Another punch straight to the jaw, sending Sentarō to the ground in pain. The taste of iron spread across his mouth, and the cold floorboards seemed to press against his back.
"What do you think you're doing, Sentaro?" Garou asked his voice low and cold.
"I've told you countless stories about the men I forge swords for" he continued his voice steadily increasing.
"No samurai has ever returned to the forge to mend their shattered blade" Garou now boiling in rage.
"But now I know all my words fell on deaf ears, since you still plan to make your mother and I upset, How dare you, Sentaro!!"
Garou's voice was thunder, echoing against the paper-thin walls of their modest home. His fists were no longer the hands of a father but the heavy hammers of a blacksmith who had known only labor, fire, and survival.
"I do not wish to hit you again child, so it's better you return to your—"
"ENOUGH!!"
The sudden shout left his parents in shock. It was the kind of cry born not of disrespect, but of desperation, a voice that clawed for freedom even as it trembled. Out of pure instinct alone, Sentaro's hand reached blindly for something, anything. His fingers closed around the worn handle of a broom. With all the strength he could muster, he swung it upward, the bristles snapping against his father's face. Garōu staggered back, blinking, momentarily blinded.
An opportunity finally arrived. That was all Sentarō needed. His feet moved before his mind could catch up, bolting through the doorway into the howling storm. The frigid wind clawed at his skin, snow lashing against him like countless blades.
But Garou was not far behind. His muscular, forge-hardened body moved with a terrifying swiftness, a man whose every muscle was tempered by years of swinging hammers heavier than most men could lift. Even the dragging weight of the blizzard seemed unable to restrain him.
Sentarō's lungs burned, each breath like swallowing shards of ice. His heart pounded in rhythm with his footsteps, desperate to outrun the shadow that chased him. In a last act of defiance, he swung the wooden rod he used to bind his clothes, striking Garōu across the head. The crack of wood against flesh rang out, and Garōu stumbled, clutching his temple, dazed.
It didn't knock him out but it was enough for Garōu lost sight of his son. Rage boiled in him, but beneath it lay despair, an ache deeper than the sting of betrayal. He was a father watching his boy slip through his fingers, at that moment he felt powerless.
Sentarō did not stop running. The fear of being caught still clutched his heart like a vise. Though the blizzard grew wilder, he pressed forward into the endless white.
"Mother, Father, Sai, I'm really sorry, I'm now certain that my dream will die if I remain with you all" Sentaro whispered, shivering in thecold of the night.
"But I promise, I will return as a samurai"
He whispered into the night, words stolen away by the storm. His body slowed, exhaustion hit at his muscles, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to feel relief—freedom.
But freedom was cruel.
A hulking shadow emerged through the veil of snow, a Tiger-bear, its matted fur dusted white, its eyes glowing with hunger and madness. The sight of the beast left Sentaro paralyzed, his hands trembled as fear raced through his entire body.
"H...How is this possible?bears are not supposed to be awake at this t—"
He never finished that thought. The beast lunged, claws slicing the air. Instinct alone saved him. Sentarō hurled himself sideways, diving into the snow barely evading the swing. Pain lanced through his side as cold soaked his bones, but survival was all that mattered.
GRROAAHH!!
The tiger-bear roared, its breath steaming in the icy wind, and without warning it charged again. Sentarō, still recovering from the first dive, had no time to evade, all he could do was stare. The slash connected, opening his chest. Agony tore through him but he couldn't express it as the warmth of his blood spilling out violently staining the purity of the winter snow with the color crimson.
He collapsed, his vision swimming. The joy of his escape dissolved into bitter regret.
"This can't be the end, I only just began my journey" Sentaro said, lying on the snow unable to move his body as tears ran down his face. "I didn't even get the chance to train. Damn it, I'm so sorry mother"
His words froze on his lips. His breath faltered beneath the cruel wind.
As consciousness slipped away, images flickered before him, his family's faces, the beast looming above, and then… another figure. A human silhouette, sentaro couldn't define it all he saw was the silhouette charging at the beast.
Then-
THWACK!
The tiger-bear fell, collapsing into the snow before that mysterious figure. Sentarō felt himself lifted, cradled, before the darkness finally swallowed him whole.
Hours passed. The storm raged and fell, night blanketing the land. In the Hachibei household, Garōu had already formed a search party, gathering the strongest and most able young men of the village. Torches lit the white expanse, their flames fragile against the endless dark.
"Search everywhere and under everything, men!"
His command was iron. But beneath his voice lay a hollow ache, a father desperate to mend what had already broken. They had searched everywhere for hours and still haven't found him, Garou knew of his powerlessness in that situation all he could do was look to the snowing sky in regret.
"Kami or whoever is up there please protect my son and bring him back safe"
Back at the Hachibei home, Mahiru clutched little Sai tightly, rocking him gently though her own tears threatened to spill. Her prayers rose silently into the storm, "Bring my son back. Kami, please… bring him back." But as a mother, she knew, no matter her grief, she must stay strong for the child still in her arms.
The search stretched into dawn. As the first light pierced the horizon, painting the snow in a pale gold, one villager broke into a sprint toward the Hachibei home.
"Mahiru-san!!" he shouted, sliding the door open with such force it rattled on its hinges.
"Mr. Tasuke, what is the reason for your haste?" Her face remained calm, but her voice betrayed the storm of worry within.
"Mahiru-san, I'm so sorry, I didn't know it will lead to this… Ugh." His expression faltered with pity.
"What's wrong, Mr. Tasuke?" Her mask cracked, her voice quivering with dread.
"I'm really truly sorry, I…" He noticed Sai's wide, innocent eyes staring at him. He swallowed his words, changing course. "You need to go to the head of the village. Garōu is there waiting for you."
Mahiru did not hesitate. She ran, snow crunching under her feet, her breath shallow, her heart pounding. Her mind screamed denial, but her body carried her toward the inevitable.
At the village head's home, she saw them, men gathered in grim silence, Garōu at the center. In his hands, he held a piece of cloth. Dark-blue in color. Familiar. Her eyes fell upon the stains, blood, dark and dried into the threads. When he pressed it into her trembling hands, she knew. It was a samue. Her son's.
Her knees gave way. The earth beneath her seemed to vanish.
"Aggghhhh!!!!" The wail tore from her throat, raw and primal, echoing into the cold sky.
Garōu bent down, his arms wrapping around her, trying to be her pillar, though his own tears betrayed him. The strong blacksmith wept openly, silently cursing the gods, cursing himself. The villagers stood back, their faces lowered, powerless to comfort a grief so deep.
The Hachibei household had become a house of sorrow.
And then—
Sentarō's eyes opened. Light flickered faintly into his vision. The world swam, blurred by pain and fever. In that moment only a single came to mind, the image of his crying mother, it was so clear and vivid it felt real.
"Mother is that you? I'm sorry, I'm really sorry for making you cry…" His voice was weak, trembling against the snow. He thought he saw his mother's face, radiant against the white.
"So you are finally awake, young one? Good, but I don't know who you are referring to." The voice he heard was not hers.
Sentarō's heart clenched. Shock cut through his haze. His mother was nowhere near. The figure standing above him was someone else entirely.