The road to the capital was ancient, carved into the bones of the Empire like a scar that refused to fade. It wound through emerald forests, across mist-veiled valleys, and between mountain spines that clawed at the sky. It was said that every emperor, every warlord, and every monster of legend had once walked this path.

Now, it belonged to two sixteen-year-old twins.

Kaede rode with her back straight and eyes forward, her katana secured beneath the folds of her traveling cloak. Ren rode beside her, quieter than usual, his gaze flicking to every shadow. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable but it was heavy. Like the pause before a thunderclap.

They weren’t alone. A retainer named Masaru silent, one-eyed, and deadly rode ahead as their escort. Their grandfather had trusted him with their lives. That alone made him more dangerous than most.

“Still thinking about the prophecy?” Kaede asked.

Ren nodded slowly. “Don’t you?”

“I try not to. Fate doesn’t swing a sword we do.”

He smirked. “You always say something like that before we get into trouble.”

As if summoned by her words, Masaru raised a hand, signaling them to stop.

The forest around them had gone too still. No birds. No breeze. The air was thick with tension.

Masaru dismounted without a word and drew his blade.

From the underbrush, figures emerged five in total, cloaked in gray, faces hidden behind war-masks. Their movements were practiced. Fluid. Assassins.

“Bandits?” Kaede whispered.

Ren shook his head. “Too quiet. Too coordinated.”

“Too late,” Masaru growled. “Draw.”

The first attacker lunged for Masaru only to be met with a flick of his wrist and a spray of blood. Kaede’s blade sang as she leapt from her horse, intercepting another with a parry so clean it split the assassin’s mask in two. Ren moved like a storm fast, wild, and overwhelming. He drove back two assailants at once, his strikes unpredictable and brutal.

But the fifth attacker wasn’t aiming for them.

He rushed toward the twins’ horses toward the scrolls and gifts meant for the Imperial Court.

“No!” Kaede shouted, launching a kunai through the air. It struck the assassin’s thigh, dropping him to one knee. Ren was already moving. In a single fluid motion, he disarmed and incapacitated the man, pressing his blade to the assassin’s throat.

“Who sent you?” Ren growled.

The man didn’t answer. Instead, he bit down hard and blood foamed from his mouth.

“Poison,” Masaru muttered grimly. “They were prepared to die.”

Kaede knelt beside one of the fallen attackers, removing his mask. His face was tattooed with a black crescent just like the one from her dreams.

She met Ren’s eyes. “This wasn’t about robbery.”

“No,” he said darkly. “They wanted to stop us from reaching the capital.”

Masaru sheathed his blade. “Then we ride faster. Whoever sent them knows you're coming and they’ll try again.”

As they rode into the dusk, Kaede couldn’t help but glance at the sky. A red sliver of moon was rising low and sharp like a blade.

And far ahead, beyond mountains veiled in blood-colored mist, the Crimson Capital waited.

It was said to be a place of honor, elegance, and power.

But to Kaede and Ren, it now felt more like a battlefield waiting to begin.