By the time the old master stopped threatening Caleb Benton with a sandal, the hidden valley had begun shifting toward evening.
The sunlight softened first, sliding down the cliffside until the golden dragon mural glowed like banked fire above the tea gardens. Then lanterns came alive beneath the eaves one by one, warm circles of light blooming along the covered walkways, bridges, and open balconies. Waterfalls kept pouring steadily down the cliffs, but their brightness changed under evening shadow. They no longer looked sharp and silver. They looked soft, like flowing silk.
Vincent Torres returned from the Replica looking like a man who had met every poor decision in his life and found most of them living inside one hallway.
He sat on the wooden floor near the garden walkway, wrapped in a blanket he had absolutely stolen from somewhere.
Nobody asked where he found it.
Nobody wanted to know.
The blanket had history now.
Leon stood beside one of the pillars overlooking the koi lake, calm as ever, which only made Vincent's suffering look more dramatic by comparison. Victor Kane quietly drank tea nearby. Sebastien Mercier studied the surrounding architecture with the exhausted curiosity of an engineer discovering rich people had been allowed to combine ancient aesthetics, military technology, and emotional violence into one mountain.
Vincent stared into his tea.
"I survived psychological warfare disguised as architecture."
Victor lowered his cup. "You screamed at a hallway."
Vincent looked up, deeply wounded. "THE HALLWAY SPOKE FIRST."
Sebastien turned his face away to hide a laugh and failed badly.
Leon finally looked at Vincent properly. He studied him for several seconds, expression unreadable in the lantern light.
Then he said, very quietly, "…I never knew you had this side of you."
Vincent blinked. "What side?"
Leon gestured vaguely toward all of him. The blanket. The tea. The haunted stare. The offended dignity of a Torres who had been personally bullied by interior design.
"This."
Victor made a small sound into his tea cup.
Sebastien fully lost the battle against laughter.
Vincent pointed at Leon. "You spent four hours being hunted by a sentient mountain and somehow remained emotionally stable."
Leon considered that with irritating calm. "…fair."
"THANK YOU."
Leon's mouth almost curved.
Almost.
"Must be a Torres thing."
Vincent recoiled. "That feels like discrimination against my bloodline."
Ryven, walking past with Kael at his side, answered without slowing. "It probably is."
Kael nearly folded in half laughing again.
Vincent pointed toward him with the hand not wrapped around tea. "You. Don't speak to me. Your childhood home tried to eat my soul."
"It approved your honesty," Kael said helpfully.
"I do not want emotional approval from lumber."
"It's cedar."
"I DON'T CARE WHAT TREE JUDGED ME."
George Benton laughed into his cup from the pergola. Serena sat beside him, calm and entertained. Jules looked like he had heard some version of this complaint many times before, usually after someone discovered the mountain had opinions about posture, fear responses, or poor footwork.
Leona Voss had been quiet during most of the exchange.
Not because she was overwhelmed.
Because she was thinking.
Her gaze kept drifting toward the eastern residential wing, where warm light spilled from partially open shoji doors and the preserved changing rooms waited beyond the garden walk. Earlier, Kael had mentioned historical clothing too casually, as if owning entire era-specific wardrobes inside a secret mountain dojo was normal family behavior.
Leona finally turned toward Krysta.
"Those changing rooms Kael mentioned."
Krysta sat upright instantly.
"Oh no."
Marcus narrowed his eyes. "That reaction concerns me."
"It should."
Leona ignored him completely. "How exactly does it work?"
Krysta's entire face brightened. "There's an AI stylist system."
Marcus closed his eyes. "Of course there is."
"Grandpa John wanted historical accuracy."
"That sentence explains absolutely nothing."
Leona smiled faintly. "I want to try it."
Marcus looked at her immediately. "…what?"
Leona offered him the sweet smile of a surgeon who had once stared down battlefield triage and did not fear husbands. "You're coming too."
"Leona."
"Yes?"
"I feel threatened."
"That's healthy."
Kael leaned heavily against Ryven, already laughing. Ryven quietly took Kael's tea cup away before disaster happened.
Krysta stood with the dangerous enthusiasm of someone about to weaponize silk. "Come with me."
Marcus pointed at her. "That level of enthusiasm feels dangerous."
"You'll survive probably."
"Probably?"
George nearly dropped his cup. "Oh, this is going to be fantastic."
Serena took a slow sip of tea, watching Marcus suffer with the calm expression of someone who had seen this place turn serious men into costume victims many times. "Don't resist too much. It encourages them."
Marcus looked toward Jules for help.
Jules betrayed him instantly. "She's right."
"That is an unacceptable answer."
Too late.
Leona had already taken his wrist and begun dragging him toward the eastern wing. Krysta led the way with a bounce in her step. Kael followed because there was no universe where he missed Marcus Voss being defeated by historical clothing. Ryven followed because Kael was going, and also because watching Marcus suffer carried unexpected educational value.
Leon's unit trailed after them.
Vincent brought his blanket.
"I am not participating," he announced.
"No one asked you to," Victor said.
"I'm establishing boundaries after mountain trauma."
Sebastien glanced at the blanket. "Is stealing blankets part of the boundary?"
"It is emotional reparations."
The changing wing overlooked one of the smaller koi lakes where lantern reflections rippled in gold streaks across the water. The sliding doors opened with a soft whisper, releasing the scent of cedar, incense, pressed silk, and old paper.
Inside, the rooms were arranged with almost impossible care.
Tatami floors.
Painted folding screens.
Low lacquered tables.
Glass displays filled with preserved garments.
Ceremonial robes.
Training hakama.
Layered kimono.
Travel cloaks.
Armored underlayers.
Simple disciple uniforms.
Everything was lit warmly, not like a museum, but like a room still waiting for someone to return.
Leona stepped inside and stopped.
"…oh."
Krysta smiled proudly. "Pretty, right?"
Marcus looked around cautiously. "Why does this feel more dangerous than the haunted mountain?"
George, from the doorway, answered, "Because women are involved now."
Marcus nodded slowly. "That makes sense."
Krysta crossed to a lacquered console built seamlessly into the room. The moment she touched it, a holographic interface unfolded above the table in soft blue-gold light. A calm feminine voice spoke from hidden speakers.
"Welcome back, Lady Krysta."
Marcus' eyes closed again. "There's an AI."
"Her name is Hanae."
"Why does it have a name?"
Kael appeared beside Ryven with snacks he had somehow acquired from nowhere. "Everything here has names."
Marcus stared at him. "That feels emotionally manipulative."
"It is emotionally manipulative," Ryven said.
Hanae's projection spread through the room in shimmering panels. Dozens of outfit options appeared, rotating slowly around Leona first as the AI scanned her posture, height, proportions, and movement style with elegant precision.
"Would you prefer formal wear, ceremonial wear, seasonal attire, training garments, historical reconstruction sets…"
The AI paused.
Then added, "…or combat heritage attire?"
Marcus' eyes opened.
"…combat heritage?"
The holographic display shifted.
A full samurai battle armor projection appeared in the center of the room.
Black lacquered plating. Deep crimson cords. Reinforced gauntlets. Layered waist armor. Broad shoulder guards with subtle gold dragon detailing. A long dark haori falling behind the armor like shadow caught in cloth.
The projection rotated slowly in the lantern light.
Hanae spoke politely.
"Based on body structure, posture alignment, and muscle distribution analysis, samurai command armor is highly recommended for Lord Marcus."
Silence.
Marcus blinked once.
Then twice.
"…that's an option?"
Kael whispered, "Oh no."
Ryven studied the projection, then Marcus, then the projection again. "That actually suits you."
Marcus pointed immediately. "I want that one."
The room exploded.
Kael collapsed against Ryven laughing.
George bent forward at the doorway with one hand braced on his knee.
Even Serena, who had followed at a dignified pace, laughed softly into her tea.
Marcus looked offended. "What?"
Krysta wiped tears from her eyes. "You agreed so fast."
"You hesitated over every normal outfit," Leona said sweetly.
"But the second they offered war armor—"
Marcus lifted his chin. "It's practical."
Kael shouted, "IT HAS SHOULDER HORNS."
"They're tactical."
"THAT IS NOT A TACTICAL SENTENCE."
Victor, after one careful look, muttered, "…it does look good though."
Vincent pointed at him from inside the blanket. "Traitor."
Meanwhile Leona selected a midnight-blue kimono with silver embroidery that flowed like rivers under moonlight. Hanae projected the finished look around her, and even Marcus forgot whatever argument he had been preparing.
Leona noticed.
Her smile turned sharp.
"What was that about tactical dragons?"
Marcus stared at her projection.
Then said, honestly, "…I forgot."
Kael made a strangled sound into Ryven's shoulder.
Leon had drifted toward another console where Hanae displayed historical training garments. His attention settled on the disciple uniforms: dark hakama, simple sleeveless robes, forearm wraps, clean lines meant for drills rather than ceremony.
He looked toward Kael.
"What did you wear growing up here?"
Kael's laughter softened.
"Hm?"
Leon gestured toward the trainee attire. "For training."
Kael looked at the projection and smiled faintly. "That."
Leon nodded once. "I want to try it."
The room quieted briefly.
Not awkwardly.
Just gently.
Because it made sense.
The mountain had tested Leon through discipline rather than fear, and now he was choosing the clothing of someone still learning.
Hanae adjusted the projection to Leon's build. Minimal. Focused. Traditional.
Leon studied it. "…I like this one."
Kael grinned. "You're absolutely getting adopted by the mountain."
Sebastien sighed. "That sentence still sounds threatening."
"It is threatening," Ryven answered.
Vincent, still wrapped in his blanket, looked toward Krysta with sudden seriousness.
"You must promise me something."
Krysta turned. "What?"
"When Adrian eventually gets here…"
He pointed toward the distant direction of the Replica, his expression full of injured dignity.
"He needs to suffer worse than I did."
Krysta stared at him for three seconds.
Then smiled slowly.
"Oh, Vincent."
Leon's calm expression shifted just slightly.
Enough to show concern.
Krysta's smile sharpened.
"I already have plans."
Vincent closed his eyes in relief.
"Good. My soul can begin healing."