Later that night, Akihiko decided to read the letters. Opening the paper gingerly, he quickly looked at the letters, scanning through to find something interesting. While most that he skimmed were about trade and other things that he was already learning about, there were some that he put aside as they seemed to be about more personal events and Nagi’s innermost thoughts. He picked a random letter from the personal events pile that was dated the first day of the second month of the third year of kan’ei. He started reading, hearing his father’s voice in every stroke.
Yesterday, I heard devastating news, my younger brother Rekishi Yamakujira and his new wife Mirai Yamakujira, were killed by human bandits on the road between Yakone and Hirojime. Mirai was formerly part of the Teda family and was the current daimyo’s eldest daughter. Mirai was not merely my brother’s wife. She was a bridge between our family and the powerful Teda clan, being the eldest daughter of their daimyo. This marriage was a union carefully crafted with the hope of fostering peace and cooperation between our two domains, an alliance that was meant to bring strength and stability to both of our houses. The Teda daimyo, stricken with grief and anger over the loss of his beloved daughter, has responded with fury. In his anguish, he has chosen to cut off all trade with Shima Island, severing a vital link that I had worked so hard to establish. This act of retribution has plunged my plans into chaos. I had envisioned a future where our domain could flourish through stronger trade ties with the mainland, where our people could benefit from the wealth and resources such connections would bring. But with the Teda family turning their backs on us, that vision seems to be slipping away, leaving me to grapple with the uncertain future that now looms before us.
My advisor and childhood friend, Saito Enoki, her half brother wanted to visit his father even though his father banished him from the domain for reasons unknown. He seems to blame himself for her death as he wasnt with her. He was pleading to try to get home When the news of her death reached him, it was as if the light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a shadow of grief that now follows him everywhere. As he had recently entered my service 40 years ago, and had been a loyal servant since, I let him go back.
Although I have a longstanding alliance with the Oda family, one that was forged in the fires of conflict when I aided Oda Nobunaga in his quest to overthrow the Shogunate, I know all too well that no single alliance can sustain a domain. The strength of our position relies on a network of relationships, each thread of which weaves a broader tapestry of security and influence. The Teda family's favor was a key thread in that tapestry, and now it has been severed. The loss is not just a personal one, but a blow to the future prosperity and stability of our people.
As I sit here, surrounded by the weight of these losses, my spirit feels heavy, laden with grief and worry. The future seems uncertain, and I find myself questioning the path forward.
—
4th day of the 3rd month of the third year of Kan’ei
This month has been incredibly difficult for everyone in the domain. Saito is still devastated by the loss of his sister, Mirai. Her death has left him deeply shaken, and I can see the pain in his eyes every time her name is mentioned. His grief has led him to a growing distrust of humans, a sentiment he has been vocal about in recent days. He is increasingly advocating for the domain to strengthen its trade relations with more yokai, arguing that we cannot rely on humans who have proven capable of such treachery. His words, while born out of sorrow, reflect a deeper concern for the safety and future of our people.
As much as I value his counsel, I cannot help but feel conflicted. The bonds between our domain and the human world are complex and fragile. To sever them completely would be to isolate ourselves, something I am not sure would be wise. Yet, Saito’s fears are not unfounded. The brutality of my brother’s murder at the hands of human bandits has shaken the trust I once had in our human counterparts..
16th day of the 6th month of the 3rd year of kan’ei
Typically, my wife, Misato, would accompany me to the shogun’s court, providing me with comfort and support during these long trips. However, this year, Saito insisted on coming with me instead. His grief over Mirai’s death has not lessened, and it seems to have only deepened his mistrust of humans. He urged me to increase the number of guards and enhance the security of our pavilion. His concern was palpable, and though I appreciate his vigilance, I worry that his fears may be clouding his judgement.
Saito has gone so far as to ban all human servants from entering our pavilion, convinced that we cannot trust them. While I understand his reasoning, it feels excessive. The shogun’s chief servant has taken notice and appears increasingly irritated by our refusal to accept human servants, viewing it as a slight against the daimyo. I fear that Saito’s actions, though well-intentioned, may be creating unnecessary tension at court. I am beginning to think that next year, I should bring Misato with me instead and suggest that Saito remain at home. His presence, while comforting, is beginning to strain our relationships with others at court, and I fear the long-term consequences if this continues.
The next letters were not that interesting. Shuffling through the letters Akihiko found some written in the 11th year of Kan’ei which would have been the year that Kaito was born. Akihiko was excited but also guilty. He wanted to see who seduced Nagi but he saw no mention of a woman during his visits to the capital. Scrubbing his eyes, feeling the prickling tiredness that was steadily encroaching, he reread the letters, this time focussing on all mentions of women. Again, he found nothing. Well, there has to be something about Kaito’s mother or what happened to her when he came to us. He flicked through the years to the 16th year of Kan’ei which was the year that Kaito came home. Sighing as he heard the bell toll the hour of the Ox, he stood up, bracing to feel the early spring chill, leaving his bed and stuffed the letters underneath the loose board. He decided to keep reading them the next day.
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