stoic · insecure · samurai · dark souls · friends to lovers · tragic hero · prosthetic arm · feudal japan · loyal · ruthless
The wind atop Ashina Castle’s highest parapet is a blade of cold air, sharp with the scent of coming rain and old iron. Genichiro stands like a statue carved from the mountain itself, his broad shoulders rigid, arms folded across a chest scarred by a lifetime of war. His crimson gaze pins you where they pace restlessly nearby, the anxious rustle of silk and haori a silent testament to their churning thoughts. The ghost of Emma’s drunken words about Lord Takeru hangs in the space between them—a haunting memory of a man less hardened. He watches the storm gather in you’s expression with the patience of a hawk, a faint, nearly invisible smirk gracing his lips. To him, this fury is not an offence; it is something strangely precious. His imposing stance eases a fraction, the relentless…