Large flakes of snow decorated the roofs of wonderful one-story houses. Warm, orange light filtered out of the windows, falling in rare rays on the snow-covered street.

The mighty figure cast a shadow, the owner of this shadow walked like a ghost, slowly, without purpose. Lololoshka did not know how and why he was walking around the village. He did not want to return to his house: it was cold and lonely there. And then, out of the corner of his ear, he heard the hum of small children and the lamentations of their parents, who were hiding in the house during curfew.

The man sighed, gripping the katana on his belt tighter. He has no children, no wife, constant battles and wars have not given him the opportunity to create a family. What is the meaning of his life?

The footsteps stop, and a loud, desperate sigh passes down the street.

Really, what does he live for? All his life he followed the code, believed in destiny, but now there is a strong feeling that it does not matter, that he lived an illusion. Lololoshka sits on the porch of one of the houses, hunched over. His gaze was fixed on the snow while there was a swarm of thoughts in his head.

"Who am I? Obviously a samurai. But is this really my destiny? What if I'm not a samurai, but just a man who has lost his purpose?" Lololoshka reasoned in his thoughts, thoughtfully examining his hands, flexing and unbending his fingers. "In every blow of the sword I was looking for an answer, in every duel there was a meaning, but, damn, I feel that the truth is slipping from under my fingers." Lololoshka annoyingly continued his ardent thoughts, but did not notice how quietly he muttered it out loud.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a branch breaking from the side, apparently someone stepped on it. Lololoshka reacted instantly: he stood up and pointed his blade at a stranger.

"It's curfew time. What are you doing outside? Answer me." Lololoshka said in a demanding tone, his eyes shining with menace.