Dawn of the Lotus

by Shawn Carman

The Crab Clan

When it had first been constructed, Koten was intended to serve the same purpose for the Crab that the sacred Hall of Ancestors did for the Lion: it was to be a place of interment for the Crab’s greatest heroes, that the tales of their deeds might never be forgotten. Unfortunately, the well-intended souls who conceived of such a project had little experience with the reality of patrolling the Shadowlands. The solemn truth remained that many valiant Crab heroes died with no remains to be interred, and thus Koten never rose to the greatness of its counterpart.

All that had changed when Kisada returned.

Hida Kisada. The Great Bear. The Fortune of Persistence. He was more than a legend. He was, in a very literal way, a god, and the Crab flocked to his banner. His grandson took no offense at his loyal adherents, content to allow the Crab to serve their lords in whatever manner they chose. There were times when Kisada wished that the Crab Champion would wield his power with a stronger hand, and forcibly command those who had sworn fealty to the Great Bear to show the loyalty they truly owed to Kuon. He had not wished for command or power. In truth, he felt he did not deserve either; he had too many sins for which to atone. Now that he had returned, now that others followed him, would he make the same mistakes? At times, he could hear the whispered accusations… spoken with the voice of his son, Sukune.

“My lord.” One of the officers under his command stepped forward and bowed curtly. “The long range scouts you deployed have returned. They are ready to make their report at your convenience.”

“Bring them forward,” Kisada said in a resigned voice. More than a month ago, a representative from the Lost had come to him and told him an incredible tale. He had heard the corrupted man’s story then resolved to find out for himself if such things could be true. Now, it seemed, the truth would be revealed.

“All glory to the Great Bear,” a scout said, kneeling as he approached the dais. “It is my honor to serve you.”

“Rise,” Kisada said with an impatient wave. “I wish to hear of your experiences in the Shadowlands.”

The man nodded. “I am Hiruma Hiroji, commander of the sixth scouting detachment. My men and I have completed the patrols you requested, my lord.” He paused for a moment, a flicker of grief passing over his face.

“The honor of those who have fallen is eternal. Your comrades will be recorded in Koten for all time,” Kisada said.

The man looked up at Kisada, his weathered face brightening considerably. “Hai, my lord,” he said. “The Lost samurai’s account appears to be accurate. The northernmost regions of the Shadowlands are in upheaval. The beasts that dwell there have been driven into a maddened rampage by forces unknown. They destroy everything in their path save on another. Even the Nezumi in that region have abandoned their homes and fled.”

“Do they move north to the Wall?” Kisada asked.

“No, my lord,” Hiroji said. “They march south.”

“To the City of the Lost,” Kisada replied grimly.

Hiroji nodded. “We dared venture far enough south to see the battle lines where the armies of demons already face the Lost in battle.” He paused for a moment, seeming to struggle with something.

“Speak your mind,” the Great Bear commanded.

“I did not think I could never mourn for those lost to the shadows,” Hiroji said after a moment, his voice quiet. “But the battles we saw… I could not help but feel pity. An endless line of human warriors… of samurai… standing their ground against wave after wave of the most nightmarish creatures I have ever seen. It was hopeless, but they did not falter. It was… difficult to watch. Some of my men chose to stay, to help fight.”

“And they died,” Kisada replied.

Hiroji nodded. “The Lost were hopelessly outnumbered,” the scout said.

Kisada rose. “The loss of your brothers, of all our brothers, weighs heavily on your, Hiroji. As it does on all of us who lose men that serve us. Your feelings are natural, but you must put them aside. Evil feeds upon itself, as it always must. The Lost and the demons have turned on one another, and though we may aid one side against the other, it is only for the future of the Empire that we do so. Do not pity them, and do not mourn them.” He paused and looked at all his assembled officers. “Do you understand?”

“Hai, Kisada-sama,” they answered in unison.

“I once swore never again to stand with the Shadowlands,” Kisada said, more to himself than his men. “That is not what we do here today. For centuries, the Lost have turned the people of Rokugan against one another, caused us to destroy our own.” The Great Bear looked grimly at each of his men in turn. “Now the time has come to return that favor.”

•

The Crane Clan

To say that Kyuden Doji was the social heart of the Empire was as much a gross understatement as to say that the Shadowlands were a source of concern for the Crab Clan. Each season, hundreds or even thousands of guests cycled through the radiant palace’s adorned hallways, taking with them the sights and sounds of the new season to incorporate into their courts at home. In this way, the children of Doji continued their mission of bringing culture and sophistication to the Emperor’s people.

Today, however, there was little thought of greater duty in the mind of Doji Akiko. Today, she was witnessing the marriage of her only child, her daughter Domotai, to Ikoma Kusari of the Lion. It was an arranged marriage, as most samurai marriages were, a bond that ultimately benefited both clans. Though the two young samurai did not love one another, they had already demonstrated the mutual respect that was the foundation of any good marriage.

Akiko had never been prouder of her daughter.

“Domotai was a vision today, Akiko-sama.”

Akiko turned to receive the compliment only to find herself facing an odd little man, a Lion, that she did not recognize. “Thank you, my friend,” she said diplomatically. “You are too kind.”

The Lion smiled and bowed deeply. “I am Ikoma Masote, my lady. It is my pleasure to meet you at last.”

“At last?” Akiko said curiously. “Have we corresponded?”

“No, my lady,” he returned, “but I am familiar with one of your trusted subordinates, a dear friend of mine from childhood.”

Akiko smiled politely. “Who might that be?”

“Doji Tanaka,” Masote said.

Akiko refrained from altering her features only through an incredible feat of willpower. Tanaka had indeed been one of her principal couriers for several years until his recent death at the hands of bandits while traveling between the Crane and Phoenix provinces. However, she was well aware that Tanaka had lost several family members in previous decades during fighting at Toshi Ranbo, and was a vehement detractor of the Lion. This man was no friend of Tanaka’s.

“I fear I do not recall his mentioning you, Masote-san,” she said diplomatically.

“I am certain he would not have troubled you with matters of a personal nature,” Masote said. “He did mention you frequently, however. From his descriptions, I feel as though I have served under your command myself.” He smiled. “At any rate, I merely wished to meet the great Doji Akiko in person at long last. You have many matters weighing upon you today, and I will not trouble you further. It was a great honor.” The Lion bowed and turned to join the other guests who were in the process of wishing the newly married couple good fortunes for their future.

“Is there a problem, my lady?” Kakita Munemori was strangely quiet as he spoke to her, keeping his expression light and his tone low so that others could not hear. “You seemed particularly intent.”

“There is no problem,” Akiko said with a warm smile. “We will see to that.”

•

The Dragon Clan

The afternoon sun warmed the crisp air in the courtyard at Shiro Kitsuki, and Mirumoto Kei enjoyed the moment of fleeting warmth, knowing all too well that winter’s chill would settle over the mountains soon enough. She had lived in the Dragon mountains her entire life, but she had never truly grown accustomed to the harsh winters there. The fleeting summer and spring… those were the times she lived for.

“Kei, your admirer has returned.”

The Dragon officer sighed as she was brought back from her moment of bliss. She glanced sidelong at her friend with mock irritation. “I did not imagine he had gone,” she said quietly. “Were he to follow me any closer, I should have to erect a screen in my chambers to have privacy while I slept.”

Bayushi Saya laughed. It was a bright, cheerful sound that seemed utterly genuine, even though Kei often wondered if her friend was half as cheerful as she presented. Despite the fact that they had been friends since they met several seasons ago, Kei never felt she truly understood Saya. That, she imagined, was the price one paid for standing as allies with the Scorpion. If doubt was to be the greatest of her sins, however, then she would gladly accept it.

Saya glanced over at the Lion warrior watching them with a coy expression. “I suppose he wakes each day with a desperate prayer to the Fortunes that today the great Mirumoto Kei will make some horrific social error and he will finally have reason to challenge you to a duel.”

“I do not doubt that,” Kei said darkly. “The Lion do not forgive.”

“They cannot,” Saya explained. “They must not. It is their nature. The Right Hand cannot remove its armor.”

The two women sat at a go board and pretended to play. It was a long-standing joke between the two, something to occupy their time and keep others from intruding upon them so that they may converse in peace. Kei watched as a Crane passed by, followed by at least a half dozen admirers who seemed to be hanging on his every word. She frowned irritably. “What is that one’s name again?”

“Kakita Funaki,” Saya answered. “Handsome enough, if you prefer imbeciles.”

“I preferred it when he used exaggerated tales of his military prowess to win the hearts of women,” Kei said quietly. “His constant prattling of enlightenment is far worse.”

Saya raised her eyebrows. “But have you not been listening? The Crane obviously understand the true path to enlightenment, else they could not have secured so many representatives among Rosoku’s Keepers of the Elements.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I am certain Asahina Sekawa values Funaki’s counsel highly, based on his claims.”

Kei shook her head, uninterested in Saya’s playful demeanor. “Enlightenment is not a game or a contest, and it certainly is not something to be used to woo beautiful dullards,” she said, her voice growing more frustrated.

Saya drew back, her expression more serious. “You are not the first Dragon I have heard say such things,” she said quietly. “I think more than a few of your clan are upset that the Crane solved Shinsei’s riddle first.”

“Do not misunderstand,” Kei explained. “Sekawa is a great man. What he and his Keepers have achieved is worthy of the greatest respect and admiration, but the exploitation of it by fools like Funaki… it is almost blasphemous.”

“Some might say the Dragon are jealous,” Saya said. “You and your people have spent centuries in the mountains contemplating the mysteries of the world, and the Crane seem to have found them with so little effort.”

“Jealous?” Kei laughed. “Believe what you wish, Scorpion. The Crane claim that they are enlightened?” Her face darkened. “Then let them prove it.”

•

The Lion Clan

The Castle of the Swift Sword was a flurry of activity. To the untrained eye, it might seem no more hectic than an average day of training and exercises. To a true soldier, however, the purpose of such frantic activity was obvious: the Lion were preparing for war.

Akodo Natsu stood at the castle gates, observing the legion that would soon serve under his command. He had inherited the command after the legion he originally served was decimated during the War of the Rich Frog. His commanding officer, his uncle, had died during that war, and Natsu had never known such pride as the day he had been awarded his uncle’s command. Now he would prove himself in battle, and honor his ancestors in the way that only the Lion could.

A scout approached, riding from the south. The man had clearly been long in the saddle, and was covered in the dust from the road. Natsu frowned, curious as to what could be so important. The man pulled his horse to a stop and bowed low from the saddle, a difficult thing to do. “Taisa Natsu-sama,” the scout said, gasping for breath, “I have a report from the southern provinces.”

“Report,” he said at once.

“The situation with the peasant uprising has been contained,” the scout reported. “The seventh Ikoma legion has taken up residence within the village where the reports first arose, but there have been no signs of any insurrection among the populace there. It is believed that the parties responsible have fled the area, possibly toward the north.”

“Responsible parties?” Natsu demanded. “Who?”

“Unknown, my lord,” the scout replied. “It is believed a pair of ronin incited the rebellion, then fled to avoid Lion justice. They are reported to have fled north.”

“North,” Natsu said, a smile flickering across his features. “They have returned north to the Dragon, who fomented their attempt at rebellion in order to bring further disorder to the Lion.” He rubbed his chin for a moment, then turned to the scout. “Take one day of rest, then proceed north. Bypass the Dragonfly lands and proceed directly to the Kitsuki provinces. When you arrive, demand that the Dragon turn over the ronin and answer to our claim of insurrection.”

“Sir?” The scout seemed confused. “They will only deny such claims and turn me away.”

“Exactly,” Natsu said, his smile broadening.

•

Ikoma Otemi laced his do-maru carefully. The armor was of splendid quality, and exquisitely constructed, but it would not avail him at all if he were not diligent in its maintenance and its proper preparation. Once it was finished, he placed his blades in his obi and retrieved his helm. When it was atop his head, then he finally looked the part of a Champion of the Lion.

“Most Champions have servants who care for their armor,” Ikoma Yasuko said with a wry smile. “I feel quite certain we could find some to aid you with yours.”

Otemi glanced at his wife with a curious expression. “Most Champions are not Lion,” he said flatly. “A warrior prepares his own armor and weapons, or he has only himself to blame if it fails him.”

Yasuko smiled warmly. “Well said, my husband.” She was quiet for a moment as her smile faded, replaced with a concerned expression. “Why are you doing this?” she asked after a few moments.

“You know why,” he said simply. “The Lion must fight, we must regain what we have lost.”

“I know the reasons you have given,” she replied, “but they do little to satisfy a wife who fears for her husband’s life. This is reckless, Otemi. This is not like you.”

“The Lion need a hero,” Otemi said. “They need a leader who will inspire them as Nimuro once did.”

“They do not need a reckless warmonger,” Yasuko said. She blushed at the words, perhaps growing a bit more heated than she intended.

“If I die, it matters little,” Otemi said. “What matters is that the Empire learn to respect the Lion once more. The Khan has dulled our blades. We must sharpen them once more.”

“Even if the cost is measured in Dragon lives?” Yasuko asked softly.

Otemi looked away.

•

The Mantis Clan

The storm had ended not two hours earlier when the lookout first spotted the debris floating on the horizon. There were trading ships that had been missing, over three days late in port when the storm first arrived, and the Rising Sun had been sent to try and locate them. With a heavy heart, Captain Yoritomo Yorikane ordered his crew to approach the debris.

The field was wide, far more debris than could have been created by the breaking up of a single ship. Yorikane’s expression was sour as he surveyed the wreckage. He signaled for his men to slow the ship as he strode to the edge and examined the fragments of wood there. “The storm, captain-sama?” his first mate asked.

Yorikane grunted in a noncommittal manner. He reached out with his kama and leaned far over the rail, sinking the blade into a piece of wood with a solid blow, then bringing it aboard the ship. He ran his hands over the wood carefully, feeling the slick, smooth surface. “This has been in the water too long,” he muttered. He turned back to his first mate. “This was in the water before the storm,” he said. “A day, two perhaps.”

The first mate, a veteran of many years on the sea, paled ever so slightly at Yorikane’s words. “Then they were destroyed long before the storm,” he said quietly. “Lookouts!” he shouted, turning to the crew without having to be ordered. “Stations at all sides! Make ready for port!”

Yorikane shook his head and tossed the wood back into the water. He knew it would be too late. Their fate was sealed, as had been so many others over the past few years. Never this close to the islands, however. In truth, that was what bothered Yorikane the most. He had always known his death would come at sea. It was what he wanted, and he had no regrets save that he could not warn those at port.

“Dark Wave!” the port lookout shouted. “Dark Wave ships on the horizon!”

Yorikane drew both his kama and looked at his men. “We cannot outrun them,” he said, confirming what they already knew. “Their maho-tsukai give them unmatched speed. All we can do is delay them, and hope that the other patrols recognize the pattern when we fail to return to port.” He smiled, hoping to assuage the dread he saw in his men’s eyes. “I intend to give the traitors a taste of the suffering that awaits them if they ever reach the Islands of Silk and Spice.” He lifted his kama. “Yoritomo!”

“Yoritomo!” his men answered, and their fear was gone.

•

Yoritomo Naizen ran a hand across his face, then stared at the table’s surface, fighting not to show his frustration. “As you command, my lady,” he said tersely.

“You obviously disagree,” Yoritomo Kumiko said. The Daughter of Storms had a playful glint in her eye as she chewed on a piece of fruit. “What would you do, given your leave, Naizen?”

The Mantis general looked up with a fierce expression. “I would lead our forces to the City of Remembrance, and I would make it ours. I would use it as a focal point for our supply lines and feed forces directly north into the Shiba and Isawa lands. Without a major land base to coordinate out efforts, we continue to fight a running war, with no appreciable gains.”

“We have taken a number of small islands along the Phoenix coast,” Kumiko said.

“None of which have any existing infrastructure to exploit,” Naizen muttered.

“The City of Remembrance remains off limits, now and always,” Kumiko said. “That will not change, Naizen. Redirect your efforts.”

The general threw up his hands. “Toward what, my lady?” he said. “The Isawa lands are so thoroughly defended that they cannot be breached. Shiro Shiba and Kyuden Agasha are likewise immune to all but the lengthiest siege. Morkage Toshi is a cursed wasteland. There are no coastal settlements large enough for us to exploit save for the City of Remembrance.”

“Then look inward,” Kumiko said. She pondered it a moment. “I will send as many shugenja as you need, no matter how many. Take your forces and move inland to Nikesake.”

“Nikesake?” Naizen said. “That is the center of the Phoenix alliance with the Crane. Do we dare risk Kurohito’s wrath?”

“Kurohito’s wrath?” Kumiko laughed. “We will be nothing but courteous, offering all Crane samurai ample opportunity to vacate the city. They will be incensed, of course, and wish to retaliate. The Phoenix, in their arrogance, will have none of it. In the end, the Crane will forgive us, because our economic alliance is too valuable, but the embers of resentment will be sown between the Crane and Phoenix, just as they have been between the Isawa and the other families.”

“And what if the Crane do not react as you predict?” Naizen asked. “What if they fight?”

“Then we fight back,” Kumiko said, chewing absently as she stared directly back.

Naizen drew back and thought carefully. Already plans and contingencies formed in his mind. His rough face twisted in a slight smile. “As you wish, my lady.”

•

The Phoenix Clan

The chamber of the Elemental Masters lay deep beneath the glory that was Kyuden Isawa, and yet it never seemed hot, nor cold. There was never dampness or discomfort. Indeed, among the precious few beyond the Masters that had ever stood in the room, the conditions seemed ideal in every respect. Some might imagine that there was magic at work, but if so it was not the Masters’ doing. It was the kami themselves who made it so, swirling in perfect balance around the chosen sanctum of their favored servants, out of respect for their centuries of loyal service.

There were days, Isawa Nakamuro reflected, when he wondered if anything he and his fellow Masters had done was truly worthy. They called him a hero, but he did not see himself so. What had he done that was not simply correcting the mistakes of another? Mistakes wrought by arrogance – arrogance that had not been washed away by the sacrifices other heroes had made.

“We cannot continue this strategy,” he insisted to the others. “The Isawa coastline is protected, but that does nothing to halt the Mantis attacks on the coasts of other families. The Shiba and Agasha suffer the most, and the Asako pour their resources into aiding the victims of war. It is inevitable that the other families will resent us for not helping as much as we are able.”

“As much as we are able?” Isawa Sachi rumbled. The old Master of Earth stirred from his seat and leaned forward. “The maintenance of the wards protecting our lands from the mantis Storm Riders is a terrible one. Our shugenja weaken by the day. A handful has yet to recover, even after days or weeks of rest. This is no light burden we have shouldered. We hold the Isawa lands so that the Phoenix have a strong center from which we can direct this war. Is there any doubt that our strength is why the Mantis have failed to achieve a foothold in the Phoenix lands, despite their best efforts?”

The young Master of Fire nodded her head in agreement. “I have stood on the coastline and helped keep the Mantis at bay,” Isawa Ochiai agreed. “Where have you been, brother? The task would be far easier with you at our side.”

Nakamuro covered his face with one hand and sighed wearily. “I have stood with those in the south, trying to aid them as I can. They do not see the situation as we do.” He glanced around for a moment, as if just realizing something. “Where is Akiko-sama?”

“The Master of Water departed this morning for the Crane lands,” Sachi explained. “Her daughter’s wedding is today.”

“A wedding,” Shiba Ningen mused, his voice almost humorous. “Our august leader abandons us to attend a wedding. An ill omen, some might say.”

“Akiko-sama will return by sunrise, as the Master of Void should well know,” Ochiai answered, her brow furrowed. “And where have you been, Ningen-sama? There are reports that you consort with Nezumi, of all things. How does that aid our effort?”

“More than you know,” Ningen said cryptically. “You fight for today. I seek the mysteries of tomorrow.” There was a strange weight to the final word as Ningen said it, leaving an uneasy feeling in the Master of Air’s stomach.

Nakamuro sighed in resignation. “This conflict has drawn on for months,” he said, changing the subject, “with innumerable skirmishes. And yet we have no indication of any further maho use or other such atrocities committed by the Mantis. I would once again like to request, respectfully, that the Council give me leave to further investigate the allegations the Mantis have levied against us.”

“Outrageous!” Sachi said, slamming his fist against the stone table. “The Mantis dare to use such a Black Scroll against us and you wish to exonerate them? We have been down this road before, Nakamuro! You are among my most gifted students, but in this your soft heart betrays you. If not the Mantis, then who is responsible?”

“Who indeed?” Nakamuro asked.

“Would you suggest a Phoenix did this, Nakamuro?” Ochiai asked. “Would you suggest one of our own used a Black Scroll to incite this war?”

“We have been seduced by the Scrolls before,” Ningen observed.

“Never again!” Sachi insisted. “The line that so doomed the Master of Fire position is no more. That madness will not plague us again.” He drew a deep breath, then seemed to recline for a moment. “I am sorry, Nakamuro, I know that you only wish to stop further bloodshed. I too would end this war without loss of life if I could, but I learned long, long ago that there are evils in this world that are necessary, and violence is the greatest of them.” He smiled sadly. “We need you, my friend. If, as you say, the Isawa are coming under scrutiny for our efforts, then it will fall to you to help the others understand that what we do, we do for all Phoenix. You are a hero. The people respect you. They will listen to you. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Nakamuro said, suddenly exhausted. “Forgive me, Sachi-sensei.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Sachi insisted. “Each of us would give our life, our soul, for the Phoenix. There can be no failure so long as we hold to that.”

•

The Nezumi

The undergrowth in the Shinomen Mori was dense out of all proportion to other forests. The deep shadows and protective canopy that covered hundreds of square miles allowed the brush to grow into a sea of tangled green and browns. It was impossible to make one’s way through such a web quietly, with the sound of leaves rustling and twigs snapping immediately warning anyone in the area that someone was moving. Thus when Tch’wik’s keen senses detected the crackling sound of movement through the brush, He leaped into action, grabbing his battered weapon and leaping into the crook of a tree that overlooked the region. He clung tightly to the tree, his fur helping him blend in flawlessly in the darkened forest conditions.

“Stop!” he shouted. “Stop now! These are Nezumi lands!”

There was silence from the underbrush for a moment, then a cautious answer. “Who stands guard?”

“I am Tch’wik, warrior of the Tattered Ear!” he answered proudly. “I guard the Warrens with my life, and not even Tomorrow shall pass! Who are you?”

A small form rose slowly, forcing its way through the dense vegetation. “Nimm’k, scout of Grasping Paw tribe,” the Nezumi answered. “I return from the Crab lands.”

Tch’wik relaxed, lowering his weapon. “Welcome home,” he said, his relief apparent. “Nimm’k has been gone for many yesterdays.”

“I have,” the scout answered, “but my return is not a happy one. I must speak with the Chief of Chiefs immediately.”

Tch’wik’s happiness faded when he saw the gravity in the traveler’s eyes. He quickly nodded and scampered ahead on the path, ushering Nimm’k to the chief as quickly as he could.

•

Kan’ok’ticheck was perhaps the greatest warrior of all the Nezumi tribes, perhaps the greatest warrior the Nezumi had ever known. As Chief of Chiefs of the One Tribe, Kan’ok’ticheck had more power than any Nezumi since the fall of their great Empire, but he wielded that power with wisdom. The Nezumi that followed him did so because they chose to, because he was worthy. Tch’wik was not of the Green-Green-White tribe like Kan’ok’ticheck, but he was proud to call the warrior his chieftain nonetheless.

“What news from the Crab?” the chieftain asked bluntly, turning his full attention to the scout the moment he entered.

“Dark humans from the south have made repeated trips to the Crab warren named Koten,” Tch’wik said. “The Crab are distrustful, but have allowed them access to the one called Kisada. I could not get close enough to hear them, but the Third Whisker have abandoned the area for their tunnels farther north.”

Kan’ok’ticheck turned to the shaman at his side. “The Third Whisker are prophets,” he said shrewdly. “What have your people foreseen, K’mee?”

The little shaman’s nose twitched anxiously. “Disaster,” K’mee answered. “I said nothing because the vision is unclear. We fear Kisada, for he bears the mark of Tomorrow. He does not belong in this world. He will bring nothing but pain.”

The chieftain bared his teeth and hissed. He snatched up his great stone axe and buried it in the ground before him, his tail flicking back and forth angrily. “Fools!” he hissed. “The Crab above all others should know the dangers of the Shadowlands! Why would they even listen to the dark ones?”

“Humans are strange creatures,” K’mee observed. “Their ways are not easily understood.”

“I have no need for understanding,” Kan’ok’ticheck snarled. “The Crab know the price of corruption. If they fall, then this land will fall as well. Our refuge will be gone, and darkness will cover the lands. I will not permit it.”

“The Crab are our friends,” K’mee said. “They stood by us when we were weak.”

“This is true,” Kan’ok’ticheck replied, “but we are weak no longer. Our people allowed arrogance to destroy us once. We will not let the Crab follow the same path.”

Nachin’check, the chief’s brother, coughed and scratched at the ground with one paw. “The humans are proud,” he said carefully. “What if we warn them, and they do not listen?”

Kan’ok’ticheck’s red eyes gleamed. “Then we need their friendship no longer.”

•

The Scorpion Clan

Bayushi Sunetra sat unmoving among the cramped network of stone and wood that comprised the higher levels of the Kaiu tower. The landscape was dotted with such structures, it seemed, with workshops, forges, and a myriad of other stout grey buildings belching black smoke into the sky. It was here that the weapons, armor, and siege engines that fueled the Crab Clan’s war against the Shadowlands were created. It was the birthplace of death, where the end of ten thousand demons had been forged. Under different circumstances, Sunetra might have explored the mysteries of this place more deeply. Today, there was no time.

A handful of men stood waiting in the empty room beneath her, their kimonos bearing different colors and mons, but with a single unifying emblem: the mark of Kaneka, the Shogun. These were his personal attendants, his most trusted and worthy officers. Their leader was a man named Shiba Danjuro, a genuine hero of the Empire, the Shogun’s right hand. She pitied the young Phoenix. Of late, the duties Kaneka had set before him had left a haunted, unpleasant expression on Danjuro’s handsome features. He was getting little sleep of late; she knew this for a fact because she was getting just as little sleep spying on him.

A door opened, and another figure entered. This man was shorter, wearing Crab colors with a Kaiu mon displayed proudly on the chest and sleeves. “I’ve come, as you asked,” he said gruffly, “but I have little time. There is much work to be done.”

“You are right about that,” a familiar voice said. A figure masked by a basket hat stepped forward as if appraising the Crab. “There is much to be done, and little time to do it. Welcome, Kaiu Kazu.”

“Who are you?” the Crab demanded.

“Who am I?” the figure said with a laugh. He removed his hat, revealing features that were known throughout the Empire. “I certainly am not the Shogun, that much is certain. After all, the Shogun is currently in his command tent, meeting with several of his officers, as their testimony will attest should the matter ever be questioned.” The man looked at Kazu frankly, the unspoken threat apparent in his dead black eyes.

Danjuro grinned wearily.

“Kaneka-sama,” the Crab said, bowing. “This is most unexpected. I did not imagine I was worthy of a private audience with one such as you.”

Sunetra frowned. Such a reaction was unusual from a Crab, who tended to frown on such subterfuge. If the notion of a clandestine meeting with the Shogun was intimidating to the Kaiu, he did not show it.

“Forgive me, Kazu, but I must be brief,” Kaneka said. “You were part of the Gozoku conspiracy, carefully monitoring supply line records and diverting what resources you could to be used by your masters. Atsuki and the others would distribute the materials to their agents or use them to fuel their melodramatic deceptions… whatever suited their needs at the time.”

Now Kazu’s face had paled somewhat, but to his credit, he did not shrink from the accusation. “I was,” he admitted. “I feel no shame in it. It was for the good of the Empire. Our ends were noble. I did not know I served Atsuki at the time, but I doubt that would have changed much. Are you here to kill me?”

“That has not been decided yet,” Kaneka said. “As you say, the Gozoku’s goal was noble, but horribly perverted by Atsuki’s personal ambition. I have Atsuki’s records. I know all of those who once served him. I offer you a final chance, to serve me. Together we shall bring order to the Empire.”

Kazu nodded, a smile on his face. “I would be greatly honored to join you, Shogun. I have long admired you, and I eagerly await for the day when you are the true power behind the throne, not… some weakling shadow of the Hantei.”

Sunetra saw Danjuro’s face fall ever so slightly, and recognized the expression of resignation on Kaneka’s.

“Repeat what you just said, please,” the Shogun said.

“I said that I am eager to help you in your quest for the throne,” Kazu said. “Your brother was never worthy.”

“Unfortunate,” the Shogun said quietly. In one smooth motion, he drew his blade and sliced the air, slitting the man’s throat. Kazu fell to his knees, choking as he grasped his neck, blood streaming over his fingers. Sunetra blinked in surprise; if not for her training she might have gasped. Kaneka flicked the blood from his blade with a practiced motion.

“Ambition must be tempered with honor, Kazu, or it becomes a stone around one’s neck,” the Shogun said. “Come, Danjuro. Let us leave this dog to his death.”

“Hai, Shogun,” Danjuro said quietly.

Sunetra withdrew into the shadows.

•

The Unicorn Clan

A little more than one year previously, there had been an empty, forgotten village that bore the name Sukoshi Zutsu. It was utterly unremarkable in every way, with little in the way of valuable resources, and no real strategic value to speak of. It lay near the southern edge of the Lion Clan’s western border, a border that no one had attacked in centuries for fear of the Lion armies.

The village had meant nothing.

It had been nothing.

The Khan’s will had transformed it.

Now Sukoshi Zutsu was a military stronghold whose name was known across the Empire. Despite that the Lion had retained Kaeru Toshi when the war was ended by Imperial decree, the Unicorn kept possession of Sukoshi Zutsu. To the Khan, that was sufficient. It was a sign to all that there was nothing he could not take if he wished. He had taken the Lion’s village, and they had kept Kaeru Toshi only because he had chosen to let them retain it. The Lion could not stand against him. Perhaps, had they allied with the Dragon and the Imperial legions, they might have held him in check. That was a year ago, however, and now he was even stronger than before.

Now there was nothing that could stand in his way.

“Tama,” Moto Chagatai said, turning to the leader of his scouts. “What news?”

The young Utaku bowed sharply and smiled. “The Lion continue to probe the border,” she said. “There have been a few incidents of violence, but nothing to draw attention from the rest of the Empire.”

“And the Dragon ambassador?” he asked.

“Returned safely to his own lands,” the scout said. “None other than yourself and Lord Satsu, and I are even aware he was here.”

“Excellent,” the Khan said, returning to the view before him. The lands on the horizon were not his, not yet, but one day he would conquer them, just as his ancestors had claimed everything they saw. It was his birthright. The destiny of a conqueror.

“Can you sense it?” he asked, his voice strangely hushed. “Can you feel it, on the wind?”

“What, my lord?” Tama asked.

“Fear,” Chagatai answered, taking a deep breath. “The Empire fears us. They once thought we were barbarians, but now they know the truth. They know that if the Unicorn wish to possess what they have, no force in the Empire can stop us. The Unicorn are no longer the forgotten child.”

“They should fear us, my lord,” Tama agreed. “No man in this Empire can stand against the Khan.”

“Let the Crane have their Keepers,” Chagatai said. “Let them chase enlightenment. They will find no truth in books and in meditation. Enlightenment is found in the thrill of battle, and the exultation of victory, and the death of one’s enemies. In that much, at least, the Crane are correct.” He turned back to Tama once more and smiled. “An age of enlightenment is coming.”

•

The Shadowlands

The Crab stood on guard at the Wall, oblivious to the world that lay hidden just beyond their reach. They wreathed themselves in stone and steel and depended upon the immaterial qualities they valued: courage, strength, honor, to protect themselves from powers they hated but could never understand. Under different circumstances, Shokansuru might pity them. The oni summoner walked among the Crab, his presence masked from their perception by the demon that writhed around his shoulders like a serpent. It was a small demon, its essence focused utterly on stealth and concealment. Its power, focused so precisely, would mask him from even the Crab’s most powerful wards, but at the cost of the beast’s life. It would begin to wane and die in a matter of hours, its soul tormented ruthlessly in the process before it was finally sent shrieking back to the depths of Jigoku.

It mattered little. It was a beast of burden, nothing more. An animal. Not like the vast intellects that could be found deep within the Realm of Evil. Not like Shokansuru’s true lord. The demon lord had shared its power with Shokansuru centuries ago, and he wielded that power like an artist, sculpting the most exquisite masterpieces of corruption, such as the little bauble of a creature that he wore now. It would serve his purpose well enough: it would allow him to reach the gates of Kyuden Hida.

The home of the Crab lords was truly massive. Even Shokansuru’s greatest creations would have difficulty destroying such an edifice, but destroy it they would, one day. It was a stark and dreary place, a dead castle with no soul or beauty – a castle built upon blind hatred and ignorance. From atop the castle gates, a massive horned skull gazed down at Shokansuru with empty eyes.

“Lord Nikoma no Oni,” he whispered. “Greatest of the Oni Lords. Return now to this mortal realm and consume our enemies.”

Shokansuru drew a shard of obsidian from his robes and used it to slice open his palm. He whispered words of power, ancient words that the demon lords had taught him while he honed his art within the Forgotten Tomb of Fu Leng. His blood began to sizzle and boil where it touched the stone. Shokansuru held his hand open, the drops of blood wrapping about the stone, twisting and writhing as if suddenly alive. When he could contain the power no longer, the demon summoner released the stone from his hold. It shot through the air faster than any arrow and shattered against the Maw’s great skull, sending a tiny shower of black crystals all around it. Where the stone struck the bone, a tiny crack appeared.

It was a little thing, but that was how such things always began.

Shokansuru smiled. From that tiny seed, the destruction of all mankind would grow. And not simply the Crab, but all humans, including the deluded fools who followed Daigotsu in the Shadowlands. The human portion of his soul had long since washed away. Now, only the demon remained. Soon, the City of the Lost would be washed away as well.

Shokansuru’s pale, bitter face twisted into a smile at the thought. He fell to his knees as his strength faded, as his life drained from his body. He could feel his life, his essence, his magic, all that he had once been now faded away to fuel the Maw’s growing power. This was the purpose of his existence, his destiny, to restore his master to this world. The loss of his life was nothing – if anything it was a relief.

And let the mortals tremble at the Maw’s return.