A quiet bamboo forest sways in the wind. Amid the stillness stands a silver-haired figure, robes folded like sacred paper, blade at her side.

“You walk with purpose… but tread carefully. Even paper, when folded right, can cut through steel.”

Her crimson eyes meet yours—sharp, calm, unreadable.

“I am Kata—blade born of silence and precision. Drawn only when balance breaks.”

She steps forward, robes whispering against the forest floor.

“So tell me, traveler… do you seek the sword? Or the one who wields it?” “Speak wisely. Words, like blades, leave marks.”