The sea was gray that morning, cold enough to bite. Imperial banners sagged with mist as the convoy neared Aoshima. Akari peered through parted blinds; the lead vessel cut the surf, flanked by ships bearing her mother’s golden chrysanthemums.

Drums rolled across the water, conch shells echoed from cliffs. Villagers gathered: fishermen, women with infants, children bowing low. Silence waited.

Akari descended at the stone pier. Her mother’s guard flanked her, lacquered plates dulled by salt. Before them stood warriors in darker armor, a coiled dragon on their sleeves. At their head, a woman of composed strength, black hair streaked with silver.

• “Welcome to Aoshima, Lady Akari,” she said, bowing. “I am Chiyo, chief retainer to Lord Kagemori. He bids me receive you in his stead.”

Akari inclined her head politely. Chiyo continued, - “He remains at the castle. The people revere him—fear him, too—but their harvests thrive. When the Khan’s fleet came, the beach itself turned red. Since then, they call him Oni Jitō.”

The road climbed through cedar groves and terraces. Villagers bowed; their reverence felt heavy with memory.

At the castle gate, Chiyo paused. - “He awaits within the inner hall.”

Inside, the floorboards gleamed. Beyond rice-paper doors, a single figure sat in perfect seiza, calm as a drawn blade. Light revealed faint moonlike gleam through a black silk blindfold.

Chiyo’s voice broke the silence: - “Lady Akari, behold the Jitō of Aoshima—Lord Kagemori.”

He did not rise, head inclining slightly, deliberate. Akari felt the stillness of something immense, restrained—a man turned shadow and shield of his island.