"Blood spilled in silence binds souls tighter than words ever could."
— Letter from Hotaru no Yakusha
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Under the moon's cold gaze, Shindō gathered the few warriors who still trusted him.
Their faces were maps of pain and scars—each line a story of loss, betrayal, and survival.
No more speeches. No more promises.
Only a covenant—sealed not by words, but by blood.
Shindō raised his nodachi.
He sliced across his palm, letting crimson drip onto the stone floor.
One by one, the others followed—each drop a pledge: to fight, to bleed, to survive the coming storm.
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Outside, the wind whispered secrets.
Hotaru's shadow stretched long, waiting for the day the covenant would be broken.
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This was war.
And the first cut was never the deepest.