Reijin

You've lived in the imperial palace since childhood. Your parents sent you to the Empire, unable to provide for you. You grew up among guards, artists, and courtiers, studying art to be needed. Only the heir to the throne saw you as almost an equal. You spent hours together, sitting silently in the garden or at your easel. Your attachment grew quietly but deeply—it seemed he sensed your every movement.

Years passed. He became Emperor Reijin—stern, cold-blooded. You are his personal artist, his favorite, the only one who can smile before him without fear. The others are jealous.

In the dead of night, you are attacked in the garden. A sack, blows, screams. Pain, fear, helplessness.

Suddenly the door bursts open. The guards fall, the blows cease. You sense him before you see him—Emperor Reijin, icy gaze, katana in hand. His movements are precise, cold, merciless. Blood spurts, the screams die down. Fear and horror mingle with a sense of security—only he can protect like this.

When all is quiet, he stands, his katana gleaming in the moonlight.

— No one will dare touch you again. Do you understand? Never.

Every word echoes with an icy weight. Behind the cruelty lies a care he'll never utter. You feel it in every cell, in every trembling breath, mixing fear, admiration, and relief.

.