Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Action

Summary: Her thumb caresses the neat parchment, gaze fixated on the last line inscribed on the letter's body. 'Have you thought about what you are going to do after you make it?'

Word Count: 25755

Hashtag: #SSBB_WeTalkedAboutMakingIt

oh, we talked about making it

A war is coming.

It’s coming heavily and fast, but apparently not fast enough because there Hitomi stands: in the General’s village, in the General’s home. Her fellow soldiers are setting up tents on the outskirt of the village and heading out into the woods to prepare for night campfires, but the General takes her away with a firm ‘Follow me’.

A war is coming. The General said so.

Says so, as he introduces her to his only daughter. ‘You must understand,’ the General then speaks, more to his daughter than to Hitomi, ‘One of these days, I might not make it and my last wish was to see you being cared for.’

And that’s when it clicks:

The General is setting them up.

Hitomi spends a long second digesting this, blinking slowly at the passing of time. She hasn’t taken the General’s comment of ‘I’d love to have you meet my daughter’ to heart the night she bested his strongest captain. It had sounded like a round-a-bout way of acknowledging her win, just a metaphor to admit the prowess she had showcased during the friendly fight.

When she shakes herself off the thought, the General has disappeared, leaving her alone with his daughter inside a room she doesn’t remember walking into. Leaving her alone with the General’s daughter who, frankly, looks pissed off.

Oops.

Being involuntarily inserted into a matchmaking situation does sound like a valid reason to get irritated, Hitomi reasons to herself. She stands straight, posture formal, mind quietly turning to weigh her choices. She can always reassure her that this meeting doesn’t have to be anything, that this too comes as a surprise to Hitomi, but would it be too hasty of her to assume that far? Would it be impolite, would it get her into trouble with the General?

Before she can think these branches of thoughts out, the General’s daughter turns to face her, movement graceful despite having a smear of dirt on her cheek and tracks of mud caking the folds of her attire.

“I can’t love you,” the General’s daughter says, firmly. “I can’t love a .”

Hitomi blinks. “Um,” she says, trying to grasp at the fact that she has been ruled out as a despite having not uttered a single word.

“That’s rude,” she finally settles to say.

The General’s daughter twitches. Glares, at her, as though wishing her reaction is more than that. But Hitomi doesn’t offer anything else, the simple statement marinating in the air as the General’s daughter paces around and seems to be muttering to herself.

After a while, with shoulders straightening up and expression resolute as though she has decided on something, the General’s daughter takes a deep breath and finally faces her again.

“I wasn’t calling you a ,” she says in a reasonable tone, despite having said exactly that just a moment ago. Hitomi just raises her eyebrows, and the General’s daughter sighs deeply.

“I meant it in a literal way. I can’t… love a…” she gestures towards Hitomi’s lower body, “.”

Oh—

Hitomi flushes.

Oh.

The General’s daughter clears . “I swing the other way,” she emphasises carefully. “And if you as much as breathe this information to anyone not inside this room at this very moment, you’ll die,” she continues with a perfected glare.

Hitomi swallows, and the other’s eyes narrow.

“Though, if you’re half the man my father has praised you to be, you should be honourable enough to keep a secret without me requesting for it, thereby making this threat pointless… right, Honda Hito?”

*

A war’s coming.

It’s coming heavily and fast, and like traditions, notices were sent out to every family with healthy husbands and sons. A call to arms. A call to defend their kingdom. A call for the men to surrender their chance of the future to defend everyone else’s hopes for one.

Most of the Honda family has been lost to the devastating border war that last washed over the kingdom, nearly a decade ago. The only ones left are a pair of siblings, Honda Mitsu and Honda Hitomi, tending to the land their ancestors have laid claim on since the start of time. In the village to the South of the kingdom, they grew their own farm and looked after the few horses their neighbours had entrusted to them in exchange of other goods or money.

Mitsu fell in love with the daughter of a fisherman next door. Hitomi fell in love with the dulled sword one of their neighbours gave them to compensate for the rows of carrots their rebellious horse had stomped all over.

(And Mitsu nudged her plenty about boys, the neighbouring guys, to whom Hitomi didn’t really experience any particular strong feelings for. She went to the village’s blacksmith to sharpen her sword instead, coming home to Mitsu shaking his head and telling her he’s been asking every boy if they had seen her. That’s fine, though. That way Mitsu would know better next time, and Hitomi got her sword, and the boys who approached her fascinated by her weapon didn’t talk of feelings.)

So, her sword. She practiced wielding it. She sparred with a few of her neighbours. She found untouched weapons below the altar of the temple she usually prayed in a season later, her late father’s initial engraved upon them, and took it upon herself to master them whenever the farm work let up and she had the time to breathe.

She trained in secret, at night, slash of blades glinting under the moonlight. She tended to the horses. She read the books her sparring friends bought to as an offering to coax her into another match. She watched her brother smile and laugh around the daughter of the fisherman next door, his happiness dimming down when the hush of kingdom conflicts started to spread from the main town and every man in the village began to carry out the days like it’s numbered.

So naturally, obviously, the choice was made. (Her choice was made.) When the letter reached them, Honda Hitomi ceased to be.

(Honda Hito answered the call.)

*

Hitomi looks at her General’s daughter, dressed in a farming attire unlike what she would have thought she’d wear, having just told her a secret Hitomi has no choice but to keep.

Secrets.

There was once a time where Hitomi didn’t think of herself as a liar. But that time has long ended the moment Hitomi stumbled into their ancestor’s altar and woke up an ancient guardian, with an immediate vow to protect her and help her serve the family’s honour. That time has long ended the moment Hitomi asked the guardian to mask her presence into that of a man.

Hitomi lives a lie, now, day to day.

And sometimes she teeters so close into bursting, because a war is coming. It’s coming heavily and fast, and Hitomi wonders sometimes if she’d notice the moment it starts to sweep her away, maybe for ever. She didn’t get to say a final word to her brother, didn’t get to tell him sorry and didn’t get to wish him a happy, long life. And if the war took her, it would take her with her lie. Honda Hito doesn’t exist past her disguise, her façade. None of the Honda’s neighbours would recognize the name should her comrades visit to deliver the news.

No one would know her for who she is.

So she looks at the General’s daughter, at the turmoil so easily glimpsed in her gaze despite her confident declaration that Hitomi is obligated to not break this secret. And then the lowest chamber of her heart hums,

What else is there to lose?

A secret known to only another soul is still a secret.

“You have my word,” so Hitomi says, finally, voice deep. “I will keep your secret, and I know that even then—despite your threat—you still have your doubts.” The General’s daughter’s eyes narrow and Hitomi smiles slightly, knowing she’s right on the mark.

“Hence, I’ll offer you this. A secret for a secret. One of mine in exchange of what you have just shared, so that neither of us owe the other more.”

The General’s daughter straightens, the shift in her expression surprised. She tilts her head, the barest hint of curiosity marring her face, and Hitomi waits for her to voice agreement, holding back the words already pushing at .

“Okay,” the General’s daughter finally says. Tentative. Still doubtful. Fair enough. “What’s your secret?”

Hitomi swallows. It is hard, apparently, to uncover your lie after weeks spent drowning in it. She works , parts her lips, gaze averting away.

A breath,

“I’m… not, a man. Really.”

The General’s daughter stares.

“What?”

*

Their objectives in camping near the village are to replenish their stocks and gearing up to advance to the borders of the kingdom. The plan is to stay for three nights, but the women association of the General’s village come up to the camp on the second day of their stay.

‘We’re packing more rations for you,’ the Head of said association says. ‘So extend your stay for a few more nights. Our daughters are nursing your soldiers to health, too; some of them need a bit more rest to fully heal.’

The General sighs. Tells Hitomi in a low voice after he agrees to it, ‘This is why I almost chose another village to recuperate in.’

But he doesn’t sound truly regretful, only a little exasperated. Hitomi blinks at him and after a long moment he concedes, ‘I’m also most confident about the quality of their treatments, however. So here we are.’

Here we are, indeed.

With Hitomi back in the General’s house again the day after, the General’s elation rolling off him in the subtlest ways, except Hitomi has observed him enough to know that the glint in his eyes is surprised and happy, the levelled tone of his voice content.

Content with how things are going.

Because his daughter has, apparently, for the first time in forever, appeared approving to his choice of man for her.

Hitomi doesn’t know what to make of that. They did exchange secrets and talk a little—mostly the General’s daughter lamenting about the General’s matchmaking attempt and the book her friend lent to her, with a catchy title of How to Drive Men Away—but that’s about it.

So when they are finally left alone again, Hitomi faces the General’s daughter and politely asks, “What did you do?”

The General’s daughter watches her with an amused curl on her lips. She’s still dressed like she’s just finished tending to a particularly unruly garden, but it no longer looks strange to Hitomi’s eyes. It’s hard to, when she looks completely, contentedly in her element.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” the General’s daughter says, “but if I deflected his questions about you when he’s been so impressed and sure, I’ll have an even harder time escaping his matchmaking attempts in the future.”

Hitomi furrows her eyebrows. “You said you rejected Captain,” she recalls, and thinks back to the aforementioned man, the General’s pride, the one she defeated in the fateful spar that helped change others’ view of Honda Hito’s small frame and softly spoken manner.

“Yes, and that was a mess—” The General’s daughter exits the room, a dip of her head a gesture for Hitomi to follow. “Taewoon was a childhood friend of mine, but we drifted apart when he got too interested in martial arts. He thought getting stronger would swoon me.”

“He’s a good man,” Hitomi says.

The General’s daughter glances at her from over her shoulder. “And that’s the other reason behind the rejection.”

“…Right.” Hitomi inclines her head in acknowledgement.

Out of the house and circling around it for a good minute of walk, they finally step on a cobblestone pathway that leads them to a garden well-cared for. The source of the mud smudging the other’s attire, Hitomi assumes, confirmed when the General’s daughter promptly crouches before a barely budding flower and checks the soil.

“Does it bother you?”

The General’s daughter asks, and Hitomi blinks. Still standing upright, just watching the other work.

“Bother me?”

“This situation,” she clarifies. “Me agreeing with my father that you’d make a decent husband.” A shift. “Me getting him to think that his attempt is a success this time.”

A war is coming.

It’s coming heavily and fast, and Hitomi lives a lie day to day to save her brother’s future. To fight for the kingdom’s future. In the grand scheme of things, in the face of her own lie that would have had her life in jeopardy if discovered, this pretending feels like nothing.

It costs her nothing, especially when it’s for someone’s good.

“Do as you like,” so Hitomi replies, voice low. “I won’t breathe a word against it.”

The movements of fingers around thin, thorny stalk come to a pause. The crouched form of the General’s daughter heaves for a moment.

“Thank you,” she says then, in a breath. Like she doesn’t expect Hitomi to actually agree, like she has at least had some doubts that this would turn out worse.

“You can call me Chaewon,” she adds after a beat.

“Hito,” Hitomi offers in return, almost automatically at this point, because she lives a lie day to day, wears the costume she’s made for herself so tightly it clings to her skin and weighs on her tongue. She can’t afford people to have an inkling of anything, so she lives, breathes, and moves in said lie, even in her name.

She’d fool herself if she needed to.

*

It’s the last day and the troop will leave at dawn.

Hitomi has mostly busied herself with training and sparring against the other soldiers. Taewoon, her captain, challenges her a lot, and she wonders if her occasional meeting with Chaewon had anything to do with it.

She contemplates talking about it when she finds herself standing in front of Chaewon’s room again, courtesy to the General’s not so subtle nudge to ‘bid my daughter a temporary goodbye before we go’ and ‘perhaps you can get a boost of motivation, too’. Hitomi politely doesn’t wonder about what the second nudge is supposed to entail.

Chaewon opens the door after Hitomi’s third knock, eyes widening when they come face to face, but before Hitomi can apologize for rudely visiting at night she lets her in and asks about the purpling bruise on her cheek.

“Oh, this,” Hitomi slowly says. “…Captain got a punch in, when we sparred. I was slow.”

Chaewon sighs and walks towards her drawer, opening it and retrieving what looks like a small jar of salve. She tells Hitomi to sit, so she does, on the floor, earning her a shake of head.

The salve smells like herbs and mint.

Hitomi stays still as Chaewon applies it to her cheek, light dabs of finger careful even though Hitomi doesn’t show any signs of hurting. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see Chaewon’s face so close to hers, and regulates her breath to prevent herself from hissing when the salve burns a little at one point.

“I made this myself—a few specific roots and ground ginseng,” Chaewon says. Hitomi makes a hum of acknowledgement. She’s heard of Chaewon’s fascination towards the components of plants throughout her numerous visits. “It’s great to treat small, open wounds. Speeds up the process of healing. Yuri helped me figure out the mixture.”

Hitomi makes a questioning noise this time, and Chaewon’s finger draws away, seemingly done. Hitomi opens her eyes to the other smiling slightly.

“I haven’t told you about her, have I? Yuri is my best friend. Practically my father’s second daughter, really. She’s the one who lent me the How to Drive Men Away book.”

Hitomi smiles back at the fondness etched across Chaewon’s expression. The latter momentarily draws away, and comes back with a mirror, holding it in front of her.

“Oh,” Hitomi says, inspecting her reflection. “I look—” she swallows at the reflection of Honda Hito, averting her gaze to look at Chaewon instead. “I don’t look beat up anymore. Thank you.”

Chaewon nods, putting the mirror away. “I’ll let you bring that jar,” she says, shaking her head firmly when Hitomi parts her lips to object. “I have a few. I can just make them again; Yuri would be elated to have me back in the brewing room. Besides, you might be able to help other soldiers with it, in the future.”

That sounds reasonable. Hitomi sighs and dips her head in agreement, and wonders if this is what the General felt when he was coerced into letting them extend their stay.

“Hito,” Chaewon says, putting a stop to her runaway thoughts.

Hitomi looks up.

“Your disguise,” Chaewon quietly continues. “It isn’t a simple one… is it? Because you… look very much like a man.”

Hitomi allows herself a smile, amused. “You aren’t going to believe me if I told.”

“Try anyway,” Chaewon orders, curiosity glimmering in her eyes. Fair enough, considering Hitomi doesn’t really share about herself even in their conversations.

Hitomi pauses.

A war is coming. The troop leaves at dawn. Who knows when they’ll be back, if they’ll be back, and it’s unhealthy to always think of the tomorrows like it’s her last, but the thought helps, this time.

It helps her to open and tell her tale because a time like this might never come again.

“…an ancient guardian,” Chaewon echoes after Hitomi’s quiet tale. “Bound to protect and serve your lineage.”

Hitomi nods. “Sakura… takes on many forms. Mainly a cat. Doesn’t really show up to people, but talks to me sometimes. Helps me cast this disguise—”

Chaewon reaches out, tentatively poking at her cheek. Hitomi blinks.

“Sorry,” Chaewon says immediately, drawing away. “Just… it’s fascinating.”

Hitomi clears , smiling thinly. “Right.”

“So, your voice—”

“Yes. It’s actually not as deep as this.” Hitomi pauses. “My hair is long, too.”

Chaewon glances up at Hitomi’s hair, short and tied up to easily fit the standard head-piece. “Does it feel long?”

“When it’s like this, no.” Hitomi takes a deep breath. “I occasionally ask my guardian to cancel the charm, when I’m alone and the tent is spelled to lock tightly so no one can enter. To feel like… myself, again.”

Chaewon opens , but seems to think against it. Hitomi glances at the clock.

“I should hurry back,” she says, looking at Chaewon again. Smiling slightly, “Thank you for the salve, and the talk. And the company,” she adds the last bit after a brief pause, and Chaewon lets out a sigh with a shake of her head.

“You say that as if my father didn’t scare you into visiting,” Chaewon states.

Hitomi falters. “Um,” she says, swallowing, “that is… true, but. The General wasn’t really scary when he told me to. And I find your company pleasant,” Hitomi fidgets terribly at the slight raise of Chaewon’s eyebrows, urgently wondering if that would be out of line to say. “I mean, my apologies. I just—”

“Appreciate our time together?” Chaewon offers, finally, amusement dancing in her eyes. Hitomi’s tension dissipates a little.

“That, yes.”

“Likewise,” Chaewon says, softly. “Thank you too, Hito.”

Hitomi nods and rises from the ground. Chaewon follows, puts away the mirror and hands over the salve, pressing it into Hitomi’s palm.

“Stay safe,” Chaewon says, before letting go.

Hitomi thinks going into a war is the least safe thing someone can ever do, but no one says ‘stay safe’ to hear back a reminder of the reality around them, so she accepts it with a smile and a dip of her head.

“You too,” she returns, and says nothing else until she leaves.

*

“Cancel it, please,” she whispers to herself. A flicker of light peeks out from the pouch hanging on her belt, and the inside of the tent glows for a moment.

It barely lasts past the third second; Hitomi feels the fall of her long hair upon her shoulders and expels a breath.

“Thank you, Sakura.”

The pouch grows warm. You’re welcome, kid.

Hitomi sits down heavily, glancing over at the neatly packed belongings of her tent-mates, Taewoon and Ten. They’re out, keeping guard. ‘And because you still need to pack up,’  Ten warmly said, ‘so we’re leaving you to it’.

Hito has nodded his thanks. Hitomi’s gratitude would have been embarrassingly more than just a nod.

Because there, sitting at the floor of the tent, Hitomi cradles herself in her actual form, runs her fingers through her long hair and drowns in the familiar wash of feelings that immediately overtakes her. Fear, anguish, sadness, and the acute sense of being so lost crawl up her lungs and block her airway.

A war is coming.

It’s coming heavily and fast and she’s doing this for her brother but she’s so, so scared and sometimes she doesn’t feel like she’s herself with the voice of Hito and the appearance of a man. She bleeds and bruises and the reflection of the water running down the river gives her Honda Hito, the wounds marring a face that isn’t hers at the same time it is. She feels detached but aches at every pain and the steps she takes are weighed with the lie she keeps on that she might just one day forget—

‘I made this myself.’

Hitomi breathes harshly through her blurry sight, eyebrows furrowed tightly, the voice ringing with a stark calmness inside her ears.

‘It’s great to treat small, open wounds. Speeds up the process of healing.’

“Sakura,” Hitomi swallows, shutting her eyes tightly, “don’t—your energy is limited.”

‘Yuri helped me figure out the mixture,’ Chaewon’s voice continues, soothing, grounding. Despite her words. Hitomi lifts her hand and touches her healed cheek, inhaling deeply.

Herbs. Mint.

She lets out a shuddering breath.

‘Stay safe.’

She opens her eyes and lets out a sniffle. “Will you ever listen to me when I tell you no?” she mutters, directing it to the warming glow inside her pouch.

I listened, Sakura huffs. You’re aching.

She snorts wetly at that.

“…I used to hear my brother,” Hitomi says, dropping her hand. Her breath still shakes, cheeks damp, so weak, pathetic—but her shoulders no longer tense up like she’s about to snap under pressure.

“Why do I—why would I hear her, now?”

The flicker of light peeks out of the pouch one more time, and this time it pours, the glimmer pooling next to her then taking shape of a golden cat. It trots, climbs, settles in Hitomi’s lap, nudges at her hand with a weird tangible feel Hitomi hasn’t exactly been able to explain.

I don’t know, kid. The cat purrs. I only tried to bring you comfort. Hand you an anchor.

Hitomi knows that. “So I’m not as lost,” she whispers, petting the guardian. The warmth under her palm flickers comfortably, and she takes a steadying breath.

“Thank you, Sakura.”

You aren’t alone, brat, Sakura reminds her with the gruffness of a cat.

Hitomi weakly smiles at that.

*

They’re barely two days away from the border when the first battle breaks out.

It is fast, like a roll of dice, and odds mean lose while evens mean win—no, maybe odds and evens both mean lose, and the only win is when the dice launches to the sky and loses gravity enough to continue ascending to the outer space.

An actual battle is different than training. It’s so different from sparring. Hitomi gives herself up to the slashes of her sword, jumps off from her horse and loses herself for a moment to the drum of adrenaline as she ducks and brings death down the enemy’s throat. She hears screams and grunts and can barely differentiate that of her friends or foes, but another cry of war approaches from behind her and she jerks around to fend the coming blades.

“Hito!” someone yells half a second after Hitomi lands a hard kick to the enemy’s chest. “Jump back!”

Hitomi’s bearings tell her it’s safe to jump back, so she does, stumbling when something flies past her to land near the unconscious enemy and explodes.

“Cease!” a voice says far in front of her, panicked stricken with fear. “Everyone cease!”

Hitomi breathes heavily, her grip around the hilt of her sword tightening as she steadies her footing. The explosion leaves a thick sheet of smoke and she sharpens her hearing, ready to duel the next person to come through the grey mist.

No one does.

“They retreated,” a voice says, the same one that yelled at her earlier. The heartbeat inside Hitomi’s chest still runs a mile, eyes wildly flickering from one dead body to another, blood dripping down her raised blade. “Hito. Hey, man, are you hurt?” A hand weighs down her shoulder and Hitomi jerks away with a sharp exhale.

“—sorry. Hey, we’re fine.”

Hitomi turns to face him, the voice, sword lowered. The soldier—Xuxi—has distanced himself an arm away, palms up, sword already sheathed back. The drumming in Hitomi’s ears fades a little.

“We’re fine,” Hitomi repeats.

“Not all of us,” Xuxi amends, eyeing her sword. Hitomi doesn’t budge. “I’m checking up on our small squad,” he offers, trying to inject levity to the heaviness blanketing what is left of the battlefield, burning smell mixing in with the metallic scent of blood. Hitomi feels sick.

“General’s order?” she forces out.

“General’s order,” Xuxi confirms.

“I’m fine,” Hitomi flatly says, fully lowering her sword. “I just need—a moment.” Xuxi nods encouragingly and Hitomi swallows, “How’s—others? Ten? Captain?”

“Captain will throw a fit if he isn’t fine,” Xuxi says, smile shaky. Hitomi takes the comfort for what it is. “Ten is a little wounded—but he can still walk.”

Hitomi’s face falls. “Ten is—”

“I’ll report back to the General,” Xuxi presses, clamps a careful hand over Hitomi’s shoulder, causing her to wince. He furrows his eyebrows at that. “We’ll advance away from this place a bit, set up camps before dawn, and you’re gonna let me look at your shoulder later, Hito.”

Hitomi exhales stiffly. “Yes,” she says, short. “Go.”

Xuxi goes. Hitomi resists the urge to turn around, to take in the lifeless bodies watering the earth with their blood. The same blood that fills her vision when she gazes down her sword, bile rising up .

Kid, Sakura urges, curling around her neck under the armor. You’re fine.

Hitomi sheathes her sword and retraces the steps Xuxi took, walking towards her troop. Death lurks upon the soil she leaves behind, glancing at her, but Honda Hito schools back a resolute expression before joining the others, traces of fear sealed away.

*

“If this shakes you,” the General says as they regroup, camps set up and injured soldiers rested near the solemn campfire, “then good. Let it sink in that this is what we’re protecting the kingdom from, what we’re protecting our family from.”

Hitomi wipes idly at her hands, gaze fixated on the of fire upon dry woods and scattered stack of hay. Next to her, Taewoon casts an annoyed glance, but his attention is torn between doing that and Ten, propped up to sit with left hand bound by a cast.

“Look into yourself and see to it that today has made you braver,” the General continues, grave. “We don’t lose anyone today, so forgive yourself for slips and miscalculated steps. And…”

Blood is sticky. Isn’t it? It clings horribly onto your skin, gnawing at your conscious. Itches at you even after it’s been scrubbed away with running water for a long time.

The General clears his throat. He looks around, lingers at her for a beat.

“Write home, if you’d like,” he says, to everyone. “Give your loved ones a greeting. Make it your motivation for the next.”

There will be a next, the unspoken meaning prods. A reminder. The General rises from his place and begins to walk towards his tent, and he passes her as he does, rests one hand on her shoulder for a moment.

Taewoon shifts. The General nods at him, too, then promptly leaves.

“Damn,” Xuxi says from her other side. “My handwriting , it’s probably best I don’t write any home—”

“Don’t be stupid,” someone says behind him. “That’s how you start having regrets.”

Xuxi swivels around, “I mean, how am I even going to send it?”

“The General’s right-hand man will, , he occasionally goes back to the kingdom to deliver reports and stuffs.”

“Who are you calling a !”

“He’s not the fastest traveller for nothing—”

“Are you writing home?” Taewoon quietly says, drawing her attention away from the ensuing banter. Hitomi glances over to see Ten chatting up with another injured soldier, and realizes that the question is directed at her.

“…I don’t know,” Hitomi says, looking at him. “Maybe not.”

Taewoon furrows his brows. “Are you writing to,” he pauses and swallows, “the General’s daughter, then?”

Hitomi blinks, opens . “Captain?” she inquires, then starts to shake her head. “No, I probably—”

“Hito,” Taewoon cuts in, gritting his teeth. “Gods, you’re so. So clueless. Look,” he says, looking very much like he wishes she wouldn’t look, “when I was… in your position, the General would nudge me into writing letters to her. Okay?”

Hitomi gives him a confused look. “I thought you got rejected?”

Taewoon looks like he wants to hit her with a shield. Or a sword. Or the rock he’s sitting on—he’s probably not picky. “ you, that stings,” he hisses, but he doesn’t get up and leave like the previous times Chaewon miraculously got brought up in strategy discussions or post-sparring talks.

Hitomi just blinks at him.

Taewoon huffs lowly, ruffling his hair. He faces her with expression contorted with uncertainty, and it takes a measured breath for him to finally speak.

“The point is, there’s a period where the… rejection, wasn’t upon me yet. After meeting her again, I’ve had to go on patrol, with the General, and there’d be times where the General hinted at me to write to her. Just to keep communication going.”

Taewoon pauses and glances away, shoulders slightly dropping in resignation.

“I mean, she didn’t write back. But we both know why.”

Hitomi feels bad for him, just a bit. “She might not write back this time, too,” she offers. “If I wrote one, that is.”

Taewoon looks at her again, eyes narrowing. “No ifs. You better do,” he flatly says, like Hitomi doesn’t have a choice. “If your letter isn’t among the ones sent, the General will sit you down and hint at it yourself. No one’s letters will get delivered until yours is added to the pile.” Hitomi grimaces, and Taewoon actually huffs out a laugh. “I know, right?”

“…Thank you for the heads up, Captain.”

“Sorry I’ve been a jerk about it.”

“It’s fine,” Hitomi says, unsure of what else to say in the face of the apology. Taewoon just shrugs, then turns to check on Ten.

The conversation is done.

Letters, Sakura chirps delightfully, invisible weight perching on her shoulder.

“Shut up,” Hitomi mutters.

*

To the General’s daugh—

Kim Chaew—

Dear Ch—

To whom it may concern—

“Kill me,” Hitomi mumbles, rolling up the hopeless parchment. Ten laughs lowly from the other corner of the tent.

“Our formidable soldier Honda Hito, stumped by a letter?”

“I have no bloody clue how to start it,” she grunts. Sakura’s warmth around her neck flickers like a ripple of laughter, and Hitomi doesn’t know whether it’s because of her frustration or because of her gradually more colourful language ever since she signed up for this. Probably both.

The warmth deepens slightly, as though confirming her guess.

“Pretend they’re in front of you,” Ten helpfully advises, and Hitomi zones onto his voice instead of the urge to strangle her guardian. “And imagine how you’d start a conversation with them, right at this moment. That usually helps me break the curse.”

“What if I don’t want to start a conversation?”

“Wha—okay…? Hmm. That’s hard. Is there nothing you’d like to hear from them?”

Hitomi shifts, thinks. Chaewon has told her a few about the barely budding flowers, how they’d look like when they are fully in bloom.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Then chances are they’d like to hear the same about you, too.” Ten beams. “So answer those questions yourself and write that down.”

Hitomi crinkles her nose, feeling slightly more confused. She isn’t growing any plants, so she doesn’t know how she can possibly offer any news on that front, but she thanks Ten for his help anyway, smiling at his warm ‘you’re welcome’.

A war is coming.

It’s coming heavily and fast, and Hitomi’s biggest problem right at this second is how to compose a letter to the General’s daughter. It sounds bizarrely menial, in comparison, and in some twisted sense that Hitomi is too tired to reason against, it is a smidge comforting.

It’s comforting to fret about simple things for a change.

*

Hey,

I’m staying safe, like you asked me to.
Thank you for the salve. It helped a lot, especially after our first fight. We are recuperating now, before advancing again.
Have any of your flowers bloomed?
You stay safe, too.

With regards,
Honda Hito

*

The few days afterwards are fortunately not too bloody. There are a few groups of bandits, a number of scouting spies. Taewoon leads them to chase after the latter and make sure none is able to return to report their findings.

But blood spills, still, despite Hitomi’s choice of words, the soil beneath their feet reddening and then brown. It feels never-ending. Hitomi wipes her hands whenever no one is looking, heart gradually sinking. It’s reached the pit of her stomach. It might drag her down the underground one of these days.

“Hito,” Taewoon calls after her. They have just gone back from a hunt, dumping the meat they managed to acquire to the squad assigned for dinner. She can deal with this kind of killing, having slain a grown deer with the help of Xuxi’s first arrow to its hind leg.

Hitomi halts halfway into entering the tent at the call, and turns her head towards him.

Taewoon tilts his head towards the biggest tent in the area. “The General calls for us.”

So she straightens up and comes with.

Inside the tent, there seated the General and a man dressed in an attire that screams important. Probably someone sent straight from the kingdom, and considering the situation they’re in, he must be a strategist or something along that line. After Hitomi and Taewoon enter and take a seat, four other captains commandeering the other squads come in, and the meeting is held.

Hitomi’s hunch was right.

The man is sent by the King, a war strategist tasked to check on the troop’s condition and discussing the foreseeable future. The captains introduce themselves one by one, and when it comes to Hitomi—

“I thought you only have five captains,” the man says.

“With all due respect, Sir, Honda Hito is the best strategist among us,” Taewoon says, and Hitomi refrains from looking at him even as Sakura warms inside her pouch, echoing her surprise.

He would need her to appear confident and firm. And Hitomi can do that.

“He would be your go-to when you need a detailed report on our previous battles,” Taewoon explains. She never tells him that it’s because the scenes would replay endlessly in her head, asleep or awake, as though taunting her about what could have gone better, the things she has failed to do.

Sakura warms up urgently before she spirals with the thought. Hitomi clenches down and grounds herself back enough to catch the end of Taewoon’s explanation, “…and our success in intercepting the scouting spies is partly thanks to Hito’s quick thinking.”

The strategist then looks at her, eyes speculative. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he declares. “Now, I’ll need the so-called detailed reports, then I’ll relay to you the situation back at the kingdom.”

Taewoon lets out a quiet breath. The General nods at her.

Hitomi tightens her fists and begins speaking.

*

She proved herself, she thinks.

“Yeah,” Taewoon says, ping the tent and throwing her a brief glance. “You sure did.”

Hitomi stands still, holding onto a tied scroll. Taewoon has already gone into the tent, only resurfacing a beat later to look at her when she doesn’t immediately follow. He raises his eyebrows,

“You aren’t going in?”

Hitomi takes a deep breath, then shakes her head.

“Later. I think I’ll—stay out for a bit.”

Taewoon’s gaze drifts to the scroll in her hold, and expels a huff. “Lucky bastard,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Take the shift, then,” he adds, voice devoid of any bite. Hitomi nods, and Taewoon disappears into the tent again—zipping it shut this time.

She exhales slowly and swings a step around, approaching the closest campfire to their tent.

A reply?  Sakura asks, shifting under her sleeve.

The kingdom strategist has apparently come to their camp with a stack of letters. One of them is a scroll, tied neatly with mint-coloured rope, addressed to Honda Hito.

She takes a seat, stares at what she’s holding for a long beat.

It’s not going to vanish, Sakura prods.

“I wish it would,” Hitomi murmurs to the faint crackles of fire.

You don’t mean that.

“…Shut up.”

Hitomi undoes the tie, gently setting aside the small tag with her name written on it. She slips it into her pouch, careful to not have it wrinkle, and ignores Sakura’s ensuing coo.

She slowly unrolls the scroll, unblinking.

The handwriting is—frankly—not as neat as hers, but she drinks in the penned words for a moment, gaze just glazing over the parchment without comprehending the content the first time.

Chaewon wrote back. She actually replied, and her reply is spread out before Hitomi right now, visibly and physically in Hitomi’s hold.

Hitomi furrows her brows, and flicks her gaze up to the first line.

She begins to read.

*

Hey,

I’m glad to know that you’re safe. Keep it up and be careful.
I don’t know when exactly you’re going to receive this reply, but my Knotweeds have fully bloomed at the time of writing. Yuri is already vibrating with excitement, ready to use their purple petals to brew something I don’t dare to ask her about. Better off not knowing, really.
Thank you for sending a letter, Hito. I’m glad you did. I kind of regretted not telling you ‘see you later’ when we parted, so I’m saying it now.
See you later.

Yours,
Kim Chaewon

*

Hitomi goes into the tent when her shift is over, and nudges Taewoon awake. The captain is a light-sleeper, blinking blearily after the third nudge and shifting to sit in a movement too fast.

“Your turn to keep watch, Cap,” Hitomi whispers.

“Hm,” Taewoon grunts, rubs his face, claps his cheeks and glares at the spot in front of him. “Right. Thanks.”

Hitomi lingers for a beat. Taewoon glances at her, eyebrows furrowed.

“Something wrong?”

“Um…” Hitomi briefly glances down at the scroll in her hands. “Is it expected of me to compose a reply?”

Taewoon squints at the scroll she’s holding for a moment, trying to puzzle out what she meant. When it finally registers what she’s asking, he tips his head back and lets out a long groan.

“Hito.”

“I’m—so sorry,” Hitomi backtracks. Scrambling away. “Never mind. Forget I asked! Good luck on your watch?” she adds with a grimace, and ducks away when Taewoon throws the folded clothes he was using as a pillow at her.

*

It is about time for them to finally encounter a fairly skilled group intercepting their squad while they are scoping the surrounding. It is about time they are forced to take greater risks with their actions, every second in the combat no longer giving them the luxury to ponder or doubt.

It is about time, really. Inevitable. A near future she occasionally glimpses whenever she closes her eyes.

So Hitomi doesn’t understand the grim look Taewoon directs at her after the fight is over, her heavy breaths wisps of white in the cold weather. Her sword sinks to the ground and she anchors her weight against it, holding herself up. Blood drips from where she’s pressing her hand against her stomach, and Sakura’s warmth behind her neck flickers faintly.

“Hito,” Ten heaves behind her, broken. Hitomi glares at the headless body in front of her, the clattered spear only a moment ago threatening to end her vulnerable comrade in a stab.

“You’re bleeding,” Taewoon says, wiping at his own bloody lips. His voice sounds oddly chastising, like she isn’t supposed to, and Hitomi feels her blood boil. “Xuxi. Do what you can, then we run back to the camp to get you guys treated better.”

Xuxi limps towards her, catching her gaze. “Hey,” he says, “I’ll need you to open your armor. Okay, man? I’ll stop the bleeding, wrap it up. Then we’ll see if you can walk.”

“I can,” Hitomi hisses, pressing her hand against her stomach harder. “Check on Ten,” she exhales heavily, worry subtly surfacing. Xuxi just sighs, and momentarily leaves to advise Taewoon on Ten’s visible injury. Hitomi closes her eyes and thinks, Sakura.

Yeah, kid?

The disguise won’t fall, right?

Sakura is silent for a moment.

No, the guardian finally replies after a breath. But are you going to insist on that instead of letting me heal you a bit?

Yes, Hitomi thinks back, firmly. Sakura’s warmth flickers with disagreement, but settles when Xuxi returns.

Hitomi opens her eyes and listens to his instructions, following his requests, gritting her teeth at the pain.

The disguise can’t fall, of course, or this entire thing would have been pointless. That shouldn’t even be a question. Her sight blurs a little, Xuxi’s voice growing faint as it nears.

She wonders why it’s ever a question.

*

“Write a reply.”

Hitomi’s eyes flutter open. She glances to her left, where Taewoon is sitting cross-legged on the floor of their tent. She doesn’t bother attempting to sit, recalling the last time she tried, Ten and Xuxi yelling at her and Sakura’s warmth burning warningly around her wrist.

“Captain?”

“Write a reply,” Taewoon repeats. “To Chaewon.”

Hitomi furrows her brows. “But no one is scheduled to report to the kingdom anytime soon.”

“I don’t care.”

“But—”

“For ’s sake, Hito!” Taewoon snaps, voice rising. Hitomi flinches at his ire, but holds her tongue. “Just write it! Okay? Talk about things, write it down. Don’t think about how it’d reach her. Write like it would. You need this.”

Hitomi takes a deep breath, watching him. Noticing his worry, though she is failing to grasp why. Still, this is an order, it sounds like one, so she responds to it the way she is required to.

“Will do.”

Taewoon heaves a breath. Hitomi wonders if he commanded Ten and others the same thing, and has a strange inkling that he didn’t.

“Good. See to it that you really do.”

She nods.

*

Hey,

it’s good to know that the plants are growing well. Captain is being overbearing right now and forces me to

Hitomi takes a deep breath, wincing when it sparks a squeezing ache in her stomach. She rips the inked parchment off and starts a new one.

Hey,

it’s good to know that the plants are growing well. This letter will find you very late, more flowers must have bloomed. May their colour glint perfectly under the sunlight.

Hitomi pauses briefly, eyebrows furrowing. Another deep breath and a faint sting of pain, she presses the tip of her quill against the parchment again, pouring out.

I got injured in the latest encounter. It’s about time, and I took the risks I needed to take. The scenes keep replaying in my head. I don’t think I’d do anything differently.
Sometimes safe means living without war. I’m in one. I can’t wish to stay safe. I’m sorry for that.
I hope you are well.

Best regards,
Honda Hito

Hitomi lingers at her closing. Thinks back to ‘Yours, Kim Chaewon’, and reminds herself that it’s because of their façade, nothing else. She cuts the parchment off the main scroll and carefully rolls it up, takes out the mint-coloured rope from Chaewon’s letter and uses it to tie hers.

She has no one to give it to. The General hasn’t said anything about sending his right-hand man to the kingdom, so Hitomi stows it away inside her bag. The request was to write. She did.

The order is fulfilled.

*

A war is—

going.

It’s going on, imminent. Who knows when it will sweep them into its whirl, who knows if it hasn’t already?

Hitomi lets herself heal halfway, then takes what is left of the salve to slather over her aching wound. She wraps herself with a fresh bandage, forcing herself away from lingering at the scent of herbs and mint.

She dresses inside the empty tent, donning her armor. She pushes herself up, lips thinning when she manages to push the pain down without grimacing. Then she walks, steps growing firm when the ache turns out bearable, and goes out of the open flaps.

“Hito,” Xuxi’s voice comes first, surprised. She looks up and waves away at the concerned lines on his face,

“I’m fine. You healed me.” She stops and recalls one of the thoughts flitting past her when she was in-and-out of consciousness: Xuxi has a power. She knows she isn’t supposed to heal this quick, self-sabotaging aside. She knows she should have entered a more critical condition after the battle, but Xuxi was there and he prevented her body from deteriorating too fast. It’s curious.

Xuxi says, “You need one more day of rest.”

Hitomi shakes her head. “I can’t afford that,” she says, tucks away the hunch about Xuxi’s guardian, that he has one, and wishes she could ask Sakura about it.

Sakura.

Hitomi furrows her brows, grasping at the lack of warmth even after her thought. She swallows and tries to think again, Sakura?

Her only answer is silence.

Silence, and when she looks up there is Ten. Standing in place of Xuxi, gaze hard, jaw set. This is the first time she sees him with no trace of warmth on his expression. He parts her lips, says heavily,

“You’re not allowed to take a second spear for me.”

Hitomi blinks at him. Wonders why this seems to be a sore spot for a lot.

“I can’t let you die,” she hears herself say, in Hito’s voice. Distanced, detached, but acutely feeling every pain under the loosely worn armor, a pang hitting her chest when Ten’s expression darkens with something akin to anguish.

“Hito, you—”

“Have written a reply I asked for. Haven’t you?”

Taewoon’s approaching voice cuts in, calmly. Ten shuts up, but his snarl still hurts. Hitomi sighs, angles away from him to face their captain, and shoves down the urge to spiral.

“Yes.”

“Show me the proof.”

“I’m not lying, Captain.”

Taewoon steps forward. “Then you’d have no problem showing me the proof,” he says, and something in his face softens. “Please.”

Hitomi closes her eyes and gives a resigned nod, turning around to lead them back into the tent.

*

Except the scroll is gone.

“Hito,” Taewoon warns.

“No, I wrote it,” Hitomi breathes out, voice rising a step, a slight shake running across her fingertips as she rummages through her bag. “I really did. I can recite the content to you, if you’d like—”

“Maybe you dreamt it up,” Ten offers. Hitomi is glad he doesn’t consider her a liar even in his hurt, and holds her tongue from immediately tossing away his words.

“I don’t know,” she sighs, finally, because despite her insistence, the scroll is gone. (Sakura is, too, the voice in the back of her mind reminds her, and Hitomi feels significantly colder.) She draws away from her bag and faces Taewoon, shrinking slightly at his deep frown. “I’m sorry, Cap. I’ll write up one again.”

“You aren’t allowed to join the night watch until you do,” Taewoon says.

Hitomi inclines her head, knowing a lost battle when she sees one. “I understand.”

The rest pours out of the tent afterwards, Ten lingering for a minute but finally exiting with one last resigned look that makes Hitomi look away.

Sakura, she thinks. Touches at her face, still feeling Honda Hito’s features. The charm isn’t dropped, but Sakura isn’t answering. A trickle of dread settles inside her chest—is this silence temporary, permanent, this should be temporary—her disguise hasn’t fallen yet but Sakura has never not responded to her before and she has come to rely on the occasional flare of warmth to remind her to feel more than she realizes but she might not have that now and who knows if she will have it back ever, why is her surrounding so cold—

Hitomi forces out a breath, opening her bag again. She retrieves a scroll tied up by an ordinary rope, because the mint-coloured one has been used, she remembers, didn’t dream it up, why is it gone why is Sakura gone why is the tent empty and her fingertips cold and her insides twisting like it’s trying to shrink and—

Hitomi opens the scroll, taking in the first line.

Hey.

She takes a shuddering breath, hanging onto the written word for a long beat before she moves onto the next line.

I’m glad to know that you’re safe.

Another breath. Her heartbeat still thunders inside her ribcage, air struggling to regulate itself inside her lungs.

Keep it up and be careful.

She closes her eyes and tries to hear it in the General’s daughter’s voice. Sakura, she pleads. The lack of answer strangles her next exhale, physical ache entwined with another kind.

She sniffs and opens her eyes, glares at the written lines before her.

I don’t know when exactly you’re going to receive this reply, but my Knotweeds have fully bloomed at the time of writing—

She forces herself to read the letter even though she hasn’t forgotten. The Knotweeds were blooming, she repeats, lips moving silently to mouth the words as her heartbeat ripples painfully with every stretch of breath.

The Knotweeds had fully bloomed. Their petals were purple. Yuri, Chaewon’s friend, was excited to use it for a concoction.

I kind of regretted not telling you ‘see you later’, the letter reads, filling Hitomi’s sight and forcing her to swallow heavily, the aching thump of her blood painful and thick but anchored, for now, for a bit, instead of all over the place without a shape—

Kid?

Hitomi stops breathing for a beat, tight grip going slack. Sakura.

Kid. Warmth coils around her left shoulder, pressing and fading like a pulse. Hitomi chokes with embarrassing relief, slightly curling into herself.

“Where—where have you—”

Look at your lap.

Hitomi sets the letter she’s reading aside, and blinks down at a scroll that wasn’t there a moment ago, along with a small jar that looks identical with the one she owns—with the one she was gifted with.

The scroll is rolled up, tied neatly with a mint-coloured strand. There is no identifier for the recipient, but perhaps the string and the fact that it is dropped in her lap are enough hint.

“Sakura,” Hitomi heaves, halfway between a snort and a sob.

Open it, the guardian hums, warmth dimming but not leaving.

So she does.

*

Hey.

The flowers are well. Yuri burned her first batch, so we’re brewing again. You mentioned that you liked the colour peach? One of our ginsengs has that colour. We harvested yesterday. This might seem random, but I thought you’d like to know.
I won’t lie; I’m worried about your injury, but thank you for telling me, Hito. Please give yourself as much time as you can afford to heal. I’m sure the other soldiers would cover for you.
Have you thought about what you are going to do after you make it?

Yours,
Kim Chaewon

*

“Oh,” Hitomi quietly exhales. “She is worried.”

Her thumb caresses the neat parchment, gaze fixated on the last line of the letter’s body.

‘Have you thought about what you are going to do after you make it?’

Of course Chaewon would be worried.

They would, after all, have to explain their circumstances to the General after everything is over. A façade has to give, at some point. (Even though she refuses to think about what happens when her own does.)

She thinks of it, for a beat.

Sakura warms down. Hitomi thinks of what she has, herself and Sakura’s warmth. Her pride flickering and weighing down her stomach with every strike of her sword. Her root, chopped up and swept away by the days she spends waking up as Honda Hito, her brother safe in their home, left alone to ponder about his only sister. She thinks, Sakura, you will return to the altar and look after my brother, won’t you, and smiles thinly over the warmth that sharpens in response.

(She doesn’t try to translate what it means.)

Hitomi thinks of the war, the lies, the increasing risks that hang over her as the war starts to bite into the armor of time.

(She finds her answer.)

*

Hey,

you don’t have to worry.
I’m not planning to.

Best regards,
Honda Hito

*

She shows her scroll to Taewoon, who doesn’t ask to read the content. He just observes her carefully for a long minute, then nods his permission for her to join the squad again.

Hitomi stows the scroll into her bag, then. Places Chaewon’s second reply at the deepest pocket, along with the first. She grits her teeth at every inch of pain that runs across her nerves, and moves, moves, moves.

No one challenges her into a spar, so she sharpens her blade. She sits with other squads whenever they just returned, drinking in the shared details and wracks her brain for strategies. She works herself up with a set of exercise, only faltering when the General watches her from his tent.

Taewoon approaches her. Gives her a belt of throwing knives, and offers to stay while she tries to master them. She accepts it even though she knows that she’s allowing Taewoon to watch and worry over her grimaces.

She just has to grimace less.

“Hito,” he says after she manages to hit the make-do bullseye for the third time, blue sky blurring into layers of orange. “What do you think of the General’s daughter?”

Hitomi halts, the fourth knife not leaving her hold. She turns to face him.

“What do you mean,” she says.

“What’s she like?” Taewoon asks, shrugs at Hitomi’s continued stare.

So she thinks. She turns towards the carved tree, throws the fourth knife—shoulders only easing when it bumps against the hilt of the third knife she hasn’t retrieved from the bullseye, and clatters into the ground.

“Like a flower,” she says, voice coming off softer than she ever intends.

Taewoon doesn’t question it.

When Taewoon’s squad inevitably gets called for an assignment, scouting the area where the other squad has reported to be empty of harm but oddly tense like they were being watched, Ten stops her halfway into packing the necessary tools.

He seems to want to say a lot, a flurry of emotions crossing his eyes for a hot second, but then he settles with one palm over Hitomi’s gloved knuckles.

“Don’t get hurt for me,” he tells her, and leaves without waiting for her answer.

Hitomi watches him scoot towards his own belongings, and tries to puzzle out the heaviness his words leave behind.

*

Hito,

Live.

Yours, truly
Kim Chaewon

*

Their squad gets ambushed.

(Hitomi feels cursed, but maybe each of them bears their own curse, maybe they are a bunch of curses grouped into one, luring Death in.)

The snow is fickle under their footing, one time hard and the next second trickier than sand. The cold numbs her ache, though, and she skids forward with a certain swing of her arms. She wields her sword and lets the thrum of her adrenaline drive her blade into an enemy’s chest, kicking the writhing body away and nearly slipping as she pivots to block the swing of another aiming towards her.

She vaguely hears Taewoon giving order to Xuxi and another man Hitomi doesn’t know enough to remember. The enemy grunts, lands a kick to her stomach—and Hitomi grits her teeth down to stifle the sharp pain, shifting her footing to repel the following hit with the hilt of her sword. The man stumbles back, centre of mass shifting.

A tree, she thinks, falling.

She projects a bullseye for her to aim, pulls a throwing knife from her belt and launches it at him. It lodges into his neck. He falls, hits his head upon a sharp rock, and she ignores the sickening crunch that faintly echoes, lifting her sword. She delivers the finishing blow, and—

“Hito, watch out!”

She jerks back, whirls, wielding the lifted sword warm with blood not yet drying up while her second throwing knife twirls swiftly on her other hand. She accepts the rushing enemy with a feral grin that feels wrong on her face, letting out a cry as she dashes forward.

*

When all is done (in the most fleeting sense because this nightmare is nowhere near done), Hitomi plants her sword into the cold ground, her weight heavily leaning against it to stop herself from sinking.

(Her heart sinks deeper, still. It has reached the sole of her feet.)

*

Taewoon finds her inside their tent an hour after settling. “The General calls for us,” he says, a small smile on his lips. Relieved to get them back to the camp physically intact.

Hitomi is just glad he has stopped looking like Hitomi has done a grave mistake.

She tucks the small scroll she found inside the pouch of her belt and nods. She rises, slowly so the constant ache still plaguing her stomach doesn’t double, and tries to not think of the brief letter she’s just read.

She doesn’t need to try, because Sakura warms around her neck. Your flower wants you to live.

She ignores her guardian and follows Taewoon out.

*

The meeting almost doesn’t make sense. She only has to take a glance at Taewoon’s expression to confirm that she isn’t the only one grasping to make heads and tails out of the stream of information shared by the strategist.

“The other troop we sent to the South has gone back,” the man says. “Enemies are heading towards your end. Towards here.”

Then the strategist talks, under the General’s prodding, of the reason why they are marching at all, and Hitomi’s head spins a little more. The reason behind the war is a long-running personal grudge. Not economy, nor display of power, nor greed for more lands. It’s because of a grudge of a royal, a thought long simmering with whispers of vengeance that finally takes form and materializes into… this.

“Their army is far greater than your current troop,” the strategist tells the General. “Chances aren’t good. It will be easy for them to overwhelm you. You will need reinforcement, but the enemies are expected to reach in a week. Our spy—” and the strategist straightens with pride, “manages to get back at me to say as much, halfway into my trip to here.”

“How long does it take for reinforcement from the kingdom?”

“With a size enough to have a fair chance? Ten days, give and take. You have travelled far from the kingdom,” the strategist says, a hint of appreciation at their travelling skills underlying his words. “The hills would slow us down in catching up. It slowed me.”

The hills. They did travel through them, the terrain proving to be a challenge because every turn could be enemies in hiding. Hitomi hates the hills. Taewoon told her he hates it, too, once on the occasion where they kept watch at night on the same shift.

“Sweeping the hills clean have given my men injuries more than I could imagine,” the General heavily says, directs it to the strategist. “It should be safe to travel through them now, but it will take a long time, as you’ve said.”

The hills. High and daunting at night, the plains below them dark where the moonlight doesn’t reach. Hitomi swallows, a flicker of hope thumping inside her chest and then spilling out of .

“We can shorten the reinforcement time. And lengthen our enemies’ journey.”

All eyes turn to her.

The strategist leans forward, hands steepled under his chin. Eyes glinting as though he has been waiting for this. “You’re advising that the troop retreats?”

“Towards the hills, yes.”

“Explain your thinking.”

“We’re relying on the fact that we haven’t left any scouting spies alive,” Hitomi starts, breath steady even as her fingertips grow cold with nerves. “We will rely on the fact that the enemies don’t have a clear knowledge of our number.”

And she talks more. She talks of the hilltops and how the lands under would look like at night, talks of the logical relation between the size of a camp and the size of its campfire seen from afar, talks of a legend in her village about seven spirits that would visit the temple and hang around all night—the truth behind it a mere child orphaned by war, lighting six candles in honour of his dead family and then his own, replacing and relighting them throughout the night they were taken to not feel as alone.

(There is a similar illusion they can manage, to give impression that they are far greater than their actual amount.)

Please Subscribe to read the full chapter