The Queen’s Inner Garden was a gem of luscious homely trees, ponds that glimmered from the light shining through the glass dome roof, and pale stone pavilions serving as quaint sanctuaries to breathe in the flora and fauna. Its glorious size was more akin to a forest than a garden. The trees were plentiful and rivaled the impressive height of Queen’s Finger. Lining the paved roads, vibrant branches of lavender, white, and pink flowers formed arch tunnels, painting the green canvas in hearty, beautiful strokes. It had been said the garden brought tranquility to one’s soul. A retreat to forget the pains of life, no matter how heavy.

Yui would have loved nothing more than to sit in the shade, puff on her pipe, and listen to the trickling stream and chirping birds as she drifted off. But that was a distant dream for one such as herself. A bearer of the sacred flame leaves nothing but ashes in their wake.

And from the smoldering treetops, ash was raining.

The fresh air was tainted with deadly fumes; gray muck coated the ponds; the floral tunnels were nothing more than incense buds; corpses lay atop flower beds, still glowing with embers.

Yui studied the steaming remains. Deep lacerations and punctures littered the torso. Scattered about were the severed limbs. Worst of all, the head was stringing loose from a shallow cut to the neck. Sloppy. Much too sloppy, Yui thought bitterly. The bastards had no sense of honor, that much was clear. Didn’t have the decency to make the kill quick and clean.

She squinted through the smoke, focused hard, and saw their faint trail: a vile dark red-brown line, no thicker than a fishing thread, that stood out like a stream of old dried blood on a fresh sheet of pearl silk. It might’ve worked on anyone else, but she had seen this cheap veil more times than she could count on a dozen hands. Though this instance was the most abysmal. Yui wondered if she should be offended by the lack of stealth. Perhaps they did not suspect her to find them so quickly or maybe they weren’t aware of it themselves.

Yui turned the corpse on its side with Miki’s edge and frowned. The flesh where the elbow and the forearm connected had hardened into crimson bubbles, seared like a grotesque slab of meat. The greenery beyond the corpse was scorched black in a crescent wave. Yet the fire seemed to have ceased abruptly from spreading further. Controlled, powerful flames.

She tightened her grip around Miki’s hilt, unable to stop the words from seething through her teeth. “Named Blades.” The katanas crafted in the Volcanic Forge, the sacred armaments barred only to recognized warriors. They were supposed to all be subjugated.

The thought of Named Blades being used by savages was enough to boil her blood.

The foul stench of tainted fire had struck her nose as soon as they were outside the gates of Queen’s Finger, and the dark-crimson thread hooked her sights almost immediately when they crossed the large threshold. As expected, they were oblivious to the fleeting thread. Lord Alden was tying a cloth around the edgewolf’s snout that he tore from his robes; the silent Dragonslayer remained statue-like as he carried the sickly scholar. Yui had almost felt a shred of guilt for leaving Lord Alden and the scholar with a single guard and an edgewolf, but this oversight cannot go unpunished.

Soft voices murmured as the muddy thread thickened. From the tree line, Yui peered through the dark smoke and saw three figures walking at a leisure pace. She was too far to make out their faces or if the weapons were Named Blades. So she crept up closer while maintaining a proper distance.

She stayed as still as the dying leaves around her, watched and listened, only moving positions when the snapping of an embered branch covered her already silent steps. There was no such thing as being too quiet. In her experience, the less noise the better. Elusive and deft as the fox spirit, she had often told the twins.

Soon enough, the patrol stopped before a bridge leading to the next isle. A small, elegant crossing of white-painted wood, its arch large enough for a couple’s rowboat to pass beneath. If it were still standing. The fires had eaten away its foundation and the middle sagged into collapse.

Yui pressed her ear closer and heard one of the figures say, “ —way. I told you.” A whiny voice, one that had little patience.

“Not Kral fault. Bridge fault,” a second voice responded. This one had the distinctive slow speech of an idiot. Must be the hulkish one. Kral. An Arindian name if she ever heard one.

“Shut it, you big dolt,” the first voice said. His figure moved to slap Kral who stood two heads taller than him.

“Ow!” Kral shied away. “Hurts, Roland!”

Yui’s eyes widened. A Tridonian? With an outside House?

“You idiot! Don’t be using our names.” The Tridonian growled and hit him again on the shoulder.

“Silence, you two. Keep it down until the job’s done.” The third voice. A deep commanding voice, calm and collected. That marked him as the leader of these savages. “Are we near, Roland?”

“About so. Next mark’s on the next isle over.”

“Good. We’ll wade through the water.”

“Do we have to? You know I hate walking in wet clothes. Especially my shoes. Water squishing between the toes.” Roland shivered. “It ain’t right unless it's in a nice hot bath.”

“Kral don’t like wet feet too.”

“You’ll do it if you want your own.” The leader unsheathed the sword at his hip, the metal slide out ringing sweet steel.

Yui gripped Inazuma at her waist, the sound was familiar. Fine, fine metal. Much too fine for the likes of them. There were plenty of corpses to plunder from, she weighed, but the thought of it being a Named Blade ate at her. When another branch snapped, she moved closer. Dangerously close. She was just a few feet away, back against the high trunk, where she could hear their ragged breath and the repulsive stench of savages. Yui became one with the tree so as to not alert them of her movement and simply listened. Only after a long pause did she peek.

“Tch. We wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for the client’s strange orders. What good has this smoke done? My lungs’ll be shot after this, I tell ya.”

The leader shrugged. “No point in asking questions. Get the job done, get paid. That’s all.”

“They could’ve given us one of those lacquer masks at least.” Roland paused, his eyes glossing over the smokey woodland. His tone fell to a whisper. “You sure we can trust her word?”

“I’ve seen the goods with my own eyes. You’ll get yours if we find those bones. Don’t you worry.”

“Right, if you say so, boss.” Roland rubbed his hands together and snickered. “Can’t wait to lay my hands on those blades. Bet they’d fetch a hefty price! Oh~ I can just picture how many fine whores I can buy with that money.”

“You plan on selling it?” The leader said, his cold voice laced with disgust almost as if he were offended.

“I ain’t stupid. Kral is.” The large one grumbled at that. “I ain’t got a use for it. Rather have a few dozen cunts to sheathe my sword.” Roland howled laughter alone, until Kral joined in with an uncertain giggle.

“You’re playing the fool, right?” The leader’s voice was rising.

“N-no?” The feeble man stepped back a bit, looked over at Kral. A begging look.

“Without a doubt, you’d end up short on any deal. Do you know how difficult it is to get your hands on Yonchin steel?”

With that, blood was oozing from their hands. Yui dropped from the shadows and landed a few strides away, her heels barely making a sound as the grass folded. If it weren’t for her calling, they would have remained oblivious. “Hand over the Named Blade and I will spare you a painless death.”

The three men faced her slowly, eyes gaping wide as they studied her.

Yui returned their stares. Roland was a frail looking man, but the missing ear made her rethink his cowardice if only a little. He wore mismatched and singed armor pieces that she could only assume the bastard had plundered from the earlier corpses. To his left, Kral towered over him and made Roland look like a child. Large and thick with equal parts fat and muscle. His shaved face almost gave him a gentle appearance until he showed his rotting, toothless smile. She turned her gaze to the leader cloaked head-to-knee in tattered cloth. It was hard to read such a man when his face is shrouded in shadow, but all she cared for was the blade at him. Without a doubt, that was Yonchin steel.

The impatient one was the first to break the long silence. “Who’s this bitch?”

“Pretty lady,” Kral said with a slobbering breath. “Kral wants.”

Roland licked his lips. “For once, I agree with the big oaf. Lady’s got one hell of a body. Supple thighs and hefty breasts. Just the way I like ‘em.” He slapped the hulkish one forward. “Get her.”

“Wait, you fools!” the leader shouted, but the big one was already charging, heavy axe in hand and drool splashing from the corner of his busted lips.

No sense of preservation, Yui thought. He’ll offer useless insight, most like. She waved her hand, flames conjured from her fingertips and came alive. Kral’s eyes opened a crack at the sight of the phoenix hurling straight for him, but he kept on his path, raised his great axe overhead, and swung the heavy metal in a fierce arc with enough force to split a man’s head open. But Miki melted through the axehead as easily as slicing through melted butter, and cut at the brute’s throat. Blood gushed. Kral gripped at his neck, desperate to stop the crimson flow, his eyes full of fear and panic, until the gargled choking ceased. Kral slammed to the floor like felled timber.

“Shit!” Roland yelped. He turned tail and ran for the pond, arms wailing like a frightened fowl.

Yui aimed at him and swiped her arm across her torso. Miki flew screeching and tore through Roland’s chainmail with fiery talons, branding his back with the mark of cravens.

“Aaargh!” Roland’s legs tangled with one another and he tripped on his face, crying.

That left one and a half. All the while, the leader remained glued to where he stood, knees knocking as a plucked bowstring, the Named Blade clutched tight in his grasp. Yui stared at the raised katana, then back at its wielder. “Sheathe your blade,” she commanded.

The leader mustered a weak chuckle. “I refuse. It’s not every day I get to clash swords with the Akuma of Yojin.”

That name made her hairs stand. She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”

The leader stabbed the Named Blade into the dirt, untied the clasp that held his old soiled cloak, and tossed it aside. As he removed his mask, Yui could hardly believe her eyes. She had to study his features twice over to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Long unkempt hair tied in a knot; a bladed scar slashed across his cheek; a thin mustache disconnected from his equally thin beard; the dark flowing robes of the wildlands with the sleeves cut off where his family crest once was embroidered; the bladed eyes of a Yonchin. He bowed and said, “It’s an honor, Hayashi-sama”, before picking up his sword.

Yui called Miki into blade form and let her questions fly. “You, what clan are you from? What is your name, wanderer? Where did you get a Named Blade? Why are you here? Who do you work for?”

“Ishida Kenji of no clan.” Kenji brought his sword to his center. The standard form of kenjutsu. A challenge. “Allow me a duel with the Akuma of Yojin. Win and I shall answer a question.”

Yui unfastened the twin katanas from her hip, set them aside at a safe distance, and moved Miki in their place. She strode to meet him, where they were no more than a lunge and a slash apart. Eyeing the wanderer, she angled her body, loosened her stance, and hovered a hand over Miki’s hilt. Words were no longer needed.

Ash fell in the muted space between them, specks of gray snow counting the infinitely slow seconds. The trickle of water, the rustle of grass, the voices of nature filled the silence. Sweat inched down Kenji’s face, his breath shallow and ragged. They remained ever still, ever ready for the first strike, for the first movement, down to the smallest twitch of a finger.

An embered branch snapped.

Kenji lunged forward, feet gliding over the grass, bringing down his steel overhead with a roar. Yui slid Miki from her sheathe and flicked it away. Sparkes bloomed, the blades screeched in a way only two true Yonchin steels could.

The wanderer pivoted and tried a wild flurry of deadly cuts. Across the chest, diagonal, a rising arc, overhead. Each one Yui matched before the attack was half-finished and brushed off with a blank face. The last strike she deflected sent Kenji off balance, his arms extended way overhead. Between the falling sparks, she could see the wanderer beaming with a warrior's grin.

Kenji reeled. Back foot slamming down then bursting forward, he jabbed his katana straight at her face. But still, it was too slow. Yui shifted to the side, the silver point flashed past her head, and slashed up his unguarded torso. Blood spilled onto the grass and flew from Miki’s edge in a crimson wave.

The wanderer stumbled back but did not fall. He refused to succumb; he held himself up by planting his blade into the dirt, blood draining from his wound. “Again!” he barked, his eyes showing no hints of fear. “Don’t hold back!” Kenji lifted the Named Blade to the sky. The stance was full of openings, but there was no time to think as the wanderer thundered forward. Yui slashed and caught the strike, her sword a blur of silver, but this time, Kenji’s blade danced well with hers. Hot metal sparks exploding from the clash. Suddenly, the Named Blade erupted with black flames. A profaned fire that burned with an unnatural cold. Yui loosened and was sent sprawling back with a heavy sweep.

By the time she regained footing, Kenji was already on her, black flames swirling around his sword like a typhoon. Anger hissed through her teeth, Yui whirled Miki, a storm of fire trailing her sword’s path and blooming larger with each revolution. Black and red flames mixing in an endless grapple. Yui breathed out slowly as she settled Miki to her side. Their souls as one. The world fell silent. Everything froze as still as death. She flashed through him in a blink, so fast the wanderer stood dumbfounded. Red enveloped black.

Clink. Yui sheathed Miki, the world resumed, and Kenji fell to his knees, blood spurting from his gut.

As she fetched Inazuma and Ikazuchi, the wanderer let out a blood-curdled laugh. “I made you use your fire. I can die now with that being my feat.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Yui said, returning to the kneeling deadman. “You haven’t landed a scratch on me.”

“Ah~ but it was a glorious duel nonetheless. . .” His voice trailed off.

He hasn’t much time left. “I’ve held up my end of the bargain. Now tell me what I want to know. What was that black flame? Where did you obtain such a Named Blade?”

“Hah. . . recall my words carefully, Akuma. I said I’d answer one question. Make sure it's a worthy one.”

Win and I shall answer a question. Shit, he’s right. To deny a dying Yonchin’s word would make her no honorable vassal of Empress Azura. By the looks of it, he only has enough strength for one question. But which?

As she pondered, Kenji mumbled, “Hayashi-sama”, and a new question dwarfed the others. Her father, would he have any clues about his whereabouts? He is a wanderer too, after all. Perhaps they crossed paths some time ago. But that was a far reach. That option held no guaranteed answer. What was she to choose?

Yui felt the sudden weight of the twin swords, almost as if calling to her. I have been searching all my life for an answer. Forgive me, Empress. “Tell me what you know of my father. A clue, anything. Where can I find him? Dead or alive.”

“Ah, yes. The Sky Splitter. . . He is alive —” Kenji coughed up bloody mucus and spat on Yui’s anticipation. “—when I saw him last, but that was many, many years ago. I forget how long it's been.”

Yui could hardly keep her voice. She gripped him by the shoulders and searched his face for lies. “Where?”

“Lightendale. . .” The wanderer fell limp, sagged on his knees.

She relinquished her hold, stood up slowly, and whispered, “Lightendale. The kingdom locked away at Storm’s Peak.” She took a final look at the Yonchin laid in eternal rest with a smile on his face. The warmth of the inflamed woodland brushed against her skin, black snow falling. She lit her pipe, smoked, and let out a drawn-out sigh. Nothing but ashes.