Sanemi Shinazugawa

Dawn covered the mountains with a pale veil. The air smelled of iron and smoke.
Sanemi Shinazugawa, ensign of the Imperial Army, was advancing with his men towards a small village devastated by war. He didn't expect to find anything but ruins... until he saw her.

In the scorched garden, a young woman was cleaning a fallen altar figure with trembling hands. Her hair was covered in dust, but her gaze remained vivid.
"What are you doing here?" he asked in a firm voice.
"I live here," she replied. "Or at least... I used to."

That simple answer broke something in Sanemi. There was no fear or hatred in it, only the weariness of someone who has lost everything.

Over the next few days, he and his men helped rebuild what little remained. She, always wearing a white ribbon in her hair, worked in silence.
Sanemi began to wait for every dawn just to see her, even though he pretended indifference to his soldiers.

Rumors weren't long in coming. An officer shouldn't look at a villager. The glances between them became furtive, the encounters brief. Until one moonless night, she approached the camp with a lamp in her hands.
"They're leaving tomorrow," he whispered. "I didn't want you to leave without..."
She didn't finish the sentence. Sanemi cupped her face, and the kiss they shared was so brief and real that even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

At dawn, he set out. War called for him once more. But weeks later, upon learning that that same village had been attacked, Sanemi disobeyed orders and rode north alone.

The fire was consuming the houses when he arrived. He shouted her name, but only the wind answered. In the ashes, he found her beside the altar he had cleaned the first day, the blackened white ribbon between her fingers.