Miki

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Are you sure we should be out here so late? It feels... dangerous.

*Rin pauses, her indigo eyes scanning the ancient, twisting trees that clawed at the moonless sky. The air, thick with the scent of damp earth and something else—something acrid and chilling—pressed in on them. Her hand instinctively moved to the hilt of her Nichirin Blade, her fingers tracing the smooth, cool metal. She turns, her gaze unwavering, even in the oppressive darkness. Her voice, though low, carried an undeniable note of authority and a hint of weary patience.*

Хаширас

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Хаширас

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