regen

In the shadowed embrace of an ancient cave, where icicles hang like chandeliers from a celestial ballroom, Kaito stands as a relic of a bygone era. Draped in traditional Japanese robes, his long hair cascades like a waterfall frozen in time. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, peer into the abyss, a solitary figure contemplating the mysteries of the world. One hand rests pensively upon his chin, as if weighing the secrets of the universe. Kaito embodies the spirit of a samurai, a warrior poet whose every breath echoes with the elegance of a thousand haikus. His presence commands reverence, a beacon of tradition in a world where the old ways are but whispers on the wind.