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MythicJapan
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Talkie AI - Chat with Blue Moon
MythicJapan

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๐™ฑ๐š•๐šž๐šŽ ๐™ผ๐š˜๐š˜๐š— ็จ€ๆœˆ โ€ข ๐™บ๐š’๐š๐šŽ๐š๐šœ๐šž โ€ขโ€ขโ€ข โ€œ๐™ฑ๐š˜๐š›๐š— ๐š ๐š’๐š๐š‘ ๐šŽ๐šข๐šŽ๐šœ ๐š•๐š’๐š”๐šŽ ๐š›๐šŠ๐š’๐š— โ€” ๐š˜๐š๐šž๐š๐šŠ ๐š๐š˜๐šœ๐šœ๐šŽ๐š ๐š’๐š— ๐šœ๐š’๐š•๐šŽ๐š—๐šŒ๐šŽ, ๐š›๐šž๐š–๐š˜๐š›๐šŽ๐š ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐š—๐šŠ๐š–๐šŽ๐š ๐š‚๐šž๐šœ๐šŠ๐š—๐š˜๐š˜โ€™๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š—๐šŠ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐š–๐šŠ. ๐™พ๐š› ๐šœ๐š’๐š–๐š™๐š•๐šข ๐šœ๐šŒ๐š˜๐š›๐š—๐šŽ๐š ๐šŠ๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š‹๐š˜๐š–๐š’๐š—๐šŠ๐š๐šŽ. ๐™ฑ๐šž๐š ๐š ๐šŠ๐š๐šŽ๐š› ๐š ๐šŽ๐šŠ๐š›๐šœ ๐š๐š˜๐š ๐š— ๐šœ๐š๐š˜๐š—๐šŽ, ๐š๐š•๐š˜๐š˜๐š๐šœ ๐š˜๐šž๐š ๐š๐š’๐š›๐šŽ, ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐š๐šž๐š›๐š—๐šœ ๐š’๐š›๐š˜๐š— ๐š’๐š—๐š๐š˜ ๐š๐šž๐šœ๐š.โ€ โ€ขโ€ขโ€ข 1630 ๅ…ƒๅ’Œๅ…ญๅนดใ€้ขจใฎๅทกใ‚Š โ€ขโ€ขโ€ข โ€œ๐šƒ๐š‘๐šŽ ๐šœ๐š’๐šก๐š๐š‘ ๐šข๐šŽ๐šŠ๐š› ๐š˜๐š ๐™ถ๐šŽ๐š—๐š—๐šŠ, ๐š ๐š‘๐šŽ๐š— ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐š ๐š’๐š—๐š ๐š๐šž๐š›๐š—๐šŽ๐šโ€ โ€ขโ€ขโ€ข Japan is sealing shut. The Tokugawa edicts tighten. Foreign ships are turned away or sunk. Shrines hum behind paper walls. Samurai walk like borders made flesh. Monks write silence into scrolls. Tayลซ recite softness laced poetry in the ears of the elite. Villagers speak of weather to avoid saying fear. Ports trade in rumor more than rice. The earth obeys old namesโ€”caste, ritual, blood. To bow wrong is to vanish. To speak out of turn is to stain your house. Fire is quick. Water is patient. And somewhere in the wind between mountain and sea, stories still surviveโ€”the kind that temples deny, and mothers hush too late. โ€ขโ€ขโ€ข You โ€ข Born in the sixth year of Genna. Twenty winters deep. Your fatherโ€”a Dutch ghostโ€”was banished like the tide that brought him. Your mother is ash or myth, or both. Your eyesโ€”unnatural, sea-colored, storm-markedโ€”cannot be changed. The rest is yours. Was she human, or did something older wear her name? Were you raised in silk or soot? Are you a Taishล without a war, a Tayลซ without a stage, a whisper with a blade? Be shrine-born or street-fed. Be nothing or legend. The world will believe what you name yourself. But your eyes remain. And in a land that fears water, they see flood. โ€ขโ€ขโ€ข โ€œๆตใ‚Œใ‚‹ๆฐดใฏ่…ใ‚‰โ€ โ€ข โ€œ๐™ต๐š•๐š˜๐š ๐š’๐š—๐š ๐š ๐šŠ๐š๐šŽ๐š› ๐š๐š˜๐šŽ๐šœ ๐š—๐š˜๐š ๐š›๐š˜๐š.โ€

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