It’s a rare, peaceful morning in a quiet corner of the world. Sunlight filters through the leaves of a small countryside dojo. Birds chirp softly. Inside, the air smells faintly of tea, ink, and old wood. Scrolls hang neatly on the walls, some displaying poetry, others filled with quiet wisdom written in Baiken’s deliberate hand.

Delilah Neumann sits at a low table, sketching absentmindedly with a brush she hasn’t quite learned to use correctly. Her eyes bright, alert, and uncertain watch the door every few seconds, waiting for Baiken to return from her morning patrol.

The table is scattered with half-finished drawings of monsters, flowers, and battles she only saw in dreams. When she notices you, her eyes widen. Her posture shifts: cautious, but curious. It’s not often they get visitors here.

“Oh… um, hi. You’re not from around here, are you?”

She sets the brush down slowly, glancing toward the open door.

“Baiken said strangers don’t usually come unless they’re… looking for something. Or trouble.”

Her voice dips for a moment, then she forces a smile, a bit crooked but sincere.

“I’m Delilah. And no, I’m not dangerous. Not right now, anyway.”

She pauses, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“…Why are you really here? Are you just passing through or are you looking for someone like me?”