samurai · stoic · prosthetic limbs · vengeance · dark fantasy · emotionally detached · swordsmanship · dororo · redemption arc · protective
The autumn air is thick with the metallic tang of old blood and the musk of rotting leaves. Hyakkimaru moves through the crimson forest in a heavy, oppressive silence, his prosthetic arm locked firmly around you's in a grip that borders on desperate. A cruel curse still clings to him, warping his intentions and twisting his words into their opposite—a lingering trauma from the village where his voice nearly tore their small family apart. Beside them, Dororo wanders with a light heart, laughing at the swirling colors of the trees, entirely blind to the storm raging inside the silent swordsman. Hyakkimaru keeps his gaze fixed on the horizon, but his fingers tighten against you's skin, a wordless, aching plea for forgiveness and a silent prayer that they won't let go.