The sky was painted a soft amber, birds chirping as the sun began its gentle descent. Yoriichi Tsugikuni walked along the wooded path that led to the village market. On his back, he carried bundles of straw rope, small tools, and a sack of rice. In his hand, a thick bundle of firewood.
He moved slowly, humming softly—a tune Uta had once hummed while making miso soup. He remembered her smiling that morning, brushing strands of hair behind her ear as she waved him off.
It had been peaceful.
It was supposed to stay that way.
As Yoriichi crested the final hill before their home, he stopped.
The air was wrong.
There were no birds singing. The breeze had stilled. The smell—iron. Blood.
He dropped everything and ran.
The wooden steps of his house were cracked. The front door was torn from its hinges. Claw marks scarred the walls. His breath grew shaky as he stepped inside.
And there—
Uta.
Collapsed near the corner of the room. Torn cloth. Blood pooled beneath her. Her breathing—shallow. Her body—mangled. Her arms trembled as she tried to lift herself.
"Uta!" Yoriichi dropped beside her, his voice breaking. "Uta, I'm here—what happened?!"
Her lips moved slowly, a whisper.
"They… came… the shadows…"
Yoriichi held her trembling hands.
"What shadows? Who?!"
She coughed, blood slipping from her mouth.
"Monsters… demons… eyes that weren't human…"
Yoriichi's heart pounded.
"Demons?" he echoed, voice numb.
She nodded weakly, and with a final smile, her hand brushed his cheek.
"Don't… follow… them…"
And then—her eyes dulled. Her body went still.
Uta was gone.
Silence fell, broken only by the wind outside.
Yoriichi sat frozen. The warmth in the room vanished. His hand gripped the wooden floor until his knuckles bled.
The scent of blood. The void of loss.
His breath trembled.
And for the first time in his life—rage bloomed quietly inside him.