Journey of the Heart Book 1: Footsteps/Chapter One

High above hovered the full moon, gazing down at the restless night. Clouds rolled by, though they didn’t dare overstay their welcome. Such a peace was a necessary balance at times like these. To disturb it would be almost taboo. Topped in the snow of late autumn, the mountains stood crowning the horizon, glistening in the moonlight as they often did. A gentle breeze blew over them and down into the valley, caressing the shrubbery that dotted the mostly rocky terrain. Calm was the first impression, surrounding the valley in a lulling security… That is, until one took a closer look.
Smoke rose to join the deficit of clouds, trespassing in their haven and masking the moon’s endearing gaze. An orange glow emanated from the valley’s center, like a sunset drawing the night across the sky. All was not calm. The night was not gentle. This was war.
Body after body charged forward. Some climbed the wall before them, some vaulted over, and some barrelled right through it. Bullets of fire and earth flew overhead, arcing towards the golden rooftops. A second army was the only opposition, much smaller in numbers while infinitely larger in spirit. Their home was their pride, their everything. They would gladly defend it with their lives, and on this night some would have to. Hammer met blade, blade met flesh. Such was a clash that none would forget, should they of course live to remember it.
Structure after structure was destroyed. The last of the shelter for the innocent slowly began to fade. Lives were taken before their time, a horrid sight indeed. A bat in brown cloak forcefully made his way through the shutters of a nearby abode. In the past he had been a member of the dreaded Yagyu Clan. Such actions were natural to him, but he had wanted to make more of himself. On this night he discovered that the path he chose was one with no detours. The shattered wood tore his garb and scraped his flesh, a small price to pay for the prize he sought out. His arms met the cold, rough floor, followed by his head, his back, and on his feet once more. Set at a stunted height, he rushed his gaze across the room. In the corner were a mother and child, trembling in terror as they coddled each other against the harsh circumstances. The child cried into her mother’s arms while the mother stared back at the intruder. Her eyes were clouded in fear, his in remorse, regret, guilt. And then nothing.
Hidden away in a dark cellar was the last of the safety. A haven of sorts, locked away from the war above. Though, still was there a sense of uncertainty, as the safety was not guaranteed. Boxes were stacked, lining the walls as the cobwebs lined them. Dust was abundant, as were the small pests which crowded the few unidentifiable spills on the floor. The stench of old food and alcohol plagued the recycled air. Truly this was an unlivable place but, relative to what went on overhead, it was a utopia.
“Ill at ease as always, Homura?” chuckled the puerile gecko, sitting high atop a stack of crates, “Surely you aren’t thinking of going out there yourself.” His companion was a rather large crocodile, and a disgruntled one at that.
“I cannot stand to wait idly by and do nothing to help, especially while Nobunaga is out there with his men!” Homura growled. With them were six others. Seven, plus the Nobunaga of whom Homura spoke, were the Masters of the Orochi Clan. The Orochi were a proud people, true warriors who never backed down against even the toughest of obstacles. Among the seven Masters in the cellar was Ichiro, a young Orochi Warrior who made it his duty to protect his masters. “Please Master Minarai, be mature, particularly in such times as these,” Ichiro scolded to the gecko. He tried his hardest to be respectable, namely because he too felt Homura’s impatience. He wanted to help.
“Ichiro, go,” uttered Satoshi, an elderly tortoise, “We will be fine where we are. Your brethren out there need you more than we do.” Satoshi had personally trained Ichiro for much of his life, and the two had developed a strong bond. If there was one thing that Ichiro knew for sure, it was that Satoshi could be trusted. “Sato—Master Mizumi… thank you,” Ichiro responded with a bow, before sprinting up the cellar steps. The Masters said nothing more. They awaited their fate in silence, whatever it may be.
Resurfacing amidst the fires of war, Ichiro ran ahead. His staff in hand, he tore through the central road of the village, attacking the invaders along the way while not once stopping. The one he wanted was elsewhere, atop the hills outside the village walls. There, he would decide the fate of his people.
* * *
Sunrise struck like a bullet. Its light was blinding, barging in uninvited to the shadows of the rocky trail. Stirring in his premature awakening, Ichiro let out a powerful yawn. The wispy smoke of a late bonfire tickled his senses, allowing him the start to take in his surroundings. Morning had come to pull him away from his visions of the past. Still did they plague him, and he was thankful for the interruption.
Leaving his camp behind, Ichiro headed north. His trek led him through the mountains. With only two days of grace remaining, covering ground was the top priority. The path was seldom walked, and for good reason. Few surfaces were flat enough to gain sufficient footing, and rockslides were common. At a lower elevation, several spires and formations jutted out from the floor of the crevasse. At a glance it seemed beautifully illuminated by the light of dawn. Ichiro knew better than to be fooled by appearances. He kept his distance from the drop-off, looking over occasionally at what was down below. One rock stood tall, resembling a mighty serpent. It bore its fangs in a menacing sneer, clawing its way around another rock, ready to attack.
“Do not be so quick to judge it, Ichiro,” Satoshi called out. Years younger, Ichiro fought against a large serpent, or ‘fire demon’ as Satoshi called it. “Carefully observe its movements before you choose to act.”
Having dove out of the way of a powerful bite, Ichiro readied his naginata and rushed at the creature’s neck. Anticipating his attack, the serpent reared its head back to avoid the slash and swiftly brought its back end forward. Satoshi hardly had time to shout his warning before the beast lashed the blazing sword it called a tail forward. This time Ichiro did not come out unscathed; quite the opposite, in fact. The burning blade caught the base of Ichiro’s tail, easily tearing it off and cauterizing the remaining stub with its flames in the process. Ichiro fell to his knees, howling in pain as the beast brought its head around once more for a finishing strike. Luckily for Ichiro his master was at the ready. Waving his staff at the massive serpent, its head quickly became submerged in a jet of water. It slowly backed off as the elderly tortoise continued his nonlethal onslaught.
“You need to practice caution, Ichiro. When an opportunity presents itself, you must be absolutely sure it is one worth taking, and one that will pay off. Not only must you pick your battles, but also when it is right for them to end. Know when it is right…”
* * *
A small fall of rock in front of him snapped Ichiro out of his second recount of days past that morning. He looked up at the rock face to check for a disturbance, but it appeared to be nothing more than a light rockslide. Continuing forward, he found the morning’s dream slipping its way back into his mind. That day, all those years ago, would not cease to bother him, and on this journey it worked overtime. Images flashed behind his eyes. The burning houses, the gash in Master Ryuu’s side, none of it was forgotten. One in particular stood out among the rest. Ichiro remembered stepping through the gates of his village, to see Kokoro Valley’s rugged horizon before him. Under the light of the moon stood a lone figure draped in black. In a blind rage Ichiro rushed forward, ready to meet the figure with the face of his hammer staff. No sight was more infuriating to him than that figure on that night. He shook the thoughts out of his head, trying to remain calm as he went onward. Frustration would not become him on such an occasion. 
The sun lay low in the western sky now. Behind Ichiro stood the mighty Kamon mountain range, and before him the vast wood of Muon. He was nearly at his destination, and with a day to spare he felt that he had made good time. Lit a bright orange, the path ahead led through the trees until it tapered out of sight. He didn’t look back, stepping off the rock and onto the softer dirt, a pleasing change for his sandaled feet. Tomorrow he would rest, settle. The next… the next would be a true sight to behold. The whole forest, up in lights. And oh, how lit it shall be.
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