Chapter 4: The Threads of Fate

"Ermm…" Ichika stirred, his head aching, his senses slowly returning. He looked around his room, the familiar Sal light streaming through the window, illuminating the dust motes suspended in the air. The light fell across his mother, who was asleep on the stool beside his bed, her face etched with exhaustion. Mommy is sleepy, he thought, a wave of tenderness washing over him. I'll make sure Mommy doesn't wake up. He carefully moved his blanket aside and slowly got out of bed. The bed, hard and unyielding, made no sound as he moved.

He stood beside his sleeping mother, his gaze soft. Her face was resting on his bed, her body slumped on the stool. He leaned closer and gently kissed her cheek. "Good morning, Mommy," he whispered, careful not to disturb her.

Ichika quietly made his way to the kitchen. There wasn't much to see, but the small space was filled with an abundance of vegetables: carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, and bell peppers. These vegetables were remarkably large and vibrant. The carrots were unusually big, the tomatoes surprisingly small. His mother loved bell peppers, which explained the large quantity of them. There was also a good supply of bread, enough, perhaps, to last for three to seven days before they would need to go into the village again. Mommy won't mind if I take a carrot, right? he thought, a small pang of guilt in his heart. He considered it for a moment, then decided to take one anyway.

He walked out of the house, greeted by the warm, fresh air of the morning. He looked up at the Sal, its light a reddish-orange hue, a beautiful sight. "I wish I could stay here with Mother forever," he murmured, a wistful note in his voice. He walked into the small field where the vegetables were grown, a patch of green amidst the surrounding landscape.

He didn't stop there. He continued his exploration, walking around the other side of the house. Behind the house, there was nothing but the vast, open landscape, a jumble of rocks and scrub brush. The trees in the distance were tall and imposing, their leaves a deep, vibrant green.

"One more second, Ichika," she muttered in her sleep, her hand reaching out instinctively, searching for him. "Hmm?" Finding nothing, she moved her hand further, her eyes snapping open. She looked at the bed. It was empty. "Ichika?!" she called out, her voice laced with panic.

She got up quickly, her heart pounding in her chest, and ran through the house, checking every nook and cranny, every place where Ichika might be hiding. "Ichika?!" she called again, her voice rising in desperation. She ran outside, but as she was about to leave the small storage room attached to the house, she caught a glimpse of a small figure standing near the trees, watching the sunrise.

"Oh, Ichika," she breathed, relief washing over her. She didn't know if it was a miracle, a twist of fate, or simply the resilience of a child's spirit, but she was so grateful to see him alive, so overjoyed that her grief had been premature. She walked to the window and looked at him. He was smiling, a small, innocent smile that warmed her heart. Maybe this is a dream, she thought, a fragile hope flickering within her. I'll cherish it. She leaned against the window frame, watching him, her heart filled with a quiet joy.

"Mother!" Ichika, who had been gazing at the trees, turned and saw her. His face lit up, his smile widening. She was looking at him, her own face radiant, her smile beautiful. Bathed in the morning light, she looked like an angel, a guardian watching over him.

"Good morning, my little prince," she said softly, her voice filled with love. She watched as Ichika ran towards her, his small feet pounding on the ground. "Slow down, don't trip again, okay?" she cautioned, a gentle reminder of his earlier clumsiness.

"I know," he replied, his steps more careful this time. He didn't want to get himself dirty again, not after this yesterday's adventure. "Mother, what are we having for breakfast?" he asked as he reached the window. She scooped him up into her arms, a warm, comforting embrace, and took off his shoes.

Putting him down, she picked up his shoes. "We're having vegetable stew with bread today," she answered. They didn't usually have such a lavish meal every day. She knew that Ichika wouldn't want to eat the same thing every day.

"Mommy, can I help you today?" he asked, his eyes shining with anticipation. Perhaps today, he would get to eat something he had helped prepare. They didn't often cook together. Sometimes, when she was making food, Ichika would either wash the vegetables or simply watch from the side, observing her movements.

"Ohh, you're helping Mommy today?" She looked at him, feigning surprise, though her heart was overflowing with happiness. Perhaps today was a lucky day, a day filled with unexpected joy. There was no need to be alone while making food.

 "Of course, honey, you can help Mommy today," she said, her smile warm and genuine. "Okay, we need to wash the veggies and our hands first."

His mother picked up the basket filled with vegetables, and they made their way to the water storage, a large clay container that collected rainwater. It usually rained every one to two weeks where they lived, more frequently than in other parts of the land. Ichika first washed his hands, then the vegetables, following the ...same steps his mother always took. After washing all the vegetables, they returned to the house, the basket now clean and empty.

As they entered the kitchen, the aroma of freshly washed vegetables filled the air. The earthy scent of potatoes, the crisp smell of bell peppers, and the sweetness of tomatoes mingled together, creating a comforting fragrance that reminded Ichika of home, of warmth, of family.

"Now, let's start making our vegetable stew," his mother said, her smile radiating warmth and affection. They placed the clean vegetables on a wooden board and began chopping them into small pieces. The rhythmic thwack of the knife against the board echoed softly in the kitchen, a comforting sound, a soundtrack to their shared activity.

"Can you help me stir the pot, Ichika?" his mother asked, her eyes twinkling. Ichika eagerly nodded and took hold of the wooden spoon, his small hand gripping it tightly. He stirred the pot gently, careful not to splash the water, mixing the vibrant vegetables together. His movements were deliberate, precise, a reflection of his desire to help, to contribute to their shared meal.

As the stew began to simmer, the kitchen filled with the delightful scent of cooking vegetables. The aroma of carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, and bell peppers melded together, creating a mouth-watering fragrance that made Ichika's stomach rumble.

His mother tore some bread into pieces and placed them on a warm stone near the fire to toast. The smell of toasting bread added another layer of deliciousness to the kitchen, a nutty, comforting aroma that complemented the savory scent of the stew.

"Smells good, doesn't it?" his mother said, smiling at Ichika, her eyes filled with pride. He nodded, his eyes wide with anticipation, his mouth watering.

Once the stew was ready, his mother ladled it into bowls, the steam rising in swirling tendrils. She placed the toasted bread on the side, a golden-brown accompaniment to the vibrant stew. "Here you go, my little prince. Enjoy your meal," she said, handing him a bowl.

Ichika took a bite of the warm, flavorful stew and his face lit up. "Thank you, Mommy. This is the best," he said, savoring the comforting taste of the vegetables and the satisfying chewiness of the toasted bread. It was a simple meal, but it was made with love, and that made all the difference.