12
Masanori
Masanori woke at nightfall, his body aching like Aihi had smacked him a thousand times with a practice sword. He tried swallowing, but his mouth was dryer than the Blithe Desert. Sweat covered his skin like winter frost.
He shivered as he lifted his head, eyes drawn to the thin line of moonlight peeking through the shoji window. The streak illuminated a room otherwise draped in shadows—it took him a moment to remember he was in the infirmary.
How long had he slept? He blinked until his eyes adjusted, wincing again when his sore muscles reminded him of the battle. Torra’s kidnapping. Aihi collapsing. And worse yet, Lacotl’s escape.
Masanori had to get up, convene with the others, and search for Torra. They only had so much time.
Masanori rolled onto his side, and an involu
