(part-1)
In front of a beautiful castle, people were gathered.
They all have unreadable expressions as if mourning for someone.
The curtains of the chamber were drawn shut, muting the daylight into a pale, trembling glow.
An old man, lying his body sunken into silken sheets that no longer fit the man he once remembered, was. Gold-threaded blankets rested lightly over his chest, rising only shallowly now, each breath slower than the last.
The room was full.
Generals in armor dulled by age stood stiffly near the walls.
Ministers who had once argued loudly now lowered their heads in silence. Servants knelt, hands clenched in their sleeves, shoulders shaking despite their efforts to remain composed.
The king's eyes opened.
Clouded, yet sharp.
He turned his head with effort, gaze sweeping across the room as if committing every face to memory.
"…You're all making that face again," he murmured.
His voice was thin, but unmistakably his.
A few gasps escaped. Someone covered their mouth. Another fell to one knee.
"Your Majesty—" a minister began, his voice breaking. He was still young, unlike the old king.
The king raised a trembling hand.
"Don't," he said gently. "Don't cry. I can't pass away peacefully."
The hand hovered in the air, weak, yet commanding enough that the room stilled.
"I have seen enough tears in my reign," he continued, pausing to catch his breath. "If you cry now… then I will worry that I failed you."
His lips curved into the faintest smile.
"I lived a long life," he said. "Longer than I deserved. I ruled a strong kingdom… because you stood with me."
A knight stepped forward, eyes red. "We cannot imagine this land without you, Your Majesty."
The king exhaled slowly.
"That is exactly why I can rest," he replied. "A kingdom that depends on one man is already lost."
Silence settled, heavy and reverent.
He turned his gaze toward the window, where a sliver of light slipped through the curtains.
"Promise me something," he whispered.
Every head bowed.
"Stand straight. Speak honestly. Protect those who cannot protect themselves."
His breath hitched.
"And when I am gone… do not mourn too long. If you do." The king gathered all of his remaining energy." I will be sure to haunt you! hahaha."
A tear slid from the corner of his eye—not of fear, but of quiet relief.
The king's hand fell back onto the sheets.
His chest rose once more.
Then did not rise again.
That was his last laugh.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then, one by one, the subordinates knelt—not in despair, but in solemn respect—honoring a ruler who had faced death the same way he had faced life.
With dignity.
Outside the castle walls, the gathered people knelt as well, as if they had sensed the moment their king departed. The world mourned quietly that day.
…
The old woman's voice slowed as the story came to an end, filling the quiet room with its lingering weight.
Beside her, a little black-haired girl listened without blinking, her gaze fixed ahead as though the final scene still played out before her eyes.
The old woman closed the book gently. Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the garden outside and casting a pale glow across the child's face.
"Now go to sleep," she said softly.
"Aww! It's over already?" the little girl complained, her voice tinged with disappointment.
The old woman smiled, resting a hand lightly on the child's head.
"It's getting late," she said. "I'll read the rest to you tomorrow."
The old woman carried the little girl to the bed and fastened the bedsheet.
"Grandma.
"Hmm?.. what is it sweetie?"
The little girl called the old woman.
"Was the hero-king special?"
"Hmm..yes!.. he is special!."
"How much?!" the little girl asked.
"Just like you!"
The grandmother replied.
"Like...me?"
The confused little girl asked.
"he cant use magic just like you, but ruled over all, fended off evil until the very end."
The grandmother replied, "Since you are a miko like him, you can also become like him if you want."
"..'"
"I...will"
"Hmm?" the grandmother urged her to speak completely.
"I want to become like him."
The words were small, but they landed with weight.
The grandmother's smile softened. She brushed the girl's hair once more, then stood and blew out the lamp. Darkness folded gently over the room, leaving only moonlight and the quiet rhythm of breathing.
"Then.. don't cry when you are weak, no matter the circumstance. Dox"
The little girl closed her eyes. yet heard that line before sleeping
She fell asleep
(-part-2-)
---
Cold.
That was the atmosphere surrounding a dense forest covered in snow.
the snow cold reached her face as she woke up.
Not the gentle cold of night air, but a biting chill that seeped into her bones.
Her eyes snapped open.
The warmth of the bed from the dream was gone.
The scent of old books and flowers vanished, replaced by the sharp smell of iron and damp wood.
She was sitting.
No—swaying.
Chains placed on her neck and arms rattled softly with each movement.
The little girl blinked, her vision swimming, as if she had been torn from a dream too abruptly. Wooden bars surrounded her. Frost clung to them like pale veins, crawling and spreading. Outside the narrow gaps, the world was drowned in white.
Snow.
Endless snow.
A caged carriage moved slowly forward, its wheels crunching through frozen ground. Thick mist coiled around it, swallowing shapes and sounds alike. She couldn't tell where they were going—or if they were going anywhere at all.
The carriage drivers didnt speak or talk.
Her body felt… wrong.
Smaller.
Weaker.
She looked down.
Her knees were drawn close to her chest, thin and trembling.
Around her, other children sat huddled together—boys and girls who looked no older than her. Some stared blankly into nothing. Some cried without sound.
Some were crying.
Some had already given up, their eyes dull and lifeless.
None of them spoke.
As if speech itself had frozen.
Her hands came into view.
They were injured.
Red cracks split her skin, raw and swollen from cold and restraint. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably as pain finally caught up with her mind.
This isn't a dream.
Her chest tightened.
Fragments flashed through her head—a warm voice,a story and a smile she hardly remembers,a promise whispered into the dark side of her mind.
'I want to become like him.'
The carriage jolted suddenly, throwing everyone forward. A few children whimpered. Chains clanged louder this time.
The girl bit down on her lip to stop herself from crying.
"No…" she whispered hoarsely, her breath fogging the air. "Don't cry…"
She didn't know why she said it.
But the words felt familiar.
She forced her shaking hands to move. Pain screamed through her arms as she reached inside her torn clothes, fingers fumbling desperately as if guided by instinct rather than thought.
There.
Something solid.
Something warm.
She pulled it out slowly.
A small locket rested in her palm.
Despite the freezing air, it wasn't cold.
It was faintly warm—like it remembered her.
She opened it with trembling fingers.
Inside was a picture. Worn by time, scratched and old, yet unmistakable.
a picture of her sitting on the lap of an old woman.
"Grand...ma..i didnt cry."
Her breathing steadied.
The rattling chains, the cold, the fear—all of it dulled, just a little.
She closed her fingers around the locket, clutching it to her chest as if it were the last piece of the world that hadn't abandoned her.
"I won't cry, ever again," she whispered again, this time with more resolve.
Outside the carriage, the mist thickened, snow swirling like a white curtain being drawn across the world.
The child lowered her head.
----
And somewhere far beyond frozen roads and forgotten promises—
A will, old and unyielding, stirred.
In the middle of the cold forest lies a secret.
a weapon.
a single-edged samurai blade
waiting to be pulled.
with an inscription called
"DAWN."
==========================
To be continued;)
==========^_^==============