The fullness of the sun hadn't risen so much as returned in shame, casting a dull gray across the ridge. It touched nothing warm.
Kamo's body was locked in a crouch — elbows on knees, spine curved forward in that awkward, primal stillness. The caveman pose. A position meant for stretching, not sleep. Yet sleep had found him anyway, indifferent to his resistance.
He stirred — still more asleep than awake — and even those small shifts sent pain stabbing through his frame. His eyes snapped open.
His thighs pulsed with fatigue. His back ached as if someone had pulled it too far and left it that way. But those were expected. There was another part of Kamo that hurt — the inside of his body burned with the same brittle pain as a dry cough, but in the vessels meant to carry blood. This was his first experience of burning through all of his Takton in many years.
The training field around him looked desecrated. Frostbitten sungrass lay in crumpled heaps, the rest ripped violently from their roots. Almost double what he'd last remembered. Kamo assumed that after his turn, Ren had gotten little, if any, sleep.
The afterburn of passive channeling wasn't the same as combat overflow — but it lingered. And would generally leave him in a pretty weak state for the next day or two.
He groaned as he stood. His knees resisted, then popped. The world tilted sideways. He blinked slowly, deliberately, until the mountain stopped moving.
Kamo's introspection allowed him to ignore the four he'd been with all night. Though they were still outside, likely for the sole purpose of watching over him.
When he realized the new set of footsteps that approached. Kamo began to 'return to earth' as some would say.
Fure had obviously seen that entire scene, walking thru the small gape at the top of the mountain. He stole a glance down at the mess, then at Kamo's face.
"Did you sleep at all?" Fūre asked.
Kamo wiped at his jaw. Dirt clung to his knuckles. "I guess? I don't remember going to sleep."
Fūre's boot nudged a cracked lantern bracket. Fūre's boot nudged the cracked lantern bracket near the edge of the training circle. The metal was bent and warped. He crouched down beside it.
"Tch. Lantern's dead. That bracket was new."
"Yeah," Kamo said. "It almost rolled down the mountain last night."
Fūre stood and brushed off his palms. "We'll need herbicide too. Sora said the roots kept crawling all night. I now see she didn't exaggerate."
Kamo blinked at that. Not the mention of these weeds that he assumed were poisonous being common. He'd been surprised because he thought Sora was still on the mountainside. He looked around — only Ren and Nagitsu remained. That didn't surprise him.
"Well," Fūre muttered. "Guess I need to get supplies. Plus, if we do hit that ceremony… we'll need masks." His tone flattened. "Shit."
He turned, already walking. The list — and whatever price he'd imagined — was clearly bothering him.
"Kamo. Come with me," he said over his shoulder. "I'll need help carrying everything. And you're the only one who won't stand out."
Kamo had expected that. He always had to go on these runs. He hated the Inner Circle — He hated the prissy folk there. So happy to be such feeble creatures.
Fūre spoke again, without turning around.
"Wash. You smell like burnt iron and sweat. We move in five."
Kamo moved stiffly, body lagging behind thought, and grabbed one of the dented metal buckets stacked near the rear wall. He carried it toward the waterfall—not the front edge, but behind it, where a narrow path led through mist and noise to the washing stalls.
They weren't elegant. Just squared-off concrete and wooden slabs, hammered into the cliff centuries ago by soldiers during the Bloodsea Epoch. Back when the first kynenn had emerged—though they weren't called that yet—and conflict was as common and inevitable as breathing. Five hundred years of unbroken violence had left marks like this bunker all across the world. It was a practical discovery for both Fure and Kamo. Effective enough to outlast whoever built it.
The stalls were functional. Cold, flowing water. Enough space to strip down and scrub off. And thanks to the falls overhead, a constant roar that ensured privacy without needing silence.
Kamo ducked inside, filled the bucket, and rinsed grime from his body in short, efficient motions. The water stung—freezing against overheated skin—but it also helped.
He emptied the bucket, left it in the corner for the next person, and stepped out into the rising gray of morning.
Fūre was already at the trailhead, cloak folded over one arm, hands empty, waiting. A travel cloak over his shoulder, plain boots, no insignia. Nothing that screamed rebel.
They left quietly. Creating a crunch of stone underfoot as they descended the mountain, slipping into the outer paths hoping the rest of the mountain was still half-asleep. If they were to be spotted on the mountain during a patrol, they would have to force a chase, and then kill the guards deep enough into the woods for them to be mistaken for wildlife. This had only happened once in the past though.
The outer path was mostly quiet. A narrow, sloping route chiseled between rock and root, likely a spillway trench or old supply line from back when these hills were being fought over. It was easy to miss if you weren't looking for it, which no one had reason to do in the first place. One more gift from whatever tribe owned this mountain before their time.
They didn't use the main checkpoints. The IDs they carried were legitimate — stolen, but legitimate — and they knew how to pass through lower-clearance gates without raising suspicion. Still, caution was currency.
By the time they hit the outskirts of the Inner Circle, the change in terrain was immediate. Cleaner stone. Smoothed trails. Fewer bugs and more cameras.
The teahouse was dim, tucked between a florist and a courier's office. It smelled faintly of smoke-dried leaves and old lacquer. A couple Inner Circle regulars were seated in the corners, quiet but too deliberately so — the kind of place people went to be alone but also out of the house
Fūre stepped inside first and was immediately waved into the back. Kamo knew to remain up front, never had he been allowed to follow to the back, annoying as that was.
Kamo noticed a bald man staring at him in the corner. He was sitting at a table with a seven-by-seven wooden board on the center, pieces already set for a game he didn't recognize. Though he knew it wasn't a new addition to the shop.
"You waiting for someone?" a voice said, "Got some time?"