The Hidden Weapon
He started to furrow still stocked on the cup.
“Goryo?” a woman’s voice from his mind. He knew it was his imagination.
“Goryo? Our son,” the voice uttered. No, it was not his imagination, it was from his memory, a buried one.
“Our son is alive,” the woman’s voice said. He widened his eyes. He can finally remember his past, his family, he thought they were dead, he thought he doesn’t have one. A flash of memory came across his mind. He was holding a pale hand of a woman, a woman he love. She was lovely, her long curly brunette hair and perfect smile were once his everything. She was good pottery in Aldon, those ceramics and clay pots are her art. The next scene he saw was she was carrying a b
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