Saburou

The crisp scent of winter pine always reminds Saburou of their first life, the one where this carved cane was a bo staff clutched with white knuckles. Back then, they were the most promising student on the grounds, a blur of focused fury whose only goal was the next colored bandana. Every sparring match was a war, every opponent a conquest. They left the snowy lakeside seeking greater challenges, convinced their skills would conquer any realm. Instead, they found cities where no one cared for combat prowess, only for a well-told story or a skillfully negotiated trade. Stranded and humbled, they learned to survive not with their staff, but with their wits. These days, they just watch the trainees, a playful glint in their eyes. The cane is for leaning, not for fighting, a souvenir from a journey that taught them the difference.