The Masked Princess - Prologue

The night hung heavy over the Nakiri residence, its silence broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the silent whisper of the wind. Two figures moved through the darkness, cloaked in black garments. As they approached the perimeter walls, the figures paused, their gazes scanning the surroundings for any sign of life. Satisfied that the coast was clear, they leaped down, landing soundlessly on the dew-kissed grass below. One veered towards Lord Masaru's sleeping quarters, while the other set their sight on a different target: her young daughter, Nakiri Ayame.

In the dimly lit corridors, a female servant stumbled upon the intruder, her gasp of surprise stifled before it could escape her lips. With a swift stroke from the assassin's blade, her body crumpled to the floor in a silent heap.

The commotion roused Lord Masaru from his rest. He fumbled for his sword then braced himself.

"Who's there?!" He demanded.

The intruder entered his chamber before he could gather his bearings. With a swift strike, the assailant managed to land a blow, slicing his left arm. Blood stained the pristine white of his silk robe. Undeterred, he gritted his teeth against the pain and with a primal roar, he launched himself forward. His attacker faltered for a moment, caught off guard by his speed and with one giant swoop, a severed head made a thumping sound as it hit the floor.

As the assassin's headless body hit the floor, Masaru's senses remained on high alert, his gaze darting to and fro in search of any lingering threats. He braced himself for the possibility of another attack but as the moments passed and no new attacker emerged from the shadows, Masaru's tension began to ease, replaced instead by a sense of urgency. He quickly exited the room, his mind racing with the realization that he could not afford to waste a single precious moment.

He had always expected threats to his life as the next in line to become the next shogun. But this was the first time it had become a reality, catching him off guard. As he rushed down the corridor, a sense of regret washed over him. He should have been more prepared for such an occurrence, he thought. But dwelling on what could have been achieved nothing. His focus now was solely on protecting his precious daughter, no matter the cost.

"Ayame!" He called out, his voice echoing through the dimly lit corridors as he made his way towards his daughter's chambers. Each step felt like an eternity, his heart clenching with fear at the thought of what horrors might await him on the other side.

As he rounded the final corner, Masuru's worst fears were realized in an instant. The doors to Ayame's room stood open. A lifeless body lay strewn upon the floor, their blood staining the once pristine room with a crimson hue. And amidst the carnage, stood Ayame herself, her form illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the open window. But something was different, something was off. Her hair, once as dark as the night itself, now shimmered with an otherworldly brilliance. As white as the blizzard snow.

"Ayame?" He called out.

The girl turned to face him, her expression unreadable as she met his gaze with eyes as red as the blood that stained her hands. And there, upon her forehead, were two small white horns.

"Father.." She reached out to his father with blood still dripping from her small tiny hands.