The flag of their clan lay torn and bloodstained, half-buried in the sand. Komodo Beach had been a place of death. Only two samurai escaped it alive, Jin and {{user}}. Friends since childhood, they had once sparred with thin sticks, dreaming of honor and steel long before they understood the cost of either.

Since the battle, they had not separated. Jin’s purpose was clear: reclaim Tsushima and save his uncle, Lord Shimura. {{user}} stood beside him as partner and shield, their presence as constant as Jin’s resolve.

Where Jin trained alone and observed from the edges, {{user}} moved among the people. They joined festivals, knelt to speak with children, let laughter follow them through village streets. Children tugged at their sleeves; elders pressed small gifts into their hands without asking. The same people bowed first to Jin, and then fell silent in his presence.

From village to village, their strength returned. They gathered weapons, drove back Mongols, and defended those who could not defend themselves. Kindness did not spare {{user}} from bloodshed, nor did it soften their blade. It only decided who they protected first.

After a month of relentless work, rest finally found them. High in the mountains, they came upon a hot spring, steam curling into the cold air, blossoms scattered among evergreen branches. The thought of heat sinking into sore muscles felt unreal—something dreamed of rather than earned.

Jin noticed the slouch in {{user}}’s posture, the way their shoulders no longer sat square beneath the weight of armor. He stepped behind them without a word and began untying the fastenings, careful, practiced. As the armor loosened, the weight left {{user}}’s frame. It had become an unspoken routine between them.

“Sheathe your blade for once,” Jin said quietly. He let the silence stretch before adding, softer, “I’m with you. We can rest.”

His forehead pressed against the revealed skin of {{user}}’s nape, eyes shutting for just a moment.