Mt. Takayubi, Kusanagi Peninsula

Shirojima Province

The Kaigenese Empire

Planet Duna

5369 y. s. p.

It was a harrowing climb to the high school. Eight hundred twenty-one steps. Mamoru had counted one time on his way up—no easy feat while focusing on not toppling off the side of a mountain. For most fourteen-year-old fighters, the winding way up to the school was a true test of nerve and agility, but Mamoru, with his springy legs and boundless energy, woke each morning looking forward to the challenge.

“Mamoru!” his friends panted from the steps far below him. “Not so fast!”

Itsuki and Yuuta had no choice but to take the steep path to the school because they lived in the western village, further down the mountain. Mamoru’s family compound was built high enough that he could have taken an easier way if he chose, but Matsudas weren’t known for taking the easy way to anything. He rose every day before dawn, amid the chanting of crickets, so he could make the loop down the mountain toward the western village and tackle the steep climb with his friends.

“You two are too slow!” Mamoru called back. “We don’t want to be late!”

“We’re not going to be late,” Itsuki heaved in exasperation from the mist below. “Just wait up! Please!”

“Fine, fine.” Mamoru lowered himself to the rock ledge and sat, letting his feet hang over the edge.

It had still been dark when the three boys began their climb, but by now, morning had seeped through the veil of fog to touch the rock face with its pale brushstrokes. It was rarely possible to see the base of the mountain from the Kumono steps. Beneath Mamoru’s dangling legs, there was only mist, rolling in slow waves against the cliff side, growing gradually lighter with the sunrise.

The moment Itsuki and Yuuta dragged themselves over the ridge where Mamoru was perched, he grinned and bounced to his feet.

“Finally!” he said. “Are you two ready to keep up now?”

“Are you kidding?” Yuuta gasped, doubling over to catch his breath.

“You’re a monster!” Itsuki groaned.

Mamoru slapped each of them on the back. “I’ll wait for you at the school,” he said cheerfully and took off up the mountain.

His toes knew each crevice, each jutting rock, and he took the steepest part of the path in swift, confident bounds, skipping six steps at a time. He had just rounded the last curve when his feet slowed. There was a figure hunched over in the fog up ahead, a boy clinging hard to the rock wall as he gasped for breath. Mamoru wouldn’t have thought much of it—there were dozens of students who climbed these steps each morning—but this boy’s clothing wasn’t right. Instead of Kumono blue, he wore a modern-looking black uniform Mamoru had never seen before.

“Good morning,” Mamoru said, approaching slowly, so as not to startle the newcomer off the edge.

“Morning.” The boy raised a hand in greeting before putting it to his chest, still breathing hard. He had a heavy accent.

“Are you…” Mamoru started and then switched to Kaigengua, the imperial standard. “Are you a transfer student?”

The boy nodded. “I’m Kwang Chul-hee. Nice to meet you.”

A northern name. This boy hadn’t just transferred from a neighboring province; he had come from a long way away. His uniform was the kind worn in the big cities on the Jungsan Peninsula, with its Yammanka-style cut and military bogolan patterns.

“Matsuda Mamoru,” Mamoru introduced himself, bowing.