The morning sun rose slowly over Edo, casting golden veils across rooftops and fields, as if it sought to bless the village with light.

  But for some, that light was nothing more than a final gleam before the darkness.

  For the daimyō’s men, this day would not end in light.

  It would end in eternal shadow.

  The conversation at the steward’s house was over—at least officially. Yet something unspoken still lingered in the air, something cold.

  The captain, whose eyes had lost none of their hardness even in daylight, stood up. His movements were precise, controlled—like a man who no longer asked questions, but took answers.

  “I will inspect the shrine myself,” he said.

  The words fell like a verdict. Sharp. Final.

  “And while I am there, I will question Miko.”

  Himoto remained outwardly calm, but in his eyes—visible only to those who knew him well—there was concern. Not for himself. For what might come next.

  Aiko, standing quietly in a corner of the room, tensed ever so slightly. Her gaze flicked to Himoto, then to the door through which the captain was about to leave.

  No one protested. What would have been the point?

  The captain gave a brief nod to his men, turned, and walked through the doorway—leaving the room colder than when he had entered.

  Tessa had seen it all.

  Heard every word.

  From her post, hidden in the shadows of the trees, she had taken it all in like the beating of a war drum.

  “Then it’s time,” she said softly, almost amused.

  She turned and stepped back into the cave—its entrance, even in daylight, like the gaping mouth of some ancient beast, ready to swallow anything bold enough to enter.

  Inside, twilight reigned.

  The fire burned low, timid.

  And there it stood.

  The armor.

  Not merely a weapon. Not just metal.

  It looked as if it had not been forged, but born—from fear, from wrath, from death.

  Even in the darkness, it stood out. No light reflected from its surface. If anything, it devoured it.

  A void in the shape of a thing.

  Tessa stepped closer. Her fingers brushed the cold metal. But it was more than cold.

  It was... empty.

  Like reaching into an open grave.

  She began to dress.

  The shoulder plates—heavy as guilt, solid as judgment. They settled over her like they belonged to something greater. Something... not human.

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  The breastplate—blackened steel, etched with inscriptions so fine they were only visible at the perfect angle. Symbols no one could read anymore. Or should.

  The bracers—smooth as obsidian, cold as a curse.

  The greaves—slow, unyielding. As though they could withstand earthquakes.

  Layer by layer, Tessa vanished.

  Not in retreat.

  In transformation.

  At last, she took the helmet.

  A death’s head, wrought from blackened metal.

  Empty.

  Ancient emptiness.

  She held it in her hands for a moment. Then placed it on her head.

  A shudder ran down her spine.

  Not from cold.

  From awakening.

  The moment the helmet locked into place, something inside the armor stirred.

  Something old.

  Something hungry.

  A low thrum filled the air. Not heard—but felt. As if the very space around her had begun to tremble.

  The flames of the fire twitched—then shrank, as though starved of air.

  An invisible pressure spread outward.

  Heavy as guilt.

  Thick as forgetting.

  The temperature dropped. No wind, and yet it felt as if winter had arrived.

  At last, Mike spoke. His voice was different. Quieter. Almost reverent.

  “Tessa... do you feel it?”

  She flexed her fingers inside the gauntlets.

  Her strength hadn’t just returned.

  It had... grown.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  Her voice was deeper. Not just muffled by the helmet—it was as if something else spoke.

  Something she had become.

  Something she had never fully been... but always could have been.

  She no longer sounded like a woman.

  Not even like a human being.

  She raised her gaze.

  “Showing up won’t be enough,” she said.

  Mike responded immediately.

  “No. This has to become a story they’ll never forget.”

  Tessa stepped from the shadows of the cave.

  Her cloak moved soundlessly.

  Her breath made no sound.

  She was no longer a body.

  She was... anticipation.

  Threat.

  The silence before the storm.

  Each of her footsteps left no trace—

  and yet the sense that something had come remained.

  Something that would not leave again.

  The captain was on his way to the shrine.

  Miko knew nothing of what awaited her.

  And Tessa?

  Tessa was about to create more than a legend.