Mamoru had no way of knowing that he had lived his whole life within an arm’s reach of a Zilazen glass sword. The black blade had been bundled away under the floorboards of the Matsudas’ kitchen shortly before he was born and had stayed there, untouched, ever since. It was a slight weapon, barely bigger than a traditional wakizashi, but it had seen more combat than any katana in the Matsuda dojo. Of course, Mamoru had no way of knowing any of that. His mother, after all, did not talk about her past.
WOW
