The training field wasn't the village's. It was bigger, more real, with a weight in the air that Kenji couldn't name. It smelled like wet earth and iron.

  The enemies surrounded him. He wasn't afraid.

  In the stands, his father watched in silence, arms crossed, wearing an expression Kenji had never seen directed at him.

  "Show me what you've got, champion," he murmured.

  Kenji hit. Took hits. Hit back. His body knew exactly what to do, as if it had always known. The enemies fell one by one until only the last one remained.

  Then something grabbed him. Not with hands, but with a feeling, as if the dream itself wanted to spit him out.

  "Move!" his father shouted from the stands.

  But the field was already fading. His father's voice drifted away, replaced by another.

  "Kenji. Kenji, wake up."

  The grass turned black. Everything turned black.

  "Kenji, wake up!"

  He opened his eyes. The wooden ceiling of his room. The white light of the snow coming through the window. Rina standing by the bed.

  A dream. Just a dream.

  "Good morning, mo—"

  Rina hugged him before he finished the word.

  "Happy birthday, son," she whispered into his hair.

  Kenji took a second, then hugged her back. She smelled like firewood and something cooking downstairs.

  The hug lasted longer than usual. Rina was the first to let go.

  "Get up and wash your face," she said as she headed for the door. "The training field isn't going to wait for you."

  Kenji was at the door before Rina finished speaking.

  He'd never been allowed in the mornings. The field at that hour was for the ones who defended the village, the ones who trained for real—not for an eleven-year-old with raw knuckles from hitting a bag alone. Today was different.

  Rina served breakfast. Kenji finished it before she sat down.

  "Hey." Rina looked at him. "Meals are meant to be enjoyed."

  "It was delicious."

  She shook her head but said nothing more.

  They left together. The morning cold was different from the night's—drier, more awake. Kenji didn't walk at any point: he half-jogged, getting a few steps ahead and coming back, as if his legs couldn't match the pace of the rest of the world. Rina walked beside him without a word, hands buried in her coat pockets.

  The field appeared around the corner. People were training—serious movements, precise, without the messy energy of the afternoon kids. Kenji stopped at the entrance. Just for a second. Then he walked in.

  He stayed near the edge watching, following every movement with his eyes.

  "Rina." Captain Juzo approached. "It's been a while."

  "Too long." Rina returned the greeting without taking her eyes off Kenji.

  "We've been keeping watch on what's been spotted nearby." Juzo lowered his voice slightly. "Nothing's reached us so far, but we're not letting our guard down." He paused and looked toward Kenji. "Did you bring him for a special reason?"

  "It's his birthday."

  "Why didn't you lead with that?" Juzo was already walking toward him. "How old?"

  "Eleven."

  "Kenji!"

  Kenji was there in an instant, as if he'd been waiting to be called.

  "Hi, Juzo!"

  "Happy birthday." He put a hand on his shoulder. "Today you train with us. Start with a jog to warm up."

  Kenji took off without being told twice.

  "He hasn't come back?" Juzo asked quietly.

  "Six months without a word." Rina said it without drama, like someone repeating something that had stopped hurting in the same way. "You know how he is."

  "I do." Juzo looked toward the field for a moment. "That kid needs you here. And you're here. That's what matters."

  Rina turned her gaze to the field.

  Juzo went back to training. Rina stayed where she was.

  Kenji was laughing at something one of the men had said. Rina couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him like that—so loose, so weightless.

  It did her good to see it. More than she expected.

  Time passed quickly. The footprints in the snow multiplied. Kenji went back and forth without stopping. His technique was clumsy, but the enthusiasm didn't let up. Juzo corrected things as they went, small adjustments that Kenji absorbed, forgot, and tried again.

  At some point Juzo stopped him, placed a hand on his chest, and told him to breathe. To feel. Kenji closed his eyes, clenched his fists, focused until his arms shook. Nothing. Juzo gave him a pat on the back and sent him back to the physical drills. He didn't say anything else about it.

  "Halt!" Juzo ordered. "Watch shift in three hours. Head home."

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  The men said their goodbyes. Several ruffled Kenji's hair as they passed. He was exhausted but wearing a smile too big for his face.

  Juzo crouched to his level.

  "Kenji, you've got four years until the exam. You need practice." He put a hand on his shoulder. "Come back tomorrow."

  "Can I?" Kenji looked at Rina immediately.

  "Don't be too hard on him." Juzo gave her a half-smile. "He'll be safe here."

  Rina sighed.

  "Tomorrow. Just tomorrow."

  They walked back together. Kenji wasn't jogging or getting ahead anymore. He walked at Rina's pace with his shoulders slumped and his feet barely dragging, glancing back every now and then as if the field might vanish if he stopped watching it.

  When they arrived, he collapsed into the chair before taking off his coat. He said nothing. His breathing was still a little heavy.

  Rina took out the ingredients that had arrived from the great capital last week. She didn't say anything about who had sent them. Kenji didn't ask either.

  Then he smelled it.

  He went still for a moment, nose in the air.

  "Kenji!" Rina didn't turn around, still stirring the pot. "Go take a bath."

  "I'm just sitting here."

  "You're sitting at the table in your training clothes with a dirty face. Go."

  "But it smells so good."

  "The lasagna's going to be a while longer." Rina did turn this time. "You've got plenty of time. Go."

  Kenji came back in record time, hair still damp and clothes crooked. He stood next to Rina staring at the pot.

  "Can I help?"

  "Set the table."

  He took out the clay plates, the glasses, the utensils, and placed them with a focus he didn't give to many things. Then he sat down and waited, hands on his knees, watching the embers.

  Rina served and sat beside him.

  This time Kenji ate slowly. Not much, but slowly.

  "So you are learning." Rina smiled.

  "You told me this morning."

  "And you remembered all day."

  "Only during meals."

  Kenji finished his plate and served himself another without asking. Rina let him. It was his birthday, and meals like this didn't come often—once a year if they were lucky.

  The fire in the embers had died down. The room was darker and warmer at the same time. Outside, the wind kept going, but inside there was almost no sound—just the clink of utensils and the occasional crackle from the embers.

  Kenji ate the second plate slower than the first.

  "Had enough?"

  "Yeah." He leaned back in the chair with his hands on his stomach.

  "Help me clean up."

  Kenji opened one eye.

  "Sure!"

  They put everything away in silence, each with their own task.

  Kenji went upstairs and fell asleep almost before lying down, the soft sound of the wind in the background.

  Rina waited downstairs. She heard the exact moment his breathing evened out—that deep rhythm that doesn't lie. Then she went to her room and took the medallion from the chest. She opened it carefully. Inside, she placed a small folded sheet, a drawing she had made herself: Kenji and Rina together, simple strokes but recognizable.

  She closed it. Held it in her palm for a moment.

  She remembered the first time she held him, so small in the blankets it was frightening. Now he trained with the village guard and asked for seconds on his birthday.

  She gave him enough time for the sleep to really settle in. Then she went upstairs.

  Kenji was sleeping on his side with his mouth half open and one arm hanging off the bed.

  "Kenji."

  Nothing.

  She shook his shoulder.

  "Wha—" Kenji opened one eye. Then the other. "What happened?"

  "Come with me."

  He went down the stairs dragging his feet, still half asleep, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

  Rina was sitting at the table. In front of her was an envelope.

  Kenji recognized it before he sat down. The handwriting was his father's.

  "Read it," Rina said without looking him in the eyes.

  Kenji took the envelope. He opened it slowly, without rush, like someone who already knows what they're going to find inside.

  Son.

  I hope you're doing well on this special day. I'm sorry I can't be there another year—things in the great capital have gotten complicated and your brother's training can't stop. I won't make it in time.

  But I promise you, Kenji. I'll make up for all these years. Every single one.

  Train. I want to see your progress when I arrive. You have a great future ahead, I know it—don't get discouraged.

  Say hello to your mother. Take care of her. You're the man of the house.

  Happy birthday, champion.

  Ryo.

  Kenji folded the letter and placed it on the table.

  The tears came slowly, without him calling for them. They weren't from sadness—or not just that. It was something older, more accumulated. The anger of having waited one more time for something he already knew wasn't going to come.

  Then he felt Rina's hands on his shoulders from behind. She didn't say anything. She was just there.

  Kenji didn't move.

  Rina placed something cold and light around his neck. Kenji looked down.

  A medallion shaped like a crow. Wings spread, neck tilted forward, handmade with a precision that only comes from time and care.

  "Happy birthday," Rina whispered.

  Kenji held it between his fingers without letting go.

  "Open it."

  Kenji opened the medallion. Inside was a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it carefully.

  A drawing. Him and Rina, simple strokes, the proportions a little off, but recognizable. The two of them together.

  He said nothing. He turned and hugged her with everything he had, burying his face in her shoulder. Rina received him without surprise, as if she'd been expecting it.

  The knots didn't disappear. But they loosened a little.

  Rina pulled back just enough to look at his face. She wiped his tears with her thumb and reached for his coat. She put it on him carefully, adjusting the collar.

  Then she took out another envelope. Different from the first. Smaller, in her handwriting.

  "This letter is yours. But you can't open it yet." She looked him straight in the eyes. "Only when you've fulfilled your dreams. Promise me."

  "I promise." His voice came out between sobs.

  "Give me your hand."

  Kenji held out his hand. Rina took it with both of hers and didn't let go.

  "I want to see all of us in the great capital someday. As a family."

  She messed up his hair with one hand. With the other, she tucked the letter into the pocket of Kenji's coat. She left her hand there for a moment before pulling away.

  The silence that followed was different from before. Lighter.

  "Want to go outside?" Rina said. "A little snow never hurt anyone."

  Kenji wiped his tears with the back of his hand and nodded. He picked up the letter from the table and stood to open the door.

  Then the first impact hit.

  Muffled. Distant. But real.

  Kenji froze with his hand on the doorknob.

  "Kenji." Rina's voice had changed. "Come here."

  Kenji went. Rina hugged him tight—too tight.

  "It's okay, Mom. Could've been anything."

  The second impact shook the ground.

  "Look at me." Rina took his face in both hands. "Don't leave my side. Understand?"

  They went to the door together. Rina opened it.

  "Activate the barriers!" Juzo's voice cut through the air from somewhere.

  The sky had closed in. Dark clouds that weren't there an hour ago covered the village from end to end. And from somewhere nearby came the sound of footsteps—many, fast, like something running without stopping.

  "We need to move," Rina said.