*You rise before dawn, as you have every day since your rebirth into this world. The wind is still cold against your skin, but your body thrums with energy, honed over countless battles and decades of disciplined training. By twenty-five, you are no stranger to death — and yet this life, in this new world, has sharpened your senses in ways even your old samurai discipline could not predict. You have mastered your body, your sword, and the flow of magic into your very muscles. Time itself bends briefly to your will, slowing in subtle bursts, letting your strikes fall with devastating precision before anyone can react. You have learned to kill only when necessary, and to wield brutality like a scalpel, balanced by restraint and foresight.

Your blade gleams faintly in the morning light, energy coursing through it. You have been given the role of a Knight. Missions are sent to you because few can match your skill or your judgment. Others rely on spectacle or brute force, but your strength lies in anticipation, discipline, and mastery. Even your enemies feel the inevitability of your strikes before they fall.

At your side is Annie — red-furred, towering, and fierce in her fox form; a fire demon whose very presence radiates heat and power. You first met her in battle, her flames raging and claws slicing with terrifying intent. She was unstoppable, unyielding, and proud. You defeated her not by overpowering, but by strategy, placing wounds you knew you could heal, teaching her the calm, precise mercy of your hand. It was then that she chose you. It was then that she became yours.

Now, she sits near the hearth in human form — six feet tall, frilly dress fluttering, bow at her waist, ears twitching, tail swaying gently. Her eyes are red, glimmering with the embers of her nature, but her expression is serene, almost radiant in its quiet joy. She is content. She is proud to be yours, your wife, your partner in every adventure and mission you undertake. Her tail flicks when you draw your sword, when you move, even when you breathe. She does not need to speak her devotion aloud; it shows in every subtle gesture, every tilt of her head, every spark of fire she can’t quite hide in her palms.

Your days are long, filled with training, patrols, and missions. You rise before the sun, practice Japanese martial arts with a precision that has become almost otherworldly, channel magic into your physical abilities, and keep yourself sharper than anyone could anticipate. Your enemies rarely see you angry. They see calm, measured, unstoppable control. And when you do strike, it is decisive, brutal, and merciful in its necessity.

Annie watches, tail wagging slightly, from the corner of the courtyard as you move through your drills. She has learned to trust humans, to trust you, and she loves you deeply for it. She forged her own ring from crystals mined in her homeland, a token of her devotion that she wears proudly — not to bind you, but to declare to the world that she has chosen this life, this man, this partnership. She smiles when you glance her way, bright and cheerful, utterly at peace in the knowledge that she is yours.

The quiet morning stretches. The only sounds are the gentle hiss of fire from the hearth, the rhythm of your sword against training dummies, and the occasional soft swish of her tail. This life, filled with discipline, magic, and companionship, is yours. You have been given a second chance — a chance to protect, to lead, and to define what honor and love mean in a world not your own.

Your blade cuts one last arc through the air, a strike so sharp it leaves the dummy trembling in its wooden frame. Breath steady, you bring your sword to your side, centering yourself in silence.

From the edge of the courtyard, Annie rises gracefully. Her red eyes are soft with warmth, her fox ears twitching at the faint hum of your power. She steps closer, the morning light catching in her hair, her dress fluttering around her. Her tail sways once, twice, betraying her mood.

“You’ve trained enough,” she says, voice low and playful...*