Chains of destiny

The harsh winds that swept through broken rooftops and crushed dreams scattered the ashes of the once-bright village of Hasakura. Daiki, the swordsman who had sworn to protect them all, was now dead, covered beneath the relentless cruelty of a world that ate hope and spat out despair. In this harsh Sengoku era, people who cling to goodness and justice do not survive. They believe in right and wrong, in fairness beneath the sun, but the blade does not care for righteousness. Yet for the young prisoner, witnessing it all only hardened his resolve. 

After the inevitable fall of Hasakura village, all the Kuroame legion's prisoners were placed elsewhere. In the town of Takahama in the Chūbu region, where coin clinks like rain on rooftops, and the market hums with the breath of a hundred traders."

Six months had passed since the tragic fall of Hasakura Village.

Hikari was a boy who was a prisoner of the Kuroame Legion, with thick, slicked-back, black hair tangled with dirt, sweat, and perspiration. The chilling bite of the ruthless iron shackles that sank into his wrists served as a constant reminder of his imprisonment. The memory of that fateful day in Hasakura village did not shatter him because he had long before known the harshness of this world, shackled and broken well before Hasakura even fell.

The prison camp was a cemetery for the vanquished and forgotten, a pit made of mud and sharp stone. The air was heavy with rot, sweat, and the smell of wood burning in distant fires. Chains clattered with agitated inmates. The heavy stomp of guards' boots echoed through the camp, mixing with the prisoners' low murmurs of despair.

However, in the months since the recent prisoner transfers, something had been stirring. It was no surprise; with so many prisoners crowding the halls, something was bound to break tonight beneath the smoke-hazed sky and the thin crescent of twilight.

A bloody moon was approaching...

With their torches flickering in the cool night air, two guards stood by the main gate.

Eyes narrowing under heavy brows, one muttered, "Rumor has it that some of the inmates are becoming rebellious." "The fools believe they can escape."

"Hey, "no chance," his companion chuckled. They are securely restrained by the chains. Getting out alive is not possible, especially not in the state they're in.

Under the surface of the camp, tension simmered, ready to burst like a boiling kettle. Hunger tore at every stomach, and whispered hopes of escape flickered in the darkness like weak flames. The inmates' eyes, hollow but blazing, looked for any sign of the guard's lack of focus.

With his eyes sharp and his muscles clenched, Hikari sat slouched against a cold stone wall. He was waiting, waiting, waiting...

The whispers were suddenly interrupted by a sharp voice.

"We're going to stop rotting here like animals! Battle!

The guards realized at that point that they were about to cause pure chaos. With their survival and escape as their sole objective.

Prisoners rushed forward, grabbing rusty iron scraps, jagged stones, and broken wood. They launched an attack with unadulterated ferocity, using vicious hand-to-hand fighting to overwhelm the closest guards. As desperate hands pried at shackles with whatever they could find—fists battered at rusted locks, makeshift tools hammered—cries of pain and rage filled the air.

Some chains were snapped in their fury, accompanied by agonized screeches.

The camp erupted in chaos. With clubs and swords in hand, the guards attempted to hold them back, but their numbers and savage desperation overpowered them. The sounds of battle filled the air: metal crashing, the cuts of raw flesh, and the frantic cries of men and women fighting for their lives.

Hikari's heart pounded in his chest amid the ferocious chaos. His plan was to escape and use the rebellion as a diversion to finally rid himself of his life as a prisoner. Breathless, he sprinted toward the edge of the camp, freedom so close he could taste it, slipping through the chaos like a shadow.

Then, like a blade, a chilly voice sliced through the noise.

"A rat believes he can get away, huh?"

He then turned around.

Standing there, menacing and deadly,

General Ishida stood calm and deadly, his blade gleaming coldly in the torchlight.

Behind him, the rebellion unravelled—guards dragged prisoners back into chains, crushing their fleeting hope beneath heavy boots.

Confident he had the situation under control, Ishida's eyes locked onto Hikari.

Cornered, Hikari clenched the cold iron cuffs, his chest burning as he faced his grim reality.

Hikari's hands clenched the cold iron cuffs as he stood cornered, his chest burning. The shackles suddenly throbbed beneath his skin, alive and in time with his heartbeat.

His mind was filled with flashes of his violent past—years of suffering, treachery, and dashed hopes.

As he heard the sounds of steel clashing and frantic cries, blood rushed through his veins.

Something ignited inside him then, a fire that no cage could put out.

The chains had evolved from simple restraints.

They served as his path, no.

His way.