> "When all seems lost, hope whispers: 'I am still here.'" - Hikari VIII
It's been ten years and I still remember the brim and fire. I don't enjoy remembering, but I have to while I still can. Put it down on paper and don't forget. This story belongs to the thousands who laughed and danced in those days, never knowing they'd soon be ash and memory.
It is difficult to pick a point to start telling the tale of a rotting empire. Decay doesn't start in any one day, it takes time to build up. But if I had to pick a point I'd say it began during the Week of Peace. That ill-fated celebration when we welcomed foreigners.
There was an idiot with a rifle on one of the towers lining the Road of the Sun. I don't know his name or his life story, but I know he was a fool. A damn puppet in a game of spiders.
Down below, the streets of Yakusoku no Miyako were a sea of bodies. Lanterns swaying in the warm evening breeze, casting shadows on the faces of festival-goers as they wandered from stall to stall, stuffing themselves full of foreign food. It must have been a strange sight unlike anything the empire had seen before - foreigners mingling freely with our people, as if centuries of isolation had melted away in an instant.
The fool in the tower grinned, his finger caressing the trigger of his strange weapon. Sight tracking his mark, a woman in a feathered white hood weaving through the press of bodies. Ignorant. Innocent. Vulnerable. Just one pull of the trigger away from oblivion.
He tracked her. He could have taken the shot at any moment, but he was probably waiting for the crack of the fireworks to mask his shot.
No one looked up. They were too busy laughing, drinking, pretending that everything was fine. The willingly blind couldn't see the bonds that held the empire together stretching and snapping. Fools.
No one noticed the assassin or his quarry.
No one except *her*.
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"Finally caught up to you!"
The voice rang out cheerful as a temple bell on a clear morning. That is how she used to laugh. Our fool on the tower whirled around, his finger squeezing the trigger in surprise. Should have practiced more with that foreign weapon.
The gun roared - a sound most of those revelers had never heard before. It would become all too familiar in the months to come.
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. Then, as always, chaos rushed in to fill the void.
The cobblestones near the hooded woman's feet exploded into fragments. The crowd's reaction was a wave of confusion and terror, rippling outward from the point of impact. A sea of bodies, suddenly aware of the current dragging them under, deprived of their foolishness.
Our would-be killer stood face to face with her now - Miyuki, the monk from the forest. She stood at a distance, her staff gripped tightly in both hands, her posture wary yet confident.
Recognition dawned in the assassin's eyes. Fear has a smell, you know. Sharp and acrid, like metal left too long in the sun. It must have rolled off him in waves as he stared at Miyuki, his face a mask of disbelief.
"You..." he whispered, his voice carrying on the suddenly still air. "You're supposed to be dead. We burned the whole thing down. How did you survive that?!"
Miyuki just smiled. Always confident, so sure. Even then, standing on the precipice of calamity, knowing full well what these people were trying to do I am sure she just smiled, as if she couldn't feel hate.
"Did you miss me?" she said with complete sincerity. "I have something to ask."
I can only imagine what must have gone through the assassins' mind at that moment. she must have looked like death itself, that is what she was to fools like him.
With a desperation born of terror, he flung himself from the tower, crashing through a vendor's stall in a shower of splintered wood and shattered pride.
The crowd, already teetering on the edge of panic, toppled into full-blown hysteria. A stampede, pure and simple. People trampled each other in their haste to escape a danger they couldn't even name. Scrambling for a fleeting thing called safety.
Through it all, the players moved: the assassin, shoving his way through the crowd, eyes darting between escape routes and his original target, the hooded woman, slipping away with a grace that seemed almost inhuman, and Miyuki, leaping down from the tower as if the laws of nature were merely polite suggestions.
"Hey! Wait up! We're not done talking!" Her voice carried over the din, still infuriatingly cheerful.
The rot had reached the heart of the empire. The man carried it, the crowd spread it as they ran through the streets. Fear, despair, panic, and a little hope that would be crushed in due time.
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The woman in the feathered hood saw chaos erupt around her first hand. Her idea of stealth was dressing herself up in a highly ornate white hood, and the would-be assassin hadn't fail to find her. She had been gliding through the crowd, senses on high alert for danger. Guess she missed a spot. The ground at her feet erupted, stone shrapnel slicing the air. The blast was barely audible over the din, but she didn't need to hear it. She felt it in her bones.
She bolted. Even if her judgement was questionable at times, the girl was quick on her feet. Her mind was racing along. How'd they find her? Who sent the hit? And how the hell could she get out of this without adding civilian casualties to her conscience?
She ducked and wove, using the pandemonium to her advantage. Slipped behind costumes and food stalls, the smell of festival treats mixing with the stench of fear. It was all a complete mess of local and foreigners, confusion and terror. The Empire-born stared at the blasted ground like it was a message from the fortunes. The outsiders? They knew a gun when they heard one.
Stolen story; please report.
"Shooter!" someone shouted. Not everyone understood the word, but there was no need for translation. The foreigners made themselves understood well enough, their panic transparent.
The woman was agile in her run. But behind her the assassin followed too close for comfort. Her heart pounded a drumbeat of dread as one does when you feel death's steps closing in. She needed cover fast.
Another blast, too close. Wood splintered near her head, sparks flying. The screams hit a crescendo. Kids wailed, samurai reached for their swords, diplomats huddled like sheep. But she kept moving, had to. Staying still would be the end. Her mind didn't even had time to register the cut from the splintered wood.
The second shot firing the crowd into even higher hysteria, she was finding it hard to move through it. Too dense to run, barely fit to squeeze through. Her eyes darted around the flashing faces looking for the assassin. A naive girl high on honor, she draws her tantō out in the open rather than conceal, ready fend of her enemy or see her soul move through the kharmic cycle.
And just as she's done bracing herself in determination, a strong hand grasped her arm. The girl whirled, tantō half-drawn, only to find herself staring into a pair of intense, dark eyes.
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Miyuki tore through the streets, her bare feet pounding against the cobblestones, her staff clutched firmly in one hand. The pain of cuts and bruises was nothing compared to the thrill of the hunt. The stones embedded in her skin pulsed with an eerie glow, drawing gasps and whispers from the festival-goers. Awe, fear, confusion - the usual reactions to Miyuki's unique "charms."
She locked onto the fool, weaving through the crowd like a cornered rat. His black garb stood out like an ink blot against the vibrant festival colors. Miyuki's muscles burned as she pushed herself to the limit. She'd chase him to the ends of the earth if she had to. No way was she letting this bastard slip through her fingers.
She was closing in when a group of performers stumbled into her path. A dragon costume, all glittering scales and rippling silk, blocked the street like a gaudy barricade.
Miyuki didn't even blink. With a powerful leap, she soared over the startled performers, as if she had wings instead of feet. For a split second, she hung suspended in the air, her hair whipping in the wind like a battle banner. Below her, the festival stretched out like a living tapestry, a chaotic blend of colors and motion. The world she fought to protect, even if it was too blind to see the danger lurking in the shadows.
Gravity reclaimed her, but Miyuki was ready. She twisted in midair like a cat, landing in a smooth roll that brought her back to her feet without missing a beat. That was Miyuki in a nutshell – always landing on her feet, no matter how hard the world tried to knock her down.
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The fool finally ran out of places to run. Miyuki landed in front of him, cutting off his escape. He was trapped, and he knew it.
Desperation etched on his face, he raised his rifle and aimed it at her. "Don't move! I'll blow your head off before you can lay a finger on me."
The crowd scattered, their screams ringing in the air as they fled the standoff.
Miyuki, however, seemed utterly unfazed by the gun pointed at her face. If anything, she looked curious, her eyes studying the gleaming barrel with an almost childlike fascination. Knowing her, she'd probably try to peek down the muzzle if she got close enough.
"I have a few questions," Miyuki said, her voice calm and steady.
"Screw your questions!" the assassin snarled, his throat straining with the effort. Veins bulged in his eyes as he scanned his surroundings, not daring to look away from Miyuki for more than a second. "You destroyed our whole operation, and now you're back to finish the job? I'm not walking away from this, but I'll be damned if I don't take you with me."
His finger tightened on the trigger, ready to fire, when a child's piercing wail startled him. It was a momentary distraction, but it was all Miyuki needed.
In a flash, she swung her staff, channeling her chi through the weapon. The force struck the assassin from a distance, sending him crumpling to the ground, his gun clattering beside him. In an instant, Miyuki was on top of him, pinning him down with her staff across his chest, maintaining as much distance as possible while still restraining him.
"Where is Hinako?" she demanded, her eyes boring into his, leaving no room for deception.
He looked at Miyuki with confusion for a moment, then he laughed "Why the hell would I tell you?"
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That was when that bastard Hitachi showed up. I wasn't there, but I can picture it clear as day. The way he barked orders, the sneer on his face - typical magistrate, but Hitachi was a special kind of slimeball. Just thinking about him makes my skin crawl.
He loomed over Miyuki, poking at a bruise on her back with his scabbard like she was nothing but a nuisance in his way. "Get off him," he growled.
Miyuki moved, her jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. Hitachi's men swarmed in, rough hands binding the assassin. The man's laughter, high and hysterical, cut through the tense silence.
"I see now!" the assassin wheezed, blood trickling from his split lip. His eyes, fever-bright, fixed on Miyuki. "You're nothing but just another dog of the empire". Contempt dripped from every word.
"We're not-" Miyuki's protest was cut short by the sickening crack of Hitachi's scabbard across the assassin's face. The crowd flinched as one, but who'd dare speak out against the shogun's men?
Hitachi got the rundown from his underlings about what had happened. He might have been a bastard but he knew how to do his job. In the brief period since it all began his men had already gathered a clear picture of what happened. Miyuki waited while he listened, her patience wearing thin.
"Can I speak with him? I have questions," she asked, her tone far more respectful than Hitachi deserved.
The assassin sneered at her. "Is that what your masters teach you? To bow and scrape to the hand that beats you?" His voice rose to a fever pitch. The crowd stared at him with confusion and concern. "All of you-"
In a heartbeat, Hitachi's blade flashed. A wet thud, then silence. The assassin's head rolled, coming to rest against Miyuki's bare foot. Blood spread across the cobblestones, seeping into the cracks.
Miyuki didn't look away. I said she always smiled, but that wasn't quite true. She saved her darkest scowls for men like Hitachi.
"That was unnecessary," Miyuki protested, her voice tight with anger.
"Shut up. I don't have time for a meddling monk tonight. One more word and you'll be spending the night in a cell." Hitachi snapped, more concerned with the blood staining his uniform than the life he'd just taken.
She could hardly believe the words coming out of the mouth of this man who was supposed to stand for justice, whose idea of fairness seemed to be cutting necks first and asking questions never.
"They're planning to attack the city!" Miyuki warned, desperate to make him understand.
But Hitachi just shushed her, fingering the ropes at his belt. A clear threat. He looked at her with raised eyebrows, as if saying "give me a reason."
Miyuki couldn't afford a night in jail, not with so much at stake. So she sat, glaring daggers at Hitachi whose attention had turned to the corpse. "Bring someone to clean this up." He said with disgust, still struggling with the bloodstain on his uniform.
Miyuki spoke prayers for the fool's soul. Performed rites as time would allow before someone came to dispatch the remains as if he was no more than an inconvenient taint on the night's festivities.
Fools meet foolish ends, and that is what happen with the fool on the tower that night. His name lost to history.
I did not know him but if was to give him a voice it would likely say this: This empire is rotten. The ties that bind it together are a lie. It deserves to come undone. I would unravel it with my own hands. Fortunes know it only needs a tug.
The crowd dispersed, leaving Miyuki alone. She stood there long after the body was taken. Thinking about what to do next. It must have been very significant for her because she spoke of it multiple times. She never said but I think she felt a little powerless. I can relate.
It's been ten years and sometimes I feel as powerless as I did back then. All I have with me are the whispers and memories of the dead. Words spoken to me years ago.
It would be a while after that night until the empire was finally unraveled, along with the countless lives lost in its fall.
This story belongs to them, to the souls who laughed and danced, never knowing they'd soon be ash and memory.