“I may have heard a thing or two about your lofty ambitions,” the samurai admitted, remaining a picture of stillness. “They say you wish to become a Thayne, and that you are close to this goal.” He scoffed. “They say you bested Myra the Lore Guardian in single combat.”

“Then what they say is true. I was chosen
By Am’aleh some years ago. I seek
To join her in the great Realm of the Thaynes.
My path leads me through you; I must enter.”

Josh lowered his hands, his voice plain, his face open. The samurai tilted his head to one side, his topknot swaying. His arms remained tensed around his sheathed sword.

“Even if you are who you claim, on the mission that you claim, why should I shirk my duties and let you pass?” His chin jutted in the moonlight, proud and confident.

“Does fear not motivate you in the least?” Breaker’s tone corroded the very air.

The samurai reacted as if struck by a spray of sand, shielding his face, but when he lowered his arms determination still shone in his amber eyes.

“I fear not death nor pain, and so I fear no man. If you slay me here tonight, I will have fallen doing the work of my people. And you would need to slay me in order to cross my path in violence.”

“And should I wish to cross your path in peace?”

The wind blew down the cavern’s mouth and shrivelled at the silence between them. Breaker could smell the neko’s sweat, tasting the catman’s potential for violence. Nothing stirred except the samurai’s hakama skirt and the collars of Breaker’s shirt.

“Then you would have to offer me something in return,” The Spirit Warder said at last. “If I am ever asked about this night, I should at least have a good story to explain my actions.” Breaker smiled and spread his arms.

“Ask what you will, my reach goes far and wide.
Though I think I may have a suggestion.
You spoke of your dojo, who teaches there?”

Pride flashed in the neko’s yellow eyes as his lips formed the answer.

“My son is the acting sensei at my dojo. He teaches every day and every night to those students who come. What are you offering?”

“Let me pass and I will attend your school.
I will teach your son and his class my arts.
I will remain ‘till the school blooms fully.”

“Wait,” the samurai said, his whiskered brow arching. “How did you know that we have fallen on hard times? And how can I take you at your word?”

Breaker’s Y-shaped scars dimpled, his hazel eyes twinkling merrily. He remembered a hundred conversations, sorting through them for the correct source, the correct student, the correct sign.

“I can answer both your questions at once.
Your dojo lies off the road to Tsiru.
Your son’s name is Akami Adachi
Which would make you Hinata Adachi.
Your school trains beneath the sign of the crane.
My students who taught you told me of you.
They speak of many dojos and senseis,
Of many warriors they encounter,
But I remember their talk of your skill.
I do not wish you harm, Adachi-san.
But I must pass through this threshold tonight.”

The nekojin - known throughout Akashima as Adachi Hinata - swallowed audibly. His heart rate had finally increased; it thundered like a galloping horse. His knuckles flexed around the hilt of his sword, and his powerful feline legs tensed. His ears, which had remained still as sentinels throughout the encounter, laid back alongside his head.

The samurai unsheathed his blade and struck in a single motion, a blow set to rend Breaker’s head from his shoulders.

“Ehh-eusss!” Hinata uttered his kiai, making a cut that could sever a corpse.