The Ruins Of Mist And A Lone Swordsman ✦ Original & Recent

For a long while, I thought him a statue. A trick of the light. But then the wind shifted, carrying the faintest scent of rust and rain-soaked cherry blossoms, and his cloak stirred. He was alive. Or something more stubborn than alive. What is it to be a swordsman without a war? Without a lord, without a cause, without even an enemy left standing?

And the swordsman, younger then, standing at that door as the first stones of the citadel began to fall. He had drawn his blade not to attack, but to witness . To remember. That was his oath: not victory, but memory. the ruins of mist and a lone swordsman

And in that mist, I saw him.