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Death wasn't all that frightening.
Samura had died hundreds of times on the battlefield. Of course, it wasn’t true death, but he had been wounded in ways that normally would have killed him. Pierced straight through, torn apart, stabbed, bones broken… Too much to list. He grew used to the pain, and it became an inseparable part of him. It was normal, really. Samura knew that by dying again and again, he allowed others to live, and for that, he was ready to suffer every time, knowing it would give more people the chance to see tomorrow’s sunrise — something he himself would never witness again. Back then, he thought it was a fitting punishment for the fact that he had taken the lives of others in exactly the same way…
Then the war ended, Akemura lost his mind, and an enormous sin fell upon Samura’s shoulders.
For eighteen years, he lived pretending to be a hero. As everyone knows, history is written by the victors, and he was proclaimed one of the six legendary swordsmen, the savior of the nation, given a whole string of grand titles… None of it was something he needed. Samura knew that the weight of those two hundred thousand lives lay on his conscience. Those children and elderly people, innocent civilians. Those soldiers who, perhaps, did not want to kill or die. They had committed much evil, but the greatest of them was placing all their hopes on a youth who could not endure it and snapped like a thin reed, bringing about unimaginable tragedy. Yes, they were enemies. Yes, they were potentially dangerous. But what had the children done to deserve such a death? What had they done?
What had Iori done to be tormented for his deeds?
But then Chihiro appeared. A boy he met twice: first as an innocent child with a bright, pleasant voice, and then as his own shadow, walking a path of self-destruction. Yet Chihiro, despite all the blood and despite all the sorrow, shone so brightly that even a blind man like Samura could see his light. Hope… Yes, he was doing it again, repeating the same mistake — placing too much on the shoulders of a young man not yet ready to bear the fate of the entire world. But in Chihiro’s hands was a weapon that could change everything. Rokuhira Kunishige’s final apology to the souls who had fallen in the war.
For something like that, Samura was ready to die for real. To restore the blade at the cost of himself.
That would have been fair.
When Akemura split him in half, Samura thought only — finally. Iori would cry so much, but everything would be all right. Chihiro would build a world where she would be happy, and that was what mattered most. The most important thing… He thought that, and then closed his eyes, sinking into the black, merciful darkness.
There, it seemed, he saw scenes from a past life. The final battle on the island. The war. The purges that forced him to carve out his own eyes. At some point, he blinked, and it felt as if he was there again — back at the front. It smelled of blood. The rot. The smell of sickness. The room was dark, and he was lying… where? A tent? It was a medical tent… When he lowered his gaze, he saw Uruha staring at him in horror, suddenly looking older, and Samura thought — this is the price of war. We turn young men into old ones.
“Samura-san! You’re aw—”
“Yoji,” he croaked, reaching out a trembling hand toward him. “It’s my fault. That you became a killer.”
“What? Wait, Samura-san!..”
But he closed his eyes again and fell back into the darkness. Into death, away from the visions of the past. It was punishment for being a sinner, and he was ready to accept it.
Yes. That was right.
But death was in no hurry to take him into its embrace, because after wandering through the darkness for some time, Samura opened his eye again. One eye, the right one.
It took him a while to realize he wasn’t dead.
Then he noticed other things: that he was lying in a bed under a heavy blanket, that his body hurt, that he was in a bright room with sliding doors, that somewhere outside birds were singing loudly. Different scents drifted in from there — the smells of forest, of the approaching winter, of nature, not the city where he was supposed to close his eyes forever. At first, this confused him, but then Samura was distracted by another thing. He realized there was a source of other sounds nearby, warmth. Now he didn’t need to feel an object to understand what it was, so he simply lifted his head from the pillow with difficulty, as much as he had the strength for, and opened his eye (eyes?) wide, because he saw Iori beside him.
She was sleeping, curled up beside him in a compact ball like a cat. Right under his hand.
His girl. Poor thing. She must have been so worried. They had only just met again after such a long time apart, spoken so little, and then he ran away again. He might never have returned… As time passed, his mind grew clearer — after all, Samura was used to pain and death — and it became easier to think. So he quickly understood what had happened. Shiba. Chihiro had been completely exhausted, unable even to stand, but Shiba surely could have pushed himself and stolen him right from under Akemura’s nose. Samura didn’t know whether he should condemn him or not, but on the other hand — why? Shiba had saved him. That was what mattered. He would have to thank him.
He reached out and brushed his daughter’s face with the hand. She reminded him so much of Inori in her youth. But the way she furrowed her brows while sleeping, that was something of his; Uruha used to tell him that if he kept doing that, he’d end up with early wrinkles. When his fingers brushed the hair away from her face, now gathered not into two braids but into a ponytail at the back of her head, Iori winced. Her eyelashes fluttered, and then she slowly opened her eyes.
They stared at each other, and then Iori gasped and threw herself around his neck.
“Dad!”
The sudden movement made the wound in his stomach flare with pain, and Samura clenched his teeth to keep from making a sound. He let his daughter wrap her arms around his neck, hugged her back, and thought — well, this is better than when she punched me. Not that it wasn’t deserved, but…
When he heard a quiet sob, he placed his hand on Iori’s hair and stroked it. Only then did he notice that his left hand was mutilated. A couple of fingers were missing. Ah, right. But moving it didn’t hurt, and he assumed enough time had passed for at least the severed fingers to heal. And it clearly wasn’t the effect of Tobimune. But that didn’t matter. Iori was crying, but they were tears of joy. When she loosened her embrace and pulled back, Samura reached out and wiped away the last tear running down her cheek with his finger.
“Hi, little bunny. How are you?”
His throat rasped horribly, as if someone had poured sand into it, and Iori perked up. She reached for something, then brought a glass of water to his lips and helped him drink.
“Everything… I’m fine.”
What a specific clarification. But Samura did not doubt that with Akemura’s return, there must have been problems, so he didn’t ask further. The important thing was that Iori was all right. Selfish, maybe, but it couldn’t be helped. After such a battle, he was allowed to think about himself a little.
Iori was dressed differently, not in her school uniform. Judging by the smells drifting in from outside, the greenery had already fallen, so more than half a month had probably passed. Maybe even more. But there was still no snow. She was wearing a hoodie that looked like it belonged to a man with much broader shoulders, and Samura wondered whose it was.
“I’m so glad you woke up! I was so worried,” she said, taking his hand and rubbing her face against it. Then she scrunched up again. “The doctors said it’s a miracle. That you survived at all. Your heart stopped several times. I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up… like Mom. What were you even thinking?!” she suddenly snapped angrily, though she didn’t hit him. Samura, honestly, was grateful. “Taking such a risk!.. Chihiro told me everything.”
Chihiro?
“Is he here too?”
“Yes. We’re in a shelter. Somewhere in the mountains… I don’t know exactly where. Shiba-san brought us here.”
So he had been right. Though that wasn’t surprising, because it was in Shiba’s nature to always hover around the men of the Rokuhira family.
When Samura tried to sit up, Iori pressed his shoulders back down onto the bed.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said in a stern voice, which reminded him even more of Inori. “They told me that if you wake up, under no circumstances should I let you even sit up. You were literally cut in half. I don’t know what those doctors did… probably some kind of miracle. But don’t even try!”
Samura sighed and obeyed. Under the blanket, he tried moving his leg. His toes responded reluctantly, but there was a reaction, and he could feel them, so it was safe to assume they had fixed his spine as well. He also wanted to pull all those tubes out of his veins… but later, all of that… None of that mattered right now.
Iori lay down on his chest, still squeezing his hand. Her hands were warm. Pleasant feeling. He had lost a lot of blood.
Sorry, I couldn’t kill Akemura so you’d feel safe, he wanted to say. So you wouldn’t have to hide with us. You’re not a fighter, after all. Your place is in a normal school, with friends. You should be preparing for exams — next year is graduation. And yet you’re here with us. Samura didn’t have to be a genius to realize Akemura had begun hunting them. It was good that he didn’t have Tobimune or an ability similar to Owl. With something like that, finding them would have been elementary.
“I’m sorry, Iori.”
“For what?”
Samura simply shrugged vaguely. For everything. For running away three times: after your birth, then when you were eight, and then again, to die by Akemura’s hand. For being a bad father. For making you cry. For many things. But he said none of it, because it wasn’t necessary. He just hugged Iori again. This time, he wouldn’t do it. Not only because he couldn’t. The contract with the blade had been broken, and he wasn’t in any condition to use it now.
Much as he hated to do it, he had already made his bet.
All hope rested on Chihiro.
A little later, Iori did bring an adult after all, Shiba, and when Samura saw him, he thought: you’ve had it rough too, my friend, you look terrible. But he didn’t say anything, because Shiba surely knew it himself.
Then he was examined, his bandages changed, and he was given painkillers. And later, a hot broth — his body couldn’t handle anything more solid yet. In short, the usual routine after a serious injury followed. Samura fell asleep again… And so it went on for several days. More than a week, even. During that time, he learned that about a month had passed since the fight in the capital, and that he had spent most of it unconscious. Many people managed to visit him. Chihiro among them. He didn’t say much, but from his clothes, Samura assumed he was working on restoring the sword, finally doing what his father had taught him.
Almost all the time, Iori stayed by his side. She slept next to him. Now she wasn’t afraid of disturbing him anymore, so sometimes she climbed under the blanket beside him, as if she were eight years old again, and Samura let her stay, even though he knew it would be better if she slept in a proper bed. He allowed himself not to ask about the state of things, about the situation in the world — he simply enjoyed this small happiness with his daughter.
But he couldn’t ignore the problems forever, so at some point, when Shiba came to him again to help change the bandages, he decided to ask the painful question.
They were sitting in the same room as before. Over time, the pain had lessened, and Samura could sit up, although not for long — his stomach began to hurt, the place where he had been cut in half. The pain was familiar, but he was weaker than before, and everyone here kept telling him to rest. You, who barely managed to crawl back from the other side, shouldn’t be trying to look stronger than you are. During the bandaging, Shiba often helped him simply stay upright, let alone dealing with the wound.
“Uruha really wanted to handle this,” he chatted while changing the bandages. “He kept saying he’d help with your wound first and then figure out exactly how hard he could punch you for not sharing your problems with anyone. But he’s missing fingers, and our main healer girl is way too busy with you, so for now, he’s waiting for the moment he can carry out his devious plan. Can you imagine?”
Samura gave a faint chuckle.
“Poor thing.”
“Well, he’s only missing three fingers, I think?.. And just on one hand. Natsuki has to help him. He has got so angry about it, of course, but he’s still helping even if he is bitching non-stop. And you can imagine how bad things are if he shuts up sometimes — he doesn't talk like a normal person if Uruha is near, impossible to silence.”
When Shiba’s fingers, cold, touched his back, Samura couldn’t suppress a shiver.
“You’re definitely going to have one hell of a scar here.”
“I’ll get a sword in my hands and heal it. Not the first time.”
“Samura,” suddenly they looked each other in the eyes. On the left side, the world was hidden by familiar darkness, because along with a couple of fingers, Samura had lost an eye again. According to Iori, the scar there was bigger than before. When Shiba jabbed a finger painfully into his shoulder, he yelped. “When we barely managed to bring you back, the doctors said — you dried out your sorcery nerve so badly that if you do much as a little pop out another bit of sorcery, it’ll kill you. I’m not joking. Your nerves can’t even rewrite themselves back after the contract broke, because your body simply doesn’t have the strength for it. You’re like a swordsman without a sword.” Then Shiba paused thoughtfully. “Poetic, huh? Anyway, poetry doesn’t matter here. In short, Samura, you’re on the bench now, and we’re not putting you back on the field. You’ll be teaching Chihiro your idiotic style.”
Then he secured the bandages and slapped him on the back.
“All done! Finished,” he helped him pull on a warm sweater. “Samura, you really need to put some meat back on those bones, you’ve gotten so thin it’s awful! And seriously, hurry up and recover already. I’m sick of shaving your face for you.”
“I like exploiting you. Makes me wonder if Rokuhira did the same. I can see why he kept you around. And Chihiro apparently does it for the same reasons.”
He laughed hoarsely when Shiba rolled his eyes and pushed him back into bed. Then he dozed off for a while, and when he woke up, Iori was sitting beside him again. They talked a little about this and that, and then she quickly ran off to get lunch. Unfortunately, the soup diet clearly wasn’t ending anytime soon. That was roughly how he had eaten when he carved out his own eyes — before that, nothing really went down his throat, and he had starved himself. But that had been stubbornness, and now… Fortunately, the missing fingers were on his left hand, and he was right-handed, so he could hold a spoon, but Iori still sat beside him, watching closely like a hawk.
It had been hard for her. Almost losing him after Inori’s death. Samura understood.
“How’s training?”
“Pretty good. Uruha-san helps me. Says I’m a good student.”
“Well, of course, he says that.”
“Don’t tease me,” Iori frowned. “He corrects me, of course, but he says I learn quickly. How’s the soup?”
“Excellent. Did you make it? You can cook too. I’ve missed so much.”
“We used to cook together, don’t you remember?” Samura shrugged. That had been just the two of them, and a long time ago. But he simply wanted to praise her. Iori thought for a moment. “Chihiro helped me. Turns out he cooks really well! I never would’ve guessed. You should learn from him!”
For some reason, the idea that in the Rokuhira household everything had been run by Chihiro didn’t surprise Samura at all — so much so that he was surprised Iori found it strange; realizing that, he wisely kept quiet. Well, of course, Iori didn’t know what a scatterbrain he had been. To her, he was simply Chihiro’s father and the hero who forged the swords, not the man who forgot to eat because he got too absorbed in his work.
“Maybe later,” Samura smiled faintly. “First, I’d like to get my strength back.” When Iori’s smile dimmed slightly, he panicked. “Don’t worry, it’ll happen soon. I’m already used to pain.”
“That’s bad! It’s bad that you’re used to it. Should anyone get used to pain? Endure all that? It hurts you.”
“That’s just how it happened. Those were the times. We all suffered.”
Iori frowned even more.
“Then I’ll make sure times like that never happen again.”
After lunch, she lay down beside him again, pressing against his side, and Samura remembered how it had been eight years ago. After Inori died, she had cried and cried, and he hadn’t known how to comfort her. He wasn’t a good parent, wasn’t even a responsible adult (how could he call himself that after leaving his wife and young daughter the first time?), but even he understood that he had to do something. So one night he came into her room and sat beside her, stroking her hair, and Iori clung to his hand and cried quietly. But beside him, she quickly fell asleep. For several more days, he did the same thing, and thought — if this brings Iori peace, then I accept these sleepless nights.
But she had grown up and become stronger. If she cried, she stopped quickly. There was no time for it now — Soga Akemura was hunting them. If Samura could, he would have protected his daughter with a spell again, just to hide her from his former comrade, but if she had broken the seal herself, how could he force her to forget him again? After all, Iori was no longer a child.
When her hand touched his face, close to the wound, he froze.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not really. I slept through the most painful phase,” he chuckled hoarsely, trying to encourage her. “And I’m already used to blindness. Don’t worry.”
“And your fingers?..”
“Uruha manages fine without his. I got luckier — only a phalanx was cut off.”
“It’s hard to call that ‘lucky’… You need to take better care of yourself, Dad. You don’t have to run away anymore. I’ll help you.”
I wish you would run away, far from danger, Samura thought, but he didn’t say it, knowing that right now the safest place was here, beside him. Maybe running and hiding hadn’t been the right choice. It was easier to stay together. Yes, the most dangerous man on the planet was hunting them now, but together it felt a little easier. Near Iori, his thoughts drifted not to the sins of the past and punishment for them, not to his eternal bond with the blade, but to what she would cook tomorrow. To her training. To many good things he had only thought about during the year she started living with him. Back then, she smiled too, but he hadn’t seen it — only heard it in her voice. Now he would have the chance to see it himself.
So he ruffled her hair gently and then kissed his daughter on the temple.
“Thank you, Iori. What would I do without you?”
Let someone else take Tobimune into their hands this time, and he would watch from the sidelines.