Reincarnation

› thirty: moments.

❝after all the ruins, still, we emerge whole again and again but with scars running through our hearts as evidence of a life lived.❞

— ijeoma umebinyuo, there is history here, here and here (via theijeoma).

———

A Few Weeks Ago…

∞

“Grandmother…you must’ve left a clue for me in this house, somewhere…” you muttered, sliding open her room. At the moment, you were at your house back in your old village.

It’s been six days.

It’s been six days since the attack on the Swordsmith Village; immediately after your encounter with Kawaguchi, you had decided to leave—not bothering to go to any Kakushi got help.

You only had one thing in your mind—Grandmother’s journal.

It was a key to your family’s history. The secrets. It could even help you get stronger.

You needed to—to protect your loved ones your friends. For revenge.

During your first couple days back in your old home, you spent your time healing, as you had wounds, bruises, and minor fractures on your leg and collarbone—hairline fractures, and some were dislocated.

But the rest?

Trying to find that damn journal.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you limped over to her bookcase—which, thankfully, was never touched or destroyed by the demon—fingers gliding over the smooth, dusty spines of the books and educational journals she kept.

Fingers stopping at the sight of a black leather book, you thumb over the embroidered kanji on the spine which read, The Art of Kyudo.

The corners of your lips turned upwards at the sight of the book, gently pulling it out from its spot at the end of the shelf.

“Grandmother, you often carried this around…” you muttered, fingers tracing over the silver kanji etched onto the cover.

Opening the book, your eyes shifted to the first page—which had the title, and a little note written by your grandmother underneath; it was something she liked to do whenever she read a book.

“The arrow always leads to where the eye can’t see,” You read, quirking a brow. “Hm. That’s definitely something she would write.” 

Placing the book back into its spot, you paused at the sound it had emitted when it hit the end of the shelf.

Taking it out, you place it back a harsh manner—and it emitted the same sound, but a little louder.

“It sounds hollow…?” You frowned, taking out the book and reaching your hand inside, fingers tapping against the spot where you had placed the book. You tapped beside the shelf to compare the sounds, and, just like you had guessed, it wasn’t hollow.

Pulling your hand back, your gaze wanders to the book in your other hand. You bite the insides of your cheeks, fingers tracing the kanji.

The arrow always leads to where the eye can’t see.

The arrow always leads to where the eye can’t see…

Taking out the books from the shelf where the Art of Kyudo book was, you tapped your fingers along the row—listening intently for any change of sound, or any other clue Grandmother could’ve left you.