"War Flower"

It was the summer of Kamakura, the third year of the Kenryaku era (1213).

The winds of war blew across the Sagami plains, and the smell of blood and steel filled the air.

The remnants of the Genji and Taira clans raised their respective flags, shouted battle cries, and fought each other with their swords.

Arrows split the sky, and the neighing of horses shook the earth. But when night fell, the fields fell into silence.

Only corpses lay scattered beneath the moonlight.

In that field, an unknown flower bloomed.

It was called the war flower.

Its petals were white and thin, like the empty shells of souls.

The morning after a battle, it would suck the blood of the dead, feed on the corpses, and bloom in profusion all over the place.

It is said that this flower is invisible to the living.

But the young monk Ren could see it.

He had a habit of wandering battlefields. Though he was entrusted to the temple, whenever he heard rumors of war he would sneak out into the fields. By facing death face to face, he hoped to discover the meaning of life.

That day, Ren stood in a bloody field.

As morning mist rolled in, war flowers swayed among the corpses.

The flowers were so beautiful, like the robes of a heavenly maiden. But at their base lay the head of a young warrior, his eyes still wide open, and the corpse of a horse pierced by an arrow.

Ren reached out to pluck a flower, but his fingertips trembled.

The flower was cold, and it was as if he was holding death itself.

"What emptiness," Ren muttered.

War flowers only bloom after a life-taking battle. Human greed and hatred are transformed into flowers like this.

Beautiful, but meaningless, Ren thought.

Why do people fight? Is it for honor or territory? Or was it simply to allow death to bloom?

Across the field, a new battle cry rang out.

The next battle was about to begin. Ren knew it.

Tomorrow, this field would be filled with even more war flowers. Warriors would slash each other, bleed, and turn into flowers. Their names would be forgotten, and only the flowers would remain.

Ren picked up a war flower.

The petals were so fragile they seemed as if they would shatter at the touch. The boy closed his eyes and prayed.

"If only this flower could be a mirror that reflects the human heart," he thought.

But the wind blew, and the flower scattered.

The drums of war sounded again, and the field was once again stained with blood.

At dusk, Ren returned to the temple.

A sea of ​​war flowers spread out behind him.

A beautiful, yet empty, flower field.

It simply swayed quietly, as if mocking the fleeting nature of human life.