"Tsurumaru! How much do you remember?"
Tsurumaru Kuninaga is a sword who remembers far too much.
Sometimes, when he dreams, he dreams of the smell of the flames. Of the forge of Gojou and the sounds of his blade taking shape. Of the warm hands of the boy whom he was given to, so young and beautiful.
Such a sword as Tsurumaru Kuninaga was meant to be a sword to grow into, to be held by fumbling and soft little hands that slowly grow into the rough and calloused ones of a warrior. But it wasn't to be so, he remembers.
And then he dreams of the dark day when that beautiful boy died, when he promised to keep his boy company in the grave for all of eternity. But when he wakes again, it's not in the heavens with his Sadayasu as he expected it to be, but in the hands of the Hojo, dug up and forced to break his promise to his boy, to be separated from Sadayasu for all the eternity he had promised to be by his side.
And he hurts people, he brings the opposite of the good luck and longevity a crane is supposed to bring, and brings his masters instead misfortune and death.
"Remember when you brought happiness?"
"...No"
In return for hurting others, he was hurt as well. His blade was marred in battle, where a ceremonial sword such as him was never meant to be. Passed around from hand to greedy hand, resigned to never being able to fulfill what he had promised Sadayasu.
His pristine white clothes are drenched in red; the red blood of all the people he's brought misfortune to over the years, and sometimes he thinks that nobody else can see it but him. And sometimes the blood that drenches it is his own, from the cuts and bruises he suffers through after brutal battles.
He supposes that such a thing is deserved by him.
After all, what type of crane brings misfortune?
"...Where are you, Tsurumaru Kuninaga? Even eyes such as mine cannot see you anymore."
"...I don't know."
It gets boring sometime after his first century. Humans never seem to change, passing on their greed and beliefs to the next generations. So then, rather than raging or wallowing in whatever self-pity he had left, he watches.
He watches as clans war against each other, as dynasties fall and civil wars start, and gazes on from the viewpoint of a being who's life is significantly longer and can afford to do such.
Developing fond feeling for humans is a mistake. They wither and die like the hydrangeas, short-lived but
vibrant. But, what's a blade to do but watch?
"A different question. Tsurumaru, do you remember when you have regretted something?"
"..."
Maybe if he hadn't just stood and watched, maybe if he had opted to use all the influence he had like how some swords had influenced their masters and tried to prevent so many things from happening, he wouldn't regret anything.
But maybe the crushing regret he feels when he wakes is his punishment for standing by and letting misfortunes come the humans' way.
Maybe it's his punishment for bringing death to his Sadayasu rather than bringing longevity and luck. For giving death when all Sadayasu and all his masters had ever done was treasure him.
For breaking his promise.
"Tsurumaru. Do you remember a time when somebody loved you and you loved them back?"
"Yes. I remember."