To Slice The Wind

Peace

Drops of water struck against Arakan's bony cheeks and slithered down his neck. The intensity of the droplets became faster and faster and soon, the sky above him opened up and unleashed a barrage of droplets that fell to the ground. He had awakened from his slumber with the corpses long ago but he didn't bother to move. It was peaceful. The stench didn't get to him and the scattered remnants of the battlefield served like a scenery to him. Maybe, he was already used to it.

"I guess God is trying to help me. Too late though, this fucking land has long been swept off."

Arakan's soft, immature voice played in his head as he let out a chuckle. The chuckle transitioned into a laugh and the laugh evolved into a hysterical howl. There was pain in his voice as he tried to humour himself, his sanity propping between a thin line. Arakan cupped his hands and took loud sips of the rainwater as he faced the clouds with his mouth open, taking in every droplet. While his physical body was hurriedly slurping in every sip of water he could get, his mind slipped across the passage of time thinking of the sweet moments that he had spent with his family. It served as a distraction from the present, one of the few things that kept him sane. Arakan wanted to remember his family, he wanted to grab a hold of something that could bring tie his soul to theirs. That's when his father, Masaemon's sword came to mind.

Coming to that conclusion, Arakan pushed his frail legs against the ground and rushed towards his house. The once beautiful, traditional house was now reduced to burnt, fallen planks of wood that probably contained the sword under it. He dug his hands into the broken pieces of wood and rummaged through it, ignoring the sharp pieces that either scratched his arms or peeled off the tip of his fingers. Then, he felt a rough, fabric that comfortably fit into the palm of his hands. Grabbing it as though his life had depended on the object, he pulled it out with all his strength. There it was, the katana of the man who was once feared as 'Masaemon The Dragon'. He lifted and thrusted the blade into the air and let out a fearsome shriek. With the heavy blade wrapped around the fingers of his right hand, he heaved the weapon that was only slightly lighter than his entire body weight and tucked it in between his sash, the sword's edge facing the ground, levelled with his ribcage. The fabric cord wrap that was once a shade of light green and snowy white was now ominously pitch black and so was the wooden hand guard, burnt from the fire. It was almost as though the family heirloom turned weapon was a manifestation of his current situation. Arakan with his blood-smeared and battered kimono took a step away from his home village. His journey to the north had begun.

At the back of his head, the man's voice continued to pester him as he wonders the identity of the mysterious enigma who saved him twice. The journey he was about to embark on would definitely lead to that man, he was sure of that. Arakan made his way up the steep hill and into the forest, hoping that he would be able to find a road. Hours passed by as he trekked across the dense forest. Finally, his eyes managed to spot an oxen carriage from a distance. This was his chance. His only chance to get to the nearest city.

"Wait! Stop! Stop!"

"Bandits? No... wait, it's a child! Uncle stop the carriage! There's a wounded kid behind us!"

A cracking voice with an unrecognisable accent boomed from the rear of the carriage. His tone was awkward and he had a distinct click at the edge of certain words he uttered. Arakan, who was by this time, fatigued after chasing the carriage from quite a distance away was breathing heavily and beginning to slow down, relieved that his screams were noticed. The carriage which transported heaps of rice packed in bags gradually came to a halt and a boy jumped out. Arakan was taken aback and shifted his weight away from the person before him, establishing a safe distance. All his life, he had never seen someone with such distinct features that the boy had. 

"Do I look that scary? Hahaha, I guess that is the common reaction to a rarely seen foreigner in these lands!"

The boy chuckled, his right hand scratched the top of his head jokingly and he grinned generously at Arakan. The boy was much taller than Arakan, his skin was as white as the clouds above them as if it had not been grazed by sunlight at all.  Arakan even found his facial features to be appealing. Dark blue eyes, slightly curly hazel hair, a sharp nose and thin lips. Despite his feminine looks, he was muscular as his physique bulged against the light blue kimono that wrapped around him. Arakan knew a strong man when he saw one and the person in front of him quite possibly could have been the most intimidating man he has ever set his eyes upon. It was almost as though he was shielding his brutality with the grin he had on his face. Before Arakan could mutter a single word, he spoke.