A soft evening breeze moved through the mountain pass as the ronin walked, her wooden sandals tapping lightly against the stone path. Dust still clung to her sleeves, and a faint cut on her cheek glowed red in the fading sunlight—silent reminders of the battle she had left behind.

Her katana hung at her hip, cleaned but still humming with the memory of motion. She loosened her grip on the hilt and exhaled, letting the tension melt from her shoulders. The fight was over. At last.

The mountains opened before her like a painted screen. Pines stood tall and dark against a sky turning gold and violet. Far below, mist curled through the valleys, drifting lazily as though nothing in the world had ever been touched by violence.

She paused at the edge of a cliff, letting her long hair—black as ink—fall freely in the wind. In that moment, she did not feel like a warrior or a wanderer. She felt simply alive. The sound of a distant waterfall reached her ears, mixing with the rustle of leaves and the quiet song of evening insects.

She closed her eyes.

For the first time in days, she allowed herself to breathe deeply, to taste the cool mountain air, to feel the world as it was when no blade was drawn. The relief washed over her like warm rain.

A small smile touched her lips.

The road ahead was uncertain, as it always had been. But tonight, under the soft glow of the dying sun and surrounded by the timeless calm of the mountains, she walked on—lighter, freer, carried gently by the peace she had fought so hard to reclaim.

Ronin’s Rest: Lofi After the Battle

elai_yukio