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Ashina was condemned by the rigorous cold, however it was still a spectacle for the vision. Any place was an option to admire, from the depths of caves to the highest peaks.
The cold touch of unbroken snow masked the spotted face of the silent shinobi. His well-trained eyes watched the environment, but they were nowhere to be found. He was thinking, analyzing.
His body ached, throbbed in certain places. He was wounded in places that ordinary people would never have imagined. However, he relished those pains for various reasons. The taste of victory, discipline, perseverance and honor. Each sore muscle, each scar, signified his fortitude and his burden. It was something to be proud of. But his wounds were not only cured by his pride. He needed necessary care, from someone who knew the best way to ease and heal any pain.
Lady Emma. He needed to return to her once more, and ask her to deal with his pain. She would not deny it, she would do anything to make him better and return to his journey. After all, she was what she was: a doctor.
He did not know her so well, despite the many brief conversations they had. But constantly the figure of the young woman was hovering in his thoughts and he could not figure out if it was the usual curiosity of a shinobi or his personal curiosity.
It was Emma who took him out of the pit when he was defeated. Later she told him that she worked for a master, although she omitted his name, but that she was at his disposal, to help him on his journey and recover the Divine Heir. And yet, telling all her intentions, he still felt unable to read that woman.
He would return to her, listen to her recommendations and some curiosities, but he would hardly respond to her. All he did was take his pains to her or some of the seeds of the healing gourd she created. He would not even talk to her, but if he did, what would he say?
As a sign of the gods, his well-trained eyes captured the figure of a single Daffodil. The flower stood out among several others that did not correspond to its species, almost as if it did not belong there and should be withdrawn.
His calloused fingers touched the flower's white petals. She was cold, small and damp. Tied to the ground, almost overwhelmed by the other flowers. With the care he never imagined he had, he picked it up and stared at the flower in his fingers.
For a moment, he wanted to return it to the ground, but a plucked flower needs a purpose. The purpose of Daffodil was to be offered, he knew, because of this he pulled it off. And for that very reason, he kept it.
The insistent snow continued to stain the Dilapidated Temple in white. The silence was not absolute only by the noise of the Stake of the Sculptor, who continued to carve statues with frightened features.
Emma clasped her hand in the other, watching the snow fall. There was not much else to do. Sometimes she even talked to the sculptor, but her job was to wait. Expect the shinobi to return, deal with your wounds and assist him in his journey. It was all she had to do.
Time seemed to pass slowly, almost stop before her eyes. It was almost exhausting to remain there, but for one single detail all that waiting was worth it.
"Master Wolf, I'm glad you returned" her soft voice received the man who was climbing the small staircase of the temple.
He just nodded, going straight to find the Sculptor. Emma disengaged the receptive pose, a little frustrated. She did not like that feeling because she did not understand why she was frustrated. The shinobi had more serious business than talking to a doctor.
However, it did not take long and he returned to meet her, standing facing her in the eye, like a soldier who never rests.
“I brought some seeds” he said as stiffly as ever.
“Great.” she took the seeds from his hands and fitted them correctly into the little gourd, the item she produced to heal the wounds of the Divine Heir, but now healed the wounds of the shinobi. "Now you can use it more often to heal."
He put the item away, but stood before her. Knowing what it was, she devoted herself to treating his current wounds. As that was her purpose, she was always prepared with the most diverse remedies. This time he had some burns. She treated them with cooling powder, ensuring that they would soon be cured. For a moment she wondered how many scars he hid.
"Do you need anything else, Master Wolf?" she asked again, holding one hand in the other, watching him straighten up.
He looked her in the eyes again. He often did this intensely, as if he could read her soul, or at least try. “I found something.”
Carefully, he removed the Daffodil from his bag. It was a little wrinkled, but it had held up well.
Emma studied the flower carefully, not understanding why the shinobi was gathering flowers on his journey. Despite knowing the importance of each flower, Emma could not imagine a plausible reason for that act.
"Suisen." she sighed the name of the flower he held. "It means ‘respect’, Master Wolf, did you know that?”
"Hm." he took her hand, placing the flower between her fingers. "Appropriate."
Before she could ask anything, he went away again.
Emma continued to stare at the Daffodil in her fingers, still not understanding the need for that flower to be offered by the shinobi to her.
Later, Wolf returned to the dilapidated Temple to meet the sculptor, who needed improvement for his left arm prosthesis. He did not meet with Emma, but he did not care, it was late already, and the cold was more severe at night.
The sculptor coughed noisily. A symptom of Dragonrot. His fault. The plague was the price to pay for having the ability to resurrect. Emma had already told the details and he was determined to help her find a cure, even if it was temporary.
Once his prosthetic was adjusted, Wolf admired his new arm. He felt like a deadly machine with that prosthesis. Maybe that was what put him so far away from a normal human being. He could not deny that he missed his plucked arm, but it was not in the way of a shinobi to mourn losses, considering that he remained alive and with honor.
"What flower did you gave to Emma?" the Sculptor asked, taking him by surprise.
“A Daffodil.” he answered uneasily. "How do you know I brought her a flower?"
He coughed. “I just needed to look at her.”
Then the shinobi felt like smiling.
[...]
Things became more and more complicated in Ashina as the shinobi came closer to rescuing the Divine Heir, which made his visits to Lady Emma ever more rare.
In fact, he almost had no time to return to the Dilapidated Temple if it were not for extremely important reasons, such as attaching new prosthetic weapons to the false arm. So he could not even greet Lady Emma. Even so, he did not forget the flower he had offered her and what the Sculptor had told him. Maybe he could give her another flower, but which one? For what purpose?
On that day the sun shone brighter, but the cold still scratched the skin. He was tired, watching the new region he invaded and the progress he had made. He confronted a guardian on a horse, offered an offering to the dead, met a man who gave him a name.
Walking through the open field, with his blood-soaked katana, he admired the beauty of a white Camellia, almost camouflaged in the snow. It glowed in the sunlight, as if it were illuminated on purpose so that he could see.
He knelt before the flower, admiring it. In such hasty times, that flower seemed an irony. Sticking his katana to the scabbard, he wiped the blood from his hands to keep it from staining the flower petals. The plant looked even more beautiful between her prosthetic fingers. A contrast. The natural and the machine.
Returning to the Dilapidated Temple, he did not find Emma in the same place as always. She was inside the temple, supporting the Sculptor as the cough progressed. The shinobi was frustrated, considering it to be his fault. The Dragonrot continued to progress as it abused more of the power of the Divine Heir. And he was afraid Emma would be the next to be hit.
“How is he doing?” he asked, leaving the Sculptor alone as he accompanied Emma out.
“Holding on tight,” she did not look pleased. "but I have faith that we will be able to heal the plague. Even if it is not permanently.”
He did not respond, just grunted a brief "hum" as usual.
"Do you need anything else, Master Wolf?" she asked as she always asked.
"I met a man today. And he gave me a name.”
Emma approached, interested in the story. "A name?"
“Sekiro,” he revealed. "the one-armed wolf."
Emma repeated the name silently, just testing the name on her lips. It was an appropriate name.
"And I also found something."
Like the other time, he removed a flower from his bag. This time, a Camellia, white as snow.
“Tsubaki.” Emma received the flower in her hands. Her eyes, fixed on the various white petals, contemplated that act. "White camellias mean ‘wait’, Sekiro.”
As soon as she looked up, Sekiro was gone, but she would continue to wait for him.
[...]
So the shinobi was called Sekiro. The one-armed wolf. Suitable.
Sekiro felt the weight of that name as he felt the weight of his katana in his scabbard. He was a shinobi who responded to the iron code. It was a murderer who killed anyone in his path to achieve his goals. He was a servant who responded to a boy, with a bloodline that gave immortality to those who took his blood. And now it was Sekiro, the one-armed wolf.
He had fought Lord Genichiro to secure the safety of his Master. He had defeated a nobleman, Isshin's grandson. He shed blood to reach his goals and serve his Lord. And yet, deep down, he felt that he was something beyond all this when he thought of Emma. Maybe he could be more than those aggressive burdens because of her.
In his flesh and bone hand he held some Blue Bells. Small flowers of blue coloring. They could easily be crushed by his fingers that have already crushed other humans. Even so, Sekiro held them with the gentleness of someone who never needed to hurt another person. He needed the whim of keeping them whole to give to someone.
Emma resided elsewhere. A safer and more comfortable room than the Dilapidated Temple at Ashina Castle. With Sekiro regaining custody of Lord Kuro, the Divine Heir, she was willing to look after the boy as if he were his own master. Which forced her to distance herself a little from Sekiro, since she could not always be at his disposal and would have to take care of Kuro's safety.
Even with the safety of the Divine Heir guaranteed and the Dragonrot stabilized, Emma seemed uneasy. Recent events disturbed anyone, but she seemed to be the most affected. Genichiro forcing Kuro to surrender his power to him out of ambition, Genichiro's fight against Sekiro and Sekiro's concern to see her close to Genichiro. Part of her heart broke when he was suspicious of her. She had to tell him that she did not wish any harm to him or Kuro, even if it seems obvious.
As she mourned, Kuro did not seem to pay any attention to her existence. Standing near the window, Emma watched the snow fall and the gray sky. Silence continued to disturb her.
She was not only hurt by thinking of Sekiro's insecurity, but also of the possible fate that might fall upon him. Despite being the shinobi who guaranteed her safety and Kuro's, he was still not exempt from Shura's fate. The fate of those who are tempted by the power of the dragon lineage and who betray their own principles. This possibility plagued her heart, after all Emma refused to believe that Sekiro could flirt with this cruel fate. He gave her flowers, captivated her affection, but it was enough to be tempted to betray the Divine Heir that Emma needed to take action. And she did not want to face him. She did not want to face the man she was worshiping so much.
Maybe it was her immersion in her fears or the stealth of Sekiro, but Emma did not even notice him approaching. He had even talked to Kuro, but she heard no voice.
He held her elbow. There was no aggressiveness, it was just the touch of someone who wanted attention. He almost never touched her, but kept his prosthetic fingers holding the flesh beneath her clothing, even after getting her attention.
“Lady Emma.”
"Please, just call me Emma. We do not need such formality anymore.”
He nodded with a nasal noise. His hand was still around her arm, though it seemed more protective than holding. "You look worried. What afflicts you?
"The world is collapsing around us, haven't you noticed?" her voice sounded desolate, almost desperate.
Sekiro frowned. "Hm..."
She composed herself.
"I'm sorry for being fatalistic, I didn't mean to sound rude.” she turned away from him, but felt his hand squeeze her arm. A shiver sliced through her skin, perhaps the cold of the window.
"I brought you something." With his other hand, he held out the small blue flowers. Blue Bells.
She moved closer to him, watching the delicate flowers inside a hand so large. She took them between her fingers, briefly touching his hand.
“Buruberu.” she whispered, turning back to him. She realized he was much closer to her body than any other time. She could smell the blood he emitted and feel his heavy breath in her hair. "They are symbols of gratitude.”
“Hm. They are for you.” he reaffirmed, though it was obvious.
“I appreciate it.”
Then he let go of her arm. Emma realized that her heart was racing.
They looked at each other one last time, before he crossed the door and disappeared.
[...]
When Sekiro was found in the war, a mere lost and hungry puppy, he never imagined all those paths his life would take. He became a shinobi, obeyed his father and the iron code, became Lord Kuro's servant, protected his honor and kept him safe. He knew death, pain and illusion. He traveled between real and surreal realms. He faced the most diverse types of enemies. He fought his own father to save Lord Kuro. And yet, he could not deal with the feeling Emma had aroused in him.
He had never tasted anything like it. His life was only to survive and kill, there was no time for whims like desire and love, but he was not able to avoid. He had never felt what he felt for Emma, but now that he felt it, he wanted to show it. He just did not know how.
The Divine Child walked around the courtyard of the Temple of Illusions. It was only one of those ambitious attempts to gain the power of immortality, the only one among several others that did not survive. He was there because the girl offered him a handful of rice, nothing more. It was commonplace to offer so many things that seemed banal.
He was about to leave the girl without her noticing. However, the girl seemed to notice his uneasiness.
“An exotic flower sprouted behind the temple.” she announced suddenly, going to him and taking his hand. “Come see.”
He did not understand, but he followed her to the scene. It was a clearing, the ground was flooded with shallow, crystalline water. Several flowers and plants grew in harmony, regardless of their species. In the midst of them, the largest and most beautiful stood out, although not belonging to that place at all. A Cactus flower.
Sekiro let go of the Divine Child's hand and went to the flower in disbelief. It sounded like a joke. A shiver ran through his skin. He looked at the girl again.
"You can take her if you want." she giggled. "But, remember, every flower that is plucked needs a purpose.”
He hesitated for a moment, but his hands ended up taking the flower for himself and guarding it carefully.
It had been almost three weeks since Sekiro's last visit. Emma understood that he was busy with the mission of trying to break away from immortality and to vanish the power that corrupted men at Lord Kuro's request, but it was undeniable how much she missed the shinobi.
What eased his absence, were the flowers he had given her. She kept them all guarded with every whim and affection. Like all natural, the flowers dried up and died, but Emma kept them as an amulet and always returned to admire what they once meant.
This time, Lord Kuro was with her, carefully examining each flower. He was a cunning boy and it was impossible to hide that secret. She was afraid he would not like it, but he only looked surprised.
"Lady Emma, do you know the meaning of all the flowers?" he asked as he guarded the plants.
“Yes. Every flower has a purpose, usually the meaning matches that.” she answered patiently as she closed the door of her room and returned with Kuro to the main hall.
He was agitated, kept going to the library and read the same books as always. He was also missing Sekiro.
"This time he's taking too long, don’t you think?" he asked her, in front of the censer. A soft scent of plum dominated the place.
"Yes, sometimes it is necessary for him to delay." Emma sighed, standing before the window, smelling the incense.
"He must be looking for a flower." Kuro laughed, trying to see Emma's features. After all, he was still a boy, so he acted as such. "Which flower do you think he'll bring you?"
Emma allowed herself a low, behaved giggle. "Master Wolf is a mystery.”
"Yes, he is, but I'm sure he'll bring you flowers." said Kuro.
When night came, Emma had difficulty persuading the young Master to retire and rest. He just wanted to stay in the library, but she did not think it was a good idea to force his vision into the dim light of the candles. After much argument, she managed to get him to lie down. And she made sure that if he dared to get up, she would know.
When she saw with her own eyes that he had fallen asleep, Emma left the room and headed down the main hall toward her own. The great castle was shrouded in darkness, with no spot of light, but there was still one shadow moving.
Sekiro came quietly, just a shadow against the wall. He was at the end of the hall, standing. Emma held up a smile, walking up to him.
"I'm glad you're back, Master Wolf." she greeted him, still seeing only his silhouette. "You took too long this time.”
“For a good reason.” he murmured, approaching.
“I see.” she approached him. "Lord Kuro is sleeping right now.”
He smiled, because he knew the dark would not let her know. "I know, I went to him out the window.”
“Right. Need something else?” she demanded, her voice sounding more serious than usual, but she could not fool him.
"No." he lied purposefully.
She stared at him through the dark, watching his yellow irises shimmer like precious stones. Then she passed him with indifference.
"Good night then, Master Wolf.”
When she stood in front of the door of the room, he held the fabric of her kimono. "Actually, I want to give you something."
She stopped to turn to him, and as soon as her gaze met the flower he held in his hands, her heart throbbed so hard he might have heard.
"How did you get that flower?" her voice rang out between serious and incredulous.
“That's why I delayed.”
She shifted her gaze to him, quite surprised. That flower was not born in a region like that. And what it symbolized…
"Do you know what this flower means?" She asked him firmly. “Saboten no hana means…”
“It means ‘lust’.” he interrupted.
She was astonished. Suddenly, everything seemed to make sense and she felt like an idiot.
“You know. You always knew all the meanings.”
He grinned. "Yes."
"You were telling me your feelings all the time..."
“Yes.”
She let out a half-laugh of relief and disbelief. "You have an incredible ability to say too much without speaking a word.”
His smile was satisfied at that remark. And he did not know what else to say. Then he just raised his hand to her face. His flesh-and-blood hand, because he wanted to feel the warmth of her skin. He ran his fingers over a lock of hair and slid down to her cheek.
Emma closed her eyes. It was the first time he had touched her that way, but how many times had she not dreamed of that touch?
His thumb traced her cheek, her chin, and her lips, drawing the perfect contour. Emma took his hand in hers, holding it to her lips so she could kiss it. She kissed the palm, the back and the fingers, each one of them. They were as clean as they should be, ready to touch Emma.
He felt dizzy as Emma kissed his fingers. His heart seemed to beat inside his head. His lips could not keep closed and were dry as if he were thirsty.
She stopped kissing his hand so she could pull him into the room. Although it was night and Kuro was sleeping, it did not seem appropriate that kind of interaction in the middle of the hall.
With the flower properly stored, she could return to him. Their lips met quickly, nervous, and fumbling. It was the first kiss, not only between them, but the first of their lives. Neither of them had ever experienced that feeling and there was no better opportunity than that.
Sekiro knew the taste of blood, defeat and victory, but the taste of Emma's lips was something he never imagined. It was like being at peace. The world no longer mattered, the war no longer mattered. Just the two of them.
"Can I see you without clothes?" she whispered through the kiss.
He felt insecure, but nodded. He moved away from her for a moment and began to unzip his dresses. It might not seem, considering the lightness of his movements, but he wore many pieces of clothing. It took a while for him to remove everything, but at last he was completely naked in front of her.
There were no candles burning in Emma's small room. The only light was the glow of the moon that invaded the window. And he was beautiful naked in the moonlight. However, there was still a detail.
“There's still one piece.” she whispered, touching his left arm. The prosthesis.
“Emma..”
"Let me see you as you are."
With hesitation, he began untying the prosthesis. He needed her help, which she did very carefully. It was a heavy, gross, deadly prosthesis. It was not necessary at the time. Finally, with his amputated arm revealed, Emma kissed the top of her left shoulder, giving him security.
He kissed her again, this time with more intensity. His only arm wrapped around her waist, holding their bodies together. Emma sighed at the sensation of having his naked body in hers. She could feel his desire against her belly.
Gradually, Emma's clothes were also being thrown on the floor and, like him, she was also wearing too many things. As incredible as it might seem for a first time, she was comfortable. His kisses, his touches, his presence was comforting. And her heart was only accelerated by a good anxiety.
She felt his mouth go down to her neck and the tickles that his stubble teased. And his hand untied and unfastening the clothes of her body. It felt delicious.
How could the hand that performed such brutality be able to touch that skin so subtly, so delicate, so loving?
Finally, they were both without clothes covering their bodies.
Watching her naked at that moment, admiring her pale body, he understood the sheer desire he felt. He did not just want to possess her, he wanted to prove the origin of that desire. He wanted to... taste her.
Emma did not understand when she saw Sekiro kneel in front of her, she just kept watching. His hand ran down her legs, reaching up to her thighs and in between. With no effort at all, he placed her leg over his left shoulder. Then he kissed her on the groin.
She melted on his lips. She never imagined that such sensation could exist. The ground seemed to break beneath her feet, and for support she clung to his hair. She had to bend over, since her body no longer seemed to respond to her commands.
It was incredible how he seemed to know every part of her body as if it were an open book about to be read. With each reaction, he seemed to learn more and more. With each sound that escaped her mouth, he seemed to be motivated more and more.
When Sekiro removed his lips from the middle of her legs, she was panting and her face was red. Her hair was streaming down her face. Emma knelt beside him and allowed him to loosen her locks. A black cascade ran down her pale back. The smell of her hair was as good as her own.
With his lips still moist, Sekiro kissed her mouth. His fingers massaged her back and stumbled over a few scars, which did not surprise him, after all Emma also knew how to fight. Her arms searched for support, wrapping around his neck, but one of her hands insisted on going down the chest to the lower belly. He sighed, surrendering to her hand.
Emma pushed him gently, forcing him to lie down completely. Admiring her as she sat on his hips, Sekiro seemed to lose air.
It was the first time he had felt that burning desire. He has always dealt with women with mere cordiality. Either they had to be protected or they were just obstacles. He never dared to look at a girl's skin with desire, it was only a whim. However, Emma aroused feelings that Sekiro vowed never to feel. From her voice to her gesture, her entire existence was able to get him out of the comfort zone.
He was accustomed to handling guns, to hurting bodies, to listening to rudeness. It was new to have to handle Emma's body, touch her fondly as he listened to her verbalize pleasure. And he was worshiping every moment as he had never worshiped any other.
He knew he would not be trapped in that moment forever, he knew the next day would come and he would still have a journey to complete, but none of that seemed to matter. That night he abandoned his weapons in exchange for Emma's love.
When he came for her, he hugged her tightly, perhaps more than he should, but she did not complain. Being between his broad shoulders and inside his warm embrace was like being at home.
In the end, he fell asleep with his face drowned in Emma's wet hair. And it was Sekiro's best night of sleep.
As usual, every morning Emma opened her eyes. Her responsibility to Kuro did not allow her to sleep much. A sonorous yawn escaped her lips as she realized she was alone in the room. She had expected this outcome, since Sekiro did not belong only to her. Not yet.
As soon as she got up, picking up her clothes, her gaze noticed something on the window sill. Red as blood, gleaming in the morning sunlight, a Camellia stood out.
With a smile, she went to the flower, taking it in her small hands and bringing it up close to her face to smell it.
A few roofs away, a shadow watched the exact moment the girl took the flower. A smile lit up his face.
“Tsubaki.” Sekiro's thick voice sounded like a whisper. “Red camellias represent love.” although for samurais it meant ‘bad luck’.