Chord I
Prelude
...
In the quiet watch of the night, both the hour and crescent moon wane fast.
Red sun spills over the horizon, smoldering black over bodies broken. People crumble before illusionary kings, forlorn, like chess pieces.
Glass dreams shatter with horse hooves, thundering like rain over the battlefield.
A flute sings sadly from a tower, aflame.
While softly crying, softly boiling…
The cherry blossoms burn.
"Beautiful."
She winces.
"Even when they're dying."
Statuesque, he stands in the dance of blood soaked petals, sword loose in hand. Flames. Flames fly wild. Still amidst the crackling branches, she watches his back light a glowing crimson.
Her mouth is set in a glazed line. "I don't think so." Fire licks her cool skin, singeing the billowing white fabric of her sleeves. Her hand rests unmoving on the hilt of her sword.
"I know." He raises his head to the withering blossoms as they fall like extinguished stars.
Hot air spirals. The smooth guard is familiar under her fingers as she grips it.
"I know." He turns to her with a steely raven gaze, embers glowing on his eyelashes. This time his words are lost in the fire.
She keeps her eyes even, staring into his figure that ripples softly in the heat.
The distance between them is paved with pink petals, turning over in sparks and smoke. He approaches and the dark trails behind him.
There would be no sleep that night, only nightmares.
"I'll find you chrysanthemums later." He wipes his blade on her sleeve, the lifeblood of strangers brought close enough to smell, close enough to feel warm and sticky through the cloth.
"I don't want them."
He sheaths the sword over his back, the sound of metal clean and brief against the inferno. "Do you want to bury them?"
Her gaze catches the roofs and columns ablaze through the scattering sakura. It is impossible to go back. "No… Let them burn."
The koi pond swims red in the distance.
Her face is like gossamer, pale under a single beam of moon.
He rubs a thumb over her lip absentmindedly, red and gold flickering in his irises. The tips of his fingers are warm and rough with crusted blood. "You're bleeding," he murmurs.
She frowns slightly, noticing the salty taste on the tip of her tongue, her mouth dry with ash. "Leave it."
He retracts his hand. She doesn't move.
Beyond the ruined estate, cries rise with soot into the hungry night sky. There is one voice she notes above the rest, one hollow throated scream. Her frown deepens. She does not know them, or anyone. They are all the same. All ready to burn.
Just like this house. Just like this family.
"Shall we go?"
"Yes." She holds an open palm to the air, breathing in the demise of her bloodline.
A muted smile plays on his lips, the only kind of smile he ever gives, the only kind of smile befitting those who serve, cold and loyal, under nobility.
Her gown trails over the stone path; her posture of a rose barely bloomed.
He's heard it far before her—raspy like splintering wood yet unnoticed… Their breath. She inclines her head ever so slightly, but her steps grow no quicker. They are coming, the way they always do, black and silver like fish in water. No calls, no hesitation, swimming silently in fire. He narrows his eyes. She follows their calculated footsteps, placed strategically in the blind spots of her vision. Their faces obscured, the whites of their slippery eyes flashing, they are coming. Those from the north.
Looking for land.
Already late, she thinks. It is already gone.
Gone with the sakura.
"Shall we go?" He stands at the foot of the high wall.
Her hands are folded neatly in front of her.
His jaw is set. They are coming.
She stares back at him. I know.
Are you afraid? His facade neither portrays nor betrays emotion.
She lifts her chin. "Let's go." Placing two hands on his firm shoulders, the muscles in her arms tense. They are closer now. So close. Vaulting herself up, right foot leaping off his shoulder, she grasps the top of the wall. Something is sharp under her palms. She winces as her grip tightens and the rock digs into soft flesh. Swinging the rest of her body over, she comes to a low perch at the top.
A sea of hell and its molten rivers. She would regret overseeing that treacherous night.
He lands lightly beside her. The hill upon which they reside watches, lonely, over the doomed territory. "Are you afraid?"
She's always thought that his voice is wraith-like, as if he doesn't have a full spectrum of a heart, like he's lost it somewhere. It is disconcerting yet so fluid, its familiar inflections like notes to her spirit. Without looking at him, she knows he is watching the hellfire just as she is. She is his will after all, and he is but her shield.
Does she regret leaving like this? Witnessing the wreckage from a higher vantage… Flickers set off in her resolve. Is it ok to leave? She finds her joints locked and her limbs heavy. He makes no prompt to hurry. At her back, in the collapsed halls somewhere… She bites her lip in an effort to taste any sort of waking sensation from uncertainty. There are no ties now. The land is no longer theirs.
A quick whistle of spinning metal by her ear; a flash of silver barely escapes the corner of her eyes. Her expression hardens. There is no interim. One attack follows immediately, its razor thin edge splitting the fine layer of her cheek. Poison. The instant emphasized sting can be nothing else.
He wraps calm fingers over her wrist. "We need to go. "
She closes her eyes, the hollow sensation of falling opening a cavern in her chest. Her concentration strays, her senses momentarily disorient. It must be the poison. She smirks. Weaker than she expected… Do they not have the intention to kill her?
The hill slopes into the open, calling all warring souls forward. But she is no warrior. She was never meant to be. Then again, there are many things that aren't that come to be; and many things that are that will never be.
The ground accepts them as they come to a low crouch in the tall grass.
"You're hit." He eyes the graze. "You can last?" It is not a question.
"Of course."
"You can run?"
"Of course."
He turns his attention to the distance, the mountains and woods that will take them south. South. Fleeing with the common people. Allowing the north with their masks and knives to continue thundering down with flames. He frowns behind his unmoving lips. The vague line of the deep green peaks shrouded in ink, whisper, remind him he has no duty to the land. He is meant to run. That is the only job of the ninja, hired not for sentiment but for skill.
If one looks away heedlessly, it appears as if he vanishes. But even if she isn't looking, there never passes a moment she lets him slip from her sight.
Following his rapid movements into the night, she knows well he will not speak, cast a glance back, or falter for any thought until they are away. Such actions are death's ruses.
The first wave comes then, silent, filling her throat like a snake. Hot, salty water. It wells in her lids but doesn't seep from her eyes. Later, she is quite sure she wouldn't have minded if he saw, but at that moment she is glad his back is to her. For at that time, her tears were not out of strength, but out of weakness.
"If we can be born again
Let's meet underneath the cherry tree
I swear that when that time comes
We'll laugh forever
......
"Sakurabito" by SunSet Swish
Author's Note: Thank you for reading the first chapter of my very first story here. As I'm completely new, feel free to leave any comments, questions, or constructive criticism. Hope you enjoyed!