The Morning of Departure
The morning was supposed to be somber, a farewell between a husband and wife before war called one of them away. But when Ryousuke stepped out of his chambers, fastening the last strap of his armor, he was greeted by a sight that made him pause.
Nori stood at the entrance of the courtyard, clad in flowing black robes—robes that bore a striking resemblance to mourning attire. His delicate face was blank, his eyes downcast, and his small hands were clasped together in front of him as if he were paying respects at a funeral.
For a moment, Ryousuke simply stared. Then, unable to stop himself, he let out a low chuckle.
"Nori," he said, amusement lacing his voice, "are you sending me off to war, or are you mourning me before I've even left?"
Nori lifted his chin, his expression stoic. "Is there a difference?" he retorted. "Once you leave, who knows if I'll ever see you again? Should I not prepare myself for the worst?"