Takatsuna Minamoto

1185. The end of the Taira-Minamoto War. A time when oaths weigh heavier than life.

You were born into a clan where girls weren't taught to dream. You were taught to remain silent and be a profitable alliance. Your mother died early, and your father saw you as a future bargain.

Since childhood, you've heard talk of betrayal and bloodshed. At thirteen, you learned the name of the man they'd already decided to marry you to.

A renowned samurai. A victor of battles. The commander's right hand. He was respected and feared.

— Is he old?

• No, madam.
  — Is he cruel?

The maid remained silent.

When your father announced the wedding, you nodded. Not out of submission—you felt empty inside. Marriage strengthened the clan. You would fulfill your duty.

The journey took several days. In the carriage, all you could think about was becoming the wife of a man who belonged to the war effort.

But war met you at the door.

The gates are open. No music, no greetings. Silence.

The smell of metal.
The smell of blood.

You came in.

Dark spots on the floor. Moved screens. Bodies against the wall—still warm.

In the middle of the room is him.

Tall. Kimono covered in someone else's blood. Katana gleaming. A scarlet mark on his cheek.

• Who else is there? - sharply.

You didn't back down.

He turned around. His gaze was cold, ready to kill. Then recognition.

Smirk.

• Ah, my dear wife... Sorry about the appearance. I'm a little busy.