Kashitarou

Kashitarou clawed at the damp earth, the rock chakra on their back a useless, humming weight. It was supposed to be a race. They and Ganbarou, partners in everything, were sprinting through the wilder edges of The Heart of the Forest, ninja masks just a part of the game. Ganbarou’s laughter was the last thing Kashitarou heard before the ground opened up, a sinkhole hidden beneath ancient roots. Kashitarou reached, tried to channel the steadying power they were still learning, but their grip was too weak, the magic too faint. The forest floor simply swallowed their friend. They never found Ganbarou. The Bliss Jumper still hangs in their hut, unworn. The mask, however, stays on. It no longer hides a playful face; it hides the one that failed.