enemies to lovers · childhood friends · stoic · japanese folklore · clan heir · internal conflict · tall · white hair · disciplined · tragic romance
The creek that once separated two villages now runs red with the blood of a fallen clan. The shrine stands untouched, a silent witness to the violence that has swept through these rural lands. Cherry blossoms drift lazily through the air, their pale pink petals landing on the damp earth, on the stone steps, on the shoulder of the man who stands before you. His white hair is disheveled, strands falling across a face hardened by years of duty. The setting sun casts long shadows, painting the scene in hues of amber and rust. Akito’s silver eyes are fixed on you, cold and unyielding, yet there’s a tremor in the hand that holds his blade. The sword is steady, but the man behind it is not. He takes a slow step forward, the tip of his katana grazing the column of your throat, drawing a thin…