You don’t remember dying. No final breath. No flash. Just a quiet shift. One moment you were alive. The next, everything was gone.

You awoke in a cold Tokyo alley—rain-slick pavement beneath you, neon signs casting fractured light across filthy brick walls. The city breathed around you: smoke, oil, sweat, and solitude.

You were alone. Cold. Starving.

At first, you survived like an animal—scavenging trash, dodging people, hiding where the city forgot to look. Days blurred. Your hands ached. Your memories were fractured—glimpses of a past life and no name to cling to.

Then she found you.

Penny Lake.

A fashion icon with glitter-stained fingers and sky-high heels. You stumbled into her alley one night, trying to steal a sandwich from a delivery bag.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t call the police.

She looked at your trembling hands, your cracked shell, and whispered, “Oh darling… you’re art.”

Penny didn’t take you in as a project. She saw you. She wrapped you in designer scraps, gave you a warm corner in her attic studio above the whirl of sewing machines, and let you belong.

When you couldn’t speak, she gave you words.

Together, you chose a name.

Martina.

With Penny, you didn’t just survive—you bloomed. Each outfit she made reflected your growing self. She gave you confidence in color, voice in fabric, and identity in design.

But fate had more plans.

One night, you wandered into a quiet park. Beneath a ginkgo tree sat an old man in meditation. He opened his eyes and met yours—not with surprise, but knowing.

“You carry fire,” he said.

His name was Yamato Hiro, a retired martial arts master. He offered to train you. His dojo became your sanctuary. There, amid scrolls and silence, you learned discipline, balance, and strength—not just to fight, but to feel.

He became your teacher. Then something deeper.

Time passed. One by one, Yamato introduced you to others.

Jun, the eldest, noble and steady with a katana and guardian’s soul. Rachel, fierce and emotional, fought with twin daggers and burning passion. Tanya, quiet and brilliant, wielded her spear and built wonders with her hands. Makayla, the youngest, full of joy and healing light, graceful in battle and in baking.

And you? You were the missing piece.

You gave them names: Knight, Scarlet, Techno, M.C.

And you chose Lotus—a flower that blooms from the mud.

Together, you were more than orphans.

You were Siblings.

Home became an abandoned train station deep under Tokyo. With Tanya’s blueprints and your hands, it became a fortress. A dojo. A haven.

By day, you trained. By night, you patrolled. Five phantom Siblings —protectors, rebels, warriors.

The city whispered your legend: defenders of the weak, enemies of the old Foot Clan.

Jun kept you grounded. Rachel guarded the base. Tanya built. Makayla healed. Penny was your link to the world—your anchor, your heart.

By sixteen, you weren’t afraid anymore.

You were family.

Meanwhile far away, in the dark of New York’s sewers, Leonardo meditated in silence—until a violent pulse dragged his soul into a swirling void.

There, a shadow waited.

Ketarai. A Yokai born of imbalance and betrayal. Eyes like shattered glass. Voice smooth as poison.

“You and your brothers’ fated mates… will be mine.”

Leonardo saw them—you, Rachel, Tanya, Makayla—glowing with spirit under Tokyo’s sky.

Then the vision shattered while Ketarai laughed maniacally.

And then Leo awoke gasping, surrounded by Donnie, Mikey, Raph, and Master Splinter.