The Tale of Hatchi:
The Egg That Wandered Beyond the Horizon
Deep within the forests of Japan, where rivers weave through mossy stones and the wind carries secrets from the mountains, there stands an old green tree, its branches stretching toward the sky.
Nestled high in its embrace, hidden among the leaves, sits a tiny wooden treehouse that belongs to Hatchi.No one knows exactly where Hatchi came from. Some say he was born from the morning mist rolling over Mount Fuji, a wandering spirit who never quite hatched.
Others whisper that he simply appeared one day, nestled in a patch of soft moss, too sleepy to move but too curious to stay still forever. Hatchi, of course, never spent much time wondering about his past. He was far too busy dreaming about the world beyond his treehouse.
Small, round, and always a little drowsy, he would perch on the edge of his wooden balcony, watching the world shift below. He listened to the rustling of bamboo, the distant chime of temple bells, and the laughter of travelers passing through winding village streets.
Though he loved the comfort of his hammock and the warmth of roasted chestnuts, his heart longed for adventure.
So, one morning, though it might have been afternoon since time moves strangely when you nap often, Hatchi dusted off his straw hat, packed his tiny crossbody bag, and waddled off into the unknown.
He never followed maps because Hatchi believed the best adventures happened by accident. Some days, he floated lazily down rivers, stretched out on a lily pad as dragonflies danced above.
Other times, he hitched a ride on an ox cart, tucked between bundles of fresh herbs. When he felt playful, he rolled down grassy hills like a happy dumpling, landing in beds of wildflowers, giggling as the clouds drifted overhead.
Wherever he went, Hatchi collected tiny treasures. A polished river stone, a crinkled blossom, a single golden leaf that landed softly on his hat.
He kept them tucked in his bag, each one a memory, proof that he had been somewhere, that he had seen something. But lately, something felt different.
The wind carried an unfamiliar scent, the trees whispered in voices he had never noticed before, and in the quietest moments, he heard something.
A melody, soft and strange, drifting through the air. It wasn’t the sound of temple bells or rustling leaves. It was something else. Something calling.
Hatchi’s tiny heart fluttered.
