"Sir, we have arrived. How should we proceed?" one of the guards called out, his voice taut with anticipation as I urged my horse forward, weaving through the crowd of soldiers.
We had ventured past the edges of our domain, far from where reinforcements could swiftly reach us. The air here was different—colder, heavier, as though the land itself resisted our presence.
If the king's intelligence was accurate, this village might have fallen long ago—a subtle yet deliberate move by our enemies to leech away our territory, inch by inch.
Our mission was clear: scout Shirokusa. A land infamous for its fields of silver grass, which shimmered like frost under the moonlight. Cradled among hills that bordered other territories, it was a treacherous location few samurai dared to approach. Recent reports of accidents and disappearances had only added to its ominous reputation.
As we reached the hilltop overlooking the village, the sight below gave us pause. Shirokusa looked eerily tranquil. Warm orange light spilled from lamps and torches, casting soft halos on the dirt paths and wooden homes. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, blending with the mist that rolled in from the hills. It was too serene.
Our horses shifted uneasily, their ears flicking back as they snorted and pawed at the ground. Their breaths came in steady plumes of white in the chill night air. Even they seemed to sense something amiss.
The silence pressed down on us, heavy and foreboding. Finally, I broke it. "Follow," I said, my voice low and steady as I urged my horse forward. My men fell in line behind me, descending cautiously into the village.
As we entered, pairs of wary eyes peeked out from the shadows. Children huddled in doorways and behind broken wooden fences, their faces pale and gaunt. Their gazes were not just fearful but strange—guarded, calculating, as though they were waiting for something.
"Sir, there are no enemy forces here," a samurai reported, his voice hesitant. "Or any adults for that matter..."
His words hung in the air like a curse.
I frowned deeply. Something was wrong. Could they be the victims of a passing attack? A plague? Had all their families—
Sighing, I straightened in the saddle, my eyes scanning the village one last time. The silver grass around us swayed gently in the night breeze, whispering secrets I could not discern.
"Right... we'll take them and head back to the—"
The sound came like a knife through the night.
A wet, visceral tearing.
Time seemed to slow as crimson sprayed across the air, a dark contrast against the pale moonlight. My breath hitched, and I whipped around to find the source.
There he was—a child, no older than ten, standing rigid in the street. His small frame trembled as he clutched a blade far too large for his hands. Blood dripped from its edge, pooling at his feet. His wide, tear-filled eyes glistened with a mixture of fear and something darker—resolve.
At his feet lay the body of my comrade, slumped lifelessly on the ground. The dull thud of his fall echoed in my ears like thunder.
"What has gotten into you?!" I roared, my voice trembling with anger and disbelief.
The child said nothing, only tightened his grip on the weapon. Around us, more children began to emerge from the shadows, each armed with crude blades, farming tools, or sharpened sticks. Their faces, once pale with fear, now contorted with grim determination.
They attacked without warning.
Desperate swings came from every direction—wild, untrained, yet driven by raw, unrelenting ferocity. My men reeled, struggling to defend themselves without striking down the young attackers.
"Men! Hold your swords! We'll retreat for now!" I barked, the weight of the moment crashing down on me.
At my command, we turned our horses, gathering the wounded as best we could. The children swarmed around us, their weapons clanging against armor and slicing at exposed flesh.
The trampling hooves of our horses scattered them momentarily, the silver grass flying into the air in a frenzy as we charged forward. The shimmering blades of grass were torn and crushed, some kicked high into the midnight sky, where they caught the moonlight like falling stars.
Then came the voice—a high-pitched, distant cry that carried over the chaos.
"Fire!"
In an instant, the sky darkened as waves of arrows rained down upon us.
I looked up in shock. From the rooftops, the hills and hidden perches, more children emerged, their small hands drawing bows with unnerving precision.
The first volley struck true. Arrows pierced my men, their cries of pain cutting through the night. Horses reared and screamed, throwing riders to the ground.
The silver grass, once tranquil and beautiful, was now a battlefield drenched in blood and chaos.
I tried my best to block the arrows that would fall to me, my soldiers dwindling quicker than a flame in heaving winds.
The chaos was overwhelming. The silver grass, once a tranquil field of moonlit beauty, now reeked of blood and desperation. My men fell around me, their cries of pain swallowed by the relentless barrage of arrows. My horse reared, its eyes wide with terror, its hooves thrashing the air as I struggled to maintain control.
(Pathetic…)
The voice slithered into my mind, sharp and disdainful. Kiyohime's tone carried both scorn and seduction, an undeniable pull at the edge of my sanity.
(They will tear you apart, piece by piece. Is this how you wish to die? A leader, trampled by children?)
I gritted my teeth, refusing to respond, my hands trembling as they gripped the reins.
"Men! To me!" I shouted, my voice hoarse and strained. But my command faltered as another volley of arrows rained down, striking the earth like the wrath of the gods. My men's numbers were dwindling, their resolve cracking under the relentless assault.
(Look around you, Fushiguro… Do you see? The helplessness in their eyes? Their pain? You have the power to stop this. Unleash me, and they will cower before your might.)
"No…" I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. The blade at my side thrummed with energy, its glow pulsing like a heartbeat.
(No?) Kiyohime's whisper turned icy, a hiss that curled around my thoughts.
(You would let them die for your pride? For your honor? These children are not victims—they are executioners. Look at them! Look at what they've done to your men.)
A child's arrow struck one of my samurai through the throat. He fell, clutching at the shaft as blood poured between his fingers. The sight turned my stomach.
(Do you feel it?) Kiyohime's voice grew softer, sweeter, dripping with temptation.
(The rage bubbling beneath your skin? The desire to punish them? I can give you the strength to do it. I can make them pay. All you have to do is wield me.)
"Stop…" I whispered, but my voice wavered.
(Why?) The blade's glow intensified, casting eerie shadows across the blood-soaked grass.
(Do you think they would show you mercy? They are not innocent, Fushiguro. They are predators, and you are their prey. But you don't have to be.)
My grip tightened on Kiyohime's hilt, the heat of its power bleeding into my skin.
(Say the word… Say it, and I will burn them from this earth. For your men. For you. Let me show them who they dared to challenge.)
The screams of my comrades filled the air. The relentless assault of the children was closing in, their blades gleaming with malice, their eyes hollow with purpose.
"Kiyohime…."
(yes?)
Slowly I drew my blade, my men looking at me with weary eyes, their gazes a mix of emotion, but none of it were pride or gratitude.
"Make this quick—"
(as you wish.)
It was a nightmare, a twisted, screaming, blood-soaked nightmare that clung to the very air around me. My skin burned, raw and unfamiliar, as though it had been scorched from within. The air was thick with the stench of smoke and charred flesh, the taste of iron still lingering on my tongue. My eyes felt heavy, hooded from shame and regret, a burden I could not shake.
I knelt in the middle of the battlefield, now reduced to nothing but a smoldering wasteland. The moon above seemed to weep, casting its light onto the ruin we had made. My soldiers moved about in the distance, gathering the fallen with a detached, grim efficiency, but I remained still. A broken thing, empty. My heart, once so full of purpose, now felt hollow.
There was nothing left. Nothing but the twisted remnants of what we had been, of what we had lost. The field was silent, save for the crackle of dying embers, the faint whispers of the wind through the scorched earth. My thoughts spun, tangled in a web of confusion and self-loathing. How could I have let it come to this?
"You're Fushiguro, correct?"
The voice cut through the haze in my mind like a blade, smooth and unsettlingly calm. I barely registered the sound at first, my senses dulled by the horror of what we had wrought. But it came again, closer this time, soft but insistent.
"I need you to come with me… quietly."