Soul of a Samurai

I woke to the sound of movement.

It was still early—the light filtering through the window was soft and pale, barely strong enough to brighten the room. The air was colder than usual, and the familiar scent of metal and leather lingered in the air.

I turned my head, my tiny body still sluggish from sleep, and saw my father standing near the door.

He was dressed differently than usual.

Gone were the simple robes he wore around the house. Instead, his body was covered in polished white armor. It gleamed faintly in the dim morning light, layered plates resting over his shoulders and chest. His long white hair was pulled back, secured neatly behind him. At his side, his sword hung in its sheath, steady and unmoving, as if it were an extension of himself.

I had seen him like this before.

But today, something felt different.

Standing beside him were two other men, both dressed in the same white armor. Their faces were unfamiliar, their expressions neutral but serious. They weren't like the few visitors who occasionally stopped by our home—these men were warriors, just like my father.

I didn't understand what was happening, but I knew one thing—he was leaving again.

I watched as my mother stood beside him, her expression calm, but there was something in her eyes—a quiet worry.

She wasn't stopping him. She never did. But the way her hands rested against each other, the way her gaze lingered on him longer than usual, told me that she wasn't at ease.

For a moment, my father turned to look at her. He didn't say much—he never did—but he placed a firm hand on her shoulder, a silent reassurance.

She nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Then, without another word, he stepped outside. The two men followed, their armor clinking softly as they moved.

I watched as they disappeared down the path, their figures blending into the misty morning air.

I felt my mother sit beside me on the mat, her warmth familiar against the cool air.

I turned my head slightly, looking up at her. She was still watching the doorway, her expression unreadable.

I wanted to ask where he was going.

I wanted to know when he would be back.

But I couldn't form the words. My thoughts were too slow, my body too small to do anything but watch.

Eventually, my tiny body grew heavy again, my mind drifting.

It would be fine.

It always was.

With that last thought, I let sleep take me once more.