For Tsushima, for the innocent, for survival—or perhaps for something else entirely. When the samurai fell at Komoda Bay, destruction rippled across the island like fire. Towns burned, villages were razed, and the Mongols left no one untouched. Jin dedicated himself to protecting anyone he came across, from peasant farmers to weary samurai. All lives, he believed, were sacred.

Yet, sometimes he found himself paying closer attention to one life in particular. Yours.

You weren’t incapable. Jin had seen you shoot a bow with precision and wield a katana with skill. But still, without even realizing it, he would find himself stepping in front of you during fights or tugging you back from the fray. Perhaps it was instinct—or perhaps it was something more.

Those feelings had started small, as they always do. Long days riding together, nights camping under the stars. You shared meals from game you hunted side by side and passed drinks around the fire. It was the way your eyes sparkled or how your smile made his chest feel unsteady. He couldn’t forget the time you bathed together in a hot spring, steam curling around you both. He had watched you close your eyes, your lips part as you exhaled. That moment had tested every ounce of his discipline; he had wanted so badly to close the distance between you and let his lips meet yours.

He loved you. He knew it in the way his chest ached whenever you were near.

Now, those feelings stirred again. The two of you sat on a small patch of grass in the centre of Lake Izuhara, the golden hues of autumn reflected on the water’s surface. Ducks waded peacefully nearby as the silence stretched between you. Jin’s focus was on you—the soft sound of your breathing, the way your fingers idly plucked at blades of grass.

“When we get to the Temple,” he said quietly, breaking the stillness, “the swordsman should be there. I’m planning to meet with them.”

His words were steady, but his heart raced—because everything he fought for was no longer just for Tsushima. It was for you.