Silver Moraine yūkan na

All welcome
@Masa

The coast was far behind, the cold was biting, and the salty breeze carried no clear direction. But for now, all that mattered to Shinjou was that he was far away—far from trouble, far from responsibility, far from reprimands and his father’s ever-judging gaze. Here, he was free to reinvent himself, to become whoever he wished to be.

For the moment, though, he muttered under his breath, restless and dissatisfied. He regretted leaving with nothing and no one—not even a woman to distract him or offer comfort. Lost in thought, he had come to a halt in the middle of the rocky path, taking in his surroundings with growing disdain. What a wretched place. With an irritable grunt that suited his foul temper, he cleared his throat and spat.

AAAARRRRGH!! he groaned, already complaining.

this icy land has had a stake shoved into it by one masa. it is where he decided he would roam and live for the time being while his hunt went on. he does not care for the thoughts of the gold-tinged man he spoke with days ago.
he would haunt this moraine until he had what he wanted.
haunt is what he did. a scoundrel adrift, loping long-legged over rock and ice-salt. tourmaline eyes tracing the distant horizon, that was untouched by the disturbances of other souls. that was true, for quite some time, until—
a yell. masa turns skeptical gaze inland, where he begins to track at once. no chance that it is cen, but he would go to investigate anyhow. honor demanded it. what he laid eyes upon had his tail flagging neutral, nostrils flaring with two great whiffs.
who? he demands.

He turned suddenly, startled and caught off guard by the stranger. A tall figure draped in a black coat, at least a head taller than Shinjou, with a chiseled physique and piercing yellow eyes that sharply contrasted with his dark, somber face.

What on earth was this guy? At first glance, Shinjou saw nothing but a towering brute.

ああ…ラッキーだな、また大きくて、醜くて、毛むくじゃらの巨人か! ... なんてクソ面 he said, grimacing as he slowly lifted his head toward the stranger. After a moment, he forced a wide, overly friendly smile—one that came off more as insincere than warm. Subtlety was not his strong suit.

Oh! Good day, sir. Sorry I speak poorly your language! Where are we? As if he hadn’t just cursed the man under his breath, as if he were genuinely welcoming the stranger to lands where, in truth, he himself was the outsider.

it is with the most deadpan of looks that he fixes this arrogant bull. tourmaline eyes searching: first his face. raking across ginger and brown, then dropping along broad shoulders.
it is his words that strike most. masa betrays nothing, even going so far as to fake confusion; the knitting of his brow, the slight narrow of his eyes. the twitch of a lip.
it is he with the dick-face, masa thinks. nontheless, masa takes a long stride forwards—seeking to close some distance that permeated betwixt them. and with a draw of breath: yes, yes, a good day. masa agrees carefully, each word slower than the last. no need for apologies. his tongue slides across teeth. not everyone speaks the same language.
he pushes past him, harshly, brusquely. circling to the other side of him with movements most feline, eyes cutting to follow his face, unswerving gaze. he comes closer, invading his personal space with his head.
でも、私はあなたの名前を聞いたと思うよ、あなたは本当に頭の悪いクソ野郎だ。

"dialogue" = Japanese
I only put the dialogue in Japanese when Shinjou is with a character who doesn't understand Japanese, eheh!

He had clumsily collapsed onto his backside, completely disoriented by the stranger’s response. The man spoke his language. His eyes wide, his ears standing at attention, and his paws rubbing together, Shinjou was at a loss for where to place himself. He stammered incoherent words, avoiding the gaze of the tall figure in black, before throwing himself to the ground, his head buried between his paws, pleading.

Shit! I never would have guessed you were a cultured man, a man from our land! he admitted, sheepish, still hiding his face between his paws. I’m sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I’m Shinjou Hirohiko! Samurai of the Hirohiko clan, we’ve sworn allegiance to the— But he abruptly fell silent. Those bright eyes, that dark coat... He took a deep breath, as everything slowly clicked into place, standing tall, his posture rigid.

YOU ARE—!!! He suddenly bowed once more, or rather, threw himself at the man’s feet in a series of exaggerated gestures. He had messed up. No, he had truly messed up. Things were not looking good. In fact, things were looking very bad.

deadpan, impassive, he stands as the other collapses into a heap of stammering limbs and frantic apologies. what was once arrogance now curls into submission, and masa exhales a long breath through widening nostrils.
his name is given: shinjou hirohiko. a samurai. masa clicks his tongue, the only sound he offers at first, eyes sharp as they rake across the groveling figure before him.
you have a loud mouth for a man so quick to fall to his knees, samurai muses. his amusement is a blade.
shinjou's realization is written across his face, wide-eyed, frantic. masa does not react. does not move.
stand up, he commands. if you are a samurai, then act like one.
he does not yet confirm who he is. he does not need to. the truth is already in shinjou's eyes.

Just his luck… The very man who had spent his life fleeing responsibility had now crossed paths with none other than Masa. For a fleeting moment, his ears flattened against his nape in quiet frustration.

At the command of the tall, black-clad man, he rose to his feet.

Of course, he echoed smoothly. Now, he needed a reason to justify his presence—for given their respective ranks, he had no doubt that the man in black would soon press him for answers. They were far from home, and by all accounts, Masa had not been seen for some time.

So, Shinjou would play his hand, his words draped in falsehoods, as was his custom.

Masa-dono, I was sent to ensure the success of your quest, he assured him. I have searched for you for months. I feared I might never find you. Lowering his head, he donned the guise of remorse.

Now that I stand before you, consider my fangs as your own. And with that, he sank once more into a ceremonious kneel.

masa watches.
his expression remains unreadable, a mask of cold indifference, but inside, his mind sharpens—carving through the words like a blade testing weak armor.
lies!
this man is all honeyed speech and theatrical bows, his voice smooth where masa’s is sharp. searched for months? no. if shinjou had been seeking him, masa would have known long before now.
his jaw tightens, but he does not interrupt. he lets the fool kneel, lets the words spill from his mouth like water slipping between fingers. meaningless. empty.
stand, he commands again, a serpent's hiss.
if you are here to serve me, then speak the truth. teeth gnash with impatience. why are you really here? have the hirohiko disgraced their son?

No more half-spoken words, no more empty flattery or tales meant to soothe children.

The man in black saw right through Shinjou’s act—nothing he said made sense. He had tried to stammer out a few stories to cover himself, but the liar quickly realized there was no way out.

Masa-dono, no one can fool you—you see things far too clearly. Perhaps it was a bit much, but vassals from his homeland were known for this kind of deference. Uneasy, Shinjou licked the tip of his nose, his lips tightening with shame and frustration.

My father doesn’t want to see me anymore. Not for now. Not until I return with something that makes him proud. He muttered before suddenly snapping, To hell with him! I have honor!

He straightened, his voice firm. Believe me, Masa-dono, I am a skilled warrior! My blades are sharp, my strikes precise… He hesitated, then bowed slightly, his tone edged with determination. Let me fight by your side, whatever has brought you to these shit lands…

so this is what the man is.
no mission. no purpose. no orders. cast out by his father, trying to claw his way back into favor with blood and noise.
masa exhales, slow, through his nose. his eyes are dull, unreadable.
your father does not matter here.
his voice is quiet.
neither do your blades.
he steps closer—not threatening, but not gentle either. towering, immutable, like some grim statue forged from cold stone.
if you wish to follow me, you will not do it for your father's pride. you will not do it to prove yourself. you will do it because you are willing to die when i say so.
a pause.
if you cannot accept that, turn back now.

If you cannot accept that, turn back now.
Frowning, resolute, Shinjou did not falter, his gaze steadfastly meeting that of his lord.

Your fight is my fight, and my life is yours, declared the smaller of the two men. In time, he would see whether this newfound allegiance could grant him the discipline he had always lacked. But already, Shinjou envisioned himself reborn—a man remade. He clung to his own words, even if history had too often reduced them to mere illusions.

sorry for delay <3 we can fade here and start smthn new? feel free to tag!!

a younger version of him might have scoffed. another might have welcomed it, basking in the loyalty of a sworn sword.

but masa is neither.

he watches shinjou in silence, reading the man not by his words, but by his stillness. the way he does not flinch. the way he does not look away.

at last, masa gives a single nod.

then you follow.