"It is my utmost joy to present to the newlyweds what must surely be the greatest gift of all: Dhul powder."

Kenzo Ameya's eyes sparkled as he smiled. Standing at the banquet table with all eyes trained on him, he tapped on top of a jar he'd pulled from a container sitting on the ground next to him. Isao accepted it as his father passed it across the table, and momentarily studied its contents with a furrowed brow.

"This powder must be burned at the end of the banquet," Kenzo continued. "Why, you may ask? Because the rare, aromatic blend of the Dhul flowers will bring in – and solidify – the bonds now formed between the Nari and Hiwan Clans. What blessing could be greater at such a time as this?"

Saemon peered at the shifting, light-blue powder inside one of the glass jars that Kenzo Ameya now held high above Ren and Isao. The glittering light from nearby candles caught the glass of the jars and glinted.

Kenzo grinned at the new couple, giving a courtly bow as he set the glass container back on the table where Ren studied it with what appeared to be a pleased expression. She murmured something unintelligible to Saemon, words he assumed, upon spotting Kenzo's bright smile, to be ones of gratitude.

"May the happiest of blessings flow into your marriage," Kenzo declared as he reached for a nearby glass, holding it aloft. "A toast for the happy couple! Let us hold our glasses to the sky and ask for the blessings of the Sacred Triad to rest upon their beautiful shoulders. To Isao and Ren!"

An answering murmur rolled through the rest of the attendees at the feast. Saemon held his own glass high, then tossed the wine into the back of his mouth and swallowed.

Conversation throughout the hall dissipated into smaller discussions as Kenzo returned to his seat, beaming. The fluid roll of voices drifted above the table, stretching through the room. Only Ren and Isao seemed oblivious to the cheer of the celebration and the loosening effect of the premier wine.

The couple sat with stoic expressions and fixed smiles. They would spend two more nights apart before solidifying their new marriage.

Saemon kept a close eye on the conversations at the main table between the representatives of the different clans. He tracked the participants’ facial expressions carefully. Any sort of disagreement would not be welcome after so much work and attention.

He was momentarily distracted by the bustle of servants in and out of the main doors of the room bearing platters loaded with food. Bowls of leeks in a buttery sauce. A rich and creamy clam soup that would slip down the throat like silk. Plates of sweet rice mixed with coconut flakes and served with a mashed fruit compote. The resulting scent was enough to bring an air of merriment to the room.

As nothing seemed amiss in the faces of the servants or the stewards, Saemon relaxed, tuning back into the conversations around him at the table.

"It's unfortunate, isn't it?" Tieng Shorguz said.

He'd replaced the satchel he'd worn on his arrival with a pristine white vest, although he still wore his leather pants – the trademark of the Beast from the Uma clan. In honor of the celebration, however, he wore no visible knives.

"Unfortunate?" echoed Gavan Jenzud. His forehead furrowed. Compared to Tieng, Gavan looked like a mole with his hunched shoulders and beady eyes. "What's unfortunate during such a lovely event?"

Tieng shrugged, playing with the stem of his wine glass. "No one experiments with dangerous magic anymore. The Shurans did the world a disservice by dying during the Horat-Vu war. No one can really explore darker magic like the Clan of the Spiders did. Or at least, no one has the courage to anymore."

War has a way of doing that, Saemon thought, suppressing a flinch.

Gavan snorted. "Foolish thing to say. No one should be meddling in the realms of the darker magic. Isn't the fact that none of the Shuran Clan is alive now proof of that?"

A shudder passed through Saemon, racing down his spine. He attempted to ignore it, but it returned again, this time with stronger force.

The Horat-Vu war. Memories slipped through his mind, unbidden. Dying bodies. Blood pooling on the ground. For a moment, Saemon was twenty years old again, and reliving the horrors of unparalleled violence. Not even the Horat-Vu against evil could protect all the participants from giving up their lives. Evil birthed its own monsters, even when Goodness fought against it.

Saemon pulled out of his thoughts with another sip of wine, his glass refilled by a passing servant. Listening to the conversation grounded him again. He tried to focus on the calm way everyone spoke, as if they'd been friends all along.

He could only hope the goodwill would last.

"Speaking of dark magic," Gavan said, motioning for a servant to bring him more wine with a tap of his finger, "did you hear what the Yojin found at Iskawan?"

"Vakums wandering into pits?" Tieng said idly.

"A strange amber powder."

"Oh?" Gavan said, leaning forward in interest.

Tieng did the same. "What was the powder?" he asked.

"No one knows," Gavan said, raising an eyebrow.

"If it comes out of Iskawan, it can't be good,” Tieng muttered.

"Saemon, do you know?" Gavan asked, turned towards Saemon and tilting his head back to study the leader of the Hiwan Clan through dark eyes.

Saemon cleared his throat and reached for a piece of seaweed sprinkled with salt and wrapped around rice.

"No," he said. "I have heard no rumors."

"Do you think it could be Shuran magic?" Tieng asked, his eyes narrowed. "If no one knows what the amber powder is, it would make sense."

"Perhaps," Gavan murmured, then waved a dismissive hand through the air. "But the Shurans are dead. Let their memories rest in the dust where they belong."

"I do not believe an entire clan can be exterminated. Certainly not the Spiders. If any Clan could go on living, swathing themselves where we cannot see until they want to pounce, it is the Shuran,” Tieng said.

"Believe in tales if you like. There are no Shurans left."

"Yes, I agree.” Tieng shrugged. “The existence of any Shuran is a mere tale, just like the Order of the Sacred Triad will be soon enough."

Gavan and Tieng looked up, startled to see Matsu Maeba from the Haku Clan peering at them from two spots down the table. He blinked large, globe-like eyes at them.

Saemon tensed, drawing himself higher in his seat. "What do you mean?" he asked, unable to help himself.

Matsu smiled, pointing to him. "Your edict, Sheng Saemon, has limited religious power and nearly erased the presence of the Triad. Our temple sees hardly any traffic these days. One rarely even hears the name spoke from lips in prayer anymore."

Saemon sucked in a sharp breath. "That's not – "

"It's because of the rumors!" Iwa Tamon shrieked, throwing a hand in the air. She sat next to Matsu, her wide face and tall body seeming to fill the entire chair. "The dark side of religion was manifested, and has frightened all the worshippers. Who wants to give allegiance to gods that hold no order? It's all nonsense if you ask me."

Saemon’s heart jolted, replaying the words dark side of religion over and over again. He shook off his dark memories, hating the memory of the high priestess's voice in his ear.

"This is a celebration," Saemon declared, tapping the table with one knuckle. "A celebration of joy. Such talk shouldn't be allowed. We should forbid politics and religion at such a wonderful event."

All four murmured, and bowed their heads in deference. Saemon relaxed back into his chair, his fingers releasing themselves from white-knuckled fists.

"Samudra," Tieng said, lifting his goblet. "Let's discuss Samudra. Have you heard about the unexplored islands in the west continent? Rumors say that a clan plans to explore them soon. Do you know which?"

Matsu casually turned to Iwa at the same time, as if he'd never broached such a daring conversation in the first place. "The pirate captain Beltran has started threatening the ocean waters again, I hear. Some fisherman believe they saw his sign."

Gavan snorted. "Another legend."

"Beltran is dead," Tieng insisted. "It's been proven."

"I disagree," Matsu said, wrinkling his nose. "Hidden for a while, possibly. But no legend, and certainly not dead."

"That's rich talk," Kenzo called out derisively to Gavan from down the table. "A member of the Horalu Clan speaking to navigation. Ha! What do you know about the sea?"

Gavan snarled. "More than – "

"The ceremony today," Saemon redirected loudly. "Did you find it enjoyable?"

Both Gavan and Tieng sat back, ignoring Kenzo. Kenzo chuckled and turned away, back to a conversation with the Nari clan. Matsu and Iwa fell into a more private discussion on the islands, and Saemon moved the conversation near him to bring about the newlywed’s gift from the emissary of the Haku clan.

Ren accepted the book about the historical implications of the magic used within the Empire with eagerness, running her slender fingers over the cover.

Saemon hid his amusement. Of course the Haku clan would offer knowledge of magical things. What an appropriate gift from them.

The time for gifts passed as a distant tinkling in the hallway became pronounced. Those at the feast quieted, and Ren's expression brightened even more.

A stream of dancers with reddish costumes and fox-like masks on their faces moved into the great hall, surrounding the feast table. A Nari flute band followed, its high, happy trill matching perfectly with the prancing step of the dancers.

A shared feeling of awe moved through those at the feast as the dancers whipped around, reddish silks waving behind them. The dance of the flutes followed the show, making the amassed crowd break into clapping and laugher.

Just as the dancers finished their display and slipped through a back doorway, the sound of stomping boots rang through the air. A contingent of soldiers from the Horalu clan marched into the dining room, swords flashing. Behind them came a line of drummers. The solemn, steady beats of the drums as the soldiers marched silenced, then started again in a driving, steady rhythm. The soldiers flashed and twirled their weapons in time with the music in a stunning and powerful display of dexterity and skill.

Saemon leaned back, appreciating the coordination behind such a feat. His eyes drifted over the table, watching a servant pour yet another glass of wine for Gavan. His gaze advanced, lingering on the full cups of those belong to the Nari clan.

Were they not drinking? He wracked his mind, but couldn't recall seeing a servant refill their glasses again. What about the Ameyas? Further study revealed the same. He frowned. Was the wine watered down? Did someone swap the vintage at the last moment, replacing them with inferior ones?

A glimpse of black hair caught Saemon's eyes and he lifted a hand, signaling Gou Tuen, the imperial chef of the last twenty years. Gou Tuen turned and started his way.

"Sheng Saemon," he greeted seconds later. "How may I serve you?"

"The wine. Is something wrong with it?"

Gou Tuen's brow grew heavy. "No, Sheng. Not that I have heard. We have conducted all the usual taste tests with every batch, and have heard no complaints. Have you?"

Saemon's frown deepened. "No. No one has complained to me."

"Would you like me to change the vintage?"

"No. Leave it. Perhaps I am just a paranoid man on such a great feast. Thank you, Gou Tuen. Your food has been as delicious as expected."

"Thank you, Sheng. Do I have your permission to begin the dessert portion of the meal? My servants are beginning to return with empty glasses as the feast wanes, and we still have much to offer."

"Yes. Permission granted."

The burly man bowed and retreated, casting a wary eye on the wine goblets that were full as he departed. His gaze lingered on the Naris and the Ameyas, and narrowed when it reached Kenzo. Gou Tuen stopped, spoke to two servants near the door, then disappeared.

Saemon turned his attention back to the table, Kenzo in particular.

Kenzo's earlier joviality had changed to a look of deep concentration. He played with the stem of his wine glass, but didn't drink. The straight cut of his shoulders, pulled back against the chair, seemed oddly at large with the occasional, fix smile on his face.

Saemon’s mind became busy. The Ameyas were known for their love of drink of all kind. Celebrations with the Ameya clan usually gave way to raucous celebration. Everyone knew that.

Saemon straightened, then dismissed these thoughts.

So many visitors. So many political alliances. Surely he was just imagining things. The Ameya clan was likely respecting the nature of this gathering and refraining from drinking too much in order to maintain control, something he appreciated right then.

Gou Tuen led the way from the door again, flanked by servants bearing platters laden with desserts. The rest of the servants moved around the table, whisking away empty plates, refilling empty goblets, and preparing the attendees for more delicious food.

The heady scent of lemon swept through the air as Gou Tuen presented his culminating dish of the evening: a tiered cake with lemon-and-honey icing and stuffed with small balls of sugar meant to dissolve in the mouth of the taster with delicate sweetness. Icing swept about the sides of the cake in a grand pattern, highlighted with yellow streams of color.

Those at the table cast a long sigh of approval.

"This cake," Gou Tuen said, addressing the newlyweds, "is in honor of your coming together. The tartness of the lemon and the sweetness of the honey are so different, but together, so perfect."

Isao and Ren inclined their heads in a proper acceptance.

Gou Tuen stepped back, admiring his offering with a proud smile.

Yuna wrinkled her nose. She drew back slightly, turning her head to the side.

Saemon accepted a piece of the renowned lemon-and-honey cake, then tuned his ears into the conversation around him as the talk at the great feast passed from excited chatter into gentle murmurs.

He observed that Isao stared glumly at his half-full plate. Despite the feast featuring many of his favorite dishes, Isao had eaten very little. Saemon made a mental note to talk to him later.

One by one, the attendees began to fall quiet, many drawing into their own thoughts. Gavan began to snore softly against his chair while Tieng continued to discuss a new knife with a representative from the Horalu clan on his right.

Saemon cleared his throat and straightened out of his seat. The whole room fell silent, all eyes on him.

"Guests," he said, spreading his hands, "I thank you for attending the wedding ceremony, and for your gracious attendance tonight. It has truly been a historical day, and I look forward to future relations with the Nari clan."

Those in the Nari clan, Ren included, slightly bowed their heads. Saemon collected a deep breath.

"Now, let us call this day to a close. As our custom dictates, Ren and Isao will end the feast by withdrawing to their separate rooms where they will spend a final night apart to prepare themselves for their new life, rid themselves of uncleanliness, and start with fresh, clean hearts."

A low murmur of approval rippled through the crowd. Ren bowed her head, her cheeks coloring at the top, while Isao's nostrils flared. Saemon let the observations pass. His eyes fell on the glittering blue jar between Ren and Isao.

"As a thank you to our friends in the Ameya clan, I will have the servants burn the jars to seal the new, budding relationship between our clans and bring us a peaceful sleep. Good night."

Saemon sat back down. The low chatter turned into a buzz as Ren rose, and her maids instantly flocked to her side.

Isao got up to stand next to his bride. The long expression on his face likely meant that he just wanted to sleep.

Isao and Ren moved through the room together, speaking quietly with those they passed. Ren walked with a slow, easy grace, her dress fluttering slightly as her maids trailed behind her.

The newlyweds stepped into the hall and parted, going their separate ways.

The dining ball came back to life as a troop of dancers glided into the hall, the bells attached to their ankles tinkling with every step they took. The quiet trill of a lute warbled in the background, low and quiet to lull those in the hall to sleep.

Saemon detected a faint scent in the air, almost like juniper. He glanced over to see a servant set a jar of powder on the table nearby. Dhul powder.

A few seats away, Kenzo stood.

"Kenzo," Saemon called, leaning forward, "you must stay for the traditional parting dance. It is a long-celebrated custom to bring peace and deep sleep to those in attendance."

A tired smile stretched across Kenzo's face. He stifled a yawn. "Alas, but an old man like me needs no help getting rest."

"Surely you wouldn't circumvent tradition," he said in a wary tone.

"I am too tired for more excitement and art tonight, Sheng Saemon. My gratitude for thinking of me, but I shall fall asleep very deeply on my own."

Without another word, Kenzo strode away, cutting across the marbled floor to reach the hallway as fast as possible. Saemon watched him go through the light smoke trailing up from the burning jars of blue powder.

"This was a beautiful celebration, Sheng Saemon." The light, easy voice came from Yuna of the Nari clan. Her long red hair glinted in the light as she executed a perfect curtsy, bowing low. When she rose, her intelligent eyes met Saemon’s. "Thank you."

Before Saemon could respond, Yuna slipped away, moving like a feather through the wind as she departed the hall without another word. Saemon shifted, straightening, but stopped.

Azuma, also of the Nari clan, was beckoning for a servant with a twitch of his finger. When the man approach, he murmured something in the man’s ear. Then he too rose and departed, swinging in a wide berth around the dancers.

The hair on the back of Saemon's neck stood up. Something wasn't right.

Other Nari attendees now stumbled to their feet, yawning as they left the hall to seek out the guest houses in the garden courtyard. Others still milled around, their glassy eyes entranced by the graceful dance.

When the dancers left as swiftly as they had arrived, those still lingering quietly applauded, then moved away from their chairs. Within minutes, the dining hall lay nearly empty, save for a tall man that stood halfway down the table. Saemon lifted a hand, gained the man’s attention, and motioned for him to approach.

Khalem, the general in charge of Saemon's army, was as tough as steel. He nodded once and approached confidently, with purpose. He immediately knelt on one knee at Saemon's side.

Saemon bit at the inside of his cheek.

Surely, if anyone could make Saemon feel better about what he had seen, it would be Khalem. His years as a mercenary proved his instincts, not to mention the deep river of history and trust that ran between them. Khalem would set him at ease or take care of the problem – if one existed.

"Sheng Saemon. I am here to serve you," the General said crisply.

"Something feels wrong to me, Khalem. Do you feel it? There's something . . . something not right tonight."

"Feel what?"

Saemon shook his head. "I observed many things during the dinner that…don't seem consistent."

As Khalem raised one eyebrow, one side of his black mustache lifted with it. "Please explain?"

"The Nari and Ameya clans didn't drink. Kenzo was especially tense. Yuna, Azuma, Kenzo – they all left early, right after Ren and Isao."

"I noticed," Khalem nodded affirmatively.

"Strange, isn't it?"

"Out of the normal, yes."

"Am I overreacting?"

"Instincts rarely do, Sheng."

“I worry for Isao. What if they mean to bring harm to him tonight? Only he can – I mean, we must keep him safe at any cost. Any cost, Khalem. I want you to remove Isao from the imperial palace. We have no physical proof that he is in danger, but I will not take risks. I will not tolerate another soldier taking him; it is you who must watch over my son, Khalem. I insist. Take him away from here. Far away from here. I feel that this may be my last order to you. Will you do this for me, Khalem?"

“Sheng, I…” the General began, then trailed off, clearly arrested by the force of Saemon’s words.

This will be my last order to you.

The very air seemed to swell with those words.

“I must ask this of you,” Saemon spoke again.

Khalem’s eyes darted about the room. They drew in details, and seemed to constantly assess. Finally, the General nodded, having reached a conclusion. "Anything for you, Sheng."

Saemon clapped a weary hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Khalem. My trust in you is implicit. I shall be able to sleep knowing you are looking out for him."

Saemon relaxed, just slightly.

Khalem had never failed him. He would not this night either.

Khalem straightened. "I will serve you well, Sheng."

Saemon nodded, dismissing Khalem.

He stayed in the hall and sank into deep thought.

Without people to serve, the servants cleaning up the great hall moved slower. They yawned, exhausted no doubt, as they struggled to carry off the heavy plates and platters for cleaning.

A glint of gold drew Saemon's gaze .

Hovering above the banquet hall was the imperial crest. A muscular, winged lion cut across it, snarling with sharp teeth. It hung from the center of the wall, gracing all those who entered with the power and the might of the Empire, which could reach all four corners.

With a melancholy sigh, Saemon stared at it, feeling somewhat despondent. The scent of juniper had increased now that several jars burned in the dining hall. It stretched into the hallway and off to the courtyard beyond. The long day and all the feasting had left him with a headache. It throbbed in his temples, making him dizzy even though he sat in his chair still.

A brief pang struck him in the heart as he sat in his chair. Then another.

He would stay put until he felt a bit better.

* * *

Sheng Saemon stared about the now-empty banquet hall, consumed by his heavy thoughts.

The servants had bustled away a long time before, moving back to their rooms and leaving only a few torches behind to cast light on the wide, open space. The gritty scent of the Dhul powder still lingered in the room, filling his nostrils.

Saemon clenched his teeth, then consciously relaxed them. When his fingers clutched at the armrests on his chair, he forced them to release as well.

Some part of his body felt tense no matter his every attempt to stay calm. He could not think clearly when he was this tense, and an Emperor who couldn't think, couldn't rule.

Once Saemon relaxed his arms, his left leg jumped up and down.

Something . . . something still felt off.

Saemon sprang to his feet, walked partway across the banquet hall, then turned around and walked back. The frantic movements loosened some of the jitters in his chest. He did it again, this time turning to stride around the sprawling banquet table that had just hosted dozens of people instead.

As Saemon strode about the room, flashes of the faces of the celebration attendees ripped through his mind at an equally nervous pace.

Isao. Ren. Her sister Yuna. Their brother Azuma. Khalem. All the others.

He analyzed them one at a time; the way they had frowned, or smiled. Or had made no expression at all, such as Yuna.

It all meant something. Everything meant something.

His job was to determine whether it meant something significant.

Before he knew it, Saemon was pacing the room in ever widening, agitated circles, mesmerized by the clack of his shoes against the tile floor. The sound gave him some comfort, like that of a heartbeat.

Light from the few remaining torches guided his way until he noticed a strange sliver of color on the floor. He stopped, lifting his shoulders back, and glanced toward the wall. Beckoned as if by an unseen power, Saemon moved until he stood underneath the window, gazing up on the moon.

The blood-red moon.

Something cold and tight rippled through his chest, seized at his heart. Saemon reached a hand to his breastbone and pressed into it, as if that would stop the pain. His throat tightened. He swallowed, looking away.

Surely he dreamed it. Surely there wasn't . . .

"No," he murmured, unable to tear his gaze away.

He must be seeing things. It was just the long night. Too much wine and food and celebration. Indigestion led to all kinds of funny hallucinations, especially with rice wine. There was no possible way a red moon could actually rise.

Saemon tore his gaze away. "I do not see a red moon," he murmured. "This is a dream."

When he looked back to the sky, the crimson moon remained, looming like a specter of death.

Everything but the disturbing sight of the moon emptied from his mind. He no longer thought of the celebration, his agitation at the strange attitude of the guests, or the niggling doubt of fear that whispered warnings to his mind. All he saw was the bloody moon, and all he felt was the clutch of cold fear in his heart.

"It cannot be."

Saemon looked away, and then back, wishing again and again for it to go away, but the sight of the moon remained, haunting his mind. Everything in the banquet hall seemed to grow taller and more sinister, threatening to loom over him and drown him in despair.

The shadows growled. The air thickened, as if it would grow teeth and slash him in half.

Evil spirits surely would spring from the shadows at any moment now, swamping him in their misery, pulling him back to the depths. The depths he already visited oh-so-long ago.

"No," Saemon whispered, shaking his head. It could not be. "This is not real."

Something rattled in his memory, moving like the slow ebb of an ocean tide. It whispered up, stirring memories before it drifted away. Saemon grasped for it, losing the memory the moment it appeared. With a violent growl, he turned around, putting his back to the moon.

It was there. Lingering at the edge of his mind. Something.

Of their own accord, his eyes drifted back to the dripping appearance of the moon, thick with crimson shadows. His body trembled all the way to his bones, rattling his teeth until they clacked against each other.

With a shiver, the words brushed through his mind with an icy clarity, clutching his heart in a cold fist of terror. A veil of crimson cloaks the moon.

He had remembered.

Oh how he wished he hadn't.

Sweat beaded across his forehead. His palms became clammy. He tore his gaze away from the moon, seeking anything – anything – but that desperate, frightening orb of death. The shadows in the courtyard below took life. They slid up the walls, seeking him. The courtyard shuffled with noise and the clinking sound of moving armor, and a strange, flickering green light came through from another one of the windows above.

An odd shape on top of the courtyard fence arrested his gaze.

Saemon sucked in a sharp breath, and his throat tightened in fear. A bird-like creature was sitting on the iron railing that stretched across the stone wall separating the courtyard from the city. Sleek feathers the color of ash cascaded down its elegant back, giving way to wide, folded wings that would allow it to fly long distances.

"Gube," he whispered.

The sound of screaming and clashing swords in the courtyard below followed.

The creature turned in Saemon’s direction, its luminous yellow eyes wide and shining. Saemon gasped as the Gube's intense gaze bore down on him through the window, as if promising to pull him away and take him under.

The Gube, such a rare creature, was acting as if it would steal Saemon’s very soul.

Saemon choked, and stumbled back. Shivers racked his body. The Sheng knew this creature well.

The Gube. The mysterious, strange bird had appeared one other devastating, terrifying time in his life. The Horat-Vu war.

While men lay dying, having given their lives to stop the evil Shuran clan, the Gube had swooped through and around the battlefields, winging around the fields of dying men like a harbinger of doom. Its gray feathers had gleamed despite the dying light of day, the air full of thick smoke arising from fires within the ravaged cities.

Not once in the Horat-Vu war had the Gube looked at Saemon. It had only flown around, seeking others.

Death. Everyone knew that the Gube brought death.

Saemon pressed a fist to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. "What was the rest? The rest of the words," he hissed into the night.

Below, the sounds of battle increased. Someone's scream turned into a gurgle. Saemon frantically searched the darkness of his mind, casting through the old memories and repeating the initial refrain to himself again and again.

"A veil of crimson cloaks the moon. A veil of . . ."

The words died on his lips. He straightened with a gasp, and supplied the words that came next with a faint whisper.

"The herald of the blackest night returns. Heed his mournful wail."

The herald.

The Gube.

An ear-splitting shriek broke the night, peeling through the air. Saemon clasped his hands over his ears with a cry as the Gube continued its hair-raising scream, and he fell to his knees.

Once the Gube finished, Saemon shot to his feet, rushing from the room.

"Guards!" he called, signaling the closest man. "We are under attack. Send Captain Jurobei to my chamber. Tell him to activate the Karu unit."

Saemon sucked in a sharp breath.

"We will be fighting for our lives."