from the ashes we will rise (2/3) [for MidoAka Month: Samurai]
They are fated, but not of the romantic kind. AO3
(Ch. 1)
The journey north takes them about a month, and by then, Shintarou already misses the warmth of the capital. They ride horses, something he has never tried before. Back in the palace, if Seijuurou is to go out, they ride ox-driven carts that are way too slow for his preference. His supposed father tries his best to ask about Shintarou and the life that he had in the eighteen years that he has been away. Shintarou also tries his best to be amiable. As far as he is concerned, the people with him are mere strangers.
Or worse, he is the stranger amongst them.
“There is no need to hurry,” his father tells him one night when they are making camp to rest, “I know you’re still adjusting to all this. You have the time.” He clasps him by his shoulder, a motion so fatherly that Shintarou fails to hide his surprise. “When we return to Iwate, you shall receive your sword and train with it, just as you should have done if you’ve grown as a samurai.”
“It has been yours even before you were born.” He smiles proudly. “It’s the best of its kind, I must say. You shall give it a name.”
Shintarou hasn’t seen so many mountains and rivers until in that trip before finally arriving at Iwate. A wall welcomes him with a banner of the clan name mounted on its gates. Far before them looms a huge castle owned by the Minamoto family the Midorima has been serving for many years. He sees several samurais, the most he has encountered ever. Each carries a different sword. Shintarou cannot imagine himself in such position.
A small feast is prepared as a celebration for his return. People flocked to him introducing themselves as his aunt, uncle, cousin, second cousin, third cousin, his mother’s closest friend — the list goes on forever, honestly, and he can’t make himself keep up. It’s only when his father intervened, telling everyone that he has to rest from the long journey that they let go of him and return to their usual tasks.
His father leads him to their house located near the castle borders, one among the biggest in the town. His room has the view of the mountains at the east. A katana hangs by the wall, its blade glistening even in the dimness of the room. He walks towards it, drawn.
“Do you like it?” His father asks, standing beside him as he retrieves the sword by its handle and eyes the blade appreciatively. “Be careful of the point. It’s among the most quality kissaki a sword could have.”
“I’ve never held a sword like this before,” he answers with awe, “But I can tell that this is extraordinary.”
“A samurai’s sword is his spirit. Together with his sword, he must live every moment of his day without fear of death. In this way, he can truly live as a samurai.”
Shintarou listens to each word, committing them to heart.
“This is just a few of the things you should know. You shall learn more as you progress.” His father’s smile is replaced by a determined line of his lips, his eyes turning a steely glint. “Shintarou, have you fully accepted the truth of who you are?”
He grips the handle of his sword tighter, feeling a chill run down his spine.
He raises the sword before him until he sees his reflection. The green eyes staring back at him used to look so lost, but now it’s starting to look like it has found where it belongs. The time he spent at court feels like from a different life.
Now he knows he’s always meant to be here.
yousharknotpass
vaporwave
baratheonpilled
kaledo-art
areudirty
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
