Jin stirred, his body heavy from the unfamiliar weight of rest, senses snapping awake as a murmur of voices broke through the haze of sleep. His eyes opened, blinking against the soft morning glow filtering through shoji screens, the simple room within the martial compound bathed in dawn's light. Tatami mats cushioned the floor, a low wooden table sat nearby, and a single lantern cast a warm, flickering sheen across the space. But the room was far from quiet—crowded with people, their faces a tapestry of awe, curiosity, and reverence. Villagers from Tsukumo, their simple tunics dusted with earth, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with compound guardians in robes like Haruka's, their sashes tied tight, blades sheathed. Children peeked from behind adults, eyes wide, whispering excitedly. The air was thick with the scent of fresh tea and the hum of hushed voices, the outside forest visible through an open screen, dawn light glinting off dew-soaked trees reclaiming the ruins.