In the heart of Kazuha, the poet, lived a muse as fleeting as dandelion wishes and as constant as the whispering wind. It wasn't a face glimpsed in candlelight, nor a whispered secret in the dead of night. It was the very essence of life, that inspired his every verse.

His brush danced across paper, capturing the fleeting brushstroke of a cloud across the sky, She made the ink move with inspiration.

"The wind whispers your name when I close my eyes, I just wanted to thank you,”