Chapter One: The Sound of Snow

The snow came early that year. Silent, uninvited—like most things in the Kurokami estate.

Melissa had just finished scrubbing the outer walkway of the tea house, her hands raw from the cold, her breath a thin mist in the air. The wooden planks beneath her knees had frozen over in places, and each time she moved, it felt like something inside her ribs cracked with the effort.

Still, she worked. Quietly. Methodically.

She was not like the other maids—born in the province, trained in custom. She was foreign. A curiosity the household pretended not to notice. Her name, her silence, her pale eyes. None of it belonged here. That was the point.

“Do not go near the west wing after dusk.” That had been the only warning when she arrived.

No one explained why.

From a distance, the estate was beautiful: wrapped in cedar and pine, with eaves that curved like calligraphy and lanterns that blinked gold through the twilight fog. But Melissa had long since learned that beauty often grew from rot. The kind that crept beneath lacquer and behind the shoji walls, where no light reached.

The Kurokami clan were known for three things: their loyalty to the shogunate, their mastery of the blade, and their tragedies. None were spoken aloud. Only the snow spoke, and even it was cautious.

That morning, as the sky greyed and the snow began to fall in earnest, Melissa looked up from her work.

He was standing there.

Lord Kaito.

No announcement. No footsteps. Just the sudden stillness of the world as he entered it.

He was dressed in black, his robe simple but impeccably tied. A sword hung at his side—not ceremonial, but used. His hair was pulled back with precision. His eyes, unreadable.

“Why are you working outside?” he asked.

His voice was low, flat, but not unkind.

“I was told the snow dulls the footfalls of guests,” Melissa replied, bowing low. “I thought it best to clear the path.”

“Do not labor for vanity,” he said. “The snow will return by nightfall.”

“Then I will clear it again.”

A pause.

She did not look up. She had learned not to.

“I do not recognize you,” he said.

“I arrived a week ago.”

“Your name?”

“Melissa.”

That earned the faintest flicker of reaction in his eyes. “Not a name of this country.”

“No,” she said. “But neither is silence, and yet—”

“We speak it fluently,” he finished.

The wind shifted, stirring the snow around them like ash. The camellia bush beside the path had not yet lost its color—its blossoms full, heavy, and red as spilled ink.

For a moment, the only sound was the soft hiss of snow melting on stone.

Then he turned. Left without another word.

And Melissa, still kneeling in the cold, stared after him long after he had vanished behind the inner gate.

She told herself it was curiosity.

She lied to herself not know what will be the outcome of this.

Like

Comment

Share

Subcribe

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***