---

---

---

---

---

---

“Tatsuoki sama is nowhere to be found! Has he fallen?”

This cry carried through the air over the chaos below. The hot, late summer sun glared down from above like a single blazing eye of a discontent god as a great battle raged. Nobunaga, head of the Oda of Owari, had for the last fourteen days lain siege to Mount Inaba and the grand castle that sat perched atop it - the stronghold of the Saitō, rulers of Mino. Early this very morning the Oda had finally made a daring move, marching their armies up the mountainside in an attempt to take the castle in an onslaught. Saitō Tatsuoki, head of the clan, ordered his men to the walls and the defense of Inabayama. Tatsuoki’s advisors believed that a single vicious defensive effort would drive the Oda forces back where they could then be routed and pummeled down the face of the mountain and scattered to the forests. “Let them flee back to their lands where we then may finally defeat the Fool of Owari and crush his insolence and his people!”

At first things seemed well enough. The Oda army trudged uphill, at a great disadvantage as Inabayama’s defenders rained arrows and stones down upon them. It was then that a terrible explosion shook the whole castle and a fire broke out in the keep. Fearing a hidden attack Tatsuoki’s commanders ordered half of the defenders to fall back to the interior and moments later the front gates of the castle came swinging open to everyone’s dismay - Oda spies it was revealed had snuck over the walls earlier and cut a path to the gatehouse. The Oda war drums thundered and in mere breaths Nobunaga’s army stormed the keep, quickly overwhelming the shaken defenders. Swordsmen scurried along the walls, cutting down Inabayama’s now vulnerable bowmen as Oda and Saitō samurai clashed in a bloody fray in the courtyard. Tatsuoki himself was nowhere to be seen, an angst quickly spreading among the castle as Oda forces were not only overtaking the interior but many of their warriors had forced their way through the fighting and were entering the tenshu itself. It was well-known that in recent months Saitō retainers had defected to Nobunaga’s side amid his long war with Tatsuoki - and who knew how much about Inabayama’s makeup and defenses the betrayers had shared with their new master.

The fighting’s ferocity grew even as the battle began to enclose around the tenshu at the heart of the castle. Blood soaked the dirt turning it to reddish mud and bodies were piled with little space between them - most of them were fallen Saitō samurai and infantry. The most steadfast and unwavering of Tatsuoki’s sworn held their ground, willing to die as true samurai in defense of their lords’ domain even as the Oda encircled them slowly. They hacked and flayed Nobunaga’s men, teeth bared and eyes burning with fire from within their helmets even as they collapsed one after the next. Among them was Ikari Masato - head of the Ikari household and one of the Saitō’s most courageous vassals. He had served Tatsuoki’s father Dosan sama and now he would die for Dosan’s son it would seem. The castle and the mountain were surrounded and aflame, and the Oda army vastly outnumbered the Saitō. The last thing Masato would hear on the battlefield would be the call for Tatsuoki before three arrows flew into his chest, felling him among his fellow samurai. He felt himself being dragged, thinking it first to be a physician retrieving his body, then perhaps the terrible Oda planning to humiliate and mangle his dying form. No - it was his son and daughter, Ichiro and Natsumi, both their faces coming into view as Masato struggled to see. His breathing was painfully ragged and he tasted blood in his mouth, his head ached and throbbed and his ears were filled with a shrill whistling. The arrows had gone deep and Masato’s chest roiled with pain so great he could not scream or even groan. His mouth hung open, words catching in his throat as his eyes moved between his son and daughter - their agonized young visages running with tears. Masato turned his head and struggled to look around, he was inside somewhere but he could hear the battle close by still. He was laying on hay and he smelled horses - the stables near the tenshu.

“I told you… stay inside.”

---

---

Chaos. That encapsulated what was happening better than any other term. Chaos. Screams raged. First of orderly commands, then of men in combat, and finally of the suffering that followed intermingled by ever more voices of women and children.

If these sounds were thought of as music as some of the warriors present might do, then it would be full of harmony. Those same sounds of men were accompanied by the twang of bowstrings and the whistling of arrows. Sword clashed against polearm, fire crackled almost as if a drum keeping a beat. Even a few tanegashimas cracked, the sound like the distant peal of thunder as balls of steel and brass flew together with arrows.

But Ichiro did not see it as such. He saw only the implosion of all that had framed his world. So many years his readings, his studies had been his guide. He clutched his heart, staring at the fires spreading. "Amitābha." he muttered. "Amitābha." he repeated, as if this would bring him some sort of peace. It didn't. It only served to enflame the passions, the poison of hatred spreading through his flesh. That which demanded he raise his blade, that he rush into the fray and die as so many others had this day. All the efforts he had put forth to detach himself from this world, to achieve permanent enlightenment, it was melting. "Ku." he murmured, gently putting his hand on the shoulder of an Ashigaru that together with several comrades was fleeing scene. "Where are you going? The battle rages on." He had intended this to come out authoritatively, but it sounded like a gasp of a defeated man struggling to accept truth. He fell over as amidst his musings he didn't let go of the shoulder of the man that had told Ichiro to release, and then got a punch upon the nose as the man took measures to not let his flight from the battle be interrupted.

Getting upright, he only realized his nose was broken and bleeding as the tinny taste of blood came upon his tongue. This was over. The battle was over. The only question was if honourable death was to be pursued, or if they would live another day. Defeat wasn't the matter to ponder, merely the nature it would take on.

He had to find his father. That would bring some clarity. It had to. There were no monks, no texts he could run to for guidance. Finding his parent, Ichiro could get no solace. Getting the man out from the fray, it was only some moments into dragging him that he realized that his sister was with him. Despite everything, he found himself giving her a hollow smile. Partially it was insincere, an effort to comfort her. Part of it was wholly sincere, eager to see a kind face amidst the horror they were going through.

He looked down at his father, chuckling through tears that were hardly held up. "You will have to punish me with a few strikes for it later, father." he just about managed. A single tear rolled down his face, mixing with the blood of his nose, the salt stinging as it entered the open wound. "I hope nobody learns of my disobedience." As grief struck, the struggle to accept the reality of father's inbound death seemed an apt metaphor for him being drawn into the world of sensory illusion, and the struggle to accept the greater truths.

Faster than an eye could track, Masato's hands flew to his children. Pulling on the collars of son and daughter he brought them to himself, his grip on the flesh that connected their necks to shoulders tight like iron despite having lost so much blood already. "The Clan does not end here. Not yet. You will flee, at once." His speech was gruff, his injury, the smoke he inhaled, and the grief of knowing this is the last time he will see his children all giving it an almost ethereal rasp. "You cannot die, not here, not today."

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath while leaning into the ground he lay upon. As if martialling the last of his strength to think on what to say. "Defeat through... through this. Ignominy. If we are to perish, it will be amidst triumph. Our bodies will rest on top of those of our foes, not beneath." He looked at his children, expecting the youths to argue. For his part at least, Ichiro grasped the forearm of his father as tightly as he could and nodded. Satisfied with this display of obeisance, he released his son and awaited a similar sign of understanding from his daughter. "You will not fail me. Pride fills me. Pride that I, living through you, will bring an end to this villain. Now go. Leave me to my final thoughts."

Released, Ichiro's last sight of his father would be to take from him his helmet, his blades. These would be needed, and they could not be left to be desecrated as loot by some marauder. With that he arose and began the shameful flight from the fortifications. He didn't turn his head back at his father was in practical terms slain. It would hurt, and it would only drag him further into this damnable world. The son knew his sister was strong, and he hoped she would come as ordered. But if needed he would pry her off of the father they both grieved for to the task of vengeance they were entrusted with.

A very brief stop would be made by him, collecting what koku he could for their inevitably difficult journey to come. Then he would lead his sister to one side of the fortifications where the slope was just the right incline and the sweet spot between smooth and rough that it could be slid down. It was no glamorous exit through a secret passage, and the friction hurt before he had even slid to the bottom. But they were out, and relatively unscathed. "We will do as father commanded." Ichiro spoke, unsure if he was trying to reassure Natsumi or himself.

---

Everything was a blur to Natsumi. Those who knew the young woman had called her many things before; kind, witty, focused, devoted. But as her brother lead her away from the fallen shape of their father and as she watched as their home burned against a blackened sky Natsumi felt only fear and a deepening loss that swelled within her. Her wit and sense of attentiveness had abandoned her, the sounds of battle clouded her thoughts and she felt as if she was looking through someone else’ eyes. Was this a terrible dream? A vision? No, far from it. The screams of dying Saitō and Ikari samurai were very real, as was the acrid smell of smoke, sulfur, and blood. The fires lit by the Oda were engulfing the walls of the castle and parts of Tatsuoki’s estate were aflame as well. The cheers and bloodthirsty war cries of the foul Oda sent waves of terror through Natsumi as her brother lead her by the wrist. First to collect fistfuls of koku and then to the edge of the walls where he saw them both down the hillside. Natsumi could hear her brother speak, she looked into his face as he gave her directive - all she could do was nod dumbly. Her mouth half open and her face unmoving like a statues’ visage.

Natsumi quickly knew that her brother could see that she was in a terrified stupor. A part of her would be fearful that her brother would be uncertain by his sisters’ current state of mind. While Ichiro was a capable young man and had always done his father and clan proud there was always an unspoken truth between the two siblings. Ichiro was strong, he was wise for his age, and he was calm more oft than not - Natsumi however always seemed to be the wittier of the two. Always a step even and at times a step ahead of her brother when facing uncertainty or even danger. Ichiro had come to accept with age that there was no shame in looking to his sister for guidance even if some might see it as a sign of weakness. Ichiro never seemed to care. And yet here was Natsumi now dangling like a doll from her brothers’ hand as he guided her through the dense forest that covered the face of the mountain on which Inabayama sat. Brush slapped at their faces and vines pulled at their arms and legs as they rushed to escape before the Oda finished their foul plundering of the Saitō clans’ home. The only things the pair had aside from what they wore was their fathers’ helmet and sword and a box of their mothers’ jewelry which Natsumi squeezed tightly under one arm.

The downward running seemed never to end. The forest continued to claw and grab at the two Ikari youth as they continued to descend, leaping together over brambles and sidestepping thick tree trunks. In the distance Natsumi could make out the blackened, ashy remains of Inoguchi - a town near Inabayama. Only the worst could be assumed as to what happened to the townsfolk and as she continued her forced run with Ichiro, Natsumi felt a wave of sorrow as she thought back to all the times her father had taken she and Ichiro into town with him, be it to deal with the merchants or meet with his clan’s retainers or other associates that lived in Inoguchi. The whole world she and her brother knew was burning and crumbling around them and all they could do was run like scared children. Perhaps that is all they were.

The sounds of battle wavered and grew distant as Ichiro and Natsumi finally reached the bottom of the mountain, the earth flattening beneath their tired legs as they both found themselves gasping for new breath. Natsumi turned and looked back up towards the castle, now far from them. The fires were dying but the black smoke had covered the sky above like a wicked, dark shroud of death that now hung over the fallen Saitō clan. The battle was over - there was no longer the ring of blades, explosions of black powder, and cries of men. The Oda had won the. Inabayama had fallen.

Natsumi faced her brother, her eyes still red from crying and even now fresh tears brimmed at the bottom of her lids as lament filled her beautiful face. She asked her brother a simple but jarring question. “What do we do, Ichiro?”

Going through the woods, Ichiro briefly wondered if they were lost. His vision was hardly the best, and he was hardly well coordinated in such things. It was ironic to some degree, the fact that he felt so close to nature while in practice going through it so clumsily. Branches snapped loudly underfoot, at some point he almost twisted his ankle in a rabbit’s burrow.

Finally, his sister spoke. The lad took a deep breath, drumming his fingers on his thigh. Indeed, what were they going to do? “We will do as father commanded.” he said, not even realizing in the moment that he had just told his sister these same words mere moments ago. As he stared into the meaningless distance, he realized more was expected of him. He had not really done his duty.

“We will do as father commanded.” he repeated a third time, but now there would be at least some elaboration. “We will find allies for this cause. Those that stand against these villains of the Oda. We will obtain coin to bring Ashigaru and Ronin unnumbered to our side. We will convince people across the land that our cause is just, that for every farmer and craftsman his interest is to stand with their Daimyos to in turn stand with us. Every man with a blade that we see, we will convince or coerce into serving this cause. Failing that, he’d be an enemy we’ll be rid of.” All that Ichiro was holding in the moment, he dropped. The young man’s hands went to those of his sister, holding them tightly as if he was terrified that the wind were to take her away if he didn’t. “Natsumi. Father will be avenged. Every man that did him and our Lord harm will be destroyed. I cannot yet create a complete vision, I do not see every step. But we will move. We will spend every one of our breaths to live by his last words.” even as the wind struck his face, he didn’t blink or even produce a single tear. His eyes reddened as cold streaks of air stung the orbs at high speed, but his eyelids didn’t move an inch. This seemed emotionless and distant at the same time that it seemed passionate, defiant and spiritual. Human expressions that seemed contradictory if they couldn’t be observed at the same time in the young man’s visage.

“It will be difficult. Perhaps we will both die in the process, and painfully so. Perhaps we will fail. But you are strong, my sister. Very strong. Strong enough we haven’t had the chance to quantify it yet.” He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Even as his eyes were obscured by eyelids, a smile came across Ichiro as if he was under the euphoric effect of some sort of substance. “For every man that stands against us, a suffering unique to him will be brought forth. One day the Oda will fall. Maybe not in our lifetimes, but we will have credit for the demon’s destruction nonetheless. In our dying breaths, we will be proud.”

Finally he opened his eyes, the grin not escaping him. He laughed, as if the most recent event they shared was some performance art rather than the death of their beloved father. “I won’t pretend to know the future, Natsumi. But I know you and me. Imperfectly, but enough to be certain our foe will suffer for every crime against us.” Another deep breath came across the young man. “Not all in this land are duplicitious. We have friends yet to call upon. Come!” Ichiro marched with a cheery pep in his stride. “We will walk until we can no longer, then we will rest until we can move once more.” Suddenly however, he stopped and turned to Natsumi. He looked at once embarrassed and proud. In both hands he extended their father’s katana, his cheeks reddening slightly. “But first, take this. If we are attacked by pursuers, you will need it. And you were always more wisened with this blade than I. The wakizashi and tanto, those are my arms. But this… I am confident if we are attacked, you will bring down a foe with every swipe. I demand you not fail me, and I know you won’t fail this demand.” Another heavy breath came across Ichiro as if he was trying to cram hours of meditation into mere heartbeats. “There are things you can do much better than I can. If I am to carry out father’s will, I will need you at your full capacity. I trust you will be ready.” She needn’t even respond, his mention that he trusted her was more than mere rhetoric.

“Let us go. Our work carries on.” He looked at the sky, his lips moving as he consulted memory to navigate. “Ise is that way.” And that was that, as he began the slow march to where the siblings could hopefully find respite and friends.

The journey was not easy. After making distance from smoldering Inabayama, Ichiro and Natsumi at Ichiro’s insistence began their journey south to Ise. Neither brother nor sister had been to Ise in many, many years and while the Kitabatake had always been a content, honorable clan these were uncertain days. The Shogunate’s power was crumbling, the Ashikaga could no longer retain their authority over the land. All across the realm Daimyo were rising up - declaring feuds, pressing land claims, and renouncing the weakened Ashikaga. Hachiman stirs as the fires of war begin to spread threatening to engulf all. The roads became dangerous as bandits and rapacious ronin skulked like wolves in the treelines.

Ichiro and Natsumi stayed on the main road south. Mino itself was a small province, but going beyond its’ borders took time. Natsumi had feared that after Inabayama fell the demon Nobunaga would be swift in blocking the roads out of the prefecture - and she was right. Three times Ichiro and Natsumi were forced to leap from the road into the bush as Oda horsemen came thundering past, their spears ready to run through anyone they crossed. The Oda had also set up guard post on the border with Ise and Ichiro and Natsumi were forced to crawl on their bellies through knee-tall grass and mud to avoid being caught. Natsumi knew that if they were caught her brother would be executed and she too perhaps - thought for she there was far worse that was more likely.

By nightfall the two had made it over the border into Ise. Kitabatake ashigaru and samurai watched the main road south. Natsumi insisted that she and Ichiro avoid them as they had the Oda. “They may very well think us spies or troublemakers.” Natsumi insisted, noting she and her brothers’ arms and their young age. The two took to the woodland again, not returning to the main road until they were far beyond the Kitabatake men. By some fortune they would find themselves at the doorstep of a ryokan, a roadside house that would accept travelers for the evening provided they could pay. Unfortunately the house was full, though the kindly man who owned it allowed Ichiro and Natsumi to sleep in the barn. Despite the suspicion in his eyes the man gave them cooked for them a meal as well and did not demand pay of the brother and sister for the one night. Perhaps it was pity? Perhaps a gentle souls’ kindness for what he saw as two young ones in trouble? Ichiro and Natsumi had always slept in the finest home and been fed the best of foods, but given their staggering exhaustion and growing hunger the two found themselves more than grateful for the peasant man’s hospitality.

As the sun rose high come morning Ichiro and Natsumi awoke to the crowing of roosters and lowing of oxen. By now the smell of the barn had begun to settle into their noses - and worse, their clothes - and the two hurried away from the ryokan and continued south without seeing the house owner again. Natsumi felt some remorse at doing such a thing but she and her brothers’ safety could not be certain if they lingered now. Natsumi was not sure how far they had walked, just that they walked and walked and did not stop. Before long the sun was hanging high over the world, as it had been the day before when the Oda sundered Inabayama and ended the Saitō rule over Mino. Natsumi felt cool drops running down her forehead and her breath started to grow heavy as she tightly squeezed the sword her brother had handed her. So much of her was still shaken, filled with fear and sorrow - she knew not what would happen to she or Ichiro and that their father and the rest of their clansmen were not here to help them. The world lay before them and the land was erupting in chaos as evil men like Oda Nobunaga looked to seize power for themselves and to trample all before them. It felt as if the whole world was being torn apart around Natsumi and her brother.

As Ichiro and Natsumi tromped over a small, dusty hill and were faced with a humble fishing village Natsumi pulled at her brothers’ shoulder. When she had his attention she asked him, “Where do we go? Just who do we seek out? What allies could we - little more than children - call upon? Would Kitabatake-sama so willingly take us in?”

As they went towards their destination, Ichiro tried briefly to raise their spirits at a few points. He'd try to honour the memory of their father, recounting the stories the man had told him, his little lessons in life to their beloved children. Humourous moments they shared, common triumphs, things that would help Natsumi see the memory of the fallen parent with joy, not grief. Yet it almost felt that the universe - or rather the delusions of the world - were out to spite them. He tried to tell the story of how father tried to teach Ichiro patience by showing that tea tasted better when it had the time for the water to properly absorb the flavours, only for the boy to push his luck and wait several days to try get a more flavourful tea. The punchline of Ichiro falling over sick and throwing up in front of fellow noblemen from the time-fouled beverage could not be delivered, as the hooves of kibatai thundered behind them. He tried to tell the story of the first time that Ichiro had heard father speak of the trials of life making a man stronger if they were surpassed, yet he was unable to finish the story with recounting how Masato saved his son from being bitten by a snake when the adolescent had decided to harden himself this way. Once more the Kiba arrived. Yet again they interrupted the brother's words. The third time the Ki shut him up was when he recounted the time the young Ichiro tried to show he didn't need lessons in martial skill when he used the bulk and strength the youth had already developed in his teenage years to push his over down to the ground with a strike of his shoulder. The moral of the story couldn't be delivered. He was unable to recount how as he was gloating, the young yet ever so large boy had his feet swept out from under him to land on the ground.

Finally, Ichiro turned a little dour from this. He was left looking like a fool, an arrogant and insolent child because he couldn't deliver the latter segment of every tale he tried to recount. It was as if he was being taunted by fate or destiny, even though such things didn't seem particularly weighty to him. As if the Oda troops knew to shut him up before he could commemorate the man that Ichiro and Natsumi both mourned. There was something to learn there, though he struggled to tell what. He would have to tihnk on it later.

As they came to Ise, Ichiro disagreed with his sister that they ought avoid the men of their would-be ally. But he didn't argue with her much on the topic. It was better to be too cautious rather than foolhardy. You could always choose to be more bold after caution. Yet, after the effects of an excess of bravery and confidence it was usually far too late to excercise vigilance. Usually by then your head was already on the floor some distance from your body.

Going through the wild, Ichiro would shift topics going on to ramble about bits of nature. He'd identify all the plants he saw from flowers to trees to bushes, even picking a few mushrooms that he knew could be eaten without issue. After all, it would be a while before they got proper food.

But get proper food they did, along with a dose of hospitality far greater than Ichiro would have ever anticipated of a stranger of birth so lowly compared to theirs, especially since the prestige of the brother and sister would be more than visible on their trappings. Ultimately, Ichiro was very grateful that he didn't have to use the coins he had gathered at the fort they fled.

Eventually they were brought to their destination. "Hmmm?" a noise came from Ichiro as he turned to his sister, thinking how to answer her. This place was peaceful, he could forget their quest here. He chuckled then, almost but not quite in a tone that could be considered dismissive. "It is Harumoto that is currently head of their clan, yes? I am confident he would take us in. He has studied the works of Siddartha, he knows the dangers the Oda pose. If we present our blades, our finery, our tongues and ourselves, I am sure that at worst we will be turned away. If that is to happen, then our journey merely continues. But I am certain that if we present ourselves at the gates of his castle and speak honestly the truths we know, we will at the very least get a night of safety and respite, along with more hot meals. I am sure your feet are in need of rest as much as mine. Hospitality of a lord that is honourable and at worst neutral to gain the time we need to plot another move is something I think we would both appreciate." He took a stop to sit on a rock, accidentally illustrating the point about wanting rest. He looked to the sky, again trying to get his bearings, trying to calculate in his head how far they were from the castle of the Kitabatake. Some ways to go, but much of the journey was done.

“Harumoto-san… is a good man… so they say.” Natsumi voiced her thought aloud, a new clarity was beginning to break through the dark cloud of hopelessness and unsureness within. Natsumi thought back to the tales she had heard of the daimyo and his great mentor. Harumoto, known also as “Dairyu Seigen” among the devout, was reputed as being a true follower of the ways of bushido and was known as an unparalleled swordsman. “If… if he is truly a man of honor and kindness… then he must be willing to let us into his home.” Even as her eyes met her brothers’ Natsumi knew she was comforting herself, not her brother who even now in this terrible plight seemed to be the more reasonable and calm of the two. Natsumi found that even now most of her inner self was still in turmoil. How could it not be?

“Let us then go before Harumoto-san. But… I have never been to the Kitabatake estate…”

Natsumi hoped her brother knew the way. In the worst of cases perhaps they could find their own way. Asking about. Or perhaps a map? Even with the full night of rest and a full belly Natsumi found her will to be sapped.

"That they do say!" Ichiro remarked, glad to have put a smile on his sister's face. Of course, neither of them would know yet that the man had long since passed away. Of his successor, Ichiro knew much, much less. His own smile formed as Natsumi almost seemed to be convincing herself, though his own lips were pressed much tighter, a smile that was very ready to take in stride the possibility they wouldn't be taken in, and that yea they would be told to leave at once, or worse delivered to their foes as a gift. "We don't even need both honour and kindness, just one will suffice!" he said, trying to be a little jovial in an effort to keep up the progress in lifting his sister's spirits.

"Indeed, let us go!" he announced, moving on. Until his sister made a very timely point. He didn't actually know where the Kitabatake lived, not as such. His foot stopped hovering in the air before it fell into sand again, and it stayed there for quite some time as Ichiro waited, thinking.

Finally the foot came down and he sighed. "I suppose we ought ask people. The issue is, most probably won't even know!" For a moment, he stared at Natsumi. He wondered how much she knew about the workings of the people they were no surrounded by. He wasn't intimately acquainted with either, but in his studies he had a broad understanding at least. Most of these people probably didn't travel (at least, on land) an area wider than a few kilometres for the entirety of their lives. They knew their lords only by the tithes that were taken of them, a constant of life that merely existed like the sun and stars. That brought him to the thought he didn't actually know what his sister did most of her days. Did she also learn things? If she was anything like many other noblewomen he met, he didn't exactly expect her to have an understanding of the world very different to them. She might expect these peasants to cower at a mere bark from her, even if worn down by their journey the siblings seemed more like well dressed tramps rather than children of their father.

"We ought ask somebody. They won't know, but they will probably know somebody who will. Traders or the like. But, Natsumi, this is very, very important. Do not tell anybody who we are. Things may be just as bad if people think we are liars, as they could be if they believe us. I'm a Ronin looking for a master. You're...." he paused, struggling to think of a backstory to their made up personas. "Ah... you're my cousin." he finished lamely.