Despite the leaky roofs, the small town of Macheon was rather used to rainfall. However, this night, the shower was exceptionally powerful.
The young five-year-old, Jin Ro-han, ran through the rain with a heavy bag of rice hidden under his loose shirt in hopes of keeping 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 out and the door was cracked open. Sliding it fully open, he laid 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 farther 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 beyond the open back door.
The man didn't move.
"Come close, Ro-han," his father said, kneeling to his height.
Reaching into his cloak, he whispered, "Extend your hand."
From the folds, he pulled out a worn sword hilt.
"This was your grandfather's. Never let it go."
"I have to leave for now, but I promise you—I will come back."
Ro-han stared into his father's face, not quite understanding. He could almost make out a tear in the man's eye.
"Ro-han," his father repeated, "I'll be back."
The man stood and looked at his son.
"Where are you going, Father?"
"I'll tell you when the time is right. For now, keep what I've given you close—always."
Ro-han looked down at the broken sword hilt in his small hand.
"Then… when will you come back?" he asked. "Will you be gone long?"
His father placed a rough hand on his head.
"I'll be back as soon as possible."
Ro-han kept his mouth shut and didn't reply. Despite his age, he was smart—and he knew that was a lie.
"Bye for now, boy. Don't miss me too much," said the father with a slight jest in his voice.
He stepped through the open back door. Without daring to look back, he left his only son with nothing but the hilt of a broken sword, a crumbling house… and a weary heart.
The door stayed open, and the rain poured.
Ro-han dropped to his knees, clutching the sword hilt to his chest.
"Father!"
Only the sound of raindrops hitting the floor reached his ears.
"Come back…"
His voice cracked.
"Please…"