Masuda

Cayti

My back aches. My eyes open slowly, and the world greets me with gentle brightness. The morning sun creeps upward, painting the sky a soft baby blue with streaks of white cloud scattered like brushstrokes. Birdsong carries across the open grasslands, a delicate choir hidden among the unseen. From above, a soft clacking cuts through the quiet.

I’m leaning against Tyur’ma’s side, legs stretched out in the damp grass. I must’ve fallen asleep outside. Stretching, I reach for my toes, groaning when my muscles complain. The sound above hasn’t stopped, so I push myself up and glance around.

Jesse’s half-buried inside Tyur’ma’s engine bay, shoulders disappearing into the metal as his hands work unseen. His movements are methodical, careful, as though each sound is a language only he understands. He doesn’t notice me until I come up beside him and peer in.

He glances up, smiling faintly.

“Oh! Good morning. Sleep well?”

I nod, brushing my hair back.

“More or less. My back’s a little sore.”

He grins, wiping his hands against his trousers.

“Well, we did sleep outside.”

I groan.

“All night? You didn’t think to wake me?”

His eyes soften, the grin turning warm.

“You looked so peaceful. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

I tilt my head.

“So you stayed out too?”

He nods without hesitation.

“Yeah. I put the machine gun next to me, just in case. Are you upset?”

I let out a breath, shaking my head.

“No. There’s no real problem. We’re both okay.”

A small smile pulls at my lips.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep outside.”

He shrugs, smiling easily, and turns back to the machine he’s coaxing into health. Metal clicks beneath his hand before he closes a compartment. He notices my curious stare and explains,

“Engines need to be looked after every now and then. We wouldn’t want this breaking down on us.”

I nod. He climbs out of the bay and shuts the armor panel, brushing off his hands. Then he extends one toward me.

“Shall we be off?”

I nod, then shake my head with a sheepish grin as I take it.

“Let me get changed first. I feel dirty.”

He hauls me up onto the sloped plating, and I make my way toward the driver’s hatch, ducking under the main gun. Inside the compartment, I pull the hatch shut behind me.

The dim lights glow faintly, casting a soft warmth over the cramped space. I dig through the storage and pull out my mage outfit, shaking off the creases. Jesse’s things are tucked neatly beside mine - his fatigues, the clothes from Ragin City, the life we’ve crammed into this steel shell. As I change, my foot bumps against something beneath the seat.

I crouch down, expecting a fallen shirt. My hand closes around it.

Not clothes.

A parcel, small and solid, wrapped carefully in brown parchment. No markings. Just a simple string tying it shut.

I turn it over in my hands. No writing. No hint of what’s inside. A strange weight settles in my chest. What should I do with this? Maybe I'll ask Jesse about it.

By the time I emerge back into the morning air, Jesse’s waiting with his hand inside Tyur’ma’s gun barrel, checking something. He looks up immediately, a smile playing on his face as he sees me.

“Alright. Ready to go now?”

I nod, forcing my thoughts steady.

We climb into our hatches, the plates closing with their familiar echo. Tyur’ma rumbles alive beneath us, steel bones stirring, and soon we’re rolling across the grass.

The road to Sheinfeld lies ahead. But only I feel the hidden weight of the parcel pressing against my side.

The wind whips through my hair, tugging at my ribbons as we thunder across the land. The terrain rolls by in a blur - plains giving way to a wide desert that we devour in under half an hour, then back to hills, and again into endless grass. I call out, raising my voice above the engine.

“We’ve crossed the border!”

The line where hills dissolve into open plain marks it. No one lives here anymore; fear of war drove them away long ago. The empty farmland and silent ruins stare at us as we pass, ghosts of lives once lived.

Then Jesse shouts.

“Hey! What’s that, by the ruins?”

I squint. Half-buried in weeds, I spot a long tube with an oblong block at the back. Recognition creeps over me - it’s a gun, like the one looming above my head, but smaller.

“Do you recognize it?”

“Yeah,” Jesse mutters. “That’s a relic. Haven’t seen one like it active in decades back home. I wonder…”

His words dissolve into the roar of the engine and clatter of tracks. We roll past, and ten minutes later Jesse slows Tyur’ma to a halt. He leaves the engine growling but motions for me to duck down. I lower my seat, sealing the hatch over me, the thunder of the outside world fading.

He grins.

“Alright. Time to give you some basic training.”

I blink.

“Say what now?”

He gestures to the controls beside me, serious now.

“I’m going to teach you to shoot.”

The weapon systems flicker to life on my screens, symbols glowing faintly. My throat tightens.

“B-b-but-”

He cuts me off with a firm shake of his head.

“We don’t know what’s waiting out there. I want you to know how to fire, even if it’s rough. If I get hurt, I don’t want you to leave you helpless.”

The thought of Jesse wounded - slumped over, unable to move - strikes harder than any shell ever could. I swallow, my voice small.

“O-okay…”

He grabs his own controls, turning the turret away from Tyur’ma’s hull. It whines as it swings. He releases, then points to the joystick at my side.

“That’s your cannon control. Try it. Gentle at first.”

My hand trembles as I curl my fingers around the stick. I twist it slightly. The turret hums, turning with me. The cabin around us shifts as the screens roll. I twist more confidently, then ease it back the other way. The weapon obeys, smooth and mechanical.

Jesse nods.

“Good. Forward lowers the gun, back raises it. Go on.”

I push forward. The crosshair on the screen dips; the great cannon overhead follows, lowering with weighty precision. Pulling back sends it climbing skyward.

“Perfect,” Jesse says, satisfaction in his tone. “Now - these symbols.”

He begins pointing out the runes and numbers that had baffled me since the start.

“This shows the shell type. Don’t worry - we only carry APFSDS. This here’s the gun elevation and turret rotation in degrees. That one’s rangefinder - it does the math for you. Keep the crosshair on the target, and it’ll hit. Unless we’re moving - that’s trickier. Another lesson, another time.”

I lean forward, memorizing each explanation, clinging to his calm voice as if it’s a lifeline.

He taps the final icon - a red RDY.

“This means the gun’s ready. Right now it’s not, since the breech is empty. But if I tell it to load…”

A button press, a whir of machinery. The autoloader clatters, metallic arms dragging a shell into place. A countdown ticks, then the red flips to green.

“Now it’s live,” Jesse says with a grin. “Pick a target.”

I blink at him. “Y-you want me to shoot something?”

He laughs at my expression, eyes crinkling.

“Don’t panic. We’ve got thirty-six shells. Losing one won’t kill us. And hey, we can make more.”

I want to remind him how much soul-energy we burned repairing the breech, but the words don’t come. He points to a patch of screen.

“There. That tree. It looked at me funny.”

I snort despite myself, then guide the turret. The crosshair slides over the distant tree.

“Use the zoom,” Jesse advises, nodding to a dial.

I twist it, and the image leaps closer - the tree bark sharp and detailed. The sight drifts slightly; I realign. My breath catches.

Jesse points to the trigger switch.

“That’s it. Safety’s off. Whenever you’re ready.”

My heart pounds against my ribs. I whisper to myself.

“Okay. Here we go.”

My finger squeezes.

The world erupts. A deafening CRACK shatters the air, smoke billowing across the screens. Through it, a red tracer streaks like lightning. It slams into the tree - splitting it in two, hurling jagged fragments skyward. The trunk crashes down in a choking cloud of dust.

I gasp, shaken by the sheer violence. Jesse grins proudly.

“Clean in half. Natural talent, right there.”

No - it was Tyur’ma’s power that made the shot so precise. But I bite the thought back and give him a shaky smile. He chuckles warmly.

“You’ll get used to it.”

He pops his hatch open, raising his seat as the turret resets under his control. The sharp reek of burnt propellant fills the cabin. With a growl, Tyur’ma lurches forward once more, carrying us on.

We race across the plains until the ground begins to shift again, rising into deep hills and twisting valleys. Sheer luck delivers us a road that snakes along the hillside, and we follow it, Tyur’ma’s treads hugging the bends.

That’s when we spot him - our first beastman native. A merchant with a horse-drawn cart stacked high with carpets. His eyes widen as we approach, and he dives off the roadside in a panic. He tumbles down the slope, rolling end over end. I wince. That had to hurt. But Tyur’ma thunders on, Jesse unwilling to slow.

Clouds begin to gather as we weave through the hills, shadows creeping across the land. The air cools, the sunlight dimming - but at least it doesn’t look like rain. Then, as we round another bend, I see it: a tall wooden windmill rising over golden fields. I point, excitement bubbling.

“Look! We’re getting really close!”

Jesse nods but doesn’t reply, eyes on the road as we crest another rise. The land rolls ahead in shallow waves, soft green and gold hills rising and falling. At last we top a final peak - and there it is.

A great village sprawls below, enclosed by sturdy wooden walls built from whole tree trunks. Not a city, but close. From here I can see the gardens each house boasts, neat rows of vegetables and flowers.

But before we can reach the gates, four figures bar the road: two cat beastmen, a dog, and a rabbit. Spears and swords glint in their hands. They don’t budge. Jesse slows Tyur’ma, the great machine growling to a halt.

One of the cats steps forward, clearly their leader. He shouts, voice sharp with both authority and fear.

“What are you doing here? What do you want?”

Jesse leans from his hatch, raising his voice.

“We’re looking for temporary sanctuary. We’re not hostile.”

They shift uneasily, their eyes never leaving Tyur’ma. The leader calls again.

“What is this monster? Where did you get it?”

I glance at Jesse. His answer will decide everything. He clears his throat.

“This is a holy weapon. My holy weapon. It only answers to me - and those I deem worthy.”

A murmur ripples through the group. The leader squints.

“What can you do for us?”

Relief washes over me. They’re willing to bargain. Jesse may not grasp the cultural weight of this question, but I do. It’s an opening.

“Whatever you need,” he answers quickly. “We specialize in monster extermination. We won’t harm your people.”

They huddle, whispering, then finally turn back. The leader nods curtly.

“Very well. We’ll take you to our leader. She’ll decide. But understand - this is highly unusual. If things were normal, we would never let you in so easily.”

He doesn’t explain further, just beckons us on. Jesse shrugs, and Tyur’ma rolls forward.

As we approach the village, the similarities to Kaunis strike me - wooden walls, clustered homes - but this place is wealthier, thriving. The houses are larger, sturdier, their roofs well thatched. Villagers emerge to watch, their clothes neat and finely made. No nobility, but all of them solidly middle or upper class. Fear flickers across their faces when they see Tyur’ma, but the sight of the guards escorting us steadies them.

The wide streets could rival those in Ragin City. We take several turns before stopping before a modest-looking house. Nothing about it stands out - until the door opens. A boy peers out, catches sight of Tyur’ma, and instantly slams it shut. The guards knock again, more firmly. After a pause, the door creaks open.

I climb from the hatch and give the boy a small wave. He stares, wide-eyed, while the guards whisper to him. At last, he nods and beckons us inside.

The contrast hits immediately. Outside, the house was plain. Inside, it’s nobility. Polished floors, gilded fixtures, delicate artwork. Trinkets and treasures line the walls - wealth displayed with deliberate care. We pass through the hall to a door at the far end.

The boy opens it, and we step into a grand living room. A long table dominates the space, surrounded by chairs for eight. Plush couches, elaborate artwork, glittering ornaments. From the adjoining kitchen comes the mouth-watering smell of sizzling meat.

And there she stands. A tall woman with snow-white wolf ears and a broad, boofy tail that sways gently behind her. Her blue eyes shimmer in the firelight as she turns, smiling warmly despite the authority she radiates.

“Oh, hello! Who do we have here? Humans?”

Her attention flicks between us and her cooking as the guards explain.

“Ma’am, these adventurers rode a giant monster toward our village. They seek sanctuary.”

Her eyes sharpen, though her tone stays calm.

“Sanctuary? Did you do something illegal?”

Jesse answers steadily.

“The church is hunting us. We’ve done nothing wrong - on the contrary, we saved the city of Ragin twice.”

Her eyebrow arches.

“Saved a city, yet hunted by the church? That’s preposterous. Why?”

Jesse takes a breath.

“Because our ‘monster’ is a holy weapon. Named Tyur'ma. The church wants it for themselves.”

At that, her eyes glimmer.

“A holy weapon?”

We nod. She stirs her pan, deep in thought.

“Troubling. If they track you here, what then? Still…” She looks at us with measured weight. “Perhaps this is an opportunity.”

Her decision comes swift.

“You may stay - but only if you help us first.”

Jesse’s gaze narrows.

“I’m guessing that means with Tyur’ma.”

She nods, apologetic but firm.

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t dire. We have… a wyvern problem.”

Wyverns. My heart tightens. Smaller, faster kin of dragons, they hunt in packs - four to twenty on average. Rarely, their numbers swell to swarms of thirty or more. When that happens, food runs scarce, and they turn their hunger on settlements.

“How many?” I ask, already fearing the answer.

Her eyes narrow.

“Twenty-six.”

I feel my pulse hammering. Not quite a swarm - but far too many for this village to handle alone.

Jesse speaks levelly.

“And if we help, you’ll grant us sanctuary?”

“Temporarily,” she replies. “But if you break our laws, or bring the church down on us, you’ll leave immediately. Understood?”

We nod.

Her smile returns, softer now.

“Good. I’d offer you rest, but we’ve had reports of wyvern activity nearby. I’ll need you on guard duty tonight.”

“Alright,” Jesse says. “But we’ll position ourselves outside the village. If we fight, it’ll be loud. Safer for everyone if we’re not inside your walls.”

She hesitates, not quite understanding, but nods anyway.

“Very well. Do as you must. But - may I have your names?”

Jesse inclines his head.

“I’m Jesse. And this is…”

I freeze. Real name, or disguise? Milliseconds tick by.

“Cayti.”

Something flickers across her face - shock? Recognition? - but it’s gone in a heartbeat. She smiles.

“Welcome to Masuda. I’m Kalla, the village leader. And… thank you. Even if you do nothing, your presence alone will give my people hope.”

The guards escort us back out. As the door closes, the smell of her cooking fades, replaced by the cool village air. The leader offers Jesse his hand.

“Well then. We look forward to working with you.”

Jesse shakes it firmly. “Likewise.”

When they depart, Jesse turns to me with a grin.

“Alright. Let’s get Tyur’ma set up outside the walls. Then… we wait.”

I nod, and together we climb back into the steel beast.

After situating ourselves on a hilltop near the village walls, Jesse shows me how he’ll shoot down a wyvern as we sit inside Tyur’ma, hatches open to let the cool evening air drift in.

“Tyur’ma was built to counter all possible threats. That includes airborne ones. She was installed with an interception radar.”

“Radar?” I echo.

He grimaces. “I don’t know how much I can explain. Basically… it shoots out a kind of light that bounces off objects. If it bounces off something flying, it comes back, and Tyur’ma can figure out where the target is, how fast it’s going, how far away it is.”

He’s right - I’ve got no idea what he’s talking about. But he continues anyway, voice steady, almost rehearsed.

“Then she tells me exactly where I need to aim to hit the target. It’s rarely wrong. But… I’ve never had to use it before. It was supposed to be used against-” He cuts himself off, eyes flicking away. “Never mind. Another time.”

Another secret. Another thing that could take hours of explanation. I pout dramatically.

“But you will tell me one day, right? Promise?”

His smile returns, gentle. “Of course. How could I not?”

“Good. Because right now…” I lean closer, pulling something from behind me. “You’re going to tell me what this is.”

I hold up a soft bundle wrapped in brown parchment. His face drains of all color.

“W-where did you find that…?”

I study him, searching for cracks in his expression. “In the driver’s seat, when I was changing. I thought you might know something about it.”

The words come out sharper than I mean. He exhales and drops his gaze to his lap.

“Open it and see.”

I hesitate, then tug one of the strings. The knot falls loose. Slowly, carefully, I peel back the wrapping. A glimpse of lavender catches my eye. My breath hitches. I pull it free and gasp.

It’s the summer dress. The one I admired in that shop in Ragin. The one I never said a word about.

How did he know?

And - oh no. What have I done?

He looks up, sadness weighing his voice. “I got that for you… when I went out in the rain. I saw you looking at it. I was saving it for your birthday. But… it’s okay for you to have it now.”

Warmth and guilt crash into me, two tides colliding. The guilt wins first.

“I… I didn’t know it was something special. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs softly. “It’s alright.”

But then the warmth takes over. My chest aches, and the words tumble out.

“But I love it. I love it. And I love you. Thank you. Thank you so much. It means more than you know.”

He smiles, but the sorrow lingers in his eyes. I fold the dress carefully in my lap, tracing the fabric with my fingertips.

“I’ll repay you somehow.”

He shakes his head. “No. Don’t. I didn’t get it to be repaid. I got it because I love you. That’s all.”

Shame and affection rush to my cheeks. He doesn’t tease me like usual. Instead, he exhales, heavy.

“No more secrets. I know.”

I lock my eyes with his. He flinches almost imperceptibly.

“No. These kinds of secrets are fine,” I whisper. “I’m not so insecure that you can’t even give me a gift. I’m sorry for spoiling this one - I’d do anything to go back and try again. But don’t stop. I like surprises.”

He smiles, a little lighter this time. “Okay.”

I return it, my chest glowing. For a moment, all I can hear is the rustle of evening wind across the hilltop.

Then a horn sounds from the village.

We both jolt upright, shoving our heads out the hatches. The sound echoes, urgent, rolling across the fields. I scan the skies frantically.

A dark speck cuts across the fading horizon. I point. “Hey, Jesse. What’s that?”

He squints, eyes narrowing - then immediately ducks inside. “Get in.”

I follow as Tyur’ma’s engine roars to life. Screens flicker with images of the sky as Jesse locks onto the target. The single speck splits into several. Then into dozens.

Shapes.

My pulse quickens, breath caught in my throat.

Wyverns.

All twenty-six of them, wings spread against the evening sky, surging down from the mountains. Hungry. Desperate.

Willing to attack, devour, destroy the village.

And we’re the last line of defense.