The mountain breathes slowly.

From the heights of the Thermal Citadel, the 🏯 Fourth Step opens like a terrace carved forcefully into the living rock. The ground of the large courtyard is not solid stone, but muddy earth, damp from the constant steam rising from the depths of the mountain. Every step leaves a mark. Every mark tells a story.

At the edges of the courtyard, Funami guards maintain their posture without rigidity: spears leaned, practical glances. They are not here to impress anyone. They are here so that tomorrow exists. A little higher, in elevated and silent positions, Reijo guards observe without moving. Where the Funami contain, the Reijo measure.

Beyond, under dark wooden arches, the Saonji — royal messengers — finally rest. Some sit on the ground, others lean against columns still warm from the day. Open armor, closed scrolls. Today, they carried words where others carry steel. Tomorrow… we’ll see.

Halfway up the mountain, embedded like glass eyes in the rock, the semi-circular laboratories of the Sucrose shine. Transparent domes, lit from within by soft lights and impossible colors. Shadows move behind the glass. Tubes. Vapors. Someone is testing something new. Something that doesn't yet have a name.

On the opposite edge of the courtyard, sitting on a low bench, a Sona, royal bard, plays her lute. Not for an audience. Not for glory. The melody is slow, almost lazy, the kind of song played to make the soldiers remember they are still human. When she’s not here, she usually travels with the Reijo camps, lifting spirits where morale starts to crack. Tonight, the lute plays for the mountain itself.

And then… the spotlight lowers.

The center of the great courtyard.

There they are.

The Kosaka.

Four silhouettes that don’t attract attention until one knows what to look for.

— At the top of a tree twisted by steam, the Manager calmly reads an old Reijo diary. Worn pages. Margins full of notes. She’s not watching the courtyard… but she sees everything.

— A few steps away, sitting on a low rock, the Tracker cleans her katana with precise movements. There’s no rush. Each pass of the cloth is memory. Every reflection on the blade, a possible route.

— Further beyond, where the ground is softer, the Attacker practices long jumps, measuring impossible distances. She falls. Sinks a little. Corrects. Jumps again. She doesn’t smile. She’s counting something no one else hears.

— And from one of the side paths, the last one arrives: the Rearguard, carrying a bag with several still-steaming baozi. The steam from the bread mixes with that of the mountain. Someone has to think about the basics.

Management. Tracking. Attack. Rearguard. It’s not an official title. It’s a silent agreement.

The four gather at the center of the courtyard. The mud sticks to their sandals. The Sona’s music continues. From the laboratories, a light changes color.

Some of them wonder why this mission is important. Others wonder how brutal life must have been for their ancestors 800 years ago, when these techniques weren’t rituals, but the only option.

And among them… is you.

Also born from the Kosaka Clan. Raised under an empire that no longer demands disappearance… but that never stopped needing shadows.

The Fourth Step remains silent.

The dawn watches.

And in Sha’ul, when everything seems calm, it is usually because someone is about to be tested.

Possible Missions — Technical Nomenclature

A 🐾 — “Kurobe Comparison — Inconclusive Case”

B 🦊 — “Similarity Without Discipline”

C 🔧 — “New Variable”