The Burdens of Curse or Disease

Sumire hadn't realized her own fatigue until she had finally relaxed.

She'd never ridden in such a nice caravan. Nezu wasn't any sort of royalty, but her transportation was still far more comfortable that anything the Mako Clan typically offered. It was spacious enough for all four of them to ride without crowding each other, there were refreshments and medical supplies stocked into compact trunks, and the floorboards didn't give you splinters.

Best of all, Nezu even had her own driver, allowing them to freely relax and converse with each other. These accommodations were especially helpful for the two injured men, whom Nezu tended to expertly. Sumire and Senren shared a soft, adoring laugh every time she checked on Jimmu, since he would always melt under her touch. This obvious reaction never deterred Nezu, however, to the point that the pirates began running a bet on whether or not she actually noticed it.

The journey from the dock at the Wani Channel to Nezu's home in the Tsubame territory took about a day. It was a surprisingly peaceful trip together, one filled with beautiful scenery and lively stories. About halfway through, Senren's wounds had finally stopped bleeding and no longer needed changes of bandages, much to Nezu's delight.

“Woohoo! We did it,” she exclaimed. “It took a little while, but the coagulate medicine I had here did the trick. By the time we make it to Menkoi City, your wounds should be fully healed.”

“Your work is truly amazing,” Senren praised her, admiring the now tightly sealed cuts on his arms. “I'm truly in your debt.”

“What exactly is hemophilia, anyway?” Sumire asked curiously, tearing her gaze from the mesmerizing sight that was Jimmu attempting to open a package of crackers. “Is that whatever made him bleed so badly?”

“Bingo! A hundred points for you, Miss Pirate,” Nezu cheered, moving over to help Jimmu peel open the bamboo paper. “It's a disorder that more or less means your blood is too thin to clot. If it can't clot, you just don't stop bleeding, meaning even small cuts can be dangerous.”

“What?!” Sumire immediately turned and delivered a smack to Senren’s upper arm. “You knew that, and ya went an’ did something stupid anyway! How do ya even get to be an Imperial Hagashi with a condition like that?!”

“Ngh—” he winced slightly. “But I was trying to protect you.”

“Shaddap! I don't need protected if it means gettin’ ya killed!”

Nezu giggled, interrupting their squabble. Jimmu deliberately stayed out of the topic, shyly nibbling on his crackers as Nezu pulled his long hair back into a low ponytail.

“Being valiant and reckless seems to be a trait you both share,” she said. “But, I don't think Sen here is entirely used to his hemophilia. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think you were born with it. It came about as a symptom of your Prismachromia.”

Nezu pointed directly at Senren’s crystalized eye, and it felt as if she was burning a hole through it. A tear rolled beneath the eyepatch and down his cheek as if confirming it.

“A symptom?” Sumire’s curiosity was suddenly piqued. “You mean like when I get paralyzed or when I can't feel anything?”

“Mhm,” Nezu nodded. “Prismachromia puts a lot of excess energy in your body, and all that energy will manifest as different symptoms of varying intensity. Since all of your energy is electricity, it affects your nervous system. But, Senren…”

She looked over at him gently; cautiously. As if she knew what she was about to ask would be a delicate subject.

“Forgive me if I'm imposing, but… May I please see your eye?”

As much as they tried to hide it, Senren could feel the curious and anticipated gaze of everyone in the room. It made the air tense, but he couldn't deny that the tenseness only stemmed from his own insecurity and unease. He sighed in defeat.

“Very well. If you insist…”

Senren reached up and gingerly removed the black leather eyepatch. It fell to his lap, and his eyes slowly opened, revealing the crystalized iris on his right to be a stunning aquamarine gem. Sumire's breath hitched slightly at the sight — it was gorgeous and serene, like a gentle pool awash in moonlight.

“Amazing…” Nezu remarked, moving a bit closer to examine it. “So your eye became an aquamarine, then… I get it now, the energy you possess is water, isn't it?”

“Yes, that's right…” Senren answered solemnly. “You’re quite perceptive. Ever since I was struck with this…ailment…I've struggled with what you called hemophilia. As well as stiffness in my joints and uncontrollable tears…”

Even as he spoke, wetness began to pool and spill over from his right eye. It was a somewhat uncanny sight to Sumire, watching tears pour from a reddened, delicate eye upon a face that bore no apparent sorrow or pain. It was only when he felt the teardrops drop from his chin that Senren began to look self-conscious.

“I see… Thank you…”

Seeing his obvious discomfort, Nezu backed away and allowed him to replace his eyepatch. Unfortunately, the tenseness still lingered in the air, leaving everyone silent for a moment.

“Miss Nezu,” Senren broke the silence with a nervous question. “There's something I've wanted to ask you since the moment I learned Sumire received a diagnosis. Since before we even met…”

His gaze, which had been trained on the floor, then shifted to meet Nezu’s own.

“Are you certain that this… is a disease?”

The medicine woman was a little surprised by the inquiry, and the implications it held, but she responded with the utmost conviction. Her hazel eyes were unwavering.

“I am. Without a shadow of a doubt, Senren, I know that this is a disease.”

Nezu's conviction became concern as she searched the ronin's conflicted expression.

“Did someone tell you otherwise..?”

Sumire suddenly remembered the conversation she and Senren had the last time they shared a caravan. It was when she told him about her Prismachromia, and he had a very similar reaction. But something about this time… Sumire found herself excited about the possibility to learn more about the ronin she'd befriended.

Senren took a steadying breath.

“In the Imperial Capital of Kyonkichi, what you call Prismachromia is considered to be a terrible curse. I was lucky to have been struck with it in such a way that it could be passed off as a mere eye injury, but once it was clear that I had gained some sort of magic powers, I had to hide it from my peers.

“Of course, I was eventually found out, and as punishment all of the young warriors in my charge were sentenced to seppuku. I, myself, was sentenced to death by burning and thrown in a cell…”

He clutched the key hanging around his neck, acutely aware of everyone's bated breath. For a brief moment, their only company was the sound of the horses’ hooves and caravan wheels on the dirt, no one daring to interrupt Senren’s story.

“Forgive me, I'm not burdening you all with this to gain sympathy or pity,” he continued with a bitter smile. “I just want you to understand that…with everything I've been through, to then hear that it was all over a misunderstanding… I cannot leave any room for error again. If I am to believe your claim that this is a disease and not a dangerous curse, I need to ensure the validity of that claim.”

The gravity of the situation, of how much this all meant to Senren, was more than apparent. Nezu tried her best to convey just how much she understood his position. It was the sort of understanding that had to be expressed with the soul, projected through the heart with invisible wavelengths that can be felt but not quantified. A profound understanding reflected in her hazel eyes.

“You have my word on this, Prismachromia is no curse,” she assured him. “Not much is known about it to the public, but my ancestor wrote an entire journal about it. She dedicated her life to learning about the origin and treatment of rare diseases, including Prismachromia. Healing people is my life's work, so I wouldn't even suggest this if I wasn't entirely sure.”

“If it helps…” Jimmu suddenly spoke up, a little awkwardly. “I can also confirm that your strange abilities are not born of a curse. If they were, I would be able to smell it. But all you two smell like are…fresh rain over the ocean, and…”

He sniffed the air near Sumire.

“...sharp, static ozone; like the air before a storm.”

Unsure how to respond to an assessment like that, and incapable of finding any reason to doubt his companions, Senren finally relaxed. The atmosphere became cleansed of the tenseness it previously had, allowing him to grin earnestly. Sumire, on the other hand, was percolating with laughter that she could no longer contain.

“Ha! No way, we really smell like that to you?” She finally asked through unstifled laughter. “That's crazy! Yokai senses are so weird, ha ha!”

“H-hey! It is not weird!” Jimmu retorted, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It's just how we're made — Yokai feel many things more strongly than humans do!”

“Now, now, settle down,” Nezu reached out and patted Jimmu on the head, immediately qualming his indignation. Instead of continuing an argument, the Wani found his face to be remarkably hot, and chose to remain silent and steaming.

“Thank you,” Senren couldn't stop himself from smiling. “Your reassurance and support mean everything to me. All of you are far dearer friends than I deserve.”

Even after reliving those painful memories, he felt warm and beloved so long as he was in their company. It was a notion shared amongst all of them — a truly unbreakable bond.