Akio reached the forest he always ran to when his chest grew heavy. The air there was cleaner, the smell of damp trees after rain filling his lungs like a fresh welcome. Among the tall trunks, he found his own world, a world that never mocked him or pushed him away.
He ran toward the shallow lake, where frogs leapt from stone to stone. He bent down, laughing, stretching his hand to catch one, but it slipped away and jumped off. His laughter grew louder, as if the chase itself was the game. Then his ears caught a rustle in the grass. He turned and saw a white rabbit darting lightly away. Without thinking, he chased after it, running between branches and roots, his golden eyes burning with excitement.
In this forest, Akio needed no poisonous words or fake smiles. Here, everything accepted him as he was. Frogs, rabbits, and the birds watching from the branches above—all of them were his true friends.
When he finished playing, Akio sat on a smooth rock near the lake. He pulled a small treasure from his backpack: a short wooden stick he had carved into the shape of a katana. He ran his fingers gently along its rough surface, then swung it through the air like a real samurai, fighting invisible enemies among the trees.
His smile this time was different. It wasn't the smile he forced for others, but one born straight from his heart. Here in the forest, with the "sword" he had made with his own hands, his dream of becoming shogun no longer felt far away.
Hours passed until darkness swallowed the forest. Only faint threads of moonlight and stars trickled through the branches. Soon, heavy clouds smothered the sky, snuffing out all light. The storm began its war. Lightning split the horizon, thunder roared, and rain poured down in torrents, drumming on the mud without mercy.
The ground turned to sludge, puddles deepened, but Akio showed no fear. It was as if he was used to facing adventures like this alone. He kept walking, stumbling now and then, laughing to himself as he rose again, rain racing down his face. It felt as though the storm itself challenged him to keep going.
But after minutes of wandering, he stepped into a clearing. Lightning cracked open the sky, bolts striking the ground like furious whips.
He pressed forward, his blue hair plastered to his face by the rain, his childish smile still fixed in place—until a deafening thunder shook the world. In a flash, a white bolt crashed straight down onto him.
A scream tore from his throat, sharp enough to split the forest. His small body convulsed, then dropped to the ground, smoke rising from his limbs, the stench of burning flesh mixing with rain and mud.
Meanwhile, the house was buried in heavy silence, broken only by rain lashing the windows. Nuria sat in the living room, her eyes locked on the wall clock. Each minute tightened her chest further. She turned suddenly toward Vanco, who pretended to be calm as he nibbled a piece of toast, though the tremor in his hand betrayed him.
Her voice was sharp, anxious:
"He's been gone too long… and you know lightning has followed Akio since he was a baby! The weather itself changes when he's out—every time, the sky burns hotter!"
Vanco froze for a second, then gave a thin laugh, trying to mask his unease.
"Heh… don't worry. Our boy's tougher than you think. Maybe he's chasing frogs right now, laughing. Nothing will happen to him."
But Nuria's glare cut him down. She slammed her fist on the table, her voice slicing like steel:
"Enough carelessness, Vanco! If something happens to him… I will never forgive you! Get up and find him before that storm swallows him!"
Vanco sighed and rose, trying to keep his usual light tone, waving as though stepping into an adventure.
"Alright, alright… I'll bring him back before the lightning eats him! Who knows, maybe I'll return with a grilled fish from the lake too!"
But despite the humor in his words, his eyes betrayed his fear. He pulled on his coat, tightened his belt, preparing himself as if for a battle not to be taken lightly.
He reached the forest's depths. Rain pelted his coat, lightning lit the paths between the trees. His voice thundered with each call, echoing through the storm:
"Akiooo! Where are you, boy?!"
His lantern swung wildly with his steps, casting fleeting light before shadows swallowed it again. He stopped at the lakeside where Akio always sat, but found nothing but rain beating mercilessly down. He bit his lip, heart pounding, then turned left, pushing deeper into the forest.
After some time, he reached a clearing. His eyes caught something strange on the ground. He bent down slowly, hand trembling as he picked it up. It was the little wooden sword Akio had carved days ago.
He froze, a sharp gasp escaping as if stabbed in the chest. Lifting the lantern higher, the light spread across the muddy ground—revealing what he had prayed never to see.
Akio.
His small body lay still, covered in mud. Black burns marked his arms and face. His eyes were shut, his mouth half open as though cut short in a scream. The ground still reeked of scorched lightning.
Vanco's eyes widened in horror. The lantern slipped from his hand, shattering, its last glow fading. His knees buckled as he stumbled forward, a broken cry tearing from him:
"Aaaakioooo!!!"