Haruto sat cross-legged in the backyard, his eyes fixed intently on the open pages of a worn book as the afternoon sun cast a warm glow around him. Though he was only seven, he poured over each word with a focus far beyond his years, his mind absorbing the knowledge with ease. Here, amidst the quiet of the farm, he felt both comforted and restless—a strange, constant pull as if something inside him was stirring, waiting to awaken.
"Why… do I remember these things?" he wondered aloud, his fingers brushing the edge of the page. Every so often, fragmented memories emerged from his mind—visions of battle, glimpses of a steel blade cutting through the air. He didn't understand these flashes, and yet, they felt as real as the ground beneath him.
As he traced a finger along the text, a faint sound caught his ear—a rhythmic whoosh, followed by a low grunt. Haruto looked up, scanning the yard, and spotted a figure moving beyond the fence near the woods. Curiosity piqued, he closed the book, tucking it under his arm as he made his way toward the noise.
In a small clearing just beyond the edge of the farm, he saw a boy, perhaps ten years old, wielding a wooden practice sword with focused intent. The boy was moving through a sequence of strikes, each swing more precise than the last, as though he were honing a skill that was becoming second nature.
Haruto watched in silence for a moment, intrigued by the boy's dedication and the way he wielded the sword. As the boy noticed Haruto's presence, he paused mid-swing, lowering his practice sword with a curious look.
"Oh, hey!" the boy called out smiling. "Didn't think anyone was around." He tilted his head as he looked at Haruto. "You're Haruto, right? I've seen you around the village. Well, I'm Kaito."
Haruto nodded, a small smile on his lips. "Yeah. I heard the sound of your sword… it seemed like you were really focused."
Kaito laughed, scratching the back of his head with a grin. "Yeah, I guess I get pretty into it. My dad says if I want to be a swordsman, I have to practice every day." He glanced down at his practice sword, then back at Haruto. "Do you want to try? It's not sharp or anything."
Haruto blinked, caught off guard by the offer. "I've… never tried," he admitted, but there was an undeniable spark of curiosity in his eyes.
Kaito handed him the practice sword, showing him how to hold it. "Here, you just keep a firm grip like this," he instructed, his hands guiding Haruto's to get the stance right. "Now, when you swing, try to imagine you're cutting through something… like a heavy branch."
Haruto pretended as though he never used a sword before, raising the wooden sword and bringing it down in a slow, measured arc. The oddly satisfying familiarity the swings brought up some memories of how he used to train. He tried again, this time swinging with a bit more confidence.
"Not bad!" Kaito said, his face lighting up in approval. "For a first try, you've got a pretty steady hand. It's like you've done this before."
Haruto's grip tightened slightly on the wooden sword as his mind filled with flashes of another life, distant yet familiar. He could feel the ghostly weight of a real blade, the sound of clashing steel echoing in his ears. But just as quickly as the memory surfaced, it faded, leaving him with a vague sense of loss.
"Maybe I have," Haruto murmured softly, almost to himself. Kaito raised an eyebrow, clearly curious, but he didn't press further.
The two of them practiced together in the fading light, Kaito offering tips and encouragement as Haruto worked on mastering each swing. The motions felt strange but natural, like a dance he'd forgotten but was slowly remembering. As the sun began to sink below the horizon, casting long shadows across the clearing, Kaito finally lowered his practice sword, stretching his arms with a satisfied sigh.
"You're really good, Haruto," he said, nodding with approval. "Maybe you should start training too. We could practice together."
Haruto smiled, feeling an unfamiliar sense of camaraderie. "Yeah… I'd like that," he said quietly, feeling a weight lift from his chest. Practicing with Kaito felt right, as if he were connecting to a part of himself he had long forgotten.
"Let's meet here again tomorrow, then!" Kaito grinned, patting him on the shoulder before waving goodbye. Haruto watched him disappear into the trees.
That night, as Haruto lay in bed, he closed his eyes, focusing on the echoes of the practice swings he had done with Kaito. He held his hand out, in the middle of his books, as if wielding a sword, and a faint, familiar warmth began to pulse from his chest, drifting down his arm to his fingertips. He opened his eyes and saw it—a faint shimmer, almost invisible, surrounding his hand.
"What… is this?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
The glow faded quickly, leaving only the quiet of the night. Whatever he saw was not something he could clearly see before being taken by the weight of sleep.