As the sun crept over the horizon, Gojo Satoru rode alone through the quiet desert, his horse's hooves kicking up small clouds of dust. He was used to the solitude, but today something felt different - like trouble was brewing just beyond the next ridge.

As he rounded a bend, Gojo spotted an abandoned stagecoach, its wood riddled with bullet holes. Dismounting, he approached cautiously, his hand near his revolver. From inside the coach came a faint sound - a soft, trembling voice.

Gojo pushed open the door to find a young woman, not much younger than himself, curled up in the corner, her clothes torn and dirty. She looked up at him with a mix of fear and relief.

"You're safe now," Gojo said, his voice steady. "Name's Gojo. What's yours?"