Soul of a Samurai

Darkness.

It surrounded me, endless and unyielding. There was no sense of time, no thoughts, no awareness—only an existence that felt distant and hollow. But then, something shifted.

A pressure wrapped around me, unfamiliar yet oddly comforting. The sensation was strange, like being trapped in a cocoon of warmth. Then came the movement. A slow, rhythmic rocking, accompanied by muffled sounds I couldn't quite understand.

Suddenly, I was being pushed forward. A tight squeeze, an overwhelming pressure, then—light.

It was blinding, burning through the darkness in an instant. A harsh, white glow filled my vision, and for the first time, I felt the world. The air around me was cold, the scents unfamiliar, the sounds loud and chaotic. My body—small and fragile—reacted on instinct, and a wail tore from my throat before I even knew what was happening.

I couldn't understand anything. My mind, foggy and weak, struggled to grasp what was going on. Everything was overwhelming—the noise, the light, the sensations crawling over my skin.

And then—warmth.

Something soft enveloped me, wrapping around my tiny form. The harsh cold disappeared, replaced by a gentle, steady warmth. The sounds quieted, replaced by softer murmurs.

"He's beautiful," a voice said. It was soft, yet filled with exhaustion and relief. A woman's voice.

A second voice, deep and rough, chuckled lightly. "He's small." This voice was different—lower, steadier, like a man who had seen many years.

I blinked, my blurry vision adjusting. Shapes formed above me, two figures standing close together. My eyes struggled to focus, but I could make out details—pale skin, dark hair, soft features belonging to the woman. And beside her, an older-looking man with long, flowing white hair, strands falling over his shoulders.

My mind was sluggish, unable to form coherent thoughts, but something inside me knew—these two people were important. The way they looked at me, the way the woman held me close, the way the man's rough hands brushed against my tiny fingers—they weren't just strangers.

They were my parents.

The realization sent a strange shiver through me. Parents? I had no memory of them. In fact, I had no memories at all. Nothing before this moment. No name, no past—only an awareness that I existed.

And yet, even without memories, I felt something deep inside. An instinct. A connection.

The woman—my mother—smiled down at me, her dark eyes filled with something warm and safe. She looked young, her black hair damp with sweat, her skin flushed with exhaustion but glowing with happiness.

The man beside her—my father—looked much older in comparison. Deep lines traced his face, and his long white hair, though well-kept, had the weight of years in its strands. Yet despite his age, his gaze was steady, strong. There was wisdom in his sharp eyes, a presence that demanded respect, yet he softened when he looked at me.

"His eyes are sharp already," my father murmured, tilting his head slightly. "He's watching us."

My mother laughed breathlessly, holding me closer. "Of course he is. He's our son."

Their son.

The words felt foreign, but at the same time, they settled into something deep within me. I didn't understand this world. I didn't understand who I was. But if these two were my parents, then maybe…

Maybe I belonged here.

A strange exhaustion washed over me, my tiny body too weak to stay awake any longer. My mother's warmth surrounded me, her heartbeat a steady rhythm against my small form. My father's presence lingered nearby, solid and protective.

And for the first time since I woke into this strange new world… I felt safe.

My eyelids grew heavy, and without meaning to, I let the darkness take me once more.