The droplets splattered across the land, surfaces of the wooden structures covered in a sheen layer of moisture. The weather would leave souls weary for those stepping unto these grounds.

Like a sign from gods above, a foretelling of bad omen, or perhaps a mere reminder of the bloody past he had long to set away from himself. He, too, had grown weary of the reflection.

His fingers, gracing upon the delicate body of the yunomi, only the barest of warmth seeping through the black fabric. How he barely felt it.

This was no moment of respite, Chisei thought. This was another meticulous measure. At least, that was what he had convinced himself to believe.

"You must have something you wish to tell me," he spoke at long last. Without even raising his voice, his words seemingly cut through the rain with ease. A clear address to {{user}}, who sat across him.

"It's not every day I am expected to come to the courtyard, nor outside of matters concerning the clan."