The icy wind struck his face like a blade, sharp and merciless, cutting straight into the bone.
Darkness stretched endlessly above. The night sky bore neither moon nor stars; thick clouds smothered the heavens, denying even the faintest shred of light.
The wind howled with the force of a crashing waterfall, carrying with it endless torrents of snow.
Everywhere the eye could see lay buried under white. Days of snowfall had smothered the earth completely, entombing the black soil beneath a suffocating blanket. Even the land itself seemed crushed, unable to lift its head.
"Hu… hu…"
Across the boundless snowfield, a frail figure staggered forward.
He wore nothing but a white hemp robe, no winter garments, no protection from the cold. His thin frame swayed unsteadily as he trudged on, step by laboring step. Arms clutched to his chest, his body shook violently beneath the lashing storm.
The boy was so fragile it seemed a miracle he hadn't already shattered into pieces.
Behind him stretched the endless snow. Ahead—only storm, blizzard, and darkness without end.
No one knew why he was here. Alone, in this desolate wilderness, far from any village or road, dressed in nothing fit for survival, he walked on—solitary, powerless, as though abandoned to die in the storm.
Step by step, he pressed forward.
His breathing was heavy, ragged, forcing icy air deep into his lungs. Each exhale left his mouth as mist, freezing almost at once.
The brutal cycle of freezing and burning stung his senses, keeping him faintly conscious.
He no longer remembered how long he had been wandering. Only that he had stepped onto this snowfield at dusk and had not once stopped. Now, the night was deep—perhaps even dawn was nearing—and the air had fallen well below freezing.
The thin robe clung to his sickly pale skin, snapping in the wind.
He rubbed his arms fiercely, desperate for warmth. But his face was ashen, his body temperature sinking beyond numbness. Even the cold no longer registered. His eyelids grew heavy, while a false, feverish heat welled up from his marrow.
If this continued, he would certainly die. And yet, he had no means to change his fate.
He had wandered half a day through this frozen wasteland and seen not a single trace of life—not a village, not a soul, not even a beast. Not even birds dared the sky.
Only dead branches, and here and there, bleached bones.
It felt as though the entire world had withered away, leaving only him. The weight of solitude pressed against his heart, unbearable in its intensity.
No one. Nowhere.
That realization sank in like lead, bringing with it a crushing sense of futility.
There was no point in struggling. No meaning in continuing. It would be easier—so much easier—to simply stop here, let the cold take him, and fall into quiet death.
After all, humans always lean toward the easier path. No one would mock him for it—not here. There was no one left to see.
"Ha… ha…"
He trudged on, breath harsher, heavier. Step by step, he left his trail behind.
But where his feet touched, streaks of red stained the snow.
He had no shoes. No bandages. His bare feet were cut raw by the blizzard's blades. Skin split open, blood seeped out, painting the snow in ghastly hues.
The fact that he had survived this long was a miracle.
Stopping now would be the easier choice. Just one pause, and the agony would end.
But still, he walked on.
Slower, weaker, his mind blurring into haze—yet his steps, however feeble, did not falter.
No one knew where he was going. No one knew why he clung so stubbornly to the path.
"Rrroar!"
The silence shattered. The air trembled with a guttural rumble, heavy and violent. A low, bestial growl followed, like a hallucination drawn into reality.
He froze. His eyes widened. Instinct's alarm yanked him into brief clarity.
And then, across the endless snow, a shadow emerged.
It was a beast.
No—more than a beast.
It had the body of a wolf, but its jaws bristled with the twisted fangs of a corpse. Its frame was larger than a lion's, muscles bulging beneath its hide. Its crimson eyes gleamed with hunger, filled with raw, savage bloodlust. Claws tore into the snow as it crouched low, the posture of a predator poised to strike.
It was not a mere animal. It was a monster—a beast born of malice.
No reason, no restraint. Only the instinct to kill, to tear, to feast.
Panic surged through Ishikawa Hayabusa's mind. For an instant, his scattered thoughts snapped into sharp focus. His body longed to raise its guard, to fight back—but it was too frail, too broken to obey.
He bit down hard.
So this was the end?
And he hadn't even begun…
"Rrroar!!"
The monster had starved too long. Its scarlet gaze pierced through his final, failing resistance. With a snarl, it lunged, claws ripping the earth, body a blur of speed.
In the blink of an eye it was upon him—faster than human eyes could follow. He could see it, clear as daylight: the glimmer of joy flickering in its eyes as its gaping maw opened wide.
Closer. Closer. The fangs filled his vision—
"Vmmm—!"
A burst of light erupted.
Blinding, radiant, a merciless brilliance tore across the storm. It swallowed his sight whole, dazzling like a sun long lost.
And then—darkness again.
The beast's maw was gone. Its body lay in two halves on the ground, spilling black blood that seeped deep into the snow.
"…Was it you?"
Through the haze of his vision, a figure stepped boldly into view.
A woman—hair as crimson as blood, streaming wildly in the blizzard. Her gaze was fierce, unyielding, as she looked down upon the frail boy with a sharp, commanding presence.
Ishikawa Hayabusa could no longer answer her.
Delivered from death's jaws, his consciousness finally slipped into the dark.