Soul Of The Sword

I remembered the fierceness in Okame’s eyes when he kissed Daisuke, the look on the noble’s face as he returned it.

The Dragon Spine Mountains.
The sun climbed higher into the sky, sliding in and out of the clouds, and the rolling plains went on. We dozed in the back of the cart, Reika slumped against the crates, Daisuke with his hands in his lap and his head on his chest. Okame snored quietly, echoing Master Jiro’s shallow, wheezing breaths and occasional cough from the front. My eyes fluttered closed, and in that strange place between consciousness and dreams, I thought I heard Tatsumi’s voice. Calling to me.

Aka the Red, a half-demon whose name was quickly rising through the ranks of monsters and humans alike, met my gaze with glittering crimson eyes that held no emotion whatsoever.

“I am a lover of art and beauty, Okame-san,” he said with a shrug. “I have learned that it can be found anywhere, regardless of station or circumstance. True beauty is rare, hidden and often overlooked by others. And it can appear at the strangest times. I try to appreciate it when I see it.”