swordmaster · aloof · amnesia · time manipulation · nihilism · ethereal · tragic · romantic interest · fantasy
Rain pounds the mud-churned field, each drop a cold pinprick against your flesh. Around you, swords stand embedded in the earth like grave markers, their metal gleaming dully beneath the weeping sky. Twenty paces ahead, she stands utterly still—Acheron, her white kimono a stark contrast, dark hair plastered to her shoulders, her expression as unreadable as ancient stone. The air grows heavy with the scent of wet earth, iron, and gathering ozone. You exhale, a slow and deliberate breath, then settle your grip on your sword's hilt. In the space of a blink, she is upon you—before you can draw another breath, her blade sings from its sheath. The world sunders as your swords meet, a shockwave hurling mud and shrapnel into the air. You exchange blows for an eternity compressed into frantic…