[The child runs. They run, until they can no longer be seen.
It might be the last thing Tsuru sees, though, before his master's blade stabs right through his chest, impaling him. Blood blossoms from the wound like a flower—and then the blade known as Tsurumaru Kuninaga breaks.
In the dark, he'll hear a few notes of that song again. Then, when he opens his eyes, he'll find himself buried in the earth once more. This time, he isn't laid to rest with any master, but with the shattered pieces of his sword resting on top of him.
He will know, intuitively, that the master he turned against—his side won. The family was slaughtered. Even the child that Tsuru defied orders to rescue still met their end, even if in a different manner.
And here, alone in this grave and on the border between life and death—as a sword with a broken vessel—he'll hear a voice echo. It comes from somewhere inside of him, ambiguous as to whether it's someone speaking to him or a question he asks himself.]
history. it's always history. his current existence is only possible for the need to protect history. his every breath, and movement, and thought can be attributed to this goal, this life's purpose-- the touken danshi must protect history.
and what is history? is it the fierce gaze of oda nobunaga as he commanded armies, helping create the path that japan would follow for hundreds of years after? is it that nameless child, whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but whose death must be counted in the sea of other nameless figures.
what else is there to protect?
he thinks about the smiles of friends he's made. the anger in their voices when they've realized he lied to them. the way another human hand feels in his.
there is something in the world worth protecting. it's history, and all of the people who help make it. whether it's a fierce lord, or a scared kid with nowhere else to go.
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guestservices) wrote2022-06-26 04:17 pm
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[Any samurai worth their salt keeps a spare sword, which he pulls out and points at the child, apparently ignoring Tsuru for now.]
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tsuru, with his blade in hand, moves quickly. he moves in front of the child, his sword pointed towards the attacker. he directs at the child, ]
Run. Quickly. Do not stop running until you can no longer smell bloodshed.
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It might be the last thing Tsuru sees, though, before his master's blade stabs right through his chest, impaling him. Blood blossoms from the wound like a flower—and then the blade known as Tsurumaru Kuninaga breaks.
In the dark, he'll hear a few notes of that song again. Then, when he opens his eyes, he'll find himself buried in the earth once more. This time, he isn't laid to rest with any master, but with the shattered pieces of his sword resting on top of him.
He will know, intuitively, that the master he turned against—his side won. The family was slaughtered. Even the child that Tsuru defied orders to rescue still met their end, even if in a different manner.
And here, alone in this grave and on the border between life and death—as a sword with a broken vessel—he'll hear a voice echo. It comes from somewhere inside of him, ambiguous as to whether it's someone speaking to him or a question he asks himself.]
[He feels as though he should answer.]
no subject
history. it's always history. his current existence is only possible for the need to protect history. his every breath, and movement, and thought can be attributed to this goal, this life's purpose-- the touken danshi must protect history.
and what is history? is it the fierce gaze of oda nobunaga as he commanded armies, helping create the path that japan would follow for hundreds of years after? is it that nameless child, whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but whose death must be counted in the sea of other nameless figures.
what else is there to protect?
he thinks about the smiles of friends he's made. the anger in their voices when they've realized he lied to them. the way another human hand feels in his.
there is something in the world worth protecting. it's history, and all of the people who help make it. whether it's a fierce lord, or a scared kid with nowhere else to go.
yes. ]
no subject
When he wakes up yet again, he's somewhere very, very different.]