Episode:1

Rain lashed the rooftops like furious drumming from the skies, each drop adding to the chaos of the night. The streets of Kyoto glistened under flickering streetlamps, mostly deserted—except for one woman sprinting through the storm, her soaked cloak clinging to her frame as she cradled a tiny bundle close to her chest.

Her child. Her daughter.

The woman’s breaths came in gasps, legs burning, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The shadows behind her moved fast—silent pursuers with deadly intent. She darted through alleyways and over stone steps, each stride soaked in desperation.

Around her neck, a silver locket pulsed with a strange blue light. It glowed brighter as the danger neared, casting a faint aura over her daughter's face. The child stirred, letting out a soft, confused whimper.

“No, no, stay quiet, please…” the mother whispered, her voice barely audible over the thunder.

The locket—an heirloom, a beacon, a curse. They were after it. But they’d take the child too if they knew who she was.

She ducked beneath a wooden overhang, eyes scanning the surroundings. That’s when she spotted it: a crumbling shed wedged between two larger buildings, half-swallowed by ivy. Hidden. Forgotten.

She rushed in, heart pounding.

Inside, dust and damp clung to the air, but it was dry and, more importantly, out of sight. She pulled the blanket back slightly and looked down at her baby girl. Her daughter blinked up at her with wide, curious eyes—eyes that held the legacy of a line long buried, a future meant for something greater.

Tears slipped down the mother’s cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, brushing wet hair from her daughter’s tiny face. “You were never supposed to carry this burden.”

Thunder cracked overhead. The baby girl let out a louder cry.

Her time was running out.

She kissed the child’s forehead gently and whispered, “Be safe, my little light. Whatever happens… don’t let them take your name from you.”

She swaddled the baby tighter, nestling her carefully into an overturned crate padded with her cloak. Then she tucked the glowing locket deep beneath the folds of the blanket—its light dimmed now, as if it understood it needed to hide.

To mislead the hunters, she pulled a second pouch from beneath her sash—inside, an old jade comb, ornate and polished, worth chasing. With her free hand, she grabbed a broken ceramic shard from the shed floor and slipped it into her sleeve.

Outside, voices shouted in the rain. Closer.

She took one last look at her daughter, then steeled herself.

Bursting from the shed, she ran—deliberately clumsy, deliberately loud. Her footsteps splashed through puddles as she knocked over a trash bin and let the jade comb fall with a clatter at a corner. The ceramic shard, she let fall a few steps later, stained with blood from a self-inflicted cut.

Let them think she was still carrying the child. Let them believe she was reckless. Let them follow the trail.

Let them never know the true heir was hidden in silence.

Rain pelted her face as she led them away—toward nowhere.

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