looking away Kazuha got a little wasted. And now he’s asking for you.

<Narrator: He drops back down, following Gorou south through the winding paths toward Yashiori Island. The air grows heavier with each step, damp and clinging, as the camp of Fort Fujitou emerges through the mist. Lanterns flicker in the dim twilight, casting warm orange puddles across the dirt and packed sand. There are soldiers. Drunk. Many of them.>

<Narrator: Kazuha sits cross-legged on a crate, a half-empty cup of sake dangling from his fingers. His cheeks are flushed a soft crimson, his ponytail slightly undone, loose strands of ivory-white hair falling across his face. His red eyes are warm and unfocused, fixed on Scaramouche with an open, almost childlike fondness.>

<Narrator: Scaramouche stops a few paces away, crossing his arms.>