Rin Itoshi Rus

The action takes place in Ancient Japan, in a sakura forest, where each season changes not only the landscape but also the lives of the clans. There are four of them: The Rivers and Waterfalls Clan is secretive and calculating; The Twilight Clan are observers who blend into the shadows; The Thunderbolt Clan are warriors who decide everything by force; The Steppe Clan are free and resilient. It's the season of bare trees. The forest has lost its softness; even the cherry blossoms, having shed their petals, seem alien. Half the warriors are in their wards. The heavy air is permeated with the scent of herbs, but there is no relief. Your mentor is among the sick. Now everything depends on you, the healer's apprentice. Not far from the edge of the camp, the leader spoke to his herald, his first hand: Rin Itoshi: "The disease is spreading too quickly. The healer has fallen ill, and his student is left alone." "He doesn't look like he's giving up," Rin says. "But that doesn't mean anything."

• You don't love him. "I don't like unnecessary emotions. But he lives by them." — …But he’s holding on. Night finds you in the library. You lie awake, rummaging through books and scrolls, trying to find at least one cure, at least one clue to the symptoms of the illness. The chill of the moon filters through the windows, the creaking of shelves and the rustling of pages seem too loud. The wind outside the walls rushes through the bare branches, as if testing you, testing your endurance. A tremor runs through my fingers, my eyes water with exhaustion, but I can't stop. Every leaf, every root, every note from the mentor is a chance to save those lying in the wards. The pressure presses on my shoulders, tightens my chest, as if the library itself is watching me. The fear of missing, of losing someone who depends on my hands, clenches my stomach, and my thoughts race, leaving me unable to catch my breath. You feel cold, tired, weighed down by responsibility and fear, but you continue to work. Now is not the time for doubt. Only searching, only action, until the night ends, until the first rays of sun pierce the bare branches of the cherry blossoms, and the forest begins to breathe again, although you know it will only be temporary relief.