The village of Kurohama lay cradled between rolling hills and forests that whispered with the wind. To travellers passing through, it was a place of peace: farmers bent over golden fields, merchants calling out prices in the square, children laughing as they chased each other down the dusty lanes. But for Tatte Maru, the village was not peace. It was a cage built of memories.
Eight years ago, his father, Hori Maru, had left with a smile and a promise.
"I'll be back soon, son. Just going to get some milk."
It was supposed to be nothing more than a trivial errand. Yet the days stretched into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. The promise had never been fulfilled.
Tatte remembered those first months vividly. Each evening, he sat by the doorway, eyes fixed on the dirt road, waiting for the familiar figure to appear. He imagined his father's laugh, the rough warmth of his hand ruffling his hair, the faint scent of smoke from his pipe. But the road remained empty, and the silence grew heavier with each passing season.
By the second year, whispers spread through the village. Some claimed Hori Maru had abandoned his son. Others believed he had perished in some distant land. With his mother long gone, Tatte bore the weight of solitude alone.
Now sixteen, he had grown into a wiry young man. His hands were calloused from labor, his gaze sharpened by hardship. Yet beneath the hardened exterior lingered the wound of that vanished promise.
That evening, as the sun bled into the horizon, a knock startled him. He opened the door, expecting perhaps a villager, but found no one. Only a single envelope lay on the step, its edges frayed, its paper yellowed.
His breath caught. The handwriting was unmistakable.
It was his father's.
Tatte's fingers trembled as he tore it open. The letter smelled faintly of smoke and sea salt, as though it had journeyed across oceans. He read:
"My son, Tatte. Forgive me. I did not vanish because I abandoned you. I chased a legend—the magical milk of Miss Mia, said to grant eternal vitality. I believed if I could bring it back, our lives would change forever. But the journey was perilous, and I have paid the price. By the time you read this, I will already be gone. Yet I leave you a hint: seek the map, hidden in the ruins beyond the northern cliffs. It will lead you to Miss Mia. Carry on where I could not."
The words blurred as tears filled his eyes. His father was dead. The man he had waited for, prayed for, dreamed of—gone forever.
The house seemed to collapse around him. The silence pressed against his ears. He was an orphan now, left with nothing but a letter and a dream that had cost his father his life.
Tatte sat for hours, staring at the paper. He thought of the nights he had cried alone, the mornings he had forced himself to smile, the years of emptiness. Anger flared—why had his father chosen a myth over his son? Yet beneath the anger flickered something else: resolve.
He whispered into the empty room, "If you believed in this, Father… then I'll see it through."
The next morning, villagers noticed him walking through the square with a satchel slung over his shoulder.
"Where are you going, Tatte?" asked old Mrs. Kuro, the baker's wife, flour dusting her apron.
"To find the truth," he replied simply.
Some scoffed. "Chasing fairy tales," muttered a farmer. Others shook their heads, pity in their eyes. A childhood friend, Helena, stepped forward. "You don't have to do this alone," she said softly.
But Tatte shook his head. "This is my father's path. I have to walk it."
Helena bit her lip, but said no more.
At dawn, he packed his satchel. A flask of water, a loaf of bread, a small knife, and the letter folded carefully inside. He stood at the doorway of the house one last time. The wooden beams creaked, the floor smelled of dust and memories. He whispered a farewell, locked the door, and stepped into the morning light.
The northern cliffs loomed in the distance, jagged and mysterious. Somewhere beyond them lay the ruins, and within those ruins, perhaps the map his father had hinted at.
The journey to find Miss Mia—and the truth behind the magical milk—had begun.
And so, the story of Tatte Maru started not with reunion, but with loss, and the promise of adventure hidden in a dead man's final words.