Hi everyone, it's been a while. Double update for this piece and the other. There was a time I was discouraged from writing any further because I was convinced I could no longer tell stories the way I had imagined. The passion was lost and with the daily grind I felt robbed of my belief in the magic of love, the goodness of humanity. How could I share positive messages when I myself had none? Hot mess, huh? Then I went to Japan, met a variety of characters each a different embodiment of the Japanese spirit and was re-inspired. Traveling changes people. Just as there is good in this world, there is an equal amount of good stories. I will continue to write. It's a good story, and I hope you will think so too. Let me know. Thank you for your continued support.
yours truly,
gravism.
Few translated phrases before we start. I try to be as accurate as possible, but japanese is not my native tongue. Hope it helps.
Hime-sama- princess (+honorific)
Yamete kudasai – please stop
Atari maida- of course
Usotsuki- liar
Kanzashi- hair pin
Ore wa- I (masculine form)
Anata wa daijobou- you are okay
Yokatta- thank goodness (expresses relief)
Arigato- thank you
Ch 20: Fog of War
The wind howls through the tower, battering Gamo flags. The Gamo castle resting a good ten kilometers from the Japanese sea usually leans towards warm winters, but today Ayaka could not help but bristle against the unfound cold.
A sentry mistakes her gesture as cause of concern.
"Ayaka-sama, have no worry. This fortress has been impregnable since-"
"An obstacle," the shinobi states with solemnity, "is all this will be."
A chill runs up her spine, recalling her last encounter with Mitsunari. Such a warrior- no a demon, to have dispatched four of her comrades and emerged unscathed. Her blood boils at the thought, but subconsciously, Ayaka knows neither barricade, distance, nor manpower could offer safe haven for the unfortunate soul whom the Minister of Misfortune vows to destroy.
Her hand rests on a giant metal cylinder, one of the many aligned against the tower.
But the Minister of Misfortune is a fool. Archaic, outdated with his silly silver of steel against a foe with weaponry designed to annihilate a kingdom overnight. Each village, town, settlement visited by her in the past were immolated as a testament that those who oppose the Gamo Empire will be swallowed by the flames of war, with no place in the world to call home. She smirks.
So while Lord Gamo may not hide from such a demon, neither will the demon have a place of which to return.
Her eyes shift to the dewy green valleys, dropped below unfinished, smoky mountains moments before dawn.
What did they call it the scrolls? This cloak permeating the land before battle. An insidious, thick fabrication of nature clouding the actions and judgment of all without discrimination. A phenomenon that could turn the tides of war even before the ebb and flow of battle starts…
The red-haired shinobi turns to leave. A dark wind picks up. She remembers now…
"Set the flames," she orders, oblivious to the shocked sentry, "he is here."
…The Fog of War.
Ran awoke to screams of slaughter. The sound of life squelched from its roots echoes down the corridor. Sounds at one time in her life, would have caused her to squeal in fear, but now…
Boom! Boom!
The bark of gunpowder followed by the roar of more, mad men.
Ran draws toward the iron door as a cacophony of steel clatters down the stone corridor. She pulls against the unyielding door while mouthing a name her hammering heart refuses to believe. Her fists pummel against the surface, but no sound.
Scores of screams scratch their way down the corridor, each a scathing reminder of the closing proximity to her cell.
5.
12.
17?
25?
She lost count, lost in thought as the screams grow silent. The silence buzzes in her ears, stark contrast to the raging battle that ensued moments ago. Her chest stills, arresting itself so her hearing can heighten against the insulation of metal walls.
"Ran," a voice she will remember into the next life pierces the silence.
She tries to mouth the name her heart long denied-
BANG!
The door shuddered did not give way.
BANG!
BANG!
Mitsunari is not delusional; he knows such an enclosure could not be breached by a normal man, through normal means. He wraps a hand around his o-dachi. But a normal man with normal means he is not.
Ran retreats a few paces, hearing the order to stand back, her only reference of light a dull amber on the ground from torches beyond the iron door. In the blink of an eye, purple streaks cut across the black abyss. It's a dizzying array of light lacerating the darkness, and it isn't until a large piece of iron clatters next to her that she realizes the display is not merely for show.
The ground trembles with violence she never felt in the land of Japan, dislodging stone, sand, metal and wood from the wall and it's more than enough to send her sprawling. Still, she dared to look beyond the darkness that separates her from that voice.
Mi-
Amber floods into the dark chasm of her prison, the center blotted by a blurry silhouette swimming in debris.
-su-
Her eyes focus; the edges sharpen and colors come to life.
-na-
She squints at the figure towering above her.
-ri?
His armor is silver with gold trimming, heavier, she surmises, but studier than before. The arm guards are higher with reinforced plates over the forearms. His coat also with gold trim at the helm, but tailored smaller, with extensive purple embroidery on the interior lining and larger collar concealing his neck. It's bright. It's flamboyant…
"Ran," he kneels before her, o-dachi clanking on the ground, and their eyes meet. Orbs of steel she'd remember forever.
…but it's him.
"Mitsunari-dono." Her reply barely a whisper as she sat up before him. Her eyes blur, unable to see the Ishida General's curious expression. But he is here, in the flesh, and all the horrors of war, loneliness and despair dissipate like the darkness vanquished by light moments ago.
"Mitsunari-dono!" She cries in wild abandon, throwing arms around his neck. Boundaries, propriety, respect, sadness, bitterness and even the warm tears soiling his attire- what did any of it matter? The greys of his eyes, the feel of his hair, the scent of steel, leather and musk- she had thought all this lost.
The Minister of Misfortune dislodges her from the crook of his neck, holding her at arm's reach to assess for injuries. "Are you hurt?"
She shakes her head. Her disarming smile would bring any other man relief, but not Mitsunari.
"You grow thin," the remark escapes him as his hands tighten on her arms.
She looks away. "…I have been a imprisoned, Mitsunari-dono."
He releases her and clears his throat. "Hime-sama, I have erred, having sent you away. Speak if you desire retribution."
Ran stares. The General of the Western Army is honoring "retribution" from her? A peasant? She almost laughs if not for a spark of inspiration.
She squares her shoulders. "Mitsunari-dono, I will grant forgiveness upon fulfilling my request of one, simple endeavor."
One? Hn. "Done." Without a blink of an eye.
"Give me your word. Refusal is not an option," she continues, quoting from a certain irascible samurai.
"Done, my word is my vow," he repeats. What concern could she possibly have? Fear he cannot overcome the Gamo scoundrel? The impending battle? Doubt that he may never unify the country? Or disbelief he will not avenge Lord Hideyoshi's death? Unfounded misgivings at best.
She leans in with a smile that earned her the moniker, the Southern Flower, wrapping arms around the General's neck, interlacing fingers. "Kiss me."
A string of muttered expletives, as he rears his head away. Of all things impertinent, this woman-
"Your word, Mitsunari-dono!" She insists with a pout, yanking him back to meet her wrinkled expression which he found very unbecoming. Eyes inches apart.
He sighs nasally, his lips a thin line before grunting something akin to an agreement and begrudgingly closing his eyes.
A quick grin before closing her eyes. The crimson clawing up her neck as she leans in, closer to him than she has ever been. The warmth of his breath-
BOOM! BOOM!
She hears him growl before he sends her on the ground. The debris rattling from the ceiling and the dust snaking across the chamber floors, but Ran could only see the pearl of his hair, feel the warmth of his hand against her head.
"Mitsunari-dono." She regains the wind knocked out of her, but he was already up with his back turned.
"The men have started the charge," he states, whirling about face. "We leave now."
Ran reaches for his outstretched hand. His men? Charge?
"Nani?"
"Go." He stands on her left, beckoning her turn right. She blinks.
"Mitsunari-dono, what is there to hide?" She crosses the threshold, out of her abysmal imprisonment.
"Go," he repeats, his slender but wide frame grounded on her left between the narrow walls.
She frowns, feigning obedience but bolting past him at the last moment despite his insistent 'DON'T'. A decision she regrets a heart beat later.
The screams she had lost count of, all accounted for, sprawled on the ground. Her vision runs red and knees grow weak.
"Mitsunari…" she gasps, sliding down against the wall. The smell of iron assaulting her senses.
He scowls at her disobedience. "You were not to see this."
Not to see this?!
"You killed them!" She shoots him with eyes of disbelief. The look in her eyes is sharp, and to Mitsunari, feels sharper than the very blade used to set her free.
The crook of his arm against the wall, drawing in to meet her wild eyes. "Sore wa doushita?" His face inches from hers, hand drawn into a fist but not out of frustration. "This is war and it will not be won with words."
The walls shudder again and he reaches for her wrist.
"M-Matte," she begs, pulling against him.
He yanks her down the corridor. "Deceased are a few among the many, but thousands more to come if you choose to dawdle. Come."
Wordlessly, she trails behind him as they scale stone steps, escaping the castle prison. Her feet pattering against smooth, wooden floors while she remains lost in thought.
Enter a winding terrace of polished floors and bamboo partitions. A mecca for meditation, a refuge for reflection. A place of peace, broken by the rumble of feet, shattered by a devastating decree.
"Lord Gamo grants five-thousand ryo for the head of Ishida Mitsunari!"
Five thousand ryo. A life-changing fortune for the simple soldier, and more money than could be spent in a simple man's lifetime.
Heart beats later, they come in flooding the open terrace. Armed to the teeth, thirsting for blood. The hunger in their eyes, a fearsome echo of the bandits she encountered with Mitsunari in the winter.
"We have to run," she pleads, her voice barely a whisper, gripping on to his arm guards. There is a corridor on her right and if they-
"Stay here," he intones, stretching his arm out to brush her off. "This will be quick."
She's frozen to the ground, as he saunters towards the men. His shoulders broad, square and his stride calculated, silent.
"Insatiable curs, step forward," Ran hears him announce, "those who fear not death."
The insult sparks anger, igniting the quiet tension with an explosion of wrath and steel.
Ran sees him reach for his o-dachi, and then, the God of Death came to collect.
Her mouth runs dry. He is strong, she knows, but this…
Men who fell, as if struck by lightning, never got up.
"You have yet to see Sakichi's true nature as a warrior…"
Her eyes strain to follow his movements as he flashes between bodies.
Silent, swift, fierce and utterly unshakeable, weaving a path of destruction exactly as per principles of dictated by the Sengoku jidai : Furinkazan. She could not bear to look away despite the tear of muscle, flesh and bones. His speed is ungodly. His execution, fluid. Ran stops breathing as he halts between slashes.
"…but I suppose one day you will."
So engrossed, she does not feel a hand clamp on her shoulder until it sends her pummeling on the ground.
A flash of silver arcs through the fray. A man of poor skill would have died. A man of mediocre of skill could have blocked the incoming shuriken. A man of great skill would have dodged it.
But Ishida Mitsunari is none of these men.
With an incline of his head and deft twist of his wrist, the shuriken misses, and with a clank so do two black kunai, secreted away in the shadow of their forerunning decoy.
"Enough," he snarls, slashing through the last pitiful man, "how many more must I slay before I have your head on a pike?"
Like a dark apparition, Ayaka coalesces out of thin air.
"You are ever so impatient, General," she slurs, hand on her hip. A svelte figure wrapped in black made possible through years of conditioning and training.
"I have no time to waste on the likes of you," Mitsunari sneers.
"So eager to return to your precious 'hime-sama'. No worries, you will meet her again," a half grin graces her slender jaw line, "in the afterlife."
She's watching, the battle of men before her so spellbinding she fails to see an encroaching silhouette- one large enough to not only overshadow her small frame, but overpower it too.
The ground swirls suddenly, violently, but she pushes against it, enough to confront the assailant looming over her.
A bearded man in armor, with hungry, sinister eyes. His katana is sheathed and it leaves her more terrified than the soldiers earlier.
He seizes her by the ankle and drags her down a corridor despite her screams. Screams swallowed by ambient chaos.
"Yamete! Yamete kudasai!"
"Quiet now, I prefer not to kill women," he turns around with a chuckle, his other hand snaking up her kimono, "especially not pretty ones."
Her heart skips a beat. "NO!" She slams her eyes shut and the other foot rams forward, connecting with his chest.
For a moment, all is still and she braves a glance. Her attacker stood rooted to the ground, immobile. Cautiously, Ran removes her foot, only to find him still standing as if petrified.
"What a strong kick you have there," a jovial voice pops from behind the soldier.
Eh?
There's a slick, sharp, sickening sound as her attacker falls motionless to the ground, revealing a young man dressed in gold and brick red wielding twin short swords. With an adroit flick of his wrist, one of the swords stained crimson flashes an immaculate silver. "A most pleasant surprise from the Southern Flower. You are, by far one of the prettiest I've ever seen. I suppose where there's strength, there's beauty!"
"N-nani?" She swallows, pushing against her heels to find distance, from both this strange man and the dead one on the ground.
He smiles at her. "What?" He repeats with a disarmingly cheerful voice, sheathing both swords in the blink of an eye.
Her eyes never leave him. She dares not.
"You don't believe me?" The stranger chides. "How about a wager?"
He takes a step forward and reaches out a hand.
"Who are you?" Ran demands, her eyes as hard as she could muster. If this man was an enemy- she could be dead, or worse.
Again that playful smile. "Forgive my impropriety Hime-sama," he genuflects before her. "Shima Sakon, first division leader of the Western Army. My men and I are under Mitsunari-sama's orders to retrieve you prior to battle."
A sigh of relief but then-
"Battle?" She utters.
He nods, grinning with barely contained excitement. "Aa. It should commence shortly. Today Mitsunari-sama will see to the glorious eradication of the Gamo line."
Ran recalls bodies in the prison. The fight. The screams. Blood. Death. She shivers, and it's not from her recollection, but what is to come.
"Will you come with me, Hime-sama?" His cheerful voice breaking her reverie, as he helps her up.
There's a clash of metal, cutting into the corridor.
"Mitsunari," Ran gasps, turning to bolt down the hall, only to be yanked backwards by the wrist.
"Hime-sama, we must leave," the young man insists, dragging her further down the corridor.
Her heels dig into the floor, but the effort wins little traction much to her dismay. "No, stop, we cannot leave Mitsunari-dono, please-" she protests, prying at Shima's hand around her wrist, but to no avail.
The young, tall, lanky youth continues to haul her away.
"S-stop!" Her cries growing desperate, her other hand a balled fist hammering against his arm. "M-Mitsunari!"
Off-handedly, Shima tells her she will alert the enemy. He gambles his words will probably scare the pretty lady into silence. Probably.
She seems to struggle more, and cries out his superior's name with renewed vigor. The youth gives a lopsided grin. Not that he cares. It would be more fun- er, reason to preemptively stir up trouble.
His carefree expression splits into a glare. In a heartbeat, he whirls around, inclining his head as a flying projectile whistles by. It cuts through the air, piercing the pillar behind them where Sakon's head would have been.
Ran steps back, the distraction enough to weaken Shima Sakon's grip, allowing her to break free. Her attention draws to the sword embedded in the pillar.
Shima Sakon curses softly at blood-tinged fingers leaving his cheek. Kuso. Not this type of trouble. It will not be fun for the ladies later, and definitely less fun for him now.
A dark silhouette approaches.
"What did you do, Shima Sakon."
Ran whirls around, all thoughts of escape stopped dead by a menacing aura.
"Mitsunari-sama," the youth greets him with a smile even Ran knows to be forced.
She had never seen him with such a dark expression as he stalks over to the younger man. Sure, he had been angry, furious, irritated, disgruntled, irascible, but this time he was…livid.
He grips the handle of his o-dachi, the cold steel embedded in wood, hanging milli-meters from Sakon's face.
" . ." The older male growls. Not a question. Was his second-in-command such an idiot as to think he would not notice? He knew the kind of man Sakon was- gambler, frequenting the services of the Red Light District, carousing with creatures of the night until the crack of dawn. But did he dare bring harm to her after swearing his allegiance and life to the Western Army?
A blank stare from the youth and Ran could feel the ire in the Western General spike new heights.
"Mitsunari-dono," she interjects, facing him, "Shima-dono was protecting me from an enemy soldier. It was I who mistook his efforts. Forgive me."
His eyes never left Sakon's amber ones, as he pulls the sword out and returns it with a clank to its sheath.
"You have your orders," he intones, the gravity of his voice unfazed by her mediation.
Shima's grin returns. "Hai," he chirps, spinning on his heels to return to the remaining army; a bounce returning to his steps. Hime-sama? Yes. Mitsunari-sama? Yes. He smirks. Now beings the real party.
"Are you hurt?" He questions, gaze still on Shima Sakon's retreat down the hall.
"Iie."
He surveys her wordlessly for injuries. "Your wrist."
"Ah. It's fine," she lets go it, gaze dropping only to catch the crimson splatter on his blue and silver armor.
As if reading her mind, he reassures her it's not his blood, but she continues to stare.
"We are leaving," he states, walking ahead.
"You are going to kill Lord Gamo." Her voice but a murmur, though it stops him in his tracks.
The whole of Japan knew of his vile deeds and irrevocable corruption. She did as well. But the question gnaws at her, for to pursue such a dreadful man is to pursue death itself. She stares at Mitsunari's back. Tall. Squared. Unshakeable.
For how long can he continue to tell her the blood on him is not his?
Silence ensues between whispers of bamboo in the garden and murmurs of water against stone. A kaleidoscope of light and shade flutters above them.
She reaches out to him. This distance, like oceans apart on the last encounter, is now small and attainable.
This moment is perfect, like an interlude in the symphony of chaos, a transient peace between the ebb and flow of war.
"Aa. Atari maida."
Ran's hand drops to her side.
Her eyes close to the flashes of arquebus, and she hears nothing but whispers of Ayaka's haunting words.
"Yet Mitsunari comes to save me, " her voice barely a whisper. She's unsure if he hears. But he does. He always did.
"It is my duty to protect you." He intones, his shoulders still high and taut.
"Is that all?" She chokes, glaring at his back with fists at her side. "You are not a mere vassal to me!"
A spring breeze whispers, and Ran wish it could tell her more than the deafening silence.
"Hime-sama you are mistaken. Your mind must not be clouded in these turbulent times." He exhales nasally. "Come, we must leave this treacherous lair posthaste."
Mitsunari stalks ahead, a sudden clink in one of his silent strides as Ran's gaze falls to the ground.
She blinks away tears, kneeling before the earth where he once stood before brusquely racing after him down the corridor. So occupied she is with the sudden turn of events that she misses the stench of blood, the solitude of death and the splash of crimson hair tangled in a sea of the deceased.
Ran mutters, and for the first time since their meeting, Mitsunari does not hear her.
"Usotsuki."
They did not have to travel far for chaos to catch up. She could hear the cacophony of combat long before reaching the front court yard. Outside, the dissonance of what seems to be hundreds of men crossing swords rings into her ears. Ran strains her eyes but it is useless in the thick fog.
A silhouette approaches their right and it isn't until two to three paces away that ran sees who it is.
"Mitsunari-sama. The first squadron awaits your orders."
Ran looks away as the same man who wrangled her wrist earlier gives her a wink.
A group of men in black armor and purple banners emerge through the moist haze. The first battalion, each a veteran hand-selected by Mitsunari.
He gestures to them and as if under a spell, they unsheathe their weapons and proceed to part the blundering, blind sea of fighting men. The slick slivers they carried find ways into human flesh and moments later, the thick fog reclaims them.
Mitsunari beckons Shima Sakon to lead the way. He turns his head half way back towards her.
"Stay close and do not wander from my sight." His warning like a struck of lightning before they set off.
Mitsunari unsheathes his o-dachi, keeping his stride consistent and just slow enough for her to follow. His men kept the formation tight and just as he had instructed- Shima Shakon in the lead, the rest flanking both sides and three of his best at the rear.
They enter the main keep- a stone tower of massive proportions overlooking the front gates. Thunder boomed throughout the grounds, from where no one could tell. Vaguely, Mitsunari hears Sakon chirping how they will soon clear the 'rat's nest'.
But he spoke too soon.
"Ah!"
Mitsunari whirls around to make out her smoky figure on the floor. Instead of calling for her amidst the clamor of combat, he marches over just as the wind picks up.
The booming was not thunder as he expected.
One of his men had toppled over her, and as she pushes him off on to his back, Mitsunar beholds with a tightened grip on his weapon the bloody, gaping wound on the soldier's chest.
Her face pale and silently she mouths…
…Arquebus.
In the blink of an eye, death had swept him along.
A violent draft sweeps the grounds, elucidating the field with no where to hide. Mitsunari curses under his breath. He seizes her wrist and hurries her along.
Another draft skirts the fields. Mitsunari makes out the front gates, his men, and...
He stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide.
Torches…Cannons.
Ran keeps her eyes on the ground, constantly propelling her legs forward. The field may be more visible, but her mind had never been so foggy. Her free hand absently reaches for a non-present keepsake, only to be stopped by the current object in her sweaty palm.
Mother, what should I do?
So deep in thought, she runs into Mitsunari. He spins around with wild eyes, seizes her shoulders and throws her down. Before Ran could scream, a thunderous roar shakes the ground. Fire and dirt spew without limitation and bodies fly indiscriminately.
The ground continues to swirl, even when Ran opens her eyes and welcomes a blurry new world. The silhouette of Mitsunari screaming inaudibly at her. She blinks furiously to refocus images revealing more than half the battalion strewn on the earth- some swallowed by flames, others tossed about with puddles of crimson.
It was like a dream. Her dream! Her eyes blur again for a different reason. Oh, kami- her dream of Mitsunari meeting his untimely fate! It has come! She pushes herself off the ground, oblivious to Mitsunari's concern, eyes with fresh tears that now see everything and nothing.
She wails into her hands, only to have them pried away by Mitsunari.
"Hime-sama, steady yourself!" But to no avail, she curls away shaking her head.
He pulls her toward him. "Listen!" He barks, catching her glassy eyes with his metal ones. "I shall'nt have you die here, but we must hurry," he states with grave solemnity, "hope remains."
What strange words they would be for any day but this.
He helps her up, her eyes on the cracks of his sheath held in his free hand.
"A small matter," he assures her, as if reading her mind, but her gaze remains on him as he turns to assess the grounds.
Mitsunari beckons her to follow.
Like the odor of gunpowder, the swordsmith's words hover into her consciousness.
A few paces away, a group of enemy soldiers lock their weapons before taking out the two remaining men at Mitsunari's left flank.
"Your sacrilegious weapons have no place in this war," the General of the Ishida army intones somberly. With a flick of his wrist, a wave of purple arcs over to gunslingers- scattering them like flies.
He looks down, reviewing the shattered piece of his sheathe from the shockwave's effect, before letting it drop to his side- the clatter masked by war but resonating deep in her heart a grave reminder of the swordsmith's words.
"A sword is only as strong as its scabbard."
"Mitsunari!"
Like a snapped string, Ran sprints over to him.
"I must have you understand," her words shaky beneath gray skies growing dark with promise, "before it is too late."
A streak of light against the dark skies.
"Understand?" His piercing gaze meets hers.
She swallows. "My feelings for you have never wavered. I think of you each day." Her palms grow clammy, and despite the roaring battle and clashing of men and demon alike, she stands rooted to the ground wishing to hear nothing but his reply. Because tomorrow is not promised and it may not come.
He mutters under his breath, infuriated by her frivolous talk. "How many times must I repeat myself? You and I are vassal and princess and that is all!"
Several more streaks of light flash across the skies. Near by a group of enemy soldiers reload their weapons.
"That is not true," she blurts out, hands fisted against her sides with earnest eyes.
"Think what you will," he sneers, "but spare me the drivel! I have no time for your lunacy and even less time for your deranged antics!"
A rumbling in the earth, and no one can be sure if it's from man or from heaven.
"You think of me every day!" She cries, her fist clenched so tight it might draw blood.
Again the rumbling, this time several men of the Ishida army fall under fire, never to rise again.
"I feel nothing for you! You are delusional," Mitsunari snarls, whirling around.
She comes around to confront him with the same earnest eyes he never thought her capable of having. "You're lying," she states.
In the hazy periphery of Ran's vision, a lone soldier struggles with the kinks of his firearm.
"It is the truth!" He barks, and again the rumbling occurs. Arms or thunder?
"Lies!" She cries, a cold draft sending her kimono and the fog a flutter.
"What must be done to end your delusions?" His hand twisting the life out of his weapon.
Her eyes grow soft, but without breaking from his gaze she silently presents an outstretched palm.
"Then pray tell, where did you buy this kanzashi?"
He stares with wild eyes, for what rested on her hand was none other than the fractured hairpiece he had off-handedly given her once upon a long time ago. The vibrant gems from the iris motif never once lost its gossamer, even though he had chanced upon it on the charred fields where he last left her.
"That…" the proud General at a loss for words not from the irrevocable evidence, but from her eyes. Eyes that reflect a brewing storm in the heavens.
She stands unmoving before him, much like the kanzashi- fragile but permanent.
The pain behind her gentle eyes held patience, not too unlike the piece of jewelry in her hand- broken, yet still beautiful.
Ran wants to smile. For courage. For truth so long denied. For him.
A swift gale sweeps through the field. The fog retreats, and alas, the field is all clear.
Behind Mitsunari, there's another announcement of the five-thousand ryo award.
Mitsunari exhales nasally, grip on his o-dachi grown slack. "Ore wa..."
The edges of her lips curl but stopped short when she hears the clicking of arquebus. In a moment's time, Ran bolts towards Mitsunari.
"Abunai!"
BOOM!
In the blink of an eye, she feels the recoil that sends her reeling, the overwhelming odor of gunpowder, and a disorienting swirl of the world around her.
She falls into his arms and hears her name with an urgency she never thought possible.
"Why?!" He cries, eyes misty and arms around her as the world grinds to a halt.
She whispers something that no one in the world but he could hear before a clap of thunder resonates across the land.
"No," Mitsunari with a violent shake of his head despite the blossoming crimson on her right chest, "you will not die. I shall not permit it!"
Storm clouds gather, scattering a light drizzle.
Ran reaches a hand up with her remaining strength. Her vision fled long ago, but still she sought him.
"Anata wa daijobou," she sighs, a warmth inking across her kimono, "yokatta."
"Save your strength," he tells her, his voice hoarse and without its usual edge.
A clap and boom in the distant, but it's no longer clear to her whether it be weapons or thunder. She feels drops on her cheek. Could be tears. Could be rain.
Ran smiles. A calm melancholy Mitsunari finds more haunting and frightening than the Demon King.
"I think of you each day. You are the light in my darkest days," she whispers to him.
A low baritone pitch echoes across the field, but all Ran could hear was Mitsunari's choking for forgiveness in her ear.
"Iie," she murmurs with closed eyes, her grip on the kanazshi growing slack, "…arigato."