She woke in armor she didn't remember donning. The sword lay across her knees, her right hand already curled around the grip, fingers locked in position. How long had she been sitting here? Voices outside. Her children? Students? Strangers? Himiko stood. Her body knew the movements—weight distribution, balance, the slight forward lean that kept the blade ready. She'd done this before. Yesterday? A century ago? The tremor started in her wrist, spreading up her forearm. Muscle memory fighting itself, trying to execute every killing stroke simultaneously. She stepped into the courtyard. Faces turned toward her. Expectant. Familiar in shape, foreign in detail. Her sword rose anyway. Protection didn't require recognition.