I woke up feeling my body burning with pain.
It seems the potions have a limit to how much they can regenerate.
Feeling myself covered in bandages, I open my eyes and see an unfamiliar ceiling, then sit up in the bed.
The creaking sound of the bed seems to alert the residents.
When the bedroom door opens, I immediately recognize the two men in front of me as the old chief of the village near my home, and his eldest son, who is about four years older than me.
"Usan… at dawn today we saw smoke coming from the direction of your family's cabin..."
"We went there to help deal with a fire, but…" the son says, his expression complicated.
"From your expression, I can tell you already know, boy…" the chief interrupts his son, not letting him continue further on the subject.
"We were waiting for you to wake up so we could… bury them," the young man finishes.
I get out of bed, feeling my left leg heavy, the same one that was bitten by the wolf.
As I do, the young man rushes to try and hold me, thinking I would fall due to my injuries, but I remain standing.
"Please… let me do this alone…" My voice comes out a bit hoarse.
The old man hands me a glass of water, which I drink immediately.
"You're too injured, Usan, we can't—"
The old man interrupts once again, simply placing a hand on his son's shoulder.
"If you need help, don't hesitate to ask. We'll come by later… take care, Usan."
I thank them and leave the house, limping slightly but keeping my pace.
As I walk through the village streets, I see people looking at me with pity in their eyes.
Ignoring their gazes, I slowly climb the mountain where my cabin stands, a path I've walked many times, but this time, no one will be there to greet my arrival.
After a slow and exhausting walk, I arrive, passing by the covered pile of firewood, with the same axe I would normally be using to chop wood at this time.
The scene I find is of the cabin completely burned, still faintly smoking.
In front of it, the bodies of my family are lined up, covered with white cloths.
I bite my lips, drawing a thin line of blood, along with the tears I no longer try to hold back.
I take a deep breath, pick up the shovel the villagers left beside the bodies, and begin to dig.
After some time, I finish digging the four graves, each of a different size.
I kneel beside my family's bodies, tears still running down my face, and remove the cloths for a final farewell.
The bodies are mutilated, and even slightly burned.
From each of them, I take an object I always saw them using, to carry as keepsakes, to remember them with affection.
From my father, I already had the handle of the hatchet with me.
From my mother: a hand-embroidered handkerchief with the initials A and D, given to her as a wedding gift by my grandmother.
From my middle sister, Sumire, I take her beaded bracelet, made of various colorful little stones that I helped her gather.
From my youngest sister, Chiyo: a small bell she used so she wouldn't get lost.
I cover the bodies again and carefully place them in each grave.
Then, I finally bury them, placing stone markers over each grave, marking their names.
I sit in front of the graves for a few minutes.
The village chief and his son arrive.
They stand beside me, looking at the graves, and then hand me a heavy backpack.
"These are some donations from everyone in the village… Usan, what do you intend to do now?" the old man asks.
"I'll stay for a few days… and then I'll look for a place to start over..."
After a few more exchanged words, they say goodbye and leave, shortly after buying the remaining firewood, wishing me good luck.
Inside the backpack, there are some knives, water skins, food, a change of clothes, and various other useful items.
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Third-Person POV
Usan walked around the ruins of the cabin, each corner bringing painful but precious memories.
In front of the house, his gaze fell upon a fallen flower pot.
The soil was scattered, but the flowers were still alive.
He remembered little Chiyo, eager to see them bloom, always asking if they were big enough yet.
He smiled through tears, recalling when he told her that flowers needed time.
Picking up the pot, he carefully removed the flowers and planted them over his youngest sister's grave.
Further ahead, he faced the remains of the kitchen.
His heart tightened as he remembered a day when he asked Sumire to go play with Chiyo while he helped their mother.
She tried to convince him to rest, but seeing his insistence, she smiled, kissed his cheek, and ran off to play with Chiyo.
His mother, surprised, asked why he wanted to help in the kitchen. Slightly embarrassed, Usan answered that his father said that to win girls over, he needed to know how to cook.
Her laughter echoed in his mind, so warm and alive that he swore he heard it one last time beside him.
He also remembered the scare when she pretended to drop a pot of hot water, only to laugh at his panicked expression when she revealed it was empty.
And then his father, appearing in desperation after hearing the screams, slipping on a puddle and falling flat on the ground.
The family's laughter, the lightness of those moments… now they were only memories.
"I will never forget you…"
Moving on to the toolshed, far enough away to remain intact. Outside, leather and hide drying racks still hung, a vivid reminder of his father, who had patiently taught him how to prepare materials for clothing and tools.
Usan took a deep breath and began working on the pelts of the wolves he had slain, choosing the ones less stained with blood.
Each cut of the blade against the flesh brought back his father's firm voice, correcting his posture, praising his effort.
Usan also thought about the wolves' fangs, wanting to make a necklace out of them later.
After finishing placing the pelts to dry, he entered the toolshed.
There was only a simple wooden table and some scattered parts, but there he found two things that caught his attention.
One of them was a ready letter addressed to Kenki K., along with an address.
Usan recognized the recipient as his father's friend.
He picked it up without opening it, intending to deliver it someday.
The other thing was the head of a hand scythe, not very curved, wrapped in some chains.
Usan separated the materials.
Taking the handle of the hatchet, he began to improvise, attaching the scythe head to the handle, then carefully fixing the blade so as not to damage the grip.
Then he fastened the chain to the bottom of the handle, adding a weight at the end of it, thus creating his own kusarigama.
Not that he knew how to use such a complicated weapon yet, but he would certainly learn and adapt, as he always had, in both of his lives.
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