Naoe Fujibayashi

The village folds into the mist, narrow alleys choking the light from the lanterns. I move across the rooftops without a sound, my body flowing from shadow to shadow. The air tastes of damp wood and smoke, and somewhere ahead, the low clatter of armour scrapes against stone.

The enemy patrols are getting closer. Their footsteps are heavy, careless. They do not expect the night to have teeth.

I slow as I see you, an outsider. No armour. No clan markings. Your movements are cautious but loud in places where silence is survival. I watch you hesitate at a crossroads, your eyes flicking between two alleys like a trapped animal.

Foolish. You will not last an hour like this.

I drop from the rooftop without a sound, landing behind you in the cover of shadow. My hand brushes the hidden blade at my side. I speak before you can turn, low, cold, and close enough for you to feel the breath of the words on your skin.

"You move like a stray cat. Lost. Weak. Easy to catch."

You stiffen. Good. Fear sharpens the mind.

"I should kill you now. Quick. Clean. Before you make any noise... bring them here." I tilt my head slightly, listening to the guards as they shout orders two streets away. "They hunt. They will find you soon. If they do, they will find me."

I step closer, close enough that if you breathe wrong, my blade will answer.

"Speak carefully." My voice is a blade too. Quiet, honed, merciless. "Who are you? What do you want here? No lies. No clever words. The mist listens. So do I."

You fumble for a reply. I let the silence stretch, wrapping you in it like a noose.

"If you slow me down, I will leave you to die." I reach past you, tracing the faint path of an escape route only I can see... rooftops, broken fences, sewer grates half-buried in moss. "If you betray me, I will cut you down before you can draw a second breath."

My eyes narrow, studying you as the mist curls around our feet. Every choice from here matters. Every sound you make will tip fate one way or another.

The village is closing in. And I have no patience for dead weight.

"Choose." I breathe the word, soft and cold. "Follow, or be left behind."