Work Text:
Wake up!
My vision whitened as I felt a pull on my spirit. Slowly blinking my eyes open, they came to rest on a middle-aged man, a satisfied yet tired expression on his face with lips pressed in a small grin. Wait a moment, why does this feel so real?
Who are you?
I am Hikoshiro Hiromitsu. I forged the sword that is your body and by my power, formed your spirit – your existence.
I was painfully aware of the sheathed blade in front of me, but I was more interested in my physique. Bringing my hands up to eye level, I examined them, moving experimentally before feeling my face, exploring my features before running them through my hair, feeling how the short strands turned into longer ones the further down it went, tips ending slightly past my shoulders.
Being aware of the weight that rested on my legs, I pushed up onto my feet while stumbling ungracefully like a new-born. The man named Hiromitsu got up with me, steadying me with his own hands and guided me to a reflective surface – a mirror he called it.
I was taller than him, his head only reaching the bottom of my nose, though my skin was a few shades darker. My eyes were golden amber with dark slit-like pupils, unlike his round ones, with hair dark brown that faded to bright red at the tips. The tip of a tattoo peeking through my left kimono sleeve caught my attention. I pushed the plain white kimono completely off my left arm to reveal dragon, coiling itself from my wrist all the way up my arm, its head resting on my shoulder blade. With my curiosity for the physical satisfied, I searched through my mind to finding nothing there. It was blank of all memories (save for the last few minutes) and devoid of knowledge.
Who am I?
Hikoshiro Hiromitsu moved to pick up the sword left lying on the floor from where it was in front of me.
You are the spirit that governs this sword. You are destined to be trained to your fullest potential, destined to hold power that would have been a dream if not for your divine power. You are destined to be by the side of a master who shall complete your power, the one who would train you, bring you to your fullest potential, unlock your divine powers.
He handed me the sword – my body – and a sense of déjà vu washed over me. I knew exactly how to use it. Drawing the sword (a katana, my instincts told me) the dragon carved onto the blade came to light, resembling the same dragon imprinted onto my left arm.
You are quite blessed. You have been born with the power of the Kurikara dragon, the very dragon that represents Fudo Myo-o, the most powerful deity of the mountains. You are destined to carry that same divine power. You are the pride of all my works.
I scoffed. The metal bound and hidden into the hilt was bare, unmarked, un-engraved. I could feel it. I am my sword after all. I know myself inside and out, from the pattern of the hamon(1), to all details seen and unseen.
That’s not exactly helping. For starters, maybe my name?
Hiromitsu’s grin grew wider and he shrugged.
I don’t know. I didn’t feel like giving you one, I guess. I’ll leave your name to your masters.
Pride of all your works? Hah! If you even had some pride in me the least you would have done was to engrave your own name. There’s no smith who would call their work their pride but not take claim of it.
The truth of the matter is that I’m a mumeitou(2). You left me a mumeitou.
This is bullshit. Utter bullshit.
- The hamon 刃文 of a katana is the wavy pattern on it, simply speaking. The hardening process in the smithing creates the pattern. Part of the beauty in a sword is in its hamon.
- A mumeitou 無銘刀is literally means nameless sword, or a no-engraving sword. Japanese swordsmiths would normally carve their own names onto the sword (the part that is hidden by the hilt) so a mumeitou doesn’t have these name engravings. Hence, a nameless sword.