The story begins beneath a moonless sky, where the forest breathes like a living thing. A man walks alone through the trees, his form wrapped in gray ninja robes that drink in the darkness. A hood shadows his face, concealing all but the sharp outline of his jaw. Black pants cling to his legs, tucked into long boots already stained with mud and crushed leaves. Each step presses down wet grass, each movement answered by the restless rustle of bushes, as if the forest itself is whispering warnings he refuses to hear.
The night is loud here. Insects cry, branches creak, and somewhere far away an owl cuts through the dark with a hollow call. The man moves with purpose, yet without haste, his posture relaxed in the way only the truly dangerous can afford. His hand rests near his waist, close to a weapon hidden beneath cloth. He pauses for half a breath when the wind shifts, sensing something wrong—then the world shatters.
An explosion tears through the silence. Fire blooms between the trees, followed instantly by screams—raw, terrified, human. The sound rolls through the forest like thunder. Before the echoes can settle, the man vanishes. One moment he stands among the trees, the next there is only disturbed air and falling leaves, slowly drifting to the ground.
The scene changes.
Kujira City burns.
Once a proud city of canals and stone bridges, Kujira now stands fractured, its districts divided by barricades, fire, and blood. A civil war grips its heart, pitting the head of the Suijin family, Kujaku Suijin, against her younger brother, Kagekawa Suijin. Brother and sister, bound by blood and broken by ambition, now command opposing forces tearing their own legacy apart.
Inside a fortified hall at the city's center, Kujaku Suijin stands before a wide table carved with maps of Kujira. Lantern light flickers across her sharp features, casting long shadows behind her. Her posture is straight, unyielding, but her eyes betray a mind that never rests. Beside her stands her right-hand man, armor scratched and stained from days without rest.
"Leader," he begins, his voice tight with restrained urgency. "The western and southern areas of Kujira City have been captured by Kagekawa. His forces have already attacked the eastern sector. At this rate, he will soon seize the north as well—and then he will reach this place. What should we do?"
Kujaku does not look away from the map. Her fingers trace the eastern district slowly, deliberately, as if feeling the battlefield beneath her skin. When she finally lifts her gaze, it is calm, almost cold.
"Do not worry about the northern or eastern sides," she says. "My strongest soldiers are hidden in the eastern area. Kagekawa believes he is advancing freely. That belief will cost him."
The man beside her shifts uneasily. Even now, surrounded by stone walls and loyal guards, fear seeps into his voice. "Leader… but what if we are attacked secretly? Your brother is known for striking where no one expects."
Kujaku turns fully toward him. Her eyes sharpen, cutting through doubt like a blade.
"Then we fight back," she replies without hesitation. "We will use tricks, just as we always have. This is not a war that can be won with honor alone. We have to win this civil war at any cost." She pauses, then adds, more quietly, "There is no future for Kujira if we lose."
Her right-hand man nods, though concern still lingers on his face. Kujaku takes a breath, steadying herself, and then asks, her voice carrying a trace of worry she rarely allows to surface.
"Is my daughter, Sakana, safely sent out to the city of Kozui?"
The man straightens. "Yes, leader. She would have reached Kozui by now." His answer is confident, meant to reassure.
Kujaku closes her eyes for a brief moment. "Good," she says. "Because my brother is an even greater trickster than I am." Her fists tighten at her sides. "If Sakana were here, he would use her as a weapon—to force me to surrender."
Outside, the distant sounds of battle echo through Kujira City. Kujaku opens her eyes again, resolve hardening like steel. The war has only just begun, and somewhere in the shadows, unseen hands are already moving their pieces.