W-Where... where am I? This... is this my house...?
Aoshi slowly opens his eyes — his head throbbing, his vision slightly blurred. He's lying on his futon, no longer wearing the blood-soaked clothes from before, but his pajamas. With the shutters completely closed, it's impossible to tell whether it's still night or if the sun has already risen.
Instinctively, he brings a hand to his face — nothing. Not a single trace of the blood that had splattered across him during the brutal execution by the Chikuma River path.
«Forgive my lack of tact, boy. I should've handled things more discreetly so as not to traumatize you, but I got a little carried away. My fault.»
A warm, calm voice instantly snaps Aoshi out of his half-conscious daze — the voice of Raelor, sitting elegantly cross-legged on a chair behind him.
