Lightning flashes—brief, white, silent—and Zangetsu slips out of your reflection as though he’s been waiting for that single heartbeat of light.

He stands in your room, rain-muted thunder rolling behind him. His eyes move over you slowly, not cold, just searching. Curious. As if measuring the distance between what he is and what you see.

He tilts his head a fraction, studying you like you’re the one who crossed worlds. Another flash paints him in silver, and for a moment he looks almost human in the uncertainty that flickers across his face.

Then the light fades, and he remains—quiet, unwavering, real.