The sun was just beginning to rise, its golden tendrils slipping over the edge of the horizon and spreading across a quiet forest. In the cool silence of dawn, the wind carried the soft hum of cicadas and the occasional rustling of leaves. Amidst the tranquil beauty, the clearing stood still—breathtaking, untouched.

Until a shadow moved.

Ryuken Kagehisa’s blade flashed through the air, slicing with such precision that the wind seemed to groan in its wake. The swordmaster’s movements were silent, his breathing steady and deliberate, as if in perfect rhythm with the earth itself. A faint trail of shadow energy lingered behind each strike—a ghostly reminder of the Shadow Breath technique.

Opposite him, Ayame Mizuki watched her husband with an approving smile, her sapphire eyes glinting in the low morning light. From where she stood, perched elegantly atop a fallen log, she admired not only his swordsmanship but the raw focus that defined him.

“Are you practicing for someone, my dear, or just hoping to impress me?” she teased, her voice light and playful as the breeze that toyed with the ends of her silky blue ponytail.

Ryuken paused mid-swing, the blade of his katana shimmering like morning frost. Turning his gaze toward Ayame, he smirked faintly, the expression softening his otherwise sharp and enigmatic features.

“Perhaps both,” he replied, the slightest hint of amusement creeping into his voice.

Ayame’s laughter—soft, melodic—filled the air as she stepped off the log, her movements fluid and deliberate, like a dancer slipping through water. She closed the distance between them, her feet leaving barely a trace in the dew-soaked grass. When she reached him, her slender hands rose to adjust the collar of his dark haori, brushing his neck in the process.

“Your form is perfect,” she whispered, looking up into his eyes. “But your expression… far too serious for such a beautiful morning.”

Ryuken tilted his head slightly, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. “Seriousness keeps us alive, Ayame.”

“And levity keeps us human,” she countered, tapping a single finger against his chest.

The tension Ryuken so often carried in his shoulders seemed to ease just then, as if her very presence anchored him. He took her hand in his, his thumb brushing the back of her knuckles. “You always know how to disarm me.”

“Good,” Ayame said softly, her voice losing its playful edge. “You don’t need to fight battles in your mind before they happen.”

For a fleeting moment, silence settled between them—comfortable and intimate. It was a rare kind of peace they shared, born from mutual respect and the bonds forged through struggle. In the years since they had met, their lives had been a dance between shadow and light, war and solace, yet through it all, Ayame had always been the ember that kept Ryuken’s darkness from consuming him whole.

But peace, as always, was short-lived.

From the treeline, a subtle disturbance shattered the serenity. Leaves rustled unnaturally, and the air thickened with a chill that was impossible to ignore. Ryuken’s grip on his katana tightened instinctively, his body falling into the natural stance of a warrior. Ayame mirrored him, her fingers brushing the hilts of the kunai strapped to her thighs.

“Demon?” she asked, her tone light, though her sapphire eyes narrowed with deadly focus.

Ryuken nodded once, his gaze fixed on the shadows that clung to the forest’s edge. “Several.”

The forest held its breath. The shadows grew darker. Then they came.

From the treeline, figures burst forward—twisted, grotesque creatures of writhing limbs and glowing red eyes. Their guttural growls cut through the morning calm as they rushed the pair with terrifying speed.

Ryuken was already moving.

His katana sang as it met the first demon, shadow energy rippling through the air as his blade cleaved through flesh. The creature let out an ear-piercing wail before collapsing into ash. Another lunged at his side, but Ryuken spun, his movements faster than the eye could follow, striking the demon down in a single, calculated arc.

Meanwhile, Ayame weaved through the chaos like smoke, her kunai flashing in her hands. She dodged each monstrous claw with a dancer’s grace, her strikes deadly and precise. With a sly smile, she vaulted onto a demon’s back, driving a blade into the base of its skull before twisting off and landing softly on her feet.

“Too slow,” she murmured as the creature crumbled to dust.

Ryuken spared a glance at her—seeing not a wife, but a warrior in her element. The sight sent a strange pride through his chest, though now was not the time to indulge it. More demons poured from the shadows, shrieking in rage as they swarmed the clearing.

Ryuken exhaled deeply, a thin trail of dark energy escaping his lips. “Ayame. On me.”

She was at his side in an instant, their backs pressed together as they braced for the next wave.

“Shall we, my love?” she asked, her voice edged with excitement.

Ryuken smirked. “As always.”

Together, they moved.

Ryuken’s Shadow Breath exploded into full force, his strikes a flurry of speed and precision. Demons fell like wheat beneath a scythe, their screams lost to the wind. Ayame followed his rhythm perfectly, flowing between openings and striking with lethal accuracy. It was a dance—graceful, deadly, and mesmerizing.

Within minutes, the clearing was silent once more. Only ash remained where the demons had fallen. Ryuken lowered his blade, his breathing steady, though his heart still pounded from the rush of battle.

Beside him, Ayame sheathed her kunai with a satisfied sigh. “You’d think they’d learn by now not to interrupt us in the morning.”

Ryuken chuckled softly—a rare sound that only she could coax from him. “Demons have never been known for their wisdom.”

Ayame turned to him then, her sapphire eyes bright as she leaned close, her face mere inches from his. “At least they give us practice. And…” She traced a finger along his jawline. “An excuse to spend more time together.”

Ryuken looked down at her, his expression softening. In the midst of chaos and bloodshed, Ayame remained his peace. He sheathed his katana, cupping her cheek gently in his hand. “Then I suppose I’ll thank them.”

Her laughter, sweet and unrestrained, echoed through the clearing as the sun finally rose above the treeline, bathing them both in golden light.