Despite the leaky roofs, the small town of Macheon was rather used to the rainfall; however, this night, the shower was exceptionally powerful.

  The young 5-year-old, Muwon, ran in the rain with a heavy bag of rice hidden under his loose shirt in hopes to keep it dry. His bare feet were caked with mud; he avoided the staring eyes of the villagers peering at him from their houses.

  As he got closer to his ragged house, he noticed the fire was off, and the door was cracked open. Sliding it fully open, he laid down the bag of rice on the floor and saw his father’s boots by the entry, but his sword was missing.

  “Da—” He cut himself off. “Father,” he called.

  With no answer, he ventured further across the entryway to the door of the main room.

  “Where are you, father?”

  He slid open the door, finding his father’s figure with his back turned, drawing his cloak over scarred arms as the rain poured outside.

  Staring into the pouring rain through the open backdoor, his father remained silent despite knowing of Muwon’s calls.

  Stolen story; please report.

  After a few moments of silence, his father called for him.

  “Come closer, Muwon.” His father kneeled toward him, reaching his height.

  Reaching into his cloak, he whispered, “Extend your hand.”

  “This was your grandfather’s. Never let it go.

  I will have to leave for now, but I promise you I will come back.”

  Muwon stared into his father’s face, not quite understanding the situation. He could almost make out a tear in his eyes.

  “Muwon, I will be back.”

  The man lifted himself up and looked at his son.

  “Where will you be going, father?”

  “I will tell that to you when the time is right. For now, keep what I have given you close to you at all times.”

  He opened his hand slowly. The hilt laid across his palm, worn, broken—too heavy for someone his size.

  “Then, when will you come back?” Muwon continued. “Will you be gone long?”

  The father placed his rough hand on Muwon’s head.

  “I will be back as soon as possible.”

  Muwon kept his mouth shut and did not reply back to his father. Despite his age, he was quite smart after all, and knew that that was a lie.

  “Bye for now, boy. Don’t miss me too much,” said the father, a slight jest in his voice. His left foot stepping outside through the open backdoor, not daring to look back at his only son, he left his son with only the hilt of a broken sword, a broken-down house, and a weary heart.

  The door stayed open, and the rain poured.

  Mu-won dropped to his knees, clutching the sword hilt to his chest, his fingers tightening around it.

  “Father!”

  Only the sound made by the droplets of water falling onto the floor found its way into his ears.

  “Come back…”

  His voice cracked.

  “Please…”