The Festival

"Come on, Yatsuho, don't be scared. I'm right here with you," Yatsuho's father—Ryuji urged him, his voice steady and encouraging. He stood in the river below, looking up at the boy perched on the edge of the cliff.

"I-I can't, it's too high," Yatsuho's voice trembled, his legs quaking as he stared down at the water.

"Don't worry, I've got you. Just trust me." his fathers eyes unwavering as he looked up at Yatsuho.

"O-okay, but promise you'll save me if I start to drown," Yatsuho's voice wavered, but he didn't want to let his father down.

"I promise. I'll never let you down, son." Ryuji urged him to take a leap of faith into the blue waters of river Taki.

With a deep breath, Yatsuho pinched his nose, closed his eyes, and leaped off the cliff. His limbs flailed like a fish out of water until he plunged into the river with a resounding splash.

Ryuji swiftly swam over and helped Yatsuho to the surface. "Hahaha! See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" he chuckled, his laughter full of warmth and pride.

"Cough I- I'm okay cough" Yatsuho sputtered, water trickling from his nose and mouth as he caught his breath. Although he had tried to keep the water out of his nose, he failed and was left gasping for air.

"Hahaha. You did great, son. Now, the fish might be a little scared off from here, so let's move to another spot." Ryuji guided Yatsuho to the shore, where they clambered out of the water, dripping with water but smiling.

A little while later, as they sat on the riverbank with fishing rods in hand, Ryuji took in the tranquil scenery of the river and forest around it. It was a place of great significance to Yatsuho, where he had spent his childhood. The tall green trees cast shadows onto the water, which, in response, shimmered from the oncoming rays of sunlight slipping between the leaves. As if not to be left out of the scenery, the flowers around the lake bloomed in vibrant hues of deep reds, soft purples, and golden yellows. Their petals, delicate and intricate, fluttered lightly in the breeze. The air was thick with their sweet, earthy fragrance—notes of jasmine and honeysuckle mingled with the rich scent of wild lavender, creating a serene, almost intoxicating atmosphere.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? The trees, the wind, the water…" Ryuji said.

"Yes," Yatsuho replied softly, though his voice carried a note of hesitation.

Ryuji glanced over at him, sensing something was on his mind. "You've got something to say, don't you? Go on, I'm listening."

Yatsuho hesitated before speaking. "Father, do you think… I could ever be fearless like you?"

Ryuji looked at Yatsuho with a thoughtful smile. "You were brave back there, even if your screams hurt my ears. I know you were, so why do you ask?"

"It's just, when I look at you, it feels like nothing scares you. You just move ahead, no matter what." a little embarrassed, he replied.

Ryuji sighed gently, setting his fishing rod down as he looked Yatsuho in the eyes. "It might look that way, but the truth is, no one lives without fear, Yatsuho. Not me, not anyone."

"But… you never seem afraid," Yatsuho said, puzzled.

"Well there's a difference between being fearless and being courageous. See, fear is natural; it's a part of who we are. It keeps us alive. Sure I guess, there are some who claim to be fearless, but that's a lie—they're not brave, they're just running from what they don't want to face. They're living in denial. In my eyes, they are the biggest cowards." Ryuji's words were calm, perhaps what he said would be soon forgotten by Yatsuho still he thought it necessary to say them.

Yatsuho's eyes widened, processing his father's words. "So… being brave isn't about not being scared?"

"Exactly." Ryuji said, motioning his finger to point at Yatsuho." Courage isn't the absence of fear—it's the strength to face it, to move forward even when you're scared. That's what I want for you, Yatsuho. To be someone who acknowledges fear but doesn't let it stop you. Will you do that for me?"

Yatsuho nodded, determination settling into his features. "Yes. I will."

Ryuji's smile broadened. "That's my boy. Now, how about we head home and show your mother the fish you caught?"

Yatsuho grinned, the earlier fear already fading into the background. Together, they packed up their things and began the walk home, the setting sun casting long shadows over the peaceful river.

Yatsuho opens his eyes, the memory still vivid, his father's words echoing in his mind. His heart trembles, but no tears come. He took a deep breath, the weight of the past pressing heavily on his chest. A faint, almost broken whisper escapes his lips.

"Why? Why can you not be here today when I need you the most? Tell me, father… why?"

His head hung low like a rotten sunflower, the near endless weight on his shoulders made him unable to lift his head up. It had been nine days since he left his home which now lay in ashes, searching for the perpetrators. Yet, luck had not been on his side. The trail had long since gone cold, leaving him with nothing but vague rumors and dwindling hope. His mind wandered, his eyes lost focus—he had grown tired.

Over the horizon, he saw tiny flames illuminating the ground. As he drew closer, a village came into view, bathed in the warm glow of festivities. Laughter and music filled the air—people sat in circles playing cards, drinking sake, and the aroma of food filled any space left by the melodies of the instruments. Couples nestled around the crackling fire, their faces illuminated by its flickering flames.

The village was a patchwork of thatched roofs and dirt paths, illuminated by the soft glow of paper lanterns. The scent of grilled fish and fresh rice hung in the air, mingling with the sweet aroma of sake. The distant laughter of children was a balm, momentarily soothing the ache in Yatsuho's heart.

It wasn't a prosperous village by any means, but neither was it suffering. The strangers' faces, ones he'd never known, oddly comforted him, painfully reminding him of the home he had lost. Yatsuho's heart clenched as laughter filled the air, a bitter contrast to the silent fog that hung over his own village. He clenched his fists, the urge to scream against the unfairness of the world nearly overwhelming him. But he swallowed the pain, letting it sink deeper into his gut like a rock in water.

The village was a rare sight in these turbulent times. The world was riddled with war, the continents of 'Ivarge' locked in a brutal conflict. Yet, here, it seemed as though the war was just a distant story, far removed from reality.

As he approached the village, he hoped to go unnoticed amidst the commotion, but he was a dark smudge for vibrant scenery of the village—his black robes, his dirt covered body and the shadow of grief etched into his features made him an anomaly in the countryside's peaceful setting. The warmth and joy around him only deepened the ache in his chest, a stark reminder of the peace he could no longer claim as his own.

As Yatsuho continued to linger at the market stalls, his eyes scanned the goods but his mind straying far. He avoided eye contact, his steps quickening whenever someone came too close, seeking the embrace of solitude. He chose to keep to himself, to purchase a few rations and continue his journey. But as he walked away, an old yet kind voice called out, stopping him in his tracks. It reminded him so much of his mother's warm embrace that he couldn't help but turn around, despite himself. "Young man in the black robes stop, wait for me."

Turning to face her, Yatsuho couldn't tell if it was hope, a fleeting wish to see his mother again, or just a reflex that made him respond. The voice belonged to an elderly woman, small in stature, her back hunched with the weight of years she had lived, yet she exuded a warmth that seemed capable of enveloping and protecting Yatsuho entirely.

"What is your name, young man? You don't seem to be from around here." Any hope of going unnoticed vanished as children gathered around her, bickering playfully and clinging to her legs. "Now, now, wait a second—I'm talking to this young man here. We'll play later. Now,I didn't catch your name young man ."

"My name is Sakai Yatsuho, miss." His voice responded almost automatically, not wanting to disappoint her. He had felt that he would be fine alone but the piercing loneliness was too much to bear his heart yearned for someone to converse with.

"That's a fine name for a young lad as handsome as you." The Old lady countered back immediately, her wrinkles becoming more pronounced as she smiled "Why don't you stay and enjoy the festivities with us? It's not much, but you're welcome to rest and wash away your fatigue from your long journey." She eyed him with gentle concern, her invitation sincere.

Though he knew he shouldn't stay—though he knew it would only make it harder to leave—he found himself agreeing to spend the night despite himself. The warmth in her voice was just too—tempting, offering a brief reprieve from the cold loneliness that had accompanied him for far too long.

The old woman's eyes crinkled as she smiled upon hearing Yatsuho agreeing to her offer, but he couldn't bring himself to return the gesture. His heart felt like a stone lodged in his chest, heavy and unyielding. He wanted to believe in the warmth of her words, to let his guard down, but a part of him held back, wary of the vulnerability that such kindness could bring.

The old lady asked the children to guide Yatsuho to the Sento to freshen up. She also instructed a man to lend him some clothes for Yatsuho to change into as what he was wearing could only be called rags.

The Sento was empty, which was a relief for Yatsuho. He soaked in the bath for quite some time, rinsing away his fatigue washing his hair. Just then a knock at the door startled him, and he quickly submerged himself in the water to avoid being seen.

"I've left your clothes outside," called a boy's voice from behind the door. "We couldn't find anything in your size, so I brought the largest one we had. Please change and join us by the fire." With that, the boy's footsteps faded away.

Yatsuho stepped out of the bath and changed into the garment left for him, relieved to see it was a yukata. He rolled the sleeves up slightly and tied the obi tightly around his waist. As he dressed, he couldn't help but notice the strange sense of comfort the yukata brought him. Though the fabric was soft and comfortable, it was clearly too small for his towering frame. At 6 feet 3 inches, he dwarfed the villagers in stature, and the yukata struggled to cover his broad shoulders.

As he exited the Sento, he found himself surrounded by the children from earlier. They exchanged nervous glances before nudging one of the boys forward, encouraging him to speak.

"Gran-Granny asked us to bring you to her," the boy stammered, clearly unused to strangers and afraid of him. Yatsuho, sensing their unease, tried to be gentle and kind, but when he attempted to smile, his lips betrayed him, refusing to move. He stood there awkwardly, his face betraying his struggle. The children, puzzled, tilted their heads in confusion. Finally, Yatsuho gave up and used his hands to pull his lips into a smile—a sight so odd that it was probably the strangest thing the children had seen, someone so gigantic making such a silly expression.

A girl standing at the back couldn't hold back a giggle, and soon the other children were laughing as well. Their laughter drew the attention of nearby adults. One woman hurried over, holding the giggling girl's head as she bowed apologetically. "I ask for forgiveness if she has disrespected you."

Yatsuho was taken aback. "No, no, it was me who made them laugh. She didn't disrespect me at all."

Unbeknownst to him, after his bath, Yatsuho looked completely out of place in the village. His eyes, red and sharp like an eagle's, gave him a fierce look. His long, silky hair, tied in a bun, was far too elegant for a traveler. The dirt and grime that had hidden an androgynous beauty now shone through, a kind of beauty seen only in people of high rank, who had the means to take care of themselves. The villagers couldn't take their eyes off him.

To those watching from afar, he seemed like someone who should not be approached, someone out of their league. But his voice, now clear and gentle after washing away his fatigue, carried such kindness that it was impossible to hate or be wary of him.

It was awkward for the villagers to look at Yatsuho in the undersized yukata, as he tried to hide something, his efforts were a poor display at best. The villagers had already noticed but chose to ignore it, thinking it was rude to pry. The children hearing him talk led him by pulling at his Yakuta through the crowd all the while laughing and bickering without a care in the world. Their innocent happiness left a bittersweet feeling in Yatsuho's heart.

As they approached the village center, Yatsuho noticed the intricate patterns woven into the villagers' clothing— the symbols of protection and prosperity, the symbol of the 'Moru' village, this was the same village Yatsuho's mother told him about, "There is a village far north of here, where the villagers worshiped the moon god, we are going to go there someday soon, your father says its a beautiful place". A festival banner fluttered in the breeze, its vibrant colors were a stark contrast to the muted tones of the countryside. Despite the simplicity of the village, there was a deep-rooted sense of tradition that even war could not strip away.

The children led him to the old lady, who sat near the fire, enjoying the melodies being played. Upon seeing Yatsuho, she motioned for him to come closer and sit with her. As Yatsuho followed the children to the fire, the heat brushed his skin, making him stop on his tracks. He forced himself to keep walking, each step heavier than the last, as if the flames themselves were enticing him to come back to a past he wished to forget.

Yatsuho's steps slowed as he neared the fire, whispers of the flame made Yatsuho shudder, the crackling wood seemed to be screams of the damned. As the cold night wind his nape, it sent a shiver down his spine. He forced himself to breathe evenly, focusing on the rhythmic crunch of the leaves beneath his feet. A child's laugh rang out, breaking the tension. Yatsuho glanced at the boy, who had tripped over his own feet and was now laughing with gleeful abandon. For a moment, the weight on Yatsuho's chest lightened, and he found himself almost smiling—almost.

He approached the old lady and sat beside her, keeping his gaze fixed on her face, deliberately turning away from the fire as if to deny its existence.

"You don't like fire, do you?" Her voice softened, as if understanding the weight of his silence.

"I—I don't know," Yatsuho stammered, his gaze fixed on his slender fingers, where his black nails rested like dark crowns. It was the truth. Although many good memories were tied to the mother like embrace of the warm flames, but it was also the same fire that had greedily devoured what was most precious to him, his house, his friends and the most important of all, his mother. His mind went back to the day his home was burnt down,and he could still see the thick black smoke, the furious flames, and the screams—the ugliest parting gifts anyone could receive from the ones dearest to him.

The fire crackled softly, its searing embers dug out the memories Yatsuho had tried to suppress. It was both a beacon fro his wandering mind to return to reality and a threat, reminding him of what he had lost and what he was still searching for. Each time he gazed at the flames, he heard voices pulling him towards the warmth, towards the pain.

"Hah, there are many things we don't know, but isn't that why we're born? To find meaning in things, in life?" The old lady's words were wise, carrying the weight of years lived. They made Yatsuho pause, reflecting deeply on what she had said.

As Yatsuho's mind wandered, his eyes looked for something to distract him, his gaze fell on the old woman's hands, gnarled and scarred. They reminded him of his mother's—hands that had known both kindness and pain. He wondered what stories those hands could tell, what secrets they held. A flicker of unease passed through him, as if sensing that the peace of the village was as fragile as the flames dancing before him.

Sensing his unease, the old lady continued to speak , "You see, Yatsuho, there are countless meanings to our lives. Some find solace in religion, while others seek answers in death. The truth is, we are all different, and so are our lives. I cannot speak for the life you've lived, but for me, the meaning of life is that it has no inherent meaning. We are the ones who give it meaning—through the way we live, the decisions we make. I choose to live my life learning from the past, embracing the present, and looking forward to the future. But you, you're trapped in the past, burning in the flames of what once was. You're too lonely. It must have been hard, but here, with me, you can rest. You can live in the present with the people around you."

Her words carried great weight, too heavy for the festive atmosphere. They pressed down on Yatsuho's heart, and all he could hear was a ringing in his ears, her voice echoing in his mind. Though the place was loud, her words seemed to bounce around in his skull, drowning out everything else. He could see the wisdom in her advice, though it felt both comforting and challenging. Her words were like a lullaby, gently pulling him from the pain of the past and lulling him into the calm of the present, making it seem that, despite his sorrow—his pain, there was value in embracing the here and now—a notion he struggled to grasp amid his grief.

"I don't think I can," Yatsuho replied his head hung low, too scarred to face the wise one, "I still have something I need to do."

Every smile, every laugh in this village was a reminder of what he'd lost. Yet, part of him longed to stay, to find comfort in this temporary haven. But the fire in his chest, the burning need for justice, would not be quelled. He couldn't rest—not yet, not until he'd found those responsible.

"Hahaha, don't worry about the silly ramblings of this old lady," the old lady let out a hearty laugh, as if to dispel any worries weighing on Yatsuho. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to help with the feast preparations. Make yourself at home and have some sakura mochi." the old lady points at the cherry blossom pink Mochi at the table.

"Wait, I never caught your name." Yatsuho stated as she got up.

"Name of this old one doesn't matter," She said with a faint smile "But if you are curious, the children call me Granny Masako" With that, she left Yatsuho to enjoy his time as she turned to her chores.

With a final, lingering glance at the fire, Yatsuho accepted the sakura mochi kept on the bench.

The children, who had gathered around him once more, pulled at his yukata, urging him to join their games.Unbeknownst to Yatsuho he had left an impression on the kids, who now came flocking back to him to urge him to spend some time with them, the children laughing and playfully tugged on his sleeves. "Come on, Yatsuho, dance with us!" they pleaded, their eyes wide with excitement.

"I-I can't dance," Yatsuho stammered, his voice a mix of panic and embarrassment. The children, unfazed by his refusal, simply pulled him into the circle, their laughter infectious.

"You don't need to know how to dance, silly! Just move your feet like this!" a little from earlier girl exclaimed, demonstrating by hopping up and down in place. Her hair short and lustrous black danced as her little feet kicked the ground.

Yatsuho, still unable to smile, showed his enthusiasm by pulling his lips back with his hands, which was of course met with the hearty laughter of the children. He hesitated for a moment before awkwardly mimicking the children's movements. His limbs were stiff, and his steps were clumsy, but the children didn't care—they cheered him on, their laughter filling the night air.

Before he knew it, Yatsuho was caught up in the merriment, the heaviness in his chest lightening with each step. He allowed himself to get lost in the rhythm, forgetting his troubles, if only for a little while. After that the children didn't leave his side at all, they asked him to let them ride on his shoulders, to play games with them, and how could he refuse those little festival demon's pleas.

Walking through the village, Yatsuho was soon approached by two villagers, a man and a woman. The man, dressed in a blue yukata, spoke up, his tone warm and curious rather than confrontational. "Are you enjoying the festival?"

"Ah yes, quite a lot. Thank you for your hospitality," Yatsuho replied, gently lifting the boys off his shoulders.

"Nice to meet you. I am Nakanishi Shig," the man said, looking up at Yatsuho. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties but was dwarfed by Yatsuho's imposing stature. Shig wore a blue yukata with rolled-up sleeves. "And this here is my wife, Nakanishi Yuriko," he continued, pointing to the woman in a red kimono. She was about five inches shorter than Shig and seemed to be the same age. Both looked comfortable with each other, clearly having been married for a long time.

"Nice to meet you too. I am Sakai Yatsuho from Mura village," Yatsuho responded, his voice steady.

The man's eyes widened slightly in recognition. "Wait a minute… Sakai? As in the Heavenly Spear, Ryuji Sakai?" Shig practically yelled in surprise, drawing the attention of the other people around them.

Yatsuho nodded, looking perplexed as he tried to reassure himself. "Yes, he's my father."

A murmur of interest rippled through the crowd around them. The name Ryuji Sakai clearly carried weight. Known far and wide as the Heavenly Spear, Yatsuho's father was considered one of the finest martial artists in the entire Kumamoto province. The villagers' expressions softened further, a mix of respect and admiration evident in their faces.

Yatsuho stared at the villagers' faces, noting their expressions of awe and respect, but felt nothing in return. His mind wandered back to the day he woke up, his face in the mirror unfamiliar, his expressions gone, as if they had burned away with his old self.

As Yatsuho exchanged words with the villagers, he noticed their smiles falter when met with his expressionless glare. They whispered among themselves, wondering why did he look so different from the way Ryuji had described him.

"He looks different," one villager whispered to another. "Lord Sakai spoke of him as a lively boy, but now… it's like he's aged years in just days. Are you sure he's really his son? And didn't Mura get destroyed by bandits? They said everyone died there."

There was one man in the crowd that caught Yatsuho's attention. His face had twisted in shock, as if he recognized something in Yatsuho—something that could change the course of his stay in the village. But before Yatsuho could call out, the man vanished into the throng. Normally, Yatsuho would have pursued him, but the village's tranquility had dulled his instincts, causing him to let his guard down.

As the man disappeared, a faint prickle of unease crept into Yatsuho's mind. Who was he? And why had he reacted that way? The thought lingered, a nagging sense that something was amiss, refusing to be entirely dismissed.

Yatsuho observed the man's reaction with cold curiosity, a habit he'd developed since he changed. He had grown accustomed to watching the world with detachment, but there was something about this encounter that stuck with him, like a puzzle with a missing piece. He decided to file it away for later—if it proved to be important.

"But you don't look your age at all. I heard Lord Sakai's son was no older than 16," Shig blurted out.

"Hey, that's rude," Yuriko said, slapping his back. "I'm sorry on his behalf, he just doesn't know manners."

"Oh, no, no, that's alright. It's a recent change," Yatsuho lied with a straight face. The truth was that he himself did not fully understand why the change happened, only that it had happened nine days ago when he woke up at his ashen home.

"Surely you are Lord Sakai's son," Shig said, slapping Yatsuho's back bringing him back to the present. "Oh, you have a firm back too. Are you a martial artist? What weapon do you practise?"

Yatsuho felt a pang of unease as memories began to surface. "Yes, I did practise the sword."

"Stop it, you're being disrespectful," Yuriko warned Shig again, this time more firmly.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just that I'm a fan of Lord Sakai. As a matter of fact, everyone in this village is. If I'm right, he saved this village from bandits 12 years ago. I remember how he just slayed every single one of them with his spear." Shig's enthusiasm was palpable, his love for the topic clear in his voice.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we need to be somewhere, isn't that right, dear?" Yuriko said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, clearly trying to end the conversation.

"Wait just a sec—" Shig was about to continue, but Yuriko pinched his back and started to lead him away.

"We'll see you later," Yuriko said, bowing before dragging Shig off, still pinching him.

"They're quite the pair," Yatsuho thought, unable to change his statue-like expressionless face.

The interaction drew more and more villagers to Yatsuho—some thanked him for his father's deeds, some were enthusiasts of martial arts, and a few even offered their daughters' hands in marriage.

One particular group caught Yatsuho's attention, or rather, it was the children's reaction to them that did.

"Yatsuho, I just wanted to show my appreciation for what your father has done for the village." A girl approached him, dressed in a yellow kimono, her long, luscious black hair fragrant with the strong scent of jasmine. Her friends trailed behind with clear intentions. She clasped Yatsuho's hand between her own, her touch overly familiar.

Yatsuho, not wanting to be rude, responded as politely as he could, though her forwardness irked him. Had she approached him with common courtesy, he might have thought nothing of it. If she had flirted, he would have been conflicted about her intentions. But the way she acted made it clear she was the type to use others for her gain.

Before Yatsuho could think of a polite way to extricate himself, the children tugged him away, rescuing him from the uncomfortable situation. It was clear they didn't get along with the girl, and Yatsuho felt a wave of relief as he escaped her grasp. Glancing back, he noticed her expression had shifted; her smile faded into a subtle frown, her lips pursed in mild irritation. She narrowed her eyes slightly, a flash of frustration crossing her face, as if her plans had been thwarted, though she quickly masked it with a small, forced smile and began waving in their direction as she saw Yatsuho's gaze land upon her.

The children, their faces aglow with excitement, tugged at Yatsuho's hand, leading him back towards the village center for the feast. Their laughter was a bright contrast to the silence that had settled over him, and as they approached, he felt the warmth of their joy slowly melting the ice that had encased his heart. It was as if they could sense the coldness within him and were determined to chase it away with their innocent exuberance.

Granny Masako greeted them with a welcoming smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she saw the group approach. The smell of hearty, home-cooked dishes wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of spices and herbs. The sight of the feast laid out on the table—a colorful array of traditional dishes—added a comforting, nostalgic touch to the evening. The festival was finally ending and it had gotten quieter with people enjoying their meals with their family.

"Come in, Yatsuho," Masako called out, her voice warm and inviting. "The feast is about to begin. You're just in time."

With a grateful nod, Yatsuho followed the children to the table prepared for them. The table was set with an assortment of dishes, each one a testament to the village's culinary traditions. As they took their places around the table, Yatsuho couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging amidst the laughter and conversation that filled the room.

The feast was a celebration of the village's rich culture and the unexpected bond formed between Yatsuho and the villagers. Each dish was served with care, and Masako's gentle encouragement made him feel welcome despite his initial hesitation. The children's playful chatter and the comforting presence of Granny Masako created a momentary haven from his troubled thoughts.

As Yatsuho joined in the feast, he found himself gradually opening up, allowing the warmth of the evening to seep into his heart. The shared meal was not just a gesture of hospitality but a reminder that even in the midst of sorrow, there were still moments of connection and joy to be found.