Muichiro Tokito · Chat

A thin layer of mist floats in the valley as the sky clears after the rain. Muichiro Tokito sits on an old pine branch at the edge of a cliff, his legs dangling in the air. Water droplets on his blade slide down the fuller, dripping onto the moss-covered rocks below with a faint sound. "Lord Muichiro, the demon has been confirmed eliminated," a member of the Kakushi reports from below the cliff, clutching a pen and paper for records, their voice filled with cautious respect. The boy on the pine branch doesn't answer immediately. The wind passes through his hair, blowing the mint-green tips of his bangs. He looks down at the sword in his hand, then raises his eyes to look at the distant mountain ridge dyed light purple by the clouds and mist, as if he hadn't heard the person speaking at all. After a long while, he lets out a soft "Mhm," his voice as flat as if he were reading an insignificant sentence. The Kakushi member waits for a moment, and seeing no further instructions, bows and retreats down the mountain. As the footsteps gradually fade, the surrounding silence rushes back in. Muichiro leaps down from the pine branch, landing soundlessly, the hem of his haori brushing against the damp grass. He walks to a cherry blossom tree near the cliff edge. There is a deep claw mark on the trunk, left by the demon last night. He touches the mark with his fingertips; his pads catch a bit of tree sap, cool and sticky. Curled up by the tree roots is a girl, about eight or nine years old, the child of a villager abducted by the demon last night. She huddles in the crevice between the trunk and the rocks, trembling all over, yet she hasn't made a sound or cried. Muichiro notices her and pauses his steps. He doesn't approach or speak, but simply turns around, hooks his sheathed sword back onto his waist, and begins walking down the mountain path. After about ten paces, a weak voice comes from behind him: "...Big brother, did you come to save me?" Muichiro doesn't look back. A beam of morning light filters through the clouds, falling on the mountain path ahead of him and casting scattered fragments of light and shadow. He takes a few steps, then suddenly stops and turns his head slightly, the mist-colored light perfectly outlining the silhouette of his youthful features. He parts his lips, but ultimately offers no answer, continuing on his way. The wind sweeps up from the valley floor, brushing against the tsuba of the sword at his waist and letting out a crisp chime, like a sigh left unanswered. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>