the monster of a samurai proclaimed, "we have found you, oh descendant of Tomoe! Your head is ours!"

He placed his hands upon the tree's branches, lifting it from the ground. Anyone else would have been frightened to the core, but Chiasa had expected the action. She moved herself around the tree until it hid her from what was holding it. When she was sure he could not see her, she climbed to its roots and unsheathed her blade. The samurai quickly turned the tree around, but Chiasa was quick to leap from the roots. What followed was clear cut.

Tomoe's descendant leapt to the ground before she could fall. The headless body of the samurai giant fell beside her, and its head followed. Before too long, the headless body vanished into thin air. Not a trace of it remained but the head. The young warrior's prize.

Knowing samurai customs, she tried to roll the mighty head. She had expected it to weigh a great amount, but it was as light as a ball of dust. When it finally stood in front of the mitayama, Chiasa cut Haruki free from what bound him. He had witnessed her entire battle, but he was surprised to see what was standing before him. He was tempted to speak to the young woman, but he soon realized she was bowing to the altar.

"Respected grandmother," she said, "my battle has been won, and I present to you the head of the warrior I have slain."

You have done me good, granddaughter, a female voice sounded. Now, you are expected at the gate to Heaven. One waits for you.

The mystical lights disappeared, the hirauchi kanzashi ceased floating, and the candle flames returned to their normal form. Chiasa and Haruki turned to see the head had vanished. They were stunned, but Chiasa gave her thanks to Tomoe regardless.

"I have to say," Haruki shivered, "I was expecting something big to happen, but nothing as big as … that."

"I understand," Chiasa nodded. "It seems as though Ai were right to warn us."

"Police! Freeze!" a third voice sounded.

Chiasa's panic returned to her. She saw three offers facing her. One of them was the chief, wearing a disapproving glower. By her side was an equally unforgiving Professor White.

"You have the right to remain silent," the chief said to Chiasa. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Haruki, Chiasa thought, get me out of this.

She looked around herself, but Haruki was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter 12

Wisdom, courage, and Princess Lightning. Only those can help you now.

The snow was falling. It would have enchanted Chiasa on any other day, but she now felt nothing. She did not think of Yuki-onna nor Shin-yuki-onna, nor did she imagine the world being purified. The falling snow seemed more like teardrops than wintry petals. She was not searching for anything to inspire her daydreams or stories. She wanted courage, wisdom, and her Golden Naginata.

Her own tears accompanied those of the cloud-filled sky. Hope did not come to her, being so far away. She felt the pangs she always felt when confidence left her. This time, however, she could prove she was a failure. Earlier that day, she had been expelled from college.

The previous night, she had been arrested for mass homicide. She knew she had not killed the three students nor the three officers, but she could not prove her innocence. The body of the samurai giant was gone, and the mitayama's normal form had been restored. She also knew the police would not be likely to believe in the myths and legends of Naipon. She tried to present the scene as an accident she could not control, but the surviving officers did not believe her. Professor White supported them, thinking more practically than emotionally.

Chiasa knew she would have been taken into custody if not for Benjiro. She had not contacted him, but he came regardless. She was thankful he convinced the police her deceased friends were terrorists who had fired their guns in the wrong places while trying to shoot her. As for the mitayama, it was presented as a bomb that could not explode despite being ignited. Chiasa was freed from arrest, but Professor White had other ideas.

The professor had been suspicious of Chiasa since the student vented over exams. White expected university students to be calm, obedient, and practical in the adult world. Chiasa could be those things, but it did not seem as such in the first incident. Now that she had witnessed the incident at the cemetery, she decided she had seen enough. Few individuals in northeastern Illinois were known to go to cemeteries to summon their ancestors. There were the Hispanic and Latino communities, but Chiasa's ritual had not been meant to resemble theirs. And since the ritual had taken six lives, White was greatly frightened.

Hoping to save the university, White reported Chiasa's actions to the university president. The professor claimed the woman was too dangerous for herself and for the other students and faculty. The president strongly believed in Benjiro's evidence, but Professor White warned her of Chiasa's "differences" from the other students. She also acknowledged the young woman's possession of a katana on the campus. In the professor's claim, the katana made Chiasa a target as well as a threat. Since she had already been "targeted" by three "deranged" students, one could only imagine what could follow.

Much to the disdain of Chiasa, the president sided with Professor White. The young woman was not permitted to take her semester exams, nor could she speak with her other professors. She was expected to clear out her room and leave before the end of the day. Benjiro would help her, but it would not be a joyous occasion. She now had to spend her Winter Break searching for other colleges and universities, and her graduation would be delayed. She could hear her adoptive parents scolding her.

Chiasa tried to thank Benjiro as they packed her belongings. She hoped to lighten their moods and assure him all would be well. Benjiro, however, was not in the mood to speak. He revealed such a time would not come until they were in his car. This only worsened Chiasa's pangs, making her feel as though an illness had invaded her body.

The snow clouds were covering the sky, but the evening was clear. The natural light was growing dimmer, and the holiday lights were appearing. Chiasa was tempted to admire the changing landscape, but she did not wish to keep the room inspector waiting. She and Benjiro managed to finish five minutes before their scheduled check-out. She looked at her friend for comfort, but there was none. The good ratings given to them by the inspector did not do much to relieve her.

What happened next was automatic for the young woman. Her belongings were taken to the dormitory's ground level. They were taken to the car. The trunk to the car was opened. Her belongings were arranged inside. The truck was closed. She and Benjiro entered the car. Their seatbelts were buckled, the engine was started, and the car was on its way to Richardson. At least, that was what she expected.

Instead of traveling down the usual route, Benjiro positioned his vehicle in the parking lot of a restaurant. Chiasa could tell the restaurant was not formal; its seats had leather cushions, and its name was Betty's Diner. Chiasa felt her normal hunger pangs, wondering if Benjiro's had come. He, however, did not break their silence. Even after stopping the car, he firmly grasped the wheel.

"What were you thinking?" he growled.

Chiasa knew his tone did not mean good news. Acknowledging the vagueness of his question, she asked him, "What do you mean?"

"What you have done was selfish and foolish!" he snapped.

"I don't understand," Chiasa shivered. "What are you talking about?"

"Your incident in the cemetery!" he continued. "I told you the answers to your questions would come to you in time, but you did not listen! It cost your friends their lives and their honor!"

"I did await the answers," Chiasa desperately replied. "The incident was the first time I had researched Naipon in months."

"Why did you not wait until you were home?" Benjiro inquired. "How could a clever woman such as you be so foolish?"

Chiasa felt as though she were begging, "Haruki said the dead must be conjured as soon as possible. The conjuring was his idea. If you are angry with me, speak with him."

"I have," Benjiro grunted. "I told him he was wrong to teach you such things without my permission. As for yourself, you were wrong to listen to him. Were you not warned of the dangers of conjuring the dead?"

"Actually, I had been warned," Chiasa sighed. "A woman named Ai warned me something was wrong in the Land of the Dead. I tried to ask her why, but she looked at the sky and screamed."

The silence resumed. Benjiro was still clutching the steering wheel, but his face was much softer. Chiasa could only imagine the images in his mind. As she wondered what they were, she heard him inhale and exhale deeply as though he were a great beast. She looked forward, trying not to seem nosy. And yet, she was tempted to ask a thousand questions.

"We will discuss more of this in Richardson," Benjiro said in a calmer tone. "For now, we must eat."

"We'll eat here?" Chiasa asked him, wanting to understand his plan.

Suddenly, the calmness in Benjiro's tone was gone, "When did you become such an ignorant brat?"

Chiasa felt as though she had turned to stone. Her eyes were watering, threatening to resemble the Ryusei and Ginga Waterfalls. Benjiro lost his scowl, but it was not lost for very long.

"Come with me," he ordered. "I will request a table for us."

Their evening meal should have been enough to please Chiasa. Betty's Diner was not well-known beyond the fringes of Sapphire City, but few of its customers had poor experiences. It was known for its hamburgers, hot dogs, and Italian beef sandwiches. Chiasa was known to enjoy eating bacon cheeseburgers and french fries, but the rich flavors of her meal could not cleanse her mind. She resisted her urge to cry, not wanting to attain face acne. Nevertheless, the urge was strong.

She and Benjiro ate in silence. Sometimes, she would glance at him as he sipped his soda or bit into his Italian beef. If he had truly planned to stay silent until arriving in Richardson, the night would not be easy for Chiasa. As one who preferred immediate answers, she could not bear to wait for a whole car ride. It did not help that the ride would be one hour and thirty minutes long.

The two eventually finished their meals, and their bill was paid, but they remained at their table. Chiasa tried to speak, but Benjiro silenced her with his hand. She was familiar with his signal, knowing Albert had used it many times before. A waitress told Benjiro he and Chiasa were wanted out of their seats, but he turned her away. His response surprised Chiasa, who was familiar with his polite attitude. After some time, she could no longer bear what was happening. Regardless of his signal, she asked him if she could walk outside.

"That might not be a wise choice," he answered. "The temperature is low."

"I won't be outside for very long," Chiasa continued, "And it's not dangerously cold. I'm sure I'll be fine."

He then sighed, "Be quick. It seems as though no one can stop you. Not even the warnings of the wiser."

Chiasa was greatly hurt by his words. She did not like criticism, and her strong emotions made her more sensitive. However, she did not wish to argue with her friend. Whatever tears were growing within her, she held them back as she put on her coat and walked outside. She could not see the stars, for the clouds remained. The sky was very much herself.

She knew not to step too far from the restaurant. Her spirit was adventurous, but it was also obedient. Her adoptive parents made sure of it throughout her childhood. When she reached the highway, she stopped to gaze at the distance ahead. The neon lights did little to fight the darkness, but she knew where to look. She knew of the many places waiting at every end of the road.

The thought of many places had always made her happy, but it merely sank her heart at that moment. As an expelled university student, there would be some places she would never see. She could not name them, but they remained unreachable. She would have to start again. Renew herself. Make more long journeys. It was more than she could bear.

"Respected grandmother," Chiasa whispered, "please forgive me. I have failed you, and it's all my fault."

It is far too early to say that, girl, a voice sounded.

Chiasa was still. She had not summoned another, nor was she expecting one. She looked around, but no one could be seen. Knowing this, she returned her eyes to the highway.

You are a popular woman, the voice sounded again. Even those who do not know of last night know of you.

"Who's there?" Chiasa demanded.

She was growing tired of surprises. If new things were to come to her, they were to come with notice. She had vowed to plan her life for any misfortune, and she had sworn it on everything sacred to her.

Your eyes are not like many others, the voice continued. Look, and I will be here.

She looked carefully, nearly desperate to identify the speaker. Not much of his outline could be seen, but there were many black garments. Their appearances resembled those of hakama, a kosode, and a jingasa. A katana was hanging at his left side, and the blade at his right was a wakizashi. A black cloth covered his nose and mouth, and his jingasa shadowed whatever was not covered. A chill sailed down Chiasa's spine, for she had found the man in black.

"My name is Hisoka Ishikawa," he said. "I have been looking for you."

"What is it you want?" Chiasa inquired.

She was tempted to call 9-1-1, remembering Haruki's warning not to trust him. And yet, there was something she wanted. She could nearly name it.

"For hundreds of years," Hisoka explained, "my people have spoken of the arrival of one like Neroyume. Are you familiar with such a figure?"

Chiasa nodded, "That is the Buddhist name of Tomoe Gozen of Heida, wife of Kiso Yoshinake."

Hisoka seemed to be grinning, "All this time, I thought the Americans were oblivious to the stories of my people." He then resumed his initial tone, "I know you, and I know your quest. Only with my aid can you complete it."

"What you say is preposterous," Chiasa refuted. "I have never spoken of such topics with individuals such as you."

Hisoka's grinning tone resumed, "Why, then, do you wear a face like hers? Why does Naipon intrigue you so? Is it not wrong to believe in fairytales and be like Irene Flowers?"

Chiasa could not speak. It seemed as though the strange man knew what she knew. Perhaps he knew more. She felt as though Benjiro and Haruki were urging her to turn away, but something was keeping her in place. Whatever it was, she favored it.

"It seems as though we are both familiar with Naipon," Chiasa said. "I am expected to know of that land, for I carry the blood of Tomoe. What has given you your knowledge of it?"

"I myself am Naiponese," Hisoka answered. "I am a vassal to Lord Isamu Inaba of Mina. My only actions are those that aid him, and your presence in his domain would greatly aid him."

"How can I trust you?" Chiasa inquired again.

She could not identify Lord Isamu's alignment, for she had never heard of such a figure. He may have planned events for her, or perhaps he wanted something larger. As for Hisoka, she could not find a sign to prove his word. He may have been an American gangster who wished to mug, abuse, or murder her. He had already murdered Albert and Kayoko.

Chiasa did not want to seem vulnerable in his presence, but he did not seem perturbed, "I have been taught that trust must be earned. What I have may be of use to you."

A golden light appeared in front of him, nearly blinding the young woman. She tried to look away, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Hisoka was now holding a black staff in his right hand. Its top was curved, resembling a spear. Chiasa had seen it somewhere before. Somewhere she had never been. From the object, Hisoka removed what appeared to be a sheath. The staff's top was now blade-like, possessing a rosy gold color.

"That is the Golden Naginata!" Chiasa gasped. "You have fought the holy kirin."

"You have spoken only one part of the truth," Hisoka nodded. "This is indeed the Golden Naginata, but the kirin that guarded it is long dead. It was slain by a warrior so powerful the Thousands of Myriads feared him. And so, the blinding light of the naginata no longer blinds."

He sheathed the weapon, and it was gone. Chiasa was quick to say her thoughts, "What trickery is this?"

"Maiden of Heida," the man in black sighed, "you have so many questions. Now that I stand before you, the answers can become clear. You will find them if you choose to come with me."

"Come with you?" Chiasa gulped. "Where are you going?"

Hisoka was now laughing, "To the Anchored Empire. To the Land of Marsh and Reeds. To Naipon."

A thousand thoughts were in Chiasa's mind again. By this point, she was well acquainted with Benjiro's message of patience. He had made that message clear while picking her up from college. And yet, not much had happened since he had first preached the message. There was the event at the Sapphire City Cemetery, but it had taken four months for it to occur.

There was also the character of Hisoka. Despite his answers, Chiasa had yet to know if she could trust him. She could defend herself if necessary, but would it be enough? And, what about the Golden Naginata? The great Tomoe Gozen had cherished it, for it was amongst the most powerful of weapons. Chiasa could only imagine if Hisoka would use it against her. Naginatas are more lightweight than katanas, but Princess Lightning was not to be underestimated.

Suddenly, Chiasa could hear a clear voice echoing through her mind, You have done me good, granddaughter. Now, you are expected at the gate to Heaven. One waits for you.

She knew the voice as Tomoe's. The gate to Heaven was a vague name, for there were many torii. However, the spirit's message made sense in some way: Tomoe had spoken of one awaiting her descendant. Perhaps she had spoken of Hisoka. Chiasa could not prove nor disprove such a possibility, but could anyone?

After taking a deep breath, the young descendant spoke with the authority of one with blood of the Rising Sun General, "Hisoka Ishikawa, Vassal to Lord Isamu Inaba of Mina, I have my trust in you. I, Chiasa Miller of Richardson, wish to walk upon the soils my ancestors called 'home.' You are free to take me to such a place."

Hisoka bowed to her, "I shall obey your command with the honor of a samurai. But, if we are to arrive in our land of origin, we must find our destined passage."

"The spirit of Tomoe Gozen revealed such a path to me," Chiasa explained. "She spoke of a gate to Heaven."

"A gate," Hisoka repeated. "I apologize, Chiasa, but I have yet to understand your ancestor's word. There are many torii in this world and in mine."

That was when the world around Chiasa began to bend. Her feelings at that moment were like those she felt when she finished reading Thousand Shrine Warrior. The ground was moving forward, and the new falling snow was spiraling. She thought she could see her beloved ancestor looking her in the eyes. This time, however, there was a new sight: a woman in a golden kimono.

The presence of the woman was enough to change the world. The sun had already set, but the cloudy night sky was now clear and azure. Tomoe bowed to the woman in gold, making Chiasa ever-awed. The unnamed young woman looked Japanese, but her long, flowing hair was the color of the sun's rays. Her skin was pale, nearly resembling the clouds. Chiasa gazed at her sapphire eyes, which might as well have been pieces of the sky. She looked upward to see a light standing on the woman's head. It was a radiant light that outshone any star.

Chiasa could say only one word, "Amaterasu."

She followed her ancestor's example, bowing before the ruler of Heaven, the Sun, and the Thousands of Myriads. Neither the young woman nor the hero rose until the goddess nodded at them both. It was not until that moment when Chiasa realized Amaterasu had a bow and arrows. She aimed an arrow at the young woman's heart, greatly frightening her. Chiasa was tempted to question the goddess, but she knew better. To question any deity was sacrilege, and doubly so if the deity were high-ranking like Amaterasu. The young woman waited for the moment of death, but it never came.

The goddess moved the arrow away from her, shooting it towards the east. It flew as though it were a shooting star, leaving a path of light behind. Chiasa looked again to see the night had returned. Hisoka remained where he had been, but neither Amaterasu nor Tomoe could be seen.

"Are you alright, Chiasa?" Hisoka asked her. "For a moment, you were frozen. Your eyes were as white as the clouds."

Chiasa then saw a golden path lighting the clouded night sky. She smiled as she answered the samurai, "It seems as though I may know our destination."

The entire world was rushing. So much had happened, so much was happening, and so much had yet to happen. The bus driver was minding the speed limit, but his efforts did not make a difference. He was oblivious to what was happening around him. Chiasa and her new guide knew that well.

It was true their finding of the driver and his bus was unusual. It was by chance the bus stop was near Betty's Diner, but Hisoka had run as though he were a rabbit. If Chiasa had not held his hand, she would have been lost. Once there, a bus arrived the moment Hisoka raised his hand into the air. The bus driver was hesitant to give them passage because he could see Hisoka's swords. And yet, here they were in his vehicle. Hisoka had looked the driver in the eyes, making him blind to the blades.

When their destination was requested, the samurai removed a red omamori from within his kosode. The driver's eyes turned red at the moment they glanced upon the charm. Hisoka assured Chiasa the driver would remain unharmed, and that he was under a spell that would make him follow the path in the sky. Chiasa tried to question his choices of manipulating the driver, but Hisoka disregarded her. Instead of giving her thoughtful answers, he informed her he had done what needed to be done.

Throughout the ride, Chiasa could not help but ask herself if she had made the right choice. She had trusted Hisoka only to see him act strangely. She knew of his reputation, but she had given in to her desires. She recalled the night at the cemetery, which was when she spoke of heroes making similar choices. Would she regret hers, or would they come to her advantage in the end?

In the midst of all this, one more important factor came to her: her future. It was the reason why she chose to go to Naipon when she was able to stay in America. In Naipon, her family was waiting. In America, she had nothing. No friends, no university, and no future.

Wisdom, courage, and Princess Lightning, she thought.

"What have I done?" Benjiro asked himself.

Such a question has been asked by many. All humans are born pure, but only time reveals what they become. Some act without regret, believing such a feeling is impractical. Some listen to it at occasions, either to vent or to change. And there are those who know to regret as they know to breathe. Experience determines how one knows regret, but one always makes the final choice.

For Benjiro, regret had come to him again. He did not know how to release it. The staff at Betty's Diner had chased him out of their restaurant, wanting to give his table to other customers. He would have summoned Chiasa to his car, but his feelings were saying otherwise. They led him to the pub next door, where he ordered a mug of barley beer and a slice of chocolate banoffee pie. American cuisine was quite different from Naiponese cuisine, but he had grown accustomed to it. Under the guise of an American, he had to be accustomed.

As he ate and drank, Benjiro could not find a way to forget about Chiasa. Few of the women at the pub resembled her, but they acted rather similarly. They spoke, laughed, and told stories, making one another feel at peace. The men did the same, proving such actions are not unique to given genders. Benjiro almost awaited an invitation to a conversation. The ones he had with Chiasa were intriguing, whether they were fun or serious. If the customers could enjoy themselves, he thought, so could he.

He did not know how much time had passed. He did not wear a watch, nor was he known to use his cell phone frequently. He decided one hour had passed since Chiasa was last with him. A part of him wondered what she was doing, but he decided she was safe. She was an independent, mature young woman many trusted. If anything went wrong, it would be out of an emergency situation. And emergencies were rare.

Noticing his beer and pie had disappeared, he requested his third mug. He wondered if he would have the focus to drive to Richardson. Designated drivers were strongly praised around the world, and Chiasa was unconfident behind the wheel. Still, he could stop himself from taking the third mug and swallowing its contents. He thanked the young, hazel-eyed bartender in the process. He was one of the kind bartenders, often saying to customers, "I do what I can. It puts bread on the table."

He is another Chiasa, Benjiro's thoughts sighed.

He stopped drinking when his mug was half empty. He was not ready to give it up, but he needed to catch his breath. He was looking all over the pub by this point, wanting to admire all of the Chiasas he could find. There was a table of people playing poker, and three women were cheering for the teams in the broadcasted football game. Chiasa did not like poker nor football, but the customers enjoyed them as though she did.

"What are you doing here?" a female voice snapped.

A young Japanese woman was standing by his side. She looked very much like Chiasa, but so did the others. Benjiro yawned, "What is it, my dear Ai?"

"I do not have time for foolishness!" Ai spoke sharply. "I have paid your bill, so you have to leave!"

"Paid for me?" Benjiro laughed. "You are too fast for an old man such as myself."

"Isaac!" Ai cried.

The young bartender with the hazel eyes approached her asking, "How can I help ya miss?"

Ai did her best to speak in a patient, welcoming tone, "I have paid my bill and Benjiro's, is that right."

"Of course," Isaac smiled. "You're all set."

"Have a great night," Ai nodded.

Isaac chuckled. "You too, and if I don't see you again, have a great journey."

Benjiro grabbed Isaac by the shirt collar. The Naiponese growled, "You accepted her money?"

"Please, sir," Isaac gulped, "you don't understand. She said she was with you."

Customers were surrounding them. Pub fights were not rare at the establishment, but they were not nightly events.

"Please, Benjiro," Ai begged, "this is not a time for you to fight."

"Back off, woman!" he snapped.

There was little time before he slapped Ai's face. She staggered backwards, nearly tumbling into the customers behind her. Many gasped at the event, and there were some oohs.

"Sir," Isaac shivered, "I'm afraid we cannot allow violence at this establishment. If this incident gets any worse, I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Ask me?" Benjiro glared. "As you should have asked me if I were with Ai?"

One of Isaac's co-workers approached him. This was an older, more heavy-set man with a red beard. He asked the young bartender, "What's happening here, Isaac? Is this guy giving you trouble?"

"He is not!" Ai gasped. "He has been busy on this day, and I was preparing to return him to his home."

"I am needed here!" Benjiro barked. "I will deal with this weak, ignorant man myself!"

A brawl now seemed inevitable. Many of the customers were chanting, "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" Some were placing bets as to who would win. Ai tried to convince them they would not get their fight, but her pleas fell upon deaf ears. She turned to Isaac's co-worker, who was wearing her mask of concern. It was that moment when things grew strange.

You must help me stop him, Theodore, Ai said to him through their thoughts. He is too strong for me and your friend.

I understand, Theodore replied. I think I might be of some help. After all, I did serve in Iraq.

Benjiro was preparing to strike Isaac's face with his fist. It was a common tactic in fights involving him. In this fight, he would remove Isaac's consciousness and return to his seat. That was his plan before his world blackened.

There was indeed more to come. The gate to Heaven still had yet to be found, but Chiasa had never imagined going on an adventure simply to find it. The journey had taken her and Hisoka to Chicago, where the neon lights were forming a Heaven of their own. To lighten the mood of their situation, she told him of the many wonders of the city. She had much to say, for she had been there many times.

"America is indeed a strange place," Hisoka would say. "You remain oblivious to the wonders of the gods, yet you add to the wonders of humans."

Chiasa was tempted to argue with him. She disdained the growing material culture as much as he seemed, but she knew no two Americans were the same. In fact, no two humans were the same in her mind. Her polite manner was all that saved her from starting a conflict. The proper time for conflict had yet to come.

There was some traffic downtown. The night had fallen, and it was the holiday season. Chiasa could see the malls selling unimaginable deals on materials such as soaps, toys, clothes, and chocolates. She waited for the moment in which Hisoka was stunned by the city, but it never came. Not even the holiday decorations caught his eye. She could only imagine what he was thinking.

Before she could expect it, the bus came to a gentle stop. It was an unusual stop, lacking a bench or even lights. It was in an area near Lake Michigan, and it was isolated from known places. For a moment, Chiasa imagined the driver had taken a wrong turn. She could not imagine otherwise until she found the end of the path in the sky. She and her guide departed from the vehicle, thanking the driver for his service. Of course, he could not hear a thing until the redness in his eyes was gone. After quickly looking around himself, he did not hesitate to drive away.

No sooner did the bus leave than did Hisoka address the young woman, "And now, descendant of Tomoe, we are to find the gate itself."

"It may not be a challenge," Chiasa nervously replied. "Torii are usually red, and the light is dark."

"Color alone cannot prove its identity," Hisoka added. "There must be a sign."

"A sign?" Chiasa asked. "What kind of sign?"

Hisoka sighed, "Only by looking will we know."

Concealing her disappointment, the young woman sent the samurai to search for the gate. She declared she would search in the opposite direction, making them more liable to find it. The world around her was still rushing, as was her head. It was nearly impossible for her to look around. At one point, she was tempted to stop her search altogether. Only her will to move forward could aid her.

As she searched, Chiasa wondered if she would be in similar situations in Naipon. Everything she had learned about the country was vague, and tellers were insisting she unfold their mysteries for herself. If more were to come, her future would be more uncertain than it seemed. Unable to ignore her growing stress, she stood aside to catch her breath. It was all she could do at the moment.

The passing traffic was loud, as were the wandering people, but Chiasa was not disturbed. To her, only the messages in her mind could be heard. Even the rushing waves of Lake Michigan were merely part of the background. She worried about what would happen if Hisoka found her as such. Would he keep her with him? Would she remain worthy of her journey?

Suddenly, some of the clouds began to clear. The moon shone for the first time that night, placing a thin ball of light upon the waters. Chiasa looked up, almost seeing her ancestor's face on the nightly spectacle. The young woman often believed gazing at the moon was poetic, for many artists and thinkers had described it in unique ways. That was when a new thought crossed her mind, What would Tomoe Gozen do at a time like this?

All this time, Chiasa had been searching with all her might. Her efforts were thorough, but they had deprived her of a clear mind. A clear mind was what had helped Tomoe escape horrible places such as Hell and the City of Death, and it had taught her of the beauty of life. That was when Chiasa saw a faint image appear upon the lake. She could feel her omamori growing warmer as the image became clear.

"Hisoka!" she cried. "I found the gate!"

It was not long before the samurai was by her side again. When she showed him what he had seen, he nodded in approval.

You are almost there, granddaughter, a voice sounded within Chiasa's thoughts. Now, you must move forward.

"Stop!" another voice cried. "Leave the lake at once!"

Chiasa and Hisoka found Ai on the beach. She was running towards them as she had run in the cemetery. Chiasa knew her last warning had been valid, but this night was much different. Without thinking, the descendant of Tomoe ran upon the waters. To her surprise, she did not sink.

"Please, you cannot go!" Ai begged. "No one will care for you in Naipon. The man in black has deceived you!"

"Enough!" Hisoka shouted. "Hold your tongue, or I will cut it out!" He then looked at Chiasa, "Run! Do not walk! Run!"

Chiasa followed his command, thinking only of what awaited her. For much time now, she had only imagined the land of Naipon. Would it be as she imagined? On that night, she would see for herself. The many thoughts and feelings that rushed through her were enough to blind her from the passage of time. It seemed as though the mere blink of an eye had passed before she passed through the enchanted gate.

She had prepared herself to look in many places, but she was now falling. Falling through an almost endless whirl. Falling through time and space themselves. The last thing she saw before her fall was the face of Tomoe Gozen of Heida.