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He’s been summoned to a practice match for the second time in the span of two weeks. Yet again? And so soon? Maybe his aruji has remembered his presence for once. Or maybe Heshikiri Hasebe has it in for him for slacking off so much… After all, what the touken danshi have plenty of, unlike humans, is time. [1] Well, whatever. As long as it isn’t that sneaky Gou blade again who had the audacity to challenge him to a poetry contest after their bout. He barely escaped that one – bolting for all he was worth once he was out of the dojo wasn’t one of his best moments. Slouching as he plods along, Akashi wrinkles his nose. The air is sharp with petrichor, moss and browning leaves. Autumn has properly arrived; winter will descend in a matter of weeks.
Summer festivals and fireflies flicker on the edge of his thoughts. Lips thinning, he banishes the whimsical notion from his mind.
Days trickle by in this honmaru like water dripping from a tap. For the most part, it’s a comfortable lull. He’s been on the occasional sortie or expedition, just to make up the numbers, but he hasn’t been activated for the first unit since he was sent as reinforcement some years back. There is no trace left of the wound he sustained blocking off an attack meant for Kotegiri Gou either - he’d kept the bandage on for a full month, just to see if he would heal like humans do. The bleeding had stopped the moment they all got back to the honmaru, but the gaping laceration refused to close. He even considered sewing up the injury himself, but the thought of passing the needle through his own flesh repeatedly icked him out, so he just left it since it wasn’t festering anyway. Eventually, Kotegiri, unable to deal with the constant, bandaged reminder of said wound, ushered him to repairs, where his gash simply magically closed up and every other blemish he hadn’t known the existence of was buffed away. Good as new now, he was told then. It wouldn’t do for a national treasure to be thusly marred. He is, after all, the only Rai there. Their master wouldn’t be pleased to find him in such poor condition.
Their master has also shown no interest in summoning his charges here, and he can’t bring himself to ask. He’s already hinted heavily enough in the previous summer’s haiku he was forced to compose.
They aren’t coming. At least, not based on the way their master thinks. Akashi is simply just another trophy added to their eclectic collection of larger swords.
It’s well enough that he is left to his own devices most of the time. The languishing suits him fine, but being among others who have actual (and mostly) complete families leaves a vague ache hammering against the hollowness within him.
He shakes his head. Maudlin thoughts would get him nowhere… not that he has anywhere else to go.
He finally enters the dojo and wilts further when he sees Imanotsurugi. The Sanjou blade is one of the few tantous in the citadel, and ordinarily he dotes on him whenever they meet, but the dojo isn’t quite the place for play.
“My opponent today is Akashi-san, eh?” Imanotsurugi is practically vibrating with eagerness.
Akashi sighs audibly. “Are you alright with this? It’s hard to have fun if you’re playing by yourself.”
Imanotsurugi pouts at him. “Don’t worry! I’ll entertain you!”
A tachi against a tantou. [2] It would be an easy fight. He’s willing to consider indulging the tantou at least. “Heh…” he drawls, just this side of provocative. Sure enough, from the corner of his eye, he sees Imanotsurugi launch into his signature whirl.
“There!” Imanotsurugi cries, and Akashi dodges left and right as the tantou’s momentum carries him to where he was standing before. As he anticipated, Imanotsurugi whips around for a backhand slash, and he draws his blade halfway out of its sheath to block the blow. There is a momentary pause as surprise flits across the childlike face, and it is enough for him to pull the tachi fully out of its sheath. He brings the sword around as he spins, then halts abruptly, the drawn blade quivering mere inches away from the tantou’s neck.
“You’re letting your guard down,” he intones, his eyes hardening. Imanotsurugi cannot afford such mistakes on the battlefield.
The playful tantou grins sheepishly at him, acknowledging the hit, and bats his sword away. They clash again, but he holds Imanotsurugi at bay by sheer blade length alone. The tachi carves great curves through the air as the tantou bobs just out of reach, until a giveaway giggle informs him of the other’s presence at his back. He spins around, but Imanotsurugi dodges the sweep of his blade and jumps to the side. He prepares a forehand strike, only to realise that his opponent aims to score a blow at his exposed back. He hurriedly rotates his wrist - steel flashing as he crosses his own sword behind him - and the parried blades sing as they meet.
Akashi is actually beginning to enjoy their sparring. The corners of his mouth begin to curve upwards. Imanotsurugi’s fast, and hits about as hard as Ai–
He quashes the thought ruthlessly. Since he came to the citadel, it’s been rare to find a blade that can keep up with his own mobility.
A haze of something clouds his mind, and he springs from the same position Imanotsurugi was in earlier. The tantou scarcely has time to catch the heavy descent of his tachi from above - his hits have at least three times the amount of impact a tantou does. Still, it is nothing compared to what Ho— an oodachi is capable of. Akashi flicks his sword almost unthinkingly, and Imanotsurugi is flung to the side. He looks down the length of his blade, straight into the shocked face of the fallen tantou.
“It hurts!” Imanotsurugi suddenly bawls, curling in on himself, and the cloud of battlelust that had settled over Akashi suddenly clears. He moves his blade to the side and steps forward anxiously.
“What’s the matter–”
“There’s an opening!” the tantou declares cheerfully, and kicks his sword away.
“That’s… cowardly!!” Akashi splutters in genuine dismay. He has never anticipated that Imanotsurugi would be the sneaky type. “Let’s go!” He attempts an overhead strike, but Imanotsurugi is ready. The tantou dodges, meets his backhand stroke squarely with his own blade, and before Akashi can retreat to strike again, grabs his wrist and spins right in next to him. The blade stops short of his chest.
“I’ve got you!” Imanotsurugi crows triumphantly.
If sneakiness grants Imanotsurugi a higher survival rate, so be it. A good hit should also be acknowledged, and the tachi grants his opponent an indulgent smile. “I won’t let you,” he denies agreeably. He lets Imanotsurugi spin away, and then the chase is on.
Akashi makes a few swipes that the tantou dodges easily, and then Imanotsurugi bounds up the stairs to gain a height advantage. “Above you!” the tantou calls out teasingly.
“Here you are…” Akashi stabs to his left, but Imanotsurugi is no longer there. The tantou leaps off the stairs, lands on the engawa and breaks into a run heading for the fields.
“Nope, I’m here! Yes, come to me!” The tantou skips ahead gleefully.
For a brief moment, Akashi gives chase. A mirage of two small backs running ahead of him through an open firefly-lit field overlays Imanotsurugi’s slight form ducking into the grass, and the smile Akashi didn’t know he was sporting drops from his face. “This is stupid,” he mutters as he turns. Resting his blade on his shoulder, he affects an air of nonchalance and starts walking back into the dojo.
“Akashi-san!” yells Imanotsurugi, running up behind him.
The tantou leaps into the air, but Akashi discerns his movement from the shadow he casts and moves aside. The tantou is persistent; leaping past him to come at him from above again. Dropping a knee to the ground, he dully blocks the overhead blow without even bothering to face Imanotsurugi.
He’s so done with… whatever this is. The tachi cuts a swathe through the air to hold off the tantou, then with a swoop, the tip of the blade points straight at Imanotsurugi. The tantou parries it away defiantly, so he simply lowers his sword, his face expressionless but for the hard set of his jaw. He’s not giving anything more to this bout. Already poised to continue, Imanotsurugi looks over uncertainly at him. He quickly schools his own face into a semblance of his usual tired facade.
To his relief, the tantou laughs and sheathes his blade. “That was a fun game of tag!”
“Yeah, it was exhausting,” Akashi sighs as he sheathes his tachi and makes for a resting spot on the stairs.
“Hey, Akashi-san…”
“Hmm?”
“Shall we play a real game of tag?” implores Imanotsurugi, practically bouncing on his feet. “Come and find me.”
“What?”
“Count properly to ten, alright?” Before Akashi can react, Imanotsurugi cries out, “Begin tag! Ba-byuuunn!”
“Wait, Imanotsurugi-han! Where–”
“Count properly! Please.”
He has no choice but to comply in the face of such hopeful tenacity. “One… two…” Imanotsurugi is smiling encouragingly at him, so he must continue. “Three…four… ”
The tantou giggles and shoots off to hide.
“Fiv–” He realises that Imanotsurugi is now nowhere in sight. Perhaps, he too can now make a run for it.
“Five...” he repeats, gradually amplifying his calls and looking around as he retreats towards another door. “Six…”
He’s out that door by the count of nine. If Imanotsurugi wants to play tag, he can come find him instead.
Once outside, autumn breezes blow chill against his face as he lopes along the path lining the fields back to his room. He studiously chases his own long shadow on the ground ahead of him.
Back in his refuge, the shoji doors slide smoothly into place, cutting him off from the rest of the citadel. The room somehow feels larger today with only his own footsteps whispering against the cold tatami. He tries not to shiver when he lies down.
Eventually, he slips into a dream. In another honmaru, just like this one, he is lounging, legs crossed, leaning his weight on his right hand as he gazes out into the garden of reds and yellows beyond the engawa. A tiny body curls catlike on the tatami, its owner’s fluffy, white head resting on his right thigh. Another small figure, hair the shade of autumnal maple leaves, dozes featherlight against his other shoulder. Attempting to draw warmth from that point of contact, he lifts his left hand to cradle the other’s face.
No sooner does he do this than his dreams shift and he is watching the backs of his two small charges skipping ahead of him across a starlit field. They wave, beckoning to him. He looks on wistfully as their red and white heads bob happily, then disappear among the tall grass dotted with fireflies. Summer festival drums echo with ever fainter beats in the distance.
When he wakes again to silence, he curls in on himself, pressing one hand to his eyes and the other to that hollow space in his chest.
“Someday, perhaps,” he whispers brokenly into the quiet dark. He has time… plenty of time. “Someday.”