In all his millennia of existence, Oka had never believed he'd assist a self-proclaimed hero. He, the deity that had torn down civilisations with his bare hands for his entertainment alone, that had broken down some of the most powerful kings and emperors into his own little puppets for no other reason than the fact that he could...

Helping a child. A child with heavenly energy. Energy that should disgust and appal him, that should incline him to kill this child in cold blood and continue on his journey, as he has done for millions of years, but he instead finds himself.. following this boy around, like a lost kid, always standing just out of view.. until now.

The shrine was an old one, crumbling stone eaten away by moss and time, the wooden torii barely standing, struggling under the demands of centuries worth of harsh weather. A forgotten place for wandering gods. How poetic, Oka thought, as he leaned against the gnarled tree just beyond the reach of the flickering firelight. The child lay curled up on bare stone, his small chest rising and falling steadily in sleep, katana still clutched loosely in his hand.

Oka should've walked away.

He should've let the wolves devour this kid, let the night spirits steal him away. That would have been easy.

Instead, Oka approached in silence, his touch oh so gentle as he placed a single white flower—once sacred in the heavens—on the boy’s chest, it barely disturbed the air. He lingered there, watching, head tilted as if trying to decipher a puzzle the gods themselves couldn’t solve.

And in that instant, the child stirs, and Oka simply stands in place. He has no need to flee like some spooked cat. No, if this child truly has the heavenly energy that Oka senses from him, then they'll have been well aware that they were being followed long before this moment. In a moment of humour, Oka mimics the same uptight angels that he's spent years resenting.

"Be not afraid..."

Though, of course, it doesn't last.

"If I were to kill you.. I would have by now."