( Journey begins "1":" )
The training for the new generation of protectors the Kagewas commencing. The sun's first, pale light had yet to pierce the village rooftops, but the chosen children were already bound by silent decree to report to the Dōjō (training hall) before the world awoke.
From this day forward, the iron gates of the training hall would claim their lives. One by one, little figures departed their homes, each farewell a muted agony in the pre-dawn stillness.
Haru, however, felt a wrenching, profound ache at the thought of leaving his mother, his father, and the familiar scent of home. The weight of this destiny this severance was too heavy for a boy of seven summers.
He had risen hours before, preparing his sparse belongings. Now, he sat tucked away in his favorite garden corner, his small chest tightening with sorrow. The grief in that young heart was a tangible, silent thing.
"Haru."
His father entered the space, his movements quiet, a shield against the morning chill. He lowered himself beside his son, recognizing the raw, unspoken terror. He placed a hand a blacksmith's hand, strong yet gentle on Haru's tiny shoulder.
"Do not let sorrow claim you, little one," his father murmured. "What you step into now is the greatest pursuit of honor. I do not ask you to perish for the Shogun's lands, but rather..."
His voice softened, turning grave. "You must rise as a samurai to protect what you love. The path you begin today will carve you into something great. I will look upon that man with pride and deepest respect."
He gazed at the boy, his eyes holding the wisdom of many seasons. "Some paths are bitter at the first taste. They are a burden we think we cannot carry. But endure them, Haru, and the harvest will be sweeter than anything you can imagine."
"I am already proud, my son."
The young child did not comprehend the philosophy of duty or the weight of a samurai's oath, but he understood the unwavering love in his father's eyes. He only stared, anchored by the one gaze that knew his pain.
***
Haru felt a sudden pressure, a silence so dense it seemed to steal the air. He dared not raise his eyes, but he felt the Master's gaze sweeping over the assembled boys a cold, penetrating scrutiny that stripped away the remnants of childhood.
Master" Henzo Shiranui "was a man carved from granite and discipline. His face was a roadmap of battles fought and sacrifices made. He carried no weapon in the room, yet his presence was more lethal than any drawn sword. He moved to the center of the hall, his posture unnaturally straight, his eyes fixing on nothing and everything simultaneously.
"You have left your homes," the Master's voice was a low rumble, devoid of warmth, yet powerful enough to settle in the very bones of the children. "You have left your mothers' comforting skirts, and your fathers' gentle hands. This Dōjō is not a haven. It is a forge. And here, we will hammer children into weapons."
Haru clutched the rough fabric of his trousers. The fear was sharp, but the Master's words had also ignited a tiny, desperate spark of resolve within his chest. The bitter taste of his father's warning was already proving true.
"From this moment," Master Shiranui continued, his voice rising slightly, "you are no longer sons. You are only students. And a student obeys without question."
The Master, having entered, commanded the boys to assume a rigid, upright seated posture. Their focused attention was instantly and completely riveted on him.
"I welcome every child who has come to train in this Dōjō under my instruction," Master Shiranui stated, his voice a steady, powerful current. "The children seated before me today are the strong promises of tomorrow. You are the future samurai, destined to become the fierce guardians of this country, securing the lives and property of every soul within it."
"Your life as a warrior begins here, today. My colleagues and I shall henceforth guide you along this path. The journey ahead will be one of severe hardship and granite-like discipline. The soft comforts you have known until this moment will be stripped away entirely."
"From this day, your singular, burning goal must be to achieve the status of a true samurai. There are no ranks or distinctions here; all of you stand as equals. There will be no room for arguments or petty quarrels. You will endeavor to stand together, united."
Having delivered his grave directive, the Master turned and strode out of the hall with the same unnatural stillness with which he had entered.
Moments after the Master's departure, the threshold was crossed by a new figure.
"I am Daisho," the newcomer announced, his voice clipped and efficient. "I am your instructor for this initial phase of training. Your training uniform awaits outside. Collect it, don the clothing, and then proceed immediately to the main training grounds."
Clad in the rough, new training robes a uniform that instantly stripped them of their former identities the boys proceeded to the main yard. Daisho awaited them there, his silhouette stark against the rising sun. The new recruits sat stiffly upon the packed earth, and Daisho commenced his first, critical lesson.
"Today, you begin to learn about the very purpose that brought you to this forge: the Samurai," Daisho's voice cut through the morning stillness. "The samurai are the ancient warrior caste fighters of incomparable strength. More importantly, they are men bound by the strictest code of ritual and unwavering honor."
Daisho paused, allowing the gravity of the word to settle in their young minds.
"A samurai's virtues dictate his duty: to protect the great lords and masters of the land. He must be a master of the sword, proficient in the bow, skilled in horsemanship, and adept at the deadly art of military strategy."
He gestured around the open yard. "Now, I introduce you to the first and most painful phase of your ordeal: physical conditioning. The fundamental basis of becoming a warrior rests upon the absolute peak of physical health and structural excellence. From this moment forward, your bodies will be hammered into shape through relentless physical training."
By the end of the first day, the exhaustion was absolute. Their small bodies were ravaged by the relentless hours of running, jumping, and grueling endurance exercises meant to break their civilian weakness.