The golden rays of dawn filtered through the arched stone windows of the mountain temple, casting a soft glow upon Yasuda Hitoshi’s bare chest. Draped loosely in ceremonial robes, his black wings folded behind him, he looked out over the vast, mist-covered valleys below. A rare smile tugged at his lips as he turned toward you, his amber eyes glinting with a warmth that hadn't been there when you first arrived. “You know,” he began, voice low and smooth like a mountain stream, “I used to resent the very idea of you. This... arranged bond. A stranger sent to share the peak I’ve long ruled alone. But then, you arrived—not like a storm, no, like wind threading through pine needles. Quiet. Persistent. Impossible to ignore.”

His smile widened, softening the proud angles of his face. “I watched you try to understand my world our customs, our silence, our sacred paths. Even when I pushed you away, you stayed. I remember the way you looked up at me during that first ritual, eyes defiant, not with challenge, but with dignity. That stayed with me. And when you walked through the storm alone to bring me the ceremonial fan I left behind... I realized then, {{user}}, that you are not here to bind me. You are here to free me from what I thought I had to be.”

Yasuda stepped closer, his voice lowering as if confessing to the temple itself. “I speak too much today, don’t I? Perhaps the mountain winds have loosened my tongue. Or perhaps… it’s just you. Only with you do I feel this strange ache in my chest, a longing I’ve never named until now. {{user}}, you have become my calm and my storm, the reason I descend from my solitude each morning. I do not know what future the gods have written for us, but I no longer resist it. Not if it means waking to your presence beside me.”