Soul of a Samurai

Another month had passed.

I was beginning to understand something—this body of mine, weak and fragile as it was, was growing stronger.

It was a slow process, frustratingly so. But after months of lying helpless, something finally changed. One day, as I lay on my stomach, kicking my legs aimlessly on the floor, I felt a shift. My arms pushed against the ground, my body rocked forward, and before I fully understood what I was doing—I moved.

Crawling was clumsy at first. My limbs weren't fully coordinated, and I would often flop onto my stomach after only a few pushes forward. But I kept trying. Day after day, I forced my body to move, inching my way across the wooden floors of our home.

And then, one day, I realized—I could go anywhere.

Well, anywhere inside the house.

It was a simple home, not too big but not cramped either. There was one main living space where my mother and father spent most of their time, a small kitchen area, and a bedroom where I slept beside my mother at night. My father had his own space, though I wasn't sure if it was a bedroom or simply a place he kept his things.

Now that I could move on my own, my world felt bigger.

I crawled everywhere. I touched everything.

The wooden floors, the soft cushions, the cool metal of a cooking pot—I took it all in, absorbing every new sensation. My mother often watched me with amusement, shaking her head as I wobbled across the room.

"You're restless, Kyojin," she would say with a smile, scooping me up before I could get into trouble.

Even though I enjoyed exploring, there was something else I enjoyed just as much—listening.

Whenever my parents spoke, I paid close attention. I still didn't understand every word, but I was starting to recognize certain patterns. My name, of course, was one of them. But there were other words, words that seemed important.

"Samurai."

"Training."

"Duty."

"Shogun."

I didn't fully grasp their meaning, but I was beginning to understand that my father's life—our life—was tied to something greater.

One day, my mother carried me outside.

It wasn't the first time I had been outside, but it was the first time I was aware of it. Before, I had only seen glimpses—the sky through the window, my father training in the yard. But now, as she held me close and stepped beyond our home, I truly saw the world.

It was colder than I expected. A crisp, fresh air brushed against my skin, carrying with it the scent of something earthy. The sky above was a soft gray, with streaks of white clouds drifting lazily across it.

My mother carried me down a short path, past our home, until we reached a small open space—a playground.

It wasn't much. Just a few wooden structures, a swing, and a small climbing frame. But to me, it was the biggest place I had ever seen.

There were other children there, slightly older than me. Some were walking, some were stumbling clumsily, and others sat playing in the dirt. Their mothers sat nearby, chatting amongst themselves.

My mother set me down on a patch of soft grass, sitting beside me as I took in my surroundings. The feeling of the earth beneath my hands was strange—cool and slightly damp. I pressed my tiny fingers into it, fascinated by the texture.

I didn't move much at first, too busy observing everything. The children, the trees, the way the wind made the leaves dance in the air.

"Kyojin," my mother said gently. I looked up at her. She smiled. "It's alright. Explore."

She didn't need to tell me twice.

Slowly, I began crawling, moving across the grass in uneven, wobbly motions. The world felt huge, and I was determined to see as much of it as I could.

I didn't interact with the other children much. I wasn't sure how. But I watched them, just as I watched everything else. Some of them ran, others laughed, and a few even cried when they fell. It was loud, much louder than the quiet safety of our home.

But I liked it.

I liked knowing there was more beyond the walls I had grown used to.

As the day passed and the sky began to darken, my mother picked me up once again, carrying me back home. My tiny body was exhausted, but my mind was racing.

I had seen more today.

And I wanted to see even more tomorrow.