The boat groaned softly as it pushed against the current, each stroke of the oar sending a pulse through the hull. The crew moved with quiet coordination, lean muscles straining as they fought the natural pull of the river. The merchant, perched near the bow, barked occasional instructions in a hushed tone—not out of secrecy now, but reverence for the rhythm of the water.
The spring air had turned crisp as the sun descended. Long shafts of golden light stretched across the water, catching on ripples and the damp sheen of pinewood. Shadows from the riverbank trees reached long fingers across the surface, flickering over the boat's cargo like spirits flitting just out of reach.
Sora shifted slightly, wincing. The wooden slats beneath him were unyielding, and while Akiko's body was more accustomed to kneeling for long stretches, his own patience was not. His knees ached. His back had gone stiff. He took a sip from the shared water flask, the coolness a small relief against the heat caught in the fabric of his many layers.
They hadn't spoken much since setting off. Just the occasional check-in from Tsukasa or Yasuhiro:
"Are you alright, Akiko?"
"Thirsty?"
"Cold?"
Kindness, cloaked in routine. But Sora wasn't in the mood to pretend gratitude.
He exhaled slowly, watching the way the fading light caught the edges of the cargo—bundles of millet, stacked ceramic jars, a few tied bundles that may have once held incense, now carrying something more mundane. He wasn't sure. He didn't care. His stomach turned slightly with each motion of the boat, the subtle pull of water tugging them sideways before the crew righted their course.
He stared at the river for a long time, watching it churn in slow defiance.
"This is taking forever," he muttered, just loud enough for Yasuhiro to hear.
The older retainer, seated a few paces away, barely turned his head. "The current is strong. We're lucky they took us aboard at all."
Sora frowned. "I'm not complaining about the help. I just… I need to stretch. Or walk. Or see where we're going."
Yasuhiro gave a quiet grunt that might've been agreement. Or amusement.
Sora hugged his knees, staring at the waterline. The current was stronger here. He could feel it—not just in the drag of the boat, but in his gut. That twisting sensation hadn't left him since they'd left Kameoka. Like something was pressing in on him, slow but certain. A crawling awareness of something just beyond the trees, beyond the bend in the river.
He turned his head slightly. Yasuhiro sat with his usual stoicism, but his eyes weren't relaxed. They scanned the banks, watching for movement, tracking birds, brush, shadows. Ever vigilant. Sora glanced past him to Tsukasa, who still dozed, arms folded, lips slightly parted, breathing steady.
The silence stretched again.
"Can't be much longer," Yasuhiro said finally. "The merchant said we'd reach Tanba no Kokufu before nightfall."
Sora nodded absently. The sun was sinking now, casting that molten glow across the treetops. It painted Akiko's—his—skin in soft amber tones, freckles catching the light like scattered gold dust. He noticed it faintly with a swift glance at his nose, the way a viewer might notice a detail in a painting—distant, abstract.
Yasuhiro stole a glance, and for the briefest moment, the hard edge in his gaze softened.
Maybe it was the way Sora had spoken—blunt, childish, even. Maybe it reminded him of the girl he thought he was protecting. Sixteen years old. Supposed to be fretting about poetry, kimono patterns, and marriage prospects. Not swallowing fear in silence, not navigating assassins and coded letters and hostile territory.
Maybe it was a relief to hear "Akiko" complain about sore knees.
The sounds of life reached them in small, muffled waves—snatches of hammering, dogs barking, the distant call of voices bouncing off buildings.
Sora perked up slightly. The current was getting gentler. Or maybe the boat was slowing. Hard to tell.
The sounds grew sharper now—ropes slapping wood, distant shouts, the splash of something heavy hitting water. The merchant's voice barked new orders, louder than before, less concerned with discretion. Sora blinked against the warm light, craning his neck toward the bow. They must be approaching a trade port or merchant's district—he could hear the slap of waves against dock pylons, the low groan of timbers adjusting to strain.
"Careful with that! Not the corner, you fool—watch the balance!"
Tsukasa stirred beside him, suddenly alert. He straightened with a grunt, shifting like someone pretending they'd been awake the whole time. Yasuhiro, in contrast, didn't move much, but the flick of his eyes—quick, controlled—spoke volumes. His gaze locked on the approaching dock, then on the labourers gathering near the boat's edge.
The oars were pulled in. The creak of shifting weight rolled through the hull as men began to climb aboard.
Boxes groaned as they were hoisted one by one. The scent of sun-warmed river water mixed with the faint musk of grain and dried pickles. Feet moved closer. Sandals slapped against the deck with purpose.
Sora tensed as a labourer stopped just beside their hiding spot, reaching for a large crate stacked half over their cover. He could already feel the sunlight about to pour over them, the reveal only seconds away—
"Leave those," the merchant said sharply from above.
The man paused, hand still on the edge of the crate.
"I'll take care of that section myself," the merchant continued, voice curt but calm. "Start moving the rest into the eastern storehouse. And keep them sealed until inspection."
"But—" the worker began.
"I said I'll handle it. Go."
There was a long pause. Then the shuffle of feet as the others obeyed, the reluctant labourer muttering under his breath before joining the rest.
The sandals faded toward the shore, thudding onto the planks of the dock and into the distance beyond.
Only then did the merchant appear at the edge of the crates, one hand resting on the rim, the other motioning down toward them.
"Now," he said quietly. "One at a time. Quick and low."
No names. No questions. Just business.
Yasuhiro moved first, nimble and practiced, slinking out from the stacked goods and over the edge of the boat, slipping down to the dock without a sound. He disappeared between two storage wagons waiting nearby.
Tsukasa followed, his motions more rigid but still careful, ducking his head as he moved.
Sora hesitated. His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the crate beside him, lifting Akiko's small frame into a crouch. Her robes rustled softly. His knees nearly buckled when he stood.
The merchant didn't wait. He reached out, offering a bracing hand that Sora took before vaulting gently over the hull's edge and landing with a soft thud against the dock. The world smelled of wet rope, wood, and fresh hay.
"This way," the merchant muttered, already leading them into the shadowed gap between two cargo stacks. The light dimmed as they slipped between the wagons, invisible again.
Within moments, the noise of the dock returned to normal—boxes lifted, orders shouted, crates stacked high.
They moved through the alleyway in silence, the sounds of the harbour fading behind them. The merchant's directions had been brief—cut through the back alleys to avoid the main thoroughfare and approach the administrative quarter from the south, where the foot traffic was thinner.
Yasuhiro led them confidently, each step careful, measured. Tsukasa followed, occasionally glancing over his shoulder. Sora, bringing up the rear, kept his head down beneath Akiko's sleeves, heart pounding not from fear, but awe.
Tanba no Kokufu.
Even in the dimming light, the town unfolded in a way that sent chills up Sora's borrowed spine. Rows of low wooden buildings with shingled roofs leaned gently toward the street, their latticed windows flickering with lantern light. The air carried scents of roasted millet, sweet sake, and damp earth. Far ahead, rising modestly above the clustered rooftops, was the district's kokuga—the local government headquarters. Smaller than anything in Heian-kyō, but unmistakably styled after it. The symmetry. The gate banners. The covered walkway that hinted at an inner courtyard.
Sora had only ever seen sketches of these provincial outposts in textbooks—maybe a 3D render or two on some obscure history forum. And now here he was. Inside one. Walking toward it. In Akiko's body.
It was completely insane.
And... incredible.
"So this is really it," he mumbled under his breath
"Keep your voice down," Yasuhiro sternly.
Sora straightened. "Right. Sorry."
They slipped behind a shrine wall and crouched in its shadow as Yasuhiro scanned the road ahead. After a moment, he spoke without looking back.
"We'll deliver the message to the courthouse tomorrow morning. Too risky now—no one would be there but guards. And we'd draw too much attention."
"It's past sundown anyway," Tsukasa added, squatting beside a mossy stone basin. "No official will receive anything after dark. Not without a bribe. And we not much to barter with."
"Not enough to make them forget our faces," Yasuhiro said grimly. "And certainly not enough to protect us if the Fujiwara catch wind we're here early."
That name hung in the air for a moment. Fujiwara. The real reason they were keeping to the shadows.
Sora swallowed hard. "So what do we do?"
Yasuhiro finally turned. "We lay low. We don't use our names. We don't talk about the message. We find somewhere quiet to rest, stay out of sight until first bell. Then we go to the court and deliver it. Directly. No intermediaries."
"Won't they recognize us?" Tsukasa asked cautiously.
"Maybe," Yasuhiro admitted. "But there's no other way. The courier seal should be enough to get us through the outer gate. Once it's delivered, our part is done."
Sora nodded slowly, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. His thoughts spun. The Fujiwara most likely had eyes in this town. Delivering the letter is their main priority, without the assassins of the Fujiwara finding out. Political control is the Fujiwara's main concern, control it by any means necessary, any means.
This was real. The administrative branch of the Heian bureaucracy. A living, breathing kokuga. Probably with its own land records office, a registry of peasant taxes, an archive room with folded scrolls sealed in charcoal ink—
"You're smiling," Tsukasa said, raising an eyebrow.
Sora blinked. "I'm not."
"You are."
Yasuhiro narrowed his eyes but didn't press further. "Then we find a place to sleep. Somewhere outside the market street. Too many people, too many eyes."
"There's a temple near the north bridge," Tsukasa offered. "Small. Probably won't have evening prayers. Might let travellers stay the night."
Yasuhiro nodded. "Good. We'll try there."
Sora exhaled, glancing once more toward the silhouetted kokuga buildings in the distance, their tiled rooftops catching the last blush of sun. The court was closed. The city buzzed. And the Fujiwara might already be hunting them.
One more night. One more step.
"Let's move," Yasuhiro murmured. "Before our presence becomes suspicious."
The northern stretch of Tanba no Kokufu came alive after sundown. Lanterns swayed outside shopfronts, casting warm glows across packed dirt roads, where townsfolk bustled between vendor stalls and inns. The smell of grilled miso, millet cakes, and fresh-cut scallions lingered in the air, weaving through the din of laughter, clattering sandals, and shouting traders.
For Sora, it was intoxicating. Terrifying, yes—but breathtaking. The town was smaller than Heian-kyō, but echoed its structure: tiled roofs curving at the eaves, vermilion beams painted with care, flags denoting commerce and governance. This was a provincial capital in its prime, and Sora, despite everything, couldn't help but admire it. Every sight, every sound tugged at his inner history geek like a magnet.
Yasuhiro kept their pace brisk, weaving through narrow lanes, careful not to draw attention. Eventually, he paused in front of a large inn near a busy junction—the Uonami, its name painted on a wooden placard swaying above the entrance.
"Too many people," Tsukasa muttered.
"Exactly," Yasuhiro replied. "They won't try anything here."
The inn buzzed with voices, its common room filled with merchants, travelers, and a few robed officials. The Fujiwara might have eyes here, but a blade drawn in such a public place would spark rumors. And rumors traveled.
Yasuhiro spoke with the innkeeper, offering polite excuses and half-truths about attending a family ritual. Moments later, they were led through a maze of screens to a larger, common resting room, tucked-away room in the back.
It was enough.
Sora collapsed onto the something that resembled a futon, a peasant one, stretching Akiko's limbs and feeling every ache from the boat ride. He fidgeted, glancing down at the sealed scroll tucked into the bag. The actual message. Still untouched.
"We deliver it at first bell," Yasuhiro said, making sure no one else overheard it. "Directly to the court clerk. No delays, no detours."
"And until then?" Sora asked.
"We stay out of sight. No names. No slips."
Tsukasa leaned against the wall. "If the Fujiwara know we're here, they won't act now. Not in front of witnesses."
Sora nodded slowly, rubbing his fingers along the edge of the scroll case. It felt heavier now.
He didn't notice there was a figure across the room. Quiet, forgettable. Sipping sake. Watching.
Later that night, when the inn had quieted and even Yasuhiro had drifted into shallow sleep, Sora stirred. He rolled onto his side, suddenly uneasy.
He had tucked the scroll case into Akiko her robes, making sure it remained safe.
Still sealed.
But for a moment, he swore something felt... off.
He closed his eyes.
It must have been the nerves.
Tomorrow would come soon enough.