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Beneath the moon’s pale gaze, shadows twist like living smoke. The night hums with secrets—whispers of blades unsheathed, footsteps silent as falling ash. A lone figure crouches atop rain-slicked tiles, their breath a ghost in the chill air. Below, lanterns flicker, casting frail light over scrolls clutched in the hands of a silhouetted envoy. The mission is clear: retrieve, vanish, leave no trace. Wind carves through the alley, carrying the tang of iron and distant thunder. Fingers brush the hilt of a tanto, its edge honed sharper than betrayal. No room for error. The envoy pauses, senses pricking—too late. A blur descends, a dance of precision. Silk whispers against steel; the scroll changes hands. By dawn, it will burn, its secrets unraveled by fire. The rooftops stretch endless, a labyrinth of escape. Behind, shouts rise—a hive stirred. But the night is an ally, its shadows a second skin. Leaping gaps, sliding through narrow passes, the ninja melts into the dark. Somewhere, a temple bell tolls, its echo swallowed by the mist. Honor lies not in glory, but in the silence between heartbeats. The mission, complete. The village, safe. For now.
