Warning: This is the first short story that I’ve ever seriously written. I’m currently in the process of writing it. This is not a final product, just what I have so far. Also, this short story does contain semi-spoilers to The Sword of Kaigen.
I should be able to finish this up toward the end of the week. The final product will be shown in a future post. Hope you enjoy it!
Clarity, that was the message the mountain had sent him.
The overwhelming feeling engulfed all of his senses. And yet, he could feel everything. He felt the waves washing against the mountain, snow melting on the huts of the western village, and wind brushing against every tree branch. This clarity was like everything and nothing all at once.
Nothing that happened previously throughout his life seemed to hold any weight.
Even the memories of that fateful day a decade ago were so small in his mind. The death of his uncle and brother was merely a drop of water in an ocean of senses. Hiroshi used this feeling, this god-like power to create something only few could. The hilt of the shadow’s daughter split perfectly in two.
Zilazen glass was supposed to be the strongest material on earth and yet it split as easily as a blade of grass.
He had done it, Hiroshi had successfully mastered the art of the whispering blade. At the young age of 15, that was unheard of. He would go down as the youngest Matsuda to master the whispering blade in the history of his lineage.
As he knelt there with his palm in the snow it meant so little.
He, Hiroshi Matsuda, was the mountain. His life and his accomplishments meant nothing compared to this mountainous feeling. His purpose was to be the mountain. As he stood, palm leaving the ground, that feeling slipped away.
Time no longer moved slowly. He could feel again and yet maybe he had truly felt nothing up until this point.
His mother spoke to him but it had drowned out with the rest of the world. Slowly, he began to hear what she had been saying. “So, my son is now a master of the whispering blade… I don’t think I could ever feel as much pride as a mother then I do now” Misaki said.
Huh, was Hiroshi supposed to feel pride? Was he supposed to feel appreciation for his mother’s sentiments?
Who was he supposed to respond as, himself or the mountain? Was there any difference between the two? Hiroshi couldn’t speak so instead he nodded. “Does this mean he is the youngest Matsuda to master the whispering blade?” Misaki pondered to Takeru.
“No” Takeru replied simply. “Then who would the youngest be?” Misaki replied. Takeru waited to respond.
First, he looked toward his son. You became the mountain just now didn’t you?” Takeru asked.
“Yes, Father,” Hiroshi responded.
Here’s my work so far!
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