The Udon path was quiet except for the crunch of footsteps and the weight of firewood shifting on small backs. Mizu Tokito walked ahead, his broad frame steady, though the axe slung over his shoulder showed the wear of years of labor.
Behind him trudged his two young sons Yuichiro, face tight with annoyance, and Muichiro, whose small figure carried his load without complaint.
"Tch," Yuichiro muttered, adjusting the bundle of wood on his back. "If we hadn't stopped to help that old woman, we'd be finished by now! Father, you're too kind. Nothing good ever comes from being soft on people."
Muichiro glanced at his brother, shaking his head. "That's not true. We should always help people when we can. Isn't that what makes us better? If someone needs help, and we can do it, why not?"
Their father chuckled softly, glancing back at his boys with a smile that softened his weary face. "Muichiro's right. Kindness has a way of repaying itself someday. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but when the world is at its darkest, kindness comes back."
Yuichiro groaned, rolling his eyes, but said nothing more. Muichiro, though, straightened his small shoulders, proud to have his father's agreement.
The day pressed on, and the family moved deeper into the woods, the sound of cicadas buzzing faintly in the distance. Their father set down his load and pulled the axe from his shoulder, sighing as he wiped sweat from his brow.
"All right," he said. "One last tree, and we'll call it a day."
The boys dropped their bundles, relieved to rest, and watched as their father raised the axe. His arms trembled with fatigue; his body was built for labor, but the long hours had left him weary.
He swung once, twice, three times each strike weaker than the last. His breath came heavier.
"One more," he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to lift the axe again. "Just one more "
But before the blade fell, a sharp sound rang through the air.
Shhhk
The tree split down the middle, clean as glass. Not only that ,within seconds, the trunk was carved into neat, even sections of wood, each piece falling with a thud onto the earth.
The father staggered back in shock, his axe lowering. Muichiro and Yuichiro froze, wide-eyed, staring at the impossible sight.
"What… what just happened?" their father breathed, scanning the clearing.
And then they saw him.
A boy, perhaps not much older than the his sons, lowering his sword into its sheath with practiced calm. At his back stood a towering monk-like figure with spiky hair a horizontal scar running across his forehead ,beads at his neck and strength radiating from his frame, and at his side a wolf-dog with sharp eyes and silver fur.
Mamoru looked at them with a faint smile, his hand still resting on the hilt of his blade.
"Thought you'd need a hand," he said simply.
The father blinked, still stunned, while the boys' mouths hung open at the cleanly cut pieces of wood scattered around them.
For the family of three, this would be a moment they would never forget.