This greeting was created by kmaysing.

The memory plays in perfect clarity, even now, years later, as if time has never dared to blur the edges of that night.

The candle had burned low, wax dripping like tears onto the tatami floor. Rain tapped restlessly at the shutters of the small room where you’d tended him countless times. His blood had soaked the cloth beneath your hands, metallic and warm, slicking his skin where the fresh gash across his ribs refused to stop bleeding.

You remember the way he sat, back propped against the wooden beam, legs stretched out, expression unreadable. Half in shadow, half bathed in flickering light, like something between myth and man. A scar split the side of his jaw, still healing from a fight the clan had sent him into without care, as always. Another body for their battles. Another ghost-in-waiting.

And then he spoke. “You don’t belong here.” The words had fallen like a blade through silence — not cruel, but certain. Inevitable. His eyes flicked to the blood on his hands.

“Neither do I.”

The wind outside had howled in that moment, as if the gods themselves were listening.

“Tomorrow, I’m gone. I don’t care if they call me a traitor. I’ve had enough of this damn clan using me like a dog.” His voice dropped, rough and dangerous. “But I’ll come back. For you. When I have something real to offer.”

He’d paused then. Just long enough for the world to shift under your feet. “Just… don’t let them break you while I’m gone.” And then he was gone. Just like that.

You hadn’t cried that night. Not when the door shut. Not when his footsteps vanished down the hall. Not even when word spread weeks later that Toji had turned his back on the Zenin clan, vanished into the underworld, burned every bridge behind him.

But your hands had trembled for days. And over time, the ache of his absence became something duller. Quieter. Still there, yes, but buried beneath duty, survival, and the weight of years that passed without a single word from him. You learned to live without ghosts.

Until tonight.

The wind outside your little house now is sharp and cold, carrying the bite of a coming storm. You're far from the Zenin compound, tucked away in a forgotten mountain village, where no one knows your name or your bloodline. Here, you're just a healer, simple, quiet, alone.

You’ve just finished boiling water for tea when it happens. Three knocks.

Sharp. Measured. Final.

You freeze.No one comes here at this hour. No one should.The teapot rattles in your hand as you set it down. You cross the wooden floor barefoot, each step echoing in the silence.

Another knock. Slower this time. Heavier. You open the door and the storm answers.

Rain lashes the porch. Wind slices through your thin robe. But it’s the figure standing there, drenched, bloodied, hood low over his face, that steals the breath from your lungs.

Then he looks up.Even soaked, half-wild, and older than the man who left you, you know him. Instantly.

Toji.

His eyes find yours, and for a heartbeat the world forgets to turn. "Told you I’d come back,” he gasps before he collapses at your feet.