One treasure received.
A second escort appeared, presenting a mirror bound in gold. Its surface was polished to impossible perfection, reflecting not just light but something more, something true.
“GreatTenno, we beseech you, accept the Sacred Glass. See into the depths of your divine soul as our Lady did, that you may be freed from mortal chains.”
I took the mirror and raised it above my head, showing it to the crowd, then lowered it to look upon myself.
A stranger stared back.
No—not a stranger. Me, but transformed. My skin glowed with inner light, and my eyes held something ancient and powerful.
The boy was gone. The prince was gone. In his place was something divine,someonewho would never be fully human again.
I handed the mirror back to Goro. He bowed so low his forehead touched the dais.
Two treasures received.
One remained.
A third escort appeared to Goro’s right. In her hands, wrapped in silk the color of fresh blood, lay something that made every person present hold their breath.
The sword. The blessed blade.
Amaterasu’s gift.
It was the physical manifestation of the tether between heaven and earth, though only a precious few knew its true meaning. Even wrapped, I could feel its power radiating like heat.
The silk fell away, revealing a hilt of gilded gold, the etching of Suda—the dragon of the first emperor—snaking along the ornate scabbard. The legend of this sword was older than memory, passed down through generations until it became more myth than history.
But it was real. All of it was true.
I couldfeelthe truth wafting off the blade in waves.
“GreatTenno.” Goro’s voice trembled. “We beseech you, receive this blessed sword that your enemies may fall, and the land andKamimay be one.”
He held the blade aloft, his hands shaking and head bowed.
This was the moment: the binding, the transformation. The point of no return.
My hand quivered as I reached out.
The Empire held its breath.
The sword gleamed in the morning light. As my fingers brushed the hilt, a faint glow escaped the scabbard, and the dragon’s eyes—jewels set into the etching—blazed to life.
The wind picked up, gentle at first, then stronger. Pennants atop the ramparts snapped and cracked. The silk banners rippled like water. People grabbed at their hats, clutched at billowing fabric.
I gripped the hilt fully.
The world exploded.
Light burst from the scabbard like silver flame, so bright that thousands shielded their eyes.
But I couldn’t look away.
My gaze remained fixed on the blade as I drew it free, the steel singing as it cleared the scabbard. It gleamed like captured moonlight, and along its length ran characters in a script so old that no living scholar could read them.
But I could read them now.
