Genshu sat in solemn silence upon the hard, stone fence, overlooking the valley he had often visited two years prior. Deep within the gully of this dale rested a quaint, yet homey townhouse that once belonged to perhaps the greatest man he ever met, Meiyoken.

A former member of the Temple of the Silver Moon, Meiyoken was once a master of the establishment, yet fled under the guise of his own destruction and married in secrecy a woman named Bijiko, for such relations were not permitted among the temple disciples. The child of this sacred union was named Oulan, and though she had adopted Genshu as a surrogate uncle, the young man could care for her no more than if she were of blood relations.

And thus, the pain of this mission he chose to undertake was made more difficult as he looked upon the house of the only people he had ever loved in this world, and saw no red haired child running joyfully in the yard pursuing butterflies, saw no clothes flapping in the wind as they hung to dry, and saw the house, once so full of life, vacant and in its disrepair.

“I had wondered when you’d show up.” A harsh voice echoed through the placid prairie as Genshu turned only slightly at the voice addressing him. He turned only to recognize the presence of the person before him, as he knew the voice very well. “What the Hell are you doing back here?” Laos demanded, holding his customary gun at Genshu’s head.

“Hello Laos.” Genshu said only half-heartedly, still looking upon the abandoned home that sat unwanted and uncared for in the pit of this valley. “I had come to speak to Master Meiyoken. I did not mean to disturb you.”

“Bullshit.” Laos countered. “I knew Meiyoken should have put a sword through your gut when he first met you. What did you do with his sister you dirty bastard? I came to visit him about a week after she disappeared; he was all distressed, thinking something bad happened to the both of you. I knew you weren’t to be trusted, even though Meiyoken had a soft spot for your hard luck case. I’m not as forgiving as him. Where is Marai?”

Genshu turned his solemn eyes to Laos, gazing into the elder man’s hardened face. It seemed too painful for the young man to relate the story, but at last he found his voice. “Marai was taken to the temple. I couldn’t stop it from happening. And for my disobedience, my hands were crushed.” Genshu held up his arms to show the rapid, spider webbing scars that crossed his fingers and hands.

Laos looked at the scared hands a moment as if weighing the story told by the young man facing him, before lowering his gun and taking a seat beside Genshu on the decaying stonewall.

“I had heard the Howling Voice Guild dismissed you Laos.” Genshu began, breaking the uneasy silence as the two sat, musing over the forsaken homestead. It was a difficult conversation, for it was no secret that Laos had always despised the young samurai, however there was a certain degree of comfort to be held within that bond of mistrust.

“Hmph,” Laos snorted as he looked to the younger man at his side. “It was to be expected. I didn’t like the idea of the temple going to war with the Grasslands, and so I told the High Priest in no uncertain terms that I thought he was a flaming idiot. I’m just sort of surprised I was dismissed and that my tongue isn’t decorating the High Priest’s chamber wall.” Laos shrugged, as if the thought of his dismemberment was an amusing notion when placed into words.

“Yes,” Genshu responded, his eyes still locked upon the abandoned home of his friend. “I only wish I were permitted the liberty to speak my mind, however I dare not defy Master Kin. I suffered my hands being broken for keeping from him the truth of my visits into Jowston territory. I shudder to think what they would do to me if I showed any more disrespect.” Genshu continued, exercising his hands by squeezing them into balled up fists and releasing them, stretching his dulling pained hands.

“Yeah, well, considering what we both served, I guess I’m the lucky one. I can retire to a nice fat pension; you get to look forward to younguns trying to carve a reputation out of your carcass. Not much to look forward to.” Laos spoke in a sardonic, almost dreamy voice. “So, how goes the war?”

“That’s the last thing I ever thought you’d ask about Laos.” Genshu said curiously, looking to the elder man. He hadn’t noticed before, perhaps he was too distracted in his own disappointment of not having the opportunity to speak to Master Meiyoken, but Genshu noticed the once steady, handsome face of Laos, now creased with wrinkles, and the hard, unrelenting eyes were given way to a dull glare of defeat, as if an unknown fate had lay its weight upon the man and nothing could prevent its toll.

Laos, looking aged beyond his years, apparently noticed the steely gaze of younger man, and turned away, almost involuntarily. For a moment, Genshu believed the circumstances surrounding Laos’ departure from the Howling Voice Guild were not as mutual as originally known throughout Harmonia, however his thoughts were interrupted by Laos’ gritty voice. “Just making small talk kid, nothing more.”

Genshu was almost relieved by the answer the former gunner had given, for though he knew bits and pieces of the war effort, he did not relish the ideal of dwelling upon the sins of his own clan. Nearly one-year prior, the Temple of the Silver Moon, under the ordnance of the High Priest Kanuscala Nesoka, declared war upon the Grasslands to the west. The temple, utilized the Grasslands immense size to its own advantage. Two temple outposts, situated to the northwest in Faleena, and another to the southwest in Zexon, attacked the western borders of the Grasslands, thus calling to arms the Knights of Camaro, the elected protectors of the region. The ruse was more successful than anticipated, for as the initial attacks to the western border was but a distraction to draw the attention of the knighthood away from the primary invasion force that punished the eastern territory.

Before any counterstrike could be mounted, the Temple of the Silver Moon had crushed the lower, less significant tribes pushed to the outer regions by the larger bands of barbarians and savages, thus countless bands of nomadic tribesmen met their fate in extinction, as the temple destroyed all in its path. The two-pronged assault proved most effective, yet was also costly in its own recklessness. Casualties numbered into the tens of thousands, and both sides felt the bitter sting of war’s unforgiving prejudice.

The Temple of the Silver Moon had accomplished its feat in an amazingly short span of time, driving a wedge into the heart of the Grasslands as far west as the Aerinas Canyon. This was, of course the ultimate plan as decreed by the High Priest, for the Aerinas Canyon extended 42 miles in length and three miles wide. When employed properly, the chasm established the greatest defensive position, for no army could approach unnoticed.

These events of course, was common knowledge, yet what most did not know was that the greater majority of the temples extensive forces, numbering more than 7,000; were currently in the Grasslands fighting the brutal war. For though the temple had succeeded in capturing the lands intended, it did not grant amnesty from retribution of the Grasslands Council, and thus, of the 7,000 currently in the foreign country, more than 1,700 were believed dead. Of course, among those numbers, was the second lieutenant of Lord Kalabas’ invasion force, Lazarus. Though, no body had ever been found of the temple partisan, it was to be ascertained that his fate was shared with the countless others that died before the rampage of a distant dictator’s whim.

Thus, the biggest secret of all, was that the primary temple, located in Harmonia, was guarded by no more than 500 warriors. This made many uneasy, for if the Grassland forces ever learned of such meager holdings within the temple’s headquarters, and broke through the front lines, the temple would fall under war’s sickle, just as so many innocent tribesmen of the Grasslands had. And often, it only takes a single grain of wheat to shift the balance of war.

Though, feast or famine, the temple’s gauntlet tactics had thus worked, and as many of the larger tribes had retreated to the interior of the Grasslands for the purpose of avoiding the temple’s assault, the only real threat to the temple’s power existed in the Knights of Camaro. However, the knighthood was hindered from their duty by autocratic politics, for even now, rumors of a potential peace agreement were surfacing, and it seemed the war was nearing an end before even its first year of instigation.

However, perhaps it was for the best that the temple succeeded so quickly in achieving its goals, for morale of the temple itself had never been lower. Not only did the lack of support safe guarding the temple heighten the sense of anticipation within the sacred structure, but also the death of the High Sensei Da-Tan did little to comfort the disciples. For the loss of the great patriot Da-Tan, fueled the need for redemption, and thus retribution was paid in blood taken from the Grasslands.

Perhaps if greater leadership were present within the temple, the sense of insecurity would not now exist. For of the three lords of the Temple of the Silver Moon, only Master Kin was still among the temples commanding infrastructure. The Lord Mediator, Kalibas, was leading the assault upon the hapless barbarian tribesmen, and the High Sensei, Da-Tan, was killed in what was recorded by the only witnesses present, in an attempted bandit raid upon the temple. Lazarus, the chosen sub-commander of his master Kalibas, was believed dead within the barbarous lands of the western war zone, and Da-Tan’s selected disciple, Zorin, had left shortly after the discovery of his masters murder, to some unknown region upon an even more undisclosed mission. Thus, many now turned to Sai and Genshu, the selected students of Master Kin, to direct them into training and life within the temple. It was, a peculiar twist of irony, that Genshu be denied vengeance upon the two he most despised, Zorin and Lazarus, and was now expected to take up the departed samurai’s duties. Such is fate.

“Well,” Laos spoke into the deadening air, shattering Genshu’s thoughts, and though the interruption startled the young warrior, he was in a way, grateful for it. “I think you best be moving along. It would not do you any good being seen sitting out here with me.”

Though the statement proved startling and even disturbed Genshu into suspicion of Laos’ motives, the young man stood from the hard, stone wall, and stretched his stiffened legs. Genshu paused a moment to look back upon the forgotten home, as if lost in some desired fate.

“Yeah,” Laos spoke in a voice that led Genshu to believe he could read his very thoughts. “I know where they are kid, but I’m not telling you. I still don’t completely trust you, but its more of the matter if they tortured you to find out he was still alive.” Pausing again, as if trying to find the will to speak or search for the right words, Laos shook his head almost half-heartedly. “No, I’ll take that secret to my grave.”

Genshu paused, his eyes still focused on the lonely house and uncared for fields before turning again to Laos’ weathered face. “Will I ever see you again Laos?” Genshu asked, though was struck by the oddity of his own question.

Laos did not answer, but simply stared at Genshu, remorse tearing from his cold green eyes. “Take care of yourself kid.” Laos said simply, turning back to stare at the farm below him. Genshu wanted to ask more, to stay and talk to Laos, yet there was a hint of finality in his voice that told the young man it was best not to pursue the issue. Turning away, Genshu began his trek down the sweeping hill and made his way back to the temple.

Laos tore his eyes, swelling with regret, from the abandoned house long enough to pull his gun from under his cloak and study the peculiar design of a weapon meant to fire projectiles at an enemy, in a world that relied on sword and sorcery. Perhaps it was but a symbol that “guns” as they were called, would have been better served having never been invented. Yet, such is the way the world works, for often, what is most destructive to man, he will strive to invent.

Gazing down the hill through blurring eyes, Laos took a moment to watch the carefree stride of the young Genshu. Though he seemed at ease with the world, there was a certain refinement, or perhaps discipline was better used to describe his steady gait, for though he walked with purpose, even in a time of relaxation such as now, it seemed his every sense studied the world about him. Laos measured his gun, almost subconsciously, marveling at the weight that was carried with but a simple weapon as this, while watching the younger man fade into the distance. “Goodbye kid.” Laos whispered, steely resolve spiking his voice with a certain determination that had a moment prior, failed him.

Genshu continued his march through the fields of western Highland. He had ventured to this region on a mission to seek potential recruits for the temple, yet his true agenda was to find Master Meiyoken. Perhaps his punishment would not be too severe when returning to the temple, for he had not found any recruits, though he had no intention of doing so anyway.

Yet, despite the futility of this mission, it was not without a certain gratification, for while on his journey here, Genshu had come across a wagon under siege by bandits. Though there were but four of the marauders, only one man sought to fend them off, protecting his wife and young child from the potential of attack. For a moment, Genshu had thought this was the master Meiyoken, yet the young girl had white-blond hair, a striking contrast to the flaming red locks of the energetic Oulan. However, Genshu’s honor would not allow this family to fall to the brigands that plagued this region, and interceded, his skill striking down two of the thieves, while the father had taken care of one other. With only one bandit remaining, the coward chose discretion over valor, and fled.

It seemed, as Genshu conversed with this family, that they were from the Highland Kingdom, and sought sanctuary in Harmonia, as Highland was preparing to go to war with Jowston. The father, seemingly only a few years older than Genshu himself, did not wish to fight and abandon his family, thus he fled to Holy Kingdom of Harmonia. A noble mission, yet perhaps a bit naïve, as he had no knowledge of the Temple of the Silver Moon, or their means by which to “recruit” new members, and the young child would of course be in danger.

It seemed, however, that the young, blond haired child possessed the same spirit as Oulan, or perhaps it was Genshu’s own hope to again meet the spirited young girl that forged this conclusion. Whatever the reasons, Genshu could not bring himself to allow the family to place the young girl in danger, and instructed that they settle in the capital city, for the temple would not “recruit” under the watchful eyes of the High Priest, and alert the citizens of their deception. For after all, the temple was its protector.

Genshu felt a sense of easiness creep over him at having saved three lives this day, and though as he remembered the events now, he could neither remember the father or mother with much clarity, yet the young girl had engraved her image upon his mind vividly. If he recalled correctly, she was named Elza.

A sudden burst of thunder echoed through the valley, shaking Genshu from his thoughts. Though, it sounded as no thunder Genshu had ever heard before, more like the cannon firing of a “gun” from the Howling Voice Guild, it seemed unlikely that a weapon of such destruction would discharge in a region as this. Thus, it was to be a rising storm, under Genshu’s own deduction, for even now, thick gray clouds were forming overhead, threatening to deluge the world in its fury. However, the chilling sound that still echoed in Genshu’s ears raised the hairs on the back of his neck and heightened his own eager anticipation, for it was not a natural resonance by means of observation, and it was as if something were terribly wrong with the world.