( Weight of the Name ': Gurdian )
The last of the village children had long since scattered, disappearing into the twilight to their hearths. Haru, having returned to the familiar scent of woodsmoke, walked toward his father, who was outside, relentlessly driving the axe-wedge into the thick logs.
"Father," he called, his voice bright with the simple confidence of a child.
The man paused, the heavy axe held mid-swing, and fixed his gaze upon the boy.
"Do you know anything of Satoshi?" Haru asked, the question fueled by a curiosity that knew no caution.
The moment the name was uttered, a flickerswift as a striking serpent passed through the father's eyes. His grip tightened on the worn axe haft. He looked into Haru's innocent, expectant face, recognizing the unbidden weight of the inquiry.
"Ah, that name," the father finally murmured, the sound low and rough, like grinding stone. "That is the name of a Great Protector, Haru. A true hero who shielded this land from the darkest shadows. We who live in peace are not worthy to speak it without reverence."
He recommenced his chore, the sound of steel against wood a deliberate, unforgiving rhythm.
"But why? Was he... cruel?"
"Cruel," the father echoed, his breath slow and deep. "Yes, he was cruel. Not to us, but to the wolves to those who would tear life from others and stain the earth with innocent blood. To them, he was a merciless force of nature."
A faint, knowing smile, edged with distant sorrow, touched the man's lips and vanished.
"Haru, inside. Your mother calls for the evening meal."
The boy turned, but paused to look back at the unyielding figure still lost in the labor of the wood. Then he slipped into the warmth of the house.
Alone, the father at last straightened, letting his weary shoulders relax. He raised his eyes to the towering hills and the quiet, natural world around him. A soft, cool wind, carrying the final promise of spring, swept down from the heights, brushing lightly against his worn frame.
And into that silent space, a single, pale-pink Sakura petal drifted down. It settled gently into the calloused hollow of his palm. He stared intently at the fragile scrap of life, and without warning, a solitary tear, long held captive, escaped the corner of his eye. It struck the petal, and in the watery instant, the blossom dissolved, leaving only the profound stillness of memory.....