Spirit of the Dragon: An Epic Progression Fantasy

By Erynn Lehtonen

Every dream requires sacrifice.

Once a land blessed by dragons and gods, Seiryuu now relies on elite warriors capable of ripping seismic energy from the earth and shaping infernos for protection against a demonic infestation. Genshu Masanori, an ingenious engineer at only seventeen, could revolutionize the art of war—if his pacifist clan allowed him to train as a warrior.

When Masanori and his twin brother, Hidekazu, witness a kidnapping at the Midsummer festival, Masanori has a chance to prove himself. But the sorcerer responsible defies nature and twists the elements into an unpredictable, terrible power.

If Hidekazu—the scion of the Genshu clan, a master over four elements—can’t touch the sorcerer, how could Masanori?

After the twins’ attempt to rescue a victim goes horribly wrong, Hidekazu and Masanori sign their lives away to the prestigious Tsukiko Academy. In doing so, they break their vows of filial piety, challenge their sibling bond, and ignore the future empress’ warnings about the headmaster and the dark secrets harboured within the school grounds…

The sorcerer drags them into an ancient rivalry between gods. Yumihari teeters on the brink of war, and if the twins do nothing, Seiryuu won’t be in the middle—they will be the target.

For fans of Avatar: The Last Airbender and Ursula K. LeGuin’s Earthsea Cycle, the world of Yumihari is fraught with monsters, mythology, and epic quests.

BUY NOW and jump into the adventure today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erynn Lehtonen
• Release date: Feb 12, 2019
• ISBN: 1777849705

Book preview

Spirit of the Dragon

Yokai Calling Book 1

Erynn Lehtonen

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White Raven Chronicles

Copyright © 2019 by Erynn Lehtonen

SPIRIT OF THE DRAGON, 3rd Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

To request permissions, please contact the publisher at [e-mail]

Hardcover: 978-1-990602-00-9

Paperback: 978-1-7778497-0-2

Ebook: 978-1-7778497-1-9

Cover Design by EL Geron

Published by Dragon’s Hoard

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A White Raven Chronicles imprint

Contents

Free Short Story

Dedication

1.Masanori

2.Hidekazu

3.Masanori

4.Hidekazu

5.Masanori

6.Aihi

7.Hidekazu

8.Masanori

9.Hidekazu

10.Masanori

11.Hidekazu

12.Masanori

13.Hidekazu

14.Masanori

15.Hidekazu

16.Masanori

17.Hidekazu

18.Hidekazu

19.Masanori

20.Aihi

21.Hidekazu

22.Masanori

23.Hidekazu

24.Masanori

25.Masanori

26.Hidekazu

27.Aihi

28.Masanori

29.Hidekazu

30.Masanori

31.Hidekazu

32.Masanori

33.Aihi

34.Hidekazu

35.Hidekazu

36.Masanori

37.Aihi

38.Hidekazu

39.Masanori

40.Aihi

Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

Glossary

The Dragon’s Eye Preview

Free Short Story

About the Author

Also By Erynn Lehtonen

Free Short Story

Join Erynn’s reader list to claim the subscriber-exclusive The Boy and the Dragon short story!

https://erynnlehtonenwriting.com/sotd-freestory/

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For Mark and Kristen

as this story would not exist without you

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1

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Masanori

He was stuck. Great.

People pressed at Genshu Masanori from all sides, packed like canes of bamboo to make way for the procession of dancers. Lithe bodies leapt around sapphire paper dragons. Glimmering coils spiralled to the rhythm of festival drums. Pops of smoke and light fanned out to reveal the illusory shapes of hulking demons, which the performers slew with precise cuts of their katana to cheers of the crowd.

Masanori craned his neck, trying to look over the parade and to the other side of the dancers. The Dragon Goddess Fountain sprayed a prism of indigo water into the pool below, and several figures sat on the edge, but he couldn’t see their faces. Aihi told him to meet her in the square, but that had been before the schedule for the Midsummer Festival changed and they rerouted a whole parade because some kids thought it would be funny to vandalize the streets that morning with a fake O-Kuruma summoning ritual.

Okay, no, those mock spells were hilarious. When he was younger, Masanori tried conjuring demons—and failed—too. His stunts came much to the dismay of his ‘proper’ parents who wanted nothing more than for him to sit still in a laboratory instead of fantasizing about slaying monsters. Unfortunately, this trickery interfered with the first time Masanori was going to see Aihi for more than a passing smile in the palace hallways in over a month.

He wriggled closer to the side of the procession. Was that her on the edge of the fountain? Glossy black hair, fine blue haori overcoat, looking away from the parade instead of at it? Ugh, who else would come all this way not to spare a single glance at the magnificent dancers?

Now he had to find a way across, and waiting out the show would take far too long. Aihi would give up and leave. Then he could kiss any chance of training with a sword outside the watchful eyes of his clan goodbye.

A woman elbowed Masanori in the ribs, pushing him into another man. Who then shoved Masanori back. Before he got a word in, the crowd fed him to the wolves and threw him right into the dancers.

A katana arced from a performer and toward Masanori’s exposed collar. He leaned out of the way and then ducked a second strike meant for the mirages rising from the smoke. Masanori grinned, and instead of backing off, assimilated into the cadence of the dance.

Now he’d found his way across.

In another lifetime, he could have been a true martial artist, a warrior, dancing on a battlefield and striking down wyverns and any beasts unfortunate enough to cross his path. A swipe and a stab, and the acrobats reduced the illusions to ash.

Masanori swirled under and around swords with each turn. He maintained the dancers’ flow, manipulating forbidden battle stances to inch toward the other side of the road. The katana at his waist was his mother’s, and drawing the blade would have made him a warrior-dancer, too, if for a few minutes. But he was too inexperienced with swords, and he wasn’t foolish enough to risk lopping off someone’s head for a thrill.

The rhythm of the dance shifted, and Masanori twisted in the opposite direction of the acrobats. A katana soared through the smoke—straight for his solar plexus. To avoid the strike, he careened backward and right into another dancer. They stumbled, two more performers toppling onto the market’s cobbled ground.

Watch it, kid!

A series of curses, and then a blade flew in Masanori’s direction. Gasps echoed from the crowd as the catastrophe erupted, him right in the middle.

A hand from outside the pack of dancers grabbed his sleeve and yanked him away from the incoming sword. Masanori toppled, praying to the Dragon Goddess that he wouldn’t land on the sharp end of a misplaced weapon. He fell into the centre of the square, smacking his head against the stone edge of the Goddess fountain.

Trying to get yourself killed already? We’ve yet been here ten minutes.

Hidekazu loomed from above. Streams of his ebony hair fell over his shoulders, at least what wasn’t captured in a messy topknot. The familiar blue haori Masanori had spotted from across the road billowed around Hidekazu’s thin arms when he offered a hand.

Masanori scowled instead of accepting. It wasn’t Aihi he spotted on the fountain, but his twin brother, Hidekazu. The only other person who would rather read a book than watch the parade.

Relax, I had everything under control. Masanori rubbed the sore spot at the back of his skull. The injury would throb for a few days, but better than another stab wound.

Consider being nearly eviscerated by a blade not aimed at you a warning not to test the Goddess’ patience. Laughter erupted from Hidekazu, bemused by his own joke. Though it was a joke, the laughter only stung Masanori more.

You sound like you’re telling me to give up. Why should I when you’re on the verge of achieving what we’ve both wanted our entire lives? Masanori glared at his twin’s lanky form. You’re built like a bamboo pole, not a proper bushi, yet you’ll become one before me.

Bushi. The word spread across Masanori’s tongue like ash—the flavour of desolated dreams.

He and Hidekazu longed to join the ranks of bushi, the warrior elite who fought to defend Seiryuu, their homeland, from a myriad of threats. Demons, spirits, creatures of the night, and, when necessary, from neighbouring nations who might be foolish enough to challenge Seiryuu.

If it was up to me, I would let you take my place, Masa. Hidekazu’s words rang hollow in Masanori’s ears.

Then why don’t you?

Around them, the Midsummer Festival carried on, singers and drums filling the evening with music and laughter. Hidekazu wouldn’t meet his eyes. He stared at the statue of the Goddess, Shirashi, where mist spewed from the fanged mouth of her dragon form. It’s not so simple.

Father changed his mind for you just because you have ki and I don’t? Masanori’s fingers thrummed along the hilt of his mother’s katana, a family heirloom which he’d taken without permission. He’ll swear up and down that he doesn’t think less of me because I’m not a majyu, but here you are, training to become a bushi, and I’m stuck as a ki-engineer. He squeezed the sword in an attempt to not let that bother him, too, but it always would: A ki-engineer with no ki.

Cursed without the gift of the Goddess—ki, the energy that flowed through every living and non-living object.

Over fifty percent of the Seiryan population could manipulate the natural elements—fire, water, earth, and air—to some degree by using ki. However, many also lived without the Goddess’ grace in their veins and didn’t feel neglected like Masanori did. But he was different. Born to the Genshu clan, one of the most prolific families of majyu—ki wielders—Masanori was supposed to be special like Hidekazu, who could conjure all four elements at will.

Most majyu could use one or two. Masanori had none, not even a spark to fuel his so-called ki-engineering projects.

Until now, at least. He thumbed the leather cord hanging from his collar, weighed down by a pouch tucked beneath his kimono. If Hidekazu refused to talk about his arrangement with Genshu Dano, their father and clan leader, then Masanori wasn’t going to share his latest invention, either.

Hidekazu waggled his hand, still waiting for Masanori to accept. Come on, the Midsummer Festival is all about embracing the past in a new light.

Really? Then why do we always spend the night feasting on sweet pudding and taiyaki? Masanori could practically taste the flaky, fish-shaped pastries melting in his mouth.

That, my brother, is my favourite kind of worship.

With a grin, Masanori conceded and took Hidekazu’s hand. I thought your favourite was those fake O-Kuruma summoning rituals that Bushi Uriku always tricked the kids into. I wonder if he was the one who got them into trouble this morning.

Probably, but we’re not twelve anymore, Hidekazu said. I think we’re a little past trying to summon the Demon Lord to fix our problems.

"Hey, speak for yourself. I wanted to summon him so I could become a bushi. Though, I wonder if the spells failed because we never offered taiyaki."

Let’s not try, huh?

The twins laughed as they strode under streamers of dragon-shaped paper lanterns. Nothing like strange childhood memories to lighten the mood. Fervent years spent trying call one of the Dragon Goddess’ most disobedient children—O-Kuruma—back into the world so Masanori could be the one to defeat him, claim the glory, as well as an honorary title as bushi. The fantasy had seemed like his only chance to prove himself, but of course, it was only that: a fantasy. At least he still had his friends to spar with.

Masanori’s parents would make him wash floors for twelve hours straight and ban him from the Jyutsu Laboratory—where he laboured as a ki-engineer—if they caught him breaking their clan laws again this month. Seldom were he and Hidekazu caught when they used festivals as camouflage, however. Besides, the risk was worthwhile for Masanori because sneaking away meant spending time with Aihi.

The energetic crowd filled the market square. He scanned the throes of attendees garbed in their colourful festival kimonos for any sign of Aihi. Hidekazu had distracted him from finding her. Speaking of the festival, I thought Aihi and Torra were supposed to meet us to watch the Fire Dancers? And then, you know, abscond…

Aihi changed her mind, said they will meet us at the tamashii tree as usual to spar in the morning, Hidekazu said.

Masanori tried to shrug off his disappointment at having to wait until morning to see Aihi. They lived a stone’s throw away, but he and Hidekazu saw less and less of her. As the princess heir to the Warlock Throne, they expected her schedule to fill with her growing list of state duties; that didn’t mean Masanori had to be happy with reality.

One day, Aihi would replace the emperor, her father, as empress. But to Masanori and Hidekazu, she was a friend, more like an older sister, first.

Can’t imagine why she and Torra need to be on their own, Masanori muttered. "What’s the point of us coming here if we’re not going to, you know, be together?"

Hidekazu shrugged, Girls will be girls, and bit into a taiyaki without a second thought.

"Not sure why I’m asking you. You’d rather gaze longingly into your textbooks than even think of women—hey, where did you get that?"

He handed Masanori a second taiyaki, and in seconds, the delicious treat crunched in Masanori’s mouth, releasing the sweet red bean paste. A touch of heaven for his tastebuds.

I won’t apologize for choosing to advance my mind rather than expend brain cells drooling over unavailable women.

Masanori chuckled. We all have our vices.

The comment about women wasn’t meant as a criticism of Hidekazu but an observation. Ever since Masanori started ‘drooling over unavailable women,’ as his twin put it, Hidekazu instead withdrew further into his books. At times, Masanori suspected Hidekazu was more into men, but he seemed disinterested in relationships of any kind.

Meanwhile, Masanori hadn’t been shy about getting with Zahra, a fellow ki-engineer, as well as a long list of young women who could cut him before he blinked—with words, folding fans, the occasional sword. As one of the explosives experts at the labs, Zahra was more likely to blow him up. Maybe it was for the best that they weren’t seeing each other anymore.

With every lesson Aihi gave Masanori with a sword, he hoped to impress her. That would be no easy feat: not only was she the fiercest warrior their age, but she was also a better majyu than Hidekazu and had the cunning to argue the feathers off a tengu. She’d done it before.

Okay, she also had eyes like cloudy onyx and the natural authority to rival the Goddess herself. Still, it was the first three qualities that had Masanori running in mental circles.

As they came upon the Crimson Gardens, the crowd became dense and oppressive, and Masanori let Hidekazu lead the way. At this rate, finding a spot with a good view of the Fire Dancers was going to be impossible; the show was about to begin. Being short for his age, Masanori didn’t have the advantage of height to peer over the masses, either, unlike Hidekazu.

Sulphur tinged the air from the crackle of amber fireworks overhead, several whizzing above the crowd shaped as birds before exploding in showers of light.

Maybe we should go in search of those O-Kuruma summoning rituals instead, Masanori joked when he caught up to Hidekazu. They were now at the back of the gardens amongst the scarlet azalea where they could still see nothing, even as the crowd whooped and cheered.

I’m not ready to give up. Hidekazu glanced in the opposite direction of the show, and Masanori’s gaze followed him to a nearby maple tree. I have an idea.

Skeptical, Masanori followed him toward the trunk. He glanced back at the show, where they were now far enough to witness one of the Fire Dancers leap into the fiery spirals of an elemental dragon and spring up into the sky, ribbons of amber light twisting behind them.

Masanori’s eyes gravitated toward the stunning display. Woah…

Ki buzzed through the garden, and the crowd swayed with the movement of energy. Warmth smacked into Masanori, and he almost toppled over from the force. Yet he couldn’t tear his gaze from the performers who soared like graceful birds.

While the first dancer became a dragon made of fire, the second bounced from the stage, an explosion of cascading white energy and crystals, morphing into a second dragon—this time one of pure ice and snow.

Masanori gaped. Hide, are you watching this?

Yeah. I’ve never seen anything like it. Let me get my notebook...

Is now the time? Masanori glanced from the display at the sound of ruffling paper. Hidekazu was trying to free a notebook he had stuffed into his kimono, tearing a page in the process.

A spark of purple on the other side of Hidekazu drew Masanori’s eye. He shivered in the wake of chilly energy racing across his skin. Did you see that? The words were thick in Masanori’s mouth.

Hidekazu diverted his attention from his notebook and claimed his minimized staff from a different pocket. Azure energy flickered at his fingertips as the weapon extended to full length. I felt it.

Purple was the colour crystals at the labs turned when their energy became impure. Those crystals were always discarded; they had to be. Such tainted ki was the manifestation of imbalance, corruption in its rawest form, threatening the synergy of the natural elements.

Somebody help! a woman’s shrill cry came from the bushes alongside the flickering lavender light.

Masanori’s hand dropped to his mother’s katana. He might be inexperienced with real fights, but he wasn’t afraid to use the sword if he had to. No one else nearby reacted to the woman’s call.

P-please—

A wicked cackle cut her off.

Masanori’s feet moved. This would be the day he used the sword against his first true enemy.

2

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Hidekazu

Hidekazu and Masanori wove between cutleaf maples and trampled through patches of maidenhair in the direction of the woman’s screams. Darkness laced the energy pulsating through the gardens, prickling his skin like cat’s claws. Hidekazu had experienced similar sensations a handful of times—all of them unwelcome.

Purple flashed behind a line of cedars. No! the woman shrieked, her voice travelling further away.

Masanori shoved the boughs of a maple tree aside, and they stumbled onto another garden path. Opposite of them stood a figure garbed in black robes, a gnarled staff in hand. A bleeding eyeball was mounted on top, violet tendrils seething from the dilated pupil. The unnatural energy coiled around a woman like wicked snakes, capturing her in their vile embrace.

The visual solidified what Hidekazu feared: corruption. Its vile aura thickened the air, constricting Hidekazu’s lungs as he took in the scene before him.

Ki that defied the will of the Dragon Goddess, Shirashi, and the laws of nature.

Oh, look who came—the Genshu twins. The figure’s whiny voice twisted the Seiryan words, mocking the language’s precise syllables. Too late, it seems, or too soon? Hm, hm, hmm, who knows?

Hidekazu rapped his fingers across his staff. The dazzling, azure light of water ki spun around the weapon on instinct. But in the wake of the sorcerer’s greeting, he hesitated. Who are you? How do you know who we are?

"You are not supposed to be here, supposed to deal with you later. Go, go. The figure waved a dismissive hand, but Hidekazu and Masanori only raised their weapons higher. No? Wish to play so soon?"

We’re not playing. Let her go, and we can avoid further conflict, Hidekazu said.

He wasn’t a fighter. He hadn’t been trained for combat; his art was of shields and defence, not blades and fiery attack. But this sorcerer was the enemy of all Seiryuu. How could they avoid confrontation with someone who blatantly defiled their sacred energies and attempted to steal away with a woman into the night?

Oh, my silly Genshus. Never learn, do you? A streak of lavender shuddered from his eyeball staff, flying toward the twins. Masanori ducked and rushed to face the sorcerer without a second thought, a battle cry in his throat.

Hidekazu forced his doubts aside. Now wasn’t the time to hesitate. Masa, shield incoming!

Blue energy twisted upward, and he pointed his staff at Masanori. He swung the wood in a memorized pattern, forming the mystical symbols—kigou—that allowed Hidekazu to control ki at will. He lacked confidence in fighting but not in his ability to keep his twin safe.

The Goddess’ energy in his veins responded, and ribbons of hot and cold rushed through him. Symbols scattered into dusty motes and collapsed into the nearby pond, pulling water and light into a beam headed straight for Masanori.

As Masanori swung at the shadowed figure, the watery barrier twirled around him in time to block a spray of blood from the sorcerer’s blinking eye staff. Crimson seeped through the liquid, thickening it into a brown sludge that slopped onto the cobbles.

A cold sweat broke out on Hidekazu’s back as he strained to maintain the shield. Compared to the energies he had experience defending against, dealing with corruption was like punching blocks of reinforced stone. His resistance crumbled beneath the intense pressure. Energy flitted from his fingertips in the wrong directions, and the barrier collapsed.

The remaining water doused Masanori, but he shook his shoulder-length hair out of his eyes and leapt over the dark muck toward the sorcerer and the captured woman. A fissure of plum-purple light cracked open behind the dark figure, distorting light and space. Masanori swiped, and a metallic ring sounded when his blade hit a translucent barrier that hadn’t been there a second before. Energy shuddered back at him, dashing any hope of rescuing the woman as ki threw him back and right into Hidekazu.

The twins rolled, landing in a heap on the opposite end of the path. Hidekazu roared as he bit his tongue while untangling himself from Masanori. Time wasn’t in their favour, and if they weren’t quick—as they looked up, the woman was disappearing into the portal.

Too late.

Hidekazu swayed. His failure hit him like a punch to the throat, and his whole nervous system revolted. This wasn’t the end. He wasn’t going to sit by and watch this sorcerer get away. Energy hummed around Hidekazu like fireflies as he reached deeper inside himself, seeking the ocean within to leverage the true strength of his ki—the power of someone who wielded all four elements.

Stop. We’re not done with you yet. Masanori raised his katana again, advancing while Hidekazu prepared a spell.

Alone, the robed figure tilted his head back to reveal a skull mask. Two ivory horns curled from the sides of his head, his dark purple eyes shimmering against the dark of night. Hidekazu recognized that mask, but he’d seen similar ones in person fewer times than corrupted ki.

Too late, too soon, what does it matter? The games began oh-so-long ago, little Genshus, the figure said, "and this time, you murdering xaortl can’t keep up, no, no, no. I will win."

As the masked figure stepped into the fissure after the woman, Hidekazu’s ki ripped up the stones lining the garden path. This woman deserved better than two inexperienced teenagers as her defenders, but the twins were all she had right now.

Despite all the ki to Hidekazu’s name, only a weak spark flew to his fingertips. The energy latched onto his desperate attempts to shape his intentions and the stones into an attack. Ki warped and cracked beneath his untrained hands. His power evaporated into a cloud around him, useless.

By the time Hidekazu mustered sufficient ki to fling a single sharpened stone, the portal closed in a flash of dark light shaped like a black cherry blossom. The rock clattered on the path, splashing in the grimy water.

Fireworks continued to crack overhead, showering the puddles with reflections of gold and crimson light. Oblivious to the tragedy within the city walls.

A thousand questions teetered in Hidekazu’s mind, but the first one to come out of his mouth was what caught him off guard the most: How did that monster know who we are?

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The question hung between him and Masanori for minutes before either spoke again. Around them, the Midsummer Festival carried on. The thrum of dance and drumbeats gave the city a heartbeat, the sky illuminated with enough fireworks to make the sun shield her eyes. But honouring their ancestors and the spirits of summer seemed irrelevant now.

A young woman captured before their very eyes. Both of them powerless to help her.

Hidekazu sniffed, and traces of dark energy still burned his nostrils. To create corrupted ki on accident was one thing—to use it, as this sorcerer had, was a clear violation of the Goddess′ gift. Violet misted from the sludge covering the path, where Masanori was poking at the brown muck with their mother’s sword.

Don’t do that, Hidekazu said as he climbed to his feet. You don’t know how dangerous it could be.

Masanori ignored him and kept sifting through the substance. "That mask—was the sorcerer a kan’thir?"

The image of the sorcerer’s dark purple eyes flashing through his ram skull mask sent shivers down Hidekazu’s spine. Kan’thir were goat-men that dwelled on the volcanic Yaotlan Islands far from the eastern coast of the Shimensokan continent. Their wickedness was well-recorded in Seiryan history, though Hidekazu had only seen a kan’thir once in his lifetime.

Remember the time the bushi caught one in Meishoken? he said.

Meishoken was a coastal city about a three-jun ride northeast from Tsukiko, where they were for the Midsummer Festival.

Yeah. A concerning mixture of revulsion and excitement tinged Masanori’s voice. "She lured children into the woods to use as sacrifices to Ozeki. When the bushi finally caught her, they paraded her corpse through the streets of Nagasou for days like a trophy."

I won’t forget how her grey skin matched the fur that coated her lower body and arms. The images were stained into Hidekazu’s memories, far too gruesome and bloody a scene for a child. They destroyed her mask, and we didn’t get a good look at this one’s body with all his robes, but he has to be...

Stories like the kan’thir who once haunted the northern edge of the Silent Hills were similar to those about all kan’thir: they slew the faithful of the Dragon Goddess in honour of her dark brother, the Wyvern God.

A pair that were in eternal conflict. It had always been so.

Kan’thir ancestral masks were iconic, though. No other intelligent race wore the enchanted skulls of their forebears as a device to retain the knowledge and power of their family lines… often losing a fair bit of their sanity in the process.

All the more reason not to mess with the residue from his corrupted energy, Hidekazu said. We must report this right away.

It still bothered him how the kan’thir knew their family name and of them specifically. Although they wore the Genshu crest of dancing ravens on the backs of their haori coats, why would a kan’thir be familiar with the emblem?

I can’t believe this happened. Masanori finally stopped poking the gunk and rubbed the remains off the golden blade until the dragons etched along the sides glimmered in the moonlight. His movements were jerky as he re-sheathed the katana, the adrenaline of the encounter wearing off, though he still wore a brave face. Okay, let’s go. The Tsukiko Guard barracks is just over there, isn’t it?

They crossed the gardens in a hurry, light on their feet as they navigated streets filled with excited festivalgoers. The scent of baked sweet potatoes and spiced duck made Hidekazu’s mouth water, and his ears bathed in the melody of wild lutes and charming singers, but he didn’t let the draw of the festival distract him from the task at hand. For long, at least.

The kan’thir’s butchered Seiryan only made his deranged claims eerier: what game could involve kidnapping a woman at a festival?

Hidekazu had a nagging suspicion they were missing a big part of the story.

The Tsukiko barracks was a complex of three interconnected buildings around a simple square. An old bamboo fence obscured the yard where two large braziers illuminated a modest statue of the Goddess Shirashi, her human form draped in dragon scales.

A guard nodded to Hidekazu and Masanori as they slid open the door into an entranceway of tatami and rice paper. No decorations hung on the walls, save a single crescent moon, the emblem of the Tsukiko Guard.

At a desk on the opposite wall, a woman in an elegant black and white kimono rose to greet them. Noting the crest of their haori, she presented herself with a deep bow, keeping her face tilted down while she regarded them. Good evening, Young Masters. We are honoured by your presence from our splendid capital. I trust the festival is to your standards.

Very much so, except for the kan— As the woman began to address Masanori’s concern, Hidekazu interrupted him.

We would like to report an incident.

While Masanori was often content to rush ahead without considering the consequences of his actions, Hidekazu didn’t believe it a wise decision to announce what they saw. It was better to report directly to the Guard Captain first, with who they could leverage their clan’s rank to ensure the matter was investigated, not dismissed as two intoxicated teens who mistook festival wear for a monster and harmless fun for a kidnapping.

Of course. The woman gave a patient smile. "The Tsukiko Guard will investigate all reports of petty theft in