i wrote this for a friend as a birthday present! again, happy birthday kiyo!~

Laughter echoed in between the trees, carried by the wind further into the premises. Two small figures were seen, running and chasing one another like the world didn't exist. The children ran and ran, jumping the koi filled pool and whizzing past potted plants.

It wasn't long before they both fell to the grass, hands intertwined and goofy childish smiles on their faces.

The one with blond hair began to speak. "They'll… tell you to go home… soon…" his speech became ragged. He tightened his fingers around the other boy's hand.

The red-haired boy returned the gesture. "I'll protest again." He said. The confidence from his voice rang clear.

"No," the other said. "Don't… They'll punish you again."

"Who cares?"

"I do."

They fell into silence then, waiting for the moment they would be caught. They watched the bright blue sky, watched the white clouds that painted it. The redhead pushed himself up.

"…From tomorrow on, my training will start."

The blond too sat up. His eyes were wide. "Then…"

The redhead nodded. "Today's the last time I can sneak in to play," he fiddled with his yukata. He looked up into the other child's eyes. Violet met blue. "But I'll still come to visit! Maybe it won't be for long, but I'll still come somehow to see you."

"…Promise me that you will become our samurai, Arata."

"…It's a promise, Hikaru."

The years went by. The two boys grew into men. One, a renowned samurai feared for his skill and seemingly good luck instances where his opponent would slip. The other became a respected son of the village noble—cold but kind. Clever and resourceful.

One, a master. The other, a servant.

Their relationship was deemed peculiar by those who knew both well enough. On the surface, they seemed like the usual master and servant. But sharp eyes notice the small smiles, the lingering gazes and the lasting touches. They were almost always together and some say they clashed swords against one another as training.

Nobody spoke a word of it however. The noble family was too respected in the village, and so was the family that served under them as samurais. They also feared the punishment that might happen if rumours ever became wild. So the villagers, the farmers, the carpenters and everyone else continued their lives in peace—knowing that they were in the good hands of the two families.

Though, their country was at a time of war. No peace could last for long.

The wave came at an unexpected date. The villagers, the families, they were unprepared. All of the samurais under the families were sent out to protect their honour. They were formidable to hold enemies back, to let the commoners escape. But for how long?

One samurai refused to go until he was sure his master was safe.

"Get in the carriage!" the redhead ushered the blond in with the rest of the noble family, one hand on the other's back and the other resting on the hilt of his katana. He turned to the men at the front of the carriage with the horses, also servants of the noble family. "Get them to safety, you hear?! Don't stop no matter what! Protect them with your lives!"

"Yes!"

Before the carriage could leave, before the samurai moved, he felt a hand on his shoulder from behind and instantly knew who it was. He held that hand one time too many already. He turned around, and stared hard into the panicked blue eyes of the blond, who was leaning out of the window of the carriage.

The horses whinnied and the carriage was taken away. The samurai stood there in the dust, before he turned on his heels and drew his katana from its sheath. He saw the enemies breaking the lines and heading towards him.

It was all he could do to protect the one he cared for the most.

As the blond watched the figure of the redhead shrink and disappear, he felt his chest shrink as well. As the buildings he used to know began to collapse and combust, as the shouts and the screams of innocent people began to overwhelm his mind… he found himself thinking. What am I doing here?

He looked up into the faces of his parents. "Father… Mother… I'm sorry."

He didn't get the chance to see what their reactions were. He opened the door to the carriage and leapt out. He scraped an elbow against a rock and dirtied his kimono, but he couldn't find a single particle in him that cared. A scream came from one of the houses and he didn't think twice about heading there.

It was an old lady. She was dressed in rags and her hands were stained with blood that wasn't hers. Looming over her was the assailant, with a number of other bodies on the ground behind him. The son of the noble picked up a katana from the hand of one fallen samurai, and before the blade of the enemy could strike, he laid the first blow.

Blood splattered onto the old woman's clothes, and he wanted to apologize, but the woman must have recognized him for she cried and smiled and thanked him. He told her to hide and then left to check the perimeter.

He continued what he started. He dove into houses that seemed abandoned to find survivors and told them to hide or run for the forests. They cried in gratefulness and listened to his advice. The ones that could still fight, he had them do just so.

It was one way to keep his worry for the one samurai he cared for from growing.

He cleared the houses, cut down any enemy that dared to cross his path. He could only take one or two at a time however. He was not specifically trained for this. He wasn't. But he knew the samurai, his samurai, could do far better than him. So he told himself to focus on the people, on the village.

It felt like days, maybe even weeks, even though the sun hasn't set at all, when the enemies dwindled and ceased. His kimono was stained with dirt and blood and sweat, his arms ached and his head throbbed with adrenaline. The injured and the dead lay mixed on the earth as the spared rushed about in helping them. Some houses were still on fire, and most were weeping in the streets.

He continued walking on, eyes raking every person holding a katana from head to toe. Some bowed their heads as he walked passed but he paid them no heed. His mind was set on one person.

There was so much red on the ground, fresh blood from both ally and foe, that he almost missed him. He felt the katana in his hands slip, and he felt his heart slip away with it.

Lying with his back to the sky was the body of the redheaded samurai, with a blade protruding from the centre of his chest.

The noble son screamed.