"That will completely dry up the town!" Tunde's eyes were wide with bewilderment. "I can put in an order but it'll be at least a few days before I can get that much alcohol in. The normal merchant caravan isn't due until after the first frost."
Noboru scratched his dreadlocks, the metal beads woven among them jiggling against each other like windchimes in a gentle breeze. "I guess I'll have to wait then, go ahead and put the order in."
Outside, the cool air carried with it the scent of freshly scythed meadows, mingling with woodsmoke from the first hearth fires of the cold time Villagers worked tirelessly covering windows with oiled paper and bringing in furniture that had spent the warm time outdoors. The cold time was coming, and nobody seemed ready. Their faces were weathered husks, etched with the lines of hardship and quiet endurance. Working away their lives against the flow of time that waited for no one.
Noboru stepped off the porch of Tunde's inn, his gaze sweeping across the village that had become his temporary home. He took a deep breath and settled his calloused fingers on the strings of Hibiki, strumming as loud as he could. The three strings sang out in perfect harmony, a sound warm and defiant. He coaxed her to tell stories of warmer days and distant lands, hoping the music would reach every corner of town, seeping into the bones of these people who had forgotten how to do anything but survive.
As he meandered through town, the worn paths familiar now, Noboru saw faces lighting up as he walked by. Weathered cheeks creased with unexpected smiles, calloused hands pausing mid-task to catch the notes dancing on the breeze. Some even stopped entirely, tools lowered and burdens momentarily forgotten as they closed their eyes to admire the sound.
At least they can have a moment to breathe, he thought, watching tension melt from shoulders that had carried too much for too long. At least I can do this much.
His fingers found new patterns across Hibiki's strings as he knelt before a group of small children gathered at the crossroads. Aisha pushed to the front as always, her green and blue eyes sparkling with wonder. She swayed unconsciously to the rhythm, her threadbare dress twirling around mud-splattered ankles.
"Play the one about the dragon!" she whispered, just loud enough to be heard above his strumming. The other children murmured their agreement, faces alight with anticipation.
Noboru winked and transitioned into the tale-song they loved. Their laughter rang out, bright and startling against the somber backdrop of a village preparing for the cold's siege.
Later, he stopped by the riverbank where the water ran clear and cold over smooth stones. Jabari was there as always, leaning against the ancient oak tree whose roots had become his throne. The boy's face was a mask of such contentment you could have thought he was the child of a king.
Soft, broken melodies drifted from Imani, the instrument cradled awkwardly in Jabari's thin arms as he practiced. The notes were hesitant, sometimes discordant, but determined—like the boy himself. When Jabari noticed Noboru approaching, his fingers stilled but his smile widened. Noboru returned his smile and waved, but continued away from the riverbank.
The village sounds gradually diminished as Noboru walked. He followed a narrow path that wound through a grove of maple trees, their leaves a tapestry of crimson and gold against the darkening sky. The path was familiar to him now—one of his discoveries during his short time in this place.
As the trail climbed upward, the ambient noise of the village faded entirely. No more hammering of nails securing shutters, no more children's laughter, no more livestock being corralled for the night. Only the whisper of leaves and the occasional call of an evening bird accompanied his footsteps.
The path opened to a small clearing atop a gentle hill. Below, the village lights were beginning to twinkle like stars, smoke rising in thin columns from stone chimneys. Beyond that, the vast expanse of forest stretched toward distant mountains, their peaks already dusted with early snow.
Noboru settled on a flat boulder that seemed placed by some ancient hand specifically for him. "Kazeshin..."
He slowly pulled the katana from its lacquered sheath The blade caught the dying light, holding it for a heartbeat before returning it to the sky.
"Been a while since I gave you proper attention, old friend." His mismatched eyes studied the blade critically. "Forgive me."
From inside his weathered pants, Noboru produced a small oilskin pouch. The ritual items emerged one by one: paper, oil, powder, and a soft cloth that had once been white but now bore the subtle stains of years of maintenance.
The gourd on his back shifted as he leaned forward. Even here, even now, the alcohol within it sloshed gently, a constant companion.
"You remember when Nobumi first taught us this?" he asked the sword softly, spreading the items before him on a clean section of stone. "How angry she got when I rushed through it?"
The sword offered no answer beyond the gleam of sunset on steel, but Noboru nodded as if it had.
He took the powder ball and carefully tapped it along the blade, leaving a fine white powder tracing the metal's length. With the paper, he worked in small, gentle circles, removing invisible particles of dust and oil that had accumulated during their latest journey.
"Jabari reminds me of her sometimes," he continued, voice barely above a whisper. "That same spirit. That same fire." His hands never faltered in their work, even as his gaze turned inward, seeing not the blade before him but a white-haired woman with eyes like blood. "That same refusal to accept the world as it presents itself."
The wind picked up, rustling through the colorful leaves and carrying away the fine white dust that drifted from his work. It smelled of coming frost and distant pine.
With the cleaning powder removed, Noboru inspected the blade meticulously, searching for any hint of corrosion or damage. Satisfied, he took the bottle of oil and let exactly three drops fall onto the cloth. The spicy-sweet scent of cloves rose between them, sharp and nostalgic.
"We've come far from Sellas, you and I." He began to work the oil into the steel with long, deliberate strokes, coating the blade with an almost invisibly thin layer of protection. "Far from who we were."
The blade seemed to darken slightly under his work, drinking in the oil with an ancient thirst.
Noboru paused, staring into the perfectly polished surface. For a moment, he saw not his own reflection but that of his wife—her smile, the playful tilt of her head as she'd taught him to coax music from Hibiki.
"Do you think she would understand?" he squeezed Kazeshin. "This path we walk now?"
The blade reflected only clouds, turning pink with sunset.
Noboru sighed and continued his work. The rhythm of maintenance had always centered him, even in his darkest moments. Each careful stroke, each measured breath.
"Sometimes I think you're the only one who truly understands," he confessed. "You've tasted blood and alcohol equally. You've heard every song I've played from empty rooms to crowded squares. You've seen me at my strongest and at my weakest."
He turned the blade, working the other side with the same patient dedication.
"And yet you never judge. Never abandon. Even when I'm too drunk to wield you properly, you wait." His voice cracked slightly, "even when I'm so consumed by grief I can barely lift you, you remain."
Noboru folded the oiled cloth meticulously, creating a clean surface. With it, he wiped away any excess oil, buffing the blade to a mirror finish.
He inspected his work, turning the blade to catch the fading light. "You're as patient as the wind that eventually wears down mountains. You cut through life like a sudden gale."
Noboru lifted the katana before him. With practiced precision, he executed a single, perfect cut through the empty air—not fast, not powerful, but flawlessly aligned. The blade sang, a high clear note that hung in the twilight.
"Kazeshin," he whispered as he sheathed the blade with equal care, the soft click of hilt meeting sheat punctuating his words, "you've always guided me, like the wind at my back, even when I had no destination worth reaching."
The gourd called to him now, its siren song of forgetfulness nearly irresistible after facing such memories. He rested his hand on Kazeshin's hilt, feeling the worn silk wrapping beneath his fingers—each frayed strand a testament to battles survived, lives saved, and roads walked.
"Thank you, old friend," he said finally. "For staying sharp when I could not."
Above, deep storm clouds had rolled in the previous night. Soon the moon would rise and the rain would come. Soon Noboru would make his way back down the hill, perhaps play a few songs for the children before they were called to bed. Soon he would drink until memories blurred like watercolors in the rain.
But the final sheen of oil had barely dried on Kazeshin's blade when the wind shifted.
Not the gentle rustle of leaves or the soft call of distant birds, but something colder, heavier. As if the air itself had flinched.
Noboru froze, cloth still in hand, the scent of oil mixing now with something…wrong. Sweat-soured leather, old blood, decaying bark. Below, the forest had gone still. No birds. No insects. Even the wind held its breath.
A single crow cried out, sharp and uncertain, then fell silent.
Noboru rose slowly from the stone, Kazeshin still sheathed but warm in his grip.
The first sound was metal dragging against bark. A scraping echo from just beyond the treeline. Followed by a low, deliberate crunch—boots, maybe?
Then he saw it.
Emerging between the dark trunks, a figure shaped like a soldier who had been lost too long in the woods. But its limbs too long, its posture too wrong. Its armor was patchwork—rotten leathers fused with moss, sleeves of chain tangled with vine and twig. But what arrested Noboru's gaze was the helmet.
A rusted officer's helm sat hollow upon the creature's shoulders. No face beneath—just darkness deeper than shadow, and two pinpricks of ember light where eyes should have been.
Slung across its back was a massive woodsman's axe, the handle warped with age. In one gnarled hand it held a hunter's bow, twisted by years of root.
Noboru exhaled slowly. "So… This is what the forest was waiting for."
The earth shattered beneath his feet as he launched into the sky, a blast of soil and leaves trailing in his wake. The wind caught him mid-leap—cool and familiar—curling around his limbs like a silken ribbon.
He soared above the treetops, hair and beads whipping in the rush of air, the village below flickering like stars in the twilight.
And then—impact.
Noboru slammed into the ground, sandals carving into the earth as he landed between the beast and the village. The first drops of rain struck his shoulders as thunder rumbled in the distance.
Sword unsheathed. Shoulders squared. Breath steady. His eyes narrowed on the hollow helm. The monster tilted its head as lightning flashed, illuminating its grotesque features.
"Noboru, run!" Kofi's frantic cry shattered the twilight stillness. "It's the lichin!"
Kofi, you idiot, Noboru gritted his teeth as he stared down the yokai, you should be the one running.
In the space between heartbeats, its fingers of twisted roots moved. An arrow. Not wood and metal but something that gleamed with the sickly pallor of bone. The beast nocked, aimed, and released in a single fluid motion.
The projectile tore through the air. Kazeshin sang free of his sheath. Noboru felt the familiar rush of wind answering his call, coiling around him like an eager spirit.
With a single stroke, Noboru cleaved the arrow in two, its halves whistling harmlessly past either side of Kofi's terrified face. The broken pieces embedded themselves in the soil with twin thuds, immediately beginning to writhe and burrow into the dirt like worms.
"Back to the village! Now!" Noboru roared, already launching himself toward the creature.
The world blurred around him as he closed the distance. Wind whipped his dreadlocks into a frenzied dance of clicking beads. Kazeshin traced a perfect arc that should have bisected the lichin from hip to collar.
But the creature moved with the uncanny speed of something that had never known fatigue. Its armored boot slammed into Noboru's chest like an avalanche. Ribs splintered beneath the impact. The breath evacuated Noboru's lungs in a violent rush as he was catapulted backward.
Stars exploded behind his eyes when he finally skidded to a stop. "I haven't been hit that hard in a long time."
Kazeshin was still clutched in his white-knuckled grip. Good. Through the haze of pain, he caught the motion of the lichin nocking another arrow, sprouting directly from its twisted forearm.
Instinct sent Noboru rolling sideways. The arrow struck where he had lain. The ground erupted in a geyser of soil and stone. The arrow wriggling itself into the dirt instantly.
This thing is old, Noboru rose to a knee, forcing air back into his protesting lungs. It knows how to survive.
Noboru's breath rasped in his throat. Wet warmth eas beginning to spread beneath his fingers. Broken. At least two. Maybe more. He coughed, copper.
Who cares? Hibiki slapped rhythmically against his back as he surged forward again. As long as I kill you.
The lichin unleashed a furrow of living arrows. But Kazeshin sliced them from the air with ease. Noboru could feel them in the wind. Weaving between the deadly missiles like a leaf caught in a gale.
. Each step he closed the distance. Eyes locked on the empty darkness. Ten paces. Five paces. Three.
But the lichin was no mindless beast. Noboru saw the trap only in the final instant. As he entered striking range, the massive woodsman's axe appeared in the lichin's hands.
The ancient metal sang with hunger. Noboru twisted aside. The axe struck the earth with bone-crushing force.
The ground beneath their feet exploded. Soil and stone transformed into choking dust that billowed outward in a concussive wave. Through the chaos, those ember eyes within the helm never wavered, tracking him with ancient malevolence.
The dust hadn't even settled when the lichin rushed again. The beast moved like hunger incarnate—relentless, unthinking. The axe carved a vicious arc through the fog, splintering a tree behind Noboru.
And Noboru wasn't fast enough.
Pain bloomed as the haft of the axe caught him mid-dodge, sending him flying. The wind screamed past him as he crashed through a sapling, dirt in his teeth, vision swimming.
He heard Hibiki sing a dull, wooden note as she struck the ground beside him.
Get up, he told himself. Move.
The Lichin advanced, its every step thudding like a war drum.
"You're slow," Noboru spat blood and forced himself to his feet. "You're drunk."
With a roar torn from the bottom of his grief, Noboru met the lichin, abandoning form, abandoning precision. Kazeshin slashed in brutal, diagonal arcs—less a sword, more a cleaver. He wasn't aiming for clean lines or kill shots.
He was aiming to break.
"I'll kill you! Every last one of you!" Thunder roared overhead as the lichin met his fury with its own—axe sweeping in wide, murderous circles. Sparks flew. Metal rang. The air between them boiled with bloodlust.
Each collision sang through Noboru's bones. Every impact sent shockwaves up his shattered ribs. He screamed in rage. In shame. In grief.
"Why couldn't I have saved her like I saved Aisha?!"
He carved at the lichin's armor, tearing through its plating, snapping bones that held no blood.
"Why am I so weak?!" The creature didn't flinch. Didn't bleed. Didn't breathe.
Neither did he.
Kazeshin howled as Noboru drove him deep into the lichin's shoulder, shoving his entire weight behind the strike, twisting, ripping.
The yokai finally staggered. Its helm tilted… as if surprised.
Then its body began to move.
Before Noboru's eyes, the shattered remains of its shoulder twisted and reknit. Twigs writhed like living sinew, bone-white splinters weaving through black bark. Joints clicked back into place, and the limb flexed—whole again, as if nothing had happened.
Mocking him.
"Why…"
The helmet turned toward him. Silent. Waiting.
Laughing.
"WHY CAN'T YOU DIE ALREADY!"
The scream burst from him, raw and cracked, a sound scraped from the bottom of a bottle. The rage took him like fire takes dry grass. No more stance. No more wind. No more precision.
Only bloodlust.
He threw himself at the lichin, Kazeshin a blur of violent arcs. He struck without aim, without rhythm—blade shrieking against bark and bone. Chunks of armor flew. Sap sprayed. The yokai staggered, shielding itself from the sudan onslaught.
But Noboru didn't stop.
"You don't get to come back!" His voice cracked as he drove the blade down again, hacking at the reformed shoulder. "You don't get to stand up when she—when they—!"
The lichin moved faster than before. One clawed hand shot past Noboru's guard and raked across his face.
Pain exploded. Blood poured instantly. HIs left eye was blind. He staggered, breath ragged, only barely able to parry the ax slamming into his side. The blow lifted him, threw him backward into a tree.
The impact left a crater in the tree and set stars dancing through Noboru's vision. His world tilted, edges blurring as blood pounded in his ears. Its so strong...
Noboru spat crimson and bared his teeth in defiance.
"I don't care!"
He seized the haft of the ax as it came down, fingers slipping on the rain-slick wood before finding purchase. With a primal roar, he yanked himself forward, using the momentum to drive Kazeshin deep into the lichin's chest. The blade sang a death note as it pierced through layers of twisted bark and calcified sinew. He twisted Kazeshin savagely, feeling resistance give way beneath the edge, and ripped upward. The sword tore through the lichin's chest and shoulder, carving a ragged valley through its body. For the first time, the beast released a sound—a howl of pain that sounded like a hundred voices screaming at once. It stumbled backwards, ember eyes flickering.
"That's right," Noboru hissed. "Scream like Alsmelle screamed."
Noboru growled through clenched teeth and forced his legs beneath him. His left foot barely responded. Something had torn. Something snapped.
He could barely stand. Could barely see.
But it didn't matter.
He dragged himself toward the Lichin, leaning on Kazeshin like a crutch. The creature loomed above him, bow discarded, axe in hand once more. It raised the weapon.
And Noboru threw his sword.
Kazeshin spun through the air. Planting himself hilt deep into the lifeless helm.
The creature howled a hundred howls, reeling backward and collapsing.
Noboru fell to his knees, coughing blood. His left leg was limp. His ribs ached with every breath. Vision blurred and doubled.
"I'll kill all of you…" he coughed through bloodied lips.
Noboru pushed himself up—hands slipping in blood, legs trembling beneath him. Every part of his body screamed in protest. His foot dragged behind like dead weight, and his ribs grated against one another with every breath.
He staggered the last steps, shoulders hunched, blood dripping from his chin. The lichin twitched on the ground before him, body cracking and reforming.
Noboru planted one foot beside its broken chest.
"No you don't…"
He collapsed forward, landing hard—one knee crashing down on the creature's sternum.
He grabbed Kazeshin's hilt. And pulled. The lichin twitched once, ember-eyes fluttering in the dark.
Noboru stared down into that hollow face.
"You don't get to live," he growled, hoarse and shaking. "Not while I'm still breathing!"
The creature's limbs thrashed wildly, desperate claws scrabbling for purchase against his body, seeking to tear, to rend, to save itself from this unexpected fury.
But Noboru wouldn't let it. He severed its arms with a roar, Kazeshin cleaving through joint and sinew with brutal efficiency.
He carved through its chest, each strike more savage than the last. The blade bit deep, splintering ancient armor and whatever passed for ribs in this abomination. Black ichor and rotting sap sprayed with each impact. When his sword caught in the creature's sternum, Noboru abandoned him entirely. His fist crashed into its faceplate, knuckles splitting against rusted metal. Again and again he struck until the helm buckled inward. With a final blow that shattered bone in his own hand, Noboru split the helm open with a wild scream that tore his throat raw. "Alsmelle!"
He fell upon the creature with nothing but rage and bare hands. His fingers—once nimble enough to coax heartrending melodies from Hibiki—now ripped into the lichin's exposed core like hooks. He tore roots that squirmed like dying snakes, snapped bones that crumbled like ancient pottery, broke wood that screamed as it splintered.
Until it wasn't a monster. Just wreckage. Just rot.
Then came the silence.
The rain.
Cold rain droplets splattered his bloodsoaked face, washing away the black and crimson.
"Why… Why won't you take me too?" He whispered, eyes fixed on the flashing sky.
Then, through the haze of his wounds—bleeding from his scalp, limping on one leg, ribs shifting with every breath—Noboru turned and saw them.
Dozens of eyes.
The whole village.
Children. Adults. Elders. Watching him from the edge of the town.
Not cheering.
Just silent.
As the rain intensified, beating a primal rhythm against the torn earth, Noboru stood motionless amid the carnage. Dripping blood, blade in hand, barely standing. Rivulets of water tracing crimson-black streams away from the battlefield.
Noboru knelt despite his protesting wounds and methodically wiped Kazeshin clean on a patch of unmarred grass. The steel caught what little light remained as he slid the blade home into his sheath with a soft click.
Then he found Hibiki, lying facedown in a puddle that mirrored the stormy sky above. One of her strings had snapped, a peg had broken off completely. He lifted the instrument with the gentleness one might show a wounded bird, running his thumb across her damaged frame.
With a deep sigh that seemed to empty him of something more vital than breath, Noboru slung Hibiki over his back once more.
Without looking back at the village, he began a slow march toward the treeline. The darkness between the trees reaching out to welcome him. And Noboru slipped into their embrace, becoming just another shadow among many as the forest swallowed him whole.
Beneath the sprawling roots of an ancient maple, Noboru finally tended to Hibiki's wounds. From his sleeve he produced a small repair kit—spare strings, carved pegs, glue—and with trembling yet precise fingers, he replaced the broken peg, restrung the snapped string, and sealed the crack along her side, whispering apologies with each careful touch.
Days passed as Noboru layed amongst the roots of the old male trees. The sun rose and fell, but all the while Noboru laid, waiting, wanting.
When he finally moved it was a slow, quiet thing. His lips barely opened to produce a fragile sound that faded into the leaves.
"I'm sorry..."
When the shipment finally arrived, Noboru realized he could't stay there forever.
Time had kept passing. His heart had kept beating. The world, stubborn as ever, had refused to let him vanish.
With a sigh pulled from somewhere deep inside him, Noboru rose from the tangled roots. Moss clung to his cloak, dirt rained from his sleeves, but he did not brush it away. He simply stood, silent and heavy.
His steps were slow as he made his way down the familiar path. The village lay ahead, blurred by mist and the smell of wet woodsmoke curling into the grey sky. Bells rang in the distance, dull and tired, announcing the arrival of the merchant wagons.
Noboru passed between the first crooked houses like a ghost returning to his own grave. Children darted around laden carts, laughter rising despite the cold, while men hauled barrels off the wagons with calloused hands and cautious hope. All of their eyes widened as he passed, laughter stopped, hands halted.
He found Tunde first—standing by the inn steps, directing the chaos with wide, frantic gestures. His apron was stained, his hair wild, but his face broke into a full smile when he spotted Noboru. Relief warring with guilt in his eyes.
Noboru said nothing. He simply pressed a coin pouch into Tunde's hand, far heavier than what was owed. The innkeeper's mouth opened in protest, but Noboru shook his head before he could speak.
"For the cold time," Noboru murmured, voice frayed at the edges.
"B-but how–"
"Just take it, buy something for the little one."
Tunde clutched the pouch to his chest, bowing low, his words lost to the wind.
When his gourd was finally full, Noboru lifted it high and took a long, hearty drink, reveling in the way the warm liquid filled his gullet and relaxed his mind. "Thanks Namu…"
Drops of rain fell, cold and clean as Nobru made his way through town, Hibiki singing as he neared the outskirts of town. But a small tug on his sleeve stopped him.
Aisha stood in the rain, skirt muddy and eyes bright. "Where are you going Noboru?"
Behind her near the town square a crowd had formed.
He crouched low, meeting her gaze. From one of the many woven beads in his dreadlocks, he untied a small hammered piece, worn smooth from years of travel. He pressed it into her small hand, curling her fingers tightly around it.
"Where the wind takes me," he whispered.
Aisha nodded solemnly, cradling the bead like a treasure.
Rising again, Noboru caught sight of Jabari, Imani slung across his back, his stance steady despite the limp. The boy stood tall among the other villagers, proud and unflinching.
Noboru gave him a single nod—firm, proud. Jabari straightened even more, chin lifting, a quiet joy flashing across his face.
Without another breath, Noboru turned toward the road. Namu sloshed lightly at his back. Kazeshin bounced on his hip. And the gentle notes of Hibiki drifted into the rain—a half-remembered song carried on the wind, unraveling into silence.
And then the rain swallowed even that.