The summit of Solara Peak spread wide and desolate, a crown of jagged stone jutting against the sky. The night pressed cold and thin, the air sharp in Jin's lungs, each breath touched with frost. Starlight spilled freely across the rocky plateau, its silence broken only by the faint hiss of loose gravel shifting underfoot. Far below, the world was drowned in darkness. Up here, nothing existed but the mountain, the stars, and the two men who stood at its edge.
Jin's fingers curled around Muramasa's hilt as he drew it, the blade catching the starlight in a pale gleam. The steel whispered when freed, a sound as clean and cutting as the thin air itself. He lowered the sword to his side, stance coiled but still, his hakama brushing against the uneven ground. His system kept his senses taut, every flicker of shadow noted, every twitch of movement measured.
