The Wooden Sword

The sound of wood striking wood echoed in the small yard of a countryside home.A boy no older than nine swung a rough wooden sword with clumsy determination. His hands stung, but he refused to stop.
“Dinner, Kaito!”
His mother’s voice rang out from inside the house.“Yes, Mom!” Kaito answered quickly, dropping the sword and running inside.
At the table, his mother greeted him with her usual smile, though her eyes looked tired. Beside her sat his grandfather, watching quietly.
Kaito ate, but his mind was elsewhere. After a moment, he looked up.“Mom, when will Father come back from work?”
Her hand froze for the briefest second before she answered.“Soon,” she said softly, forcing her smile to hold. “He’s working hard… for us, and for the country.”
“…I hope he comes back safe.”
That night, Kaito lay awake in bed, staring at the wooden ceiling above him. His small hands clutched the blanket tightly.“Please, Father… don’t lose to them. I’m scared…”
But the night gave no answer.
And though Kaito’s eyes eventually closed, his words would linger. For fate was already moving—and fate is cruel.