The footsteps echoed ominously from the direction Akira and his mother had fled. Emerging from the shadowy treeline were three men, their rugged appearances and menacing glares signaling their malice even before they fixed their attention on Akira. One of the men abruptly noticed a small shoe lying abandoned, discarded in the underbrush, pointing towards the path his mother had taken. The trio immediately followed the direction of the shoe, their intentions dark and relentless.
Moments later, the piercing scream of a woman echoed through the forest, only to be swallowed by an oppressive silence that followed. For what felt like an eternity to young Akira, who was still an infant cradled in his mother's arms, time stretched endlessly. Finally, she emerged from the thicket, disheveled and breathless, her clothes torn and her face streaked with dirt. Wrapping her arms tightly around Akira, she whispered soothing words, promising him that everything would be okay, though both of them knew the gravity of their peril.
With every ounce of her dwindling strength, she began to retrace her steps back into the shadowy embrace of the forest, moving with a desperation that belied her exhaustion. The wounds etched into her skin—a reminder of the harrowing escape—spoke volumes of the danger still hot on their trail. Yet, her fierce determination to protect her son propelled her forward.
After what felt like an arduous journey, she finally set her sights on a small dojo, hidden away in a secluded corner of the woods. It was run by an old man known for his wisdom and martial prowess, a sanctuary far removed from the chaos of the town they had escaped. She pushed through the heavy wooden door and, with trembling hands, gently placed Akira at the base of the doorstep.
Fighting against her own collapsing body, she managed one final knock on the door—a plea for safety and refuge. As her vision blurred and darkness crept in, she whispered a silent prayer for her son's future, hoping that the old man would understand the gravity of the burden she had just placed upon him.
The heavy wooden door to the dojo creaked open, revealing an elderly man with a weathered face and kind eyes. As he stepped inside, he immediately noticed a young woman on the floor, lifeless and pale. His heart sank as he rushed to her side, but a pang of despair coursed through him as he realized he was too late.
Suddenly, the piercing cry of an infant broke the stillness of the room, drawing the old man's attention. He turned to see a small baby, swaddled in a tattered blanket, nestled nearby. Gently, he scooped the child into his arms, cradling the infant with warmth and love, feeling the delicate heartbeat beneath his fingertips.
In that moment, he pieced together the tragic scenario. With a heavy heart, he took the baby inside the dojo, laying him on a soft mat and ensuring he was comfortable, surrounding him with care and protection. After checking the child, the old man returned outside, where he carefully prepared the young woman's body, covering her with a modest cloth as a final act of respect.
With great reverence, he whispered a solemn vow to her, promising that he would look after her son as if he were his own. The gravity of his promise settled in his heart as he straightened, paying his respects with a deep bow. The air was thick with sorrow, but a flicker of hope ignited within him, knowing that he would safeguard the innocent life before him.