The Ronin's Path

Stone walls press close.

Kenji kneels on tatami, the reed mat rough beneath his knees.

The central keep smells of incense and iron.

Lord Masanori sits before him.

Posture perfect.

Face composed.

Ancestral scrolls watch from every wall—silent judges of the present.

"Kenji."

Masanori speaks not as a question but as a summons.

Kenji bows precisely.

Not too deep.

Not too shallow.

"Lord Masanori."

The clan lord extends a scroll.

Sealed with red wax.

Stamped with the Hoshina crest.

Kenji accepts it with both hands.

"The Cedar Valley lands will serve the clan's strength."

Masanori's voice carries the weight of pronouncement.

Not conversation.

Command.

"Their rice production will fund our standing armies against shogunate encroachment."

Kenji keeps his eyes lowered.

"Is this not necessary governance, Lord Masanori?"

"It is the path of survival."

Masanori reaches for the small bronze bell beside him.

Rings it once.

Clear tone cuts through the chamber.

Invokes ancestral approval.

"The edict must be delivered."

Kenji presses the scroll to his forehead.

"As you command."

His hand finds the katana hilt at his waist.

Cold metal against his palm.

Reassurance.

The bell's resonance fades into silence.

The scrolls watch.

Kenji rises.

Backs toward the door.

Three steps.

Bows again.

Turns.

The corridor stretches before him—stone walls, painted screens, the scent of power.

He walks with the edict in his obi.

With the sword hilt beneath his hand.

With unquestioning loyalty in his chest.