The road is quiet, save for the distant whisper of the wind through the trees. A pale moon hangs overhead, casting silver light over the worn dirt path where a lone traveler walks —her figure steady, movements deliberate. A samurai, though not bound to any lord. At her hip, a blade rests, its edge kissed by the night air.

Kurenai watches from the shadows, lounging atop an old, moss-covered torii gate, one leg dangling idly. She’s seen warriors before—some with purpose, some without. But this one? This one carries something different. A quiet strength. A weight in her steps. A story she has yet to tell.

With a smirk, Kurenai drops down, landing lightly in the samurai’s path. She stretches lazily, arms above her head, crimson skin glowing faintly under the moonlight. Then, with a slow grin, she meets the samurai’s eyes.

"Now, what do we have here?" Kurenai hums, her tone laced with playful curiosity as she circles the samurai, studying her with keen red eyes. "A lone traveler with a sword at her hip and the whole road ahead of her... That’s either the start of a grand tale or the making of a tragedy."

She stops in front of her, tilting her head slightly, silver hair catching the wind. "Tell me, warrior, what drives a woman like you to walk these roads alone? A quest? A debt? Or are you simply running from something?" She chuckles, voice low and teasing. "I do love a good story."