In the valleys of Tsukihana a Province, where cherry blossoms fall like snow-- even during winter-- as they are sprouted everywhere, Rei was born under a small outpost in a storm. His parents were lost to the sword before he could speak to bandits or an illness or a disease No one knew for sure. Rei was only about two, he doesn't remeber anything from that age. After the news was spread of the Tsukihana province lost there best fighter they were recked. Knownig he had a son they decided to take him in and start his training by the age of 12. He was raised in the fortress of Lord Katsuro a strict but noble shogun who saw something in the boy.
Rei was 14 when training for only about a year and a half when looking in the distance seeing the ember-red glow of torches cut against the thick winter dusk as the Crimson Banner army charged at the fortress. Scores of samurai under Katsuro's honor-bound guard formed ranks along stone battlements snow-dusted with late-blooming cherry petals. Rei, fast and keen-eyed but untested, stood among them in sharpened armor, his breath steady and his heart pounding.
For three nights and days, the fortress stood firm. The clash of steel, the archers' cries, the muttered prayers of fallen brethren—all reverberated under the watchful gaze of Lord Katsuro. Beside him, Rei learned a harsh truth: discipline quelled fear, but only experience forged courage.
On the fourth morning, Daichi's forces shattered the final gate. Katsuro's voice rang out like a bell: "For Tsukihana—charge!" The swords rose. The walls erupted in the fury of war. Rei felt the earth quake, but his feet remained rooted in fear's iron grip. Around him, armor struck, men roared…and fell.
He watched in stupor as men he had warmed to, sparred with, and once laughed alongside tumbled in crimson arcs. Spears thrust. Bodies collapsed. The scent of sacristy and sacrifice filled the air.
Then, he saw Katsuro.
The shogun—father, mentor—was a whirlwind of blade and blood, carving a path through relentless foes. His armor glowed with a nobility that pierced the despair in Rei's chest. For a moment, hope surged. Rei straightened, readying his own blade. But then…
A rebel leapt from the mass. Steel flashed. Katsuro staggered. Time slowed.
Rei's breath hitched as he watched a father-figure fall to his knees on blood-slicked snow, standing above him, the man that killed him Daichi. An old friend of Katsuro, eyes locking on his unresponsive ward. Fear strangled Rei's marrow, and his body did not obey the call to stand.
Katsuro raised a trembling arm, pointing to Rei. "Rei… charge!" His voice cracked like ice. But Rei didn't move. Instead, he watched his mentor fall fully, chest struck through, mouth stained red. Katsuro's gaze—filled with disappointment, expectation, hope—met Rei's frozen stare. Then his eyes closed forever.
The world detonated in silent agony. A single cherry petal drifted—pink and fragile—landing in a pool of blood. Rei's heart shattered.
"We did it!!" Yelled datchi looking back on his men "Tsukihana province... is ours" every samurai of Tsukihana looked back seeing Katsuro dead and members of Crimson Banner cheered.
A Samurai looked back and saw Rei standing there knowing he didn't do anything with pure disappointment on his face he gets shot in thr back with am arrow.
Wracked by guilt Rei ran. He cut through shattered gates and over bodies that bore the shogun's crest. Every step hammered guilt into his soul. Beyond the fortress walls, he fled into Jukai-no-Mori a forest said to swallow lost souls, where compasses failed and Yūrei roamed among the moss-thick roots—haunting the wayward, confusing their sense. There, he found an abandoned cabin and collapsed inside, intending to die quietly.
Outside, the forest seemed to breathe. A cold wind moaned through twisted tree limbs, and unseen creatures scuttled in the undergrowth. Ice-flecked cherry petals drifted downward—remarkable, given the season. Like ghosts, they descended and vanished, faint imprints of beauty in a ruined world.
Inside, Rei's soaked kimono clung to him, blood spreading across the wrinkled fabric. The world shrank until only the pulse in his ear remained: dundun, dundun, like a funeral drum. He barely discerned the faint moonlight slicing through a crack in the plank ceiling above: a sliver of pale hope in his darkest moment.
He pressed callouses to his lip, tasting copper. Each breath reminded him of that fourth morning—the day everything shattered.
Flashback: Blood and Formations
He'd stood at the forefront of the fortress wall, shoulder-to-shoulder with comrades who'd trained alongside him: Kazuo, impish and quick with a taunt; Nobu, solemn and unflappable; others whose names slipped through Rei's memory like cherry petals on wind. The sky still clung to night's indigo when the gates were breached, and Daichi's army surged through, swords ablaze with reckless fervor.
In the melee, Rei found clarity amid chaos. Every strike had a rhythm; every block, a cadence. And through it all, Lord Katsuro had towered, invincible—a mountain of steel and purpose. When the mentor roared "For Tsukihana—charge!", Rei's heart had leapt, and his blade had risen with hope.
But is all hope a lie?
Then had come Daichi—Katsuro's childhood companion turned traitor—slipping through the crowd like smoke. Katsuro had turned to face him, recognition and shock on his face. Rei had leaped forward, voice breaking, arm extended—
And stopped.
—
The Moment That Shattered
Time froze as blade met blade. Katsuro's eyes widened, and his staff clattered to stone. The crowd's roar dimmed. Rei watched the assassin's cruel hand as he delivered the fatal blow. Yet Katsuro still summoned him—the trembling finger, the broken plea: "Rei… charge!"
He had felt his bones freeze. He'd known the right path. But shock and fear had shackled his limbs. And as the mentor fell, bleeding, silent…
Rei's heart had cracked.
A single petal had settled atop the blood—a pale pink insignia on crimson ice. Then the arrow, swift and cold, had struck Rei's spine and ignited his flight.
Alone in the Woods
In the cabin's gloom, Rei curled into himself. The pain sharpened; the wound throbbed. The arrowhead protruded—a silent reprimand from his own cowardice. He pressed his hand to the wound but dared not twist or pull. That would draw blood. He breathed shallowly, afraid to dwell on anything that would push him to stand—but somehow, he forced the rhythm, to live.
He thought of Lord Katsuro—the man who'd nurtured, disciplined, and trusted him beyond measure. He'd been more than teacher—he'd been father. Rei felt his guilt bloom in frozen petals of regret. He could hear the shouts: "Rei, do it!" he could sense Kazuo's anguished cry as he fell, Nobu's silent ending. And the thunder of armor, the crack of bone. It was all to much