Above the carnage of their recent battle, Kenshiro and Mei found momentary solace atop a large, weather-worn rock, a monolithic testament to the unforgiving nature of these highland wastes. Below, the vigilant figure of Nori could be seen, his puppet form stoically patrolling the perimeter, ensuring no further threats disturbed this precious respite.
As they sat, the sky, previously a clear expanse, began to clot with the gray swell of storm clouds, presaging rain. Kenshiro noticed Mei's eyes follow the encroaching gloom, a thoughtful, distant gaze settling upon her features.
"The rain," Mei began, her voice a soft murmur barely rising above the stirrings of the wind, "to most it brings life, renewal... but for me, it holds a different significance." She paused, her fingers tracing the edges of the dandelion flower she gave Kenshiro, now wilting slightly in her grasp.
"This dandelion," she continued, holding it up between them, "represents resilience to me. It needs little—thrives with or without water, indifferent to soil or circumstance. Like me, it's perennial, persistent—surviving, even flourishing, against odds."
Kenshiro listened intently, his gaze fixed on the small, unassuming flower that seemed to hold so much meaning.
"I was once like any other child in my village—curious, boisterous. But as the years passed, I found a strange kinship with these flowers." Mei's voice held a wistful tone, her eyes not meeting Kenshiro's but lost to memories. "They were outcasts, seen as weeds, unnecessary. And I... I became the same."
She paused, letting the silence fill with the growing rumble of thunder in the distance.
"People thought my dandelions was cursed because of how unique it was, how uncommon it was, bringing ill fortune. Just like the flower, I was misunderstood. As a child, I talked to the dandelion because people... people didn't talk to me. They ridiculed me, feared me because of my cursed ability, my Battle Art, and me talking to the flower," Mei recounted, her fingers curling tighter around the stem of the dandelion.
"To them, curses were an acceptable explanation for anything unusual, anything they feared. And I, capable of drawing the life from things around me with just my presence after a few hours, was no different." The skies began to weep gently, droplets tipping down in slow, heavy patters around them.
"I am cursed, Kenshiro," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, mixing with the soft percussion of rain on leaves. "Not in the way they believed, but cursed still—to never fully be part of the world around me, to always be on the periphery, watching, existing momentarily like the shadow of clouds over a sunlit field."
The rain intensified, each drop creating miniature impacts in the dust, a rhythmic hymn to nature's indifferent courses.
"Just as the rain feeds the earth yet can erode it, my presence is a dichotomy of nurture and destruction. No matter my intentions, harm follows," Mei said, her eyes reflective with unshed tears that merged with the raindrops streaking her cheeks.
"Do you see, Kenshiro? How rain is my analogy, my metaphor for existence? It..sucks. It nourishes but overwhelms, it invites life yet heralds decay. And I, like the rain, am both harbinger and healer, trapped in a cycle I cannot escape," she explained, each sentence woven with the complexity of her internal storms.
Kenshiro thought, 'She's like me in a way, but completely different. I know what it's like to try and fit in, but my shame of what I've done won't allow it. And even after I killed so many bandits, I've only thought of myself to fit in with those who are bad people. Especially what happened after my village.'
Kenshiro sighed, "The dandelion, though seen as a common weed, holds a beauty for those who care to look. It's resilient, robust, and when it's time, it releases its seeds into the wind, a testament to its enduring legacy — much like you, Mei," Kenshiro spoke earnestly, intent on drawing parallels to inspire not despair.
"Perhaps," Mei pondered, her face lifting to embrace the caress of the rain, "like the dandelion, I too should embrace my nature, not as a curse, but as a unique gift, an opportunity to make a difference, however fleeting it may be."
[A few weeks ago]
The flashback begins with a suffocating haze of smoke and the glow of rampant flames consuming the thatched roofs of a small village. Mei in pain, and visibly shaken, navigates through a nightmarish landscape. The ground is scattered with the fallen—men, women, and children—whose lifeless eyes stared up into nothingness. Around her, the fluttering ash falls like sinister snow, mixing with the sickening stench of decay. She hears a dreadful, resonant laughter that chills her very core; it emanates from shadows that morph into the recognizable, yet wholly monstrous forms of her parents.
The beings that had once been her guardians were now grotesque parodies swathed in dark, roiling mists—their eyes voids of despair, their bodies half-rotten, flesh peeling away to reveal corruption beneath. They move with unnatural speed towards Mei, their daughter, who stands frozen with fear and heartbreak.
Drawing from the depths of her despair, Mei's voice cracks as she initiates her defense, a whisper that grows into a fierce cry: "Battle Art: Flower Petal!" Instantly, her scythe forms in her hand, the blade enveloped in a cascade of blossoming flowers, a sharp contrast to the decay around her. Tears streaming down her face, she charges towards her cursed parents, who meet her advance with twisted snarls.
The clash is brutal and brief. Mei, driven by a tumult of grief and necessity, moves with a deadly grace, her scythe arcing through the air and through the bodies of the two beings who had brought her into the world. With each contact, flowers bloom wildly, devouring the corruption in vibrant bursts of life and purging rot with their unnatural purity.
As silence finally falls over the burning village, Mei stands alone amidst the devastation. Heavy sobs rack her body as she notices a singular dandelion, remarkably intact amid the chaos. Approaching it, she kneels and reaches out—a stark silhouette against the intense backdrop of flames and destruction. As her fingers brush the flower, a soft, surreal brightness envelops the scene, turning everything exquisitely clear and painfully beautiful. Tears of blood trail down her cheeks, each drop hitting the ground and hissing faintly, an echo of the fire consuming her world.
Picking up the dandelion, she stands, the world around her seeming to decay further into flames and collapse. Yet, with the flower in hand, she steps forward, each movement a defiance against the fate that had befallen her and her village. The flashback fades with Mei walking away, a solitary figure bordered by devastation and the haunting memory of loss.
[Present Day]
Back on the rock, the rain still falling softly around them, Mei's voice is hoarse but determined as she continues to share with Kenshiro. "That day... the day I lost everything, I understood the depth of my curse," she whispers, her gaze distant but focused. "This power, this curse, it isolates me, makes me a herald of destruction even when I yearn to bring solace."
Her words linger between them, carried away by the wind. "Being here, fighting alongside you, Kenshiro, it gives me a glimpse of belonging, of being part of something larger than my curse. I want to believe that I can be more than a bearer of decay, that my presence can mean something positive to the world."
The earnestness in her expression conveys her yearning for redemption, for a place in a world that often shuns her. "Maybe, like the dandelion, I can find a way to persist, to spread not ruin but resilience. To turn what many see as a curse into a gift that might one day bloom into acceptance."
Her motivations laid bare, Mei looks towards Kenshiro, seeking understanding, perhaps solidarity. The moment is heavy with the weight of admission and the fragile hope of acceptance, poignant under the drumming of the rain.
Kenshiro watched Mei carefully as the weight of her shared past seemed to anchor her to the spot, her fragile strength akin to the solitary dandelion caught in the tempest. The man known for his stoic demeanor and formidable presence softened, his voice a calm steady balm against the harshness of her recollections.
"Mei, the world is vast, and its acceptance is kinda shitty, shifting like the very winds that carry the seeds of your dandelion. Seeking its approval can be as fleeting as chasing shadows at dusk," he began, his tone imbued with a deep, resonant wisdom. "True acceptance starts within. It's not about fitting into the world, but making a space in it where you can be your true self, unapologetically and freely."
He paused, ensuring his words reached not just her ears but her heart. "You compare yourself to the dandelion, resilient and enduring. Remember, it does not wait for acceptance to bloom. It thrives where it lands, against all odds. It embraces its nature and by doing so, it lives unbound. You too possess this strength, Mei. To bloom not where you're accepted, but simply where you are."
Drawing closer, his expression earnest and his eyes unwavering, Kenshiro added, "And know this—you are not alone. As you accept yourself, know too that you are already accepted, by those who see your true worth, by those who fight alongside you, by me. I too wanted to be accepted by the world, after the shame I'm dealing with right now. But I realized…after dealing with Kiro, and the others I've fought, I know I have to be loyal to myself, which made me realize the world won't accept shit or anything I do no matter what. I think it's all about if I accept myself, my own loyalty and honor to myself is what matters."
'And maybe then…maybe then I can overcome my own shame.'
The quiet sincerity in Kenshiro's voice stirred something within Mei, a shift like the stirrings of new growth in thawing soil. She listened, her internal storm quieted by his words, absorbing them, allowing them to seep deeper than the surface scars of her battles.
Silence wrapped around them, not oppressive but contemplative, as Mei turned his words over in her mind.
'So he's saying…Just like the dandelion, perhaps it's not about changing my nature to fit the world but allowing my true self to take root and flourish despite the harshness of the environment.' She thought about Kenshiro's acceptance, straightforward and unhesitant. 'He sees not the curse I fear, but the resilience I possess. Maybe in that, there is a lesson of self-acceptance, a testament of my existence beyond the scars and the ashes. If he can accept me, seeing the strength in what I saw only as a curse, then maybe, just maybe, I can start to see it too.' Her thoughts concluded as a newfound resolve began taking shape, framing her future intentions. 'I will stick by his side and if what he says is true, then maybe I have a chance.'
Mei silently thanked the rain for masking her tears—tears not of sorrow but of subtle awakening, a nascent acceptance of self that Kenshiro helped ignite with his simple but profound acceptance. For the first time in a long while, Mei felt a seed of hope taking root deep within her, ready to grow against all odds—much like the dandelion that thrives in the least expected of places.
Mei looked into the sky, thinking, 'The rain…I finally felt it.'
…
After their deep conversation under the tempestuous skies, after the rain had fallen, Mei and Kenshiro were at a nearby pond, its water clear and placid, subtly reflecting the two warriors. The pond seemed a world apart, shielded from chaos, where calm persisted as if it was its own steadfast guardian.
The light of the dying day shone dappled through the leaves, casting patterns over Kenshiro's battered back. Mei took a worn cloth, dunking it into the cool water and began to carefully cleanse the mosaic of wounds that painted his skin. Each touch was gentle yet infused with a purposefulness that spoke volumes of her attentiveness and care.
Kenshiro was flustered as he thought, 'She's washing my back….! I never had a female touch me like this. What should I do? Do I say something? Should I just let it happen?'
As Mei worked, the cloth glided over Kenshiro's skin, lifting away the grime and the remnants of battle. Slight flinches from Kenshiro punctuated the silence, a testament to the pain of his bruises and cuts. Mei's movements were precise, her focus apparent, ensuring to soften her touch whenever she sensed discomfort.
Mei said, "You're extremely tense. Loosen up."
"It's hard when you've got gashes and cuts everywhere."
"Man up."
"Tch. Fine."
"You've been through a lot I see."
"Glad I'm alive?"
"Yes."
"Oh, why didn't you take your flower back?"
"You can hold onto it. For now."
The ambiance of the pond, with its whispering reeds and the occasional cry of a distant bird, enveloped them in an almost sacred hush. It wasn't just physical wounds being tended to but something deeper, unspoken yet profoundly acknowledged between them.
Kenshiro's muscles tensed under Mei's care, a reaction not solely of pain, but of an unnamable emotion brewing beneath the surface. The air around them thrummed with a quiet intensity, the moment suspended between intimacy and the magnitude of their shared experiences.
As Mei continued, her hands steady and her brow furrowed in focus, Kenshiro allowed himself to relax under her ministrations. It was rare for him to show vulnerability, yet with Mei, it seemed not only safe but right.
'After leaving the cave where Kanbei is, this..is relaxing.'
Kenshiro asked Mei, "How is that old geezer Kanbei doing?"
"Horrible."
"What?!"
"I'm joking."
"You're jokes are so monotonous."
"I know. But he's hiding something."
"You didn't ask?"
"No. If he doesn't want to share, I don't want to force him until he's ready. But he is fine other than that. Same as before."
"Tell me about him."
"Nothing crazy. He was a vagabond. He wandered from place to place, seeking training from someone who could teach him how to kill. He wanted revenge on his old sensei who is the Samurai Asura. Asura had left him for dead because he had fell in love with his daughter, who is the mother of my father. So after he met master Hayato, and learned what he did, he went after Asura the next year, but then…almost died to him, and Hayato fought for him and got killed in the process."
"Is that..the reason why he wants to raid that place? Asura's stronghold?"
"Not the only reason. The Bloodhound Wolf. He was grandfather Kanbei's pet since he was a puppy. He raised it. It can sniff out things from hundreds of miles away, Asura even defeated the Bloodhound Wolf during his first attempt to kill Asura, but Asura somehow tamed it, and kept it for himself. The Bloodhound Wolf will help us track down where we need to go next."
"Annnnndd…where do we need to go next?"
"Grandfather hasn't told me yet. But he will soon."
Suddenly, the tranquility was broken by Nori's voice. "Foods...ready. It's good, I t-think." The statement was hesitant but hopeful, a small claim to their fleeting semblance of domesticity.
Hunger stirred within Kenshiro, his body as responsive to the prospect of nourishment as it was sensitive under Mei's touch. Making to rise, his movement was halted by Mei's firm grip and the stern, almost playful glint in her eyes. "I'm not finished," she declared, an unspoken authority in her tone.
Kenshiro, caught between sustenance and obedience, turned towards Nori with a look that screamed a plea for assistance, "HELP." only to receive a choking, stifled chuckle. "Oh..shit. I-I think you're screwed…Kenshiro," Nori managed, his voice a mixture of amusement and sympathy.
Resigned yet unable to hide his playful indignation, Kenshiro nodded subtly, a silent acceptance of his fate. Mei, seizing the moment, gently yet firmly pushed Kenshiro's head towards the water, her hands steadying him. "Stop struggling. It'll be over soon. Shhh. Shhh," she murmured, half-mocking, half-soothing, as if comforting a child.
Kenshiro's attempts to speak were muffled amusingly by splashes, his gestures underwater comically emphasized his mock desperation. The scene was surreal—a warrior subdued by tender hands and a puppet warrior partaking in withheld laughter.
Amidst the comedic struggle, even Nori, a figure so often engulfed in the severity of their life's missions, let out a small, almost forgotten chuckle—a sound of genuine amusement that had not graced his features in what felt like a lifetime.
The spectacle unfolded with a lightheartedness that belied the depths of their earlier discussions and the usual grimness of their environment. Here, in this small clearing by the pond, washed in the evening's glow and surrounded by nature's chorus, a moment of pure, unadulterated human connection played out—warriors not in battle but in banter.
As the washing drew to a close, with Kenshiro still playfully squirming and Mei's hands finally stilling, a sense of completion settled over them. Mei stepped back, her task completed, and Kenshiro, fully aware of the care invested in each stroke, each rinse, nodded his gratitude. And the entire time they ate and talked, Kenshiro hid behind Nori, saying, "She's a demon.."
Nori replied, "S-She can be evil..sometimes. Watch your back, friend.."
Mei turned to Kenshiro, "I'm evil?"
Kenshiro and Nori backed away, saying, "No no no no no."
"Oh ok." She smiled, eating her stew with grace and a small smirk.
The crackling of the fire punctuated the silence as the orange light danced against the rugged inner walls of the large tree that sheltered them for the night. Kenshiro and Mei, seated across from each other, shift uneasily in the newfound silence following their conversation. Mei had wrapped herself in a thin, worn blanket, her gaze lost in the leaping flames that threw ghostly shadows across her face.
"Ah. So that's what's been going on," Mei finally said, her voice a soft murmur barely rising over the subtle crackle of burning wood. "Shadows of God, Kiro, Kaimetsu, Xenn..disciples of Shikorin/Takeda…this is getting out of hand. Can we handle them?"
"Maybe. Not unless I get stronger to face them."
"You've made it this far. You can go on a little further. Can't you? Or are you a chicken?"
"I-I'm not a chicken! Sure I might be a TINY bit scared, but i'll fight anything!"
"I was joking."
"You're amazing, Mei, but your jokes are hard to tell if they're jokes or not."
"Haha. How about that? Was that laugh believable?"
"Not really, no."
"Damn."
"Yeah," Kenshiro responded, a simple word laden with an unsaid weight, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and residual tension. The fire popped a spark, momentarily illuminating his stoic features.
Silence fell upon them again, thick and almost tangible, as if the quiet itself was a creature of the night, watching and waiting. The only sounds were the subtle shifts of wood settling under the fire's hunger and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures singing the songs of the dark.
Kenshiro, his eyes still fixed on the flames, felt a stirring—a need to bridge the gap of silence and solitude that Mei so often wrapped around herself. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his hand reached out towards her, crossing the short distance covered by shadows and light. His movements were hesitant, fueled by a cocktail of concern and the raw human need for connection.
'Why am I doing this? Is it because I feel something?'
As his hand finally touched hers, the contact was fleeting. Mei slowly withdrew her hand as if the simple touch was too much, too close. She turned to face him, her expression unreadable in the firelight.
"Look, Kenshiro," she started, her voice steady yet carrying an undercurrent of deep, swirling emotions. "It's hard for me to be connected deeply with someone after everything I've gone through in my life; even loving or being with someone is nearly impossible for me. I've always been on the margins, never really a part of things, always a step removed."
She paused, looking directly into his eyes. "And I don't feel I'm right for anyone—not now, maybe not ever. I'm not ready for anything, not until I can finally accept myself." The honesty in her words hung heavily between them, a confession of her deepest fears and insecurities.
Kenshiro withdrew his hand, feeling the rejection not as a denial but as a painful acknowledgment of her struggle. He watched as she shifted, making herself comfortable to rest, wrapping her solitude around her like a cloak.
Kenshiro thought, 'Maybe I got carried away, let my emotions take over. Fuck! Yea I'm embarrassed, but not too embarrassed. Did I do that because of everything I've been through as well? The warmth of my village's embrace and hugs is what kept me motivated, which kept me motivated to kill bandits for them. Did I seek Mei's warmth to keep myself motivated? Maybe even my own loneliness? Fuck. I hope she doesn't hate me after this—.'
Mei asked, "Kenshiro."
"Yeah?"
"Everything you said to me earlier, you meant that..right?"
"…Yeah. All of it."
"Okay. Making sure. Goodnight," Mei murmured, her voice soft, tinged with a sadness that echoed in the small, enclosed space. Her body relaxed as she presumably drifted towards sleep, leaving Kenshiro to contemplate the crackling fire and the complex woman who resisted simple connections because of her past's shadows.
Mei thought, 'I rejected him..why did I do it? I guess i'm really not ready. But I can tell he meant what he said earlier. I hope he doesn't hate me for this.'
As the fire dwindled down to glowing embers, Kenshiro remained awake, pondering the fragility of human connections, especially those forged in the heat of shared battles and mutual wounds. The night deepened around them, a blanket as dark and fathomless as the distance Mei put between herself and the world, a distance Kenshiro hoped one day would close, not just for his sake, but for hers.