Tuujaimaa — Roleplayer Guild

Sleep no longer came easily to Hataga, Shira. Not so soon after the war, at least. Each night as she tried to drift off into slumber she could feel something pulling at the back of her mind, a voice that called out to her in ways she couldn't even begin to understand. It was as if she was stood on one side of a vast cavern, filled with the sounds of battle and murder and bloodshed and war, and she shouted across it to some being that may not have even existed. If they did, and if they did speak back, Shira didn't understand. She never had. All she had heard for the past three years was her voice calling back to her, distorted by the clashing of blades that rang out from below in a bloody cacophony. Parts of her still wondered, deep in the back of her mind, if she should have died all that time ago. She had expected it to happen - made her preparations, made her last vows, and said the words that the Manuscripts had told her to say. She tried to say them again every night in her dreams, but each time she got past the second or third - maybe even fourth - word it felt as if her throat was fighting a battle it couldn't win and no more sound escaped. Parts of her wished that the battle would consume her too, but still she persisted. Areshiki's legacy had been one of almost impossible luck, surviving against all the odds, and it was the only thing she wished she hadn't inherited. Each night, the din beneath her got louder and the cliff face less stable. Some nights, she could peer over the edge and look deep into throes of war beneath her. Sometimes she saw herself and the others fighting against Sai's regime. Sometimes she saw other people whose names she had long forgotten, but whose faces and blood she could not. It depended on the night. Sometimes she couldn't sleep at all, and the dream didn't come to haunt her. Those nights were the hardest.

More than anything else in the world, Shira longed for the din below to fill her ears and drown her aching consciousness. She wanted to dive back in to the war, she wanted to fight until the very end. The actual end. She wanted to say the words again so she could do it right - she wanted to ask them to watch over and fight with her until she could fight no more, until every drop of will had been drained from her body and she could finally die a hero. She wasn't sure that she wanted to die, some nights. She just wanted to be down there again, to truly feel alive in the only way that she knew how before she let herself be taken. But those were the good nights, and those had been far too few as she faced the prospect of graduation. Somehow, it was as if she just couldn't let herself be happy - she couldn't let herself rest and recuperate. Deep down, she knew that she was killing herself slowly, and she could only stand back and wait for it to happen, like sitting in front of a clock and watching it tick down to the end. It would have been so easy for her to change her life, to accept being a ninja that wanted to live and protect her village, but as she thought about it, she felt herself unable to move. She saw the canyon in front of her once more, calling out to her, and she could do nothing but stand there and look at it. She struggled against the inescapable bonds of her own self destruction, she writhed about and thrashed and screamed and tore at herself, but nothing seemed to work. Nothing could free her from the destiny that she was imposing on herself, and she hated every second of it. She hated that she was faced with an opponent she could not fight and win. More than that, she hated that she could not fight herself and lose.

She looked out again, over the canyon, and saw the fires of war rage on ever more, burning with such an intensity that the heat began to well up inside her as if urging her forwards to add to the flames below. She fell forwards, despite her bonds, and before she could gasp out she was falling through the air, her eyes wide with the elation at getting to join the fight at long last. Three years of waiting, three years of dreaming, and crying, and praying to each and every one of the Warbringers that she could finally join them in whatever afterlife there may have been... But before she could hit the ground, she jolted upwards, awake. Beads of cold sweat poured down her forehead and met her tears at her cheeks, cradling her face in the delicate embrace of self pity. Her voice choked out, as if she had wanted to cry but failed, and she slammed herself backwards into the uncomfortable bed that she had slept in every night since the war. Waking up had been like this almost every day for the past three years, but there was one key difference this morning: She had finally let herself cry.

Shira took a few minutes to stop herself, before her instincts kicked in and she stood up to get herself ready for the day. She checked the clock, like every day she woke up like this, and saw it pass over the threshold from 4:59 to 5am - just like every other morning. Shira's routine had remained the same since the first time Bujin, the leader of the clan, had punished her for her disobedience. Thinking about it brought back bittersweet memories - she remembered the pain of his lessons and the joy of success, and she remembered how happy her parents were after the first time she held a flag... It was almost enough sentiment to disrupt her routine. Like every day, she cleaned herself and dressed herself by 5:30am, and took Unmei no Chikara to the training grounds for half an hour to help prepare for the day. The weapon as only about a foot shorter than she was, and despite her years of practice they were nothing compared to actually training to use the weapon as, well, a weapon. She'd trained with it as an ornament for years, and though the weight was familiar as she gripped the blade, actually swinging it still took quite a bit out of her. She'd been practicing more and more over the years, but she was still very far from being skilled with it. War had been different, as if her ancestors were actually guiding the weapon, but every time she tried to enter into the state she'd managed to get into during the war she found herself completely unable. At that point, Shira didn't know what depressed her more - that she was still useless after all of her training, or that she tapped into power that kept her alive when she wanted most to die.

The weight of Unmei no Chikara was something that she had never managed to get used to, even after all those years holding the weapon that had fallen into her hands. Holding it felt almost as if she was taking her own fate into her hands - fitting, given the name of the weapon - and it terrified her beyond belief. More than that, though, it made her realise that the only enemy that she would face as a Genin was herself. Still, despite the grasp of the inescapable nature of fate, it felt good to hold the weapon in her hands. It felt like it fit her, like it was made for her, and that it would be what lead her into war again. Perhaps, if her destiny so willed it, it would. It was still difficult to hold a weapon knowing that no battle was nearby, that she wouldn't truly be fighting, but nobody understood that more than her mentor: Warbringer Bujin, Master of the Blade. He was one of the few that had managed to survive the war - which was hardly a surprise - but it had left him scarred for life. Bujin had lost too much blood in his left leg after a particularly brutal ambush in the war, and as a result had had to have it amputated at the knee - it was something that he had let happen, much to the surprise of the clan, because he had felt that the loss of his leg was death enough to appease the vow he made as he entered the battle. Even injured, his stance was imposing and his visage the very epitome of discipline, and it brought a love and respect to Shira's heart that she could not deny. Shira had loved Bujin more than her mother and father for a very long time, especially after they had defected, and he had been the only guiding force in her life for as long as she could remember. Even to this day, he looked after her training as if she were still no more than a small child, disobedient and filled with the curiosity of youth before battle. It was a time that, in truth, they both missed to a degree. A small degree, but a degree nonetheless.

"Today, you join the ranks of the Genin, Shira. You will be the first Hataga - and the first Warbringer - to ever pay heed to a regime that is not a life of war. I do not know if I can congratulate you for your choice, but I know that it was the correct choice for you to make."

Shira stood, saluted, and nodded gravely at her mentor's words. Total obedience had been programmed into her from a young age, and while it was significantly less evident with authority figures outside of the clan, and even members of the clan that were not Bujin, the fact that it was her father-figure stood before her put her into a state of obedience that only war could breed. It was a terrifying thought to consider the morality of such a display, but for one who was programmed to obey unconditionally the ability to ruminate upon the delicate state of affairs that was morality was... Perhaps hindered more than the average person's.

"I seek only your blessing, Bujin-san." The tone was formal, respectful, and carried no hint of trepidation. It was as if, when speaking to her mentor, Shira completely forgot about the issues that plagued her waking mind - as if she tapped into a part of her mind unsullied by the introduction of true war. It was if a tiny remnant of the old Shira still lived within her, and that was, quite possibly, the saddest thought of them all.

"You have it. Now go, and bring honour to the Hataga. May all who preside over war be your vanguard, Shira."

"And to you, Bujin-san."

For any normal pair of people, it would have been an emotional affair. For Bujin and Shira it was merely another formality, another stop on the journey to their next battle. Neither of them knew if they would ever fight together again, or if they would even see true war again... But destiny worked in ways that even the most knowledgable of people could not understand, never mind a flag bearer and the incapacitated veteran of a war. Destiny was not Shira's to question. It was only hers to follow, and follow she would. It was all she knew how to do in the world.

And so, as Shira left the home of the Hataga clan relocated to Konohagakure, she felt nothing. Not at least until she was in the streets, with real people, and she had to interact a world that she was completely and utterly unfamiliar with - terrified, even. Without the firm leadership of Bujin, Shira was prone to falling apart easily and losing direction, losing focus. It was something that she had wanted to work on, something that she'd desperately tried to stop herself from doing... But the life of a soldier had taught her that she must always serve till the day she died in battle. Before, she had served by obeying Bujin and fighting Sai's regime. Now, she obeyed by following the commands of her superiors as a Shinobi... Or, at least, she would have done were she not ambushed by an elderly woman trying to carry too many goods from a warehouse to a nearby store.

"Oh, excuse me, young miss... Could you help me move these apples? It wo-"

"Yes ma'am! Just let me know what to move and where to move them, Ma'am!"

It was going to be a long day for somebody who was systematically programmed to obey authority figures - especially when that somebody considered everyone older than them an authority figure. It was fine to help, for now... Shira had six hours to burn before she would be required to report to her new superiors.

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The Saint of Wings

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