"I don't know about this."

The desiccated remnants of old leaves crunched underfoot. A cool spring breeze quivered through the trees, fresh blossoms dancing on it like delicate flames. The sun had quickly vanished below the horizon, leaving only an unearthly orange glow in its wake, a vast, cobalt ocean of twinkling stars overhead.

"Stop being such a wuss!"

"This place is creepy!"

"Are you kidding?" The rustled footsteps abruptly stopped. "Look at this, it's beautiful!"

The soft bluish light of a flashlight beamed upward, revealing a lush tree looming above. Its branches were full of clusters of soft purple blossoms, which seemed to illuminate and gleam like pearls in the light's path.

"Oh wow. I guess you're right. Is that a lilac tree? I've never seen one this big before, it must be ancient."

"Hey, look at this."

The piercing beam of the flashlight moved down the trunk of the tree before settling just beneath it. A single sandstone grave marker jutted out from the grass, its face softened by age.

"Who's it for?"

"Looks like a family grave. 'Koma.' I think it says Ir—"

"Can I help you?"

The voice was startling in the darkness, and the cold bluish light of the flashlight whipped around. There was a warmer glow amid the other graves now, an antique lantern that lingered motionless in the air for a moment before bobbing ahead.

"Visiting hours are over," the voice continued. As crunching footsteps approached, a silhouette emerged from the darkness. Finally, the lantern rose to illuminate the gentle face of a man, middle-aged with a sun-kissed complexion. Violet eyes twinkled as they settled on the two young boys huddled at the base of the great lilac tree.

"We're sorry, sir." It was a dark-haired boy who wielded the flashlight, dark eyes obscured by the shadows skewed across his face. "We just—we've heard about—"

"The ghosts." The man's statement was hard, but after a long moment, he finally chuckled softly.

"Are they real?" The second boy had scooted close to his friend, his mousey brown hair wild about his head and grey eyes peering up through the darkness.

"Of course they are." Seeing the small retreat the twosome made, he smiled. "Ah, but you needn't be afraid of them." The caretaker slowly lowered his lantern into the grass and sank down to sit, his elbow propped up on his knee. "Has anyone ever told you the story of the ghosts of Muhimura?"

Seeing the slight shake of their heads, he smirked. The legend was much different now than that he had been told by his grandfather decades ago. The story of a vengeful, jilted bride had finally faded from Muhimura's legacy, no small feat but one which the caretaker took very seriously. He motioned them closer to recount the tale, as he had so many times before.

Centuries ago, a great samurai and his bride were torn asunder by greed, separated by the vast oceans of time and space. Lifetimes later, they were reunited, and in the darkest hour of man they rose together with their noblest comrades against a demon emperor bent on destruction. Just as it seemed all was lost and humanity had met its end, they made the ultimate sacrifice, and hope prevailed: the demon was destroyed, and life as we know it triumphed.

In honor of their courage, the samurai and his bride were restored, their chance at a mortal life together finally recognized. Decades passed, and they perished as all men do, and eventually all the days of their long lives were forgotten.

But sometimes still their ghosts could be seen, hands joined in the fading light of the evening sun, wandering the paths of what was once called Muhimura.