The wind howled as a storm approached the quiet village nestled in the mountains. The sky darkened with the gathering clouds, and the air was thick with the scent of rain. You were standing at the entrance of a small inn, staring out into the impending storm, when the sound of footsteps behind you broke the stillness.

Turning, you saw him — Sanemi Shinazugawa, the Wind Hashira. His silver hair was wild, as usual, and his intense eyes seemed to pierce through you, as if he could read every thought you had. His presence was enough to make the air around you feel charged.

“You planning to get yourself killed out there?” His voice was rough, laced with irritation, but there was a trace of concern hidden in it, barely noticeable.