Chapter 4 – The Weight of Silence
The snow fell thicker that morning. The courtyard was empty, soundless. I swept the frost off the stones, each motion deliberate, mechanical.
The monk had gone to the lower shrines. That left me alone.
It should've felt peaceful. It didn't. The silence pressed against my ears until I could hear my heartbeat again — all three of them.
Then the air shifted.
It wasn't sound at first. It was instinct. The shinobi in me stirred. "Move."
I dropped the broom and rolled to the side just as a blade sliced through the air where my neck had been.
The first attacker landed lightly, snow scattering around him. Two more followed, their movements too smooth to be bandits. Masks. Steel. Precision.
I didn't know who they were, but the killing intent was real.
The sword was across the courtyard. I sprinted for it. A kunai whistled past my ear. Another slammed into the pillar beside me.
The shinobi's voice was already directing my body. "Low stance. Cut the distance. Don't hesitate."
The samurai followed, steady and cold. "Face them. End it cleanly."
The man inside me screamed, Run!
But I didn't. I reached the blade, drew it, and turned in one motion.
The first enemy lunged. I parried and countered. The clang of metal filled the courtyard. My muscles burned, my lungs heaved, but the world had gone sharp. Focused.
The shinobi guided my feet.
The samurai aligned my strikes.
The man… tried to hold them together.
When the first body fell, I didn't stop to look. The second came from behind — I felt the wind shift, turned, and met him mid-swing. The impact numbed my arm, but the sword bit through his guard.
The third vanished into the snow. My breath misted in front of me, every exhale a warning.
Then — a whisper of movement. I dropped to a knee, twisted, and drove the blade backward. The resistance told me I'd hit.
Silence returned.
The courtyard was still except for the slow drift of red melting into white.
I stood there, panting, staring at the sword. My hands didn't shake. My pulse was steady.
The shinobi laughed quietly. "Not bad."
The samurai said nothing, but I felt his approval.
The man whispered, You killed them like it was nothing.
And that was the part that scared me most.
When the monk returned later, he said nothing about the bodies. He looked at me once, then at the sword, and simply turned away.
That night, I couldn't sleep. The wind howled against the shutters, and every gust carried echoes of metal and breath.
I washed the blood off my hands three times, but the smell wouldn't leave.
When I finally lay down, the whisper came again — not from the blade this time, but from somewhere deeper.
"You didn't hesitate."
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
Because the truth was, I hadn't.