“I’ll have the pork,” Akari said to the girl behind the counter.

  She stood in a ramen shop in downtown Yutakai, with dim lights casting pools of amber over mismatched tables and chairs. It wasn’t much, but at least the workers here spoke Espirian. That was more than she could say for the currency exchange or the bathhouse.

  “Great.” The girl swiped a finger over her tablet screen. “Can I get a name for the order?”

  “Akari Zeller.”

  The girl's finger froze over her tablet. “Sorry, did you say ?” She separated the syllables, looking suddenly flustered.

  . Apparently, the suffix was reserved for members of a Shokenese clan who’d been cut off. This hadn’t mattered back home, or even in Kenzo’s fortress. But it clearly mattered here in the Oshira Province.

  “Yep,” Akari replied. “That’s me.”

  The girl blinked as she opened her Silver Sight, and Akari made no attempt to veil her true power. Zell was one of the seven Great Clans of North Shoken, but what did that mean for ex-members? Kenzo was right: she knew next to nothing about Shokenese culture.

  Then again, the worker seemed equally confused.

  “I’m not here to make trouble for you,” Akari said.

  “Oh, of course!” The girl’s polite smile returned. “Have a seat, Zell-er-tono. We’ll call you when your order’s ready.”

  Akari thanked the girl and stepped back through the quiet restaurant. Only two other tables were occupied—an elderly couple sharing soup in the corner, and a businessman scrolling through his tablet.

  She’d been traveling for the past fourteen hours, making her way east from Zekuro to Sekata, then south into Oshira. The journey took longer than she’d expected, especially the border crossing.

  Back in Espiria, you could walk from one side of the continent to the other, crossing a dozen state borders along the way. But North Shoken treated its provinces more like separate nations, and for good reason. The Great Concord prevented fights between Mystics, but that didn’t stop them from sending their Masters and Artisans to fight each other.

  As a result, ten-story mana walls ran along every border, with additional wards for airships and portals.

  Those wards were made with ordinary space artists in mind, but that didn’t mean crossing was easy. The effort drained her total mana reserves each time, forcing her to walk the next few hours on foot. Akari could have replenished her mana with a potion, but it seemed smarter to pace herself.

  One way or another, this trip would likely end in a fight.

  Glim asked in her head. This arrangement with the mana spirit had taken some getting used to, but it wasn’t so different from her soulbond with Kalden.

  Akari leaned back in her chair and watched the traffic outside.

  Glim’s blue face appeared in the window, superimposed over a passing delivery truck. “I thought ramen was a South Shokenese food?”

  Akari shrugged and put her headphones on; these let her talk out loud without looking too crazy. “What’s your point? They had plenty of ramen shops in Espiria.”

  Glim hummed in consideration. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

  Akari narrowed her eyes at the window. “But you already knew that.”

  “Maybe,” Glim admitted.

  “So why ask?”

  “I was just trying to make you feel better. More confident, I mean.”

  Akari rolled her eyes. “By asking me stupid questions?”

  “You love lecturing people!”

  “No I don’t. That’s Kalden’s thing.”

  Glim snorted. “Sure, like you two have nothing in common.”

  Akari ignored that. “And who says I need a confidence booster?”

  “I dunno. You just seem really nervous.”

  “I’m fine.” Akari took a deep breath and tried to focus on the view outside the window. The streets looked cleaner than Koreldon City, with fewer cars and more pedestrians.

  “You can’t fool me,” Glim said. “We share a body now. Your palms are sweating, your heart’s racing, and you keep fidgeting with your hoodie strings.”

  Akari groaned and deliberately released the strings. “I liked it better when you were boosting my confidence.”

  “Duh! So why were you complaining?”

  “I get cranky when I’m hungry,” Akari muttered. As a Master, she could technically go weeks without eating. But her brain expected food around this time of day, and that mattered more than any biological need.

  And Glim was right. When was the last time she’d been this alone? Even her anger at Kenzo had faded now, replaced with a hollow emptiness.

  “Your words,” Glim said. “Not mine. But I'm noticing a pattern here. A very consistent, fourteen-hour-long pattern.”

  Before Akari could answer, a middle-aged man stepped toward her table, carrying a ceramic bowl with both hands. He wore a navy chef’s coat with a black apron and a matching hat.

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  Why bother asking her name if they delivered the food straight to her table? Maybe Masters got special treatment.

  “Good afternoon, Zell-er-tono.” The man set down the steaming bowl of ramen, shuffling backward with a shallow bow. “I am Relar Soto, chef and proprietor.”

  And was Soto his first name, or his clan name? She could never tell in North Shoken. Some families, like Trengsen, Raizen, and Sanako, put their given names first in the western fashion. Others, like Kazaru, Zell, and Makori, followed the old ways and put their family names first. It was confusing as hell, and she had no idea where the lesser clans fit in.

  “Thanks.” Akari picked up her chopsticks, then awkwardly returned his bow from her chair “Um, nice to meet you.”

  He seemed to be waiting for her reaction, so she grabbed a piece of pork, stuck it in her mouth, and gave him a thumbs up as she chewed. The meat was soft enough to melt on her tongue, dancing between sweet and savory.

  Soto’s face relaxed into a genuine smile. “Can I get you anything else, Zell-er-tono?”

  “Call me Akari,” she replied. One suffix was fine, but two gave her a headache. “And I’m new in town. Can you tell me where to find the Storm Queen?”

  His smile faltered at that. “I’m sorry, Akari-tono, but the Storm Queen isn’t in Yutakai.”

  Kenzo Trengsen didn’t rule Zekuro directly; he had some Grandmasters ruling the province for him. Why should things be any different down here?

  “But I could direct you to the Province Office,” he continued. “The Storm Queen’s eldest son serves as our governor.”

  “I’m kind of in a rush.” Akari pulled out her map of North Shoken, unfolding it across the table's scarred wooden surface. “If she’s not in Yutakai, then where is she?”

  Soto paused for a moment, then ran his finger down Oshira’s western border, where the land met the Inner Sea. “Her clan moves up and down the Storm Coast.”

  “Okay . . .” Akari followed his finger. “Where do I start?”

  “Apologies, Akari-tono.” He straightened up again. “But the clan is always moving. They are . . . ” He frowned. “What is the Espirian word for a group that travels and never settles down?”

  “Wanderers?” Akari guessed.

  Glim said in her head. Akari repeated that aloud, and Soto nodded.

  “Nomads,” he echoed. “Yes, that sounds right.”

  “But the Storm Queen is a ,” Akari said.

  Soto shrugged as if it wasn’t his business. Fair enough, she supposed. There were plenty of eccentric Mystics in the world. Besides, it wasn’t like the Storm Queen lived in a tent. She probably had a floating city, or a giant airship.

  The girl from the counter moved to clean a nearby table, and Soto exchanged a few quick words with her in Shokenese. Akari took a bite of her noodles while she waited..

  Soto turned back to Akari’s table a second later, gesturing to the middle of her map where Oshira met the Tonoro Province. “The Storm Queen travels south this time of year. Look for a place called . It means Coral City.

  “Coral City,” Akari echoed. “Thanks. I can work with that.”

  ~~~

  Later that evening, Akari climbed a rocky stone ridge that overlooked the beach. Massive sea shells dotted the landscape below. Some looked like houses, while others were big enough to drive a truck through. A mana wall stood between the camp and the sea, keeping the tides and storms at bay. A shorter wall of blue coral surrounded the camp itself, with gaps every fifty feet that served as entrances

  Akari cycled mana to her glasses and activated the zoom function on her lenses. The camp held roughly two hundred people, all dressed in animal skins. Most of the men were shirtless, while many of the women wore simple bands across their chests.

  Glim appeared on the ridge beside Akari.“I think it’s cute! What do you think?”

  “Depressing as hell,” Akari said. “Did we seriously leave Clan Trengsen for ?”

  Kenzo’s fortress had felt more traditional with its stone pillars and torches. But at least they still had the important stuff like beds, plumbing, and internet access. Meanwhile, these people were sleeping in tents and seashells, cooking their food over open fires.

  For Talek’s sake, even a Bronze on Arkala lived better than this.

  Then again, what if this was a trick to fool outsiders? What if they kept their real homes inside pocket dimensions? She’d seen enough mana arts movies to know things weren’t always as they appeared.

  Akari jumped when a bird-like shriek echoed from somewhere down the beach. She looked up and saw two winged creatures flapping toward her. They looked like thin dragons, with bright blue scales and white patterns that resembled lightning strikes.

  The creatures glided toward the ridge, and Akari spotted a pair of riders on their backs. The riders’ blue facial tattoos seemed to match the patterns on their dragons, and dark blue Veilcords spiraled along their arms.

  No sooner had Akari seen their weapons than she took a better look at these faces. These guys were Masters, but they couldn’t be older than thirty. Things really were different on this side of the Inner Sea.

  The blue dragons hovered ten feet above the ridge, disturbing the sand with gusts of wind. The ground shook when they landed, and their talons dug straight into the stone. They smelled like the Inner Sea—all salt and ozone and mana.

  One of the riders shouted something in Shokenese. His words came fast and clipped, with hard consonants that her audio lessons hadn't prepared her for. Still, they’d obviously caught her spying on their camp, so it wasn’t hard to guess what they wanted.

  “My name is Akari Zeller,” she said in her best Shokenese. “I’m here to see the Storm Queen.”

  She braced herself for resistance. Instead, the guards exchanged a quick look. The left one raised his eyebrows, while the right one just shrugged his muscular shoulders. Then, without dismounting, they gestured her toward the camp.

  “You think they recognize you?” Glim asked.

  “Who knows,” Akari muttered. Her face had been all over the news since she’d fled Espiria last week. But would they know about that? Did they even have TVs in this camp?

  She climbed down the sand dune, while the blue dragons flanked her on either side. From there, they walked the last quarter mile on foot. Her boots sank into the sand with every step, and the wind blew strands of dark hair across her face.

  Akari had planned to get closer with a portal, but it was too late for that now. She couldn’t shoot a Missile at their camp without looking hostile, and she didn’t know enough Shokenese to explain herself.

  The cook fires reached her nostrils as she approached, smelling like fish and seaweed. The sound reached her next—rhythmic drums, and voices singing in Shokenese. It felt like walking into a documentary from the Primordial Age.

  Her escorts led her through a gap in the coral wall, just big enough for three people. They walked through the center of the main camp, following a path between tents and giant shells. Most people went about their chores without sparing her a second glance.

  Finally, her route ended where the camp met the sea, giving way to a wide stretch of wet sand.

  The Storm Queen sat on a wooden chair in front of the transparent mana wall. Her white hair hung freely past her shoulders, swaying in the wind, and catching rays from the dipping sun behind her. Her skin was dark and leathery, but it didn’t sag or wrinkle. She also wore animal skins like the rest of her clan: a brown top that left her midriff bare, and a matching skirt that barely reached halfway down her thighs.

  Zell Kira raised a thin white eyebrow as Akari approached. “?”

  “Hey, Grandma.” Akari stepped forward and waved at the Mystic. “My Shokenese sucks. Any chance you speak Espirian?”

  “,” the old woman repeated the words more slowly, as if talking to a child. “It means, ‘what the hell are you doing here, girl?’”

  Akari took one last look at the tents and animal skins. She’d always wondered why her mother had left North Shoken—a land with objectively stronger mana artists than the rest of the world.

  But now that she saw Clan Zell with her own eyes, Akari thought she understood. This life wasn’t for everyone. It sure as hell didn’t seem right for her.

  Still, Akari pressed on. It was either this or running back to Zekuro with her head down. “Figured it was time for me to come home.”

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