Kita spent the next five days studying up on the northwest's current state of affairs. She memorised all the maps of Swarm-controlled territory, read all the ambushed transit reports, and talked to as many factory workers as they were willing to entertain their lord's niece about the bugs they'd seen attacking the railways—and now, early in the morning, it was her turn to board a train.

The sound of hammers and welding torches echoed through Nohoch Ik'Balam's largest Swarmsteel factory. The train she was about to board was a hulking, beast of iron and steel: twenty carriages, over two hundred metres long, and fitted with mobile cannons on top of every carriage. They weren't quite as powerful as the anti-chitin mortars the empire's Forward Armies employed in the northern conquests, and each of them had to be manned by skilled shooters the northwest were currently lacking, but they were there. If push came to shove, the cannons could easily take out a small horde of Giant-Class bugs attempting to run along the train.

Kita stood at the platform, her gloved hands resting on the hilts of her sheathed sawtooth blades. While Yiru and about two hundred factory workers bustled around them, shouting commands and hauling crates of supplies onto the cargo compartments, Zora was running circles around the engine at the very head of the train. The man was asking all sorts of questions—how the engine was fuelled, how it was constructed, how it could be deconstructed—and she'd admit, she hadn't pegged him for a man of science. He looked like a child seeing a train for the first time.

"... This is his first time getting on a train, is it not?" Machi said stiffly behind her, frowning at Zora. "It is a reasonable reaction. You were just as excited the first time you saw a train up close and personal, my lady."

Kita scowled back at Machi as Zora thanked the workers doing last-minute checks on the engine. Without another word—or so much as a glance her way—he hopped into the second carriage with his staff, disappearing through the ornate wooden door. Kita sucked in a sharp breath and immediately stepped forward to follow.

Only, Yiru stood in her way just as she was about to board.

"What are you doing?" he asked bluntly.

"Getting on," she said curtly.

"No."

"Why not?"

Her uncle folded his arms. "Because it'll be dangerous. It's fine if something happens to the Thousand Tongue—"

"—I heard that—"

"—but you are the eldest and only daughter of the Salaqa Household," Yiru continued, ignoring Zora poking his head out the cabin's window. "If you die, you will leave my brother without an heir, and the honour of the Salaqa Household will be tarnished. It will be ruined. Is that something you want for your father?"

Kita met his stern gaze without flinching. "I won't die, uncle."

"And you're not half as invincible as you think you are. This isn't a safe trading route, it's just the least dangerous one left—"

"We, of the nobility, train our entire lives to be of service to the people of the empire," she said, clenching her jaw. "And the 'Earthen Princess' wouldn't shy away from doing dirty work just to lead by example, would she?"

Yiru grumbled, muttering something under his breath as he turned to look at his factory workers. The final checks were still going on. They'd get a minute or two more, and then the train would be well on its way to the west.

"... How's my brother doing?" he eventually asked.

"Good," she said plainly, "though he talks about you every once in a while, and it's never about anything good."

Yiru chuckled. "Figures. What's he whining about now?"

"You not being able to keep the transit region under your control," she replied, a small, wry smirk on her lips.

"Cruel." Yiru shrugged, though there was no malice in his voice. "But to be fair, the world's getting worse every year. The Six Swarmsteel Fronts are weakening one by one, and none of us are even trying to work together. We're too busy fighting each other to see the bigger picture… but it's not too bad." His gaze shifted to Zora, who was running his hands over the train's exterior with half his body poking out the window, as if trying to memorise the texture of the carriage. "In times of calamity like these, humanity is pushed deeper and deeper into a corner—and without calamity, people like the Thousand Tongue and the Worm Mage cannot be born."

Kita didn't respond to that.

"Tell me, though," Yiru mused, "what kind of man does the Thousand Tongue have to be that my brother is willing to send him alone to save the northwest?"

Another tough question.

One Kita had no answer for.

Before Yiru could say anything more, though, the factory workers began shouting for everyone to clear the platforms. The train's engines roared to life—a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through the factory—and steam billowed from its vents. The tracks beneath it groaned as the massive worm-like machine prepared to move, and for her part, Kita wasn't asking for her uncle's permission.

Kita turned to Machi, nodding hurriedly. "Come on. We're getting on."

Her head servant followed her without question, and Yiru, though his arms were still crossed, didn't try to stop her. He simply sighed and called out at her to stay safe as she jumped on board, her boots clanking against the metal floor of the entry compartment.

The factory workers outside shouted their final commands, and the train shuddered as the engine roared louder. The platform began to blur as the train lurched forward, its wheels screeching against the tracks.

Kita managed to stumble through the narrow aisle and find the luxury cabin at the end of the second carriage before she could be thrown off balance. It was a surprisingly elegant cabin, with plush seats and polished wood panels. Zora was already seated inside, staff leaning against the window next to him while he sipped on a steaming cup of tea he'd gotten from one of the overhead compartments.

"I see you've already made yourself comfortable," she said dryly.

"The Nohoch Lord said I can drink free-of-charge," he replied with a small smile. "So I will drink myself sick."

As she sat across from Zora, Machi frowned at Ifas sitting next to him. The two girls were on one side of the table, and the two men on the other. All of them glanced out the window as the factory disappeared behind them. The train was picking up speed. Fast. The sprawling colossal fungi forests they were travelling through were starting to blur, and Kita—though she'd been on trains before—had never been on one this fast.

She'd probably feel a little sick if she stared out the window too long, so she gulped and leaned back in her seat, trying to make herself comfortable.

Across from her, Zora leaned forward in his seat, tilting his head slightly as he stared outside the window with sealed eyelids.

"... You've really never been on a train before, huh?" Kita said, trying to break the quiet.

"No," he said, another faint smile curling at the corners of his lips. "The view is quite nice, though."

She blinked, then let out a soft laugh. The man was blind. He knew it, she knew it, everyone in the factory knew it at this point, but nobody had grown tired of his 'I see' jokes yet.

"What are you doing here, though?" Machi said, raising a brow at Ifas, their driver.

Ifas waved a hand dismissively. "Ah, just ignore me. I'm just here to make tea, cook food, and make sure all of your dietary needs are met on the way to…" He trailed off, looking at the ceiling for a moment before turning to Zora. "Where are we going again?"

"Chak Penn," Zora said plainly. "A far northwestern mining town. One of the five biggest in the northwest. These tracks run six hours through the colossal fungi forests with no stops in between, so I will say, I'm not so sure we need a chef to take care of our dietary needs when we'll make it to Chak Penn by teatime."

Ifas waved a hand dismissively again. "Bah. The little miss paid me to be on retainer for you guys, so I'll be on retainer at all times. Whether you find me useful or not is up to you." Then he clicked his tongue at the small steaming kettle on the low table between them, grinning at Kita as he did. "Come on, little miss. I brewed a Sharaji Desert special just for you. While you savour my 'Tea of Solar Delight', I'll just go outside for a bit to use the bathroom. Come with me, Machi."

Machi furrowed her brows with visible irritation. "What?"

"Come. Show me the bathroom. I don't know where it is."

"And why would I know where it is?"

"Just come."

With that, the young driver grabbed Machi's wrist and pulled her out of the cabin, squabbling all the way. As the cabin door slid shut next to Kita, her gaze shifted back to the steaming kettle. There was a strong, pungent herbal smell coming from it, and while she didn't want to be rude, she didn't really feel like pouring herself a cup of 'Solar Delight'.

Thankfully, Zora could read minds better than he could sightsee, because he pulled her empty cup in with a quiet "to me" and poured himself a new cup—with his spell once again, of course. He didn't even bother using his own two hands to pick up the kettle.

His Art is convenient.

But… I can do the same with mine, no?

She still hadn't told him what her class-specific magic was, but she knew everything about his. He was quite the infamous man, after all.

But if there was one thing she wanted to know, though…

"What's the plan, exactly?" she asked, her fingers tapping against the armrest as she glanced out the windows, catching flickers and blurs of giant mushrooms speeding past them. "Why are we on a train to Chak Penn again?"

Zora smiled cordially, taking a sip of his tea. "According to the Nohoch Lord's maps, this is the only railway that has yet to be attacked. The Nohoch Lord has been intentionally holding off any trains to the Chak Penn ever since the ambushes started a few years back, but now that this one's moving…" He gestured vaguely outside the windows. "It's almost guaranteed we're going to be attacked. Either on the way there or on the way back."

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"I'm not disagreeing with that," she said slowly, "but why, exactly, do we want to be attacked?"

"Because the attacks on the railways in the northwest are too coordinated to be random," he said. "There are five main railways across the region leading to Nohoch Ik'Balam, and dozens of smaller branch railways connecting other mining towns, refinery outposts, and Swarmsteel factories. The bugs hit four of the main railways first, crippling the major routes, then moved on to the smaller ones. It's systematic. Strategic. There's intelligence behind it… probably a Mutant-Class or two pulling the strings."

Kita's breath hitched. "A Mutant-Class? Are you sure?"

"Come on. It's not exactly military academy theory, but instinct alone doesn't weave webs of strategy. There is a spider behind the swarm, and we must lure it out. Not literally, by the way. I doubt it is actually a spider behind this," he said, shrugging nonchalantly. "For the record, I am still against you boarding this train. The Mutant-Class—or Mutant-Classes—may not show up to ambush us right this morning, but they will eventually show themselves. There will be a fight."

She had to resist clenching her fists. "I'm already here, aren't I?"

"I'm just saying," he continued, "you'd be better off getting stronger at your military academy instead of chasing danger. Most of your noble friends are probably partying or vacationing in the Capital during their break, and here you are, riding into Swarm-infested territory with a known warlord. Don't you want to enjoy your break somewhere nicer?"

Her jaw tightened, and she looked away. "I can't just sit there and do nothing."

Zora fell silent then, his expression unreadable.

After a few minutes, Kita glanced back at the man, her lips thinning into a line.

"Just…" she began, trailing off as she wondered how best to put her thoughts into words. "Just how much do you know about the Salaqa Household, after all?"

He shrugged again. "I remember, more or less, the accolades given to the current Salaqa Lord several decades ago. The news made rounds across the continent. Your father was a war general who first made his name known among the rings of nobility by slaying five Mutant-Classes on the far southern frontlines—rather high-rank Mutant-Classes, I remember—and from there, he leveraged the eyes on his back to build up his reputation as strong, dependable lord of the outer regions. To put it lightly, he was on the fast track to turning the Salaqa Household into one of the Four Families, replacing… the Atta Household?"

"That's the right one."

He snapped his fingers, leaning back in his seat. "But then the incident happened. The Salaqa Lord reached too high, became too ambitious, and then he fell from grace. The entire household was kicked out of Empress' inner circle and returned to lord over the outer region right outside the Capital. The rise and fall of your family's influence was a story I followed closely as a student, though at the time, I never thought I'd get to meet the direct heiress of the Salaqa Lord."

…

Kita swallowed the knot tightening in her throat, trying to piece together the words she wanted to say.

She didn't know why it was so hard to look the Thousand Tongue in the face. His expression remained unchanged, calm and unreadable. She felt she could study him all day long and still fail to get used to his unsettling, quiet confidence. Maybe it was his magic voice. Maybe it was the way he seemed to know everything and nothing all at once—a blind man who saw too much—that made chills crawl up her spine whenever he spoke.

Whatever the case, though, he was dangerous in a way she couldn't put into words… yet her thoughts spiraled on as her gaze lingered on his serene expression.

His smile never faltered, and yet his presence seemed to fill the cabin, pressing against her as if demanding she reveal something.

Anything.

So Kita sucked in a breath, gathering her courage.

If she couldn't trust him with the truth, who else was there to tell?

"... You do know about the incident," she said finally, her voice softer than she intended.

Zora tilted his head, his expression turning thoughtful. "I know of it. But a name alone doesn't make it familiar."

Kita gave a weak chuckle, her fingers curling around the hilts of her blades. "Of course not. My father 'reaching too high' was the official reason for our household's downfall, after all."

"Care to enlighten me with more hearsay, then?"

"Ten years ago, my father, mother, and older twin sister were investigating something. Traces of a bug infiltration within the Empress' inner circle," she began. Her voice faltered for a moment, but she forced herself to continue after a heavy gulp. "My father had just gotten himself into the inner circle, and he took notice of… strange happenings. He already told you as much during dinner. And he must've gotten too close to finding something—too close to finding the truth—because eight years ago, assassins were sent to our manor."

Zora's smile softened, but he didn't interrupt.

"Officially, it was sabotage. Assassins from other Swarmsteel Fronts saw an opportunity to take out an up-and-coming noble about to lead his household into the Empress' inner circle," she said quietly. "But… I was there that night, eight years ago. I saw them when they burned down the manor. I saw when they plunged a dagger through my mother's chest and crushed my older sister's legs with a carriage. The assassins weren't from the other Swarmsteel Fronts—they were from the Capital. And they spoke…" Her voice caught, her eyes closing as the memories of the night washed over her. "They spoke in a strange, bug-like language. I didn't understand it back then as a little girl, but now… I think it was Decima."

A flicker of something passed over Zora's face—curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper.

"Decima?" he said slowly. "The Magicicada Witch herself came to kill all of you?"

"I… I'm not sure. I didn't get a good look, after all," she said, her voice small and raw, "but… only Insect Gods are capable of human speech, right?" Then she swallowed another hard gulp, forcing herself to continue. "There were a few of them. The assassins. They killed my mother. My sister. I tried to fight, but I… I wasn't strong enough. I was pinned under rubble, and I could only watch as they…"

"..."

She trailed off, the weight of her failure crushing her chest.

Zora remained quiet, his stillness almost unnerving. She glanced up at him, searching his expression for something—sympathy, understanding, anything—but he gave nothing away.

He truly is a powerful man, huh?

"... Even after that attack, my father never gave up," she finished, sniffling softly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "We may have been demoted and sent to rule an outer region, but he kept investigating. He's still investigating. And I… I have to help him. I can't just sit there and do nothing. I can't just go out and enjoy my break."

Then she looked at Zora, her eyes sharp and determined—at least, she hoped they were.

"I have to do this," she said firmly. "I have to avenge my mother and sister, blood for blood. That is the way of the Attini Empire."

Zora's smile returned, but still he said nothing, and the silence stretched between them painfully.

There was only the hum of the train's engine filling the cabin, the faint hisses of steam outside, and the subtle clinking of tea cups rested on the small table between them.

"... Have you ever read The Earthen Princess?" she asked abruptly.

Zora tilted his head. "I'm sorry?"

Kita straightened in her seat, a flicker of something brighter lighting her eyes, and when she spoke, her voice shifted—becoming deeper, steadier, almost ceremonial in tone.

Once, in a valley clasped by the black shoulders of the mountains, there lay a village beneath a curse. Each seventh day without fail, the heavens would grow leaden and low, and the rain would descend in relentless sheets, lashing the fields until the river rose like a serpent roused from its lair. The waters came roaring. It swallowed hearth and harvest, ground timber to splinters, and drowned the grain ere it could bow its head. When at last the flood withdrew, it left naught but muck, rot, and the stench of decay. No prayer unto saint nor god would stay its hand. No offering could temper its wrath. Misery came upon the appointed hour, and the people dwelt ever between drownings.

Among them was a maid-child, born with strange markings upon her skin: pale scars curling as though carved by the very hand of the earth. The folk whispered she was ill-starred. 'The Child of Ill Omens', they called her. Children mocked her with cruel games, and the elders shook their heads when she passed. Each time the deluge came, they murmured it was her doing—that the clouds bent low for her sake—yet she never bent beneath their words. She bore no malice toward them. She fetched water for those who shunned her, mended tools for those who would not meet her eyes, and tended the sick when the floods left fevers in their wake. Though the words they cast upon her were sharp, she received them as one receives cold rain: enduring without anger, for she was gentle of heart and her nature was to do good, even to those who would not do the same for her. She bore herself like stone in a tempest, unshaken whilst all about her sank into mud and mire.

Upon a day when the sky blackened sooner than it ought and the air grew heavy with iron and storm, the river was already in tumult when the child went forth to its bank. She waited not for her kin to flee, but set her knees to the sodden ground and her hands to the soil. She began low, scooping handfuls of clay-rich mud and pressing them firm, building a shallow rise along the edge of the village. She packed the base with stones from the riverbed to give it weight. She layered turf and sod to bind the shape. She bound the wall together like a wicker basket, and she filled every gap with earth until no water might slip through. The rain soaked her hair to ropes, the muck swallowed her shins, yet still she toiled, and the wall climbed higher with every breath she drew.

From behind their shuttered doors, the villagers beheld her. "It will not stand," they muttered. "A wall of dirt cannot gainsay the flood," they whispered. Yet when the waters struck, the wall yielded not. The torrent crashed upon it with the weight of mountains, hissed and frothed, questing for some breach, but found none. The village lay dry, and when the river at last returned meekly to its bed, the earthen wall yet stood, and the child beside it—breath slow, gaze steady. Then she told the wall to move aside so she could speak to the astonished folk.

Her voice was ike rain upon rock: "The flood shall come again, but flee it not. Stand as the earth stands, unyielding and unbroken, thus alone is the tide undone." And from that day forth she was called no more the Child of Ill Omens, but the Earthwall Princess. Nor did she tarry in her home, but went from valley to valley, raising walls against rivers and storms, teaching all who would hear to set their own hands to the earth.

In time, the floods lost their teeth not for want of rain, but for want of fear, for the people had learned the oldest truth: they did not need to wait for the divine to save them. They could save themselves.

The cabin grew quiet, Kita's voice trailing off as the final echoes of her story lingered in the air. She looked at Zora, her eyes searching his face for any sign of understanding.

"... It's my favourite story," she said quietly.

"And you completely butchered the retelling," Zora said, giving her an amused smile. "I cannot blame you for presenting it in such a boring manner, though. The children's story book does not rely so much on actual prose as it does the immaculately drawn paintings. I would even go so far as to say the writing itself is mediocre—lacklustre, even—but the art is what makes it stand out from other children's books."

Her face lit up with surprise. "You've read The Earthen Princess?"

"I have. Many times. Both as a student and as a teacher."

Kita leaned forward, her face now glowing with excitement. "Isn't it such a hopeful story?" she asked, clapping her hands together. "The Earthen Princess... she's strong, brave, and charismatic all in one! It's not one of the best-selling children's fairy tales in the Attini Empire for nothing! My mother used to read it to me all the time!"

"Is that so?"

She glanced up at Zora, a flicker of doubt in her expression as she wondered if he understood why she told him the story again. Maybe it was too childish, too simple for someone like him. Even still, she tilted her head slightly, her voice softening.

"What do you think about it?" she asked. "Do you like The Earthen Princess as well?"

"I've never read that version of the story, to be exact," he said. "The story has been translated into a hundred and forty-three different tongues, twelve of which were reimagined slightly so even adults can find enjoyment in the otherwise child-intended, if not slightly corny writing."

"Which version did you read?"

"All of them."

"What do you think about the story, then?"

Zora looked at her, his face unreadable, then gave a slight shrug.

"A child should still just be a child," he said plainly.

And that was all he had to say.

Kita blinked at him, confused, but before she could say anything else, a sharp noise broke through the air. A scuttling sound—quick and unnatural.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She turned her head to stare outside the window, eyes wide, only to see Zora had already picked up his staff, cracking his neck left and right.

Her previous excitement quickly melted into worry, and the quiet in the cabin turned thick with tension.

"... Well, they're here earlier than I expected," he said casually, rapping the window with the tip of his staff. "I can't hear very well with the engine thrumming around me, after all, so do you mind making yourself useful and tell me exactly how many bugs are out there, running after the train?"

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