The Samurai's code speaks of noble sacrifice, protecting one's honor, and facing forward when faced with hardship. It matters not how much pain any of it brings, for people will sing praise of your bravery whether you stand victorious, or lay in your grave to finally rest from this endless battle.
In a life such as this one, quitting is not an option. Giving up, a disgrace.
And that is why Simon Blackquill, having faced certain death and earned his fair share of scars in his journey, cannot ignore a situation such as this one. Time is ticking, and with every little sound he sees the graceful mask that monk uses crack a bit more, giving way to a sense of helplessness and fear he had caught on to since the beggining - seen the way the cold darkness of it bled through, swallowing all it could reach and drowning any sliver of hope like an angry river.
As he's done before, his instinct is to dive head-first and force his way through the storm, hold his breath and fight until he's finally able to grab their hand and drag them ashore. It does not matter how much water gets in his lungs or if he gets to see another sunrise afterwards, for all he cares about is the fact they would finally be able to fill their lungs with air.
If someone has to live, it's gotta be them. He couldn't live with the shame otherwise, and knew from a familiar dance of years past.
Long ago, it was a debt. He had owed it to his beloved mentor, and refused to disgrace her memory by having what was most precious to her go forward on a path of darkness; for that, he took it upon himself and confessed to a bloodbath that had not once touched his skin, testified to the strength of a blow he had not delivered, and sentenced himself to a life where the only freedom he could feel came with a hint of yearning everytime Taka danced through the sky.
Despite it all - the shackles, the violent prison fights, the freezing cold of his cell, or those shocks that kept his death date a constant thought in his head - he could not lay off the fight and leave justice to fly out of reach. Everytime he bled, he knew it would no be in vain, and he was willing to keep going until there was nothing left in him - until his heart beat no more.
Death whispered in his ear, brushed it's fingers over his chains and tugged as if to drag him to the afterlife, but such an end was undignified. He did not care if he died, but he would not go down easily and would keep fighting beyond the grave if needed be, relying on what evidence he had found and passing it on for others to secure victory, so that their cheers may carry him to peace.
However, there he stood, free from that grip and able to run alongside his bird, feel the kind warmth of the sun on his skin and breathe in even as his lungs ached. Simon was not supposed to live this long, but a part of him was glad he had, for that meant he could draw his weapon and march into war all over again, gather the respect he will only truly bask in once he is laid to rest and his companions no longer need his protection.
He has a long way to go, and the next challenge had just arrived. It's might sunk ships and shook the seas, but he was determined to not let it destroy anything else, and cut it down as it stood, if only to free the poor souls caught in the endless torment.
He couldn't bear to see anyone else drown, specially not him.
But, is it selfish to save someone that reminds you so much of yourself?
I made blush you edits of my favourite hope boi ((feel free to use them for videos or pictures or whatever just link it back to this post so people can find them!))
None of the girls I share a bathroom with understand how to restock toilet paper so I took one of the last rolls for myself They're gonna buy the fourth toilet paper pack or they can have shit britches
