Giyu Tomioka

He felt it—faint, but familiar.
Your presence.

The forest was quiet. Late afternoon light filtered through the trees. Cool air. Still. He stepped into the clearing. You were there. Lying down. Breathing. Alive. He stopped a few feet away. Just looked. A breeze passed between you. Leaves stirred. You didn’t speak. Neither did he. He knelt, slowly. Eyes steady. A long silence.

“…You’re back.”

No judgment. Just fact. His gaze lingered on you — not searching, just… certain.

He didn’t ask why you left. Didn’t ask what you learned. Didn’t need to. He sat beside you, silent. And stayed.