Akeha's Frozen Heart

Video

Chapter 1

A dry wind blows across the pallid, twilit sky.

At a quiet teahouse away from the thoroughfare sits a lone woman clad in an elegant kimono, eating dango.

Her movements are graceful, and the air around her smells sweetly of flowers.

The way she licks her lips would lead anyone to believe that the unassuming mugwort dango are made of the most sensual nectar.
In truth, the woman is a skilled assassin working in the name of a great lord.

She has felled countless wretched villains who hoped to take her lord's life—insignificant characters her lord loathed.

The number of lives she has severed from this world would dwarf the population of the average town.
To her, human lives are little more than a commodity. To her, the notion that life is precious and irreplaceable is pure fantasy.

The act of taking lives is hardly different from pulling weeds.

And today, she is tasked with such gardening duties.

Her targets: a pair of sisters who have recently moved to the town's outskirts.
She asks the long-time owner of the teahouse what sort of people these sisters might be.

Do they come here often?

Every now and then, he says casually.
The two seem to come to drink tea a few times a month.

They always walk together, just the two of them, to avoid the watchful eyes of others, and they never attempt to deepen relationships with anyone else.

It's not that they conduct themselves poorly—they do nothing to cause trouble, so the townsfolk have no reason to shut them out.
Everybody knows them, but nobody knows them well.
They're like the midday haze—there, but only barely.

The teahouse owner's voice has a jesting tone, but the woman senses no malice behind it.
He continues.

Though their actions don't stand out, their appearance is almost otherworldly.

The elder sister acts with such grace that even when sipping the cheapest barley tea, she would hardly look out of place in a masterwork portrait.
She reminds me of you, come to think of it, he says.

The woman sighs, glazing over the compliment.

I have no such gaudy appeal.

She is not humbling herself—that is her genuine opinion.
But the teahouse owner insists she's alike, to the point that she stands out in town.
He goes on to note that the younger sister has an otherworldly nobility about her as well.

It is in the way she drinks tea, eats dango, stands, walks.

He likens her to an angel given mortal form for the very first time.

His choice of words does not suit the owner of a run-down teahouse.
Though the sisters do not cause problems, it seems their actions can turn the lowliest commoners into poets.

That positive influence on others turns the woman's heart cold and dark.

She already knows the truth behind the sisters.

They are not truly sisters.
The elder "sister" was once a woman who walked the path of slaughter, just like her.

She was born a daughter of the woman's lord and made her living off murder.

Over countless jobs, she mercilessly slew her lord's political enemies.

The woman was her student and learned the art of killing directly from her.
Indeed, it was as though she was an older sister.
The younger "sister" was a girl who was fated to die at the hands of the assassin elder sister.

It's said she was raised as a boy.

All so that the family she was born into would survive.

She was brought into this world against her will, given a life against her wishes.

Her sole purpose was to fulfill her duty. She was little more than a puppet.
A duty in and of itself, the woman thinks.

Learning of this, the elder chose not to kill the younger.
Instead, she took her away and the two ran.

That was said to have happened during torrential rainfall strong enough to wash away all the blood.
She must be punished, the woman thinks.

She considers both the girl and the woman who saved her.

They had both thrown away the reasons they were given to live.

She despises that they chose freedom at the cost of their duties.
I thought you were living an unsightly life, dear sister.

Such is the duty the woman was given—she lives for her duties and rules.

She is to perform the last rites for the woman who was once like her sister.

She finishes her dango and stands decisively. As she stares into space, words spill from her lips.
My sister is mine alone.

Chapter 2

There was once a girl born to a family that wished for a boy.

And so she was raised as a boy.

Both lived only to fulfill their duties like puppets. But fate brought together the slaughterer and slaughtered.
They joined hands, cast away their duties, and chose to live freely.

That night coincided with torrential rain that washed away blood and tears both.

......
............
..................

The late autumn twilight was as quiet as the underworld.

Though she appreciates the stillness, the lack of life only serves to amplify her unease.

She is the former assassin who once lived to kill but turned her back on her orders.

The crimson tranquility is the same as that which heralds the coming of battle.

Or the coming of a typhoon.
The house sits far from town at the edge of the forest.

Her life with the girl is a solitary one, but peaceful.

She is more than content with her life.

Certainly, there's room for improvement—she is clearly inferior to the girl in many aspects, including cooking and looks.

Though she occasionally works as a bodyguard or mercenary, she seldom strays far from what society considers acceptable.

Her life is that of an ordinary human, one that does not shed much blood.
She never expected this.

Never did she think such a life was attainable.

And yet, she finds herself living an honest life.

Sometimes, she wonders if this life is but foam on the waves, a fleeting dream.

She ponders this whenever she watches the girl sleep so soundly.
And so she has grown especially sensitive to the air of impending danger.

An unease lingers deep in her chest throughout the day.
The sun hides away, and the early evening stars begin to twinkle in the sky.

A familiar young woman approaches.
But no—she is more than familiar.

She is a fellow assassin, a killer who had once taught the techniques she had mastered over a lifetime.
It's been quite some time, dear sister.

She speaks in a calm, low voice nothing like how the other woman remembered.

Quite some time indeed...

The woman replies in an unaffected manner.

How long has it been since she'd been referred to as "dear sister"?
It brings back memories from long ago.

Her former student had once laughed with joy, cried often, and even hesitated to kill bugs.

And yet, the woman taught her to strike a person's weak point in a single breath.

She doesn't recall giving her special treatment, but she does recall that she grew to be a superb assassin.

The woman knows immediately that she has not simply dropped by to say hello while passing through—she is here to kill her.
The assassin speaks with delight for reasons unknown.

Kill the girl now and your betrayal will be forgiven.

It is a message from the lord the woman once served.

The suggestion is as abrupt as it is merciless.
The assassin stares, running her tongue over lips, as the woman's brow knits and faint panic washes over her face.

You would not have hesitated back when I knew you.

The woman looks to the exhilarated assassin.

I will not go back.

She gives her response and returns to the house.

She then takes the hand of the girl who had awoken at some point and rushes out of the house.
The assassin simply watches as the pair runs.

But she was prepared for this.

In the following moments, countless silhouettes swarm around the fleeing duo.
The lord's assassins had laid in wait around the woman's house.

Kill them, the assassin orders with cold indifference. The silhouettes leap at the woman.
From a pocket emerges a knife, and from a mouth a single breath.

The woman's blade shines in the moonlight, soaring through the night sky like a firefly.

She fights valiantly to protect the girl, but it is hardly the manner of one who takes lives without mercy or thought.

This girl will live.

She is graceful yet brutal, her eyes kind but intense.
Beholding her elegance and integrity, all emotion vanishes from the assassin's face.

Pathetic. You truly have changed, dear sister.

She spits and heaves a sigh.

In stark contrast to the woman who fights to protect, the assassin brandishes her blade, her eyes filled with twisted glee.
Shall I remind you of the sweet taste of blood? The bitter taste of steel?

The assassin dashes forth with ferocious vigor.

The woman greets the assassin's blade with her own.
She parries her back as she cuts down the other assailants.

Her former colleague breaks the silence with muted cries.

One falls, and then another.
The woman and the girl reel as the hot blood of the nameless killers splatters over them.

The girl does not make a sound—it is as though she was prepared for this.
The assassin brings down her blade once more.

The woman roots herself to the ground and focuses.

She concentrates her intent on the here and now.

But as she fights to protect the girl, her body...

Her heart...

Recalls the sensation of fighting another skilled combatant to the death.
Her body trembles with excitement.
She derives no enjoyment from this act.

Quite the contrary.

But in her former life when killing was her duty, she lived by the rule of kill-or-be-killed.
She lived with a cold heart fit only for murder.
This shameful instinct is once again being rekindled in her, forcefully.

Perhaps it is penance for never denying that part of her.

The woman and the assassin exchange clashes of metal in their dance of blades.
A hand grasps the back of the woman's neck, pulling her away from the assassin's blade.

It is as though a guardian angel intervened.

The girl steps forward.

And just as her elder sister once taught her, the assassin slashes at the girl's artery in a single elegant motion.
Thus does the girl whom the woman fought so hard to protect find her life cut short.
But she does not complain.

She does not curse the woman.

She simply looks to the heavens like a newborn child.

It's exactly the same way she did when they cooked together.

With a kind smile to the woman, she departs this world.

Chapter 3

They ran through the rain together, abandoning a duty-bound life.

Their life of freedom was a lonely one, but peaceful.
An honest living was far from easy, but brought with it its own joys.

How easily such a delicate lifestyle crumbles.
Though the woman had cleaned her hands of a life of killing and instead filled them with normalcy, she now watches as the girl's fleeting life fades before her.

Blood spurts from the girl's neck, covering her face and limbs in bright, vivid red.

Like wild mountain camellia blooming, buds broken with a fallen splendor.

And yet, she wears a clear, carefree smile upon her face.
As the woman recalls that sight, the area around her has become a sea of blood.

The moment she sees the girl's smile—the face she wears in death—the woman loses the last remnants of her rationality.
Now, there stands a killer who once existed between the boundaries of life and death.

The exceptional assassin that the ambitious killer so treasured.

In her frenzy and despair, the woman's heart arrives at an understanding, and she finds acceptance.
She was born to kill. She was raised to kill.

She killed to steal away the ordinary. She killed to overthrow the ordinary.
That is her nature.

A wicked woman who never walked the path of the righteous.

How could she ever lead an upstanding, normal life?

The impartial heavens would have never allowed her such convenience.
She gazes down at the assassins she killed with her own two hands, and then turns her eyes to the still body of the girl.

She slowly drops her head and twists in remorse.

Back when she met the girl, the girl had called herself a puppet.

The woman saw herself in the girl and absconded with her.

She had so frivolously assumed that they would somehow manage so long as they could escape.
She would figure things out afterward.
So long as the girl was happy, she would manage.

So long as the girl lived an unassuming life in the ordinary world, became an ordinary adult, dreamed ordinary dreams.

The woman thought she had worked hard enough to make that wish come true.

It was she who had dreamed of a peaceful life.

And ultimately, it was she who stole the girl's future away from her.

It was because the girl was with her that she ended up dead.
Sinking to the depths of self-reproach, she digs her teeth into her lip.

Blood oozes out and spills down her chin.

She resembles a ghoul tearing into human flesh.

It is not the sadness of loss that is strongest in the woman's heart, but intense resentment and anger.

Her face twists like it never did when she was an elite assassin.
Perhaps there is nothing concealing her wicked devilishness now.

Or perhaps it is simply the face of a demon who has become a living revenant.

She had found tranquility in search of a happiness that never suited her, and now it was gone.

Her white breath rose against the cold, late autumn sky like a miasma that cursed all living things.
The assassin survives, clinging to a delighted consciousness with that excess power.

Dark red blood spills from her lips, and despite the bitterly metallic taste spreading through her mouth, she smiles.

She gazes at the peerless demon woman that is her sister.

She always yearned to be like her, but she always stood beyond a threshold just outside of her reach.
Yes, yes, that's it. This is who you truly— Before she can finish, a cold white blade descends on her head.

It happens in an instant. With precision. Without mercy.

It is infinitely easier than preparing mackerel.

The assassin's skull, her spirit's domicile, is cut cleanly in two.
Not once, even when they spent time together, did the woman ever pull her punches.

Not once did she ever find someone she wanted to go easy on.
I have nothing left.

Her empty emotions spill from her mouth, and slowly she begins to walk.

In her arms, she holds the smiling corpse of the girl.

She ventures into the mountains by the light of the moon.
She buries the girl in a thicket no one will ever find, and clasps her hands together.
I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I ever tried to make a life with you.

The last thing she says is a croaked apology.

And so, she begins to walk again, alone, and vanishes.

Chapter 4

Several nights pass since the former assassin lost the girl she sought to protect.

Now, the woman stages a lone assault on a castle.
She has thrown everything away.

Her faith. Her dignity. Her future. Her past.

She exists now as an unparalleled demon of the blade.

She is clad in black in her mourning, and she stains it with the blood of others.
The samurai stationed in the castle were skilled masters adept in the art of battle.

Yet she cuts them all down with ease.

They swarm her like moths to a flame, only to be engulfed in her fury.
The satisfying rhythm of death resembles a carefully choreographed dance.
Everyone in the castle is an object of her vengeance.

She shows mercy to no one, be it head servant or the lowliest maid.

Whether they scream and beg forgiveness, turn tail and run, it matters not—her expression remains blank, and she cuts them all down.
She will kill every living thing in this castle.

She will sever all fates leading to this castle.

That is her only wish.

She kills every last family member.

She kills every last fellow assassin.

She is the only survivor.
She has already cut down all of her previous lord's closest confidants.

She does not let a single member of her clan live.

That leaves only her master, the great lord himself.
At last, she arrives at the castle keep where the lord took refuge.
Assassins and the lord's personal retainers attempt to stop her, to which she simply spits, "Bothersome flies."

She cuts them all down.

Valiant though they may have been, they were no match for the woman now.
She steps forward across the tatami and throws open the door.

There she finds her former master, cowering and terrified.

The man who toyed with her fate, the one she hates more than any.

A cruel man without a shred of decency, willing to sacrifice his entire family if it meant more power
...now curled into a trembling ball as the looming demon stands over him.

No matter how pathetic he looks, she will never forgive him for robbing the girl of her life.
For the first time in her life, the woman lends herself wholly to her wrath.

You can apologize from the depths of hell.

She brings down her weapon with all her might, all her hatred.

Slice.

The cold steel of her blade sinks into the lord's heart like a beast's fang.

And thus the lord's sinful life comes to an end. He makes no sound, leaves nothing behind.
And yet the woman's rage does not abate.

Not once does she flee from those seeking vengeance for the slain lord.
She slashes, skewers, dismembers, beheads, crushes, and mangles every last one of them.

She kills, and kills, and kills.

This hellscape of viscera and blood brought on by the girl's death brings the woman nothing but pain.
It is as though she is an infinite font of hatred in a cruel and uncaring world.
It is then that she understands.

She is looking for a place to die.

Her hatred is unending.

She could destroy the entire world and still her hatred would live on.

She hates her pathetic self for being unable to protect the girl she held so dear.

She hates herself more than anyone else, anything else.

One needs an appropriate punishment for their sins.
Please, she begs, why won't someone punish me?

It does not matter if her punisher is man, beast, or demon.

She wants to die in the most cruel manner, in gruesome agony, and savagely pulverized into the dirt.

Only then, she believes, will her soul be saved.
However...

Her true sin is not losing the girl.

And she has yet to realize the truth.

Why did the girl not leave this world with any last words?

Only the girl knew in that moment that she was happy till her very last moments.
She was happy since the day the woman took her hand.

She was happy to live a mundane, inconsequential life.

She was happy she found a life in which she was free to make her own decisions.

She did not feel a speck of hatred for this world.

And that is why she smiled.

She prayed the rest of the woman's life would be happy, and she died with a heart free of hatred.
The woman, who has submit wholly to her anger, cannot possibly realize this truth.

To the very end, the woman could never understand the girl's heart.
That is the woman's gravest, most abominable sin.

Death will not be visited upon her until she understands this sin.

And she will never realize that to live not knowing is her greatest punishment.
The demon woman roams in a purgatory of her own making.
Today, tomorrow, and the next day, in a space of agony manifest by meaningless guilt, she takes the lives of others with an inerrant heart.
I will kill as much as I have to. So please, someone...kill me.
She begs at the empty precipice, turning her eyes away from her only salvation.

Back