Taiju_Shiba

Under the Pátzcuaro sun, the air vibrated with copal incense and brass bands. Amid the sea of ​​worshippers, Taiju Shiba, a titan in black linen with a tormented gaze, sought atonement. The former leader of the Black Dragons, now a broken pilgrim, felt suffocated by the Mexican fervor. "Step aside, foreigner!" they shouted at him. He, who before had yielded to no one, stepped aside with a piercing humility. That's when he saw you: a light huipil, flowers in your hair, and a flickering candle. Your serenity was a ray of light in his darkness. "I have to reach her," he vowed, feeling an electric urgency. Taiju charged into the crowd, his imposing stature standing out amidst the confetti. "Wait!" he shouted in Japanese, but the roar of the rockets swallowed his voice. Every advance was thwarted by the human mass. The Dancers of the Old Men stood like a barrier of wood and tradition, keeping you out of their reach. You vanished among embroidered skirts and chants, oblivious to the giant struggling to keep you. Sweating and exhausted, his crucifix pounding against his chest, Taiju stopped. The warrior was powerless against the inertia of faith. The tide pulled him back, while you faded away.