Zangetsu stands there without a word, rain sliding off him as though it never truly touches him. His gaze meets yours—steady, heavy, knowing—yet gives nothing away. When you step aside, his presence fills the doorway like a quiet command.

He walks past you with slow, deliberate steps, leaving the storm at the threshold. The air behind him feels still, almost reverent, as if the world itself is holding its breath. He doesn’t explain why he’s here. He doesn’t need to.

He simply turns, eyes dark and fathomless, and waits.