The city of Kuroshiro had never been so tense. Once bustling with merchants and lantern-lit nights, its streets now echoed with the heavy tread of soldiers and the hushed whispers of frightened citizens. The banners of rival clans fluttered in the distance, their colors like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. War was no longer a distant rumor—it was pressing at the city gates.
From the rooftop of an abandoned teahouse, Shinomiya Reiji watched the movements below with sharpened eyes. His figure melted into the shadows, his presence concealed by instinct as much as by training. He had once been a ghost who fought only for himself, a blade in the darkness without allegiance. But the fracture of old alliances and the rise of greater threats had pulled him into the heart of the storm.
Tonight, the air smelled of steel and blood before either had been spilled. Reiji's gaze followed the lines of soldiers moving through narrow streets, their armor catching the pale moonlight. He had counted them twice already, memorizing the cadence of their boots, the way their commanders barked orders. It was a march designed to suffocate the city from within.
His hand brushed against the hilt of his blade. For a fleeting moment, his reflection stared back at him in the polished steel—eyes sharp, yet haunted. How many more lives will I cut down before this war consumes me too? The silence gave no answer.
A sudden voice cut through his thoughts.
"You're late," said Kaede, her figure emerging from the stairwell behind him. She wore light armor, her movements precise, her expression caught between frustration and concern. "The clan leaders are moving faster than expected. If Kuroshiro falls, the next city will have no chance to prepare."
Reiji did not turn to face her. "I was watching. They are tightening the circle. By dawn, the gates will be sealed from both sides."
Kaede stepped closer, her eyes narrowing at the army below. "Then we strike before dawn?"
Her tone carried urgency, but Reiji remained still, his thoughts weaving through layers of strategy. The war was no longer about blades in the dark—it was about survival, about whether the fractured alliances could resist the tide sweeping across the land. Every move mattered, and every hesitation could cost hundreds of lives.
"No," he finally said. "If we move now, we die before we reach the walls. They're expecting a reckless strike. We wait until the banners of both clans clash. In the chaos, shadows will have room to breathe."
Kaede exhaled sharply, her hand gripping the dagger at her side. "You gamble with lives as if they're chess pieces."
Reiji turned his head, his eyes locking onto hers. There was no anger in his gaze, only a grim weight. "I gamble because there is no safe move left. The board is already broken."
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the drumbeat of marching soldiers.
Beneath them, the citizens of Kuroshiro hurried through dim alleys, clutching their children, their meager possessions, their hopes of escape. Some prayed to gods long silent; others cursed the clans that dragged them into this war. Reiji watched them as he would watch shadows cast by fire—fragile, fleeting, yet unwilling to vanish.
The night deepened, and the sound of horns echoed from the northern hills. Kaede's eyes widened. "They've arrived sooner than expected…"
Reiji rose to his full height, his cloak whispering against the wind. His hand rested firmly on his blade, but he did not draw it yet. The war had begun, and shadows like him would soon be forced to choose: remain hidden, or carve a path through blood and ruin.
For the first time in weeks, Reiji spoke words not of calculation, but of conviction.
"This march isn't just theirs. It's ours. If shadows must walk into war, then so be it."
The horns sounded again, louder this time, rolling through Kuroshiro like thunder. Soldiers clashed in the streets below, steel striking steel, screams ripping through the night. The veil of war had descended, and there was no turning back.