YEAR: 1892
LOCATION: Tenryu Clan Fortress, Northern Japan
The fortress walls shook under the roar of cannon fire. Smoke and ash spiraled into the night sky. Beneath the crimson banners of the Tenryu, blood had stained the stones.
"Hold the eastern gate! Don't let their rifles and swordsmen breach the line!" shouted Commander Hoshin, katana gleaming in hand as he cut down a soldier trying to force entry. His voice range out even as bullets whistled past.
"They come like waves, just how many are there..." muttered another Tenryu swordsman, his breathing ragged. "All the clans... all the armies... why do they all fear us so? We protect them!"
"Because they know the truth," Hoshin growled, parrying a spear thrust before splitting the man from shoulder to hip. "If the Tenryu had chosen conquest instead of protection, every last one of them would already be ashes beneath our feet as we trampled the grounds."
The enemy lines surged again, muskets firing in unison, rifles cracking from the rear, bullets zipping past. But the Tenryu fought like demons incarnate, blades flashing faster than bullets, feet striking with the force of falling boulders.
From the central courtyard, the clan's young heir — a boy no older than six — clutched an ancient katana as tall as his small frame. His crimson hair, wild and disheveled, glowed in the moonlight as it shone upon him.
"Lord Akira! You must flee!" cried an elder, staggering with blood dripping from his side.
But the boy shook his head, tears burning his eyes. "I won't leave, this is home! Where's papa and mama?"
The elder grabbed his shouler, voice breaking as he forced the boy toward the shadows. "They are fighting at the western gate, holding back the main force. But if you stay here, you'll die, young master! The patriarch has ordered me to escort you through the tunnel, we must leave immediately!"
Before Akira could answer, a thunderous clash split the night. The southern wall collapsed in a shower of stone, dust filling the air. The enemy banners began pouring in like a black tide. Hundreds of soldiers advanced behind riflemen, their war cries echoing in the night sky.
"Push forward! Break the Tenryu, tonight they fall! Humanity shall prevail!" shouted an opposing commander atop a horse, his blade gleaming with blood.
The elder drew his katana, planting himself between Akira and the chaos. "Run, boy. Live, so the Tenryu may not be forgotten!"
But Akira's trembling hands tightened on the ancient sword. The weight of it was crushing, his small body barely able to keep it raised. Yet his crimson eyes flared with a stubornness far too great for his years.
From across the courtyard, a voice screamed, "HOSHIN! HOLD THEM BACK!"
Akira's father, Lord Raiden Tenryu, emerged from the storm of battle. He was tall, imposing, his own katana blazing with a crimson aura that bent the air around it. At his side, Akira's mother, Lady Hana, unleashed precise strikes, every step graceful, her blade carving through soldiers with elegance.
"Father... Mother!" Akira cried, hope flooding his chest.
But Raiden's face was grim as he cut down three men in a single swing. "Akira, my son! You must leave this place!"
"I won't!" the boy shouted, tears spilling as he stumbled forward with the katana. "I can fight too!"
Hana's eyes softened for the briefest moment, even as her blade struck down another foe. "My son... not yet. One day, you will. But not tonight. You must go, w-we will find you soon..."
Another volley of bullets zipped by, the air splitting with smoke and death. Soldiers fell on both sides, but for every man the Tenryu cut down, ten more surged to take his place.
The elder forced Akira backward into the tunnel, blood dripping into his eyes. "Go... young master! While they still breathe, they-no, we all fight for you to live. Go!"
As the boy stumbled into the darkness of the tunnel, he took one last look at his parents standing back-to-back, blades, arrows, and bullets coming at them in an endless frenzy.
The tunnel doors shut and locked, and the boy began rolling down a grassy soft hill.
As Akira stumbled down the grassy slope, eh came to a stop and collapsed onto his knees. The night was silent now, broken only by the distant cries of the battlefield progressively fading with each passing moment.
Akira's small hands went instinctively to the hilt of the katana. Even in his trembling grip, he felt its perfect balance. This was the weapon of his clan, the pinnacle of craftsmanship, and the last remaining thing other than himself of the Tenryu's legacy.
With shallow breaths, and tears streaking down his dirt-smeared face, Akira's fingers curled tighter around the hilt.
"Why... why them and not me?" he whispered, the words breaking against the still air. His crimson eyes burned with grief.
From atop the slope, the sound of the doors opened. "Hurry, the boy went down the slope! Capture him, get the sword!"
Those words froze Akira in his place. His live was in grave danger, yet, he couldn't do anything about it. He wouldn't be able to run away even without holding the sword.
Then, the elder's words echoed in his mind: "Live, so the Tenryu may not be forgotten."
A feeling of determination and courage had triumphed over his fear. He stood, swaying on his feet, the katana dragging in the grass behind him.
For a moment, the blade vibrated and hummed as it was dragged across the ground. A low, vibrating pulse that resonated through his arm and into his chest.
Somewhere in the distance, a hawk cried, its wings sweeping across the night sky, seemingly mourning the loss of the Tenryu clan. He wiped his tears with his sleeve, continuing into the forest.
The blade continued pulsating, its edge gleaming with the moonlight.
"T-then... elder, I'll live," he muttered, responding to the elders words from earlier. "I'll grow strong, so strong that no one will ever think of betraying us again."
The oath was small, seemingly insignificant, but in that moment, the ancient katana flared with a faint crimson light.
Akira froze, the blade's aura seeping into his skin, wrapping around his body like a second heartbeat. He felt warmth fill his veins, banishing the trembling in his limbs.
He felt rejuvenated. Physically, nothing had changed. Perhaps it was simply a mere illusion caused by his brain to help him survive, but whatever it was, it carried him throughout the night as he wandered the dark woods.
Behind him, though he dare not look back nor spend time mourning, the Tenryu fortress burned, smoke lingering in the air. The one banner that stood at the very top, burned and collapsed.
This night became etched in history, known as "The Night Crimson Burned", as the Tenryu clan had fallen.