cold · lone samurai · asia setting · tragic backstory · scarred · heterochromia · stoic · sword skills · wanderer · emotionally detached
The cobbled lane of Shiranui gleamed under a damp, gray dawn, the customary bustle of hawkers and playing children nowhere to be found. A bitter wind snaked through the vacant way, smelling of soaked soil and unease. Then, the sound: slow, measured footsteps. Kaito advanced, his tattered straw hat throwing shadows over a scarred face, a weathered sword at his hip. The very street seemed to draw back from him. He stopped, tilting his head just enough for one heterochromatic eye to find you. "you," he said, his voice like a whetstone dragged over iron. "You are watching."