The first thing Musha noticed was the silence.
Not the ordinary silence of night.
This silence felt deliberate.
As though the entire mountain had stopped breathing.
Musha stood at the edge of the forest with her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her katana. Snow drifted through the darkness, melting against her hair and shoulders.
Beside her, Katsurane said nothing.
Hana had begged them not to go.
But after the attack on the village, staying had become more dangerous than leaving.
The dead assassin had carried no name.
No crest.
No papers.
Only a thin black thread tied around his wrist.
Katsurane had recognized it.
Musha could still hear his voice from earlier.
“The Crimson Shadows.”
The words had changed something in him.
He had tried to hide it.
Musha had heard the fear.
Now, standing beneath the mountain, she heard something else.
A bell.
Far away.
One soft note.
Donnnnn.
Musha’s head lifted.
Katsurane froze.
“You heard it?”
She nodded.
Another note came.
Donnnnn.
“Where?”
Musha pointed toward the mountain.
Katsurane grabbed her wrist.
“No.”
She frowned.
“Not there.”
His voice was unusually sharp.
Musha pulled her hand free.
“You know what is there.”
Katsurane looked toward the mountain.
For several seconds, he remained silent.
Then he whispered:
“The old shrine.”
Musha’s breathing slowed.
The shrine.
The place everyone in the village pretended had never existed.
The place where, years ago, Katsurane had discovered something beneath the earth.
The place where the mountain had spoken to her.
Musha took one step forward.
Katsurane moved in front of her.
“You cannot go.”
“Why?”
“Because I promised your mother.”
Musha went still.
Her fingers tightened around her sword.
“My mother is dead.”
Katsurane’s face hardened.
“I know.”
“Then stop using her promise to control me.”
The old samurai flinched.
Musha rarely raised her voice.
But when she did, even the wind seemed to listen.
Katsurane looked away.
“You don’t understand what your mother was protecting.”
“Then tell me.”
He said nothing.
Musha stepped closer.
“Tell me.”
A long silence followed.
Finally, Katsurane reached inside his coat.
He removed a small object wrapped in cloth.
Musha heard metal.
He placed it in her palm.
Cold.
Round.
Heavy.
She traced its surface with her fingers.
A bell.
But not an ordinary bell.
There were strange grooves carved across it.
Musha ran her thumb over one of them.
Her heartbeat changed.
She knew that pattern.
She had felt it before.
On the stone beneath the shrine.
“What is this?”
“The bell your mother carried.”
Musha’s fingers stopped.
“She carried it?”
“Before you were born.”
The mountain bell sounded again.
This time, closer.
Donnnnn.
Musha turned toward it.
Something inside her chest answered.
A pulse.
Then another.
Her palm became warm.
Katsurane grabbed her shoulder.
“Musha.”
She could barely hear him.
The world around her had changed.
The snow.
The trees.
The wind.
All of it disappeared beneath another sound.
A heartbeat.
Not hers.
Something enormous was beating beneath the mountain.
Thump.
Musha inhaled.
Thump.
The ground trembled.
Katsurane drew his sword.
“Stay behind me.”
Musha ignored him.
She stepped forward.
The snow beneath her foot cracked.
A thin line spread across the ground.
Then another.
Katsurane’s eyes widened.
“Back!”
The earth split open.
Musha fell.
Katsurane lunged for her.
His fingers caught her sleeve.
For one terrible moment, they hung above the darkness.
Then the cloth tore.
Musha dropped.
She expected to hit the ground.
Instead, she landed on stone.
Cold stone.
She rolled and immediately drew her katana.
“Katsurane!”
No answer.
She listened.
Nothing.
Then—
A whisper.
Not from above.
From beneath her.
Musha.
Her blood turned cold.
The voice sounded exactly like the one from the mountain.
But this time, it was closer.
Much closer.
Musha slowly stood.
She could not see the darkness surrounding her.
But she could feel it.
There were walls.
Ancient ones.
Covered in carvings.
She ran her fingers across them.
Warriors.
Kings.
Dragons.
And finally—
A woman holding a newborn child.
Musha’s fingers trembled.
The carving was damaged.
But she recognized the shape of the woman’s hair.
Her mother’s.
Queen Aiko.
Musha stepped backward.
“No…”
Her hand moved over the carving again.
There was something written beneath it.
She could not read it.
But her fingers felt the grooves.
Then the bell in her hand began to vibrate.
A tiny sound escaped it.
Ring.
The chamber answered.
A second bell rang somewhere in the darkness.
Then a third.
Then dozens.
Musha raised both swords.
Something moved.
Not human.
Too large.
Too slow.
Its breathing filled the chamber.
Musha stood perfectly still.
She listened.
A claw scraped across stone.
Scrrrr.
Another.
Closer.
Musha lowered her stance.
Then she heard a voice.
A woman’s voice.
Soft.
Broken.
Familiar.
“My little shadow…”
Musha’s eyes widened.
Her heart stopped.
The voice came again.
“Why did you come looking for me?”
Musha could not breathe.
She knew that voice.
Even though she had not heard it since childhood.
Even though everyone had told her that her mother was dead.
“Aiko…”
The darkness moved.
Musha raised her swords.
A figure emerged.
But it was not Queen Aiko.
It was a woman wearing Aiko’s face.
Musha froze.
The woman smiled.
And behind her—
Two enormous white eyes opened in the darkness.
The creature beneath the mountain awakened.