“Wake up Masami, you’re missing breakfast!”

The demon’s voice boomed loud across the flame-stricken battlefield. Masami faltered at this. Demons were not supposed to speak, much less invite humans to breakfast. She reached for her sword anyway. This must be some trick. Blade poised to strike, she stepped forward.

As she dropped her foot the ground gave way, and Masami felt herself falling. She thrust her arms forward to catch herself, but planted headfirst into the dirt. No...wood. That couldn’t be right, she was back in Takayama. All the wood had burned.

“Masami! What are you doing on the floor?”

This time it was Kohaku’s voice Masami heard, and she felt their hand on her back. Of course. A dream. She couldn’t be back in Takayama. That war had ended nearly twenty years ago, and the land around that doomed city had been salted and razed.

“Sorry Kohaku. Just another dream.” Masami’s voice caught in her throat for a moment before she pushed the rest out. “I’m fine. What’re we having this morning?”

“I caught an eel earlier while you were asleep. If you even were asleep, tossing about like that. So grilled unagi and rice, and Toshiro brought over some eggs from the hens if you want.” Kohaku smiled down at Masami, but the old ronin saw their concern. She tried to muster a smile back, but was sure it came out more a grimace than anything.

“I’d take an egg. Big day and all. Go on ahead, I um, I need to get dressed.”

Kohaku waited to see Masami actually stand up, nodding their approval as she got to her feet. They slid the paper screen door closed quietly behind them, and Masami heard their soft footfalls leading down the stairs. She closed her eyes and sighed. Leave me be spectre. I killed you long ago. It is not your place to haunt me. 

Sometimes that thought helped. Today though, no banishment was to be had, and the twisted faces of demons and the damned followed her as she wrapped herself in her kimono. Takayama... Wish you’d stop showing up in my dreams. 

Her left arm throbbed as she folded the blackened thing back from the sleeve to lay across her chest. Hungry, huh? Masami was not the only soldier to come away from the war with such a souvenir, but she cursed hers all the same. She tried to put the demonic arm and the pain out of her mind.

Kohaku was waiting for Masami as she came down the steps of their humble home. The gentle carpenter had built this cottage themself, loft and all. It had been their way of teaching Masami their craft as she laid and watched, still regaining her strength after the war. Masami traced the lines of the railing, a soft smile forming on her lips. Even now Kohaku tended the fire, muscled back to Masami. The firelight caught their amber hair, making it look as if Masami’s lover was ablaze themself.

Masami pushed that thought out of her mind and continued down the stairs. Today was not the day for old memories and old fears. Finally hearing her, Kohaku turned and stood, reaching their arm out.

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“C’mon, food’s been ready for ages.”

Masami took the offered arm, leaning into Kohaku’s steady shoulder. On another day she might’ve protested. Walking wasn’t what troubled her after all. But after being forced to relive Takayama, even in a dream, she was happy for the support. Besides, Kohaku was warm against the early spring chill.

Together the pair walked to the fireplace; a walled pit Masami had built out of stones from the nearby Kiso river. Two especially large, flat stones nestled against each other held the soft pillows the two used as seats. Kohaku let Masami sit first, lowering her down. She grumbled, but her smile betrayed her.

“Yes yes, you’re a grown woman, a former soldier of the realm, slayer of the fifteen hordes, and your legs work just fine. I know, I know.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Uh huh. Grumble away then little one. We both know you like it when I pamper you.”

“Hey!” Masami managed to feign frustration for a moment before bursting into laughter. Kohaku always won these little arguments. They were right, after all. “So, where is this fabled food? I fear if I don’t get any soon I may have to eat you instead!”

Kohaku chuckled. “Coming right up.” They scooped up some rice from the earthen pot next to the fire, portioning it into a wide, shallow bowl. The neighbor, a master potter, had gifted it to the two of them on their wedding day as part of a matching set. Masami leaned over to plant a kiss on Kohaku’s arm as they laid the grilled eel filet over the rice, and for a moment, all thoughts of smoke and war left her.

And so the morning passed. The old couple finished eating quickly before hurrying to the workshed behind the cottage. Masami hadn’t been kidding around about this being a big day. The magistrate of nearby Amagasaki, the capital of Tosaka province, would be married within the week, and every citizen of means was expected to bring gifts for the ceremony. 

Masami and Kohaku were nearly done with theirs - a beautiful lacquered chest of drawers. They’d been working on it for weeks using their finest pieces of lumber to craft its form. Every bit of the work was slow and deliberate. It needed to be perfect, after all, and perfection does not come quickly. Today was perhaps the most important day of all. Every piece of the dresser was assembled, but now they would see if the drawers fit properly. Any misalignment or incorrect measurement would mean days more work fixing the error.

The three drawers slid in effortlessly, snug against the siding but requiring only gentle force to move. Masami breathed a sigh of relief. For once, she’d taken care to cut the things properly the first time. Kohaku smiled behind her and set about removing the drawers so the fronts could be lacquered.

The two labored through the afternoon, stopping shortly for a bowl of rice and some vegetables from the garden. The work passed nearly wordlessly. After so many years, and so much preparation for this project, the couple acted as one on instinct.

By the time evening came and the low sun cast the sky in a stark pink, the chest of drawers was finally complete. Kohaku brought out the pair of irons from the fireplace and they and Masami burned their names into the underside of the bottom drawer. A hidden mark, but one other craftspeople would know to look for.

With that, Masami stood. “C’mon. We don’t want to miss the sunset. Meet you at the top of the hill?”

Kohaku nodded. “Sure, go on ahead. I just need to set aside the irons and clean up a bit.”

Masami leaned over to give them a quick kiss before trudging up the hill. A steep climb, it gave her time to think on the morning’s dream. Why now? As if in response, her left arm throbbed again, shooting pain up to her shoulder. She let it flop out of its sleeve. In the late evening sun, it didn’t look quite as bad as usual. Still, she grimaced at the demon-scarred thing. She considered putting it back into her robes, but the cool air soothed the throbbing, and so she left it at her side.

At the top of the hill stood a sturdy bench carved from a wide log. It was older than her and Kohaku, built by a family of woodcutters generations ago. But now it was theirs. Masami turned towards the sun as she sat, sliding into the depression she’d made in the wood over countless nights watching the sunset. Kohaku would be here soon; such was their evening ritual. Masami took the time alone to breathe in the sweet spring air.

Far off in the distance, something caught her eye. No bigger than a speck on the horizon. But a speck which should not have been there. Masami blinked, and then it was gone. Damn these old eyes. Is this what aging is like? Despite the conscious dismissal, she scanned the horizon until Kohaku arrived, and did not sleep that night even in Kohaku’s arms. The old eyes of a paranoid soldier playing tricks, perhaps.

Perhaps.