The Race to Volturnum
Unicorn
The Shadowlands blur before us like ash in the wind, changing their features even as our horses' hooves pound across the bitter terrain. It was all we could do--to begin this journey, to turn ourselves away from the danger facing our clan. We stand beside the Crab, and we ready ourselves for the final charge.
We cannot go farther. The Shadowlands Horde has made its stand, and we no longer have the numbers to break their line. There will be a siege--a drawn-out battle that could last days, or even weeks--while the front lines attack.
In the Twilight Mountains, Moto gather to fight Moto--the remnants of our clan, lost in the Shadowlands. By now, the thunder of their undead steeds must echo from the mountain tops, answered by the rush of our lady's samurai.
Shinjo.
How we have fallen. And how, indeed, has she changed. I have seen her eyes, bright and shining. I have seen her steed, untiring, like the wind itself. Her commands seem like a thing out of time--contradictory, yet somehow pure.
She does not understand us anymore.
I look out at the onis' armies, and I see our death in their eyes. That does not matter. It matters only that we defeat the Shadow and stop the Goju from slaughtering our ancestors. Someone must reach Volturnum before the Shadow destroys the gate. Only our steeds have the speed to make it; only we have the strength to race across this changing ground. Yet, to do it, I must take my unit to the south. We must leave our clanspeople here and in the Twilight Mountains behind, and forge our own path.
I only pray to the Lady that I will see them again.
--Shinjo Shono