The night sky above Toa Village had once been gentle.
Stars spilled across the heavens like scattered embers. Back then, the world felt vast—too wide to be broken, too endless to ever truly end.
The twins lay on the cool grass beside their father, the earth steady beneath them, the sky infinite above.
She turned her head toward him. His eyes were distant, fixed not on the stars but on something far beyond them.
"Father what are thinking about?"
"Oh I'm just thinking of how bad the situation is getting outside the village," he replied, hesitation clinging to his words.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"You're joking right Aiko, you don't know about the big war that's going on?" her brother interrupted.
"Cut her some slack, Haruki. You know little girls aren't interested in such things."
He studied his daughter's puzzled expression—something he had always loved. The way the world's weight slid past her, untouched, while others carried it without question.
"Well you see Aiko there's a big fight going on out there," he said gently, shaping his words so they wouldn't wound. "It's been going on for a long time, longer than even I can remember—heck, even longer than that."
"Why do they fight then father?" she asked.
He exhaled slowly, choosing his words with care, as if each one carried the weight of countless lives.
"Well you see, when different people want different things, or when different people want the same thing, they tend to resort to conflict in order to achieve what they want. People die because of this conflict, which leads to grudges being born—and with these grudges, a cycle of pain and hate that leads to endless war."
"When will it stop?" she asked again, her curiosity shining brighter than the stars above.
"It will only stop when one side beats the other or when both sides decide to stop fighting each other," he replied.
"Is that so," she said, wearing a look of partial understanding.
"What I don't get is why you don't fight too father. I mean you're strong—the strongest in the village," Haruki said.
"If the only way to stop the fighting is for one side to beat the other then don't we need strong fighters like you so that we can stop all this fighting?"
Hayato froze.
That was the same question he had asked himself throughout his youth, though it was only much later that he came to understand its soul-crushing answer.
"It's because I'm not as strong as you think," he said.
The words felt like a lie to the children—something that would have never crossed their minds, even in their wildest dreams.
He turned back toward the stars.
"When I was younger I dreamed of being able to bring all this fighting to an end. But I was wasn't able to. That's because I came face to face with strength that wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before. That's when I knew that I would never be able to change anything with the amount of strength I had."
He faced them once more.
"It was a painful thing to accept but I did eventually. That's when I decided that I would do what I could with the strength I had—to at least protect my home."
Silence followed.
Then the sky itself seemed to breathe.
A streak of light cut across the heavens.
"Look it's a shooting star," Aiko cried, pointing upward. "I'm gonna make a wish."
Haruki scoffed.
"I can't believe that you still believe in that. You should stop or else you'll just end up disappointed."
She hugged her stuffed toy close.
"You might be right about that. But I don't think it's wrong to hope."
She turned to her father.
"And I hope that one day someone will come that will make father's dream come true and stop all the fighting."
Hayato smiled—a tired, gentle thing.
"Sure it will."
The stars said nothing. They only watched.
—
A glass-like barrier shimmered beneath the moon.
Aiko stood behind it now, older, trembling, clutching the same toy. Its fabric was burned and stained, yet still held together.
Flames roared beyond the barrier. Steel screamed. Blood thundered.
She watched as Tsushiro collapsed.
The barrier then shattered in front of her like fragile glass.
She ran.
She didn't know why—only that she had to.
Her brother followed. Then the villagers.
Her legs failed her just before she could reach him, but she forced herself to rise and stagger forward.
When she reached Tsushiro, breath tore from her chest. She knelt beside him, hands shaking.
She hesitated—then reached out.
The cold shocked her, stealing the air from her lungs. She pulled back her hand as the others gathered around him.
She watched him breathe.
Each breath was strained. Each one felt borrowed.
Tears escaped her before she could stop them.
And then she understood.
A small smile formed through her tears.
For she knew that even though her father was gone, his dream could still live on through the man that lay before her.