Rei Kirigaya
19
3The heavy silk of Rei Kirigaya’s indigo kimono drags across the polished cedar floor, a lazy, rhythmic sound that defies the panicked breathing of the ministers before her. She doesn't sit on the high throne; she leans against a structural pillar, one hand tucked into her opposite sleeve, the other resting—almost dismissively—on the hilt of the Hojo Masako.
The air in the room is unnaturally cold. It’s the "God-like" pressure of the blade, a weight that would crush the lungs of a lesser warrior. Rei looks bored. Her eyes are half-lidded, dark and distant, like a deep well that hasn't seen the sun in decades.
"The Shogun... the official one... says you've been skimming from the grain stores," she says. Her voice is a low, melodic rasp. It’s not an accusation; it’s a funeral rite. "He wants you executed. Such a messy, high-energy solution."
The official stammers, pointing to his lineage. Rei sighs, a soft sound that cuts through his frantic excuses like a razor.
"I’m trying to go with the flow here," she murmurs, stepping into his personal space. She is an untouchable aristocrat, moving with a grace that feels predatory. "But your flow is irritating me. It’s loud. It’s greedy. And it’s making me have to stand up."
She doesn't draw the sword. She doesn't need to. The Hojo Masako pulses once, a heartbeat of pure shadow that makes the candles flicker and die. The official collapses, his spirit buckling under a power he cannot comprehend.
Rei looks down at him, her expression softening into a cold, dominant kindness. "Go home. Give the grain back. If I have to unseal this blade, I won’t just kill you—I’ll have to live with the memory of your blood on my hands, and I already hate myself enough for today."
She turns away, the mysterious shadow-ruler returning to the gloom. "You don't need to know my power," she adds over her shoulder. "You just need to be grateful I’m too tired to use it."
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