Shadows of the Past

"Kogi, prepare for our departure," I declared with unwavering determination, my eyes scanning our surroundings.

As I observed my remaining family members, I made a solemn nod in the direction of each one. "Let's go, even though this is the last of us. We must stick together. We'll continue until we can find everyone, alive or dead. It's crucial that we lay eyes on their bodies to be certain."

Kogi's voice cut through the heavy atmosphere, providing a practical perspective on our journey. "The safe house is just on the outskirts of the city. It will take us roughly three days if we don't take many breaks. But we must go to the village. My spies and secret guards report that the bloodshed is over with."

I nodded in agreement. The importance of reaching the village was evident in my mind. The town held the answers we sought and closure for the painful chapter we had endured.

As we neared the outskirts of the village, my thoughts wandered. 'I wonder how things will be if we were to find...' My train of thought stopped abruptly as we approached the village's borders.

I gathered my remaining family members, a somber mood hanging over us like a heavy shroud. The memories of the recent massacre were still fresh, and the pain was palpable in their eyes. With a trembling voice, I addressed them, my emotions threatening to overpower me.

"I know we've just survived a massacre," I began, my voice breaking as I spoke. I fought back the tears that welled up, threatening to spill over. "Bring whatever useful items you can find for the journey. We..." My voice cracked again, and I paused to regain my composure. "We will search for Otousan and Okaasan's bodies and give them a proper burial. Along with anyone else we can find if they have passed."

Yuki whimpered and silently wept; the loss of our parents weighed down his young heart. His innocent sobs were a poignant reminder of the pain we all carried. Who would he call mother and father now? Who would tuck him in bed, sing him songs, kiss and blow on his wounds? These thoughts played in my head repeatedly, aching for answers and a semblance of comfort.

But when I looked at Yuko, I saw something different in her eyes. There was a void, an emptiness that pierced through her soul. I had noticed it at the camp, and it was painfully evident now – we had lost her. A young woman's virtue was often a source of pride, reserved for her future husband, the one she loved and would marry. With that stolen from her, it was as if she had lost a fundamental part of herself. She seemed like a hollow shell devoid of emotion, and I feared that the memories of what she had endured might haunt her as we entered the village.

I instructed a young lady to place a cloth over Yuko's face to shield her from potential triggers, ensuring she wouldn't see the village's surroundings. I worried that the sight of the place where she had suffered might bring back those traumatic memories.

To my surprise, Kogi nodded in agreement and motioned to another secret soldier, who approached Yuko. In a swift and decisive motion, he struck the back of her neck, rendering her unconscious. Though I initially hesitated, I understood that this extreme measure was necessary to protect Yuko from the horrors of her past.

Kogi's words echoed in my mind as he reminded me of his advice, a nagging caution I had been struggling to accept. He emphasized the futility of searching for our parents and missing siblings at this time, believing that the Daimyo might have used their bodies as a gruesome example of his power. As difficult as it was to hear, I couldn't help but acknowledge the harsh reality of his words.

"Kogi, I understand that," I began, my voice heavy with sorrow and determination, "but we still need to go check for things in the house. There is some mo—"

Before I could finish my sentence, Kogi interrupted me. His demeanor took on an air of formality as he bowed and met my gaze, an apologetic expression in his eyes. Then, he vanished from my sight, and the world around me blurred into darkness. It was clear that he had taken the drastic step of rendering me unconscious once more.

The last thing I heard from him was, "My apologies, My Lady." His words hung in the air, shrouded in mystery before the world around me blurred into darkness.

------

When I had gradually regained consciousness, I was greeted by the sensation of a throbbing headache. My vision remained blurry, but I was in an opulent and unfamiliar room. The bed I lay on was nothing like the simple bamboo frames at home; it was an extravagant piece crafted from dark cherry wood. Delicate curtains adorned the bed, their light blue hue providing privacy and serenity. The sheets on the bed were of the softest silk, and the pillows were exceptionally fluffy, like clouds under my touch.

As I carefully rose from the bed, my vision returning slowly, I noticed I was no longer dressed in the patchy, humble clothes my mother had made. Instead, I wore a pristine white inner robe, the fabric smooth against my skin, unlike the rough cloth from my village. Yet, that coarse material was one I treasured the most. Stepping down from the raised bed, I encountered a small step leading to the floor. Surveying the room, it was evident that we were no longer in my village but within the city or its proximity.

The room's furnishings were a harmonious ensemble, reflecting luxury and affluence. A table in the center of the room was neatly arranged, bearing a teapot and suggesting that someone had been brewing tea. I approached the door, intending to open it and explore this unfamiliar place further.

The young maid's voice broke through the room's stillness, bringing her presence to my attention. Her soothing tone conveyed care and hospitality as she addressed me.

"Young Missus, you are up," she began, her words wrapped in warmth. "Please sit down and drink the ginger tea. It will help your stomach and throat in the morning. I have a warm bath ready for you and a set of new clothes by the bath for you."

Her description of the tea and bath held a promise of comfort, offering reassurance after the bewildering experience I had just awakened. I complied with her suggestion and sat, the porcelain teacup in my hands.

As I looked at her, I couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance in age between us. Her fair skin and long, dark hair, neatly braided to the side with a hairpin, framed a youthful face. She wore a yellow yukata with a pink obi accentuating her pinkish-fair complexion. Her presence was both welcoming and intriguing.

Curiosity filled my gaze as I contemplated the young maid. I posed a simple question, asking for her name. Her response held a more profound implication, a reminder of the circumstances that had brought us here.

"My name, I have no name," she began, her eyes reflecting curiosity and wonder. "You are my new master. Only you can give me a name."

With a glance at her wooden sakura hairpin, I desired to return the gesture. Upon closer inspection, I reached for the hairpin. I realized its dual nature—a combination of delicate wood and a concealed silver needle.

Before she could react, I carefully separated the wooden Sakura cover from the needle, exposing the hidden blade. I dipped the silver needle in the offered tea, and upon its return, the liquid remained clear, revealing no threat.

As a gesture of trust, I handed her the tea to drink. It was a silent acknowledgment of her kindness and my appreciation for her care in ensuring my safety.

With a sense of resolve, I finally shared my identity. "I am General Hashimoto's youngest daughter. Hashimoto Harumi," I declared, pride and determination in my voice. "The last of the Hashimoto clan."