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20240219 Crisis Post
echoes of a shattered legacy - I

In a nondescript small town nestled beneath the shadow of giants of the Shogai mountain range, life was serene. Far enough from the politics of the shogunate and the money hungry ministers from the nearby cities, the quiet was all but the norm for them. Rarely disturbed as it is, most do not dare wander too far from their small haven lest they encounter a much more menacing world. Contented, they would rather seclude themselves into the lush forests of the mountains.

That was until the air darkened, black snow falling onto the village’s sacred soil. It brought disease and sickness to the children and elderly, with adults finding it harder to breath under the unrelenting rain.

Mori, a tapestry weaver and part-time teacher at the local child community, was quick to recognize what it was. Making the others believe what it was, however, would prove to be quite the arduous task. Others were begging for the Sun to come back to good graces, while others locked themselves in their homes to repent. Most, still, came back to work, determined not to let the worrying atmosphere get to their livelihood.

The young woman took to teaching the children her knowledge, and of what this mysterious phenomena actually is. An eruption from a faraway volcano. Children had a hard time grasping the concept entirely, imagination filling in the gaps. Besides, they wouldn’t really think that she was lying, as they were her teacher.

But that wouldn’t be the only thing that would plague their humble lands.

Travellers soon trickled in slowly, one or two a week to around a dozen a day. And then, travellers became refugees, seeking the peacefulness of the countryside rather than face the tumultuous and unsure moments of the cities. While manpower may be a good thing for the ageing population, it would not be a good thing if these people were to stay for a long time without a permanent solution. They had to find housing, food, and jobs for these people for the long term, which is a hard ask for the village who doesn’t dabble in the politics of the higher classes.

Eventually though, they soon managed to fit in most of the people. Asking some of these refugees who had prior knowledge or positions in their towns or cities for ideas and opinions, soon everyone had something to be busy with. The kids were the most who benefited, having more teachers who can teach them those that other old teachers within the village cannot—Mori included. Their slow and steady life was disrupted, chaos and uncertainty became the norm. The true prismean personality shines through even in the darkest times. It was always a question of why some are so willing to shed blood for the taste of power. People follow them for guidance, but where will that lead the commoners when all they want is power and glory?

The big question for the future of peace remains: what is the problem within Umitoji now? And when will it end?