The fortress loomed against the night sky like a jagged mountain, its steep walls carved from obsidian stone. Paper lanterns swayed along the parapets, their faint glow casting shadows across the rugged surface. Rin crouched among the tall reeds at the edge of the moat, her breath shallow, her eyes fixed on the patrol above.

The scroll pressed against her back, its weight far heavier than it had been that night. Rin could still hear Akihiro’s voice, calm even in the chaos: “Take the scroll. Run. Protect it at all costs.” The memory stoked the fire in her chest, sharpening her resolve.

She counted six guards—three along the walls, one stationed at the gate, and two patrolling the courtyard. Their lacquered crimson armour marked them as Kurohana, the same clan that razed her home to ash.

Her fingers brushed the hilt of her katana, the leather grip worn but familiar. Tonight, the blade would taste blood again.

She slipped into the water, her movements silent as the moon’s reflection shattered around her. The icy chill gnawed at her, but she pressed on, her breath measured.

The guard on the western wall leaned lazily against the edge, gazing at the water below. Rin climbed the ivy-covered stones, her kunai gripped tightly. Her foot slipped on the slick surface, a pebble tumbling into the moat below. The guard stiffened, peering down.

A flash of steel, and he was gone. The kunai buried itself in his throat, muffling his startled cry. Blood sprayed as his body toppled forward, landing in the reeds with a muted splash. Rin clung to the wall, her heart pounding.

On the parapet, she wiped her kunai clean and melted into the shadows. Another guard stood at the far end, his back turned. She unsheathed her katana, the steel whispering as it slid free.

This time, the guard turned at the sound. His eyes widened, his hand reaching for the hilt of his blade. Rin darted forward, her blade slicing through his ribs before he could shout. He collapsed, his breath a ragged wheeze as his lifeblood seeped into the stones.

The muffled sound alerted a third guard. “What was that?”

Rin froze, her body merging with the shadows. The guard approached cautiously, his lantern flickering across the stone. The moment he stepped close, Rin struck, her kunai slashing his throat in one fluid motion.

She leaped from the wall into the courtyard, a phantom descending into chaos.

The smell of burnt wood and scorched earth filled her nostrils, tightening her throat. Two guards patrolled nearby, their voices low but tense.

“Did you hear about the girl?” one guard muttered, his voice low and laced with unease.

“The one from the Ayanagi Clan?” the other replied, adjusting his grip on his katana. “A rumor, nothing more. She’s probably dead, just like the rest of them.”

The first guard shrugged but glanced nervously around the courtyard. “Still… if she did survive—”

“Then Lord Hisoka will handle it,” the second guard cut him off, his tone dismissive. “She’s no match for him. No one is.”

Rin’s grip on her katana tightened, her knuckles whitening. No match? Her chest burned with fury, but she forced herself to stay still, her breathing steady. We'll see about that.

She stepped from the shadows, her blade gleaming faintly in the firelight, ready to remind them of the vengeance they had brought upon themselves.

The first guard barely had time to draw his katana before she was upon him. Her blade tore through his side, cutting deep into his ribs. He fell with a strangled cry, his blood soaking the stone beneath him.

The second guard spun, his katana flashing as it met hers. Sparks flew as steel clashed against steel, the sharp clang echoing across the courtyard.

He was fast—but Rin was faster.

The guard lunged, his strike precise and powerful, forcing Rin to step back. She deflected the blow, the force of it vibrating through her arms. He pressed forward, swinging again in a wide arc. Rin ducked, the blade slicing through the air just above her head.

Her footwork carried her to the side, her katana lashing out in a swift counterattack. The guard parried, his movements sharp and disciplined, but his breathing had grown heavier.

“Not bad for a girl,” he sneered, his voice tinged with arrogance.

Rin didn't reply. Her eyes remained locked on his, her focus unshaken. She darted in, feigning to the left before striking to the right. Her blade nicked his arm, drawing blood.

The guard growled, his grip on the katana tightening. He rushed her, aiming a downward slash meant to split her in two. Rin sidestepped, her foot catching on loose stone. She stumbled, and the guard seized the opportunity, bringing his blade around in a lethal arc.

At the last moment, Rin dropped into a roll, narrowly avoiding the strike. She came up low, her katana slicing across the back of his knee. The guard cried out, faltering as his leg buckled beneath him.

She rose swiftly, her movements fluid. His katana wavered as he tried to steady himself, desperation flickering in his eyes. Rin didn't hesitate.

With a swift, upward thrust, her katana split his chin and cleaved through his skull. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, the metallic scent thick in the air.

The guard collapsed, lifeless, as Rin stood over him, her breaths controlled, her grip on the hilt steady.

For a moment, she thought of Akihiro—how he had taught her to fight, to survive. His words echoed in her mind. “A blade is not just a weapon. It is an extension of your will. Wield it with purpose.”

Her purpose burned brighter than ever.

Rin wiped her katana clean and pressed forward. The fortress grew quieter as she neared the inner sanctum, the air thick with tension.

The grand doors loomed ahead, guarded by a massive man clad in blackened armour. A tetsubo, its iron surface studded with jagged spikes, rested across his shoulders, its surface stained with old blood. He stood motionless, his face hidden behind a menpo mask, but his presence radiated menace.

“So,” he rumbled, his voice like grinding stone, “the little shadow arrives at last.”

Rin stepped into the light, her katana held low, her breathing controlled.

The guard’s laughter rumbled like thunder. “You're the one who ran while your clan burned. Pathetic.”

Rage flared in Rin’s chest. “I didn’t run. I survived. And tonight, Kurohana pays for every life you stole.”

The giant charged, the tetsubo swinging in a brutal arc. She dove to the side, the weapon smashing into the stone where she had stood. Shards of rock exploded outward, nicking her cheek.

She slashed at his thigh, the blade cutting deep. He roared, staggering back, but he didn't fall. The tetsubo swung again, faster than before. Rin barely avoided the blow, rolling across the courtyard’s uneven ground.

Her back hit the wall, the impact forcing the air from her lungs. She struggled to her feet, her vision swimming. The giant loomed above her, blood pooling from his wounds.

“You'll regret stepping into this place, girl,” he growled. “Hisoka-sama will—”

Rin surged forward, her katana flashing upward. The blade pierced his throat, silencing him. The force of the strike drove the blade through the back of his neck. Blood splattered her face as the giant crumpled, his weapon clattering to the ground.

As he fell, he managed a bloodied smirk. “Hisoka… will carve you apart.”

She leaned on her katana for a moment, her breaths shallow, her hands trembling. The clash with the giant had left her battered, her ribs aching with each intake of air. For the first time since entering this accursed stronghold, her resolve wavered.

She closed her eyes briefly, the memory of Akihiro’s stern face flashing before her. If I fall here, who will remember Akihiro? Who will tell the world of his sacrifice? Her grip on the katana tightened, her knuckles pale. There was no room for hesitation now.

Straightening, she made her way toward the sanctum. The air grew colder, heavier, as if the weight of Kurohana’s legacy pressed down on her shoulders. She passed rows of ceremonial armor displayed against the walls, their lacquered surfaces gleaming under the dim torchlight. Clan banners hung above, their crimson and black sigils ominous reminders of the blood that built this place.

She paused before a small shrine tucked into an alcove, its incense holder long since abandoned. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if even the Kurohana had once believed in something greater than power and cruelty. The thought was short-lived. She turned away, her gaze hardening as she approached the final chamber.

The heavy wooden doors creaked open, revealing a scene both serene and jarring. The sanctum was dominated by a massive cherry blossom tree, its pale pink petals glowing faintly in the moonlight streaming through an open skylight. The ground beneath it was littered with fallen petals, their gentle beauty starkly contrasting the blood-stained mats leading to the tree.

Rin’s breath caught in her throat. The blossoms were a stark reminder of life’s fragility, their petals scattered like the ashes of her clan. Her chest tightened as she imagined the faces of her kin, their smiles erased by the flames Kurohana had unleashed.

This isn’t the time, she reminded herself, forcing the thought away. Her hands trembled for only a moment before she steadied them.

Beneath the ancient cherry blossom tree, a lone figure stood. He was tall, his black armor glinting faintly under the soft light. His hair, dark as raven feathers, was tied back neatly, framing a face that was both serene and menacing. A katana rested in his hand, its blade pristine, almost ceremonial in its perfection.

Lord Hisoka.

He didn’t move, but the air around him seemed to shift, heavy with authority and quiet malice. Hisoka turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes locking onto Rin. A faint smile tugged at his lips—not of amusement, but of cruel anticipation.

“So,” he said, his voice low and measured, “you’ve finally arrived.”

The weight of his words settled over the room like a shroud. Rin froze, her grip tightening on her katana. This was the man who had razed her home, stolen everything from her. The architect of her suffering.

But Hisoka didn’t draw his blade or charge forward. Instead, he raised his hand, letting a single cherry blossom petal fall onto his palm. He examined it for a moment before letting it drift away.

“You’ve fought well to get here,” he said, his tone almost casual. “But now, the real test begins.”