The ink was still wet on the scroll.
Ji Bai stood alone in the grand hall of Tenshukaku, the scent of lacquered wood mingling with a faint trace of lightning. Silence pressed in around him—dense, deliberate. This was no longer a sacred quiet. This was pause before judgment.
His final stroke had sealed the name: Raidenkyo.
No divine voice spoke. No wind moved. But something in the room had changed. It was as if every paper screen and polished tile was holding its breath.
The doors opened—not with ceremony, but urgency.
Kujou Sara entered first, flanked by two Shogunate guards. She stepped aside, and Yae Miko followed—no fan, no smile, no pretense.
Sara spoke without bowing. "The Shogun has given her response."
She held out a folded letter, edges lined in gold, her grip stiff.
Ji Bai accepted it and unfolded the page. It bore only seven words—written in the Shogun's unmistakable hand:
"The burden of silence ends now. Act, and be known."
His eyes narrowed. "That's not a command."
"No," said Miko. "It's a release."
Ji Bai looked up. "She's washing her hands of me?"
"Not quite," Miko said, stepping closer. "She's letting the people judge you now. And you'll give them the chance—tonight."
Sara added, "You are to speak publicly at the Tri-Lantern Assembly. The announcement is already made."
Ji Bai's brow furrowed. "Why? Why now?"
"Because stories are spreading," Miko answered. "Some say you carry divine legacy. Others claim you stole it. Either you claim the truth, or someone else will craft a lie that sticks."
Ji Bai said nothing.
Sara's voice dropped. "And there are groups—some within the Resistance, some from beyond the islands—already preparing to act. If you remain silent, they'll decide what you are."
Not a painter.Not a prophet.A threat.
Ji Bai exhaled slowly. "So this is how the Shogun protects me. By putting me in the open."
"No," Miko said. "This is how she stops protecting you."
He looked down at his ink-stained hands. In his mind, paintings blurred into each other: clouds, bridges, dream-worlds—but now the world was no longer waiting for beauty. It demanded truth. It demanded a side.
He finally asked, "And if I refuse?"
Sara didn't hesitate. "Then someone else will define Raidenkyo. And I doubt they'll be as kind."
That night, as lanterns rose across Inazuma City, casting golden reflections on the cobblestones, a wooden stage was raised in the center of the plaza.
Ji Bai stepped onto it alone.
He wore no official robe, no ceremonial paint. Just black.
His brush was strapped across his back like a weapon. His heart pounded, but his voice did not waver.
The crowd stretched in every direction. Their expressions were unreadable—suspicion, awe, resentment, hope.
When he spoke, it was without flourish:
"My name is Ji Bai.But you may come to know me as Raidenkyo."
Gasps rippled outward. Some bowed. Others flinched.
He continued:
"I did not steal this name. I earned it.I do not ask to rule, nor to defy—I ask to create.To remake what was broken."
A heavy pause followed. Then something passed through the air—unspoken, electric.
This wasn't reverence.
It was recognition.
Ji Bai closed his speech with a final vow:
"I have no army.Only ink and will.If that is enough to shake this land—so be it."
Above him, a lightning flash bloomed behind the clouds.
A warning. Or approval.
And deep in the crowd, a man fingered the hilt of a blade.