In the early morning light, a gentle fog hung throughout the Okuna Glade.

Wisps of fog snaked through the trees and undergrowth, causing dew to cling to the strands of grass. A soft pink glow started in the sky as the first rays of sunlight illuminated the world.

Isao sat on the wet ground, his face contorted in concentration as he held Khalem's sharp knife in one hand, a blunted, thick stick in the other.. He would finish. He had to. He didn't know why, but it was important that he give Celty something before the group split up upon departing the campsite.

With enough carving and careful work, he'd managed to create a sort of heavy cudgel that she could carry. Ragged cuts in the end would at least bruise – or, with any luck, maim —any poor creature or soul that attempted to attack someone like her.

His lips twitched in hidden amusement.

Perhaps Ranbelt was right. Maybe Celty was a tiger girl.

At any rate, she could use it to protect herself on her journey to Mahel Island. It was better than having no weapon, and he felt better picturing her with it. The idea of her venturing into the great unknown alone, unprotected – without him, really – made his skin crawl.

But she was no slave. He could and would not make decisions for her. At least he felt some modicum of comfort in knowing that she was free from slavery now.

He turned all his attention back to the task at hand, hoping it would take all his attention so he didn’t focus on the fears and worries filling his mind. Then, in what felt like seconds later but might have been a long stretch of time, Celty returned from filling their pouches at the stream.

She stood at the edge of their little camp, her hair fluttering in the breeze. Dirt was smudged on her face and chin. She looked like a wild thing: unkempt, and unapologetic despite being so.

Isao noticed she'd taken some of long, slender leaves and folded them into a small kind of envelope. A dark juice leaked out from the bottom of this pouch. No doubt, berries were outside.

Isao frowned and gestured to the pouch. "How did you know how to do that?"

"I've lived outdoors on my own before. Remember? The farmers found me. Slaves rarely get quarters, Isao, so I know how to live off the land."

When her gaze dropped to the weapon in his hand, Isao's face blossomed with heat. He stood up, setting Khalem's knife aside, and held the cudgel out for her. "For you."

Her eyes widened. "Me?"

"Yes. You'll need something to protect you while you travel."

She blinked, then swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, I suppose I will."

"And here is some food," Ranbelt said, approaching. He extended the leather bag that Rhaeneis had given the group, a crooked smile on his face. Celty opened her mouth to refuse, but he shoved it into her hands. "I know that you can and will hunt, but this will get you through until then. It’s just to get your journey started on a successful note, tiger girl. You have plenty of time to prove yourself along the way, don't worry."

Celty managed a weak smile and finally slung the bag over her right shoulder, along with her water pouch.

Khalem stepped up from behind her. He held out a clenched fist in front of him, then motioned to it with a tilt of his head. "It’s a wish for good luck. A sort of token from the warrior's code. Warriors don't say farewell. That’s bad luck."

Celty smiled then, holding up her own fist. Both of their arms fell back to their sides as she turned to face Isao again.

"I hope you find what you're looking for," he murmured, drawing in a deep breath. "And that you are able to do it safely. I will miss you. Traveling with someone as courageous as you has been an honor. But it's time for you to see the world, and find your own place in it. I am happy for your freedom, and proud of you for going out to meet it so bravely."

"No more slaves?" she requested in a gentle but serious tone.

Isao smiled softly. "No. I will keep my promise and make the Empire better. No more slaves. No more abuse. I will create a unified reign with equality. I promise you, Celty, that I will fight for it."

A fleeting expression crossed her face, half wistful, half mournful. She murmured, "Thank you," to Isao, so soft that Ranbelt and Khalem couldn't hear it, then angled her body to face all of them. "Thank you for being . . . for being so humane with me. Amongst you, I am not a slave."

With that, she stepped back, swung around, and started off toward the distant blue horizon. The group watched her depart as one, watching as her figure shrunk the farther off she got. Then, when she was far off in the distance, she stopped and lifted up her nose. She stayed that way for a moment, sniffing the air. Finally, she shook her head and moved on without turning back.

Ranbelt picked up his mandolin and began to strum. Low chords rose from it, swelling in a melancholy song that matched the somber mood of the group.

A little piece of Isao's chest seemed to crumble away when he lost total sight of her. Although he hadn't known Celty for very long, she had become a close friend. Their lives had no similarities, but nonetheless, Isao held her in deep affection. He'd never met anyone like her.

"Well," Khalem said when Celty disappeared around a corner in the path. "She wasn't so bad, I suppose."

Isao snorted. "You didn't want her to come from the very beginning. Now you think she's all right?"

"Distance makes the heart grow more affectionate, you know," he quipped.

Ranbelt continued strumming the melancholy tune until his fingers seemed to run out of energy. Finally, he brought the mandolin down to his side, his arms hanging loose. "Well," he said quietly, "good travels to the tiger girl. And now, we must be on our own adventures."

Isao opened his mouth to ask Ranbelt how long it would take them to reach Havin when a flicker of movement caught his gaze. He whirled around just as Khalem let out a guttural shout. A man dressed in black was only a few feet away grappling with Khalem.

Both fell to the ground, into a thick tangle of grasses. A long, curved bone knife flashed in between them as they rolled, one on top of the other.

"Khalem!" Isao cried.

"My Sheng, RUN!" the general hollered.

Ranbelt grabbed Isao by the arm. "Listen to him! We must go!"

"No!"

But Ranbelt, surprisingly strong for such a lithe man, jerked Isao away from the man in the grass, shoving him toward the far end of the glade.

Just then, Khalem broke free of his attacker. He surged to his feet and stared at the intruder with flared nostrils and a threatening expression. The two scrutinized each other until Ranbelt let loose another cry.

"THERE!"

A woman stood on the opposite side of the small meadow, her body blocking the footpath they were planning to take. Black robes fluttered around her thin body as her long ebony hair drifted in a gentle breeze across her face, nearly obscuring her vision.

And in that instant, Isao knew. His stomach churned with disbelief and fear. Something about these two intruders wasn't right. Their mannerisms were too still, their expressions too neutral. And the man; he had scars crossing his eyes. Was he blind? If so, how did he know where to charge Khalem? A shudder went all the way up Isao's spine

"Me," he murmured to Ranbelt. "They're here to kill me and Khalem. They're assassins. I'm certain of it. "

Ranbelt opened his mouth to say something, only to close it again.

The woman moved, placing a bone ocarina on her lips. Seconds later, the instrument hissed like a snake into the air.

The sound coiled in Isao's head, wrapping around his brain. He put his hands to his ears and let out a cry. He stumbled back as his surroundings tilted. Everything seemed to fall upside down, including him. Next to him, Ranbelt pitched to the side. Khalem let out a guttural cry.

Isao forcibly pried his eyes open, attempting to find something stable, something not wheeling around him like a ship in an ocean storm

Not far away, the woman stood still as death, the instrument at her lips. Still hissing. Still controlling his brain.

"Air magic!" Ranbelt screamed. "They're using magic!"

The man advanced toward Khalem again, clenching his knife made of bone. The woman unsheathed a knife from a belt at her waist, the ocarina still dangling between her pursed lips. Without a word, she closed in on Isao.

Khalem screamed, "Stay close to one other! Keep your backs to each other."

Somehow, Isao managed to right himself and back up to Ranbelt. Khalem struggled forward and made it to their sides, throwing his sword up high just as the man with the curved sword advancing on him dropped his toward Khalem. The two weapons clashed. Khalem fell under the force of the blow, toppling to the ground.

Isao drew his jiang, still staggering in this moving world. Next to him, Ranbelt pulled out his hunting knife, and the two attempted to face the woman together.

She leapt right at them, but they plunged away in different directions, avoiding the sharp edge of her knife. The sound of tearing fabric followed, and Isao felt something jerk him back. He ducked, dodging a follow-up blow.

Ranbelt thrust his knife arm out, but missed the female assassin, and fell. Isao struggled to stand straight, but fell back to his knees, overcome by dizziness. The woman stepped up to Ranbelt, but Isao threw his body toward her. She dodged him, stepping away. Ranbelt managed to swing up, stabbing her in the sleeve as Khalem and the male assassin grappled in the background.

Isao panted from his place on the ground, aware in a very real sense that he might not make it out alive. His attempt to stay alive in the Imperial City – escaping the burning stable and the enemy soldiers – was nothing to compared to what was going on here.

Dizzy or not, he had to attack with all he had left. He would make his father proud, even if these were his final moments.

The woman lifted the ocarina back to her lips, making it hiss again. The resulting feeling of disorientation hit Isao like a stone in the chest. Ranbelt let out a strong yet desperate cry. Isao struggled to his knees and spied blood dripping from Ranbelt's shoulder.

There was another grunt from Khalem, who stepped quickly from one foot to another, ducking a blow from the male assassin before falling down onto his side. The man swung his blade down, catching Khalem in his right arm. He shouted, jerking himself back from the blade and rolling onto his stomach.

Isao threw himself at the male assassin and hit him with his body in the small of the back. The man fell forward, tripping over Khalem and buying both Isao and Khalem a moment to stand up, pressing their backs together again.

"Khalem," Isao panted. "You're injured."

"Flesh wounds."

"Can you still fight?"

"To my death."

"So it may be, my friend," Isao murmured. "I will be right there with you."

The woman locked her eyes on Isao. She lifted her palms, rolling her hands forward with her fingers. The air around her distorted, as if growing and shimmering, but oddly . . . sharp. With a flick of her wrists, a mass of air drove toward Isao, cutting toward him at a super speed.

Isao turned to the side and lifted his jiang, exposing the flat outer side. The air mass slammed into much of him, but bounced off his blade and blew off to the side. Pain tore through Isao’s shoulder. He let out a cry and fell to his knees.

"Sheng!" Khalem called as he stumbled over a rock.

Ranbelt stopped the male assassin from kill Khalem with a dexterous swipe, slashing the man in the ribs. The man screamed and spun away.

The woman stalked towards Isao. As she approached, Isao felt a pit in the bottom of his stomach. Death's beginning embrace, he imagined. Was his father still alive? If not, had he felt this way before he died too?

The harder Isao struggled to right himself, the more he fell. Finally, the woman stood just out of arms’ reach, her palms held out. Time itself slowed down. The thudding of his heart slowed as well.

This was it.

The air distorted, rippling again. The razor-sharp edge appeared, speeding right toward him.

Isao sucked in a sharp breath. It would be a quick death. At least he would have died fighting.

A warrior's bellow came out of the glade.

Like a tigress, Celty barreling forward towards the woman, her club held high over her head. She brought the club down and threw herself on top of the woman, tackling her.

The deathly air dissipated. A fresh surge of hope streaked through Isao as he clambered to his feet. On the ground, Celty pulled out clumps of the assassin's hair as the two rolled. The woman escaped her embrace, darting to her feet. So did Celty.

"Sheng!" Khalem screamed. "Keep fighting!"

Celty dodged the thrust of the woman's knife, and attacked in return with a swing of her club.

Khalem was upright now. Ranbelt fought the male assassin with surprising ease, parrying, ducking, and moving at one with his hunting knife.

The woman and Celty faced each other, panting. Celty bared her teeth and snarled. "I was a slave!" She gripped the cudgel with white knuckles. "I will never, ever submit again!"

Celty attacked, swinging the club.

"Yes!" Ranbelt shouted as he ducked another swing from the male, who showed signs of tiring. "Go, tiger girl!"

Khalem pounced into the fray against the male as well.

In the midst of Celty’s flurry of swings, the woman hesitated for just a moment. The span of a breath was all that it took to give Celty the advantage.

She swung to the right, missed, and then swung the club back in the opposite direction. The heavy end of the club caught the female assassin in the jaw. She fell to one knee in the grass.

Celty advanced, swinging again. The club caught the woman in the ribs. A sharp crack broke the air. Isao dodged forward, stepping on the woman’s hand as she reached for her sword. Her eyes connected with his.

Celty screamed, brought the club up over her head, and then pounded it down on the woman's exposed neck. Bones cracked, and the woman went limp. Celty hit her again and again.

"Celty!"

Isao reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. She stopped, breathing heavily. He squeezed hard, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Celty, it's me."

She blinked, sucked in a long breath, looked at the woman, and then nodded. She stepped back, club swinging at her side.

"She's dead. You've saved me. You . . . I can't believe it. You saved me, Celty."

Celty's eyes widened. "But not Khalem!"

The two spun to find both Ranbelt and Khalem still engaged with the male, who bled from the face. Just then he staggered, falling to the grass as well. Ranbelt slashed at his sword wrist. The man released his weapon with a deep cry of pain just as Khalem swung his sword. It lodged in the man's throat.

The remaining assassin gurgled as blood bubbled up around the weapon. Khalem slid the sword free, and stepped back.

Blood spurted from the wound in a reddish spray. The man slumped over, his blood pumping onto the soil.

For a long moment, no one spoke. They stared at the two bodies, still in death.

Ranbelt blinked. Isao reached over, feeling his injured shoulder. A series of thoughts brimming with gratitude and disbelief slipped through the prince at unusual speed.

If Celty hadn't come, he'd be on the ground with them. He'd be dead.

He forced his spinning mind to slow.

Later. He'd think about all of this later. Right now they were injured and vulnerable. There could be more assassins hiding in the trees. There could be more . . . anywhere.

Isao swallowed, staggering forward. "We must move," he said, rasping. "Leave. In case there are more. We must bandage what we can and get out of here."

Ranbelt looked up, blinking. His bright garments were torn in several places, stained with blood. Sweat dropped down his weary face. He nodded once. "Yes. You're right."

Khalem opened his mouth to reply, but collapsed, dropping to the grasses with a heavy thud.

"Khalem!" Isao bellowed.

He darted over, falling to his knees. The general grimaced before his expression grew slack.

"Don't you pass out on me, Khalem!"

"Sheng, I – "

"Where are you hurting?" Isao asked, glancing over his body. Blood stained everything – all of Khalem's clothes. Much of his visible skin. His sword. "Khalem, this blood. Is it all yours?"

"His," he muttered, gasping. "Some of it . . . is his."

"Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere."

"You have to do better than that, Khalem."

Isao moaned, motioning to his shoulder with a weak jerk of his head. "There. Arm. At the . . . at the top."

Isao peeled away the tattered shirt to find a deep black wound deep. He gulped. This was Khalem's sword arm. He'd almost had his arm cut off, yet he'd still managed to fight like a true Hiwan soldier.

Isao quickly stuffed some cloth over it. "Bleeding. A lot," he murmured.

Isao glanced up, right into Celty's violet eyes. "The bandages," he said. "They're in your bag. Get them for me. And as much water as you can."

She nodded once and whirled around. Isao ripped his jacket off, tossing it to Ranbelt.

"Tear that in strips. We have to stop the bleeding. Khalem, keep talking to me. I need you to stay conscious."

"Thirst," Khalem whispered. "Thirsty."

Celty appeared again and Isao pulled the water pouch from the top of her bag as she hastily rummaged through it for the bandages. With Isao’s help, Khalem took a long, slow draw of water. Then he leaned back, his eyes closed.

Isao removed the cloth, then poured the rest of the water over the wound in Khalem’s arm. The general winced, but Isao ignored it.

Celty passed him the bandages and a bunch of herbs. "Here, Sheng. These will help numb the pain. Pack them around the wound. The blood will seep through the skin."

Isao met her eyes for a brief moment, pausing only a breath, feeling as if he saw the entire expanse of eternity in her endless violet eyes. “Celty, I am so happy to see you again. But . . . why did you come back?”

She swallowed, seeming uncomfortable. “I just . . . I felt something bad.”

“You felt it?”

She gestured with a hand. “In the air. A smell or . . . I don’t know. I just…I know when bad things are about to happen.”

“Yes,” Isao murmured. “You mentioned that before.”

“I don’t always know what they are, I just know when they’re coming. I felt that when I was leaving. At first, I ignored it. But it’s like it is…pushed on me. Mind and soul. I had to come back. And then I saw what was happening.” She shrugged. “I had to help.”

Isao reached over and squeezed her hand, wishing he could tell her how much she'd done for them. Without their fierce tiger girl, they all would have met their deaths. He smiled.

“Thank you for what you did.”

Isao turned back to his work of dressing the wound.

"Well," Ranbelt said with a sigh, "I, for one, am glad you came back, tiger girl. It’s been a long time since I’ve been so surprised and seen someone fight with such a fierce spirit.” His eyes sparkled. “Tiger girl, indeed! Not so bad for facing death yet again. Although, between us, I'd prefer our first attackers."

Celty snorted with a weak laugh, but Khalem chuckled. "Yet again," he murmured, holding up a fist with his other arm, "we stand strong."

Isao worked on Khalem, temporarily bandaging every bleeding spot he could find. As soon as it was possible, the group slipped deeper into the trees, near the stream. Blood continued to bubble from Khalem's wounds, staining the bandages. Meanwhile, Celty dragged the two dead bodies together, then remained at their backs, watching the forest with a wary eye.

Ranbelt cared for himself, cleaning his wounds with cool water.

It wasn't until Isao leaned back, content with the best haphazard job he could manage on Khalem's wounds, that he realized the full extent of his fatigue.

His head swam again. He wanted to sink into the ground and sleep forever. The ring and clash of swords still reverberated in his ears, but even that couldn't banish the soul-deep weariness in his mind.

Celty caught Isao before he could fall.

"Whoa, Prince," she murmured. "Let's take care of your arm now."

With gentle motions, she cleaned and bandaged his wounded arm, wrapping it with pieces torn from her own clothes that she first soaked in the stream. When she finished, they stared at each other with grim expressions.

"We need to get you and Khalem to Havin," she said.

“We?” Isao asked, blinking. “But . . . what about your trip?”

She pulled in a long, slow breath. “I can’t leave you now. Especially not now,” she said, gesturing to Khalem and then Isao’s injured shoulder. “I’m the only one who can really fight, and there is still a long way to go. My own adventure can wait. Once you are safe within Havin’s walls, then I’ll go out and explore more.”

“Thank you again, tiger girl,” Isao murmured.

She nodded once, turning away, clearly embarrassed by his attention. They glanced at Khalem, who dozed in the dappled sunlight.

Ranbelt met their gaze from only a few paces away. He dropped his voice to a low whisper.

"Khalem can move, but only very slowly. Celty aside," he said with a wry grin her direction, "none of us are in any shape to be fighting, and she can't fight for all three of us. If we meet anyone else on the path, we're in trouble."

Isao nodded once, taking the warning in with a grim feeling deep in his belly.

With Khalem badly wounded, that left Isao in full charge. All the leadership his father had taught him – the need for decisiveness in action; choosing the best for the good of all, not the one – came rushing to the front of his mind.

Isao forced himself to step back and study the situation until he felt certain about the best option.

"We must go," he said. "Even if we're slow. Even if we have to take turns carrying Khalem. There may be more coming after us to ensure we're dead. There may be more waiting right now. The Empire needs me to live and restore order. I refuse to die, and I refuse to allow Khalem to die for me. We go to Havin; that’s the only safe place for us right now. We go there, even if we have to crawl."

A smile appeared on Ranbelt's face. Celty grinned too, reaching out to take Isao's hand with a warm, friendly clasp, the likes of which he'd never had – had never been allowed to have –before.

Ren's hand would never have felt so warm and full of life.

Ranbelt inclined his head. "Spoken like a true leader, Sheng Isao. Let us press on and save the fate of the Empire."

"And hope that no one else falls upon us," Celty muttered, wielding her club back into her hands with a menacing smile.