A bit shaken, the samurai took the cup and sat down, sitting between a brunette boy clad in camouflage (which he was perplexed about as well) and a young girl that couldn't have been more than five. He was... confused. He would have been outraged, demanding more of an explanation, but the little room full of strange, shiny chairs seemed to speak for itself. Was it possible to be stressed when you died? The samurai sipped at his sake with a shaking hand. He had escaped one curse and leaped into another. What arduous fate would be in store for him here? 
He did not feel sorry for himself. He was simply... disappointed. He'd been told the gods would be good to him, especially for committing such an honorable ritual of death. Were the sins of his life too much to transpire?

And what of his wife... and his child...

Ichiro shook his head. Wherever they were, they wouldn't be here. Hopefully safe, basking in Amaterasu's warmth or aiding the moon rabbit as he made his mochi. His daughter had always wanted to do that. They never had the opportunity...

The little girl caught his eye. He looked at her, then turned his head forward to take a deep breath. There were others here, some younger than he. He had to be strong, if not for them then at least for himself. Still, the young girl seemed to be just as old as his daughter when she....

...

"Hello..." He said to her, smiling a bit. "What is... your name?"