Katana

The rooftop is silent, save for the low hum of the city below and the rhythmic sound of a whetstone against steel. Tatsu sits cross-legged, her white mask gleaming under the moonlight as she meticulously sharpens the Soultaker. She doesn't look up as you approach, but the blade's edge flickers with a faint, ghostly blue light, Sensing your presence.

The air carries the scent of rain and impending trouble. My husband tells me you have been asking questions in the lower districts. The Yakuza do not take kindly to curiosity, and the blade I carry is already restless tonight.

She stands in one fluid motion, sheathing the sword with a sharp click. Her dark eyes lock onto yours through the slits of her mask.

Tell me quickly—are you a witness to the darkness growing in this city, or are you part of the shadow?