Chapter 1
The rays of the setting sun barely slipped through the small window. Faint light fell across the wooden table that the dark-haired woman was diligently wiping. Her hair was tied into a messy bun that had turned into a complete disaster by the end of the day, and her hands were reddened from the hard work.
She didn’t lift her head when a little girl ran into the room, rocking a doll her father had made for her. “Mommy, Mommy!” the girl cried happily. “Daddy asked you to come to him!” she added, tugging at the hem of her mother’s clothes.
The woman set the cloth aside and let out a tired sigh, looking at the child. Her short dark hair was in complete disarray from her hyperactivity, and her freckled cheeks were flushed. Despite all her exhaustion, the woman couldn’t help but smile gently at her daughter. “Of course, sweetheart.”
Before she could finish speaking, small hands were already pulling her into the hallway, its walls covered in family photographs. Their small, old café was one of the few things that brought them even a little money to live on.
Snapped out of her thoughts, she noticed her tired husband sitting on the porch. His exhaustion was no surprise she was sure she looked the same.
Hearing their footsteps, he raised his head and scratched his stubble, offering them a faint smile. “There you are,” he said quietly to his wife. “You know you don’t have to work so hard today. It’s unlikely anyone will drop by at this hour.” Without looking, he caught their daughter as she ran into his warm embrace and settled on his lap, playing with her doll.
The woman only smiled faintly and shook her head, sitting beside him and resting her head on his shoulder. “I know, dear,” she murmured softly, closing her eyes, the small mole beneath her right eye barely visible. “I just hope someone still comes by today.” The man gave a soft chuckle but didn’t reply.
Feeling the peace of her family around her, the woman began to drift off to sleep. The sun slowly dipped below the horizon when the flap of a crow’s wings echoed from the roof of their little eatery, followed by the barking of dogs. She lifted her head with a sigh. The weather had suddenly grown gloomy; clouds gathered despite the earlier warmth.
But it wasn’t the sky that caught her attention. It was the figure standing beneath the wooden arch at the entrance to their small village.
Their appearance was intimidating: a dark blood-red hakama, a katana sheathed at their side, one hand resting near the hilt. An amigasa shadowed their face; though it covered half of it, unpleasant scars were still visible.
Beside her, her husband’s breath caught just as hers did. Whoever this stranger was, they were clearly a samurai, and they had drawn the attention of the entire village. People stepped out of their homes to look. The samurai walked forward without sparing anyone a glance. As they passed the woman and her family, she briefly caught sight of their dark crimson eyes and something about them felt special, though she couldn’t explain why.
The stranger reached the old house run by an elderly woman who rented rooms to travelers for the night. Without asking permission, the samurai stepped inside. The old woman followed, apparently to arrange a room for her mysterious guest.
Despite her husband’s surprised look and her daughter’s confusion, the woman rose as if enchanted and walked to the house, peering through the window. She saw the samurai pay for a room without a word, take the key, and walk further inside without speaking.
When the stranger disappeared from sight, she felt as though she had woken from a dream. She turned to see her husband’s worried expression and her daughter’s puzzled one.
She gave them an awkward smile and returned with them to their small café-home. Her husband moved the tables aside while their daughter, less cheerful now, watched her mother with curiosity instead of playing. The woman took the straw-filled pillows and glanced out the small window, still caught in a strange haze from meeting the stranger until she felt a warm touch on her shoulder. She didn’t need to look to know it was her husband.
She turned silently, placed the pillows on the floor, and sat down, loosening her hair. Their daughter lay between them, asking her father endless questions while he patiently answered. Setting aside her comb decorated with blue flowers, the woman lay down on the other side and extinguished the candle, falling asleep to the sound of her family’s quiet conversation.
Early morning light filtered through the small window, waking her. She rose quietly so as not to wake her husband and daughter, picked up her comb, and walked to the window. The street outside was wrapped in morning mist. She opened the window, feeling the cool air then she saw the stranger again, and those strange feelings returned.
The samurai adjusted their amigasa and seemed to finish sharpening their katana before sliding it back into its sheath. It looked like they were preparing to leave, which wasn’t surprising considering how forgotten this village was. Yet something inside her tightened at the thought of never seeing them again.
She looked at the comb in her hand a wedding gift from her husband and clenched it tightly. Then she looked at her husband and daughter and pressed her lips together. Despair and hope swirled in her chest. She couldn’t abandon her family but she was so tired of living in poverty, of struggling every day, of never seeing the world beyond their village. All the arguments for and against, all her moral values, clashed within her.
Carefully, she bent down, placing the comb into her husband’s hand and gently kissing her daughter on the forehead. Then she quietly left the room and ran outside to the arch where the samurai had passed moments before.
Seeing the samurai in the distance walking unhurriedly along the road, she quickened her pace. “Wait!” she called out breathlessly. They stopped but did not turn around.
She exhaled shakily, bracing her hands on her knees as she struggled to catch her breath, staring at their back. “May I… may I go with you?” she asked, waiting patiently for an answer.
Silence.
Anxiously, she bit her lip, wondering if they had heard her. She was about to ask again when they simply continued walking.
She watched their retreating figure and thought they hadn’t answered with refusal or agreement. Could she go with them?
She didn’t want to return.
Something about this stranger drew her in.
And so, quietly, she followed after them as far as she could.
