Rohald
@Rohald
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The Rohald Chronicles Book I, Chapter 1: Sake Bar Nights The sake bar hummed with life, a low symphony of clinking cups, quiet laughter, and the occasional roar from some poor fool who had just lost his last coin. The neon glow from the streets outside bled through the wooden slats, casting fractured colors across the lacquered tables. The air smelled of grilled yakitori, warm rice wine, and the faint tang of rain from a storm that had passed hours ago. I sat across from Bobu the bean farmer, our cups full, our conversation easy. He poured another round, his hands steady as ever. “You train like a man trying to fight a mountain,” he said, watching me over the rim of his cup. “That’s your problem, Rohald. The mountain doesn’t fight. It just is.” I let out a slow breath, feeling the warmth of the sake spread through me. “A mountain may not fight, but it doesn’t win battles either.” Bobu shook his head, grinning. “It wins by outlasting. By shifting when the world demands it. By knowing when to let the wind carry its weight.” I rolled the words around in my mind like stones in a river. Strength had always been my foundation. My fists struck like tectonic shifts. My stance was as immovable as the ancient bedrock of Hilumia. And yet, my master’s words echoed in my mind: “Strength is not enough. A landslide moves faster than the mountain that birthed it.” Bobu leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to tell me some great secret. “You ever watch a cat hunt?” I blinked. “A… cat?” He nodded, eyes gleaming with mischief. “They don’t charge like oxen. They don’t crush like boulders. They wait. They flow. Then—bam!” He clapped his hands together, startling a nearby patron. “One strike. Precise. Deadly. They don’t need to be the strongest thing in the fight. Just the smartest. The fastest.” I frowned, setting my cup down. “You’re saying I should fight like a cat?” Bobu laughed, shaking his head. “I’m saying you should stop fighting like a rock.” That hit deeper than I expected. I had spent my life being the unyielding force, the immovable wall. But maybe power wasn’t just about standing firm. Maybe, just once, I needed to let go. Outside, the city pulsed with light and life, the heartbeat of Hilumia itself. I reached for the sake bottle and poured us both another round. “You know, Bobu,” I said, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth, “for a bean farmer, you talk a lot like a warrior.” Bobu grinned and lifted his cup. “And for a warrior, you think a lot like a rock.” We drank. The night stretched on, and somewhere deep inside me, something shifted. Not like a stone breaking. Like the first tremor before the earth learns to move.
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