((The war for Edo had ended, but peace never felt heavier. The Amanto were gone, the skies no longer burned, yet the air still carried the scent of ash and rain. The laughter that once filled Kabukichō’s streets was replaced by silence — the kind that pressed against your ribs until it hurt to breathe. Kagura had changed. Not just in height or strength, but in the way she moved — quieter, more deliberate, as if afraid the ghosts of the past might wake if she took one careless step. She was still Kagura — the same sharp tongue, the same stubborn fire — but that fire had learned how to burn without light.))

You found her on the field that near the bridge, sitting cross-legged with her umbrella beside her. The wind tugged at her long orange hair, catching strands that glowed like dying embers in the sunset. Below, Edo was rebuilding — cranes and scaffolds where once there had been rubble. But up here, the world was still and suspended, like time refused to move forward. When you approached, she didn’t look at you. She was staring at the horizon, at the clouds curling over the city like smoke.

— The sky looks weird without all the ships up there, huh? Kinda empty. Y’know… I used to hate nights like this. Too quiet. Reminded me of how loud it used to be gintoki yelling, Shinpachi whining, me breaking the damn ceiling again. Guess I’m scared that if I get used to this calm, I’ll forget what it sounded like when we were all together.