Chapter Text
There must have been more to her life. She lingered in that thought as she wiped the blood off of her blade. Had her days always been paved in the bodies of others? Surely there had to be a time she knew normalcy. She watched the stains on the sharp steel fade as the crimson red transferred to the cloth, getting deeper and darker with each motion. That sight brought her back to the present, there was no use in pondering on a forgotten past after all. She was a warrior, there needn’t be any more to it. She stared into the now-polished katana, catching her reflection in its gleam. First, the surface, the way her violet eyes mirrored its subtle purple accents. Then, the truth beneath. It exists to kill, much like herself. Homura Akemi was not merely armed, she was the weapon. She was content with that. She had to be
Two knocks came from the door, followed by a voice “Miss Akemi? The emperor is waiting for you.”
Homura rose from her knelt position “I’ll be with him shortly” she replied, sheathing her blade. As the sound of footsteps grew fainter, Homura stood in silence.
This meeting was nothing but a simple report of her last mission, yet it reminded her of her duty, her honor. A warrior must have an unshakeable resolve, of that, she was sure.
Homura walked the empty corridors, making her way to the Seiden, the emperor’s main audience hall. She knocked twice, and immediately a voice from within the room reached her.
“You may come in” it said.
And so, she opened the doors, stepping inside. Upon entering, her eyes met an elegant norimono, one tailor made for the emperor’s daughter. Not just was it bigger in both width and length, its walls were made of pink semi-transparent silk curtains, allowing Homura to see her silhouette, but nothing else. The princess spoke for the emperor; in fact, it had been this way for generations. The imperial family always remained anonymous.
“I trust you bring us good fortune, dearest warrior” her voice drifted across the hall, soft and angelic, lifting the heavy mood that surrounded them.
Now knelt, Homura replied “I am honored to kneel before you and report that the mission was a success.”
“Any witnesses?” the princess retorted
“None, madam.”
Her voice now held the soft warmth of a smile “Great work, as always. You may leave now.”
Homura lowered herself into a formal bow, then reached for the blade resting at her side before rising to her feet.
Her meetings with the princess were never long lasting—such a busy woman ought not to waste time with a simple warrior after all—however this time it was even quicker than the norm. Homura knew the reason, of course. Today was Mitakihara’s annual rite, the most sacred day in the empire’s calendar. During the ceremony, a young girl would be chosen for the offering—her fate believed to bring fortune and stability for the year to come.
“Lost in thought?” a high and sugary voice called to Homura as she walked down the halls.
It belonged to a small, catlike creature with pristine white fur and four ears—two shaped like a typical cat’s, and two longer ones, more rabbit-like, adorned with floating golden rings near their tips, where the fur faded from white to a soft pink.
“Incubator…” Homura paused, now looking at the animal that sat in a window to her right, “What are you doing here?”
It stared back with crimson, unblinking eyes “Simply wondering why you aren’t in your post yet. A meeting with the princess I assume?”
She remained silent in response to its question.
“Well, whatever it was, you should be quick! It’s starting any minute now.”
Homura would reply in silence once more, she didn’t understand why but she was wary of the critter. Something about its dead, cold gaze sent chills down her spine. Homura was sure she was the only person in the empire that felt this way, after all it’s because of it that the empire had prospered so much. Many saw him as a kind of God, fitting given the offerings are made in his name.
Swiftly, Homura reached the center of the rite. She was to guard the chosen girl, as she had many times before. The whole ceremony was presented as a celebration, and the crowd of locals cheered with excitement. However, the mood was conflicted. Families carried a quiet, shared fear. Parents trembled with the possibility that, this year, it could be one of their children. The young girls themselves were kept oblivious for the most part, sharing genuine enthusiasm for the ritual. Homura herself was indifferent. She understood its necessity, though the cries of those chosen when they realized their fate was never easy to bear.
Before long, the High Priest moved gracefully towards the altar, his stature shorter than most would expect, yet he still carried a weight of authority, making every single person witnessing this ceremony hold their breath. Homura wasn’t one to believe in religious figures, but there was something almost divine about the man that she couldn’t ignore. His face was obscured beneath a pale veil of fine silk, so sheer it caught the light, yet opaque enough to leave his features a mystery. The fabric of his robes was a deep, ceremonial white, but it was the accents that drew the eye. Subtle threads of gold stitched along the hems shimmered like sunlight on water, and delicate gradients of pink bloomed near the sleeves and collar, reminiscent of the sacred creature itself.
No one dared to speak as the High Priest surveyed the crowd. Homura had always wondered how he managed to see beneath that veil, but somehow, he never faltered. His choice came swiftly. Without a word, he raised a hand and pointed toward a girl among the gathered townsfolk. Her bright pink hair gave her away instantly.
The crowd parted around her like ripples in still water, as though proximity might bring misfortune. Her mother’s voice broke the silence, pleading for them to choose someone else. But it was no use. When the girl didn’t move, two guards stepped forward to escort her to the altar. As she passed through the sea of onlookers, a few reached out to gently touch her shoulders in quiet solidarity, offering the only comfort they could. They all knew what awaited her.
Arriving at the altar, her hand was raised to the air by the High Priest, a symbol of victory… how ironic. Her family was left to cry as the townsfolk went on with their day, and the girl was escorted to the palace.
It had become tradition to give these young girls a taste of royalty before they met their fate. And so, Homura guided her to a luxurious bedroom. The girl, who had stayed silent the entire walk there, finally showed some emotion. She appeared mesmerized by the size of the chamber and its refined decorations. Homura seized this opportunity to finally talk to the girl.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
The girl was startled by the sudden question, but quickly replied “My name…” she fidgeted and glanced in all directions before continuing “it’s Madoka Kaname,” her voice drifted across the room, soft and angelic, lifting the heavy mood that surrounded them.
Homura paused. Something about the girl’s voiced reached within her very core. It was so… familiar. Truly, even the girl’s appearance shook Homura in a way she had never felt before.
“Uhm, can I… ask what’s yours?” Madoka said.
Her words stopped Homura’s mind from drifting too far. “Homura Akemi” she replied.
“Wow, that’s such a cool name, Miss Akemi! It matches you really well.” Madoka was brighter than before, her voice full of life.
In spite of Homura’s lack of a response, Madoka kept talking. “Oh, and, uh… may I ask how old you are, Miss Akemi?”
Hearing the girl’s words, Homura’s expression became tense “Why would you need to know?”
Her assertive and cold tone struck deep within Madoka. “Oh, no it’s not… it’s not that I need to… it’s just…” she paused
“What is it?” Homura pressured
“We look around the same age… so I was just wondering…”
“Well then you don’t need to wonder anymore. I am much older than you”
“I… I see…” Madoka murmured.
The room fell into a tense silence. The commoner fidgeted with the hem of her kimono and twisted strands of her hair, while the warrior feigned composure, gripping her blade with the tense focus of someone expecting danger at any moment. Eventually, Homura broke the hush
“You need to get ready. You have an audience with the emperor soon.”
“The emperor!?” Madoka exclaimed, prompting a simple nod from Homura, who then pointed at a closet at the corner of the bedroom.
The little one hastily made her way to it, opening its doors and drawers with excitement. She inspected the clothes and ornaments inside many times over, finally choosing a pink kimono, that was not just more vibrant than her current gray one, but also of higher quality. The girl urged Homura to turn around as she changed herself, and the warrior obliged.
As the minutes slipped by, Madoka’s frustration became increasingly clear, or at least, that’s how it sounded to Homura, who heard her grumble and sigh more than once.
“Is everything alright?” she asked.
Madoka let out another breath, then glanced over her shoulder.
“Could you… turn around for a second?”
When Homura did, she saw Madoka kneeling before a small collection of hair ornaments laid out carefully on the floor. They ranged from modest to ornate, golden hairpins, delicate combs, and intricate clips gleaming in the light. But amid the array, one item in particular caught Homura’s eye. She stepped closer, then crouched in front of Madoka.
“You’re having trouble choosing?” Her voice came softer now, touched with a faint smile.
“Uh, yeah… I’d appreciate some help,” Madoka admitted, a little sheepish.
Homura’s gaze drifted over the ornaments, then she reached out, her fingers resting on a simple adornment.
“Then… I choose this one.”
Madoka blinked. “The red ribbons?”
“Yes,” Homura said, her tone quiet but certain. “I think it suits you.”
Madoka raised the ornaments onto her hand, eyes flicking in thought as she seemed to study it, trying to figure out how she could wear it. But before she could come up with a solution of her own, Homura’s fingers reached out for the ribbons with a careful touch. Without saying a word, she began smoothing out the pink strands with attentive hands. Her fingertips threaded gently through Madoka’s hair, separating it into even sections. She worked in silence, tying the ribbons into twin loops near the sides, just above the shoulders.
“See? It suits you perfectly” Homura gave a tender smile to the girl, whom stared in silence, having given full trust to the warrior.
“Do you want to see what it looks like?”
Homura’s question snapped Madoka out of her daze as she immediately searched for her reflection in the mirror. As soon as she saw it, her lips curved as wide as they could “So pretty! Thank you so much, Miss Akemi!” the girl jumped with excitement as she expressed her gratitude. Homura didn’t reply, but she smiled back. Something about the little one’s current look made her feel a sense of comfort. Wherever this feeling came from, the warrior was hopeful that perhaps this year’s ritual would be easier to bear.
After finishing the preparations, Homura began guiding Madoka through the palace’s corridors, seeking the Seiden once more to meet with ‘the emperor’. While they walked, the little one asked many questions, its contents varied, but the majority were about the palace or the imperial family. Homura offered vague answers where she could, though often, she had none. Some things she simply didn’t know. Others… she chose to withhold. Nevertheless, the air around them was still light, and Madoka’s expression remained as bright as ever.
She continued to skip along the corridors, following behind Homura. She occasionally spun in place or tried to match her steps to the patterns on the tiled floor, until something caught her attention.
“Waah! They have these flowers here too?” The girl exclaimed.
“Do you know it from somewhere?” Homura asked
“Yes! We have a few at home! They’re called Snowdrop Wildflowers! They’re so pretty~”
The little one continued to stare in awe, yet Homura could a slow shift in her expression. She no longer appeared to be taking in the flower’s beautiful petals, her eyes looked upon something beyond it. The air itself seemed to be harder to breathe as the girl stood in place with a melancholic gaze. Then, Madoka broke the hush that had settled between then
“Miss Akemi… will I…” in the short pause betwixt her words, the warrior’s heart ached. “Will I see my family again?”
Madoka would turn to Homura, whose ears rang with the girl’s sorrowful tone.
The silence would stretch as Homura attempted to take in the change in the atmosphere around them.
“Yes,” her voice trembled
“You’ll get to say your goodbyes in the evening.”
Madoka smiled, not tender like the others. Homura could sense the sadness behind her curved lips. Nevertheless, it was pointless to dwell on it. Soon this girl would be nothing but a memory, like all the others before.
Homura sighed in relief as the little one’s face filled with light once more as they stepped into the Seiden. It was fully decorated for the occasion, yet what Madoka truly focused on was the tables brimming with delicious food. If not for Homura, she would’ve sprinted directly to it, but there were more important matters at hand. The emperor’s daughter was inside her norimono once more, as she had always been. Homura was more than used to this small ceremony. The princess would offer her words of gratitude to the chosen girl, and tell her to feast to her hearts content. And so, she signaled Madoka to bowl down, and waited for her highness to speak.
However, they were met with a different voice. It was of a mere guard, reading a note passed on by the princess herself. How unusual Homura thought. There had to be a reason for this, but the warrior was clueless of what that may be. In any case, it was not her place to question the intentions of the imperial family.
As the guard continued to read the note, Madoka whispered “Where’s the emperor?”
Homura matched her quiet tone “No one speaks directly to the emperor.”
“Then why did you tell me I’d meet him?” the little one questioned.
“It’s a sort of tradition for the sake of his protection. It’s a way to never let people know what he does or where he is.”
Madoka’s expression was focused for a few seconds as she picked apart Homura’s explanation, smiling and giving a nod when she finally understood.
The little one wasted no time to rush to the plates as soon as the note was finished. As she enjoyed every bite, the court musicians who stood next to the walls of the hall began playing. Hearing the classical music, Madoka’s focus on the delicious food was broken. She looked at Homura with a wide smile, waving her hand up in the air. The warrior set confused as she waved back, giving Madoka grumpy frown. The little one walked towards Homura, grabbing her hand and pulling her in
“I’m telling you to join me, silly!”
Though their steps were far from graceful, it lit a kind of fire in the warrior’s heart. The warmth she felt as their fingers interlocked was more than enough to melt away all of Mitakihara’s snow in the most brutal of winters.
Homura felt disoriented the entire dance. It didn’t help that Madoka would stop at random times to pick out something to eat. Frankly, it was a mess, but Homura didn’t dislike it.
As the ceremony ended, Madoka sat beside Homura with her back against a wall. She was definitely tired, that much was obvious, but it was her smile that the warrior would focus on. She felt relief that the little one could have a moment of happiness like this, even if it wouldn’t be long lasting.
Madoka was transported to her bedroom once more, immediately throwing herself in the luxurious bed. She looked content; her smile unwavering. However, Homura didn’t share that feeling. It was evening after all, one of the most painful moments to endure in these annual rituals. It was usually here, while saying goodbye to their families, that the chosen girls would realize the true nature of this ceremony. Someone told Homura that the little one already knew her fate, nevertheless watching the cries of broken parents and relatives would never be easy for her.
“Hm? Are you okay?” Madoka asked. She must have noticed how tense the warrior had gotten
“Ah, yes, yes I’m okay.” Homura could feel the sweat dripping from her face as she continued to speak. “Your family will be here shortly.”
The little one’s eyes widened for a blink, only to turn into a gentle smile. “I’m glad,” she looked to the ceiling “It’d be sad to not get a proper goodbye.”
It was a short wait for them to arrive. As soon as Madoka’s family was let inside the room Homura thought for a moment they’d break down the door. They looked like desperate souls seeking salvation, and perhaps that’s just exactly what they were, but there was no light in the end of this tunnel. Their daughter would die soon, that was the fate they had to accept. How can one even begin to grasp this? For their lives to so quickly be turned upside down, it was a hell Homura could not comprehend how anyone could recover from. Maybe it was truly impossible. Maybe that was the point.
Madoka just as quickly ran to her family. This was her last day on this earth, she understood that by now. Yet, she didn’t cry. She held her mother’s hand, whom had fallen to her knees in a sobbing mess while her father held her baby brother. At least they’ll have another child left Homura thought. It was better than being left with an empty home after all.
The little one continued to smile and comfort her family. She kept saying how honored she was to be chosen, and that this shouldn’t be something they should waste their tears on. Homura knew better, of course. She was aware this was a facade. What a gentle heart. Madoka would die today, and she was not oblivious to this fact. It was a harsh reality that she had to accept at such a young age. Yet here she stood, seeming fearless in front of her loved ones. In her darkest moment, she consoled others, and did not seek that for herself. Though Homura thought this to be foolish, she could admire the strength one must have to do this.
The four of them would share a final hug. The mother managed to compose herself. It was difficult to imagine she truly felt any sort of peace, but for the sake of her daughter’s feelings she put up a front. The thought they couldn’t be honest with one another in their last moments together made Homura’s heart ache. Nevertheless, their time was up. They were escorted away as Madoka waved them farewell, saying goodbye to her life.
The room was too quiet. The silence hung heavy, like the calm before a storm. Homura looked away. Not that smile. Not again ...'not again'? She couldn’t help but feel like it was all too familiar to her. A fragile smile meant to reassure everyone but herself. Madoka stood still, frozen in place. Then, a sound broke through: at first, a soft sniff, then, a shaky breath. Another. Homura turned. The smile was gone. Tears streamed down Madoka’s cheeks. She clutched at her kimono, fingers tightening until the fabric bunched and twisted in her hands. Her shoulders trembled, but she made no sound, just silent, aching grief. Homura’s throat closed up. Her body moved an inch forward, then stopped. There was nothing she could say.
“Do I…” Madoka’s voice trembled, barely audible “Do I really have to die?”
The words hit Homura like shards of glass. Her breath caught. Every syllable sank into her skin like needles, twisting deeper with the silence that followed.
She wanted to reach out, to say something, anything. What could she possibly offer in this moment? A hopeful lie neither of them believed? Though, in spite of that, Homura could feel something in her very core. So familiar yet so distant. The perfect words, where did they come from? Homura had been the guard of many chosen girls, however she never felt such intense feelings. She had never offered comfort. Then why… why was every inch of her body telling her to speak?
A thud was heard. Madoka looked around to find its source, and then she saw. The warrior had dropped to her knees, trembling, tears sliding freely down her face. Her long ponytail had slipped forward, dark strands sticking to the silk of her sleeves. The deep indigo patterns of her yoroi, once the mark of a proud samurai, seemed to hang heavier now, like a burden more than armor.
“Miss Akemi!” Madoka called, panic slipping into her voice as she rushed forward.
But Homura didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The words, the world, everything felt distant. Her body shook under the weight of something unseen, memories that weren’t quite hers, regrets that hadn’t faded.
Before she could think, she lunged forward, pulling Madoka into a crushing embrace. The girl gasped, stunned, but didn’t pull away. Homura held on tightly, as if letting go would tear her apart.
“I’ll save you,” she breathed. Then louder, voice breaking, raw, desperate:
“I’ll save you, Madoka. I’ll save you no matter what.”
And in that moment, through the tears and trembling, Madoka saw her. Not the warrior, but a child, just like herself. A child who was scared. A child who was lost.