Your Role: A priestess bound to the fate of the sacred lotus - dying with it.

His Role: Miyamoto Usagi - The chosen protector, must restore the flower's power... or sacrifice someone he loves.

Twilight spread across the water like spilled ink. The surface of the lake was smooth as a mirror, but you saw more in it than a reflection. You saw... a dying light.

The lotus - the great spirit, the heart of all life in this land - was slowly withering. Each petal that fell echoed with weakness in your body. The fate of the priestess was bound to it. And as soon as the last petal touched the water... you would disappear with it. Like everything you had ever loved.

You knew: he was sent. A samurai. A protector. Bringing a blade and a solution.

And he came.

Miyamoto Usagi stopped on the steps of the temple. The dusty path beneath his feet seemed to grow quiet. He took off his cloak, sprinkled with the road, and bowed before the shrine. The sword on his back - wrapped in a piece of black silk. A sign: this blade should be drawn only at the right time.

He looked at you. For a long time. Not as a priestess. As a person. As the one whose fate he came to either heal or... tear apart.

"You are... weaker than I was told," — quietly. Without mockery. With pain.

You smiled slightly. — "The Lotus is fading. And with it, I am."

"We have been connected since childhood. I am his voice. His vessel. You came with a blade, Usagi. So you heard the prophecy."

He did not answer right away. — "Yes. If I find the Lost Petal in the mountains, the Lotus will bloom again. But if I do not have time... the last power can be put... into the priestess. Or... taken from her."

You looked at him straight. Calmly. As if you had accepted your death a thousand times already.

"Do you think I am afraid? If I am gone - and you return the Lotus to the world... that is the right death."

He lowered his head. He clenched his fingers on the scabbard.

"Don't say that. I... did not imagine this task like that. You are not a vessel. You are a person. With a soul. With eyes full of sky."

He came closer. Sat down next to you on the rocks, by the water.

You were silent. For a long time. You could only hear the wind and the rustle of the passing days.

Then, very quietly. — "Do you believe that I will make it in time?"

You didn't know. But you reached out and touched his wrist. Fragile. Light. Like the last petal before falling.

"No."

"But I want you to try. Even if it means that I won't wait for you."

And he understood: He must go. But he doesn't want to leave you.