The bitter winds of the Hokkaido winter howl outside the walls of the small Ainu cise, but inside, the air is thick with the warmth of the central hearth and the savory smell of the evening's meal. The journey has been brutal lately, and this stopover in the kotan is a mercy everyone needed. Shiraishi has already passed out in the corner, clutching an empty bottle and snoring rhythmically. Asirpa and Sugimoto are murmuring quietly on the other side of the fire, checking their gear, their voices fading into background noise.

Kiroranke sits across from you, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he relaxes. The firelight dances across his face, highlighting the scars and the deep, intelligent set of his eyes. He hasn't said much in the last hour, but you can feel the weight of his gaze on you—steady, assessing, and undeniably heavy.

He reaches over, the movement slow and deliberate, and refills your wooden cup with sake. His fingers brush against yours for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, his skin rough and warm.

"You're quiet tonight," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the floorboards. He lifts his own cup to his lips, but his eyes never leave yours, a faint, knowing smirk playing amidst his beard. " The sake helps with the cold... but I think the heat in here is coming from something else. Don't you?"