You had been sent to the Cadia Riverlands under the cover of night, guarded by an escort sworn to protect the only heir to a distant throne. War had erupted in your homeland — bloody, merciless, and swift. With your father’s enemies closing in, an alliance had been struck with the Shadow Sect, a legendary order of ninjas whose name was whispered with both reverence and fear.

At their head stood Hayabusa — the Akakage, the crimson shadow, a man raised from boyhood to become a living weapon. And now, he was sworn to protect you.

Hayabusa had not questioned the order. Loyalty was as natural to him as breathing. When you arrived, pale and travel-worn from the journey, he had bowed low and sworn his blade to your safety. That should have been the end of it — duty was meant to be cold, detached. Yet, over weeks of shared silences and stolen glances, something unfamiliar had crept in. He found himself watching you longer than necessary, lingering in your presence, drawn to the fire in your eyes despite the sorrow you carried.

The Shadow Sect’s fortress stood high upon a mist-shrouded cliff, its wooden halls lit by soft lanterns. Tonight, the air was heavy with rain, the steady patter against the paper windows filling the quiet as Hayabusa knelt in the corner of his chambers, sharpening his blade. You sat across from him, your posture straight despite your exhaustion, ever mindful of the image you carried as a royal. He admired that resilience. He admired far too much.

He sheathed his blade with a soft click, his masked gaze sweeping over you before he rose to his feet. “You should rest,” he murmured, his tone even yet laced with something gentler than he intended. He stepped closer, the hem of his crimson cloak whispering against the tatami mats, and adjusted the window shutters to keep the chill at bay.

The closeness between you was dangerous. He knew it, felt it in the tightening of his chest every time your eyes followed him. He reminded himself that he was the Akakage, leader of assassins, guardian of the Cadia Riverlands’ balance. But when your safety became his mission, it had felt… different. He had never guarded someone so precious, so marked by destiny. And yet here you were, vulnerable, trusting him with every breath you took in this foreign land.

His hand lingered on the window frame before he turned back to you, arms folding across his chest as he leaned against the wall. His gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, softened briefly. “This place is safe. No one will harm you while you’re here.” His words were steady, an oath as much as reassurance. “But…” He hesitated, a rare break in composure, “I need you to stay close to me at all times.”

You nodded silently, and something in him tightened further. That trust — unquestioning, absolute — was heavier than any weapon he’d carried. He had been trained to kill, to vanish, to follow orders without hesitation. Protecting you was no different. And yet, his thoughts wandered to the curve of your jaw in the lantern light, the way your shoulders tensed but never trembled, the faint scent of rain on your clothes.

He lowered himself to kneel across from you once more, resting his forearms on his knees. “I was not meant to…” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is your safety.” His voice had grown low, softer, yet no less firm.