Chapter 27: Old Rivals New Friends
"Mun Lao..." Yogan whispered, the name still bitter on his tongue.
But how had he known it?
His breath caught. His vision blurred, not from exhaustion, but from something else. Something deeper. A sound like rushing wind filled his ears, but it was not the wind. It was memory. Or something like it.
Suddenly….
Images.
They crashed into his mind like waves.
Flashes of a world not entirely his, yet impossibly familiar.
Two warriors, standing atop the edge of a broken cliff, the sea roaring beneath them. One wore robes of flowing white and gold, hair tied at the crown, eyes filled with resolve.
The other stood tall beside him. Younger. Dressed in black-trimmed red. A proud, fierce grin on his face. That was Mun Lao. His hair shorter then, bound tightly. He carried a blade at his back and a flame in his palm.
And the first?
It was me...
No. Not me.
Yogan's body was that body. The eyes were his eyes. He felt what that warrior felt. But somewhere beneath it, like sediment in deep water, he knew this wasn't truly him.
It was Wan.
He, Wan, and Mun Lao fought side by side through cities of stone and jungles of thorns. They brought balance where there was none. Stood between men and spirits when the walls separating them bled. Their names were praised by villagers and feared by tyrants.
Then came the battle.
The one where he, Wan, was struck unconscious, bleeding in the sands of a great canyon.
Mun Lao had knelt beside his fallen friend.
And that was when Raava emerged.
She rose from Wan's body like a storm breaking from flesh. Radiant. Light incarnate. The power that once terrified Mun Lao now spoke to him in perfect calm.
"He is my chosen," Raava had said. "And I will walk with him through all lifetimes."
When Wan awoke, and Mun Lao recounted what he had seen, they grew closer still, brothers bound not by blood, but by truth.
But not all bonds are strong enough to survive envy.
The visions turned.
Mun Lao's laughter grew sharper. His training harsher. His joy, eclipsed by ambition. He studied ancient scrolls, broken stones, and dark rituals. Searching. Hunting.
Until he told Wan the truth.
He would find a spirit.
A powerful one.
And let it possess him.
Together they would fight as equals.
Wan, and Raava, had begged him to stop. Had warned him of the cost.
He would not listen.
The final vision struck like a hammer.
Fire and air colliding atop a mountain pass. Their blades screaming against one another. The earth sundered. The sky torn. That was their first true battle.
But not their last.
Throughout Wan's life, they met again. And again. On fields of war, in sunken temples, at the edge of the Spirit World.
Always as enemies.
Yogan gasped.
The visions shattered.
He stood once more in the shattered ruins of Daiyo's outer district, blinking as though returning from sleep. The heat was still rising. Mun Lao still stood before him.
But nothing felt the same.
'Those weren't mine…'
He staggered slightly, looking at his palms as if expecting to find someone else's blood there.
A melodic voice filled his mind, calm and ancient, like wind through leaves in a forgotten garden.
"Those were not your memories, Yogan. They were mine... and Wan's."
He blinked, stunned. "Yours?" he said aloud, breathless.
"It is I, Raava," the voice whispered inside him. "And I dwell within you. What you saw were echoes. My memories. His memories. They flow through you now."
"I… I see," Yogan whispered, this time in thought, not aloud.
"So you and Wan… you knew Mun Lao?"
"We did."
"And everything I know of him…"
"Comes from us," she replied. "It would appear so. Some part of you has always carried our bond. And perhaps… fragments of our grief."
"I know you can hear me, Raava," came Mun Lao's voice, his real voice, loud now, not memory, not vision. It echoed like cracking firewood. "This boy bends a second element… just like Wan."
His eyes narrowed, golden and burning.
"So. You chose him over me."
Yogan stepped forward, jaw set. "She didn't choose me," he said quietly. "She chose Wan."
Mun Lao's lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. "It doesn't matter."
His hand reached to his shoulder.
"What matters is that I can finally have my revenge."
With a flick of his wrist, the long black robes unfastened. They billowed once, then collapsed to the stone.
Beneath them, Mun Lao stood in silence.
His form was wrapped in a close-fitted combat uniform, black as obsidian, each joint reinforced by darkened leather. Not decorative, functional. His boots were high. His hands bare. And his breath came out in slow, measured hisses, heat rising in gentle waves from his skin.
He moved like a shadow unsheathing itself from the world.
Then…
He struck.
A fireball shot forth… dense, white-hot.
Yogan twisted sideways, wind coiling around his waist to drag him out of its path. It exploded behind him, turning a section of wall into molten slag.
Mun Lao was already there, in front of him, launching a rapid series of palm thrusts, each one releasing a short, compact burst of fire.
Yogan ducked the first.
Spun away from the second.
The third grazed his thigh, flames licking across his skin.
He winced and retaliated.
His arms rose in a wide arc, pulling air beneath him. The gust caught both combatants and hurled them apart. Yogan used the momentum to rise high, twisting midair, arms folded at his chest.
With a shout, he thrust both hands down.
A vortex spiraled toward Mun Lao, catching debris and fire alike, slamming into the ground with bone-snapping force.
But Mun Lao rolled free.
He struck the earth with his palm, and a jet of fire erupted upward, forcing Yogan to swerve.
They clashed again, this time face to face.
Yogan lashed out with a blast of wind meant to disorient.
Mun Lao grinned.
He stepped through the gale, through it, as though it were nothing but smoke, the heat of his body parting the current.
A fist drove into Yogan's ribs.
Then another.
Then a flame-coated uppercut that sent Yogan crashing backward through a shattered market stall.
He gasped.
Got up.
Bleeding.
Panting.
"You are not him," Mun Lao spat. "You are not Wan."
Yogan rose slowly.
"No," he whispered, wiping blood from his lip.
"I'm me."
He pulled in the air, slowly this time. Deliberately.
Then, with both arms sweeping like wings, he gathered it into a spiral, ready to rise again.
The battle was just beginning.
The wind howled.
It roared through the fractured plaza, carrying with it the scorched scent of burning wood and cracked stone. Around them, the ruins of Daiyo stood still and silent, watching, as if the city itself dared not breathe.
Yogan floated just above the ground, arms wide, his body enclosed in a whirling dome of air. His chest heaved. Blood traced from his mouth. His robes were torn, skin bruised beneath dust and ash.
But still he fought.
Mun Lao stepped slowly across the broken stone, his footfalls silent, his expression unreadable. Small flickers of flame crackled from his knuckles as he raised a hand to brush sweat from his brow, though none of it belonged to effort.
"Impressive," he said, voice calm. "You've pushed further than I thought you could. You're stronger than most."
Yogan didn't respond.
"But not stronger than him."
Mun Lao's eyes glowed.
"You are not Wan." He repeated.
Then he exhaled.
The fire returned, but this time, it changed.
No longer the familiar red-orange blaze that danced like a wild creature. No. This was a fire refined, tempered, purified. It flared from his palm in waves of searing blue-white. The air around it shimmered and wept.
Yogan's eyes widened. He stepped back.
Raava stirred in his chest.
"Yogan…"
But it was too late.
Mun Lao moved.
Faster than before. As if the blue fire had purged hesitation from his body. He struck with both palms forward, and the blast was not a flame, it was a surge. A comet of azure fire that tore through the air dome like paper.
It slammed into Yogan's chest and sent him careening across the plaza. He crashed through a stone wall. Dust rose in his wake.
Before he could rise, Mun Lao was there.
A jet of blue fire swept horizontally. Yogan rolled under it, gasping, skin blistering along his shoulder where it had grazed him.
He lifted both arms and summoned a gust, strong, precise, meant to push back.
It barely flickered the flames.
Mun Lao's second blast carved through the wind, overwhelming it. Yogan screamed as the heat licked his leg, searing flesh.
He dropped to one knee.
Still trying.
Still bending.
Wind spun around his hands in desperate spirals, but it was passive, deflective. And fire, in its purity, needed no deflection. It only devoured.
Mun Lao unleashed a wheel of flame that spun in the air before snapping forward. It struck Yogan's barrier of wind, and shattered it. The impact sent him flying again.
This time, he didn't rise.
Blood ran freely down his brow. His breathing was ragged. His right eye nearly swollen shut. His robes smoked, burned through in patches that revealed raw, scorched skin.
He was on his back.
Broken.
The sky above was darkened with soot.
And in the silence, Raava whispered.
"Yogan, please. Don't get up."
He blinked.
Tried to speak.
"I've seen this before. I've felt this before. You must listen to me."
Yogan coughed, blood spattering his lip.
"Why…?"
"Because the memories I gave you, they weren't all of it."
He turned his head weakly.
"Then tell me the truth," he said aloud.
"Mun Lao is more than a warrior. He's more than rage. He's a master. There has never been a human, never, not even Wan who has bent a single element to the level he has bent fire."
The flames nearby flickered, as if they heard her.
"Wan could not defeat him alone. Not at his best. And you… you are not Wan."
Yogan's hand curled weakly into a fist.
"I know," he whispered. "I'm not him."
He closed his eyes.
"And yet… you chose him. You saw something worth choosing."
Silence.
Then, in thought, only between them:
"So trust in your choice, Raava. If you trusted Wan… then trust me too."
He lifted his hand toward the ruined fountain.
Water answered.
Not sluggish this time.
It moved.
Drawn not from force, but conviction.
It lifted and swirled around his hand, dancing with hesitance, like a child learning to walk, yet trying all the same.
He stood.
Bruised, bloody, but on his feet.
Water coiled along his arms.
He thrust his palms forward, and twin arcs of liquid shot toward Mun Lao, wrapping around his wrists. He twisted his body, calling more from the broken aqueduct, slinging a crashing wave toward his opponent.
Mun Lao's expression twitched for the first time.
He raised a flame, but the water struck him. It doused the fire at his fingertips and knocked him backward.
Yogan pressed the advantage.
He surged forward, arms weaving like a dancer, water lashing like twin whips. One caught Mun Lao's thigh, the other cracked against his side.
He hurled a bolt of water that knocked Mun Lao through the debris of a merchant's cart.
Yogan panted.
Focused.
Water rose again.
But he stumbled.
His steps faltered. His grip on the current loosened.
The water twisted into awkward shapes, then dropped.
He winced, trying to recover.
Mun Lao rose slowly from the rubble.
The flames on his arms reignited.
But his smile, that was what chilled the blood.
"Cute," he said. "You found your second breath."
He took a step forward.
"But not your second strength."
A fireball burst from his hand, crashing into Yogan's hastily raised water shield. The shield evaporated into steam, and the second blast struck his gut.
Yogan folded over, screaming.
A third, smaller burst singed his back as he turned to retreat.
Then Mun Lao kicked him.
Hard.
Yogan hit the ground again, skidding across the cobbles, skin scraping.
He tried to rise, and failed.
His limbs trembled. His body screamed.
Mun Lao loomed over him, eyes bright with golden hate.
"You think some sputtering attempt at waterbending makes you worthy?" he said. "You think Wan's name will carry you through the fire?"
He stepped forward, boot pressing against Yogan's ribs.
"Wan was stronger than you in every way. And even he could not kill me. So tell me, little monk…"
He leaned down.
"…what makes you think you can?"
Yogan gasped for breath beneath Mun Lao's boot, every inch of him screaming.
His body failed.
But something else rose.
First, a flicker.
Then a glow.
Not from the sun. Not from fire.
From within.
Yogan's eyes opened.
Bright.
Not silver. Not white.
But something older, light like starlight through fog. Ethereal. Elemental. Boundless.
Then the world breathed in…
…and exhaled.
A shockwave of air erupted outward in every direction, a ring of howling force that tore up the earth in a perfect radius around him. Rubble scattered like leaves. Dust was hurled skyward. Even Mun Lao staggered back, shielding his face with a snarl.
From the crater's center, Yogan rose, not standing, but floating, robes suspended in the unseen currents. The glow from his eyes cast long beams into the smoky sky.
A voice emerged.
It was not just one voice.
It was two, fused. Yogan's breath, but Wan's soul. Youth and wisdom in harmony. Past and present braided together.
"You do not understand what you challenge," it said, calm, clear, and powerful. "To strike down one born to carry balance into the world… is to strike at the world itself."
The wind calmed. The earth held its breath.
"Leave now, Mun Lao," the voice continued. "Before your path devours even you."
Mun Lao said nothing at first.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
"Still preaching."
With a roar, he cast both arms forward, and the blue-white flames came, all of them. They screamed across the stone like rivers of liquid sun, melting stone, vaporizing ash. Buildings collapsed beneath the pressure. Steel buckled and ran like wax.
But Yogan, no, the Avatar of Raava, moved his arms in a wide arc.
Water rose.
It rose from every broken fountain, from every buried pipe, from the air itself.
Streams curled out of mist and sky.
And then, the flood.
A towering wall of water crashed forward, dwarfing the flames in breadth and depth. It struck the inferno, and doused it. Steam exploded upward in clouds so thick the sun vanished behind them.
Mun Lao stood firm, flames sputtering at his feet, the tide surrounding him like a prison of rain and fury.
He looked around, at the ruins, the water-soaked rubble, and the stormclouds gathering above.
And then… he laughed.
"You've not changed," he said, voice echoing through the fog. "You wear a new face. But your spirit is the same."
He narrowed his eyes, still smiling.
"But now I know you've returned. And that changes everything."
He raised his arms.
Flames spiraled upward, not out, but around. A tornado of fire erupted, swirling high, catching the sky. Its center consumed him, masking his form in twisting flame.
When it cleared…
He was gone.
No trace.
Only scorched stone where he once stood.
Yogan's body, still glowing, lowered to the ground.
The light faded from his eyes.
He fell, silent, breath leaving him in one final gasp, and collapsed.
The wind died.
The air stilled.
For a moment, the city stood silent, its survivors frozen in fear.
Then, from beneath a collapsed stall, Kenshiro groaned. "Spirits… my ribs…"
Beside him, Haru shoved a plank off his leg and winced. "We're alive?"
Mariko coughed, dragging herself from beneath a shattered wall panel. Her once-regal clothes were streaked with ash and blood.
"Was that… caused by Yogan?"
They turned.
Yogan lay crumpled in the mud, unconscious, blood crusted along his head and jaw, clothes half-burnt, body soaked and trembling.
"You heard the man," Haru said grimly, staggering toward him. "Let's get the hell out of the city before that Big Boss does change his mind."
He crouched, grunted, and hoisted Yogan's limp form over his shoulder.
"I'll take him."
Kenshiro stood, legs shaking. "I'll get Rilo."
They ran through the smoke-stained plaza, weaving past the broken corpses of Shen's soldiers and the splintered bones of Daiyo.
Near the southern gate, just outside the wall…
Rilo lay unconscious.
Next to him, the body of Ruan, the blacksmith, his thick arms slack, his eyes closed, chest still.
Mariko gasped. "What was Ruan doing here?"
Kenshiro said nothing at first as he lifted Rilo carefully.
He threw the unconscious waterbender over his shoulder and turned to her.
"We'll explain later," Haru muttered, breath short. "We have to leave."
"Before that firestorm bastard decides to finish the job," Kenshiro added.
They ran.
Through the shattered gates, into the southern wilds.
South.
Then southwest.
Through the edge of the hills, into the thickets of pine and birch. Trees swallowed the sky, and the chaos of the city faded behind them like a dream half-remembered.
Mariko jogged behind them, her pace uneven. "Where are we going?"
"To meet someone," Kenshiro called back.
After a long stretch, they broke through the trees.
A clearing opened, a circle of grass and wet stone, kissed by the soft hush of a nearby river, its waters dark with shadow, the bank worn by years of footsteps.
Kenshiro slowed.
He looked around, heart hammering.
"…Is this it?"
Haru, still carrying Yogan, nodded. "I think so."
He stared up the river's bend, where fog clung to the reeds.
"I believe… they said up the river."
The forest grew quiet as the group approached the riverbend.
Night crept over the canopy in a veil of charcoal and navy. The moonlight shimmered along the water's edge, silver bleeding across the current. Kenshiro pushed a low-hanging branch aside, and there it was, carved into the base of a moss-choked cliff: a dark hollow, hidden just beyond a curtain of ivy.
The cave.
"We made it," he whispered.
Haru nodded silently. The glow of the flames and chaos of Daiyo seemed a hundred years away now.
They ducked beneath the hanging vines and stepped into the gloom. The cave was cold and damp, wide enough to stand but low enough to feel like the mountain had swallowed them whole. The scent of wet stone and old soil filled their lungs.
It was empty.
Kenshiro let out a slow exhale. "He's not here yet."
"Figures," Haru muttered, easing Yogan's unconscious form down onto a flat patch of stone. "He did say south, but not how far south."
Kenshiro lowered Rilo beside him, grunting from the weight. "Well. We're here. They're alive. That's two miracles already."
Mariko stood just inside the entrance, arms folded, eyes flickering between the two collapsed bodies. "Barely alive," she said. "Did you see what he went through?"
Kenshiro sat down with a groan, leaning back on his elbows. "I saw it. I just don't know what the hell I saw."
The cave fell into silence for a moment, just the sound of wind whispering outside and water trickling nearby.
Then Mariko broke it.
"Yogan…" she said slowly, "He wasn't just using air."
"No," Haru replied, still staring at him. "He bent water. Actual water. Not very well, but still."
"And then…" Kenshiro sat up, shaking his head, "the light in his eyes. That… wasn't normal."
"You think?" Haru snorted. "He lit up like a spirit beacon and summoned a damn ocean from thin air."
"Not to mention that whole dome of wind thing. Knocked the Big Boss back like he was a doll," Kenshiro added. "And that guy…"
"…that guy was a nightmare," Haru cut in. "I've never seen flames like that in my life. And I grew up in a mining town. Saw three furnaces blow."
Mariko knelt beside Yogan, her hand hovering near his brow but never quite touching. "He was burning… and still stood up."
Kenshiro leaned forward. "Have either of you ever heard of anyone bending more than one element?"
Haru shook his head. "Only in stories."
"Same," Kenshiro said. "And even then, it's always about the Great General. Wan."
Mariko nodded slowly. "The warrior who fought the chaos spirits. The one who could speak to the land and sky."
"They said he moved like the wind and struck like fire," Haru added, almost reverently.
"But that was… what? A hundred years ago?" Kenshiro said. "More?"
"He died about 20 years ago," Mariko replied. "He vanished after the battle in the east. He didn't just bend two elements, he bent all four."
"And now this guy shows up," Kenshiro said, gesturing toward Yogan. "Quiet. Drinks tea. Tries not to look important. Then erupts into a goddamn storm."
Haru scratched his jaw. "Maybe he's not just like the General. Maybe he's… something more."
"Like what?" Mariko asked. "Some reincarnation?"
They all fell quiet.
The idea hung in the air like mist.
"…Nah," Kenshiro said finally, shaking his head. "That's not how the world works."
"Isn't it?" Haru replied. "What if… he didn't just come out of nowhere? What if he is something rare? A chosen warrior. Maybe even a successor."
"To Wan?" Mariko said, blinking.
Kenshiro gave a half-laugh, half-snort. "Come on. No one just inherits a power like that."
"No one," Haru agreed, eyes locked on Yogan. "Except… him."
They turned to look at him again.
There he lay, bloodied, chest slowly rising and falling. A man torn to pieces and sewn back together by wind and fire. Barely breathing, but alive.
"He did something," Mariko whispered. "In those last moments. That wasn't just bending. That was…"
"…something else," Kenshiro finished. "Like… the world woke up inside him."
"Maybe," Haru said. "Maybe there are people who are born when the world needs them. And they… inherit something."
"Power?" Mariko asked.
"No. Purpose." Haru looked between them. "You saw the Big Boss guy's face when Yogan lit up. That wasn't just anger. That was recognition."
Kenshiro exhaled deeply, his voice suddenly low. "You think they knew each other?"
"I think," Haru said, "that whatever happened between them started long before Daiyo."
They all sat in silence then, the cave walls humming softly with the weight of what they'd seen, what they didn't understand.
The fireless cold didn't matter.
They were in the presence of something ancient.
Not a soldier. Not a general.
Something still unnamed.
---
As the sun dragged its final rays across the forest canopy, long shadows spilled across the cave's entrance. The last gold bled into a blue dusk.
Inside, Kenshiro had just begun to doze when a sound pricked his ear.
A branch snapped.
Another.
Then the brush outside rustled, not hurried, but deliberate. Steady footfalls. One set.
Haru sat up, hand already moving to the knife at his belt. Kenshiro tensed beside him.
Mariko rose to her feet, her hand drifting to the small curved dagger tucked in her boot. "You hear that?"
"It's coming this way," Haru whispered. "Fast."
They turned toward the cave entrance, backs taut, hands on blades.
Then the vines parted…
And the silhouette of a hunched figure stepped through.
It was the old man.
Tired, sweat-soaked, robes stained with ash and dust. He held a bundled pack over one shoulder, his face drawn, his breath short.
"Well," he rasped, "you're a lot harder to find than I was told."
Kenshiro sighed, sagging with relief. "Spirits, old man, you scared the breath outta me."
"You're late," Haru muttered, though his tone was more relieved than angry.
"I was detained," the man said dryly, walking further into the cave. "The city's in chaos. No leader, no chain of command. What's left of Boss Shen's men started turning on each other the moment that giant firestorm vanished."
He dropped the pack onto the ground with a thud, kneeling beside it.
"There's a manhunt. For me, mostly. Apparently someone caused multiple fires, blew up three courtyards, and infiltrated the dungeon."
Kenshiro smirked. "You?"
The old man didn't answer.
"I saw Ruan," he added, voice softer now. "Dead, outside the city. He was carrying supplies for your group. So I… borrowed them."
He opened the pack. Inside were tightly wrapped containers: dried meats, smoked fish, roasted roots, water skins, and a small pouch of healing herbs.
The group stared at the food as if it were treasure.
"Not glamorous," the old man said, "but it'll keep us moving."
"Thank you," Haru said.
Mariko, however, eyed the man with suspicion. "I've never seen you before in my life," she said flatly.
The man paused.
Neither Kenshiro nor Haru spoke.
The awkwardness settled in like fog.
"…Should I know you?" she pressed, arms crossed.
Kenshiro opened his mouth.
Haru glared at him, too late.
"He works for your father," Kenshiro said casually.
Haru slapped his forehead. "You idiot."
The old man sighed. "Suppose it couldn't be helped."
Then he reached up…
…and grabbed his own face.
"Wait, what the hell are you doing?" Kenshiro said, recoiling.
The old man's fingers dug beneath the edge of his jaw.
And then, with a wet, tearing sound, his skin peeled away.
Not blood. Not flesh. Latex and spirit-woven cloth.
His entire face morphed in seconds, mouth tearing away, chin shrinking, forehead smoothing, eyes darkening to steel-gray.
What remained was not an old man.
But a young one.
Sharp jawline. High cheekbones. Black hair pulled back in a tactical braid, his frame still lean and dressed in light armor beneath travel robes.
Mariko stepped back in horror. "What in the Spirits' name…"
Even Yogan, unconscious until moments ago, stirred and flinched at the sight.
"Huh," Mariko whispered, stunned. "Who are you?"
Kenshiro blinked. "Wait. That was a mask?"
"Looked too real," Haru muttered, unsettled.
Keru stood tall now, the mask, a tangle of spirit-thread and alchemical leather, resting limp in his hand.
"My name is Keru," he said, his voice crisp now. "I am a Lieutenant Commander of the Zhen Earth Kingdom, second class. I serve directly under the King's council, and I was sent to protect her highness," he nodded to Mariko, "from herself."
Mariko stood frozen.
Just, suddenly Yogan sat up, eyes squinting in the fading cave light. Dirt clung to his skin, dried blood streaked his brow. He groaned softly as the others turned to him.
"You're awake," Haru said, hurrying over.
"Are you alright?" Kenshiro added, crouching beside him.
"I'll live," Yogan rasped, blinking. "Just… give me a moment."
He turned his head slowly, his gaze falling to Rilo's unconscious body lying beside him, still bound in healing wraps from Keru's earlier rescue.
"I don't think he's in any shape to travel," Yogan said quietly.
Keru, now crouched near the pack, nodded. "He'll wake by morning. He's stable."
Yogan looked at him, unfamiliar now in this new face. "You… who are you?"
Keru inclined his head. He didn't answer.
"…What are you doing here?"
Kenshiro, again, couldn't help himself. "He works for Mariko's father."
"Kenshiro," Haru groaned.
Mariko turned sharply, eyes wide. "You really work for my father?!"
Keru didn't flinch. "I do."
She marched over to him, her boots echoing in the cave. "Why didn't you tell me?!"
"Because he told me not to."
Mariko's fists clenched. "So he sends a spy to trail me like some, some misbehaving child?!"
Keru stood calmly. "He sent me to protect you. That is all."
"From what?!" she shouted. "From making decisions? From leading?"
"From antagonizing powerful figures like Shen. Like the Big Boss," Keru replied smoothly. "From kidnapping an airbender, blackmailing him into marrying you, and manipulating his clan for influence."
That cut through the room like ice.
Even the shadows seemed to shrink from it.
Yogan said nothing.
Mariko turned red, rage, shame, and wounded pride twisting in her face.
"I was trying to secure an alliance! He is from the Shuji clan! It would have, could have, changed everything!"
"At what cost?" Keru asked.
"To whom?" Yogan added quietly.
Mariko's mouth opened. Closed.
No one said anything.
The wind outside whistled faintly through the ivy.
And in the dimness of the cave, lit only by dying dusk and cooling anger, the silence finally settled.
[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]