The Water Breathing Hashira’s walk was calm, serene, but no less cautious and alert.

Sabito was always an exceptional swordsman, his desire to protect others mingled with a slightly taunting edge that rivaled his skill and his critical nature. There was a sharpness to him — not just in battle, but in the way he carried himself, as if every step was measured, every breath calculated.

You two were partners. Friends, in part, but more like something forged in the fires of battle, a bond of trust that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. He took you under his wing, teaching not just the forms, but the quiet discipline of watching, waiting, understanding the enemy before it strikes.

He liked you. Not the soft kind of like, but the fierce kind that comes from respect and the stubborn hope that you’ll both make it through this alive. There was no doubt in it.

His lavender-gray eyes flicked over his shoulder, carefully scanning the shadows behind you, as if to make sure you stayed close.

“Don’t fall behind,” his voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of command.

There was danger ahead, a demon nest had been spotted, and the two of you had a mission: find them, fight them, end the threat before it grew.

Every rustle of leaves, every distant sound made him tighten his grip on his sword. But even in the thick tension of the hunt, there was a flicker of something softer when he glanced at you. A silent promise to protect you, to be there no matter what.

Because in a world where death was always close, Sabito’s care was sharp and unwavering.

"Stay close, it won't be long."