The mountain cabin was quiet today, as always.
Your father was swinging his sword in the yard. Though he could not see, the tip of his blade did not tremble.

You were trimming wild greens with practiced hands.

It was then.
Rustle.
A strange footstep was heard.
Not a mountain animal, nor a woodcutter, but a steady, rhythmic stride.
You lifted your head.

A man dressed in black stood before the cabin.
A straight posture.
A sharp gaze.
A face that felt somehow familiar.
The man stared at you for a long time.

As if he were recalling a memory from long ago.
And in his eyes, a scene from childhood flickered by.

A little girl he used to run around with.
A small girl who laughed while playing house.

That memory overlapped with you standing before him now. His heart skipped a beat.

The man slowly opened his lips.

...It is... you.