Later that day, Raizo crouched beneath the floor slats of a vendor stall, ear pressed to the boards.

  Above him, the rōnin confronted his father, voice raised, hand trembling on his empty sheath.

  “You sold it!” he snarled. “It was mine, and you stole it like a rat sells poison in the dark!”

  Raizo’s father, flustered, fumbled with a box of dried roots. “I—I sold it, yes! But to a monk! One of your kind wouldn't pay, so—so I made a fair trade!”

  A monk, Raizo thought. That’s why I never heard rumors. No one speaks ill of monks.

  The rōnin hissed through his teeth. “Which temple?”

  Raizo's father waved a shaking hand. “The one on the cliff—Kōren-ji! I don’t know his name. He was old… and kind.”

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  The rōnin shoved away from the stand and stormed off. Raizo slipped away silently, the puppy rejoining him from the shadows.

  For a moment, he knelt and embraced the dog—not fully understanding why.

  “You did it,” he whispered, holding its mouth gently shut. “You really did it.”

  At Kōren-ji Temple, Raizo watched from the trees as the rōnin demanded the sword from a group of silent monks.

  One of them bowed his head.

  “The monk who carried the blade died upon these steps. The sword rests in the highest chamber now—where spirit and silence meet.”

  The rōnin cursed and grabbed the monk’s robes, spitting with fury.

  Suddenly, without a single touch, the monk raised one hand.

  A rush of invisible force flared from his palm—and the rōnin flew backward, tumbling down the stone steps with a cry.

  He groaned where he landed, gasping and wide-eyed.

  Raizo stood frozen in the trees.

  His hands trembled—not in fear, but awe.

  “What kind of power was that?”

  “That sword... it belongs to something much greater than me. And I have to be more than I am to touch it.”