14

It was so dark.

Emiko stumbled down the road. Her hand was wrapped in someone else's, much larger and rougher than hers. Normally she'd have thought it was Daddy's, only he'd gone out a while ago and he hadn't come back. And this person was dragging her harder than Daddy ever would.

"Come on! You need to get out of here, Emiko, your daddy wants me to make sure of it!"

Then why, Emiko wondered, isn't he here to help?

It looked like they were in front of Auntie Mie's gate, she almost saw the bells that Auntie liked to hang from the roof, and they'd been running for long enough. Maybe they could go inside and ask her to make some of her special soup while they waited for Daddy. Except the lights weren't burning, was Auntie already sleeping?

Then there was a really loud sound, so loud that she didn't figure out that it was a scream until after it was echoing away. The man held her hand harder and started dragging her along faster. "Please," he was saying, "please, just a little further…"

Someone was running behind them. Was it Daddy? Emiko turned her head to look, but it was too dark to check if anyone was there. "Daddy?" she called out, once. When nothing happened, Emiko tugged on the man's hand once. "Mister," she said, "someone's behind us, I don't know if it's Daddy—"

She heard a "What?" from the man, and then strong hands were around her sides, under her arms, squeezing hard, painfully, and then she was against the man's chest, feeling it ker-thump as he ran even faster than before, holding her there like she was two or something. Now all she could hear were the leaves, and the sound and the feeling of the man's hands and it was so dark…

Bump. Bump. Ker-thump.

The man was gasping now. Emiko knew they'd run way further than Auntie's now, maybe farther than she'd ever run. Daddy had always told her not to run out of the village. They had to be out of the village now, right? "Daddy's going to be mad that you took me here," she said. "I don't want to get in trouble…"

But now the man didn't answer her either, he just kept on gasping and running and hugging her against his chest. No one was answering, not him, not her Daddy, not even the dark—

Suddenly, everything rolled and went upside-down.

At least, that was how Emiko thought things were. Then something scratched her face, then her legs, and now half her body was burning, it hurt—and finally Emiko realized that she was the one rolling, she was the one upside-down, and she was hitting things and she wasn't stopping. The man must have let go of her, or he'd tripped, and now she was flying down the hill—ouch—

Maybe she'd never stop, maybe she'd keep on rolling forever and ever—

"Daddy!" she yelled out, and tears were flying from her eyes, sobs were heaving out of her chest. "Daddy!" Her daddy would catch her, he had to—


When Najenda finished speaking, Tatsumi could only stare.

An entire village, she'd said. An entire village of people, and Emiko's the only one left. She hadn't even finished her story. She hadn't had to.

Now, more than ever, he wanted to push this all away. It was still a possibility that all this was just a horror story. There would be no easier way to tie him down here, keep him from escaping, than this kind of guilt. At the moment every passing breath seemed impossibly complicated, let alone a voyage through an unknown forest. And even more conveniently, the only way to really ease the guilt burning in his chest was a floor above, hiding in her room behind a barrier far sturdier than any door.

Hiding. From him.

Rejecting this story would either be the bravest, or the most cowardly, decision of his life. He wasn't sure which he felt more deserving of right now.

"Tatsumi."

He'd almost forgotten about the two sitting across from him. When he looked up at the two of them, he tried to keep some of the guilt off his face. It wouldn't be good to let them see how hard the story had hit him. Their faces, of course, were stone cold.

"That was the truth I promised you," Najenda said. "Now, my question." She paused. "Remember that this only concerns you."

He didn't nod. But he didn't refuse, either.

Najenda sighed. The metal shifted; she turned her head to the side an instant as she took a drag from her ever-present cigarette. Then she was looking at him again. "I told you about Emiko," she said. "Now. How much of it do you remember?"

How was he supposed to answer a question like this? If Tatsumi told her the truth—that he didn't remember a smidge of it, that he wondered if they were telling the truth at all—he would only be painting himself as a coward, a forgetful one. Akame had mocked him for it already. He didn't need this woman looking down on him too.

And all this was assuming, of course, that they hadn't been responsible for his forgetfulness in the first place.

Tatsumi held back a groan. There was nothing he could say here without losing. The only other options were just as bad. Confessing to a crime he didn't even remember wasn't something he would ever let himself do, but he didn't think he could deny it outright either.

There was one thing, though, that would always be true. "I'd never want to do something like that," he said, staring firmly into the table's dark wood.

"You don't believe you did it." Akame's voice was quiet, but firm.

He laughed darkly. "Do you?"

"Enough," Najenda said, before Akame could answer. "You've already answered my question." When Tatsumi looked up sharply at her, she already had a rather self-satisfied smile on her face. "Any for me?"

Tell me what kind of answer I just gave, he wanted to say—wanted to shout—but that would just be playing into her hands more. Besides, there was a more important answer to get, even if he could barely take it as one. "What happened to me? To my memories?"

The smile faded slightly. "What do you remember?"

"Not Night Raid," Tatsumi said. They'd given him a perfect chance to call them on their little story—he was going to take it. "And definitely not dying."

They exchanged a look, though their faces were so impassive that Tatsumi couldn't tell it meant. "What if," Najenda said, "we told you what we remember?"

If they were going to replace their precious questions with stories, that was fine. Try not to make all of it up, Tatsumi almost said, but he just nodded. He wanted to hear this—for better, or for worse.

"Try to let us finish, at least," Najenda said, smiling wryly. "I'll probably be a little more diplomatic than Akame, but I have a lot to say and few ways to dress it up. And even I think a lot of it is unbelievable." She took another drag on her cigarette, then let out another breath. "But for good faith, I'll let you pick. Tell me where you want me to start." She held his gaze. "This isn't my story—it's yours."

There was only one question to ask. "Tell me how I…died."

Even before Najenda smiled grimly and started to speak, Tatsumi knew it was exactly the question she had expected.


When the first lance of red light burst out across the city, it was like time itself stopped for a split second.

Then the explosion followed, and the moment shattered with a clap of thunder that some said was still echoing, days later. Part of the city was gone immediately, reduced to some fiery giant's footprint. Only ash and dust remained; no blood, no bodies.

Across the city, that very giant turned, and prepared to fire another world-ending shot.

Shikoutazer. The first—and, some said, the mightiest—of the Imperial Arms. It made sense, in a way. The downfall of a Teigu was almost always its user. But encase that user in a behemoth tall enough to see all the Empire at once, and then give it the ability to destroy whatever it saw—well, what was there to do against such a thing?

There was always some answer, Najenda knew. The more powerful a Teigu, the more spectacularly it failed. She knew this—but she wasn't sure, watching the men around her cower from the giant, that anyone else did. What answer could she give?

Then the shout rang out.

"Incursio!"

The figure that sprang up to face the giant was microscopic. It was the figure of a man—a boy, really—set against that of a god. But the soldiers roared, anyway, and rushed forward with a vigor that Najenda had forgotten was in them. Perhaps they saw an image of themselves, their fight against the gargantuan might of the Empire.

And as the figure landed its first blow on the giant's chest, Najenda dared to think that perhaps they saw victory.

She never saw the battle except in glimpses. She had her own to fight, a hundred men to kill and a hundred new bloodstains on her arm, no longer shining steel, now the color of rust. Dried rust. But when she finally looked up, it was to see a shape of some kind—winged, like an angel or a demon—thrust through the giant's chest. When she looked up, it was to see the shower of blood that fell. When she looked up, it was to see the death of the Empire.

And, a split second later, the death of Tatsumi.

It was simple. The giant that had been so flushed with power, shoulders squared, suddenly fell forward limply. Its great eye was completely dark; the light would never appear again. But as Najenda watched this ultimate sign of victory, her eyes widened in horror.

There was one last act of destruction for it to commit.

"It's going to crush them!" someone else shouted, and the terror in their voice suddenly possessed everyone else there, watching helplessly as this living tower fell. It was still building speed, moving deceptively—terrifyingly—slowly towards its final resting place. Nothing could stop it. This was an avalanche of Imperial power, unstoppable only because of its utter failure.

When the scream sounded, Najenda almost didn't hear it. The others around her reacted, though, taking a step back. Was the giant giving a death cry? The giant was almost at a forty-five degree angle to the ground, now—

Najenda's eyes narrowed.

Something was wrong. No, something was changing. The giant was still falling in its parody of slowness—but now…

But now…

"Tatsumi!" she shouted, as she finally registered what the speck on the giant's chest truly was. "Tatsumi!" He was a damned fool, she thought furiously, there was no stopping this no matter how big your goddamn heart was—

Then the anger turned to true fear.

"Tatsumi!" she shouted, one final time, as the giant's body disappeared behind the building in front of her. And, a second later, the massive crash followed.

Later, those in the giant's path said that its body moved even as it hit the ground, began sliding forward in an motion to claim even more lives than it had already. Those in its path watched helplessly as it came for them, as resigned as watching a glacier carve. Even the dark, long-haired girl in front of them, who had seemed so implacably powerful moments before, looked frozen. Her sword hung motionless by her side.

Then they saw the winged angel in its track. Then they heard the being's screams, the pure determination in its soul as it somehow slowed the death before their eyes. And the girl's scream:

"TATSUMI!"

Finally, shortly after, they watched the winged angel die with a smile on its bloodied face.


About the only thing that had been a constant in the room during Najenda's story was the look of disbelief on Tatsumi's face.

Everything else, at least for Akame, had been like trying to sit in the middle of a hurricane.

She had thought she'd be calm enough to hear this. The storm had passed for her years ago, she'd thought; when Najenda sat Tatsumi down and ripped his world to shreds, she had thought she would be able to watch from above. From within the eye.

She had thought a lot of things.

Instead, when Najenda had started to speak, her normally-calm tones now heavy with memory, Akame had watched the wariness in Tatsumi's eyes shift subtly and then become outright disbelief. In recognizing that, at least, Akame had been above the storm. Then her own memories had overwhelmed her, memories she hadn't even realized she was actively locking away.

Of the light in those eyes, full of conviction and life—the opposite of the disbelief in them now. Of his quiet, resigned smile. And, a little later, the death of both, as the promise he'd made, the promise that had become a constant in her life, had been broken. Finally, the last few twinkling shards of his body, as they blew away in the wind. Najenda told her story; Akame had a different one in mind the whole time. When it was finally over, and silence filled the room, Akame's ears were still ringing with the final echo of that terrible fall.

With the echo of Tatsumi's screams.

He was quiet now, looking at Najenda—no, past her—with an intensity that mirrored Akame's own. Akame wasn't entirely sure he had even heard Najenda finish speaking. But Najenda didn't seem concerned with that; she watched him wordlessly.

Finally, Tatsumi shifted in his chair and his gaze focused again, flicking first to Najenda and then to Akame. Despite herself, a chill ran down Akame's spine. He was staring at her so intently that her old combat instincts were starting to flare. It was as if he was analyzing some battle, and she was standing on the wrong side.

Maybe, Akame realized, it was exactly that.

Finally, Tatsumi spoke. "I don't have wings," he said, in the same way that most people said I'm sorry for your loss. "And I'm still alive."

Akame's heart sank. An instant later, she berated herself for the slip; any expectations regarding Tatsumi's reaction to Najenda's story were already too high. There was absolutely nothing believable about any of it.

"I can accept your first story, though," Tatsumi continued. His gaze shifted away from her and back to Najenda; it was like a lighthouse shifting its beams away. "I can accept what I did to that little girl. I"—he faltered, closed his eyes—"I want to make amends."

Najenda's expression didn't change. "And how would you do that?"

Tatsumi was silent for even longer this time.


The night was cloudy.

Aside from the fireplace beside them, Akame and Najenda were surrounded by darkness for miles on end. It was one of the reasons Night Raid had settled here in the first place. With luck, no hunting parties or stragglers would ever come across this place, surrounded by its high-level Danger Beasts and higher-level mountains. Of course, this also meant that Night Raid's members had always lived in isolation.

And now, with the exception of a dubious third, it was just Akame and Najenda. They sat in the flames' orange glow, their shadows playing wildly across the dimly-lit room. It had been quiet for hours.

"You know," Najenda said suddenly, "this house is part of the reason I'm so old." She shifted suddenly, pointed at a decorative curl on the hearth. "Do you think I would have a few extra minutes, if Su hadn't added this? Maybe even a few hours?"

Akame made no reply.

Najenda didn't seem bothered by her silence. "I didn't think I would see you again," she said. "And I certainly didn't expect to see him."

Now Akame ventured a glance at her face, at the numerous wrinkles that were highlighted by the shadows. "So—you really do think he's…" She trailed off. Even saying it felt like it would shatter some fragile, unnameable thing.

"Yes," Najenda said almost immediately. She looked over with a small smile, and Akame was struck by the fact that her eyes were still as sharp as ever. "Either that, or senility is contagious."

"But what about the rest? If we accept that it really is him, we'll have to accept everything else. At least Emiko will have to, someday."

Najenda sighed. "Why," she said, "did you bring him here?"

"There was no time after Umeura—"

"Not that," Najenda said. "When you let me know you had him, I was expecting you to ask for a place to hold him, some place we could make sure no more Emikos would happen again. Instead you told me to meet you here. And as a finishing touch, he's currently prowling one room away from Emiko."

She stopped, but Akame knew there was much more waiting to be said. Suddenly she was reminded of Night Raid's old debriefs, after they'd come back from a mission and screwed something up. Trying to justify their mistakes under Najenda's piercing gaze had been scarier than outright failure.

Except Akame was pretty sure she was in the right, this time. "I didn't ask you for a place to hold him because there isn't a place that could," she said. "There isn't anyone who could." She left the rest unspoken. Anyone but me.

"But beside Emiko?"

Akame was silent. She knew what Najenda was thinking—no matter what Akame said, it wasn't his distance from Emiko that mattered. It was his distance from her.

Fine, then. She could admit that much. "Beside me, too."

"You're holding him prisoner," Najenda said. "You know that's what he'll think no matter who—or what—you put next to him, right?"

"Wasn't that the point?"

"For me, yes. For you?" With a groan, Najenda suddenly eased back onto the cool wood boards, resting her arms behind her head and staring up at the ceiling. "Did you ever hear the story of Sumiko?" she asked, tilting her head towards Akame.

Akame stayed upright. "No."

"That's fine," Najenda said. "I suppose the Empire thought it was a little too complicated for you kids back when they were giving you their education." She laughed. "Then again, even I think it's a little mind-blowing."

"Because?"

"Sumiko was the daughter of the fifth Emperor, you see," Najenda said. "And like all children of powerful men, she was also worth her weight in gold. So one day a man—just a boy, really, barely older than her—stole past the palace guards and kidnapped her in the middle of night. By the time the princess woke she was imprisoned in a dingy cabin in some far-off forest, and the entire Empire knew that the Emperor's daughter had been spirited away, with nothing but a ransom note left behind."

Akame blinked. "I have heard this story before. In a fairytale." She looked at Najenda with barely-concealed amusement. "Are you telling a fable? Is Tatsumi the princess?"

"Bear with me," Najenda said, laughing softly. "This is a true story. Those fairytales and fables were probably inspired by it."

"Let me guess," Akame said. "The girl fell in love."

"Actually, the boy killed himself and took the girl with him," Najenda said. Then she grinned and waved her hand. "I'm kidding. No, she fell in love. With…?" She watched Akame expectantly.

"The kidnapper. The—" Akame stopped speaking. Now it was clear where this was going.

The huge grin on Najenda's face only confirmed her suspicions. "People get attached in strange ways," Najenda said. "Maybe even more so once they've returned from the dead." She giggled—actually giggled. "Ring any bells?"

Akame almost leapt to her feet. She almost yelled. You can't say stuff like that! But if she did…would the grin on Najenda's face really go away? Something told her it would only widen.

"Anyway," Najenda said, innocently batting her eyelashes, "this old woman's about ready to be tucked in. But I won't make you do that." She got up with a groan. "You've got a visitor. Doesn't she, Emiko?"

"I…I can't sleep," a new voice said.

Akame just kept staring at the fire blazing in front of her, as the shuffling steps behind her faded away, to be replaced by quicker—younger—ones. She felt the little sit beside her; felt the girl glance between her and the flickering flames.

"So," she said finally. "Nightmares?"

"I didn't go to sleep." Emiko sounded younger than ever. "He isn't going to bed either."

She frowned. "How do you know?"

"I just do."

For a moment, Akame tuned out everything else and just focused. Even the fire next to her—its heat, its noise—ceased to exist for a brief second, as she stretched her senses out in a different sort of space…and found nothing.

No killing intent.

She let out a breath she had suddenly found herself holding, opened her eyes, and looked down at Emiko. "If he's awake, he's not angry. Not dangerous, at least."

Not right now. She knew better than to tell the girl that it had just been an overactive imagination, though. If there was one thing she'd learned, it was that things usually weren't. Besides, if she knew Tatsumi at all, it was more than possible that he was up there brooding at the moment.

But brooding implied guilt. And guilt implied…well, it implied that she wasn't going to interrupt said brooding any time soon. As long as he stayed in that room, Akame didn't care.

Though of course, all this was lost on the tiny girl sitting next to her—and rightfully so. Telling her to suck it up and go upstairs felt wrong. It felt like the first truly innocent girl she had seen in a decade was beside her. Making her face her fear would toughen her, yes, but Akame was no longer sure whether this would prepare her for the problems with the world or make her part of them.

So she did what felt proper.

"Come on," Akame said, rising to her feet and smiling down at Emiko. "I'll be right next to you this time."

Together, they began the long climb up the stairs.


I know. I haven't written in a year. College does that, sorry. I hope you guys still have some idea of what's going on. The good news is that I've planned out this story to the end now — not that I hadn't before, but now I know exactly what's going to go in these final few chapters.

You read that right — "final few".

Hopefully that means faster releases now, while I still have time. For now, whether it's snow or sun outside for you all, happy holidays!

(Long days and pleasant nights…)