Chapter 1: The sparkle that shouldn't be
Wei was seven now, and like a restless shadow he trailed Miwa everywhere. If Miwa went to fetch water, Wei skipped stones into the stream at his side. If Miwa chopped wood, Wei perched nearby, knees tucked against his chest, his gaze burning with a curiosity that never tired.
Miwa himself had changed. The long, flowing hair he once carried like a warrior's crown was now hacked to his shoulders, uneven and jagged, cut simply to endure the sweltering summers and punishing winters. A beard had crept across his jaw, thick and untamed, giving him the look of a man older—wearier—than his years.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, the sting of salt sharp against his eyes, and leaned against the rough frame of the hut he had raised with his own hands. Four walls. A roof patched with bark and straw. A shutter that groaned at the mercy of the wind. By any other measure, it was nothing. Yet to Miwa, it was everything.
"Seven years ago," he murmured, voice low, "all I had was despair… and a crying infant in my arms. Now look at this. A home. My home. His home."
A rare smile tugged at his lips, fleeting but real. His muscles had thickened over the years, his back scarred from labor. His powers—once fierce, unruly things—had grown fickle, failing him when he needed them most. So he turned to his body instead, learning to survive with sweat, bruises, and grit.
Wei tilted his head, stepping closer. "Miwaa… what you say?" sounding exactly like an innocent child who's not been taught how to speak properly.
Miwa glanced at him, then waved it off with a crooked grin. He crouched and ruffled Wei's short black hair.
"Nothing worth your ears, Wei. Just an old man arguing with the walls."
Wei giggled as though it were the funniest thing in the world, the sound bright and unguarded.
Miwa's smile thinned as he rose, reaching for the crude axe he had fashioned himself. Its head was a slab of stone sharpened over weeks, its haft smoothed just enough not to tear his palms. With a grunt, he swung it down. The log cracked clean in two.
Wei's eyes widened. "Woww…"
Miwa chuckled. "What're you staring at? You think this is impressive?"
Wei inched closer, tugging at Miwa's pants.
"Miwa! Let me try! Try! Please!"
Miwa raised an eyebrow, then barked a sharp laugh.
"You? You're barely taller than the axe! And these arms—" he prodded Wei's skinny bicep "—they'd snap faster than the twig you're trying to split."
Wei puffed up his cheeks, eyes round and pleading, determination blazing.
"I can do it! Just once! Please, Miwa—just one! Please…?"
Miwa groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
"I swear… I was never meant for this. Small children and sharp blades—any sane man would say no."
His gaze flicked back to Wei's imploring face, and his resolve wavered.
He muttered under his breath, "But sanity and I parted ways a long time ago."
He crouched, holding the axe out carefully.
"Fine. But listen close. No wild swinging. Keep it steady. Got it?"
Wei nodded, gripping the haft with both hands. The weight nearly dragged him down. His knees wobbled, arms trembled, yet his grin blazed through the strain. He hauled it high—then lost control.
The axe slipped. It crashed to the dirt, grazing his foot.
For the briefest second, the air around Wei seemed to bend—like the world itself wanted to catch him. Miwa blinked hard, and it was gone.
"WEI!"
Miwa lunged, seizing the boy by the shoulders. His heart pounded like a drum against his ribs.
"Show me your foot—quickly! Are you cut?!"
Wei blinked up at him, chest heaving. But his eyes gleamed—not with fear, but with excitement. The grin was still there, stretched wide, almost feverish.
Miwa froze.
That look—sharp, and something else…
A spark Wei couldn't even name yet burned in his eyes.
Then the grin faltered. The spark guttered. Wei's lip quivered, and tears spilled hot down his cheeks. He buried himself against Miwa's chest, sobbing.
"Wahhh… scary! Scary!, Miwa!"
Miwa exhaled hard, his arms wrapping around him instinctively. He rocked without thinking, soothing the boy's shaking shoulders.
"Reckless child. Don't ever scare me like that again. You'll be the death of me long before the world gets its chance."
Wei hiccupped between sobs.
"S-sorry… I thought y-you cool… I want to be strong like you…"
The words struck; Miwa's throat tightened, rough and dry. His calloused hand stroked Wei's black hair slowly, gently.
"Strong like me, huh?"
His voice rasped, every word heavy with weariness.
In his mind crept, 'If only you knew what strength has cost me. If only you knew the things I've done just to keep standing.'
He swallowed it down, burying the thought beneath his touch.
"Wei… strength doesn't come from showing off or chopping wood, you silly kid."
Wei peeked up through his wet lashes.
"Then… Miwa teach. So me… can be like you."
Miwa shut his eyes, his chest aching with unsaid words pressing against his ribs.
He didn't want Wei to be like him.
"No, Wei. Not yet. I'll teach you when you're a little bit older than right now. But don't worry—one day, you'll be more stronger than me, even without me teaching you. And especially not with an axe… not like this… and not… just like me."
He paused, then looked at Wei again.
"Hehe. You'll be your own kind of strong."
He tapped Wei's nose, forcing a faint warm smile.
"…Until then, let Miwa take the blisters first, alright?"
Wei sniffled and nodded, his fists clenched tight, knuckles white around the promise.
Besides what does a boy know of strength, when he's only seven?