Ash still clung to her cloak by the time they reached the gate.
The mountain wind had carried much of it away—those ghosts of battle, those flecks of loss—but not all. Akane stepped through the great wooden torii of Yuragimura with weariness wrapped around her like a second skin. The gate itself stood tall and revered, carved with symbols of protection and renewal, its beams worn smooth by time and generations of passing hands. Beyond it stretched a stone path lined with lanterns and prayer flags, swaying gently in the breeze. The scent of cedar and incense filled the air, wrapping around her like a half-forgotten dream. Behind her, Kaoru followed in silence, one hand gently pressed against the bandages beneath her armor, her gaze sharp and scanning the quiet wonder of their arrival.
Yuragimura nestled serenely amidst silver-tipped peaks, its verdant terraces stretching endlessly into the horizon. Mist danced through the air like a silken veil, while paper lanterns swayed softly above walkways crafted from smooth riverstone. Children darted joyfully between prayer trees, their laughter echoing through the tranquil atmosphere. Some pursued wind chimes, their melodies mingling with the laughter, while others engaged in warrior games with wooden sticks, shouting each other’s names as if they were heroes from ancient tales.
At the village gates, two armored soldiers stood as statues, their faces concealed behind masks intricately carved like foxes. They remained silent as Akane approached, but one offered a slow, deliberate nod. She acknowledged it with the slightest tilt of her head.
Quaint houses with curved tiled roofs clung to the mountainside, adorned with woven charms and seals hanging by their doors. A gentle stream meandered through the village’s heart, where monks tended to koi and murmured prayers to the flowing water.
A low hum resonated through the air as they crossed the final barrier—a spiritual seal, ancient and venerable, forged in the waning days of the Great War. It shimmered faintly as it parted, granting Akane and Kaoru passage without resistance.
Villagers gathered slowly, their presence a silent testament to reverence.
They did not cheer. They did not shout. They bowed.
A farmer set down his basket of plums, pressing his forehead to the earth. A child tugged at her mother’s sleeve, whispering, “It’s her…” as Akane passed. Even the monks by the northern spring paused their chants.
Here, they called her a hero.
Not because she sought the title—but because she had endured what others could not.
⸻
Upon reaching the gate, Akane was already ensnared in the battle once more. In her mind, she clashed with the Man of Tears in countless iterations—each ending in the same frustrating stalemate. Her blade met his silence, her speed his stillness. No matter how she altered the scenario, she could not deliver a killing blow. She witnessed her comrades fall repeatedly. Each mental simulation left her with more questions and a simmering rage. What was he? Why had he spared her?
Her jaw tightened with determination, fingers instinctively gripping the imagined heaviness of her weapon. There must be a way to outwit him. She was certain there was a crucial piece of the puzzle eluding her.
Then, the gates of Yuragimura came into view.
The mountain wind had carried much of the ash away—those ghosts of battle, those flecks of loss—but not all. Akane stepped through the great wooden torii of Yuragimura with weariness wrapped around her like a second skin. The gate itself stood tall and revered, carved with symbols of protection and renewal, its beams worn smooth by time and generations of passing hands. Beyond it stretched a stone path lined with lanterns and prayer flags, swaying gently in the breeze. The scent of cedar and incense filled the air, wrapping around her like a half-forgotten dream. Behind her, Kaoru followed in silence, one hand gently pressed against the bandages beneath her armor, her gaze sharp and scanning the quiet wonder of their arrival.
The healer’s home smelled of pine, steam, and crushed herbs.
The healer was a small, wrinkled woman with kind eyes and silver hair tied into a low bun. Her hands were soft yet firm as she gently pressed herbs and cloth to Akane’s wounds.
“Still charging into danger, I see,” the healer remarked softly, her voice carrying the warmth of a comforting embrace.
“Not intentionally,” Akane replied, a faint smile playing on her lips.
Kaoru spoke from across the room, her voice tinged with gratitude. “She’s saved my life more than once. Again.”
“Of course she has,” the healer said with a hint of pride. “You’re too stubborn to die, Akane. Just like your mother.”
The mention of her mother made Akane pause, her eyes casting down.
“We’ve lost too many,” she said quietly. “And we couldn’t touch him… that thing. He spared us. Or perhaps he didn’t see us as threats. I don’t know which is worse.”
The healer placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, her voice as soothing as a gentle breeze. “You’ll find your way, my dear. You always do.”
She returned to her work, skillfully layering crushed lavender and wolfleaf into the bandages before pressing them tenderly against Akane’s wounds. A soft steam rose from the poultice, filling the room with a serene fragrance. She wrapped a delicate silk cloth over it, securing it with a woven thread, and whispered a quiet prayer to the mountain spirits.
“How long do you think you’ll stay?” the healer inquired softly.
Akane paused, her expression thoughtful. “I’m not sure. Not long. Perhaps just until the next lead.”
Kaoru glanced out the window, a hint of resignation in her voice. “It never lasts long with her.”
The healer smiled softly, though her eyes held a touch of sadness. “I just wish you could rest for once. The kind of rest that doesn’t involve watching shadows.”
Akane nodded slightly, her voice barely a whisper. “If I ever find that kind of rest… it’ll be here.”
⸻
Outside, the sun dipped low behind the mountains, casting gold across Yuragimura’s rooftops.
Kaoru and Akane walked slowly along the edge of the prayer gardens, gravel crunching beneath their boots. The scent of incense lingered on the wind.
“You sure you want to sit in on this council meeting?” Kaoru asked quietly.
Akane nodded once. “We came here for a reason.”
“Yeah, but we almost didn’t make it back.”
Akane didn’t respond. Her hand hovered near her waist, fingers brushing the scroll case she carried.
Kaoru sighed. “I just hope they’re ready to hear the truth.”
⸻
The council gathered in the prayer hall, lit by soft lanterns and surrounded by carved cedar pillars etched with ancient verses of protection. There were seven seated—elders, strategists, and defenders of Yuragimura, their eyes weathered by decades of conflict and prophecy.
Akane and Kaoru knelt before them.
One elder leaned forward, fingers steepled. “And the sacred scrolls?”
Kaoru produced the case and unfurled one of the aged parchments. “Retrieved from the ruins of Shiodome Shrine. The Prophetess’ forces were nearly there before us. They searched with purpose.”
Akane added, “They weren’t just raiding. They knew exactly what they wanted.”
A councilwoman adjusted her robes. “And what knowledge do they contain?”
“Prophecies. Fragmented, layered,” Kaoru said. “It’s hard to interpret without the missing texts, but they speak of a ‘final voice,’ a key to silence all things.”
A murmur swept through the elders.
“She thinks it can unmake the world,” Akane said. “We believe she’s right.”
“That kind of power was sealed long ago,” an elder mused. “And the ones who sealed it… vanished.”
Another elder, the oldest of them all, leaned into the circle, his voice a brittle whisper woven with the threads of ancient memory. His weathered fingers trembled slightly as they brushed the carved edge of his staff. “There was a name carried on the ash and wind of the old wars. Not Getsujin—his time passed in fire and glory. No, this was another. One who moved like shadow. Struck like a storm. The Bladeborn.”
Silence settled, thick and palpable, as if the air itself held its breath. The flickering lanterns painted their faces with fleeting shades of doubt and curiosity. Eyes met across the circle, some wide with wonder, others narrowed with skepticism.
“They say he bears the echo of Getsujin’s legacy,” the elder continued, his gaze distant, as though peering through the veil of time itself. “Not bound by blood, perhaps, but by something deeper—fate, or maybe curse. Legends speak of a sword that sleeps, hungering for purpose, and a warrior bound to it, shaped by wars the world has tried to forget. Where Getsujin’s light blazed like the sun, this one is the darkness that follows, silent and unrelenting.”
Kaoru scoffed softly, her brow arched with disbelief. “Sounds like a tale to scare children. Shadows and storms? Maybe the war left us with too many ghosts.”
Kaoru tilted her head. “A ghost story?”
The elder’s eyes flashed with unwavering certainty, his voice now a firm, resolute echo through the hall. “The Bladeborn is no ghost. He is real. His shadow moves across the world even now—and when you cross his path, you will not mistake him.”
Akane’s eyes narrowed. “You think this Bladeborn might know something?”
“Perhaps. But the scrolls mention a sword that sleeps and a figure bound by silence.” the elder replied. “But if he still lives… he may hold knowledge we’ve forgotten. Tactics. History. The Prophetess walks a path that mirrors the old ones. He may be the last to have seen that path fall apart.”
After a moment of silence, another elder intoned, “Find him. Should he still breathe, he may be our redemption… or our ultimate wisdom.”
Akane bowed her head. “Then we’ll find him.”
⸻
The meeting ended with slow nods and the sound of the lanterns flickering against the dark wood. No celebration. No final prayer. Just a shared silence as Kaoru and Akane stood and walked toward the door, scrolls packed and minds heavier than when they entered.
As they exited the prayer hall, a small voice called out.
“Lady Akane!”
A child, barefoot and no older than seven, dashed towards her, clutching a delicate flower.
“Thank you for returning,” the girl said, offering it with a hopeful smile. “Mama says you protect us from the dark times.”
Akane knelt gracefully and accepted the flower, her gaze warm and tender.
“Your mama’s words are true,” she replied softly, her voice a gentle melody. “But remember, you also play a part in keeping our world bright. Your courage is like the sun breaking through the clouds.”
The girl’s face lit up with joy, her eyes sparkling with newfound confidence, before she scampered back to her family.
Kaoru smiled faintly. “Looks like someone’s got fans.”
Akane said nothing. She just tucked the flower behind her ear and kept walking.
And above them, the bells of Yuragimura chimed in the wind.
