The journey up the River of Sun was a lesson in sensory overload for Shuya and his companions. The crisp, evergreen scent of the north was gradually replaced by the heavy, intoxicating perfume of lotus blossoms, frankincense, and baking earth. The sturdy pines and oaks gave way to towering, slender palms and the sprawling, umbrella-like canopies of acacia trees. The sky seemed larger here, a deeper, more profound blue, and the sun held a weight and presence it had lacked in the grey-skied north.
The River Serpent was a sluggish workhorse amidst the vibrant river traffic. They passed sleek, papyrus reed boats poled by fishermen with skin like weathered leather. They saw massive, lumbering barges pulled by teams of hippo-like creatures with iridescent hides, hauling quarried stone towards the interior. And once, a full day's travel south of Two Rivers, they saw it—a vessel of gold and lapis lazui gliding silently above the river, its star-weave sail catching a wind all its own, heading south at a speed that made their barge seem stationary.
"His ship," Yoru stated, her crimson eyes tracking the glorious vessel until it vanished around a bend. "The Null-Son returns to his kingdom. He travels faster than we do."
"He knows we're coming," Lyra said, her hand resting on the rail. She'd been tense ever since they'd left the border, her northern soldier's instincts wary in this lush, unfamiliar land. "That was no chance encounter at the dock. He felt you just as you felt him."
Shuya nodded, his gaze fixed on the southern horizon. The resonance he'd felt with Kazuyo was now a constant, low hum in his soul, a compass needle pulling him ever southward. It wasn't a threatening feeling, but it was… profound. Like standing near a bottomless, tranquil well after having been a roaring bonfire.
As they traveled, the villages along the riverbank grew in size and splendor. Mud-brick huts gave way to whitewashed homes with painted doorways. They saw ziggurats stepped against the sky, their peaks gleaming with gold leaf. The people were a diverse tapestry—tall, graceful humans with skin tones ranging from deep umber to sun-kissed bronze, alongside the majestic Lion-Folk like Neema, and others with the features of hawks or serpents, all living in a bustling, noisy harmony that contrasted sharply with the rigid order of Valorhold.
The crew of The River Serpent, initially wary of their northern passengers, grew more respectful, almost reverent, as the days passed. They'd heard the whispers. The Sun-Bearer who had healed the northern blight was on their ship. They left offerings of sweet melons and flatbread on the deck near his quarters.
On the fifth day, the river began to narrow, funneling them towards a great canyon of red and gold sandstone. As they passed through the towering stone gates, the world opened up, and the breath caught in Shuya's throat.
Kusha'zan.
The city was built into and upon the very cliffs of the canyon, a breathtaking metropolis of terraces, waterfalls, and hanging gardens. Grand, stepped pyramids covered in gold and turquoise dominated the skyline, connected by graceful, arched bridges. The air hummed with magic and music—the sound of harps and sistrums, the chant of priests, the distant roar of what could only be a lion. The river itself flowed through the city's heart, its banks lined with marbled promenades and bustling markets.
But it was the welcome that truly stunned them.
Lining both sides of the river, from the canyon entrance all the way to the great royal docks, were thousands upon thousands of people. They stood in silent, respectful ranks, not cheering, but watching. They were a sea of vibrant color—kente cloth, white linens, golden jewelry. Lion-Folk warriors stood at attention, their khopeshes glinting in the sun. Sand-mages in blue robes, spirit-talkers adorned with shells and feathers, and ordinary citizens all watched as the grimy northern coal barge made its way up the royal river.
At the head of the grand dock, a delegation waited. And there, standing front and center, was Kazuyo Jamal Hiroyuki.
He was dressed in the full regalia of a Kusha'zan prince: a pleated, white linen schenti, a corselet of golden scales, and a broad collar of lapis lazuli and carnelian. A simple gold circlet rested on his brow. He looked every bit the ruler. But his eyes, as they locked with Shuya's, held the same recognition and intensity they had at the dock in Two Rivers.
Flanking him were the three women Shuya had glimpsed. The fierce Lion-Folk warrior, the elegant sand-mage, and the spirit-talker with the knowing eyes.
The River Serpent bumped gently against the gilded dock. The silence was absolute, broken only by the lap of water and the flutter of banners.
Shuya stepped off the boat, Lyra and Yoru following a pace behind. He felt the gaze of an entire city upon him. His simple northern travel clothes felt absurdly out of place.
Kazuyo took three steps forward, closing the distance. He did not bow, nor did he offer a hand. Instead, he placed his right fist over his heart in a salute that was both respectful and equal.
"Shuya Matsumoto," Kazuyo's voice, deep and calm, carried effortlessly in the silence. "Sun-Bearer. Healer of the World-Heart. Kusha'zan sees you. I see you. Welcome."
The formality was perfect, the welcome grander than anything Shuya could have imagined. It was a strategic masterstroke, instantly establishing Kazuyo's authority and their equal footing.
Shuya, drawing on the same calm center that had faced down the Church, mirrored the gesture, placing his own fist over his heart. "Kazuyo Jamal Hiroyuki. Null-Son. Liberator of Knowledge. Thank you for the welcome."
A ripple of approval went through the crowd at his correct use of the title and the gesture.
Then, Kazuyo's stern expression broke into a genuine, warm smile. The formality fell away, revealing the young man from the vision, the seeker who had longed for a peer. "You have no idea how long I've waited to meet someone from… well, from there."
"Neither have I," Shuya replied, a matching smile touching his own lips. The tension shattered, replaced by a palpable sense of relief and destiny fulfilled.
Kazuyo turned slightly, gesturing to his companions. "My council. My pillars. Neema, of the Royal Pride." The warrior gave a sharp, respectful nod. "Zahra, Keeper of the Desert's Memory." The sand-mage inclined her head, her kohl-rimmed eyes analyzing him with keen interest. "And Amani, Voice of the Ancestors." The spirit-talker smiled, a warm, welcoming light in her eyes.
"My companions," Shuya said. "Captain Lyra Valerius, of the Valorhold Royal Knights." Lyra gave a crisp, northern-style bow. "And Yoru." The yokai merely offered a slow, blink, her crimson eyes taking in the city with an expression of deep approval. A murmur ran through the crowd at her introduction; they recognized a primordial power when they saw one.
"Your journey has been long," Kazuyo said, turning and gesturing for Shuya to walk beside him. "And we have much to discuss. The world is sick, Shuya. It has a fever. I can lower the temperature, but I cannot kill the infection. I believe that is where you come in."
As they walked away from the dock, the silent crowd finally erupted. Not in the chaotic cheers of the north, but in a harmonious, rising chant. A single word, repeated over and over by thousands of voices, accompanied by the rhythmic beating of drums.
"Mwanga!" "Kituo!" "Light! Balance!"
The Sun had arrived in the land of the Silence. The two halves of the solution were finally in the same room. As they passed into the shaded cool of the palace entrance, the great bronze doors closing behind them, the fate of the world shifted from a question to a plan. The war for its soul was about to begin in earnest.