Chapter 3
Yoshi
Everything felt strange beneath my horse’s hooves.
The land felt like it still moved, as though waves still buffeted the world around me, and only the railing kept me from spilling over.
I couldn’t explain it—the ground was still earth, the sky still sky—but something in the air itself had changed, felt heavier, maybe, or older, as if the land remembered things my home island had never known.
“Stop daydreaming,” Takeo barked from ahead. “We’re close.”
I spurred my horse forward, catching up to where my uncle had stopped at the crest of a hill. There, spread across the valley below like something from a scroll painting, was Temple Suwa.
My breath caught.
The main temple building rose from the center of a vast complex, its curved roof reaching toward the sky, a prayer made solid. Around it, smaller structures connected by thin lines clustered—dormitories, training halls, meditation pavilions. Stone paths wove between them, precise as brushstrokes.
Everything was ordered and balanced.
And everywhere—everywhere—there were men.
“How many train here?” I whispered, unable to mask the trepidation in my voice.
“Two hundred, usually, sometimes more. With the rebels at work, there are likely many more.” Takeo stroked his horse’s neck, then spurred her forward. “Come, let’s see what they make of you.”
My stomach twisted into knots as we descended.
A path led us through the outer grounds first. Only then did I truly understand what I’d committed myself to.
Row upon row of men and boys stood in formation in an open field moving through a kata with synchronized precision.
Their bodies flowed like water, each strike perfectly placed, each stance solid as stone.
Some were older—men with snow in their hair, their movements economical but sure.
Others were closer to my age, their faces tight with concentration.
Even the very young moved with confidence, eyes set in concentration.
“First formation,” Takeo murmured. “You already know your basic forms from our training. They’ll drill those for hours every day, so you should be fine.”
Hours. Every day. Just on the basics.
My hands tightened on the reins.
Beyond the formations, I caught sight of training rings—circles marked out in the dirt where pairs of fighters engaged in controlled combat.
The sound of wood striking wood cracked through the air like thunder.
Bodies moved so fast I could barely track them—a blur of strikes and blocks and counters that seemed impossible for human beings to execute.
One pair fought hand to hand, their movements a dance of violence and control.
Block, strike, sweep, recover.
Over and over, faster than thought.
Another pair wielded naginata, the long polearms spinning and thrusting with deadly beauty. The weapons seemed alive in their hands, extensions of their bodies rather than separate tools.
In a ring near the back, two men sparred with katana.
Real steel, not bokken.
The blades caught the sunlight as they flashed through the air, close enough to draw blood but never quite touching. The precision required for that—the absolute control—made my head spin.
“Gods,” I breathed.
“That’s what you’re here to become,” Takeo said quietly. “And if you possess mahou, the monks will bring it out. This is a grand adventure, nephew. You will love it.”
I’ll never—
Mahou? Magic? Me? What was Uncle talking about? Only priests and monks shared in the link to the gods. Normal people, even Daimyo, were never gifted in such ways. To offer such false hope was beyond cruel—and nothing like the uncle I knew.
Monks in simple brown robes walked among the formations and rings, their heads shaved, their expressions stern. One stopped beside a young fighter whose stance had faltered. The monk raised a thin reed and—crack—struck the boy’s calf.
The boy didn’t flinch, didn’t cry out, only bowed respectfully and corrected his form.
Another monk moved through the formations, his reed whistling through the air as he calmly spoke corrections, his voice like grinding stone yet never rising or turning harsh. “Wider stance. Your weight is too far forward. Again.”
The trainees obeyed, resetting and repeating the movement.
They showed no hesitation, offered no complaints.
Only immediate, perfect obedience.
My throat went dry.
This wasn’t training. This was forging, breaking down whatever you’d been before and remaking you into something new, something harder, something capable of impossible things.
Can I survive this? Can I . . . become this?
We rode deeper into the complex, past more rings, more formations, more monks with their reeds and their calm voices. Every eye that drifted toward me seemed to weigh and measure—and find me wanting.
Hells. I found me wanting.
I could practically hear their thoughts: Look at that boy. He’s far too thin. He’s too weak. He’s too soft.
I sat straighter in my saddle, trying to project confidence I didn’t feel. I was a Daimyo’s son, for the gods’ sake.
The main temple loomed before us now, its steps leading to massive wooden doors carved with scenes of battle and meditation intertwined.
At the top of those steps, hands folded in his sleeves, stood a monk unlike any of the others.
He was old—no, ancient—though his body didn’t show it.
His face was lined, but his posture was perfect, his eyes sharp as he watched our approach.
He wore the same simple brown robes as the others, but there was something about him that commanded attention.
Authority radiated from him like heat from a forge.
“That’s Giichi Jūji,” Takeo murmured. “He has been abbot and head of this temple for more years than even I have lived. I doubt the man recalls his own age at this point.”
Takeo chuckled at his own words as my heart hammered against my ribs.
We dismounted, and a young novice who’d been hiding behind a pillar bustled forward to take our horses, bowing deeply.
Takeo strode forward with easy confidence. I followed, each step feeling like it carried me toward my doom.
Giichi descended to meet us halfway, his movements fluid and precise. He bowed to Takeo—shallow, respectful, but not subservient. “Anzu Takeo-san. It has been many years.”
“Too many, old friend.” Takeo returned the bow, his offering far deeper than the one he had received. “I bring you a student.”
Giichi’s eyes shifted to me, and I suddenly felt pinned beneath his gaze like an insect on a board. He studied me for a long moment, silent, assessing, his face giving away nothing. I forced myself to hold his stare, even as every instinct screamed to look away.
Finally, the abbot spoke. “Anzu Yoshi-san, son of Hiroki Daimyo. I know of you.”
“Honored Jūji.” I bowed deeply, lower than I’d bowed to almost anyone. “I have come to learn.”
“Many come here to learn. Most fail.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but not cruel. “Our path is not for the weak of body or spirit. It will break you. Whether you remain broken or forge yourself anew, that is your choice—and the will of the gods.”
Behind us, the sound of training continued: the crack of wood on wood, the sharp commands of instructors, the rhythmic breathing of men pushing themselves past their limits.
This is it. This is where I prove whether I’m worth anything.
A familiar voice whispered in my mind, “Not prove, Yoshi-san, discover and awaken.”
I nearly staggered backward. The abbot’s lips twitched into a slight curl.
The Emperor’s dragon had not spoken to me in weeks. I’d thought she’d lost interest or found another to frighten with her slithering thoughts. But she’d returned to taunt me as I began my new life within a monastery’s walls.
“I will follow, honored Jūji.” I dropped to my knees and pressed my forehead to the ground in the ultimate show of deference.
When I peeked up, Giichi’s head had cocked, and again a tiny twist curled one corner of his mouth. He offered the slightest incline, his gaze never drifting from my prostrated form. “We shall see.”
Then he turned to Takeo. “You will stay?”
“My brother bade me remain with my nephew.”
Giichi nodded once, a crisp movement this time, then turned back toward me. “Come. I will show you where you will sleep, where you will eat, where you will spend the next years of your life. If the gods are good, your uncle will stay out of my way.”
Takeo chuckled again. Damn him for being amused.
Then the abbot added words that chilled all humor, “If you survive what is to come.”
The old man turned and began climbing the steps.
I followed. Each stair we ascended felt like another promise, another vow.
At the top, I paused and looked back at the training grounds.
The formations continued their endless drills.
The sparring rings echoed with the clatter and clash of controlled violence.
Monks moved through it all like shepherds tending a flock, shaping raw material into weapons.
And somewhere in that sea of bodies, I would have to find my place.
I’m not strong enough, childhood doubts whispered.
But I was here.
Because Kaneko needed me to be strong.
Kibo needed it.
The Emperor commanded it.
And maybe, somewhere deep down, I needed it, too. I needed to prove that I was more than the weak boy who’d hidden while others had fought and died, more than the Daimyo’s disappointing son with scrawny arms and an uncertain future.
Maybe I could become something else here, something harder, something capable of protecting what mattered most.
If I survived.
I turned and followed the abbot through the massive doors, leaving behind the world I’d known. As the temple swallowed me whole, I felt my true trial begin.