Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

YEAR THREE:

The Song of Cicadas, A Burning Night

On my armor a sign of all-pro

The ultimate reward is honor, not awards

At odds with the times in wards with no lords

On the first day of the new year, Shisa woke up with Kin’s pale arm draped across her bare midriff. The pale morning sun filtered its way through the windows of the inn’s room, making the white sheets look brighter than they were. 

Slowly opening her eyes, the first thing she was conscious of was the pain throbbing in her skull. The second thing she noticed was the way the morning sun made the scars that wrapped around her body look white like the flesh of fish. Kin had seen her naked last night. He knew one of the ways she was broken. Her heart rate sped up. She slipped out the bed. Quietly, she gathered her clothes strewn across the floor; with practiced hands, she tied the knots of her hakama pants, wrapped her robe around herself. She slipped through the window, disappearing into the morning. All the while, a singular question repeated itself, speaking in time with the throbbing of Shisa’s temples: what the fuck happened?

Let’s rewind.

Despite the storm that battered the Spitfire, the end-of-year sales were a success. The ships that Shisa sent down south with Jugo yielded catches that went beyond their expectations; Toyo commented that it was probably because most of the fish had naturally migrated their due to the currents that the storms near Harbor Town created. Shisa had just nodded, not yet having the same instinct for weather patterns as a seasoned sailor.

The inland merchant guilds were pleased to see that Shisa’s yield was in the surplus; their other contacts, they said, encountered troubles with the storms battering the western and northern coast of the Fire Nation. It was Shisa’s biggest bulk sales yet, with all sorts of merchant guilds traveling to Harbor Town with their salt chests, keen on making business with her.

Since there were now more people that identified themselves as being part of her crew, Shisa decided to have a big year end party for all the fishermen and townsfolk. Neither the Spitfire nor the Quicksilver were large enough for the gathering of people, so they had lined the renovated port of Harbor Town with tables full of food and red lanterns. More people brought whatever family recipe they could come up with, and more people had their own instruments that they played. All of the fish came from the boats of Shisa.

It was a lively time; people were drinking, people were eating, and even Jugo had been roped into learning a peasant folk song. Rami was leading Kizashi, the local magistrate, around the port and introducing him to the different fishermen in attendance. Shisa watched him lead the magistrate around a merry dance, giving him tours of the ships and explaining how the fishermen cleaned the guts of fish.

Shisa had to admit, at least to herself, that it was more knowledge that she credited Rami with knowing. As he grew older, he was slowly growing more into his nebulous role within his trio with Shisa and Jugo. And yet, his green eyes would always cast him as other, without having the age and seniority that somehow shielded Jugo from the bulk of prejudice.

Shisa shrugged; if Rami wanted to stick around, who was she to stop him? She had made bigger decisions at his age. Deciding where and how he wanted to live was surely something that a kid as intelligent as Rami was capable of. Besides, it was time to party.

So she stopped worrying about Rami, about his place in the world Shisa was making, and how he fit here in the Fire Nation. She accepted every glass of alcohol that was offered into her eyes, taking shots and long sips. She felt the fire of alcohol burn down her throat, heard herself tell jokes that she must have told a hundred times before.

She must have been doing something right, because people kept laughing. People kept coming up to her. The smell of plum wine was on her sticky fingers. Someone told her a joke, and she tilted her head back to laugh. Life was a beautiful thing. Wasn’t it? Life was such a beautiful thing.

And so the night went on and on, and a lone merchant arrived to the town. His gold framed glasses reflected the warmth of the lamps, but his eyes remained dark like the night sky. He snaked his way into the crowd, listened to the inane stories that drunk townspeople were telling him.

“Hey,” one of them said, slinging his arm over the merchant’s shoulders, “aren’t you from that guild that the boss hates?”

“The Lucky Phoenix?”

“Yeah,” came the slurred reply. “She hates your guts, you know. Says that you’re all a bunch of snakes.”

That made Kin smile.

He had searched Shisa out, then. If he had to be truthful (which he never had to be), he would have to admit that he didn’t know why. Maybe it was part of youth, for he was still a young man after all. Maybe it was the spirits of Harbor Town, happy to send off a pair of young people into a trail of confusion and laughter. Because despite the fall-out and heartache that would follow, there had been laughter. No one could deny it, not even Kin— not when he finally found Shisa surrounded by her people, head tilted back and laughing.

If he had to be truthful (and for tonight, he was truthful with himself), Kin could admit one thing to anybody: that Shisa was at her most beautiful when she was laughing. It was in the way she closed her eyes when she did it, her entire face lighting up with mirth. Her laughter involved her whole body, and she seemed larger than anyone’s life when she gave into it completely. 

And so he ushered another cup of plum wine into her hands, smiled in his usual way, teased her, baited her, goaded her. Shisa had responded in kind. Kin mentioned how someone told him that she hated him, and she doubled down. He asked her if she knew how to test the strength of her feelings. Shisa had caught on, her amber eyes flickering with recognition.

“I didn’t know that you could sometimes be stupid,” Shisa grinned up at him. “Maybe if you keep on making these kinds of mistakes, I’d like you better.”

“I’ll continue making these mistakes if you make them with me,” Kin replied, already putting his hand on the small of her back. People were shoving drinks in his hands now, too— he was not sober, and yet not as drunk as Shisa. Was that a good excuse for what happened next? Whenever he looked back at that night, Kin never could decide.

Because what happens next unfolds in the little rented room in the town’s inn. What happens next is a feverish rush of blood, the sound of ruffling clothes, bodies hitting the bed. What happens next is a blur— from one breath to another. What happens next is a mistake that Kin can’t bring himself to regret, because for once, he doesn’t stop to think.

And what happens after that, when the morning light streaks in, is the most obvious explanation that he can come up with: he’s in love with Shisa.

Surely that makes the most sense. Shisa is, after all, a smart young woman that is able to sit across him and negotiate competently. In a way, she is the first person Kin could call a peer— someone his age, with his competence. Truth be told, he was high enough in the ranks of the guild that he could send other people to buy fish in Harbor Town. And yet, he couldn’t. 

The exponential growth of her appetite for success was hypnotizing to see. It made him wonder how high she could reach. It made him wonder what they could achieve if they worked together. It made him wonder what her true potential was, if she surrendered herself to his care, listened to him, learned from him.

The heady thrum of what-if’s still echoed in his brain as he woke up that morning, realizing what had transpired between the two of them. It was the first time that’s Kin ever done anything like this. Sex was usually reserved for other men— men who thought with their bodies instead of their minds. Kin wasn’t like that, though— which surely meant that this was something special.

He reached out into the morning, expecting to feel another soft body next to his. All he found was air. Opening rubbing his dark eyes open, Kin had to admit that he wasn’t too surprised with the outcome of things. For all her achievements, Shisa was a woman after all. They had to be coaxed, cajoled, before they could be led gently into pastures inhabited by a bull. It just so happened that, in her case, the mounting happened before the coaxing.

Kin sat up, reaching for his glasses. He wiped them clean with the threadbare blanket of the inn. His grandfather always told him that a lost battle wasn’t a lost war. Shisa was skittish, as evidenced by her hasty departure, but that was no important matter. Business went on as usual. If Kin planned things out properly, then he would be able to lead her to pasture before long.

The road back to Shisa’s cottage by the sea wasn’t even a road; it was grass that stopped growing over time because of all the treks that Shisa, Jugo, and Rami had taken to get to the center of Harbor Town. It was long, stretching by the edge of a cliff that overlooked the beach. She had to climb up, and after she reached the peak, the cliff would slowly lower, until it reached a small clearing. In that clearing, where the trees were young and the guava ripest during the peak of summer, she and Jugo had built their little wooden hut.

In some ways, they hadn’t stopped building it; Jugo was working on expanding the kitchen to include a small in-house apothecary and clinic, where he could receive the fishermen and the townsfolk whenever they were not feeling well. Shisa was also planning on building another room— a library of sorts— where she could work on her ledgers and schedules away from the prying eyes of the crew, and a place where Rami could store his scrolls and books without fear of silverfish eating the pages.

The panic of the early morning slowly receded as she watched the little cottage come into view. This was home, now. This is what she built with her hands. The waves below would keep crashing against the shore, the winds above could keep bringing in storms, and Shisa would always find her way back here. Home. What an alien word it was to her, what a costly thing. 

And yet, how human too. It did not take much for her to attach feelings of fondness for a place that she only had for two years, now three. Time truly was a tyrant with its endless onslaught on reality.

Shisa continued her hike forward and upward; she tried not to think of things too much. She didn’t like to be haunted by past actions and delusions. It wasn’t her way. No— the present was a gift, even if she had a talent of destroying it with unwise decisions. Shisa would bury her mistakes behind her, as she often did. She was good at burying things and people. 

So the night that she spent with Kin sunk down the ocean of her thoughts, like whale-fall to be eaten by the sordid creatures that haunted her unconscious. Her head throbbed, but she paid it no mind. There were brighter things to think about. There were more pressing things to think about.

Like fishing patterns, price lists, fuel orders. She needs to go over the equipment and machinery of the ships with Jugo tomorrow, and check to see if there’s anything that needs to be fine-tuned, maintained, or fixed.

Finally reaching the threshold of the cottage, Shisa could hear the low, steady voice of Jugo inside. The smell of miso soup was in the air, and Shisa’s stomach made its emptiness known with a grumble. She smiled, wondering if she should pass by the front door, or pretend that she had been in her room the entire night, or maybe pass by the back and surprise them all—-

“I did some things that I wasn’t proud of, back when I lived in the Northern Water Tribe.” Jugo’s voice was steady and unapologetic, but Shisa knew him well enough to sense the regret that lined his every being. They must be sitting at the dining table for his voice to project beyond the front door. “But as for Shisa’s past, it’s not for me to say.”

“But she never talks about herself,” came the frustrated voice of Rami. “Every time I try asking her a question, she dodges it.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Jugo replied, “she’s not honest with anyone, not even me.”

“But why not?” Rami asked. “I thought the two of you are…”

“Shisa is a sister to me in many ways,” Jugo answered, “and her heart is a haunted manor with many locked rooms. I’ve stopped asking for explanations, for fear of what I may find.”

“I just thought…” Here, Rami paused. Shisa wondered if he was looking down into his soup. “I just thought that, after all this time and everything we’ve done, she would trust us more.”

“I wish she would,” Jugo admitted, “but that is not who she is.”

“Then who is she?”

“A shapeshifter,” Jugo said slowly, “a raccoon-dog, or as they say in Mai’nka Island, a tanuki. Always grasping for something. Always in action.”

“Do you trust her?”

“As much as she trusts me,” Jugo replied, “and I am never quite sure if she trusts me.”

Shisa stilled, her hand still raised to open the door. Her heart was pounding. Her head was still throbbing. What was a home, if not people? What do you call people that don’t believe you trust them?

For a split second, she considered turning a heel and leaving but— where would she go? All roads led back to them. Was it not because of Jugo that Shisa considered going to the Fire Nation in the first place? Was it not because of the pressures of providing food and shelter to Rami that Shisa had apprenticed herself under Toyo? Was it not the way they looked at her, with loyalty, awe, and anticipation that she continuously marched forth, eager to repay their faith in her? To show them— to show Rami— that she was the person he thought she was?

Love was hurt. If you never love, you never get hurt. That’s what her father once told her. The only way to shield oneself from love was to accept your martyrdom. To pin a smile on your face when needed. To fall on your sword when asked to do so. To embrace the pyre they plan to burn you on. 

Shisa fixed a smile on her face and opened the door. Her eyes were unfocused and she looked at no one in particular.

“First things first,” she grinned into the room, “I have one hell of a hangover and an empty stomach. What’s for breakfast?”

The first quarter of the year brings with it profits; the cash inflow is starting to stall and stabilize, and Shisa isn’t too alarmed by it. She isn’t building her small fleet of shipping boats, isn’t hiring more people. At this point, it’s all but normal for things to stabilize and come into their own version of normalcy. Things don’t need the same oversight that the previous years demanded, but she still can’t help but hunt for small inefficiencies, better routes, better prices.

She burns the midnight oil in her office aboard the Quicksilver, which is quickly becoming a second home to her. Shisa goes home only to get a few hours of sleep and a change of clothes. She barely eats. She tells everyone that she’s growing tired of eating fish, and settles for whatever fruit or biscuit finds their way onboard.

It’s a busy life. It’s a hectic life. It’s because there isn’t anything else for her to do.

Finally able to afford a house, Kinta gets married to his fiancee and invites Shisa to the wedding. She pays for the food of their banquet quietly, telling Kinta that it was an employee perk. He only rolls his eyes at her before complying wordlessly, no longer bitter about taking money from a girl younger than him—- ever since that storm, he had become a staunch ally in her crew. 

Nezu’s wife gives birth and asks Shisa if it’s okay to use the root of her name for the child. Shisa laughs awkwardly before giving her consent. Nezu and his wife Koto settle on the name Shizu, whose shorthand name uses the “shi” characters of Shisa’s name. When they get to the temple, Nezu and Koto are given the choice of settling between “port” and “calm” as the official characters for their daughter’s temple name.

“I think ‘calm’ is an auspicious choice,” Koto tells her husband. “So that the waters where you fish shall always remain calm.”

“But I can still slide and fall,” Nezu points out. “‘Port’ is much better, so that I can always return to you and the children.”

Shisa watches them in the shadows of the temple, carrying little Shizu. She sees the way Nezu melts in the presence of Koto, the way that he somehow becomes a better man when she smiles at him. Shisa wonders if she will ever have that effect on a man, or if a man smiling at her will ever make her a better woman.

The answer hits her like the gong that the Fire Sage hits when the ceremony ends: a deep, resounding no.

Because Shisa is a person of many broken parts, serrated and jagged like the scars that she hides under her robes. If she can’t manage to face Jugo and Rami honestly about the words they said on New Year’s Day, then how could she ever hand over her heart to a man? The logic is clean, so it must be true.

So she smiles and evades and cracks jokes with Jugo whenever she stops by to rest her head and changer her clothes. She asks after Rami, who she sees less and less of. Jugo tells her that Rami is following her lead and taking on more responsibilities at the magistrate’s office. “He’s becoming something like a cross between a secretary and an errand boy to Kizashi,” Jugo tells her.

“That’s good,” Shisa replies over an empty bowl of vegetable broth. “If ever we have some legal trouble, it’ll be easy for us to approach him for help. Speaking of which, we really need to find out if you and Rami need any documentations so that you won’t be branded as illegally staying in the Fire Nation.”

Jugo only gave her a wordless nod before taking her finished bowl of soup, taking it to the kitchen sink to wash. She watches him move silently, wondering why it’s suddenly so difficult to talk to the one person that knew her best.

“Rami wants to talk to you more,” he tells her casually. He rinses the bowl with soap. “There’s some things that he wants to ask you.”

“He already knows everything that he needs to know,” comes Shisa’s rehearsed reply.

“It’s not enough to know the basics.” He turns the tap off, grabs a kitchen towel. “Yes, he knows that you’re an orphan, that you spent some time in the Colonies and the Earth Kingdom… but he wants to know you.”

“Doesn’t he already know me?” Shisa, from her seat on the floor, props one leg up and leans on it. “I’m the one putting a roof over his head.”

“You know what I mean,” Jugo says quietly. 

“Fine,” Shisa rolls her eyes. “Yeah. I do.”

“I don’t mean to be rude or overbearing.” Jugo apologizes for himself, even when Shisa knows that he’s in the right. It’s a habit he’s never been able to quit. “But you are important to us, and you deserve a break. Everything is going well. It’s fine to make youthful mistakes, like the one you made in New Year’s.”

“Trust me,” Shisa laughed bitterly, “I don’t want to be making that mistake again.”

“Kin seems nice,” Jugo said quietly. “At the very least, he seems worldly.”

“And since when were you able to come to that conclusion?”

“He sometimes lingers by the inn,” Jugo said. “He’s curious about the sleeping aids that I make. I talk to him sometimes.”

“I didn’t know you two were friendly.”

“You’re not around to see it.”

Shisa looks away, missing the way that the water bender’s arctic eyes slide over to her, watching the way she frowns as she looks at a bare wall. When he was a younger man, Jugo once conned himself into believing that one day he could decipher every one of her moods and tells. But now, seeing all the things she can do and all the people that she can become, Jugo starts to wonder if he ever knew Shisa at all.

When Jugo had been at the side of Shisa’s father in his deathbed, he had realized that the man was a bigger mystery dead than when he was alive. Was it a stretch of the imagination to think that the daughter would take up after the father?

It’s dark this evening, the way tropical nights are; the whole world beyond the cottage is pitch black. The only source of light are the candles and lanterns that they put around the rooms; they reflect the little jade earrings that Shisa always wears, making them twinkle in the night. Those were the earrings her father wore when he died, the earrings Jugo took from his corpse— the first thing that Jugo ever gave to Shisa. 

They had been strangers then, in a night such as this. Tonight, Jugo wonders if they’re strangers still.

In the battered and illicit bars that dot the coasts of the Earth Kingdom, there was once a story of a man with many faces. He had threads everywhere, ears in every nook and cranny. No one knew where he came from, no one knew if he was for hire. Like the smoke that rose from incense, he was a flash of memory too striking to forget. He had no name, so people had to give him one: Father Spider.

Everyone had a debt to him, everyone knew of his generosity. Everyone, at some point, had to pay.

The next day, Shisa goes to the magistrate’s office. Kizashi stands to greet her; it’s not done out of any ceremony for her presence, but because he wouldn’t be able to see her due to the pile of papers atop his desk.

“I apologize for the mess,” Kizashi smiles. He is the only magistrate that Shisa ever met without white hair, and it’s a bit jarring to see such a bookish young man hold massive influence and power in the region. “This is actually quite neat, though, considering the work that ends up on my desk. Today is a good day.”

“If today is a good day, then I don’t want to see your bad days,” Shisa joked.

“Don’t worry,” Kizashi quipped back, “I hate seeing our bad days, too.”

They shared a polite laugh, the kind of laugh that was necessary to signal that one was happy and comfortable in the presence of a person you were about to ask a favor from. Shisa knew that Kizashi didn’t know yet what she wanted to ask, and Shisa didn’t know if there was anything Kizashi wanted of her. It was a game of shadowed words, and Shisa would have to take her cues from the young magistrate.

“So,” Kizaashi said, still smiling as he from his desk. “What can I do to help you?”

“Well,” Shisa started, opting to be as open as he was, “I’ve been wondering about some things lately. You already know about Rami, and how he’s from the Earth Kingdom. And Jugo, he’s from the Northern Water Tribe…”

Kizashi smiled warmly, nodding his understanding. “Yes, the documents are already being processed.”

Shisa’s brain stalled. What documents?

“Oh?” She frowned. “I didn’t know someone else filed documentation for them.”

This time, it was Kizashi’s turn to frown. He scratched his chin, where a small goatee was starting to grow. “I thought that you already knew,” he admitted. “Rami came up to me a few months ago with the same concern. I’m already helping them file for their employment papers. It’s a bit of a hassle, because it’s a system that Fire Lord Zuko just implemented. I actually came from a seminar in Royal Caldera City just talking about it.”

Kizashi smiled sunnily at her. “Everything should be in order during autumn. These things take time, but not even Fire Lord Zuko can beat the drudgery of local bureaucracy.”

“Oh.” Shisa smiled. “Okay.”

The spirits must have been in a humorous mood that day, because it is at the moment Rami walks into the office, carrying scrolls. He sees Shisa, halts mid-step, and frowns.

“I’ve got the reports you asked for,” he tells Kizashi. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Hey, Rami,” Shisa smiles, stepping forward. “Kizashi was just telling me that you’re doing a good job around here.”

“I am,” the teenager— because Rami is fourteen now, isn’t he?— says simply. “In a few years, I could take the Royal Scribe Exam if I want to.”

He sets the stack of papers down at the desk, and Shisa can’t help but follow the movement with her eyes, scanning the documents that he was holding. It had something to do with local crime. Interesting.

“Oh,” Shisa nodded, glancing back up at Rami, “that sounds really interesting, do you want—” me to help with that?

But before she can finish her sentence, Rami leaves the room. Shisa glances at Kizashi, embarrassed. The older man only crosses his arms, an uncommonly stern look on his face as he watches Rami leave.

“Well,” Shisa says awkwardly, “teenagers, am I right?”

“It is still impolite for him to behave in such a way,” Kizashi noted. “In my office, no less, when he should be acting professionally. I thought I taught him better than that.”

And something about that stings. Perhaps it’s the implication that Shisa hadn’t taught Rami how to act any better. She doubts that Kizashi meant his words in any way that is supposed to deliver a double meaning; the man seems to be as forthright as a black straight line on parchment. 

No, the indictment comes from Shisa herself because she knows it to be true.

Kin takes a sip of tea, pretending not to observe the woman sitting in front of him. There are darker eye bags that circle her eyes, and her posture is worse for the wear. It’s clear that she hasn’t been sleeping properly, but her mind is still whip-sharp and her eyes are still full of energy. 

And yet, her water bending friend had approached him secretly when Kin had arrived in town, asking him if it was possible for him to recommend any way to get Shisa to take a break. It had been a golden nest of opportunity. Kin had smiled.

“I know an onsen town nearby,” he told Jugo. “In fact, I’ll be stopping there soon after I finish my business with Shisa. I can take her there, with your blessing.”

“Oh,” Jugo had replied, startled by Kin’s formality. “There’s no need, we’re not family. Shisa can make those kinds of decisions for herself.”

So— they were close enough for Jugo to go out of his way and conspire for Shisa’s wellbeing behind her back, but too distant to call each other family? Kin had nodded, his glasses glinting in the sun. How peculiar. How useful.

Because whatever bond the two had was clearly starting to fray if Jugo had to outsource reasons to get Shisa to take a break. And she did look like she needed it.

“Well,” Kin says easily, setting his cold cup of tea down with a soft clink, “now that we’ve finished talking about your price list for this season, there’s something that I want to bring up.”

Kin watches as Shisa raises a brow, cocks her head to the side. “Oh?”

“There is an onsen town that I’ll be traveling to, just a small distance from Harbor Town,” Kin told her. “The Lucky Phoenix owns it— I’ll be dropping by for a night just to see if everything is running smoothly. I get an employee discount. Maybe you’d like to check it out, see if you could sell them your rarer catches?”

Shisa’s stare turns nebulous, as though she is looking at something beyond Kin. He sticks to the smile that he has on his face, charming and disarming. He watches the way her shoulders rise and fall she sighs, the way she looks down as she crosses her arms.

Kin already knows that she will say yes. He is sure that Jugo would have planted the seed in her mind. It is now time to reap what was sown.

“Fine,” Shisa says. “But I’ll pay for my own accommodations.”

“Oh, it would be too embarrassing for me to have you pay,” Kin starts. “I wouldn’t want—”

“Well,” Shisa says strongly, cutting him off with a force that makes him jump in his seat, “I don’t want to be indebted to you. This isn’t a date. We are not friends.”

How interesting. Kin had always been aware of the walls that she put up around herself, but never had he ever seen her do it so obviously.

“If we’re not friends,” Kin smiles, “then what am I to you?”

Shisa only stares at him. It’s enough. Kin knows that, for once, words fail her.

“I’m going with Kin for the weekend,” Shisa says, removing her shoes as she steps in the cottage. “By the way, it was really obvious that he planned for all this to happen.”

Jugo turned to face her, holding two vials of root extracts in his hands. He’s wearing his usual linen apron, stained with questionable substances and soil. 

“Even if he did, my point still stands,” Jugo replies. “Besides, I was the one that asked him to take you on a vacation. You can’t be single forever, you know.”

“I’m not going to marry Kin,” Shisa spat. 

“It doesn’t have to be him. Just think of him as practice.”

Shisa stood in the middle of the living room, watching as Jugo carefully poured a yellow liquid into a glass container. His eyes were focused, watching every drop move exactly how he wanted them to. 

“Falling in love and getting married is a natural process of life,” Jugo intoned, slowly swirling the vial around. The liquid change from a bright yellow to a dull orange. “You need to slowly learn how to open your heart to others.”

It was at that moment Shisa realized that Jugo didn’t see the world the same way she did; he did not know how to look underneath the underneath. For all of his icy Northern demeanor, Jugo would always have a heart more tender than her’s. 

Which is why he didn’t see how dangerous Kin could be. Jugo didn’t have his ear to the ground, didn’t know the things that Shisa knew about Kin. 

“I’ll try,” Shisa conceded, heading to her room to pack for the trip, “since you think that it’ll be helpful.”

She didn’t close the door behind her; she packed quickly, anyways. There was no need to bring any of her fancier clothing; she just shoved her usual yukata, hakama pants, and robes into a rucksack, got her brush and toothbrush, and decided against bringing any business documents with her. Shisa didn’t trust Kin to not look through it; it’s what she would do if she was in his position.

She decided to wear a pair of geta that Jugo gave her for her birthday last year— a sandal with a flat wooden base held on the foot with a fabric thong, and elevated with two wooden teeth. Shisa didn’t want to feel short compared to Kin, who stood nearly shoulder to shoulder with Nezu or Kinta. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jugo smile at her choice of footwear. In one fluid movement, Jugo stands from his work desk, walking over to her with a vial in his hand. It’s the orange liquid that he had been mixing.

“If Kin needs to be disposed of,” Jugo says, putting the glass vial in her hands, “then this should do the trick.”

“Death or paralysis?”

“Paralysis,” Jugo answers easily. “You don’t need my help to kill him.”

Shisa nods, suddenly feeling hollow. It turns out that a few years of separation from the person she used to be can’t completely erase the girl she once was.

“Well,” Shisa smiles, “if you think this is needed, maybe there’s a couple of other things that I’ll bring along with me after all.”

Rami comes home a few hours later.

“Well,” the teenager says, sitting down at his place in the table, “I guess Shisa is working late again? Why do I still bother asking that question?”

Jugo fixed him a bowl of noodle soup. The smell of spices and ginger float in the air, just as enticing as any food to be had in a restaurant in Royal Caldera City. There is no shortage of good food in their small cottage.

“Actually,” Jugo begins, “she’s going to an onsen town with Kin. The one nearby.”

Rami jerks his head back to look at Jugo. His green eyes are open wide in shock, his shoulders tense. What was she thinking? Was she stupid?

“Seven hells,” Rami cursed. “Why? Did he force her? Don’t you know who he is?”

Jugo only raises a brow at the language of the younger boy, and Rami snaps his mouth shut immediately. Everyone knew that Jugo wasn’t fond of coarse language.

“Actually,” Jugo said, “I was the one who asked Kin to take her out on a date. Or a vacation. She does need a break.”

Rami flailed his arms in the air, jumping up from his seat. “Don’t you know that the onsen town is under investigation for sex trafficking? That’s what we’ve been working on the past few months in the office. And there’s rumors that the Lucky Phoenix has been bankrolling them— aren’t you worried for her? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Jugo scratched his head. “So that’s what she meant…”

Rami ran a hand down his face. “Everyone knows that all of the top merchant guilds have some sort of illegal business on the down low. That’s why Shisa hates dealing with them.”

Jugo only nodded, watching as Rami stomped back to the entryway and slip his shoes back on.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know,” Rami muttered. “We need to go— we need to—”

Jugo walked over to Rami, a serene expression on his face. “Rami,” Jugo said, putting his hand on his shoulder, “look at me.”

“No,” Rami pushed his arm away. “You don’t understand—”

Jugo grabbed his arm, strong and steady. “Listen to me,” Jugo said again, still calm. “Shisa already knows. She can take care of herself. Come back to the table. Eat.”

Rami watched as Jugo stepped away slowly, gesturing to the bowl of hot soup waiting for them on the table. Rami deflated at the sight. Somehow, it felt even worse to eat good food without Shisa, knowing that she was beyond their help.

“I don’t know,” Rami said. “We should go. It’s what Shisa would do for us.”

“She would do that for you,” Jugo said, taking his place at their dinner table. “But she knows I can take care of myself, the same way that I know that she can take care of herself. She is the woman who outsmarted Hojin, remember. She is the person that built a fleet of ships out of gambling winnings. She is a tanuki, a magical creature. She will be fine.”

Jugo picked up his chopsticks, his focus back on the food that he prepared. 

“So sit,” the water bender said, “and eat. She always makes her way back home.”

It didn’t matter how Kin tried to splice it: a cart was a cart, no matter how fancy it looked. It rocked the same as a cart, it worked the same way as a cart, and it made her dizzy the same way a cart did. Calling it a locomotive wasn’t going to change its mechanics. A cart was a cart.

“And traveling by road always makes me dizzy,” Shisa told him from her seat beside Kin. He was holding the reins to the pair of dragon moose pulling the cart. “So don’t get mad at me for puking on your new shiny shoes, okay?”

Kin only smirked. “There’s no need for your snark. The locomotive is quite fast, we’ll be in the onsen town in twenty minutes.”

Shisa bit down on her tongue, hard. This was torture.

“Hey,” Kin started, “I thought that maybe we could talk.”

Scratch that— this was hell.

Shisa looked over to the side, watching the jungle foliage grow thick and dense. “We can talk some other time,” she told him absentmindedly. “I don’t have my price list with me right now.”

“I don’t mean business,” Kin said. His words hung themselves in the air between them, like wrung-out linen brought out to dry under the sun: colorless, obvious, superfluous.

Shisa blinked. Of course she knew he didn’t mean business, but she didn’t want to talk to him about anything other than business. Didn’t he get that she was evading his question? 

Sleeping with him had been a fun mistake, and she was starting to regret it. Why make things worse by talking about it?

“What else is there for us to talk about?”

“About this.” Kin gestured to the space between the two of them. “About us. About what happened on New Year.”

Shisa couldn’t help but laugh. What was he, an actor rehearsing for the role of a lovesick teenager?

“What about it?” She tugged at an earring, not bothering to glance at him. “We got drunk, we got sloppy, we spent the night together. It doesn’t mean anything. Or do you suddenly think that you’re morally obligated to marry me? You shouldn’t, by the way. I would be a horrible wife.”

Kin’s face morphed; his brows furrowed together, his his lips pursed. 

“I guess that you need time,” he said calmly. “I don’t blame you, everything happened so quickly, and you were incredibly drunk that evening.”

“Stop talking,” Shisa snapped. “I’m getting a migraine, and I can feel my breakfast in my throat. One more word from you, and I’m vomiting on your shoes.”

Kin was quiet for the rest of the way. That would prove to be the highlight of a day that would turn out to be a lot longer and exciting than Shisa had first expected.

The onsen town was quite small, with the local inn being a large manor house sprawling on top of a cliff, and a collection of smaller bath houses crowded around it. There was a tower in the center of the town, serving as a means of keeping watch over the place. 

It was dusk when they checked in at the main establishment, and the inn keeper greeted Kin warmly, already acquainted with the young merchant. Shisa watched quietly as they exchanged pleasantries, with the inn keeper promising to prepare a dinner set for the two of them after they dipped in the onsen.

“Just give me an hour to nap,” Shisa told Kin before she was led away to her room. “I really do have a headache, and I need to rest.”

“Okay,” Kin smiled, “I don’t mind. There’s some other people that I need to talk to, anyways.”

In that sparsely decorated hallway where only rice-paper clad sliding doors were their witnesses, they turned their backs on each other, facing down the possibilities of the different paths that they both chose. The lamp that illuminated the room cast their shadows on the sliding doors, making the retreating figures of Shisa and Kin larger than they actually were. One pair of footsteps was heavier than the other.

Shisa had lied. She never got headaches.

Kin also lied. He did need to go speak with some people, but calling them men was misleading. The women and girls locked away in the tower always called them monsters.

In her room, Shisa jumps out the window and lands silently on the ground. She fixes a vacuous smile on her face, the kind of expression that says, “I don’t know where I am, but I’m just a little girl!” She goes around, walking behind the bathhouses and keeping to the shadows, until she catches sound of music and laughter.

It’s a wooden house nestled closely to the tower, and the closer that Shisa gets to it, the more she recognizes the sounds that she’s hearing: indignant yells, triumphant yelps, groaning, belligerence. The place was a gambling den.

She wordlessly scouts the area before passing by the back, walking calmly as though she knew where everything was; it’s the easiest way to get into places where one shouldn’t be. No one thinks of stopping her, and it doesn’t take long for her to reach the heart of the gambling den: a game of cards in a round table.

Shisa stays by a shadowy corner, eyeing the different other men watching the table with interest. The way they hold their center of gravity— upright, but loose— suggests that they’re armed. They aren’t eyeing each other, which only leads Shisa to assume that they’re hired hands tasked with enforcing the gambling den’s rules. It’s intriguing, so Shisa finally turns to watch the game.

It takes her five minutes to crack a sharp toothed smile.

Although there are seven people seated on the table, only six people are playing. One person is winning it, counting the cards and sharing nary an expression on her face. And it’s a memorable face, with nearly half of it covered by a dark birthmark. People like her— a woman with perfectly controlled expressions, a mathematical mind, and a striking appearance— were not easily forgotten. And worse, they were easily targeted.

Shisa takes some coins from her pocket, buys two drinks from the bartender, and walks over to the girl. She taps her shoulder, but the girl— who is holding a winning deck in her hands— doesn’t glance up.

“An admirer sent you this drink, miss,” Shisa tells her, grinning.

“Go away,” the girl mumbles, still looking down at her cards. “And tell him to fuck off.”

“You wound me,” Shisa jokes. “All because I wanted to give you a friendly warning.”

This finally makes the girl look up, and Shisa notices the way her eyes are sharp and cat-like in their upward slant. 

“What is it?” She bites out. “Can’t you see I’m winning?”

“And that’s precisely the problem.” Shisa leans down to her ear. “There are several men here, armed. They’re watching you. I don’t know who or what you’re playing for, but if they kill you because they think you’re counting cards then this game would have been for nothing.”

Shisa straightens back up. 

“Cut your losses,” she advises, turning her back to the girl. “Walk away. I’ll be waiting in the back.”

She goes out of the gambling den, eyes sliding over the bodies of men that clearly have gathered for ill intentions. She makes her way outside. The night is filled with the song of cicadas— a lucky sign. Shisa wonders how the rest of the night will pan out, if her gamble would pay in dividends.

It doesn’t take long for the girl to meet her outside. Shisa greets her with a smile.

“Did any of them give you any trouble?”

“No,” the girl starts. “At least, not yet. They gave me a warning.”

“Aw, how kind of them.” Shisa shrugs. “Back in the Earth Kingdom, card cutters get their hands cut— no questions asked.”

“I’m not a card cutter,” the girl snapped. “I’m just doing this so that— well.”

Shisa raised a brow. “So that…?”

The moon peaks out of a cloud, casting pale light on the girl’s face— or, rather, the woman. Because there are clearly lines that grace the edges of her mouth, there are tear troughs that line her face. She was definitely older than Shisa, and she stood with the grace of a woman with an education.

“So that I can buy my sister back,” the woman tells her. “She’s up there in the tower, and tonight they’re going to auction her off.”

Shisa nodded slowly, not expecting to stumble across evidence of the sex trafficking in the onsen town so easily.

“I’m Shisa,” she introduces herself, sticking her hand out. “And I can bet you that I can get your sister out of there. There’s just some things that I need you to do for me.”

“And why should I trust you?”

“You don’t have to,” Shisa says honestly, “but between getting killed by cutting cards in an illegal gambling den or trusting a stranger to help you out, I think I know which choice is better.”

The woman sighs, taking Shisa’s hand and shaking it. 

“I’m Gingko,” the woman tells her, “and my younger sister is Yuzu. They took her yesterday after killing our father when he wasn’t able to pay his debts to the Lucky Phoenix.”

Gingko’s handshake is firm and her hands are soft. They are not the hands of someone who has ever held a sword, but Shisa gets the feeling that she is still every inch a warrior.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gingko,” Shisa grins. “We’ll get your sister out. There’s just some things I need you to do.”

Shisa goes back to her room. When Kin comes to pick her up, he doesn’t mention anything about her snooping around. Given everything that she knows about him, Shisa is sure that he isn’t feigning ignorance. Even if it would be a good plan, Kin is the kind of person to gloat and accuse instead of staying quiet.

He doesn’t protest when Shisa insists on going alone to the all-female onsen instead of the co-ed baths. She’s led by one of the inn keepers to a changing room, but before she is able to strip and go into the bath someone pulls a sack cloth over her head. Another person pins her hands in place.

“Just come with us quietly,” hisses the kidnapper into her ear. It doesn’t sound familiar. “The boss doesn’t want you drugged.”

Shisa flails a little just to sell the story of a kidnapped maiden, only settling down when one of the thugs land a kick on her stomach. She is thrown over someone’s back like a sack of potatoes, and there is nothing that she can do except manage her breathing as she is brought to another location.

The sharp turns would have disoriented anybody else, but Shisa keeps her sense of direction intact, mapping the streets that the thugs take her in the folds of her mind. The cool night air eventually grows balmier, and the sound of their footsteps changes as they step off the cobblestones of the street and onto hardwood floors. They just entered a building. 

There are winding steps— Shisa is sure that her captors bringing her up the tower. It takes forever, and her sternum is starting to hurt. When they finally reach the place, she is thrown down into a cell, her hands still tied and the sack cloth still over her head.

Shisa has sharp ears, and at this point she knows that the thug is alone and unaccompanied. Judging by his footsteps, he wasn’t so large There is a jingle by his belt, which must be keys.

As Shisa’s back hits the floor, she uses the momentum to gracefully roll back up. They hadn’t tied her feet. Rookie mistake.

“Get back down,” the thug growls, stepping towards her. “Bitch, you better—-”

His voice gives his location away, and Shisa gives him a hard kick to the stomach, infusing it with just the barest amount of lightning in order to send him flying. His back hits the door, slamming the cell shut. The thug is now trapped in with her.

Using just enough lightning in her arms, Shisa burns the ropes easily and sets her hands free. She chucks the sack cloth away, eyes adjusting to the dim light of the cell. She walks closer and closer to him, and when he is in reach, she leans down with a hand sparkling with the barest hint of lightning, grabbing the ring of keys clipped to his belt

“Lightning?” The thug is still on his knees, eyes wide open as he stares at Shisa. “How— why—-”

Shisa wastes no time in grabbing his lapel, pulling him over her shoulder— into the air in a clean arc— and throwing him out of the window. She glances out, watching the descent until the thug’s body was lying on the ground, dead. 

Outside the room, there is the sound of footsteps. Shisa slips out of the window, balancing on roof tiles as she listens in to what happens next. The sound of the cell door break the evening song of cicadas.

“What— where is she?” Kin’s voice is clear, unmistakable, and agitated. “This isn’t what I planned, I was supposed to save her from you thugs— didn’t I clearly say to kidnap her, and leave her here? Did someone else already buy her?”

“Li brought her up here just like you said, boss,” came an unknown voice. “Kidnapped her from the onsen, just like you said.”

“Then where is she, you oaf?”

“Dunno, boss. Maybe she escaped?”

“Impossible,” Kin scoffed. “This floor is too high up for her to escape. Perhaps someone saved her. Maybe there is another figure at play here— anyway, stop standing around like monkeys. Find her!”

The footsteps— judging by their rhythm, it sounded like three people— slowly receded. Once Shisa felt sure enough that they were gone, she scanned the rest of the tower. It looked like there were more windows on the floor she currently was on. 

So far, things were going according to plan, except that Shisa hated the idea of being recognized. So in the shadowy alcoves of the tower, she untied her hakama pants and robe, revealing the black linen bodysuit that she always wore under her clothes, and two sai knives— three pronged steel weapons— which were strapped around her waist, waiting to be used. She tore a triangular piece of cloth from her hakama pants and tied it around her face, using it as a makeshift mask. It wasn’t the most elegant solution, but it would have to do.

She slipped into the window right next to her’s.

“Hey,” Shisa grinned, landing into the room without a sound, “are you Yuzu?”

The girl in the room turned, dark eyes wide. She was wearing silk clothing too big for her.

“Are here you here to kill me?”

“No.” Shisa threw the circlet of keys to her, and the younger girl jumped to catch it. “I’m getting everyone out.”

“What— who are you? Why?”

Shisa stalked over to the door, and with a lightning edged kick she tore through it. 

“Less talking and more unlocking,” Shisa called back to her, stepping into the hallway. “Are all the girls here on this floor?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Alright,” Shisa grinned, “let’s get this party started.”

The girl— who wasn’t Yuzu, but a fourteen year old named Zizi— got started on unlocking the doors on the floor. In total, twelve girls were on that same floor, sharing the same fate: originally, being sold to the highest bidder as cattle, and now being saved by a masked woman in black, with spiky dark brown hair tied up in a ponytail.

“This is what’s going to happen,” Shisa told them. “You stay here until we get our signal, and five minutes afterwards, run downstairs together. The signal will be a fire alarm— I have a contact in the outside who’ll be burning the manor house. When you hear the fire alarm, go downstairs. I’ll meet you all here.”

“What will you be doing?” One of the girls asked.

“I’ll be upstairs,” Shisa smiled, “making sure that no one can follow us as we escape.”

Some of the other girls had more questions, but it didn’t take long for all the girls to arrive on the same page. Once they went back to their rooms, Shisa went back outside the window and proceeded to scale it, jumping from one ledge to another.

Once she finally reached the top, she stopped to listen. There were no footfalls, only the sound of snoring. Quietly, she maneuvered herself into the room and crouched low— there were two guards, but they were both fast asleep. The only thing that Shisa needed to do was snap their necks, so she did. They were both equipped with bows and arrows, so she stole both their quivers and picked up the bow. 

She hummed quietly to herself as she tested its weight. The bow was made of strong timber bamboo and was perfectly balanced. It looked like the two guards had been professional marksmen. It was a shame that they fell asleep on the wrong night.

From there, she approached the stairs quietly, listening in to whoever was in the floor below her. There were more guards— six, to be precise— and a merchant that she didn’t recognize. They were all speaking to each other in hushed tones about the auction that was about to transpire. 

It was a good thing that they had their backs to Shisa. It was easy for her shoot them from her perch on the staircase. Thwick thwick thwick. Since it couldn’t be completely soundless, Shisa made up for it by being quick. No alarms had been raised, yet. Things were proceeding well.

She continued her way down the next few flights of stairs easily, able to avoid notice but quietly taking out the guards and whoever else had the misfortune of being caught in her sights. She barely used her lightning bending, preferring more quiet means of killing. Things were going as planned, up until a group swordsmen had were just lucky enough to see a shadow in the corner of their eyes, noticing Shisa stalking up to them.

It was eight-to-one. They unsheathed their swords as Shisa fastened to bow to her back and pulled out her knives.

One of them got to her first, slashing down at Shisa in a wide arc. She stopped the momentum of his swing with her sai’s hook, brought him in, and plunged her second sai into his eye, blinding him. She pulled her sai out, kicked his body to the side, where his other companion was approaching her. He stumbled over the collapsing body of his friend. Before he could get up, Shisa moved above him and stomped down at his neck, hard. Her efforts were rewarded by a wet crack.

Someone tried to come at her from behind, but Shisa heard his steps— she whirled around, parried his sword, and plunged her sai into his neck. As she pulled it back out, blood gushed forth and stained her hands. 

Another swordsman attacked her right side with a long swipe at her abdomen— Shisa crouched low and ducked. As the center of gravity of the swordsman shifted to favor his right side, Shisa stabbed him in the armpit. A splatter of blood hit her in the face— she had gotten the major artery that she was going for. He would bleed to death in moments. So far, so good.

Now, it was four-to-one. Shisa grinned. The problem with swordsmen is that they couldn’t attack at the same time in case the inadvertently hurt an ally. Shisa, standing alone, had no such qualms.

Two of them charged at Shisa at the same time, from opposite directions. She stood her ground right until the final moment, where she launched herself in the air. The swordsmen ended up slashing each other, crumpling to the ground.

The next one came at her with an overhead swing, which Shisa evaded easily by moving to the side and stepping forward to enter the swordsman’s personal space. The swordsman’s attention was on her knives, so she feinted— pulling an arrow from her stolen quiver at the last second, burrowing it into his chest. 

The last one closed in to her just as she was pulling out her sai knife from the neck of her latest kill. He tried aiming for her arm, but Shisa was faster, using the prong of the sai knife to protect her arm from the blade. With the other knife, Shisa pulled him closer to her by plunging it into his scapula and dragging him forward. With the distance closed and the sword in an awkward position for the swordsman to use, Shisa stabbed him in the throat.

His body fell to the ground like a cut tree. Shisa didn’t spare the room a backwards glance as she continued her way downstairs.

Suddenly, the fire alarm sounded. Shisa smiled— so it looked like Gingko was successful, then? 

It was time for the next phase in her plan. With a deep breath, Shisa felt the energy of yin and yang pass through her body, and released lightning into the room. It caught on fire, easily.

Now, it was time to get the girls and make their way downstairs.

She ran down the stairs now, uncaring if people would hear her. It would be pointless, because now the tower was on fire at the same time as the manor, splitting the attention of everyone into two, while destroying as much of the human trafficking ring at the same time. Shisa killed whoever she had to kill, ensuring that no one could chase the girls from behind as they made their way down the tower.

When she finally reached the girls, who were getting ready to run, everyone on the floors above them had been killed. There would be no need to guard the rear.

“Alright,” Shisa said. “I’ll lead. Stay away from the fighting as much as possible. Avoid breathing the smoke. The fire here in the tower should be slow. Run for your lives, for your freedom.”

She didn’t look too much at them, the hopeful and panicked look on their faces too much for her to think about in the moment. Shisa couldn’t allow herself to think too much. She needed to fall back on instinct and training. Thinking would waste her precious seconds of reaction time.

She ran down the stairs, bow at the ready, the girls right behind her. 

“Hey what’s happe—”

Thwick.

A man fell, dead. Then another, and another. There was no point in counting or recounting what happened. It was quick. It was efficient. It was professional. Shisa launched herself lower and lower, moving fluently in violence. The girls would wait in the floor above as she made sure it would be safe for them to descend, and they would not comment about the bodies dying and writhing in pain by their feet. Some of the girls would kick them, some happily stepped over them. All of them silently followed Shisa down.

And they did reach the end of the tower. No one was there to catch them— no one had been able to warn the other thugs about the escaping girls, since they were all dead.

“Go your own ways,” Shisa told them. “I pray for your peace.”

“Thank you,” Zizi said, stepping forward. “We owe you everything.”

“You owe me nothing, because I am no one— do you understand me?” Shisa gripped the bow tightly. “The tower caught on fire, and you were all able to escape. The evidence of my presence will be burned with the tower. Only you twelve will know the full story. I was never here. I never existed.”

“If that will keep you safe,” another girl said, “then I swear on Agni, I never saw you.”

Shisa nodded. “Thank you.”

They slowly started to leave, but Shisa called out one last time. “Is there a Yuzu among you?”

A young woman— the oldest of the bunch— turned. Indeed, she did share the same sloping cat-eyes that Gingko had. 

“That’s me,” Yuzu said. “How do you know my name?”

“I’ve come to deliver you to your sister,” Shisa replied. “Please, follow me.”

The two stayed in the shadows, evading men running back and forth the coastline and the burning buildings. The manor was well on its way to being a pile of ash, and the tower was following suit. When they made their way to the edge of town, a familiar face greeted them.

“Gingko!”

Yuzu ran up to her older sister. Gingko’s face stretched into a grin, laughing despite the blaze behind her. As the two sisters embraced, they didn’t notice a shadow slipping past them, making its way back into town.

“Why are you here?” Yuzu’s warm brown eyes welled with tears. “Didn’t I tell you to leave me and never look back?”

“How can I?” Gingko gripped the soot ridden clothes of her sister, as though Yuzu would disappear if she let go of her. “I promised Papa that I would take care of you. I’ve been trying to save you ever since, and then I met Shisa—”

Gingko lifted her head to glance at where Shisa had been standing, but she was nowhere to be found. 

From the safety of his rooms, Kin watched the two buildings burn. Dread pooled into his stomach. He would have to answer to his grandfather for this. He would have to explain why they just lost their most lucrative business. He would have to forever wonder how Shisa escaped, who helped her.

The moon was covered by the clouds, and Kin couldn’t hear the song of the cicadas. A single candle on his desk lit up the room. Kin turned and picked up a bottle of plum wine and a glass. It had been a long night. He deserved it.

He did not notice the shadow in the corners of his eye. 

Kin poured himself a glass of plum wine, tried to pick up the brush in order to start his letter to his grandfather, paused, and put it down. He traded the brush for the cup of plum wine, and took a sip. He set the cup down. He picked up the brush, set it to the paper, and then lost all feeling in his hand.

The brush fell. A heartbeat. Then Kin fell, collapsing onto his desk. The candle went out, submerging the room in total darkness. Only the angry blaze of the tower and manor lit the room with a hungry orange glow.

He tried to open his mouth to scream for help, but it didn’t move. He tried to move his feet, his toes, his neck, his fingers— anything. But his body betrayed him. His body was a disobedient dog. He felt like a rock. He felt like his own skin was trapping him, closing in on him. He felt like his body was about to swallow him up and kill him. He was suffocating. He was drowning. He was— 

“If you had not committed such grave sins, then Agni would not have sent a punishment like me upon you.”*

The voice was not quite feminine, and not quite masculine. It was whispered into his ear, but there was no tingling of a human’s breath. It was just cold and unmoving. Everything was cold and unmoving.

“I am your darkest moment,” the voice taunted. “I am the shadow in every corner of every room. I am the frozen sweat who, like a spider, descends down your spine on nights where sleep eludes you. I am the sum of all your failures and fears. I am the inevitability of your demise.”

He cannot open his mouth to scream, but the scream is there: lodged in his throat, frozen. He makes no sound, and yet the scream is real. 

Kin doesn’t know that it is Shisa who speaks to him, that it is Shisa who paralyzed him, and that it is Shisa that slips out of his room, silent the way all shadows are. He will never know this.

Jugo finds her in the beach in front of their cottage. He’s been watching her, slowly and from afar, as she washes the blood off. She stays underwater with her eyes closed, just floating and feeling weightless. Jugo had been the one to taught her how to float— not swimming, she knew that already when they met, but how to simply float.

Jugo had some towels and a change of clothes in his hands, in case she needed it, and walked down from their cliff to the beach. The sun was rising behind her, and she was in nothing but the bandages that she wore around her torso and legs, as well as some shorts. Her sai knives and a bow were on the shore, already drying from being washed and cleaned.

Shisa had yet to leave the water, so Jugo just stood by the shore and waited. 

Guilt and regret were heady emotions, and he couldn’t stomach the idea that she had been in harm’s way because of misguided suggestions. He should have listened more. He should have gone out of his way to make her feel included. He should have made little lunches for her in the times she was working herself to death. He should have just tried to be direct with her.

Shisa stood, and walked out slowly as though her muscles ached. Despite it all, despite the night she undoubtedly had, there was an expression of serenity on her face.

“How many?”

Shisa shook her head, brow unfurrowed. “Too many.”

“No,” Jugo said, offering her a towel. “I didn’t mean the body count. How many did you save?”

Shisa paused, turning the question over in her mind. She wordlessly took the towel from Jugo, burying her face into the soft fabric.

“Thirteen,” she replied. 

“Rami was worried when I told him where you went—” Shisa cut him off by chuckling under her breath “—- and I was worried, too. I was worried that it would make you realize that you miss our old life.”

Shisa’s soft laughter faded at his admission, and the young girl looked away. There seemed to be a tension within her, an uncertainty, and Jugo didn’t know what she would say next.

“I miss it sometimes,” Shisa admitted. “I miss being confident in my abilities, at not having to wonder if the decisions I make will be able to put food on the table for an entire town.”

“I know,” Jugo confessed. “Or, at least, I suspected it.”

Shisa stared up at him, her amber eyes gleaming in the sun. “I don’t understand.”

“I felt like I didn’t know you anymore,” Jugo admitted, “and I missed the way things used to be, when you depended on me. Maybe… I just wanted the old Shisa back. Maybe I’m an old stupid fool, living in the past.”

“We came here because you were tired of the violence,” Shisa reminded him, “and we thought that things would be quiet in a country ruled by a man that stopped a war. I was fine with how things were. You wanted change.”

“You were not fine,” Jugo frowned. “You were trying each day to not end up like your father. I thought that coming here and finding a small plot of land to live off would take that edge off. But you’ve built this town into something it hasn’t been in one hundred years. You’re more like your father than you know, and yet you’re nothing alike at all.”

Shisa shook her head again, trying not to look Jugo in the eye. Her thoughts were in shambles, absolutely nonsensical, but she tried to come up with something to say. She tried to think of words that were the most honest, right now. If Jugo was being honest with her, then he deserved the same.

“I don’t know what I am, and I don’t know why I’m doing these things,” Shisa admitted, looking down. “It was fun, getting those girls out. I missed the violence— yes, I can say that. It’s not something I can just decide to hate. But I haven’t been a child soldier in a long time.”

“So what do you want to do?” Jugo asked. “If you’re tired of all this, we can try our luck in some other country. We can go to the northern Earth Kingdoms. We can explore the South Pole.”

“I want to stay here,” Shisa sighed. “I want to continue what we’re doing.”

“Why?” Jugo pressed. “I don’t want you to think that you have to provide for Rami and I or any of the crew. I’m your big brother, remember? You should depend on me more.”

That made Shisa smile, even though it was brittle and tired. She opened her mouth to say something— something about her father, and his father, and his father— something about the way she not original at all, just the latest iteration of an old family washed away by time and stupid mistakes. She closed her mouth, settling for something that she knew Jugo would understand.

“I don’t know why I want this,” she admitted, “all I know is that I want to live a good life, even though I don’t know what a good life is. But I’ll continue to seize every opportunity that comes my way with both hands. I don’t want to stop and regret and double guess my decisions. I want to live under the sun. I don’t know if any of that makes any sene.”

“It does,” Jugo nodded, “it does.”

Gingko shouldn’t be in Harbor Town’s small inn, playing a round of cards, but she is. After last night and the terrifying— and miraculous— things that happened, she and Yuzu made their way on foot to Harbor Town. When morning came, they had reported all that happened to the local magistrate, Kizashi, who had been coincidentally already investigating reports of human trafficking in that area. 

He had advised them to stay in town so that the entire affair could be settled once and for all, and had pointed them in the direction of the local inn. Unfortunately, they had no money. Fortunately, Gingko was very good at counting cards and winning in the gambling table. She should swear off gambling for good and never approach a deck of cards ever again. But what else can she do? What other choices were there?

“Well,” came a familiar voice from beside her, “I didn’t expect to see you playing cards so soon.”

Gingko looked up to see the tanned face of Shisa, the enigmatic woman that saved her sister.

“I don’t have any money,” Gingko said plainly. “This will have to do for now.”

“You should look for a job,” Shisa grinned, teeth flashing.

“I wouldn’t even know where to look,” Gingko confessed. “I don’t think anyone here is looking to hire a teacher, are they?”

“Not a teacher,” Shisa mused thoughtfully, “but the local millionaire needs a bookkeeper to help with her workload.”

“Oh?” Gingko pursed her lips. She had always been good with numbers. That could work. “Who is she? Where can I apply?”

“I’m the local millionaire,” Shisa replied, pointing at herself with a crooked smile, “and someone that can gamble like you is exactly what I need in an accountant. If you want the job, you’re hired.”

That year, they don’t host a New Year’s party. The monsoon season batters the western coast of the Fire Nation, and a typhoon washes over Harbor Town. There is no catch. There is no profits. There is only one boat left, and hundreds of mouths to feed.