A man's burdens are his greatest regrets.
It applies to everyone in this world, though many won't admit it. Some will sail through the sea to travel, while others do it on a horse. Everybody has their own purpose, their own meaning — that's how they live on to the future.
The sun came up slowly, its golden light brushing across the white land. The rays touched the frozen trees, melting the snow gently from their branches. Birds flew out from their nests, their wings glimmering softly under the early warmth. One of them landed near its small wooden home, feeding its children.
The ice was slowly fading away, dripping into little streams that slid down the rocks. But still, it was the end of winter — maybe two weeks left before spring's first bloom.
The villagers were busy preparing for the next season. Some were fixing their tools, others readying the land to grow vegetables and rice when summer came.
Aron lifted his axe and struck the trunk of a tree. The wood cracked and fell, snow scattering into the air. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, his breath visible like hot steam in the cold. He cut the fallen tree into three large logs, tied them with a rope, and dragged them across the snow. His body was wrapped in a thick silk coat, his hands hardened by work and his breath heavy.
"I guess winter's about to end," he murmured.
He walked the path toward Wood's house, leaving a trail of footprints behind. His boots pressed into the snow with each step, the sound of creaking ice mixing with the calm wind. There, he stacked the woods neatly near the wall, cutting them into smaller pieces before storing them inside. His lungs felt heavy, his body tired, but he didn't stop until everything was done.
When he finally sat down, the cold air filled his chest. He looked up at the sky — soft clouds floating, the color of faint gold. "Maybe I should walk through the mountain," he said, quietly.
He started walking again. The path ahead was silent and peaceful. The sunlight touched the peaks, where snow still rested thick, but some patches of green had begun to show. The wind brushed against his face, carrying a faint scent of pine and cold water.
He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. The children were playing nearby — their laughter echoed across the valley as they threw snowballs at each other. Aron smiled as he walked past them, their happiness warming something deep inside him.
He thought to himself, "Those smiling faces — though we may not see them for long — are all part of one thing: happiness. Just like a mother who waits for her son to return from war. If he comes back, she smiles. If he dies, she cries, because all those years of raising him vanish in a moment. That's how a smile, a happiness, can be taken away."
He walked further, his boots crunching through the soft snow. His thoughts deepened.
"Many speak of justice," he whispered, "but few commit to it. Most only want fame or respect. They don't know why they even fight, because in the end, they live for others, not themselves. Their obsession grows — gold, greed, corruption. They chase it until they forget who they are."
He remembered someone once said those words — a man who gave him a goat long ago.
Then suddenly, as if destiny answered his thoughts, he saw him again. The old man was sitting near the cliff, his goats around him.
Aron stopped and smiled faintly. "Mr. Hakiro… how are you?"
Hakiro turned, squinting his eyes. "Are you… Aron?"
"Yes," Aron replied softly. "You gave me your goat, remember?"
Hakiro nodded. "Ah, yes. I do remember."
It was the same mountain, the same calm, but the air now felt gentler, warmer. Hakiro tapped the stone beside him. "Come, sit."
Aron sat beside him. Together they looked out over the valley, where sunlight danced over melting snow.
Hakiro spoke first, "How's the goat? Healthy?"
Aron smiled. "He's growing well. He's resting in a warm room these days."
Hakiro nodded slowly. "You've changed a lot. Your body's stronger, your face calmer. You look like a real farmer now."
Aron smiled faintly. "Many tell me that."
Hakiro's eyes softened. "I once had a son like you — strong, bright, and full of will. His name was Sakiro. He wanted to be a swordsman… and he became one. He saved people, helped the weak, and made us proud."
Hakiro paused for a moment. The wind grew colder. "But when he was called to war, he came home one last time. I remember his smile. He said he would return. But he never did. When I heard he had fallen, my heart broke. I was proud… but afraid. His body was never found."
Hakiro looked down, his hand gripping his stick tightly. "He was the greatest son — and his loss made us the saddest souls." His eyes darkened. "But what truly shattered me wasn't his death. It was when I saw the king laughing in his chambers with nobles, eating, drinking, saying — 'Those fools will never understand what humans really are.'"
Aron's expression hardened.
Hakiro continued, "I tried to fight him, but his guards broke me. My bones, my spirit — everything. No one believed me. I crawled through the streets, hungry, hopeless, and broken. I ate from the garbage. I lost everything — even faith."
He breathed heavily. "And when I was about to die, Wood found me. He clothed me, gave me food, gave me goats, gave me life. That day, I realized something — for every bad person, there's a good one too. That balance… keeps the world alive."
Aron lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Hakiro."
Hakiro smiled gently, the wrinkles on his face deepening. "It's alright, son. Just remember one thing — never trust humanity too deeply. You'll lose more than you can ever gain."
He stood slowly, leaning on his stick. With slow, heavy steps, he walked away with his goats, his figure fading into the pale light of dusk.
Aron stood in silence for a long moment. The wind brushed softly across his face. His chest felt heavy — not from sadness, but from understanding.
He began his walk back home.
By the time he reached, the night had covered the land in a silver glow. The air was colder, the world quieter. He took off his coat, lay down on his bed, and stared at the wooden ceiling. His mind wandered back to Hakiro's story — the pain, the truth, the cruel honesty of the world.
As his eyes slowly closed, the moon rose high above the valley, bright and distant. Its light touched the land gently — the frozen rivers, the roofs, the mountains beyond.
And then, as clouds drifted across the sky, the moon disappeared.
The night fell silent again — just like winter, slowly fading away.