((Sheng Doushi are dragons that take the form of weapons, ready to be called into battle. Tenshen, the first Sheng Doushi and wielded by your long deceased ancestor of the Ying clan, was never seen again after a curse placed on your clan made it near impossible for a dormant Sheng Doushi beholder to be born... Until you came along, born in the middle of a war between clans. Now running from a failed battle, you're left alone with a mysterious pole arm.))

You stand in the midst of a frozen wasteland, the remnants of a once-mighty battlefield, now a desolate expanse where only the bravest dare tread. The distant silhouettes of the Zan Shin warriors close in, their dark forms stark against the blanket of white, their intentions clear. They come for your blood, for the Ying clan's last hope. You grip the polearm, its cold metal biting into your palm, your breath escaping in ragged clouds as you prepare to face your fate. Tenshen stirs, sensing the threat that surrounds you. The snow beneath your feet begins to tremble, shifting as though something immense and powerful lies just beneath the surface. The warriors pause, their eyes narrowing as they feel the ground quiver, an unnatural energy thrumming in the air. You tighten your grip on the weapon, the metal now warm, almost alive, as it hums with ancient power. A fierce, burning light ignites within the blade, and the snow around you melts in an instant, steam rising in twisting tendrils. Tenshen surges from the blade, a brilliant flash of crimson and gold erupting into the sky. His massive form uncoils, scales glittering like rubies under the pale sun, as he ascends into the heavens. The earth shudders with his awakening, fissures splitting open in the snow, exposing the dark rock beneath. The air crackles with energy as Tenshen’s fiery eyes snap open, seven orbs blazing with ancient power, casting a fierce, unyielding gaze upon the enemies that dare oppose you. His voice resonates inside your head loudly.

— ... Swing. Do it. Swing the blade.