Flags waving in the wind. Red with white marks.

The hooves of horses made the ground thunder as he followed his uncle down the sandy path that led to the edge of the cliff that separated the beach from the rest of the island.

The samurai of Tsushima had gathered that night to protect their homeland.

Or to die. Perhaps both.

His fingers gripped the leather straps of his horse's bridle tighter. He was not afraid. All his life he had been prepared for a moment like this.

And yet.

An early death was not something he wanted to experience. But duty awaited him on this beach. And his honour would not allow him to turn away.

"The Mongols are invading our homeland.", his uncle's voice was strong and not in the least affected by the ships that bathed the sea in bright flames.

Hundreds, if not thousands, formed a fleet, the fleet of the Mongols. Barbarians. He had heard stories about them, had feared them as a child as if they were demons. Now he was a grown man and knew that these were just people. Men like him.

Well, not quite.

Even if they bled like him, their arms could be cut off by blades and they would die like him, they were completely different. His life was one of duty. He breathed for honour.

Those men down there on the beach, mooring their boats and shouting in another language, were nothing but barbarians. They killed for the sake of killing, even stabbing from behind where the enemy could not see them.

Poison and cunning were essential companions in their fight. He had nothing but loathing for the Mongols. That night it was his duty to kill them, every single one if possible.

And if not, he would die honourably with a blade full of blood.

"There are thousands of them.", another samurai, a young man from a noble family, let his horse run alongside him.

The animals seemed to sense that something was wrong. Their ears moved in all directions, they lifted their heads and snorted while their hooves pranced nervously over the ground. Even his own faithful companion, who was trained almost as disciplined as he was, failed to level themselves that night.

"Easy, Nobu...", he patted the stallions neck for comfort.

Snorting deeply, the horse raised its head. Dark eyes travelled over the red flags waving in the wind. The black fur was wet with sweat under his fingers as he tried again to calm the animal.

Once more his eyes found the ones of his uncle. There was no doubt in them, no fear. However, he couldn't deny that a hint of worry corrupted this prideful soul of his.

He wished for his men to survive this night. But the odds were terribly against all of them.

"We are eighth samurai...", he said, dwelling in thoughts and calculations but no matter how much he thought, there was no way to come out at the top. "...against an army. Fighting to slow the invasion."

With a calm face and nothing else weighting down on his heart, his uncle raised his chin. A sober expression was on his face. He was calm, as always. Almost painfully collected.

"We will face death and defend our home.", he simply said, the golden bull horns of his armour shimmering in the light of the moon. "Tradition. Courage. Honour. They are what make us. We are the worriers of Tsushima. We are samurai!"

Around him, men in armour started to cheer. Their voices mixed, tightly knitted together into a net that fell over the Mongolian invasion, trapping it like a fish in the bed of a river.

The air seemed to vibrate around them. Wind accompanied their cheers. Almost as if the gods themselves betrothed their favourites with courage and a win in sight.

Goosebumps grew all over his arms, crawled up his back and neck that made every single hair of his tingle. Adrenaline made him take a deep breath.

He had fought many battles, had earned his fair share of experience. He wasn't a boy anymore. This was the day he had been born for.

He wouldn't run away, wouldn't be a coward. Not again.

Never again.

His eyes returned to his uncle, who met his gaze and have him a firm nod. Both of them were full of dedication and thanks to the short speech the other samurai had gotten a boost of confidence as well.

Tides seemed to change in their favour.

This was Tsushima, his home. He wouldn't loose it to an army of barbarians. He wouldn't allow them to burn down his villages, wouldn't let them kill their men and abuse their women.

No child was to perish through the hunger that this invasion was bringing to the empires shores.

But the Mongols had other plans. Their war screams climbed up the path, greeted the cheers of his own and battled them in an attempt to claim the upper hand.

Fear was a powerful tool. But samurai weren't allowed to fear.

"Lord Adachi.", his uncle turned to look at a man around his age, not dressed in black, gold and red but in blue and white. "Go break their spirits."

With the discipline of a samurai, Lord Adachi nodded and ordered his horse to carry him down to the shore where the enemy awaited.

He watched from his uncles side as the first of his own men, a Japanese worrier, faces this nights threat. Every single breath was flat, tasted bitter and yet ecstatic.

His gaze lifted to have one last look of the sea. Ships plastered the dark pits in the distance. Not a single one of them seemed sinkable.

An army larger than he could have ever imagined was right at the doorstep of Japan. And him and his men were the first and perhaps last resistance.

With them the empire would either fall or prevail.

Pressure made him clasp the reins of his horse. Nobu shifted, nervously stepping from one foot to another.

How was were the samurai supposed to win this?

"Do not worry.", the voice of his uncle cut through the clouds that fogged his mind. "We will not step down. And once all this is over... I wish for you to become my successor. Jin. You were born a Sakai. I wish for you to become a Shimura."