One Year Later
The air inside the Shirogiri War Room hung heavy with the scent of burning incense—smoky tendrils curling through dim light like ancestral spirits whispering through the rafters. The faint scent of sandalwood clashed with the sterile hum of high-frequency data streams. Holographic projections of planetary systems rotated silently above the central war table, bathing the room in a ghostly ballet of cobalt and crimson light. They flickered like omen-bearing stars, casting long shadows on the faces of those gathered—each one a veteran, a tactician, or a killer.
At the head of the room stood Ash "Shogun" Shirogiri, cloaked in silence and storm. His arms crossed over a ceremonial armor vest, eyes like twin razors, surveying the projections with a warlord's gaze—equal parts poise and predation. Beneath the battlefield calm, a furnace of ambition burned.
Beside him sat his father, Kuro Shirogiri—a man whose presence filled the room like iron fills the blood. Weathered yet unbroken at 46, his stare dissected the strategy feeds with a predator's patience. His hands rested upon his lap, motionless, but his mind spun like a loaded chamber. A strategist carved from ice and iron.
To Kuro's right, Kaito—Ash's most trusted lieutenant—stood sentinel, posture rigid, every breath measured. A grizzled warrior in his early 40s, his body bore the scars of loyalty and conquest. Rumor held that Kaito once held off an entire battalion with nothing but a plasma spear and a dead man's grit.
Across the table, the synthetic presence of Kenshiko AI pulsed faintly, her core embedded in a spire of obsidian alloy. Her voice, feminine but void of warmth, filtered through layered audio channels as she parsed real-time intelligence with machine precision.
At the far end, leaning forward into the glow of the projections, was the youngest among them—Hakurō Kaede, the 19-year-old prodigy whose mind outpaced computers and men alike. Her white-blonde hair caught the light like a blade in moonlight, and her violet eyes shimmered with icy clarity.
"Shogun," Hakurō began, her voice calm, composed, yet piercing. "Our current foothold in the Kurugami sector is stable, but expansion now without surgical precision would stretch our logistics and invite scrutiny. We require an acquisition—one with high strategic value, minimal risk exposure."
Ash nodded slowly, fingers tapping a rhythmic code into the console embedded in the war table. A new projection emerged: a field of asteroids orbiting the distant edge of the Kurugami system. Amid the cold void, a red marker blinked steadily—like a predator's eye in the dark.
Tenryu Forge.
"This," Ash said, voice low and tight with intent, "is our next move. A forgotten industrial facility buried in the belt. Once auxiliary, now autonomous. Fully operational, highly efficient. It's producing warships, weapon systems, and prototype tech—some of it experimental, some... unstable."
He paused, eyes gleaming in the low light.
"It's isolated. No major faction claims it. But its capabilities rival primary shipyards. With it under our control, we can triple our armament capacity without alerting the central registries."
Kaito's brow furrowed. "Who's holding it now?"
Kenshiko responded instantly. "A collective of rogue engineers and ex-corporate defectors. Their systems remain intact. Defense protocols are rudimentary—standard turret networks, automated drones. No organized militia. Production is high. Morale is unknown. Probability of coordinated resistance: 12.7%."
Kuro finally spoke, his voice a deep rumble soaked in wisdom and warning. "Then they'll fold quickly. But be wary. Men with no banners often fight the hardest. Desperation sharpens resolve. They'll see this as survival, not surrender."
Ash's lips curved into a cold, wolfish smirk. "That's why we strike before they know what's coming. No negotiation. No mercy. I'll lead the op myself. Five Musa warriors. One elite Oni-Brigade unit. Quick insertion. Full spectrum jamming. We'll breach, secure, and silence it in under two hours."
Hakurō leaned back, nodding. "A surgical strike, clean and quiet. Once the Forge is ours, we integrate it into our blackline supply chain. No pings, no signals. Off the grid."
Kaito cracked his knuckles, voice like gravel over steel. "And if they choose to fight?"
Ash's smirk sharpened. "Then they'll serve another function. A message. Resistance is a choice—we'll teach them what it costs."
Kenshiko's synthetic pulse intensified. "Infiltration vectors uploading. Jammer protocols aligned. Estimated time to readiness: 36 hours. Once activated, Tenryu Forge will go dark to the galaxy."
Silence followed, thick and taut.
Then Kuro exhaled, his face unreadable. "This move defines the next act of our campaign, Ash. Kurugami was the border. Tenryu is the blade. Do not falter."
Ash turned to face his war council fully, voice steel-bound and unwavering.
"We take the Forge. And from its fires, we forge our dominion. The stars... will learn to kneel."
As the war table dimmed and shadows returned to the walls, the warriors of Shirogiri dispersed—silent, focused, and bound to a single purpose. A storm was coming. And it bore the name Shirogiri.