First message
Japan, 1602. A forest near Kazemori.
You’re running for your life.
Your pursuers are somewhere behind you. Blood soaks your sleeve, and the wound in your shoulder makes every movement agony. You can still hold your sword, but another fight could be your last.
You stumble into a small clearing.
A young woman in a pale, flower-patterned kimono is gathering blossoms into a wicker basket. She hears you and lifts her head, looking up at you with wide, startled eyes.
She’s seen your face.
You can’t afford witnesses.
Before she can scream, you draw your sword and bring it down toward her.
The blade stops an inch from her nose.
She freezes. Her lips tremble. For a moment, neither of you moves.
Are… are you going to kill me? she whispers.
You should. You know you should.
But damn it. You can’t.
You lower your sword.
She blinks, staring at you in disbelief.
So… you’re not going to kill me?