The village carried the weight of impending storm in every breath of wind that swept through the paddies. Elias could feel it in the way the air grew heavier each morning, thick with the earthy scent of turned soil and the faint, underlying rot of distant battlefields carried on refugee whispers. The palisade stood taller now, its bamboo stakes lashed tight with ropes that creaked softly in the breeze, sharpened tips glistening with fresh resin from recent cuts. Guards paced the narrow walkways, their straw sandals scuffing against the packed dirt, eyes scanning the hills where mist clung like a shroud.
Elias woke to the familiar crackle of the irori hearth, embers glowing orange in the dim hut. The futon beneath him was worn thin, the straw filling shifted from nights of restless turning, but the faint warmth lingering from Kiyomi's body beside him chased away the pre-dawn chill. She stirred as he sat up, her ebony curls spilling across the pillow like spilled ink, jade eyes fluttering open with that soft, sleepy warmth that had become his quiet addiction. The hut smelled of last night's miso—fermented soybeans lingering faintly—and the subtle herbal note of the soap she made from wild plants.
"Morning already?" she murmured, voice husky from sleep, reaching out to trace his arm with cool fingertips. Her touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a familiar heat through him.
"Yeah. Headman's calling the meeting soon." He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead—skin smooth and warm, tasting faintly of salt from the night's sweat. "Go back to sleep a bit."
She shook her head, sitting up with the blanket pooling around her waist, her olive kosode slipping off one shoulder. "Can't. Worry keeps me awake anyway." Her hand found his, squeezing. "If it's about scouting... don't volunteer."
He met her gaze, seeing the fear there—raw, unguarded. It twisted something in his chest, a love that had grown from pragmatic alliance to something fierce and essential. "We need to know what's coming. Better me leading than someone reckless."
Her lip trembled, that nervous nibble he adored. "I know. Just... promise you'll come back whole."
"I promise." He pulled her close, her body fitting against his—soft curves pressing warm through thin fabric, her breath quickening against his neck. The kiss deepened, urgent but tender, her fingers tangling in his hair. When they parted, her cheeks flushed, eyes shining. "For you," he whispered. "Always."
Hiroshi's voice called from outside: "Meeting time. Refugees talking."
They dressed quickly—Elias in his hybrid gear, leather haori over faded jeans now patched with local cloth, sword belted tight. The clearing buzzed with villagers: farmers clutching hoes like weapons, women with children huddled close, ashigaru like Taro standing alert. Refugees sat apart—clothes ragged and smoke-stained, faces hollow from hunger, the acrid scent of charred wood clinging to them like a ghost.
The headman, stooped but voice steady, raised his hand. "These folk lost everything to Imagawa scouts. Burned fields, took rice. Nobunaga pushes back, but the fighting's spilling here."
A refugee man spoke, voice cracking: "Twenty men, maybe more. Torched our homes at night—flames roaring, thatch catching like dry kindling. Smoke choked us, heat blistering skin. We ran with nothing."
Murmurs rippled—fear thick as the morning mist. Elias felt the moral weight: these people, lives upended by lords' ambitions. His own rise couldn't ignore that cost.
Headman: "We need scouts. Map their paths, numbers. Volunteers?"
Taro stepped forward. "I'll go."
Others followed—three young farmers, two ashigaru.
Elias joined. "I'll lead. Set watches, ambushes if needed."
Kenji sneered from the crowd. "Gaijin thinks he commands? Wait till his luck runs dry."
Headman silenced him. "Elias proves himself. Seven total. Leave midday."
Kiyomi gripped Elias's sleeve as preparations wrapped—bows strung, quivers rattling, rice balls wrapped in leaves. Behind a hut, away from eyes, she pressed against him, hands trembling on his chest. "Be careful. No unnecessary risks."
He cupped her face, thumbs brushing tears. "Just eyes. Back soon."
Her kiss was desperate—lips soft, tasting of salt and morning tea, body molding close with urgent warmth. "I love you. Come back to me."
"Love you too." The words carried the full weight now—her nurturing heart his anchor amid ambition's pull.
The party set out under a gray sky: Elias at point, Taro beside, the others trailing with packs clinking softly. Trails wound through pine forests—needles crunching underfoot, resin scent sharp and invigorating in the cool air. Mist clung to branches, dripping cold on necks and shoulders, dampening clothes with a clammy chill. Bird calls echoed sporadically—warnings or mere life?
Conversation low: Taro: "Refugees' stories... makes the blood boil."
Elias: "Anger clouds judgment. We stay sharp."
By afternoon, ridge vantage: valley road below, Imagawa camp lazy in sunlight. Cookfires crackled, smoke curling acrid with burning fat, horses nickering tethered to trees. Men diced, laughter coarse—twenty-five, wagons heavy with forage.
Elias crouched behind moss-slick boulders, group huddled. "Supplies ripe. Hit wagons, delay march?"
Taro's eyes gleamed. "Risky, but buys time."
Consensus—calculated strike.
Positions: archers high among pines, melee in dense brush thick with damp leaves.
Feint: rocks tumbled east—crash reverberating like thunder.
Raiders scrambled: "Ambush! Shields up!"
Half charged east, wagons lightly guarded.
Arrows loosed—twang of bowstrings, thwip through air, thuds into flesh. Cries sharp, men clutching shafts protruding bloody.
Elias burst forward, boots sinking ankle-deep in valley mud—cold, sucking grip pulling with each step. First guard lunged spear—Elias parried, clang vibrating arms to elbows, then thrust—blade sliding between plates with wet resistance, hot blood gushing over gauntlet, metallic tang thick in nostrils.
Chaos overwhelmed: screams raw and piercing, horses rearing with panicked whinnies, hooves churning earth to slurry. Wagon canvas ignited—crackling fierce, heat wave washing faces, acrid smoke stinging eyes and throat.
Katana slashed wild—Elias dodged, mud splattering cold across cheek, counter piercing thigh—arterial spray warm and sticky on skin, man howling as he crumpled.
Taro's naginata swept—crunch of bone, gurgle wet.
Arrow grazed Elias's shoulder—burn sharp like fire, blood trickling warm down arm.
Raiders broke: "It's the gray-eyed demon! Run!"
Wagons blazed fully—wood popping in heat, flames roaring hungry, black smoke billowing thick.
But victory cost: young scout arrowed through chest—body slumping with wet thud, blood foaming pink on lips, gasps ragged and fading. Elias pressed the wound—slick, futile warmth pulsing under palms. "Stay with us..."
Eyes glazed, life slipping. Weight crushed—pragmatic win, human loss.
They salvaged arrows, torched remains, retreated with body draped over horse—blood scent clinging heavy.
Dusk return: village gates creaking open, faces pale in torchlight. Pyre built quick—wood stacked, body laid gentle. Flames caught with whoosh, heat intense on faces, crackle loud amid sobs. Flesh scent turned stomach—nauseating sweet-acrid mix rising with smoke.
Kiyomi rushed through crowd, embracing Elias fierce despite mud and blood—tears hot on his neck, body trembling against his. "You're here... gods, the smell..."
"Mostly theirs." He held her tight, her warmth cutting day's chill and grit. Herbal scent soothed amid pyre's horror.
Later, by hut fire: she cleaned his graze—salve cool stinging, fingers gentle. "Lost him..."
"Yeah." Voice rough. Moral toll gnawed—win bought with life.
She curled against him, head on chest. "You did what you had to. For us."
Love eased ache—her presence balm.
Influence swelled—war's drum louder.