Hikaru fell silent for a long moment. He stared into the fire as if it were a mirror reflecting a face he no longer recognized. Then he began to speak, in a low voice, as though each word was being pulled from the depths of a wound that never healed:
"I never knew my parents. All I had of them were faded shadows of memories—silent glances from my mother, and brief phrases from my father, whispered one evening when he thought I was asleep. I wasn't."
"I grew up in a nameless village, hanging off ancient mountains like stars dangling from the sky on clear nights. There, where the clouds kissed the stone towers and the wind wove tales between the cypress trees, I lived between my grandmother's warmth and my grandfather's stern strength."
"The houses were built of dark wood, with roofs of dry straw, steeped in the scent of wet earth and smoke. At dusk, torches flickered in the alleys, and the village would glow—a painting of twilight and flame. The elders whispered of dragons asleep deep within the mountains, and of old magic whose echoes still lingered in the soil, as if the earth itself remembered more than we ever could."
"In that forgotten corner of the world, where maps didn't reach and caravans never passed, I grew up among simple folk and the warmth of fire."
"And I had friends."
"Yuma, with her braids and loud laugh. Ren, whose face always carried the dust of a scuffle. And Aka, who could leap between rooftops like a little cat."
"Each morning, we'd play in the dusty village square, clashing wooden swords, pretending to be knights and dragons, heroes and mages. We'd hide behind trees, chase fireflies at dusk, and make little charms from pine twigs, swearing they would protect us forever."
"I remember falling on my back, laughing, watching clouds and imagining them as ships on a sky sea. Running into my grandmother's arms after every quarrel, finding warm bread in her hands, and the quiet hand that stroked my hair."
"And my grandfather—with his solemn silence—trained me in the way of the sword. It wasn't just about strikes and blocks. It was a ritual, ancient and layered with secrets older than language itself."
"I didn't fully understand it, but I felt something stir whenever I held the sword. As if the blade itself remembered."
"In those days, my heart was light, untouched by loss. And the nights came peacefully, carrying only dreams of childhood."
"But I didn't know that peace... was the calm before the storm."
(He pauses briefly, then continues in a deeper voice.)
"That evening was strangely quiet. A light wind passed through the trees, carrying the scent of smoke—but no one noticed. The torches flickered as if they were breathing, and the sky was heavy with thick clouds—no lightning, no rain, just a nameless weight."
"I was nine years old, sitting near the fireplace, watching my grandfather sharpen an old knife while my grandmother silently knitted something in her hands. She didn't tell me a story that night. I didn't ask. Something inside me felt uneasy, as if my heart had sensed the events before they arrived."
"Then... came the explosion."
"It wasn't just a sound—it was a curse falling from the sky. The ground shook. Walls trembled. Screams tore through the village night like blades. Flames. The neighing of horses. Women's cries. Flashing swords. Blood splattering."
"My grandfather rushed outside with his axe. My grandmother screamed my name and told me to hide, but I was frozen in place. The door burst open violently, and I saw through it a face wrapped in cloth—eyes that held nothing but hatred."
"I hid behind the grain bin, but I saw everything."
"I saw my grandfather fall, the axe broken in his hand. I saw my grandmother dragged by her hair, disappearing behind a burning cart. I saw my friends... the ones I played with beneath the cypress trees... slaughtered like sheep."
"Every scream was an arrow through my chest. Every drop of blood a slap to my soul."
"The earth turned into a crimson stream. The stench of burning flesh crushed my breath."
"I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to grab my grandfather's sword and fight. But... I was just a nine-year-old boy. Standing amid the wreckage, choking, staring into a living hell that had no end."