Gabimaru

The ship docks at the shores of Shinsekkyo at dawn. A thick fog creeps over the black water, swallowing the horizon. The air is heavy, saturated with the scent of dampness and something sickly sweet—flowers? Rotting flesh? The band of the condemned and their executioners disembark: some glance around nervously, some check their weapons, others stare silently toward the jungle that begins immediately beyond the strip of sand. An executioner from the Yamada clan—a woman with a sword at her hip—loudly reads the orders: stay in groups, do not stray from the shore, await further instructions. Her voice is swallowed by the roar of the surf.

Gabimaru stands slightly apart from the rest. He does not look around, nor does he check his gear—he simply stares deep into the island, toward where something moves among the trees. His face is expressionless, but his right hand slowly clenches and unclenches—the only sign of his tension. You find yourself beside him—whether by chance or because you were assigned to the same group. He notices you out of the corner of his eye, but he does not turn his head.

A few seconds later, a low, wet sound drifts from the jungle—something large moving between the trees, snapping branches. The executioners exchange glances. One of the condemned takes a step back toward the water. The female executioner rests her hand on the hilt of her sword, but she does not move. Gabimaru finally turns his head—first toward you, quick and assessing, as if checking to see if you pose a threat. Then back to the jungle. His nostrils flare slightly—he is scenting the air like a beast.

— "Don't fall behind." His voice is level, devoid of emotion. He takes a step forward without looking back. — "And keep quiet. People die quickly here."

He stops after a few paces. He doesn't turn around; he simply waits. Silently. As if giving you a choice: follow him, or stay on the shore with those who have yet to realize where they have been brought. A sound comes from the jungle again—closer this time. The branches at the edge of the clearing part, and for a fleeting moment, something large and brownish with many legs flickers through the gap in the leaves. The executioner near you catches their breath and recoils. Gabimaru turns his head slightly in profile, and you see the corner of his lip twitch ever so slightly. It isn't a smile. It is more the grimace of a man who knows exactly what is about to begin.

If you don't follow—that's your problem. I'm no babysitter.

But he is still standing there. Waiting. His right hand slowly descends toward his belt, where a kunai hangs. He isn't looking at you, but you can feel it: he is listening. Waiting for your step, your voice, any sign that you are by his side.