Soul of a Samurai

I had been in this world for an entire year.

Not that it was much of a milestone. There was no celebration, no grand event to mark the occasion. Just a simple, "Happy birthday, Kyojin," from my mother in the morning. That was it.

Not that I expected more.

Life continued as it always had—slow, steady, and ever-changing in the smallest ways.

I could walk now.

Well, barely.

It was a wobbly, unsteady thing, more like controlled falling than actual walking, but I could do it. No longer confined to crawling, I could now make my way from one point to another, though not without a few mishaps. More often than not, I would stumble, catching myself on walls or furniture. My mother always kept a watchful eye, ready to catch me if needed, but she rarely intervened.

"Good, Kyojin," she would say whenever I managed to take a few steps without falling. "You're strong."

The words made something in my tiny chest swell with pride.

My speech had improved as well—though "improved" might be an exaggeration. I could form simple, broken sounds, mostly "da" and "ma." It wasn't much, but it was enough to make my mother smile whenever I called for her. My father, on the other hand, always gave a quiet nod of approval whenever I said "da."

But none of that compared to what I had witnessed.

Something that changed the way I saw my father—and the world.

It happened a few weeks ago.

I had been watching my father train, as I always did. By now, I was familiar with his routine—the smooth arcs of his sword, the precise footwork, the unwavering focus in his stance. It was a sight I had grown used to.

But that day, something was different.

As I sat near the doorway, watching him move, I noticed a change. His sword, usually nothing more than gleaming steel, suddenly began to glow.

A faint, almost ethereal light surrounded the blade, shimmering like a thin layer of energy. The air around him felt heavier, charged with something unseen but undeniably there.

I didn't understand what I was seeing, but I could feel it.

Power.

Something beyond just skill or strength.

Something more.

I stared, wide-eyed, as my father continued his practice, his movements no different from before, yet infinitely more dangerous. His sword cut through the air with an intensity I had never seen. The ground beneath him seemed almost affected by his presence, as if acknowledging the force he wielded.

It was then that I realized—this wasn't just swordsmanship.

This was something else.

Something deeper.

Later that evening, I tried to ask my mother. With my limited vocabulary, all I could do was point outside and babble a mixture of sounds.

She seemed to understand.

"That's called chakra, Kyojin," she said softly, brushing my hair back as she held me. "Your father is very strong."

She didn't explain further. I could tell she wasn't going to.

But now, the word burned itself into my mind.

Chakra.

I didn't know what it was, didn't understand how it worked, but I knew one thing—I wanted to learn more.

I wanted to understand.

I wanted to know if I could use it too.

But for now, I was still just a child. A baby who had barely learned to walk, who could only speak in broken syllables.

So, instead of thinking too hard about it, I did what I had always done.

I let my tiny body relax, let my thoughts drift, and once again, I fell asleep.