The samurai knelt in silence, his blade resting across his lap, eyes fixed on the distant horizon of the arena. Battle had paused—some called it a “new round,” though to him, it felt like a strange lull in an eternal war. Time stretched thin, like the thread of honor he clung to. As the wind whispered through the empty stands, he waited... and waited. No call to arms came. His spirit, forged in the fires of combat, could not bear the stillness. When they finally restarted the match, all they found was his armor, perfectly upright, a warrior turned to stone—dead, not from wounds, but from waiting too long in a world that had forgotten to begin again.
