Chapter 29: Departure for New Adventures
After the splashing and glowing and borderline magical rebirths, the group finally made their way down to the riverbed, where the sun had begun to warm the stones. It was early yet, mist still curled off the surface of the water—but the rays cut through the trees like molten silk.
Kenshiro and Yogan stretched out along a flat patch of stone, clothes drying on hanging branches nearby. Rilo joined them, wringing his long hair into a rope-thin braid, while Keru crouched near a small fire pit, repurposing the leftovers of their cavefire to heat a pan.
The scent of smoked meat and fried root filled the air as morning crept closer.
"So…" Rilo said, sitting cross-legged with arms draped over his knees. "What exactly happened after Shen threw me in that dungeon? Because next thing I know, I'm waking up in a cave with my chest wrapped like a festival dumpling."
Kenshiro grinned. "Oh, buddy. You missed a lot."
Yogan groaned. "You want the short version or the long one?"
"Short version, obviously."
"Right," Yogan said. "Well, about half an hour after your capture… I got arrested."
"Wait, what?!" Rilo's eyes widened.
"Yup," Kenshiro nodded. "Didn't even get time to mourn your dramatic capture. Our dear monk got himself dragged off to prison by the city guard."
"Why?" Rilo asked, blinking. "Was it something you did?"
Yogan stared at the ground. "Not exactly."
He lifted his eyes just slightly, then flicked them toward a certain someone warming her hands near the edge of the fire. Mariko.
He didn't say her name.
He didn't need to.
The glare lasted two full seconds.
Then Yogan looked away.
Rilo caught it immediately.
"…Wait." His jaw dropped. "She got you arrested?!"
"Apparently," Kenshiro said, biting into a dried meat strip, "he defiled her innocent virtue."
Yogan deadpanned, "She told them I raped her."
Rilo recoiled. "WHAT?!"
"Yep," Yogan continued casually, as if reading off a laundry list. "Threw me in a cell. Didn't even let me finish my second round with her."
"All part of a cunning little ruse," Kenshiro added helpfully, chewing with his mouth half-open.
"Turns out," Yogan said, "it was all a setup. She wanted to blackmail me into marriage. Something about using my family name to strengthen her kingdom."
Rilo blinked several times. "You, you almost got married?!"
Yogan lifted a finger. "Almost."
Kenshiro added, "To a princess."
"Correction," Yogan said. "To a lying, scheming, power-hungry…"
"Bitch-ass princess," Kenshiro finished with a wink.
From the edge of the campfire, Mariko snapped a twig in half.
Keru, squatting by the pan, laughed aloud for the first time. A full, hearty laugh. "You three are insufferable."
"Oh gods," Rilo was shaking his head, grinning like an idiot. "I leave for five minutes and the monk turns into a scandal magnet."
Kenshiro patted Yogan's shoulder. "It's the robes. Chicks dig the robes."
"I guess she was trying really hard not to notice me," Rilo said with a smug grin, "because she clearly had eyes for the shaved-head stick-boy."
Yogan gave him a look. "I don't even have a shaved head!"
"Could've fooled her," Rilo said. "She threw herself at you like you were a roast duck on festival day."
"I have a thick log of long flowing hair." Yogan defended.
Kenshiro nearly choked on his food. "Roast duck…"
"Alright, alright," Haru interrupted, holding up a hand. "Let's not forget she's still right there."
"She started it," Yogan muttered.
"She almost ended it," Kenshiro added.
Keru flipped the roots with a grin. "I'll give her points for commitment. Framing your future husband's character and blackmailing his family into alliance? That's peak royal strategy."
"Peak insanity," Yogan corrected.
Rilo tossed a pebble across the river surface. "So let me get this straight: you almost married into royalty, were publicly accused of rape, imprisoned, then firebent half a city into rubble with some mystery Big Boss… and I'm the one everyone thought was dead."
"Yep," Yogan said with a sigh. "That's about it."
Rilo leaned back, whistling. "And I thought my life was chaotic."
"You didn't almost marry a bitch-ass princess," Kenshiro added helpfully.
"Please," Yogan groaned. "Don't make it a catchphrase."
Haru tried again. "You could be a little more sensitive, you know."
"She accused me of sexual assault," Yogan said flatly.
Haru hesitated. "...Fair."
Rilo nodded solemnly. "Breakfast slander is sacred. Let the man roast."
They all burst into laughter, even Haru, despite himself.
And for a moment, beneath the rising sun and the scent of fire-warmed food, the weight of the world lifted just enough for them to remember they were alive.
Time passed as the fire had burned down to red coals and grey ash. A few strips of meat remained, curling at the edges, and the last of the roots had been crisped golden brown. Their makeshift breakfast was over, and the river behind them had calmed, its surface gleaming under the climbing sun.
Rilo leaned forward, brushing dirt from his knees. His earlier laughter had faded. The usual glint in his eye had softened into something more deliberate.
"We should go," he said.
The others looked up.
"Go?" Kenshiro asked, chewing the last bit of root between his teeth.
Rilo nodded. "To the port. Shuihan. The longer we wait, the harder it's going to be to get out of this region unnoticed."
Yogan leaned back on his elbows, half-squinting at the river. "You sure you're up for that? You just nearly died. Twice."
"I'm fine," Rilo said, and for once, there was no bravado in his tone, only resolve. "And I've been away too long. It's time to go home."
Keru stood, dusting off his hands. "Convenient. As discussed before, Shuihan is also where the princess and I are headed."
Mariko, who had remained quiet throughout breakfast, lifted her head slightly but said nothing.
"There's a few meetings we have with the lord," Keru continued. "City Lord Jian Ye is hosting representatives from multiple inland factions. It's part of the King's plan to strengthen southern trade."
"Yes, we remember you mentioned about that," Yogan said. "The negotiations."
Keru nodded. "Yes. And now we'll have more eyes on us than expected, thanks to Daiyo's… destruction."
"Which is exactly why I'm going," Kenshiro said. He stood, stretching. "The last thing I want is to be anywhere near that crater of a city when people start pointing fingers."
"I second that," Haru said, his voice firm. "I don't want to know what stories are already spreading. I'm not sticking around to find out if we're wanted men."
"You're assuming there's still a city left to spread stories," Kenshiro muttered.
"We all need to move," Rilo said. "The port is the next logical stop. Whether it's to leave, to meet someone, or to resupply."
"And from there," Yogan added, "you and I catch a boat."
Rilo turned to him. "That's the plan. The southern water tribes are scattered, but the coastal routes can connect us to most of them."
Rilo added. "There are five major ones in the southern region. Isolated, mostly. But we'll head to mine first. They know me."
Keru raised an eyebrow. "And you're sure they'll have someone qualified to train him?"
"They will," Rilo said. "I've already spoken with one of the elders. A cousin of mine. He's a bending master and a healer. ME!"
Yogan looked over at Rilo, nodding slowly. "I'm ready. Whatever it takes. I need to learn."
Keru folded his arms. "We'll move at first light tomorrow. Shuihan is two days from here on foot if we pace ourselves."
"We should be careful," Haru said. "It's not just the city guard we need to worry about. Anyone working under the Big Boss might still be watching the region."
"I'll scout ahead when we move," Keru replied. "No one will catch us by surprise."
Rilo looked around at the group. "Then it's decided."
They all exchanged looks. The laughter from earlier lingered faintly in the air, but it had passed. In its place was the sober weight of intention.
"We'll travel together to Shuihan," Yogan said. "Once we're there, we split if we have to. But for now, we move as one."
Kenshiro grinned. "The unluckiest fellowship the world's ever seen."
"Better unlucky and alive than noble and dead," Haru said.
Keru nodded. "Agreed. I'll begin preparing rations."
As the others stood and began gathering what remained of their supplies, Yogan paused for a moment at the riverbank, watching the current pull away the last of the foam from their swim.
He wasn't ready for what waited beyond the port.
But he was willing.
And sometimes, that had to be enough.
---
The sun had risen further by the time Yogan found himself away from the fire, moving through the forest undergrowth, a simple woven basket hanging from one arm. His other hand moved with practiced ease lifting leaves, checking stems, avoiding poisonous thorns. The monks had taught him all this, though never with gentleness. He remembered too many bruised fingers and snapped twigs across his knuckles.
Not that he'd ever really listened, back then.
Footsteps crunched through the leaves behind him.
He didn't turn.
"You're walking too heavy," he said casually.
Mariko stopped. "…I wasn't trying to sneak up on you."
"I didn't say you were."
He crouched beside a thorn bush heavy with bluefruit, testing a cluster between his fingers before plucking them free.
A pause.
Then her voice, quiet.
"Can I help?"
Yogan shrugged. "If you can tell the difference between a deathleaf and a snowvine, sure."
She stepped beside him. "I know a little. Not much."
They worked in silence for a few moments. Her hands hovered over one plant before he gently tapped her wrist and shook his head.
"Too glossy," he said. "Poisonous. Makes you shit yourself and bleed from your nose. Usually in that order. Good times." He added with a nostalgic mind.
Mariko grimaced. "Noted."
More silence.
Then:
"…I wanted to say I'm sorry."
He paused mid-reach.
She continued before he could answer.
"I know it's not enough. I know what I did to you, the lie, the trial, the marriage ploy… all of it, was unforgivable. But I still wanted to say it."
Yogan's face remained unreadable. He knelt by another bush and began picking calmly.
"I held a grudge," he said.
Mariko lowered her gaze.
He stood, brushing his hands on his trousers. "For days. It sat in me like a stone. Every time I breathed, it was there. The shame. The anger."
She said nothing.
"I wanted to hate you," Yogan added, his voice low. "After what you accused me of, after what it almost cost me… I wanted to hate you."
He looked up at her now. Really looked.
"But I couldn't."
She blinked.
"I've been betrayed before," he said. "Twice now. One used me. She tried to love me and lied anyway. You? You didn't even bother to lie to yourself."
That stung, she looked away.
"But that doesn't mean I forgive easily. Or forget."
Mariko drew in a slow breath. "I understand."
"You're not evil," Yogan said. "Just… selfish. Fickle. Reckless. Everything I used to be."
She frowned. "You? Reckless?"
He smiled faintly. "The monks had a punishment schedule with my name on it. I used to peep on girls in the bathhouses. Tied incense bundles to sky bison tails. Spiked tea with pepper oil during meditation week."
Mariko blinked. "You're kidding."
"Ask anyone at the Temple. As late as just over a month ago before that incident during the festival."
Her smile came unbidden, small, and fleeting.
"Yoan and I used to prank the elders so much they banned us from the shrine kitchens for a year. We survived on rice balls and guilt."
Mariko glanced sideways at him. "And you became… this?"
"Not by choice," Yogan said. "I was pushed. By betrayal. By pressure. By…"
He paused, then continued more quietly.
"…a woman who believed in me. Monk Nara. My master. My… guide. My… lover."
Mariko's gaze dropped to the soil.
"She let me go," Yogan said. "Because she knew she couldn't be my crutch."
He didn't say how much it hurt. How deeply her absence cut.
He didn't say how her final kiss now tasted like grief and acceptance.
Instead, he turned back to the trees.
"I have a very big destiny," he said. "I'm trying not to ruin it. And having someone like you around… won't help."
That, she felt like a slap.
She swallowed hard. "You're right."
Yogan didn't gloat. His voice was calm. Tired.
"You deserve better than me," Mariko said. "Someone virtuous. Someone who doesn't turn men into weapons."
He tilted his head. "I don't need someone virtuous."
She looked up.
"I need someone who knows what they want. Who doesn't confuse desire with strategy. Who sees me as a man — not a name, or a pawn."
Silence followed.
They both returned to picking berries. The weight between them settled, but not like a stone this time.
More like the final thud of a coffin lid.
She watched him move, methodical, focused. At peace in the wild. And in that moment, she knew what she'd truly lost.
Not a lover.
Not a partner.
A chance, to stand beside someone who walked in fire and still chose to forgive.
She let out a shaky breath and whispered, "This is for the best."
Yogan didn't answer.
He just kept picking.
And the sun kept rising.
A little distance away, Keru stood half-concealed behind a wide ash tree, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, the early sun warming the leather at his shoulders.
He hadn't meant to follow.
But when he saw Mariko slip into the trees after Yogan, carrying a half-empty basket and a look that spoke more of guilt than purpose, he found himself moving without thought, silent, practiced steps through undergrowth, pausing just far enough not to be seen.
And now, there he was. Watching.
Not to spy.
To understand.
He saw them move between bushes and bramble, plucking fruit in silence at first. Then the soft murmur of voices carried toward him. A flicker of her apology. The edge of Yogan's voice in response.
Keru's jaw tightened.
There was a firmness to the boy, no, not a boy. Not anymore. He was just shy of two decades old, barely past the age most nobles started drinking at state banquets — and yet he spoke like a man who had lived far longer.
Keru had seen commanders bend under pressure. He had seen men of rank crumble when challenged. But Yogan? He had stood before gods and tyrants alike, bled in fire and shadow, and still woke to help pick berries in the morning.
Keru respected strength. He lived for it.
And not since Mariko's father, the great King of Zhen, a man of sharp judgment and colder steel, had he found someone so quietly, immovably admirable.
He watched Yogan tilt his head, speaking to Mariko with a patient certainty that was rare for anyone, let alone someone still new to the world's cruelties. That kind of clarity was forged through suffering. Through shame. Through choice.
Keru had heard the stories at the fire last night, Yogan's imprisonment, the betrayal by his brother, and the shadowy figure called Kezin. But that was only the surface. He could feel it. There was so much more beneath.
Yogan had mentioned destiny.
Keru wasn't blind.
He had seen the bending. The way the wind moved for him. The water had responded too. It echoed something he had heard long ago, a name whispered in reverence.
Wan.
The first to command more than one element. A warrior of legend. A general who had fought not for nations but for balance.
Keru had been a child, no older than six, when the tales of Wan's final battle reached the outer cities. That was over twenty years ago. Before Daiyo fell into corruption. Before half the temples were shuttered in fear of rogue spirits.
And now here stood a young man, no tattoos, no robes. but with fire in his eyes, in his soul, though Keru could not have named accurately guess it.
Perhaps… this Yogan would go on to do what Wan had begun.
Perhaps balance was not just a dream handed down in scripture, but something being carved quietly in the footsteps of a stubborn, rule-breaking monk who used to peek into bathhouses.
Then he looked at Mariko.
She stood straighter now. Not proud, but more honest. The weight of Yogan's rejection hung around her, but it did not crush her. It had sobered her. Matured her.
Keru saw it in her shoulders, in the silence she kept instead of fighting to defend herself. She hadn't begged. She hadn't bartered. She had accepted what was given.
Actions have consequences, he thought.
And Yogan, nineteen and already carved by pain, knew that lesson better than most.
Keru narrowed his eyes slightly.
He had sworn himself to the protection of Mariko. But now, watching her and Yogan together in this gentle, unraveling moment, he understood something deeper.
Mariko wasn't the one shaping the future.
It was him.
And if the world had any wisdom left in it, it would listen.
---
At the first light of dawn, the forest stirred to life.
Pale gold light slipped through the leaves in ribbons, casting slender shadows that danced across the damp earth. A breeze moved between the trees, cool and dry, carrying the scents of moss and dew-soaked bark. The fire in their riverside camp had long gone cold, and smoke no longer clung to the air. Birds chirped cautiously from the canopy as if sensing that the world was briefly at peace.
Yogan stood at the edge of the river, tightening the strap of his bag across his chest. He turned his head just enough to see the others gathering behind him.
Keru adjusted the fastenings on his light armor, his curved sword strapped to his back. His expression was calm, his gaze already fixed on the trail ahead. He nodded once.
"I'll scout ahead. Stay close. If anything feels wrong, trust your instincts."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and moved into the undergrowth, his steps barely disturbing the fallen leaves.
Mariko fastened the last clasp on her belt and slung her basket of dried supplies over her shoulder. She walked with quiet resolve. Behind her, Kenshiro yawned and stretched, clearly not a morning person, while Haru patted his pockets for anything he might have forgotten.
Rilo stood beside Yogan, one hand resting lightly against the hilt of a curved blade he had acquired from Keru's extra supply. His hair had been pulled back into a short knot, water still glistening from the morning rinse in the river.
Yogan turned to them all, his voice low and clear.
"Let's go."
They followed the narrow deer path, single file, their feet silent on the damp forest floor. The sounds of the forest seemed louder than usual, more awake. For the first time in many days, there was no fight, no argument, no grief.
Only forward movement.
Toward Shuihan.
Toward whatever lay ahead.
No one said much. The silence was comfortable. Even Mariko, whose pride once overflowed into every step, now moved like someone aware of the weight she carried.
By midday, the sun stood high and warm above the treetops, casting long patches of light across the trail. They had stopped briefly to drink and share dried fruit when Yogan paused. He looked back toward the north.
His jaw tightened for just a moment.
Then he kept walking.
***
Far behind them, beneath a sky already thick with heat, the city of Daiyo groaned beneath the weight of its broken bones.
Smoke rose in thin grey plumes from the southern quarter, where buildings had cracked, crumbled, and partially melted. Stone tiles lay scattered like broken teeth. Deep fissures, jagged and unnatural, ripped across entire alleys. Some were wide enough to swallow carts whole. The air smelled of ash and damp earth.
Dozens of citizens moved among the rubble, hauling debris and pulling twisted wood beams aside. Some were soldiers. Others wore the dirt-streaked tunics of the city's emergency earthbender corps. There were no flames now, no fire — but scorch marks still blackened many of the walls. Stones were warped, as if superheated and then reshaped.
They called it the Battle of the Southern Wall.
Most believed it was a clash between Boss Shen and a wandering monk, an airbender with frightening power. Some said Shen had conjured spirits. Others swore they saw lightning erupt from the clouds. The rumors churned like restless ghosts, whispering through ruined homes and open streets.
But no one knew the truth.
No one saw the fire that melted stone like wax.
No one saw the Big Boss.
Not yet.
And high above it all, watching from the edge of a shattered temple rooftop, stood two cloaked figures.
They blended into the shadows, their long dark robes still and silent in the midday heat. They did not move. They simply observed.
One of them, taller by a head, had a voice calm and precise. The kind that belonged to a man, but not one who needed to shout.
"When we received word that Shen captured Yogan, I assumed they were somewhat capable," he said.
The shorter figure, a woman by voice alone, spoke with subtle irritation.
"It would appear Yogan has grown stronger, my lord."
"It would appear so," the man replied, his gaze lingering on a patch of street that had once been a corner market, now buried in debris.
The woman tilted her head. "He's not here anymore. So what do you want to do?"
He stood in silence for a moment. The wind tugged lightly at the ends of his cloak.
"First Tamai. Now Daiyo," he said. "He's moving south."
The woman glanced at him. "Do you think it has anything to do with Kezin?"
The man gave a faint nod. "Kezin was in Tamai. That much we confirmed after speaking with the Golden Lotus."
The woman's tone sharpened. "And he left Daiyo with that waterbender. Rilo."
"They're headed for Rilo's hometown," the man said. "Which means they're going to the Southern Water Tribes."
She folded her arms. "Only way to get there is by boat."
"If memory serves," the woman added, "the nearest port is Shuihan."
There was a pause.
"Then off to Shuihan we go," he said softly.
He took a step backward, shadows shifting beneath his cloak.
"See you soon, little brother."
And with that, the two vanished from the rooftop, the wind whispering through the cracks they left behind.
Below, Daiyo kept burning, and the people kept digging.
[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!]