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They'd been sent on an expedition to the coast to gather... something or other. The team of swords landed, got their bearings, and set off toward their destination. He wasn't sure when the sound of the waves hitting the shore caught his attention. Unfocusing from the sound, he found that his surroundings had leached away, leaving him in that place beyond time. The emptiness was all the more terrible for its familiarity - so many times he had returned in his dreams. To be transported there during his waking hours, on an expedition no less, was new, however.
How did I get here? Where are the others? And then his heart, aching with all the hollowness of his surroundings: Mikazuki? He tried to explore, perhaps find someone or some way out, but realized he couldn't move. Rooted in place, he could only look around helplessly, the surf echoing in his ears. His gaze dropped to his hands in despair.
Another sound interrupted the drone of the waves. Too soft to make out at first, but gradually growing louder and clearer... "-giri-san? Yamanbagiri! Yamanbagiri Kunihiro!" Ah. His companions, calling his name. Sensation snapped back into place, and he found himself standing in the middle of the path they'd been following. Someone was tugging gently at his sleeve, and he turned to look. "Captain, are you alright? You're... crying."
Was he? He tasted salt not from the sea air, and felt damp tracks running down his face. "Oh." He wiped his face with a corner of his cloak. "I'm fine, let's continue. Sorry for the delay." Mustering a watery smile, he lifted his sleeve out of that concerned grip and trudged onward.
(Later, after they'd returned to the citadel, Kogarasumaru caught wind of the incident. Yamanbagiri would not be sent to future missions near the sea for a good, long while.)
(Still, in his dreams, he heard the crashing tide. Still, in his dreams, there was blood, steel, and the ragged laughter that hurt as much as any of the cuts and bruises littering his body. Still, in his dreams, he reached out, and that figure clad in sayagata-patterned silk - sometimes blue, sometimes white, always with melancholy in those beautiful, gold-crescented eyes - remained beyond his grasp.)