The fog thickened again.
Renkai's small paws sank into moss and rotting leaves as he moved forward, slow and cautious. The trees were barely visible now—only silhouettes in the white veil that wrapped around everything like breath frozen in time.
He walked with his body low, ears alert, every step quiet. The deeper he went, the more he felt it.
He wasn't alone.
Suddenly, a cold shiver ran through him.
Shapes were moving ahead—vague and gray, like water-stained ink.
He gasped, instinct pulling him backward, and he darted into the shelter of a thick, lush bush. Its broad leaves concealed him, damp and fragrant. He pressed himself into it, trembling.
Through the branches, he watched.
A ghostly figure drifted past—tall and swaying, with robes that fluttered like smoke. Its face was featureless, a blur of pale shadow, but in its hands it held a massive tassel, dragging across the earth like a ceremonial banner long forgotten.
Behind it came a boy, walking quietly with a horse on a leash. The animal's head hung low, its eyes empty, yet it walked with strange obedience. And at the rear—a burly man, taller than the others, with a great sword slung across his back. His footsteps made no sound.
They did not speak.
They did not breathe.
They were shadows, outlines of something once real.
Memories, maybe.
Or something worse.
They moved slowly, steadily, as if following a path only they could see—searching for something. Or repeating a journey they could never finish.
Renkai held his breath, not daring to move.
The procession passed, fading into the fog like it had never been there at all.
Silence fell again.
He waited a little longer… then poked his head from the bush. His heart pounded in his chest, but no sound followed them. No scent. Just cold mist and stillness.
He looked after them, unsure of what he'd just seen.
> Are they lost? Or trapped?
He didn't know.
He only knew that he had to keep moving.
No matter where. No matter what waited. He needed shelter. He needed food. And he needed to survive.
With one last glance into the fading mist, Renkai stepped out from the bush and padded forward.
> Where to, he thought, I don't know.
But I'll find it. Whatever waits at the end of this fog… I'll face it.
The fog had thickened into a wall.
It pressed into his eyes, his ears, his chest. Everything was gray, weightless, and endless. Renkai's little paws dragged along the damp ground, his breath shallow. He hadn't eaten since the black bird, and even that bitter meal had long worn off.
His legs trembled.
His vision blurred.
The world spun, soft and slow like falling leaves. He blinked, but the fog was in his eyes now, not just around him. He couldn't see. Couldn't think. Just one step. Then another.
And then… she appeared.
A soft glow rose from the mist ahead, gentle and warm. A shape—tall, elegant, silver-haired.
His mother.
Her form was faint, like moonlight reflected on still water. But her eyes were the same—wise, kind, filled with sorrow and strength. She looked at him, and her voice, though quiet as a whisper, echoed straight into his heart.
> "Continue, my boy. Go forward. Just a little more."
Renkai's heart tightened. Tears welled up in his tired eyes.
"Mother…"
But her shape was already fading, retreating into the fog like a memory not ready to be held.
Still, her voice lingered.
> "Just a little more."
He clenched his teeth. Forced his paws forward.
Step by step, he pushed on.
And then—through the fog—he saw it.
A faint flicker.
Fire.
He crept forward carefully, lowering himself close to the ground. The fog parted just enough to reveal a figure lying against the base of a wide tree. A man—slumped and wounded, with blood on his tunic and his arm wrapped in torn cloth.
A weak fire burned low nearby, barely flickering. Over it, something was cooking. The scent hit Renkai like a bolt—meat, warm and real. His stomach twisted with need.
He paused.
The man was still. His breathing was slow but steady. He didn't stir.
> Is he asleep?
Will he hurt me if he wakes?
Renkai crouched low, ears flat, moving slowly—one silent step at a time. His eyes locked on the food above the flame, his instincts warring with fear.
He didn't want to steal.
But he didn't want to die, either.
> Just a little, he thought. Just enough to live.
He stepped closer, heart racing.
Renkai crept forward, barely breathing.
The small fire crackled weakly, barely holding on. Its glow danced against the fog, making the wounded man's features flicker in and out of shadow.
Just a few more steps.
Just a bite.
Then I'll run, he thought.
But as he moved closer, his paw nudged a dry twig. It snapped.
The man stirred.
> "Who's there?"
His voice was hoarse, worn down by pain and fatigue.
Renkai froze.
The man blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on the fog. Then they landed on the small, blood-matted figure near the edge of the firelight.
His brow furrowed.
> "…A cub?" he muttered, disbelief in his tone.
"What are you doing out here alone… and wounded?"
He didn't move quickly. Just shifted his weight slowly, grunting from the ache in his limbs. There was no fear in his voice. No sharpness. Only surprise… and a strange softness.
> "Come, come. Don't be afraid."
Renkai crouched low, unsure. His body was trembling from hunger, and his instincts screamed to flee—but something in the man's tone stopped him.
The man reached into a small satchel at his side, fingers rummaging until he pulled out a strip of dry meat. With slow hands, he tore off a piece.
> "Here. You look like you need this more than I do."
He tossed the meat gently toward the fox, letting it land just within reach.
Renkai stared.
It smelled strong—salty, rich, real.
He crept forward, nose twitching. Then, in a flash, he snatched the chunk and backed away.
He sniffed it once more… then devoured it in a single gulp. The taste wasn't pleasant, but it filled the gnawing ache inside his belly like fire in a frozen chest.
The man chuckled softly, a low tired sound.
> "Thought so."
"Not afraid of much when hunger wins, huh?"
Renkai licked his lips, still wary… but not running.
The man leaned back against the tree again, eyes half-lidded.
> "Strange little one…" he murmured.
"Why would the forest send you to me?"
He didn't expect an answer.
And Renkai had none to give.
Only a belly with something warm inside it.
And—for the first time in days—a place to rest near a fire without fear.