Part I: The Betrayal
The blow had come two moons ago but echoed like a thunderclap in her memory. Yumi had stood at the gates of her father’s estate, her hands trembling just slightly as she read the kanji scrawled on the parchment. The shogun’s seal mocked her. "Traitor," the message said, condemning her father for conspiring with the Ishida clan. It was a false charge, fabricated by Lord Takagawa, a man whose lust for power knew no bounds.
She had raced inside, only to find the estate ablaze, the scent of burning wood mingling with splattered blood. Her family cut down like unworthy rice stalks, their screams woven into the infernal song of fire. Her father had fought valiantly, his blade gleaming until the last moment when Takagawa’s dishonorable soldiers overwhelmed him. Yumi, caught mid-scream, had been dragged into the shadows by her uncle.
“Live for revenge, Yumi,” her uncle had whispered, his own voice trembling and weak. “A spirit consumed by anger dies quickly. But one that stays silent… strikes when the enemy feasts.” On that night, she had buried both her tears and her name. Oshiro Yumi became the ghost with no face—the Silent Blade.
Part II: An Unlikely Alliance
The snapping of a twig broke her meditation. Yumi’s hand tightened around the hilt of her katana. She spun towards the sound, her blade ready to cleave flesh, only to stop inches from a man kneeling submissively, his hands raised. His rough clothing, stained with blood and dirt, suggested he was no samurai, merely a common farmer. Yet his piercing green eyes radiated intelligence beyond his station, and his shaved head revealed kanji tattooed into his scalp: Chikara, meaning strength.
“What business do you have here?” she hissed, her voice sharp but quiet enough to avoid alerting any of Takagawa’s scouts in the area.
“To serve,” the man replied, bowing his head but never once breaking eye contact. “Lord Takagawa has branded me a criminal, left my wife and children to starve. He must pay for what he’s done—not just to me, but to us all.”
Yumi studied him for a moment, her calculating mind weighing the risks. His muscular build suggested he could wield a weapon if needed, though he carried none. His gaze, green as emeralds, flickered to her katana and then to the night sky, a silent plea etched into his features.
“What is your name?” she asked, still holding the blade to his neck.
“Kenta,” he replied solemnly. “And I know the roads to Takagawa’s estate.”
Yumi lowered her blade. “Then be swift and silent, Kenta. The Silent Blade needs no words to strike, only a shadow at her back.”
Part III: Storming Takagawa’s Castle
The duo moved with precision through Takagawa’s estate, their path filled with moments of tense silence punctuated by the metallic whisper of unsheathing steel. Yumi’s heart raced as they approached the towering central palace built amidst a clear lake reflecting the crescent moon. The water’s eerie beauty juxtaposed the evil housed inside it. Her sharpened instincts faltered for only a moment—an old memory of her father's laughter breaking through her cold resolve. Kenta placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
“Focus, Oshiro-dono,” he whispered, using the respectful honorific against her orders. “Honor can wait. Vengeance cannot.”
She nodded, pushing the memory deep into the abyss of her mind. In perfect synchronization, they scaled the palace walls under cover of darkness, Yumi’s movements swift as a hawk in flight. Kenta lagged only slightly, his strength compensating for his lack of grace.
Inside, they scattered guards like reeds caught in a river’s current. Yumi’s katana moved like a calligraphy brush against parchment, painting arcs of blood against the walls. The Silent Blade never missed her mark.
Finally, she stood before Takagawa, a man slumped in decadent silks within a chamber of gold. He seemed older than she remembered, his cruel mouth now curling into a smirk of disbelief.
“Lord Oshiro’s brat,” he sneered. “You should have stayed dead.”
“So should you,” she replied with terrifying calm, her katana poised to deliver justice.
Part IV: The Price of Vengeance
The battle was short-lived but brutal. Takagawa’s cunning saved him for more breaths than Yumi expected, but in the end, her strike was true. He crumpled to the ground like a broken puppet, his blood pooling beneath him.
Kenta entered the room moments afterward, his brow furrowed as he beheld the scene. “It is done,” he murmured, though his voice bore no triumph.
Yumi wiped her blade clean, her hands steady, but her soul felt unmoored. She gazed out the open window, where the cherry blossoms danced in the wind. “And yet… nothing is undone,” she whispered.
Kenta placed a hand on her shoulder. “A shadow warrior finds no peace. Perhaps it is time to seek the sun once more.”
Yumi did not answer. The Silent Blade had completed its mission, but in its wake, the winds whispered questions only the morning light could answer. She sheathed her katana and stepped into the unknown, her crimson-and-black kimono fluttering like the wings of a phoenix rising from ashes.
In the end, the Silent Blade disappeared from history, her story carried only by the cherry blossoms that bloom on nights when the moon burns bright.
And on those nights, they say, vengeance sleeps, but justice awakens.
Genre: Historical Fiction (Sengoku-era Japan)
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Life between Hearing and Deafness: A Documentary
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