The Village
Hijiri's pace was slow and deliberate as he made his way back toward the camp.
The night was already beginning to surrender to dawn. Beyond the darkened trees, the first faint traces of morning stained the horizon, painting the sky in shades of deep blue and muted violet.
Usually, dawn brought clarity.
Today, it brought only questions.
His thoughts remained tangled around the events of the previous night.
The woman.
Her music.
Her words.
The name he had given her.
Kiyora.
And, most disturbingly of all, the feeling that he had known her long before he had ever met her.
By the time Hijiri returned to camp, the other Hoshika were already awake.
They had expected him to make the obvious announcement.
The month-long hunt was over.
Instead, Hijiri gave them a single order.
"Remain here."
That was all.
A murmur of confusion spread through the camp.
Some protested.
The hunt had already lasted far longer than necessary, and many were exhausted. Others questioned why their leader suddenly wanted to remain near the village when there appeared to be nothing left to investigate.
Hijiri offered no explanation.
He simply looked at them.
That long, quiet stare was enough.
There was something different in his eyes that morning.
His usual calm authority remained, but beneath it lay something colder.
More distant.
The protests gradually died away.
Some of the Hoshika obeyed uneasily.
Others simply chose not to question him.
By afternoon, Hijiri returned to the village.
The moment he stepped through its narrow entrance, his attention shifted.
He began searching.
His eyes moved from one face to another, scanning the villagers as though he expected her to emerge from somewhere among them.
The woman from the forest.
The woman who had called herself a Shroud.
The woman whose voice had somehow managed to reach a place within him that no one else ever had.
Kiyora.
He asked about her.
At first, politely.
Then more urgently.
"The women… I mean your village chief?"
The villagers exchanged confused glances.
"Women? Our chief? Lord… what are you talking about?"
Hijiri described her.
Her voice.
Her pale clothing.
Her manner.
The glass harmonium.
The moonlit forest.
Nothing.
No one knew her.
He asked again.
And again.
Hours slipped by.
Yet every answer remained the same.
"No, we don't know anyone like that, there is no such woman here and more importantly our chief isn't a woman at all… he's an elderly person, you met him don't you"
Hijiri's frustration slowly turned into something else.
Confusion.
Then unease.
Hijiri thought the villagers had gone mad cause he clearly remembers it's a woman.
Eventually, he was led toward the village chief.
Hijiri entered the modest dwelling expecting to find the village chief he remembered.
Instead, an old man sat quietly near the hearth.
His hair was almost entirely white; his face deeply lined with age. His posture was frail, but his eyes remained remarkably clear.
Hijiri stopped at the doorway.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
"No."
The old man looked up.
Hijiri's face scrunched in confusion
"Excuse me? you are not the village chief."
The old man's brows rose slightly.
"I am."
Hijiri shook his head.
"No. The village chief was a woman!"
The old man remained silent.
Then he gave a slow, puzzled blink.
"I have been the village chief of this settlement for more than thirty years."
Hijiri felt something inside him shift.
"No."
His voice was quieter this time.
"That isn't possible."
The old man looked toward the other villagers.
They stood behind Hijiri, equally confused.
One of them finally spoke.
"Lord Hoshika... he is telling the truth."
Another nodded.
"There has never been a woman who served as our village chief."
Hijiri stared at them.
The words refused to settle.
His mind desperately searched for an explanation.
A disguise.
A secret passage.
A trick.
Some strange Shroud technique.
Anything.
Anything except the possibility that his own memories could no longer be trusted.
He remained there for a long time.
Eventually, he sat down.
No one disturbed him.
The old man continued quietly with his work while Hijiri stared at the floor, replaying the previous night again and again.
Her voice.
Her hands.
The warmth of her skin.
The moonlight upon her face.
The way she had looked over her shoulder.
The golden dust.
Everything felt impossibly real.
And yet—
no one knew her.
Not even the village elder.
As the afternoon slowly faded, Hijiri remained seated in silence.
The sky outside gradually changed.
Blue gave way to violet.
Violet softened into pink.
Then the western horizon caught fire with streaks of orange.
Dusk had arrived.
And with it came a thought Hijiri had been desperately avoiding.
A thought so absurd that he almost refused to entertain it.
What if...
His breathing slowed.
What if there had never been a woman at all?
His fingers tightened against his robes.
What if exhaustion, the strange atmosphere of the forest, and whatever magic the Shrouds possessed had distorted his senses?
What if the figure he remembered from the previous night had never been Kiyora?
What if his mind had created her?
Hijiri's stomach turned.
His memories suddenly felt foreign.
He remembered reaching for someone.
Holding someone.
Speaking to someone.
But if that woman had never existed—
then who had been there?
His gaze slowly shifted toward the old village elder.
The old man's presence suddenly seemed unbearably real.
And then a horrifying possibility crept into Hijiri's mind.
What if the person I had spoken to... had been him?
The thought struck with such force that Hijiri recoiled internally.
"No..."
He whispered beneath his breath.
He could not even finish the thought.
The mere possibility filled him with a rising sense of revulsion.
He closed his eyes.
Fragments of the previous night flashed through his mind.
The moonlit clearing.
A hand in his.
A soft voice.
Kiyora.
His own lips forming the name.
His confession.
His desperate question.
And then—
the golden dust.
Hijiri opened his eyes again.
His face had gone pale.
He wanted to believe it had all been a dream.
A hallucination.
A spell.
Anything.
But the memories were far too vivid.
And somewhere beneath the disbelief, another feeling was beginning to take shape.
Fear.
Not fear of the Shrouds.
Not fear of the prophecy.
Fear of himself.
For the first time in his life, Hijiri could no longer trust his own senses.
And that realization frightened him more than any curse ever could.
By evening, Hijiri had finally gathered enough courage to confront the old man.
He found him near the centre of the village, where several villagers had begun preparing for the night.
The last warmth of sunset lingered over the rooftops, painting the wooden houses in muted shades of gold and amber.
The moment the old man noticed Hijiri approaching, however, his expression changed.
Hijiri's face carried an uneasiness that was impossible to miss.
The old man stared at him for a moment.
Then his instincts took over.
The Hoshika leader.
Coming straight toward me.
With that face.
Whatever this was about, he wanted no part of it.
The old man quietly turned and began walking in the opposite direction.
Unfortunately for him, Hijiri noticed.
His pace quickened.
The old man's pace did too.
He turned around a corner, hoping to put some distance between them.
Instead, he nearly walked straight into Hijiri.
The two stopped.
Silence.
Hijiri looked at him suspiciously.
The old man looked everywhere except at Hijiri.
Finally, Hijiri reached out and firmly placed a hand upon his shoulder.
"Were you running from me?"
The old man's eyes darted toward him.
"No."
A pause.
"I simply... had some business to attend to."
Hijiri narrowed his eyes.
"I see."
The old man nodded quickly.
"Yes. Business."
"Is that true?"
"Of course."
Hijiri studied him for another moment.
Then, almost cautiously, he asked,
"Are you perhaps in some sort of disguise?"
The old man's eyes widened.
"Wha... what?!"
He shook his head so vigorously that his white hair trembled.
"Of course not!"
"Then why would you be in a disguise?"
"Exactly!"
The old man stared at him as though Hijiri had just asked whether he was secretly a fox.
"Why else would I be in a disguise?"
Hijiri sighed deeply.
His hand remained firmly on the man's shoulder.
The old man glanced down at it.
Then at Hijiri.
Then back at the hand.
He waited.
Nothing happened.
Eventually, with the patience of a man whose soul had already begun leaving his body, he asked,
"Lord Hoshika... may I go now?"
"No."
The answer came instantly.
The old man's shoulders sank.
He released a long, exhausted sigh and looked toward the heavens as though silently asking the gods what crime he had committed to deserve this evening.
Hijiri, meanwhile, appeared to be struggling with his own words.
He looked unusually hesitant.
"So... about last night."
The old man slowly looked back at him.
Hijiri lowered his voice.
"I was extremely tired. I wasn't entirely myself."
The old man's expression became increasingly wary.
Hijiri swallowed.
"Did we..."
He hesitated again.
"Did we truly sleep together?"
The old man's face went blank.
Hijiri forced himself to continue.
"Did we... make love?"
Silence.
Absolute silence.
For several heartbeats, neither man moved.
Then the old man's face drained of colour.
"Wh..."
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"WHAT?!"
His voice echoed across the village centre.
Several villagers turned.
The old man pointed at himself in complete disbelief.
"Me?!"
Hijiri remained painfully serious.
The old man looked as though his entire understanding of existence had just been overturned.
"Just because I'm a Shroud, you can't simply say whatever you want!"
His voice rose with every word.
"Besides, I am a respected man in this village!"
A few nearby villagers abruptly looked away, pretending very hard that they had heard absolutely nothing.
The old man continued, utterly scandalized.
"I have lived an honourable life! I have a family! I have grandchildren!"
Hijiri's expression remained frozen.
The old man jabbed a finger toward his own chest.
"Do I look like the sort of man who would sneak into the forest at night and seduce a Hoshika?!"
Hijiri blinked.
"No."
"Good!"
The old man straightened his robes indignantly.
"Then stop looking at me like I committed some unspeakable crime!"
Hijiri's brows knitted together.
"But then..."
He hesitated.
"If it wasn't you..."
His voice faded.
The old man's irritation slowly disappeared.
For the first time, he noticed the genuine confusion in Hijiri's expression.
The Hoshika leader wasn't accusing him.
He was genuinely searching for an answer.
"If you are telling the truth then surely you remember the words we exchanged at our last meeting. Tell me—what were they?"
The old man started, "You asked us about the goods we prepared for the Crimson Vows," he said. "You asked where we delivered them. I told you that we did not know."
Hijiri sighed… cause indeed they had this conversation the last time they met
The old man's face softened slightly.
"Lord Hoshika..."
Hijiri looked at him.
The old man spoke more carefully this time.
"Who exactly did you think you met last night?"
Hijiri said nothing.
His hand slowly fell from the old man's shoulder.
For a moment, the noise of the village seemed to fade around him.
He could still hear the woman's voice.
Feel the warmth of her hand.
Remember the name that had come so naturally to his lips.
Kiyora.
Hijiri's expression became distant.
"I don't know."
And somehow, that answer frightened him more than anything else.
Hijiri let out a long, weary sigh.
At last, he released the old man's shoulder, allowing his own shoulders to slump beneath the weight of exhaustion and embarrassment.
"Never mind..."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Hijiri's expression shifted.
The embarrassment faded, replaced by the quiet seriousness that had become familiar to the old man.
"So, if you truly are the village chief..."
He paused.
"Then, during my previous visit, you were the one who guided me?"
The old man nodded once.
"Yes."
His answer was humble and uncomplicated.
"And judging by that expression on your face, it seems you've forgotten most of what we discussed back then."
Hijiri lowered his gaze for a moment.
"You're right."
He said it with such calm acceptance that it almost sounded as though he were admitting to nothing more than an ordinary mistake.
The old man studied him briefly before speaking again.
"I see."
He folded his hands inside his sleeves.
"Then perhaps you've returned to ask about the Crimson Vows."
Hijiri gave a single nod.
The old man's expression remained composed.
"My answer remains the same. There isn't much known about the Crimson Vows, even among our people."
Hijiri's eyes narrowed slightly.
The old man continued.
"We simply hand over our share of goods, supplies, or gifts to an association. They inspect what is given, determine where it belongs, and ensure that it reaches the rightful recipients."
"An association?"
Hijiri tilted his head slightly.
"What kind of association?"
The old man gave a faint shrug.
"Not much is known about them either."
Hijiri stared at him.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he released another long sigh.
"Is there anything about you Shrouds that isn't secretive?"
A faint huff escaped the old man.
"It's not really secrecy."
He shook his head.
"Think of it as a precaution. Our people have lived under suspicion for generations. We learned to protect ourselves by keeping certain things within our own circles."
He paused before adding,
"And these messengers..."
His expression became thoughtful.
"They're something else entirely."
Hijiri listened.
"They move like shadows in the night. Fast. Silent. Most of them are skilled in magic, too. They don't simply travel from one place to another like ordinary messengers. They know how to disappear."
The old man looked toward the darkening edge of the village.
"To someone without enough power to sense them, they might as well not exist."
Hijiri remained silent.
The pieces were beginning to form another strange picture.
The Crimson Vows.
The mysterious association.
The hidden messengers.
And the Shrouds, protecting their own existence beneath layers of secrecy.
Yet somehow, every answer only seemed to create another question.
After a long moment, Hijiri finally nodded.
"I see..."
His gaze drifted toward the sky.
The last traces of daylight had disappeared beyond the mountains.
Evening had deepened into night, and the first stars were beginning to emerge above the village roofs.
Hijiri straightened.
"Perhaps it has grown late."
He looked back toward the old man.
"I shall take my leave."
The old man gave a small, silent bow.
Hijiri returned the gesture with a slight inclination of his head before turning away.
He walked quietly through the village, his footsteps gradually fading into the night.
Behind him, the old man remained where he was.
Watching.
His expression was unreadable.
And as Hijiri disappeared beyond the village path, the old man quietly lifted his gaze toward the darkening sky.
There were questions neither of them had asked.
And perhaps, for now, it was better that way.
---
The Hidden Magic
For many nights afterward, the words of the Shroud village chief lingered in Hijiri's mind.
He tried to dismiss them.
He couldn't.
The Crimson Vows.
The mysterious association.
The messengers who moved like shadows and vanished without leaving a trace.
And beneath all of it, the uncomfortable truth that the Shrouds possessed a world far more intricate than the Hoshika had ever cared to understand.
So, the search continued.
Quietly.
Carefully.
Especially at night.
Hijiri began spending more and more of those nights alone, wandering beyond the camp under the pretence of inspecting the area.
Days passed.
Then more days.
Almost two weeks slipped away.
Nothing.
No messenger.
No hidden passage.
No trace of the Crimson Vows.
Until one night—
something changed.
Hijiri was taking one of his usual walks through the forest when a sudden, searing pain tore through his eyes.
He stopped instantly.
His breath caught.
One hand flew toward his face as the world blurred around him.
"...What?"
The pain intensified for several heartbeats.
Hijiri staggered sideways and caught himself against the trunk of a nearby tree. He leaned heavily against the rough bark, forcing himself to breathe slowly.
In.
Out.
Again.
The pain gradually subsided.
Hijiri remained still for a moment longer, waiting until his breathing had steadied before finally opening his eyes.
Then he froze.
Something was moving through the forest.
Not an animal.
Not mist.
Not smoke from a distant fire.
A strange, ethereal trail of magical vapour drifted silently between the trees.
It was almost translucent, yet unmistakably unnatural.
Wisps of pale energy curled around the trunks and slipped across the forest floor, moving with deliberate direction rather than the aimless drift of ordinary smoke.
Hijiri stared.
His instincts immediately sharpened.
Magic.
More importantly—
hidden magic.
He looked around.
The forest was silent.
No Hoshika patrols.
No officials.
No one nearby.
Hijiri made his decision without hesitation.
He would not call the others.
If whoever had created this trail realized they were being followed, months of searching could disappear in an instant.
So, he moved alone.
Quietly.
He followed the trail.
The magical vapour led him deeper into the forest, winding between ancient trees before gradually changing direction.
North.
Hijiri continued.
The farther he travelled, the stronger the trace became.
Eventually, the forest thinned, giving way to rugged terrain and distant mountain slopes.
The enormous peaks of the northern continent rose ahead of him, their silhouettes cutting sharply against the night sky.
The magical trail continued towards them.
Until, at last—
it disappeared.
Hijiri stopped.
The vapour dispersed among the mountains as though it had never existed.
He stood there in silence.
For months, he had been following fragments.
Rumours.
Half-truths.
Vanishing trails.
Dead ends.
But this was different.
This was the first genuine trace he had found.
Hijiri slowly surveyed the surrounding mountains.
His expression hardened.
Someone had been using magic here.
And whoever they were, they had gone to considerable lengths to ensure that no ordinary person would notice.
Hijiri stepped backward into the shadows.
He drew upon his own magic.
His presence faded.
The air around him seemed to bend, swallowing his figure until even the faintest trace of his aura disappeared.
He became still.
Completely still.
A silent predator waiting beneath the darkness.
He would not pursue the trail blindly.
He would wait.
He would watch.
And he would learn who was using this hidden magic.
For months, he had searched for them.
For months, they had remained beyond his reach.
But tonight—
for the first time, Hijiri knew he was close.
Very close.
He settled into the darkness and waited.
The mountains remained silent.
The night deepened.
And somewhere beyond the veil of shadows—
something was about to emerge.
To Be Continued...