The Eien Springs
This document was written by @rslyn and proofread by #RexLobo.
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Ice floated above freshly stirred spring water, gently galivanting against the land's edge, begging for the freedom that it so desired. Below, koi fish relished the sun's light as each of their scales reflected a hope for something beyond the soft, rounded edges that they knew. Birds soared above, peering down at the waters below, wishing for companionship as the wind carried them on a path of solemnity. Some say that an angel is only granted its wings when she's ready to fly; though not all stories are that of bliss; some become consumed with solitude and mourning. Mourning of a clandestine falsity that will never be true. A falsity that is buried in a nearby mine, long forgotten.
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I. The Hermit of the Kohaku Peaks
Long before the industrialization of Izu-Karakura, an old hermit found sanctuary among the Kohaku mountain range, tucked away where nobody could see him. Fishers sailed from distant shores, settling along the Kaigan Waters where a simple life could be lived. Yet, the old, senile man never left his house constructed of earthen materials, watching the world pass him each day. Lonely and frail, he found ignorant bliss in a simple life while others only whispered his name a myth. After all, comfort is best found in what you know. At least, those are the words written across pages now lost to the modern city.
II. The Maiden of Spring
As winter’s runoff trailed down the mountain in a sparkling parade, spring flowers began to bloom at its foot, where the hermit called home. Colors the old man so longed for each passing season as if they were the personification of joy itself–a feeling long-lost to him. Rarely did strangers pass so far into the forest that was unknown to all, and yet, a blossom fell from above, trapping his attention as it fell outside of his sealed window. Just beyond his stained glass reach, a young maiden barefoot in her pursuit trailed toward the springs below, fallen from a distant tree in bloom. Curious, the old man pulled his rocking chair toward the sun, allowing its warm rays to shine across his face—a sensation that felt eternal. Despite his wishes, all that is known is bound to change at some point. For weeks, the old man sat before his view, rocking until grooves were worn into the carefully crafted wood beneath him, his wish to see her again growing stronger. Consistently returning to the waters edge below, the young woman returned each day, basket in hand, until it was filled with the flowers he loved so much and berries he never dared to eat.
III. A Window’s Tap
As days warmed and spring showers rang through the small island's climate, her visits to the springs grew far and few between, taking the lonely man's hope with her. That is, until heavy clouds drew her attention far beyond the frightened water to a house that sat far above where anyone would ever go. Mahogany hair braided to the side of her shoulder fell loose as gentle hands became torn in her pursuit up the cliff's edge. Behind her, flowers trailed, growing with each step she took. "Hello," she said, as a careful finger tapped against the window beneath a warm smile. Each hair raised on the old man's body, fearful of the fall below. "Come outside," the maiden insisted as raging clouds above began to make way for golden streaks to entangle themselves with the ground. Planks sc****d against one another as the front door slowly opened, the hermit taking a careful step onto the path outside. He had never felt so much warmth radiating around him as a cool mountain breeze welcomed him in an embrace that could never be forgotten.
IV. Days Painted in Petals
Weeks passed, each day marking a new step taken out into the world, and companionship was found within each other. The old man shared tales of his time long before he came to the island, myths and legends about water-spirits and the voices of the wind. The maiden taught him the mysteries of the sky and how each cloud tells its own story. Together, they collected stones large enough to pass from the spring's edge to the small island in the middle, where flowers grew in plentiful patches. Sitting beneath the small tree in the center, the old man no longer wished for what he knew; no, he had hopes for something past the rough, sharp edges that he knew. The maiden, with dark hair and skin that rivaled the moon’s reflection, wished for companionship as she strayed from the path of solemnity.
V. Wild Berries
Seasons passed as the two learned more from each other and the world around them than ever before. No longer bound by four wooden walls and the crushing isolation that is loneliness, the old man and young maiden discovered that the secret to life's enjoyment lies within the world around them. The small tree that once offered little shade had grown into one large enough to hold the maiden as she climbed to the top, looking out at the forest that had welcomed her as a guest to its sacred land, absent the old man who had ventured off to collect wild berries for them. Suddenly, the sound of rushing water filled the space around her, ears ringing in fear as winter's run-off swept down the mountain in a flood large enough to bury the dreams she had of the future. The young woman screamed as water spirits attempted to protect her within the undercurrent. Hours passed until he found her, lifeless with only a small flower in her courageous hand that had been strong enough to pull him from his fear of companionship.
VI. The Promise
The old man retreated to the cliff's edge, where he sat crying for months, mourning the young maiden who had shown him the purpose of life. Tears pooled in the small pond outside of his house until they eventually poured over into the springs below, where the tree that still stood despite life's turbulence remained. "Eien, I promise," he spoke into the quiet night where he swore to live out the few years he had left, collecting flowers, smiling at the sun, and appreciating all that life has to offer in her name.
VII. The Legend That Remains
Some say that the man never died after drinking from the waters below that had been filled with weeping tears that fell from the loss of the girl who taught the senile old man to live. The whispers of his name became legend as the town slowly grew full of life in an eternal appreciation for Eien.
In the centuries that followed, the land changed as all places do. Roads replaced the foot-worn paths, lanterns gave way to wires and streetlights, and the once-quiet Kaigan Waters hummed with the pulse of modern life. Yet, in the hush between footsteps and the soft ripple of the river, the people of Izu-Karakura still speak of the hermit and the maiden with voices lowered as eyes turned toward the Kohaku Peaks.
------
For in Izu-Karakura, the legend teaches that nothing loved is ever truly lost; it returns in another season, another form, another chance to choose connection. They say the maiden Eien walks beside us, unseen but never absent, guiding anyone willing to listen to the quiet places where the world still remembers her. Others say the hermit, too, lingers near the springs, always searching, always keeping watch over all who visit.
This document was written by @rslyn and proofread by #RexLobo.
------
Ice floated above freshly stirred spring water, gently galivanting against the land's edge, begging for the freedom that it so desired. Below, koi fish relished the sun's light as each of their scales reflected a hope for something beyond the soft, rounded edges that they knew. Birds soared above, peering down at the waters below, wishing for companionship as the wind carried them on a path of solemnity. Some say that an angel is only granted its wings when she's ready to fly; though not all stories are that of bliss; some become consumed with solitude and mourning. Mourning of a clandestine falsity that will never be true. A falsity that is buried in a nearby mine, long forgotten.
------
I. The Hermit of the Kohaku Peaks
Long before the industrialization of Izu-Karakura, an old hermit found sanctuary among the Kohaku mountain range, tucked away where nobody could see him. Fishers sailed from distant shores, settling along the Kaigan Waters where a simple life could be lived. Yet, the old, senile man never left his house constructed of earthen materials, watching the world pass him each day. Lonely and frail, he found ignorant bliss in a simple life while others only whispered his name a myth. After all, comfort is best found in what you know. At least, those are the words written across pages now lost to the modern city.
II. The Maiden of Spring
As winter’s runoff trailed down the mountain in a sparkling parade, spring flowers began to bloom at its foot, where the hermit called home. Colors the old man so longed for each passing season as if they were the personification of joy itself–a feeling long-lost to him. Rarely did strangers pass so far into the forest that was unknown to all, and yet, a blossom fell from above, trapping his attention as it fell outside of his sealed window. Just beyond his stained glass reach, a young maiden barefoot in her pursuit trailed toward the springs below, fallen from a distant tree in bloom. Curious, the old man pulled his rocking chair toward the sun, allowing its warm rays to shine across his face—a sensation that felt eternal. Despite his wishes, all that is known is bound to change at some point. For weeks, the old man sat before his view, rocking until grooves were worn into the carefully crafted wood beneath him, his wish to see her again growing stronger. Consistently returning to the waters edge below, the young woman returned each day, basket in hand, until it was filled with the flowers he loved so much and berries he never dared to eat.
III. A Window’s Tap
As days warmed and spring showers rang through the small island's climate, her visits to the springs grew far and few between, taking the lonely man's hope with her. That is, until heavy clouds drew her attention far beyond the frightened water to a house that sat far above where anyone would ever go. Mahogany hair braided to the side of her shoulder fell loose as gentle hands became torn in her pursuit up the cliff's edge. Behind her, flowers trailed, growing with each step she took. "Hello," she said, as a careful finger tapped against the window beneath a warm smile. Each hair raised on the old man's body, fearful of the fall below. "Come outside," the maiden insisted as raging clouds above began to make way for golden streaks to entangle themselves with the ground. Planks sc****d against one another as the front door slowly opened, the hermit taking a careful step onto the path outside. He had never felt so much warmth radiating around him as a cool mountain breeze welcomed him in an embrace that could never be forgotten.
IV. Days Painted in Petals
Weeks passed, each day marking a new step taken out into the world, and companionship was found within each other. The old man shared tales of his time long before he came to the island, myths and legends about water-spirits and the voices of the wind. The maiden taught him the mysteries of the sky and how each cloud tells its own story. Together, they collected stones large enough to pass from the spring's edge to the small island in the middle, where flowers grew in plentiful patches. Sitting beneath the small tree in the center, the old man no longer wished for what he knew; no, he had hopes for something past the rough, sharp edges that he knew. The maiden, with dark hair and skin that rivaled the moon’s reflection, wished for companionship as she strayed from the path of solemnity.
V. Wild Berries
Seasons passed as the two learned more from each other and the world around them than ever before. No longer bound by four wooden walls and the crushing isolation that is loneliness, the old man and young maiden discovered that the secret to life's enjoyment lies within the world around them. The small tree that once offered little shade had grown into one large enough to hold the maiden as she climbed to the top, looking out at the forest that had welcomed her as a guest to its sacred land, absent the old man who had ventured off to collect wild berries for them. Suddenly, the sound of rushing water filled the space around her, ears ringing in fear as winter's run-off swept down the mountain in a flood large enough to bury the dreams she had of the future. The young woman screamed as water spirits attempted to protect her within the undercurrent. Hours passed until he found her, lifeless with only a small flower in her courageous hand that had been strong enough to pull him from his fear of companionship.
VI. The Promise
The old man retreated to the cliff's edge, where he sat crying for months, mourning the young maiden who had shown him the purpose of life. Tears pooled in the small pond outside of his house until they eventually poured over into the springs below, where the tree that still stood despite life's turbulence remained. "Eien, I promise," he spoke into the quiet night where he swore to live out the few years he had left, collecting flowers, smiling at the sun, and appreciating all that life has to offer in her name.
VII. The Legend That Remains
Some say that the man never died after drinking from the waters below that had been filled with weeping tears that fell from the loss of the girl who taught the senile old man to live. The whispers of his name became legend as the town slowly grew full of life in an eternal appreciation for Eien.
In the centuries that followed, the land changed as all places do. Roads replaced the foot-worn paths, lanterns gave way to wires and streetlights, and the once-quiet Kaigan Waters hummed with the pulse of modern life. Yet, in the hush between footsteps and the soft ripple of the river, the people of Izu-Karakura still speak of the hermit and the maiden with voices lowered as eyes turned toward the Kohaku Peaks.
------
For in Izu-Karakura, the legend teaches that nothing loved is ever truly lost; it returns in another season, another form, another chance to choose connection. They say the maiden Eien walks beside us, unseen but never absent, guiding anyone willing to listen to the quiet places where the world still remembers her. Others say the hermit, too, lingers near the springs, always searching, always keeping watch over all who visit.