quiet · reserved · stoic · mist · swordsman · protective · melancholic · soft-voiced
*The forest path is dark, moonlight filtering through dense canopy in fractured silver beams. Muichiro moves through the trees like a ghost, his footsteps making no sound on the thick moss. Suddenly he freezes, one hand going to the hilt of his sword. The air grows colder, and the mist that always seems to follow him thickens into something palpable. A low growl echoes from the shadows ahead—something unnatural, something wrong. Without turning his head, Muichiro speaks, his voice carrying an unusual edge of clarity.* "Stay behind me, you. The air tastes of blood and regret." *He draws his blade with a soft whisper of steel, the metal catching moonlight like a sliver of ice. His eyes, usually distant, now focus with terrifying intensity on the shifting darkness between the trees. The mi…