When I woke, morning had already taken its seat.
The snow was no longer falling. It lay quiet and settled, pressed flat against the earth as though winter itself had decided to watch rather than speak. The world felt paused—not healed, not peaceful, only waiting.
I turned my head and found Heiwa gone.
Her futon had been folded with careful precision and set aside, the space beside me empty of warmth and breath. For a moment, I lay there longer than necessary, staring at the ceiling beams, listening to the faint sounds of the shrine waking—wood creaking, distant footsteps, the low murmur of voices carried through thin walls.
It struck me then how quickly absence made itself known.
I forced myself upright, adjusted my yukata, and folded my own futon with less grace than I would have liked. The simple motions grounded me, though my thoughts remained scattered, snagging on questions I had no answers for.
After brushing my teeth, I stepped into the corridor. The scent of warm food reached me first, followed by voices—soft, familiar, alive.
"Ah—she's finally awake," Dōngzhi said as I entered the kitchen.
Himitsu sat near the low table, her posture relaxed in a way that suggested exhaustion rather than comfort. Heiwa stood nearby, focused on the task at hand, carefully filling what looked like dumplings with practiced hands. Steam rose lazily from pots and bowls, fogging the air.
For a moment, I simply watched.
The room felt inhabited again. Not victorious—but surviving.
"Good morning," I said at last. Then, after a brief hesitation, "Where are Miss Lakshmi and Miss Halle?"
Heiwa glanced up, her expression unreadable for a heartbeat before returning to her work. "Morning. They left earlier. Said there were matters they needed to attend to back home."
"Oh."
The word escaped me before I could temper it. I lingered awkwardly near the doorway, unsure whether to step further in or retreat.
"They could have waited," I added quietly. "I wanted to see them off."
No one contradicted me. No one reassured me either.
Later, I stepped outside.
From the corridor overlooking the town, I could see increased movement below—soldiers reinforcing barricades, carts laden with timber and stone being repositioned, patrols doubling back and forth like ants rebuilding a disturbed nest. The fighting had ended, yet no one behaved as though danger had truly passed.
Peace, it seemed, demanded vigilance.
After breakfast, we gathered along the wooden corridor facing the courtyard. The morning light was thin and pale, cutting weakly through the cold air. Neither the Regent nor the woman in purple had appeared, and their absence felt deliberate—like a held breath.
When I asked after Heiwa's brother, I was told he was out on patrol.
"I want to do something too," I thought, my gaze drifting to the tattoo along my arm. The mark felt heavier today, like a promise I had yet to earn.
"You would only endanger yourself and others, Pale Duchess."
The voice came from behind me.
I turned instinctively.
The Regent stood there, dressed in a white yukata etched with gold, her presence quiet but absolute. She moved past me without waiting for permission and seated herself on the floor, as though the space had always belonged to her.
"What do you—" I stopped myself, the words tangling. I swallowed and tried again. "What do you know?"
She looked at me for a long moment, her gaze steady and unsettling.
"I—I can shoot a gun," I said at last. My heart picked up speed, betraying my calm. "I've been practicing."
She smiled.
"Silly child," she said lightly, though there was no cruelty in her tone. "So confident in such ignorance."
She lifted her tea, took a slow sip, and tilted her face toward the sky, as if listening for something beyond sight or sound.
"Very well," she continued. "Let us try this instead. You will spar with Heiwa."
The words struck before they settled.
"If you manage to win," she added calmly, "I will consider your request."
My shoulders tightened. A dozen objections rose to my throat, none daring enough to escape.
"You may use whatever you like."
For a moment, I wondered if I had misunderstood her entirely. Guns. Knives. Against Heiwa. The thought curled something deep inside me—fear, defiance, anger—something sharp and coiled, without a proper name.
"I am certain Heiwa will agree," the Regent said, already rising to her feet.
She looked out across the courtyard, as though the matter were already decided, then turned and walked away. The hem of her yukata whispered softly against the floorboards.
I remained where I was, staring at the place she had been sitting moments before, the wind stirring faintly around me.
For the first time since arriving, I understood.
This was not protection.
This was a test.
And tests, I knew, did not care whether you were ready.