A curved rooftop. Two opposed lanterns. Greenry everywhere leading up to it. Stepping through was like pushing past a light barrier and everything suddenly slled of aged cedar, incense, and earth. Yaegaki Shrine, this was it. A thick rope draped across the front called shinawa, holy Shinto straw drope. It did not flap, it remained there as a staple. It was what divided the divine world from the outside world. From ordinary prayers to shrine prays. To be under it ant to be under the protection and wisdom of the divine.
In view even at the entrance, Yoemon could be seen kneeling at the main sanctuary, his hands pressed together in a posture of prayer. His katana, a striking weapon with a blue-edged blade, lay by his side. Yoemon was young and his expression was one of quiet defeat, his head bowed low, lost in thought.
Footsteps approached from behind him. Yoemon didn’t turn.
Kazi was here.
"So you’re Yoemon," Kazi said.
"You wear the garbs of a samurai," Yoemon said without looking.
"I was sent by Lord Mosuke. Mind I ask why you’re here?"
Yoemon exhaled slowly, almost as if he had been expecting this question. Without looking up, he replied, "I’m praying. Praying that the Bake-kujira doesn’t return." He hesitated, fingers tightening. "We faced it, foreigner. We tried to kill it. But we failed. And now... now, I think we’re all going to die."
Kazi was silent for a mont, letting Yoemon’s words hang in the air. "Is that what you believe?" he asked. "Is that what you truly believe?"
Yoemon finally raised his head, eting Kazi’s gaze. His face was pale, drawn with sothing that wasn’t just fear—it was regret. "I’ve co to realize sothing," he said quietly. "Talent alone... it isn’t enough."
His unsheathed his katana, rather short and blue in colour. The quality likely surpassed Stordge by a large amount.
"All my life, I’ve relied on my natural abilities," Yoemon said. "I’ve cruised through training, never struggling like the others. But now, when faced with a true challenge, I’m... I’m helpless." His gaze dropped to his katana, its blue edge gleaming even in the dimming light. "Unlike my brothers. Mikinosuke, who dedicates everything he has to the cause. Iori, who’s as cold and ruthless as steel, never fazed by anything. Kurōtarō, whose very presence is a weapon, blessed with strength and stature."
"And what of you, Yoemon?" Kazi asked.
"I’m... young. Inexperienced. Too talented for my own good," Yoemon muttered, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. "I thought I could win every battle just because of that talent. But now I see... talent is only part of the fight."
Kazi stood beside Yoemon and looking out toward the trees, where the leaves rustled gently in the evening breeze. "I don’t like to see children involved in battles," he murmured, almost to himself. "Nor do I like forcing young n to fight. We are more than soldiers. I hate young n thinking that is all we are."
Yoemon lowered his gaze, the weight of his own sha pressing down on him. "Then why... why are we here? What else but to protect won and children? For honour?"
Kazi turned his gaze back to him, a slight edge to his smile. "Let ask you this, Yoemon," he said, voice smooth but sharp. "What would the gods think of your cowardice?"
Yoemon’s face tightened, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "The gods... they would be disappointed."
"Indeed." Kazi gestured toward the shrine’s entrance. "Susanoo and Princess Kushinada-hi are enshrined here. This is a shrine dedicated to marriage and matchmaking, to bonds between people. For a warrior to beg and worship here, it is not right. This shrine... it’s a place for love, not fear."
"Love?" Yoemon repeated, the word sounding foreign in his mouth.
"Yes." Kazi’s gaze softened, though there was a steely conviction behind his eyes. "Tell , Yoemon. Do you wish to be loved?"
The question hung in the air, unexpected and almost disarming. Yoemon stared at Kazi, unsure how to respond. After a long mont, he gave a small nod. "Yes..."
Kazi almost laughed. "Yes, so might say the samurai are the greatest lovers of them all. Concubines, courtesans, geishas, wakashū, and wives—you go through them all, hm?"
"Y-yes, I suppose."
"Then wish for that," Kazi said. "Wish for everyone to continue being loved. Not for the Bake-kujira to disappear or for this battle to be avoided, but for the people here—your brothers, your friends—to live on. To be loved."
"...so many died. That day, so many of us..."
"You are at a shrine. Ask the maidens for how to pass on your love to the dead. I have learned that poetry and writing is one way." Kazi glanced down and noted, "You have the fingers of a poet."
Yoemon’s hands clasped together. He thought about it. He side-eyed the maidens that tended to this shrine.
"With the help of the divine and n, anything is possible," Kazi said. "Think of those before us. They survived. It is up to us to keep carrying that torch of love."
Yoemon’s gaze dropped once again. Kazi reached out and placed a hand on Yoemon’s shoulder. "If you can’t believe in it," he said softly, "then I’ll believe for you."
Yoemon swallowed hard, his throat tight. "I still...can’t...find it in myself..."
Kazi’s lips curved into a faint smile. "Then let’s see if I can help you find it." He released Yoemon’s shoulder, taking a step back and eyeing the young man with a contemplative look. "How about a duel?"
Yoemon looked up sharply, surprise flashing across his face. "A duel?"
"Yes. Right here, in front of the gods who watch over this place. You want to fight. You just cannot. If you find the love within you to fight, then fight. If not, then stay. The world willed it so."
For a mont, Yoemon was silent. This challenge, these words, and this foreigner in clothes that did not belong to him. The air felt heavier, charged with an unspoken tension, as if even the shrine itself was waiting for his answer. He looked at Kazi, a mixture of fear and determination flickering in his gaze. And then... he nodded.
Thus, the duel began.
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