"Oh no," Kubo protested, humor creeping in through his tears. "If I only get three questions, then you only get three, and I've been here longer. I know my way around."

He gave her a sassy little smirk that dissolved into a sincere, adoring grin almost instantly. On the surface, "maybe we'll see Hanzo but don't count on it" might not have seemed very hopeful, but it was a whole lot better than "he died and we'll never see him again," and Kubo had heard that for 11 long years.

But the grin faded too as she told him that the last thing she knew from before this moment was watching Hanzo die, again, and then being killed by her sister.

Kubo put his hand on her face again, serious, too grown up for his age.

"Mother - I'm so sorry," he said. "I wish I'd been paying better attention. If I'd seen her coming, if I'd warned Father - you could have had better last moments -"

Judging by the crack in his voice, this had weighed on him. For two years.