[Nakajima Seika]

It was strange, the shifts and twists this discussion had taken.

Under normal circumstances, she would have immolated anyone who dared to disagree with her assertions so fiercely, would have ended their life in the most painful, torturous way possible for daring to think themselves her intellectual better. And yet, when it came to this man, in this moment, she didn’t want to. There was a thirst in her soul, a desire to pit her mind against his- to see which of them held the superior ideology, the superior mind… and in so doing, prove which of them was right.

"‘The greatest of blazes begins, not with a scream of rage upon the battlefield, but a single spark in the hearts of men.’” She said after a long moment, her gaze following the embers as they floated off of the fire before them. It was a quote, the originator long since lost to the ages, but she was certain Mori would recognize it; it had been made famous for being included in a treatise on the nature of life and society during the ages long reign of the Samurai over the continent, a work that had formed the philosophical core of several late stage rebellions against the flagging Shogunate. Its author had been killed, and most copies existed only in fragments or partial recollections in other works… but the quote remained.

"You are right, of course. I alone cannot bring the world to its knees.” Seika said, continuing on as the embers flickered, the fire slowly waning before them, burning itself out. "But I know that things are not set in stone. The system, rotted as it is, will burn if the right flame is applied.” It was not a matter of if, not a matter of how- but when. She had spent too long trapped beneath the heel of her lessers, made to bow and scrape to those who were not worthy to so much as breathe the same air, let alone control her.

But no more.

"It will happen, Shindera-san. The wood of this world is rotted and dry; all it needs is a single spark, and the fire will catch.” And I will be that spark, one way or the other.

Shindera Mori

[Shindera Mori]

An eyebrow raised, a snort of air. The quote caught Mori off guard, he’d expected the woman to deny his assertion outright, to become enraged at his staunch opposition. Instead, she’d quoted a philosopher, one he’d read in what felt like a lifetime ago in a dusty alcove in a library in Kumogakure. He wondered how the matron was doing, the thought dancing across his mind unbidden, she’d always greeted him with kindness and tact. That particular treatise had been a source of great inspiration for the young shinobi, the tale of rebellious young men taking arms against a tyrant shogun, the words of philosophers and poets spurring them to action, to arms. Injustice had taken root, and the fury in response had blazed across a nation like wildfire, consuming it into the flames of civil war. Yet in spite of the reverence he held it in, he’d never managed to find the original text. It was rare, lost to time, quoted by authors and philosophers since. A seedling that had born great fruit. A rather apt metaphor. Both for the might of rebellion against injustice, against the corruption and decadence represented by that long-forgotten shogun, and the current ruling caste of the shinobi villages. But also of those institutions themselves. They had been planted long ago, and the tree had taken root. "And you too are right,” Mori conceded, "The system is not carved from stone. No thing man creates is. All that is certain is death, that is the one absolute. Everything that comes before hand exists in but a temporary state of being.” "Yet the gnarled oak can weather storms and fires,” He sighed, a sad sound, one of a man defeated. "Wood, if exposed to water, to elements and the natural state of being, will rot,” Mori looked the woman up and down, "But it will remain wet, festering, a reek that remains and will not cease. Insects and molluscs will make it home, yet the deadwood will not burn… The rot will merely spread.” "The roots must be destroyed,” He stated simply, "That spark, that fire… It must do more than burn away the world. It must eviscerate the underlying causes of the rot.” Dark eyes blazed hot, "Sever the head and more grow back in its place. The beast needs to be removed from existence, its very memory relegated to the annals of history and philosophy… That… That is what I fear is beyond the scope of mortal men. Time, I fear, may be our only weapon.”

Nakajima Seika

[Nakajima Seika]

Seika listened to Mori speak, her gaze shifting slowly, imperceptibly, towards the man, her gaze flat and unreadable in the flickering light of their campfire. The man’s words were passionate, yes, full of the same vigor and desire they had been moments before; but beneath the fervor lie something sinister, a kernel of doubt, a sense of defeat that no true warrior would ever hold onto, no matter their doubts. To her, at least, it meant there was something beyond his words- something deeper, an underlying darkness that had pushed him to hate the system, but refused to believe it was weak enough to be overthrown.

"If you cannot see it, then it will never happen.” She said after a long moment, voice calm but forceful, her gaze blazing with the same white-fire as before, now focused and magnified, as if every word from her mouth served to make them stronger. "That was the first lesson I learned when I began to master my clan’s hijutsu. To visualize what you want, to picture it in your mind… if you cannot do that, the fire will rage, the flames will burn, but you will not control them.”

She stood then, sudden and swift, her hands dusting off the dirt from her frame as she continued speaking, voice growing to match Mori’s fervor, her blazing gaze like a beacon of light in the dwindling evening sun, bathing the landscape in brilliant white… and yet, not a single flame passed from her body, not a single ember caught the tinder beneath her feet. Nothing was burnt but what she wished- and right now, she did not wish anything to burn just yet. Visualization was the first skill she had mastered, after all.

"You may have given up hope that the tree can be felled, but I have not. I will not. Even if it takes my whole life, I will see this world and those who rule it burnt to ash beneath my feet. There is no root so deep that it cannot be pulled free. And if it is impossible for men to do it…” Seika paused then her frame shifting between flame and flesh as she looked up to the sky, her gaze growing the slightest hint of mania as, at last, she understood what needed to be done. What she had to do, to ensure her vision came to pass.

"Then I will become the goddess who sets the world free in a sea of flames.”

Shindera Mori

[Shindera Mori]

Seika burned with a passion, both her words and her body. For a moment, Mori was transfixed, the words that the woman spoke transforming her from mortal flesh to something else. She believed, she truly believed, that she had the power to destroy the system that had taken hold of the world itself, that had buried its corrupted influence into the very soil and fabric of lands and nations. And for that short moment, he believed her, he allowed himself to be taken in by her passion and by her fervour. Was he not betraying himself to a self-defeating prophecy? What change could be eventuated without those willing to step forth to make such change. "A journey begins with but a single step,” He mumbled to himself, a quiet musing when compared to her fervent outburst. "Apologies,” He mused, "Not a philosophical treatise, but an apt children’s parable…” He closed his mouth and his eyes, the flashes of light staining the insides of his eyelids white as he dwelled on the thoughts, on her words for a moment. The glimmer of hope he had felt was quelled, returned to the shadow and silenced. The woman was impressive, but he had seen too much, suffered too much to truly allow himself to grow hopeful. Yet, he was ever the diplomat, at least when he wasn’t stained in the blood of those whom he could not charm, "I would long to see such a world. One built anew on ashes, like the saplings that require fire to germinate, to live, to spread.” The words were truthful, but were tinged with sadness all the same. He swirled the remnants of the leaves in his cup, before packing up the remainder of his set, returning it to his blood-stained travel pack. "You are a most interesting woman, Nakajima Seika,” He inclined his head in a subtle bow, before raising to his feet, matching her blazing eyes with his own of dulled brown, "I shall pray for your prosperity. Who knows, mayhaps, at some point the first of your flames will lap at the world. I would long to see such up close.” Views similar but dissimilar, approaches both bathed in blood but one adorned in blazing light and the other forced to a flickering candle illuminating hollows. Two strangers met on a road, and a connection was forged. May the world shudder at such.

Nakajima Seika