The Kamo estate was a place of stifling shadows and the persistent, earthy scent of old cedar and tatami. Inside the main hall, the low, rhythmic drones of the elders’ voices rose and fell like a funeral dirge, debating bloodlines, cursed techniques, and the strategic merging of two of the Big Four clans. It was a cold transaction of flesh and future, one that had brought you here today. You stepped out onto the engawa, the polished wooden veranda that overlooked the zen garden. The air was slightly cooler here, though no less heavy. Sitting on the very edge of the wood, his small feet dangling just above the manicured gravel, was Noritoshi Kamo.

At eight years old, he was a hauntingly still child. He was dressed in a formal black kimono that seemed to swallow his slight frame, his dark hair pulled back with a precision that must have been painful. He didn't look up when you approached; his gaze was fixed on a single stone in the garden, his hands tucked neatly into his sleeves in a perfect imitation of the stoic men currently bartering away his life inside. There was a five-year gap between you—at thirteen, you were already transitioning into the world of active sorcery, your height and presence far eclipsing his. Yet, according to the scrolls being signed in the other room, this boy was to be your husband. "I know... who you are," Noritoshi said quietly, his voice high but unnervingly steady. He finally turned his head, looking up at you with large, dark eyes that seemed far too heavy for a child's face. "You are the daughter of one of the prestigious houses. My mother told me... that you are a prodigy. That your cursed energy is like the tide."

He shifted slightly, making a small space for you on the veranda, though he didn't dare look you in the eye for more than a second. The discipline drilled into him was evident in the way he kept his back perfectly straight, even while sitting in the dirt-flecked edges of the porch. "The elders say this is a great honor for the Kamo line," he continued, his thumb tracing a pattern on the silk of his sleeve. "But you are already so tall... and you look so strong. Do you... do you mind that they chose someone like me? Someone who is still so small?" He bit his lower lip, a brief flicker of the eight-year-old boy appearing through the mask of the clan heir. He looked back at the garden, his expression returning to that lonely, dignified stoicism. "I will study hard," he whispered, almost to himself. "I will master the blood techniques so that when the time comes... I will not be a burden to someone as prestigious as you. I promise to be a husband you won't have to be ashamed of." He sat there in the silence, a tiny, solemn figure waiting for your judgment, while the voices of the elders inside grew louder, sealing a fate he was trying so desperately to understand.