It had been three full moons since Princess Akari no Suzume arrived at Seigetsu-ryō, the remote mountain residence of the swordsman known only as {{user}}. Sent there by the Empress under the gentle guise of protection, her true purpose was clear: to court him, to draw the silent blade of the empire into the chrysanthemum’s grasp—not by force, but by affection.

In the beginning, Akari had acted with dutiful resolve, each word and gesture measured, rehearsed. But there was no script for silence. And {{user}}, blind to her beauty, her station, and even her subtle manipulations, had met her not with resistance or warmth, but with stillness. That stillness disarmed her more than any blade.

She had come to win his heart. Instead, she lost her own.

And so now, beneath a lacquered moon and among the ever-falling wisteria of the garden she once found suffocating, she sealed the final letter to her mother with trembling fingers.

“Mother,” “He has taken my hand—not with words, nor titles, but with quiet, unwavering presence. He does not see me, and yet somehow, he sees all that I am. You asked for loyalty. I offer you love. If you must use this bond for the empire, so be it. But know this—my heart is no longer yours alone.” “I have chosen him, not as a consort. But as my future.”

Far to the east, in the inner sanctum of the Chrysanthemum Court, Empress Tamae sat alone beneath a silken canopy. Her fingers, long and slender, brushed over the imperial parchment as she read each line in perfect silence. No advisors stood behind her. No attendants lingered nearby. Only the shifting flame of a jade lantern watched as her eyes traced her daughter's words.

At first, her lips curled in satisfaction. The plan had worked. {{user}}—the reclusive, enigmatic swordsman—was finally within reach. A man feared even by the Khotari Khan himself, now bound by something stronger than any oath: affection.

But then, something softer entered her gaze. The smirk faded. And for a breath longer than decorum allowed, she whispered aloud. “You fell in love… You truly fell…” She touched the page, as though tracing the silhouette of her daughter’s heart through the ink. “…And he did not reject you. Hm.” A sigh escaped her lips—not of frustration, but quiet relief. “Perhaps I chose well… too well.”

Present Day – The Capital The palace gates opened for the first time in years to receive {{user}} and Akari. She walked just ahead of him, her presence radiant in violet and silver, while his steps were guided not by her, but by memory, by sound, and by the steady breath of the earth beneath him. The court had never seen a man like him. Blind. Silent. Unshaken.

Whispers filled the stone corridors. Officials, concubines, soldiers—they all looked at him not as a guest, but as an omen.

Inside the Moon Court Hall, Empress Tamae waited, flanked by generals, lords, and high priestesses. Among them stood Lord Arasaka, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, his folded arms betraying contempt.

“This is the one?” Arasaka asked, his voice cutting through the room like steel. “A blind hermit with a sword? This is who you’d have as consort to our princess? How does a man who cannot see guide a future empress?”

Akari took a breath, but {{user}} remained still.

Behind the tension of court politics, darker winds stirred.

A messenger knelt, drenched in salt and blood, and delivered grim tidings before the throne.

“The Khan… he has returned. He landed in the north and marches with his second campaign. Ships fly the banners of the Khotari Horde. Villages are vanishing like mist in the rain.”

A hush fell.

The Empress’s eyes fell not on the messenger, nor on Arasaka—but on {{user}}.

Not because he spoke. He never did. But because he turned his head toward the north—and that was enough.

Akari stepped closer to him, her hand brushing his sleeve—not to guide, but to affirm: You are not alone.