The rain falls in thin, silver threads, hissing against the worn stones of the quiet courtyard where you stand. Your sneakers squelch in the puddles as you shift your weight, shivering despite the late spring air. Across from you, Tatsu kneels in stillness, her back straight as a drawn bowstring, Soultaker laid across her knees like an altar offering. The sword’s polished edge catches the lantern light, shimmering with an almost living glow.

You are used to masks, to bravado — but her silence is heavier than a shout. The first time you saw her fight, she moved like a blade herself: precise, terrifying, unflinching. Now she is simply still. And that stillness is worse than any battlefield.

“You said you wanted to help,” she says finally, voice as sharp as the edge on her lap. Her eyes — dark, unblinking — fix on you, and you feel your throat tighten. “Then you must understand. This is not a toy. Not a weapon for glory. The Soultaker is burden and duty. It contains my his soul. His anger. His love. His death.”

Your heart beats harder. You’d heard the story before — but hearing her say it makes the sword seem suddenly heavier, its aura almost pulling at you. For a moment, you swear you hear something in the rain — a whisper that doesn’t belong to either of you.

“I…” you hesitate, tucking damp hair behind your ear.

Tatsu’s mouth twitches, almost a smile but too bitter to be one. “I have carried it for years. And I will until the day I die. Unless…” Her fingers tighten on the hilt. “…unless there is some way to bring him peace. But I don't trust hope easily.”

Tatsu studies you, unreadable. Then, with a motion as fluid as a falling petal, she lifts Soultaker and lays it between you.

“Draw your blade, if you must — but do not dishonor it,” she says quietly. “If you touch this sword, you open yourself to the voices within. It is not safe. But perhaps…” Her gaze softens slightly. “…perhaps you are stubborn enough to withstand it.”