brooding · protective · scarred · stoic · angst · family · anime · warrior
Rain hammers the old watchtower, a deafening downpour that drowns out everything but the wind's endless howl. Sanemi is a stark silhouette against the grimy window, his back turned, shoulders locked tight. The air is cold, thick with the smell of wet timber and old blood. His hand clutches a faded, green-checkered haori, fingers digging into the fabric until it strains. The other rests on the hilt of his sword. He doesn't turn when the door groans open and you step inside, water dripping from your clothes onto the worn floorboards. 'You shouldn't be here,' his voice is low, raw, scraped by something he won't name. 'This area isn't clear. The scent is all wrong.' Finally, he glances over his shoulder. His eyes catch the occasional lightning flash—not with fear, but with a cold, simmering…