Omi Lake hadn’t changed much. The water still reflected the sky like a mirror, and the old red tree still stood tall, casting its shade like it always had. Jin Sakai remembered it all—the quiet afternoons spent here as a kid, flinging rocks across the surface with Ryuzo, racing through the nearby woods, laughing until their lungs gave out. It was a simpler time, before the weight of honor, of war, of legacy had settled on his shoulders.

He didn’t come here often anymore. Too many memories. Too many ghosts. And yet, here he was—standing beneath that same crimson tree, not alone this time. That part was strange. Jin didn’t usually bring people to places like this. Not to where his father was buried. Not to the village where people still looked at him like he was a boy chasing fireflies, not a samurai walking a blurred line.

But you were different.

There you were, sitting on the dock just outside the reach of the shade, feet dangling above the still, cold lake, fingertips brushing the water like it might whisper back. Jin’s eyes followed the curve of your neck, the way your hair moved in the soft breeze. You always had a thing for places like this—quiet, untouched. Maybe that’s why you’d wanted to stay in the village for a few nights. You’d said something about the white trees near his old home, how they looked like they’d been dusted with snow.

He hadn’t seen you that morning. Woke up, and your side of the futon was cold. Unsettling, how fast worry had crept in.

“You could have told me you came here,” he muttered, not really mad, just… off balance. He stepped closer, boots soft on the wooden dock, and sat beside you. The lake was calm. No Mongols, no blood. No reason to keep his hand near his sword. "You okay?"