In Ryuki City, Hoshin Maru sat with Ryden Ryuki on the open deck of the dojo. Both held small clay cups of tea, sipping slowly as steam curled into the night air. The smell of wet wood lingered all around them.
From the rooftop came the soft, steady drip of water—tap, tap, tap—merging with the silence. The dojo felt heavy and still, broken only by their breathing and the quiet clink of tea. They weren't rushing to speak; they were only sharing the moment, letting it stretch.
Beyond the deck, Ryden's gaze traveled across the city. Neon towers rose like blades, buzzing with light that cut through the dark sky.
Below them, old stone buildings stood stubborn, cracked but proud, their carved walls bearing the weight of centuries. Many houses were empty, their windows dark and hollow like abandoned shells.
