"Dandelion"

1.

In Gwendal's ninetieth winter, he travelled to the forbidden village. Shin Makoku's ill-tempered snowfalls turned a day's journey into that of a week.

The servants remarked that his Excellency returned with a boy barely half his height, asleep against his back upon the saddle.

2.

"Today is your birthday." Gwendal shrugged off his cold, wet jacket and handed it to a nearby maid.

"My birthday?" A still cold Yozak sat uncomfortably stiff in his seat, adamant about not shivering. "I don't understand, sir. I--"

Gwendal accepted a blanket from a servant and wrapped it around Yozak's shoulders. "It is the day you have been born again. You will serve diligently under Shin Makoku's command."

Yozak was silent, and only pulled his arms in tighter to his body in response. It was only after ten minutes did he find the courage to muster a timid inquiry.

"Does that mean I get presents?"

3.

On Yozak's first brand-new birthday, he found a brand-new toy on his brand-new pillow, of the brand-new bed of his brand-new room.

It was a doll, with beautiful hair and a smart dress.

4.

In Yozak's first summer at Blood Pledge Castle, he went missing.

Gwendal had searched everywhere. He had ordered all the servants to search everywhere. He was about to tear apart the whole castle again, because he was frustrated and worried, and how could that boy do this to him, when --

Yozak stepped into his study, his face plastered with dirt and a shy smile.

"I'm sorry," Yozak whispered, "They were so pretty. I wanted to find you a flower you would like."

He held out one bright yellow dandelion, eyes looking up expectantly.

5.

"Your Excellency. Your Excellency." Yozak tapped his foot. "You're not paying any attention to me, your Excellency."

"Hmm?"

"About the state of the ..." Gwendal still wasn't listening.

"That is fine. I trust your decision."

Yozak shrugged, defeated. He saluted before turning to leave the room. Gwendal watched the door slam behind his subordinate, then opened up the atlas resting on his desk.

Inside the atlas was a dried dandelion, seventy years old.