A clan war never ends with the best of intentions. No one man, woman, or child is content with the results. For most of the samurai, death is the ultimate resolution. I completely disagree.

My son was the death that ended the most recent battle.


He was so sweet and innocent as a small child. Being very introverted and shy, he spent little time with the neighbor children compared to the ages he spent in the garden. It was a very tedious job to keep the blossoms looking so beautiful, but he enjoyed it, and I was content with this.

He loved his mother and I wholeheartedly; he could warm the coldest winter nights with a simple embrace.

Unfortunately, he fell victim to the sullen teenage years. He left our safe home for weeks at a time, returning at random to stay for only the night and empty our stock.

Little did we know he was being trained as a swordsman. Those weeks turned into months, and those months, turned into years, and those years into ages, which seemed like infinity. At random, he came back as a cold-hearted man for the purpose of supporting his clan in war.
It had been a while until i could hear the loud clashing from blades. I instantaneously knew what was going on, and left with my shogun's sword before his lifetime.

I ran aimlessly through dangerous grounds searching for him, slashing at every man as if they were twigs.

A loud cry and a shallow clang was audible.

Everything stopped. The once chaotic and constant noise of the battle had ceased.

I ran to the center of the quiet battle, where my son lie with an open gash through is robe and a still expression on his face.

There I wept for my child, my baby boy.