It was at the conclusion of summer in the far-south, in the city-state of Minglin. The firespeak trees' leaves had turned violent red, and a spicy scent was in the air. The Sun was setting in the West, flushing the sky with hues of bronze, red, and violet. The shimmer of the dying Sun cast itself upon the waters of Minglin's shore where Heijin was sitting on a large boulder. His sheathed katana was resting against his right shoulder, rooted between his crossed legs. He gazed with dark eyes at his distorted reflection.
As the Sun's last light dipped below the horizon, the firespeak trees' leaves began to glow. Some of them took flight, twirling and floating through the air as though they were being carried by a gentle breeze, but they never fell to the ground and simply drifted by their own efforts. The stars began to show themselves against the navy velvet of the night sky, and Heijin arose, katana in hand. The sweet, distant songs from the temple's evening service were carried all the way to the ocean. Heijin breathed deep ...
Chill sound of black steel
Blood, water, the red ocean
Quiet at last. Splash.
