Takeda's Journey

The rain had softened to a drizzle, the sky a dull gray that mirrored the heaviness in Takeda's chest. He stepped out of the cave, the cool air biting at his skin. The world outside felt vast and empty, a stark contrast to the suffocating darkness he had just escaped. His clothes were torn, his body bruised, and his hands still trembled faintly from the fight.

He had nothing.

Nothing but the short blade he still clutched in his hand and the soaked clothes clinging to his skin. No food, no water, no shelter. Nothing.

He looked around, the muddy plains stretching as far as the eye could see. The battlefield was far behind, but the echoes of screams and flames still rang in his mind. The dragon, the raiders, the dead… it all felt like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

"What do I do now?" he murmured, his voice barely audible over the patter of rain.

He had no answer. No family to return to, no home to seek refuge in. His mother had died years ago, taken by an illness no one could cure. His father, a simple soldier, had fallen in battle long before Takeda could understand what that meant. He had never known anything but loneliness.

And now, he didn't even have that.

He had joined the army against his will, like so many others. The lord of the **Land of Rain** had decreed that every man, woman, and child old enough to hold a weapon must serve. Villages had been emptied, families torn apart. Takeda hadn't had a choice. No one had.

"Why do I keep going?" he wondered, his eyes fixed on the misty horizon.

He had no goal, no dream. Just a war that never seemed to end. A war that took everything and gave nothing in return.

But he couldn't stay here. He had to move.

The nearest stronghold was a day's walk away. A place where he might find some respite, maybe even rations and a dry bed. But what was the point? To go back to the fight? To die like his father, like so many others?

He clenched his fists, feeling the faint crackle of lightning in his veins. He hadn't asked for this power. He hadn't asked for this life.

"I don't have a choice," he muttered, as if trying to convince himself.

He started walking, his feet sinking into the mud with each step. The rain continued to fall, washing the blood from his hands, his face. But it couldn't wash away what he had done. What he had become.

Loneliness was his only companion.

---

**The road to the stronghold was long and silent.**

Takeda walked, his thoughts swirling in his mind. He remembered his mother, her gentle smile, her warm hands brushing his hair. "Be strong, Takeda," she had told him once, when he cried after a fall. "Life is hard, but you're stronger than it."

Was that true? Was he strong? Or just fast? Just lucky?

He didn't know.

He also remembered his father, a quiet, stern man who left at dawn and returned at dusk, his face lined with exhaustion. Takeda had never really known him. But he remembered the last time he had seen him, standing in front of their small house, sword in hand. "I'll come back," he had promised.

He never had.

Takeda clenched his fists, feeling a dull anger rise within him. Why did he have to live this way? Why did he have to fight, kill, survive?

He had no answer.

---

**The stronghold finally appeared on the horizon, a dark, imposing silhouette in the mist.**

Takeda paused for a moment, staring at the fortress. It was a grim place, made of gray stone and watchtowers. A place where people like him came to die.

He took a deep breath, trying to push away the dark thoughts. He had no choice. He had to keep going.

But as he approached the gates, a question came to mind, one he had never dared to ask before:

"What if I left?"

The answer didn't come.

He stepped into the stronghold, leaving the rain and shadows behind. But he knew that, no matter where he went, the loneliness would follow.

And so would the war.