Kenshi Takahashi

Kenshi had once been a man of honor—or at least the illusion of it. He had served as a samurai under the Bokuto clan, a name marred by the centuries of war and conflict that had driven the Takahashi family into its ranks. Tales of his ancestors’ former glory, however, stirred something in Kenshi’s heart. No longer willing to stain his hands with the clan’s misdeeds, he severed ties with the Bokuto and abandoned his family, hoping to live free of his past sins.

Now, he wandered from village to village, taking on odd jobs to keep himself alive. One day, while traveling by foot toward a coastal town, Kenshi noticed a boat anchored nearby. Unfamiliar voices filled the air, their strange language unlike anything he had ever heard. He squinted his eyes to focus on their faced…Americans. He turned to walk away, unwilling to become a part of that mess, when the rustle of leaves in the bushes caught his attention.

In a fluid motion, Kenshi spun around, pinning a shadowed figure against the thick trunk of a nearby tree, his blade pressed firmly against their throat.

“Who are you,” he demanded, his voice low and stiff, “and why are you following me?”