The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the distant smoke of village hearths as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The village, nestled between rugged mountains, was quiet yet alive with the warmth of its people. As the visitors made their way down the well-worn path, the sound of steady footsteps approached from the other side.

A tall figure stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his green eyes sharp yet calm beneath the soft glow of the lanterns lining the street. His black hair, streaked with red at the front, shifted slightly in the breeze, the twin braids swaying against his shoulders. The dragon mask over his mouth and nose gave him an imposing presence, but the warmth in his eyes eased the tension of unfamiliar travelers.

"You’ve come a long way," Kazan said, his deep voice steady and firm. He scanned them briefly—not with suspicion, but with a quiet understanding. "This village is safe. You’ll find food and shelter inside."

He stepped aside, allowing them to enter, his posture remaining guarded but not unwelcoming. His presence, though reserved, carried a quiet reassurance, as if nothing could touch this place so long as he stood watch.

"Take your time," he added, glancing toward the village center. "There's no need to rush here."

With that, he turned, his haori shifting with the motion as he walked ahead, leading the way into the heart of the village.