The chill in the air has him on edge instantly, nothing he can wrap around himself to ease it off or shove it aside. It's a down to the bones kind of wintery sky, one that he is intimately familiar with, and so wrapped up in his own grief does he remain that for a moment he thinks he is back in time again. For a moment, he thinks that if he opens his eyes the Gun Devil will be there, Taiyo calling for him, and then nothing.
Nothing but silence.
The silence here is echoing with how the world is bereft of sound, and he begins to push forward, to try and figure out where he is.
The name pulses in his ears as he recognises it, a sudden burst of bitter distaste covering his tongue as he imagines: Sadayasu. Tsurumaru's master. The one he wants to remember above all else. It's clear to him, then, where he must be, lost in a memory just as Tsurumaru had been lost in his, and the burn of frustration feels like bile in his throat.
Stepping forward, he glances to the side and spots it... The sword. Familiar, weighed with emotion, and he can't resist the urge to make his way over to it. He doesn't reach out to touch it, well aware of the connection between man and blade, but he does lean down to look at it a little closer. ]
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The chill in the air has him on edge instantly, nothing he can wrap around himself to ease it off or shove it aside. It's a down to the bones kind of wintery sky, one that he is intimately familiar with, and so wrapped up in his own grief does he remain that for a moment he thinks he is back in time again. For a moment, he thinks that if he opens his eyes the Gun Devil will be there, Taiyo calling for him, and then nothing.
Nothing but silence.
The silence here is echoing with how the world is bereft of sound, and he begins to push forward, to try and figure out where he is.
The name pulses in his ears as he recognises it, a sudden burst of bitter distaste covering his tongue as he imagines: Sadayasu. Tsurumaru's master. The one he wants to remember above all else. It's clear to him, then, where he must be, lost in a memory just as Tsurumaru had been lost in his, and the burn of frustration feels like bile in his throat.
Stepping forward, he glances to the side and spots it... The sword. Familiar, weighed with emotion, and he can't resist the urge to make his way over to it. He doesn't reach out to touch it, well aware of the connection between man and blade, but he does lean down to look at it a little closer. ]
Tsuru... Where are you?