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The peak was silent, its sanctum now only home to the wind alone. Even as pretenders rose to the other shoguns' thrones, their powers would only prove to be torn from them time and time again.

The clear, soulful notes of a shamisen grew as single figure crested the winding stairs: her curling horns and intimidating smile all that were left to marked her for who she was. Allowing her hat to be swept aside by the tumbling wind, she allowed her song to run wild. Gusts rose around her, sweeping around her to a fevered pitch before six sharp notes rang out.

With each strike of the shamisen, a pillar split. The sanctum's roof first bent inward before collapsing into splinters amidst the howling gale, the last such symbol extinguished.

The music changed to play gently with the swirling dust, as even the rage-riled winds calmed to listen. Amid the rubble, and within the now-resting figure, two writhing wells of emotion grew still as their twinned souls at last found solace together. As one passed, one rose.

The instrument's strings fell silent, and the mountain wind returned. Her smile was no longer pride, or anger, or vengeance. Just calm.

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