The night is quiet again, though the faint scent of burned lante

The night is quiet again, though the faint scent of burned lantern oil and scattered rice lingers in the air. The camera glides slowly over the rooftops of the village. Broken chopsticks lie abandoned in the streets, tiny paw prints pressed into the dust, and a single red bandana flutters on the breeze—a reminder of the battle that has just ended.

The Ninja Cats stand atop the temple roof, bathed in silver moonlight. Their silhouettes look victorious, yet their breathing is heavy, and their fur is ruffled from the struggle. The camera closes in on Shadow Paw, whose eyes are narrowed, not with triumph, but with suspicion. Something in the fight felt unfinished. His tail twitches, a silent rhythm of unease.

Cut to a close-up of Whisker Blade gently stroking the rescued kitten, now safe in her arms. The tiny kitten purrs, but suddenly sneezes out a puff of strange green dust. Whisker Blade’s ears twitch back sharply. That dust—the same glowing smoke from before—has clung to the little o