The sharp, rhythmic clack-clack of wooden hyoshigi echoes through the village common, drawing every eye toward the slightly raised platform at its center.
Natsuo stands atop it, looking less like a leader and more like a bird caught in a sudden draft. He is a handsome young man, though his beauty is currently clouded by a pale, frantic energy. His features—refined and soft-are framed by the thin, silver lines of his glasses and his black hair is pulled into a topknot so neat it feels brittle. The sunlight glints off the lenses, momentarily masking his eyes, but it cannot hide the faint, tremor in his posture. He stands with a stiff, unnatural straightness, as if a single deep breath might cause the earnest resolve holding him together to shatter.
Behind him, the banners of the Ishida family flutter with a dry, papery sound, their proud crests a heavy shadow against his back. Seated in the center of that shadow, the magistrate Ishida Saburō watches with a stern, unreadable expression, flanked by retainers whose lacquered armor gleams with a cold, predatory light. Natsuo's face is flushed, a stark bloom of heat against his otherwise ghostly composure, the oppressive weight of the magistrate's authority seemingly pressing down on his narrow shoulders.
Villagers trickle in, drawn by the unusual summons, their eyes wide with a blend of curiosity and apprehension; whispers rustle through the crowd like wind through dry leaves. Clearing his throat, Natsuo raises a small scroll, his fingers twitching against the paper as if it were made of lead.
"
"I... I hum-humbly express my gratitude... for your presence at this... this u-urgent summons," he begins, his voice thin, fluttering like fabric in the wind.
"The h-honorable Magistrate, Ishida-dono... acting with the authority of the Heavens... has issued a f-formal decree. A... a most v-vital undertaking... is to commence... within the d-depths of the western forest. W-We are to... to bend our w-will to this task... by the Magistrate's command."
A low murmur ripples through the crowd, growing steadily louder as the weight of the decree sinks in. Daiji watches from the side, his presence as solid and unyielding as the ancient oaks Natsuo is speaking of. He stands with his arms crossed over a broad chest, the fabric of his rough-spun tunic pulled taut across shoulders built for heavy burdens. His jaw is set square, casting a shadow that emphasizes the skeptical disapproval etched into his brow. There is a raw, physical power in his stillness, his dark eyes narrowed and sharp, missing nothing as he leans against a wooden post like a storm cloud waiting to break.
On the opposite edge of the gathering, Genjiro offers Natsuo a gentle, encouraging nod. In the bright afternoon sun, Genjiro appears almost translucent. His frame is lean, and possess a quiet, weary grace that suggests a man who has spent more time in thought than in the sun. A few stray locks of gray hair have escaped his modest tie, casting thin shadows across a face marked by a deep wrinkles and introspective kindness. While Daiji watches the Magistrate, Genjiro watches Natsuo's trembling hands, his own fingers resting lightly atop his cane—long, steady, and expressive of a soul that feels every ripple of the village's unease.
Natsuo draws a shallow, trembling breath, his eyes flickering toward Genjiro for a fleeting moment of strength.
"A... a Ryokan of m-most exquisite design," he continues, his voice still thin but no longer breaking. "A sanctuary... intended for the... the reception of a-august personages... where they might find... find solace. It is to be a place where one may... c-contemplate the... the beauty of our domain's... land. It is... Ishida-dono's wish that this dwelling... b-become a testament to our... hospitality."
Before he can finish, a sharp voice cuts through the air. "August person?! What are you yammering about?!"
Another villager shouts, incredulous. "Wait—are you saying these new buildings aren't for us?"
"You promised us that our village would be rebuilt! It's been years, and now this?!"
The villagers' voices rise in a mounting chorus of anger and disbelief, rallying against the announcement. Natsuo's stomach tightens, his face etched with worry. He opens his mouth to speak, but his words barely form, swallowed by the clamoring of the crowd. His hands tremble slightly as he raises them in a vain attempt to calm them, each syllable faltering against the growing tide of outrage.
"Silence!" Ishida's voice booms across the village common, cutting through the rising discord and engulfing the villagers' strife in an instant. "How many year has it been since the war? And how many since the revolt? I'm sure we all remember what happened then... or do we need a reminder?"
He rises from his seat, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The samurai beside, their armor glinting in the sunlight, a silent echo of his command.
The villagers' anger simmers but falters, replaced by a tense, quiet frustration. Teeth grit and fists clench as they obey, the authority in his voice leaving no room for debate.
He gives Natsuo a curt nod, eyes blazing with unspoken warning: Do not falter. Behind them, the samurai remain rigid and unyielding, their presence a silent reinforcement of the magistrate's authority, leaving no doubt of the consequences should anyone step out of line.
Natsuo swallows hard, face pale as he clutches the scroll tighter. He avoids the villagers' eyes, staring instead at the parchment in his hands. Clearing his throat, his voice starts as a barely audible whisper, gradually gaining a little strength. "Construction will start in a couple days as we make preparations. You will all be divided into groups based on your physical capabilities... We will focus on felling the trees..."
The villagers murmur among themselves, some nodding reluctantly, others still skeptical, but Natsuo's words trail off as the weight of responsibility presses down on him. The sun dips lower behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the village common. The crowd slowly disperses, leaving Natsuo standing on the platform, heart pounding, the scroll trembling in his hands.
A couple of weeks later, the western forest hums with activity. The air is thick with the scent of sawdust and fresh earth, the sharp tang of sap clinging to the workers' skin. Villagers, divided into groups, swing axes and heave logs under the watchful eyes of a handful of samurai and overseers. The beginnings of the new project take shape, rough outlines of cleared paths and felled timber marking the landscape. Natsuo moves alongside the villagers with his sleeves rolled up, trying to blend into the rhythm of the work. Yet every step earns him a sidelong glance, every attempt at instruction met with stiff shoulders or muttered grumbling. His eyes remain alert, scanning the progress, but the villagers look through him rather than at him.
A man hauling timber grunts under his breath, "Look at him—hands too soft for real work."
Another scoffs just loud enough for Natsuo to hear, "Why's he even here? Probably just wants to look important."
When Natsuo leans in to offer guidance on securing a rope, the younger workers exchange glances. One whispers, "Bet he's never tied one in his life," followed by a snicker.
He straightens, swallowing quietly, letting the remarks pass over him like dust in the wind. The weight of Ishida-dono's expectations still presses on his shoulders, heavy as ever— Their scorn stings and perhaps to lessen their ire or to save himself from it, Natsuo decides to focus on a task in an unmanned area. An ongoing duty has been to check the live animal traps which lie hidden in the undergrowth. Their heavy jaws set to remove any lingering threat before the Ryokan can rise.
Natsuo exits the clearing and enters a portion of untouched forest a distance away from the toiling villagers. As he walks he looks at the map he has drawn with the location of the traps marked. Upon lifting his head to see if he is in the correct area he stops abruptly, breath catching in his throat. Tucked into the dense brush is a large white wolf, its once-pristine fur marred with streaks of blood. One powerful back paw is caught fast in the iron jaws of a metal trap, which digs cruelly into the flesh. The wolf thrashes violently, muscles rippling, teeth bared in a snarl of pain and fear that reverberates across the clearing. Its eyes, bright and intelligent, lock onto Natsuo, a mix of terror and silent plea reflected in their depths. The forest seems to hold its breath, the sounds of labor fading into the tense stillness surrounding the trapped creature.
Natsuo stands frozen in fear. After a few moments pass his legs give way to movement and he turns to report the find. It is a dangerous creature, a clear threat to the villagers' safety, and leaving it for the hunters is the correct thing to do. But as he starts to walk away, the sound of the wolf's desperate struggles tugs at his heartstrings. He pauses, his feet rooted to the ground again. He can't abandon it. He stops, slowly turning back to face the animal. He raises his hands, showing his empty palms, and takes a cautious step forward. "T-there, t-there," he says softly, his voice trembling slightly.
The wolf growls, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through the trees. It bares its fangs, its eyes fixed on Natsuo with a piercing, accusatory glare, as if blaming him for the trap's unyielding grip. Natsuo instinctively jerks back, his heart pounding against his ribs, but he doesn't give up. He stands his ground, his hands still raised in a placating gesture. He reaches into his kimono sleeve, pulling out a small pouch. He unties it to reveal his lunch: a couple of pieces of fish alongside rice and some pickled vegetables. With a trembling hand, he throws a piece of the fish toward the wolf, letting it land a few feet away. The wolf's eyes follow the object, its growl dying down to a low rumble. It sniffs at the fish, then looks up at Natsuo with narrowed eyes, a mix of suspicion and hunger. After a long, tense moment, it slowly lowers its head and bites at the fish.
It chews for a moment, then looks at Natsuo. "W-was it good?" Natsuo asks softly. "Do y-you want some m-more?" The wolf huffs, and turns its head away, as if to deny how tasty the food was. Natsuo looks at the wolf's cold disposition, his shoulders slumping slightly. "S-sorry," he says, his voice now filled with self-reproach. "W-what was I thinking giving fish to a wolf? That must have tasted horrible." He begins to wrap his lunch back in its cloth pouch, but before he can tie the knot, the wolf snaps its head back and lets out a small, sharp bark.
Natsuo looks up at the wolf while tying the second knot in his pouch, but the wolf lets out another sharp bark. He stops, and as he unties it, he notices the wolf's tail wagging slightly. "Oh..." Natsuo says, a small smile forming on his face. "Oh, did you actually like it?" The wolf barks again, a sound that now seems less threatening. Natsuo takes this as a positive sign and, with new confidence, moves closer to the wolf to feed it the next piece of fish. The wolf gobbles it up. Natsuo smiles. "Hmm, do you want to try the rice next?" The wolf's tail wags again in response. "Let's see..." Natsuo says, thinking aloud. "I don't want to pour it on the ground... you'll just end up eating dirt... Mmm." He uses a pair of chopsticks that came with his bento box to shovel a pile of rice into his opposite palm. He then holds out his hand to the wolf.
The wolf raises its head, its eyes now level with Natsuo's. For the first time, Natsuo truly sees the animal's size—its massive snout, its powerful jaws, the sheer muscle and raw wildness in its gaze. The reality of how close he has gotten to this untamed creature washes over him, and a cold sweat breaks out on his brow. "What was I thinking?" his mind churns frantically. "Its little barks reminded me of a dog, and I let my guard down. Those fish were just an appetizer... and here I am, the main course." The wolf opens its mouth, its fangs gleaming in the dim light of the trees. Natsuo squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable.
He feels the wet, slick touch of the wolf's tongue as its teeth brush up against his flesh. Then there's a sharp, pinching pain, and he winces. But the pain doesn't deepen; instead, it is followed by a repetitive lapping in his palm. He finally opens his eyes to see that the rice is gone. The wolf pulls back, and its golden eyes, now clear and calm, meet his. It licks its lips, staring at Natsuo as if waiting for more.
"Sorry, that's all I have," Natsuo says, pulling his empty pouch back. "If you wait here, I can run back to the village and get something else for you to eat. Maybe Genjiro-san can cook up something."
He turns and begins to walk away. The wolf tries to get up, its powerful body lurching forward, but it lets out a loud, pained yelp. Natsuo stops in his tracks and looks back at the wolf's leg, his eyes widening in a mix of guilt and alarm.
"Oh no, how could I forget!" he says, his voice filled with self-reproach. "I'm so sorry. Please, don't move anymore."
He walks around to the back of the wolf and crouches down, carefully examining its leg and the rusted mechanism of the trap.
"Okay, okay... how does this thing work?!" Natsuo says to himself, his frustration growing.
He examines the cold metal for a hurried moment, his eyes scanning the mechanism. Finding no clear latch or release, he simply grabs the bloodied teeth of the trap with his bare hands. With a grunt of effort, he tries to pull the metal mouth ajar. He strains, his muscles trembling, before he is forced to gasp for breath. He tries again, pouring all of his strength into his grasp, but the trap's teeth refuse to budge.
As Natsuo takes a break from his failing attempts, a sharp whistle, reminiscent of a bird's song, rings out in the air. Both Natsuo and the wolf hear it.
The wolf then lets out a long, mournful howl, as if responding to the sound. When the wolf's cry stops, the sharp whistle starts again, echoing through the trees. The wolf lets out another howl, its head lifted to the sky in a clear back-and-forth communication.
Natsuo looks around the tree line, his eyes scanning the dense foliage, trying to pinpoint where the sound is coming from. He turns his head to face forward once again, and his gaze locks onto a gleaming spearhead pointed directly at his nose, so close he can feel the cold air coming off the sharpened metal.
A voice speaks to Natsuo; it is a refined, cold tone filled with a deep, quiet rage.
"The anguish of my kin... it rings like a bell of sorrow. The pain you have inflicted, the trap you have set...prepare to experience it tenfold." The stranger pulls the spear back, preparing to lunge it forward with its full force, Its razor-sharp point aimed for his heart. But before they can release their attack, the wolf interrupts. It lets out a pained, desperate yelp, a low cry that sounds more like a plea than a snarl. The figure stops, mid-lunge, looking at the wolf in shock. The spear remains suspended in the air. "Utari...why do you?"
Natsuo freezes, his voice trembling as he speaks. "P-please! I... I beg you for your p-patience and u-understanding! If you allow, m-may I explain m-myself?" His hands shake, hovering uncertainly in the air as if afraid any sudden movement might provoke the individual further.
There is a brief, tense silence. Natsuo, noticing the spear is no longer moving, looks beyond its sharpened edge. His eyes follow the length of the staff, and his breath catches. Before him stands a towering figure, draped in a cascade of white hair that flows like liquid silk over every curve of their form. Their hair shimmers faintly in the dappled sunlight, brushing the ground and hinting at the contours beneath, teasing glimpses of skin—soft to the eye, a stark contrast to the defined, muscular tone of their arms. He cannot see their face, yet their presence is intoxicating yet commanding.
"I-I didn't set the t-trap," Natsuo stammers, his voice barely audible, trembling as he pushes himself backwards on the ground.. "I w-was just trying to h-help..."
"Help?" she repeats. The word sounds foreign on her tongue, as if she is tasting a language she hasn't spoken in an age. Her gaze is a physical weight, pressing into him, searching his eyes for a lie. "You carry the scent of the men who carve the earth. Why would a predator stop to lick the wounds of its prey?"
Natsuo swallows hard, the metal of the spear catching the frantic pulse in his throat. "B-because he... he was h-hurting. I c-couldn't just... l-leave him."
She lowers the spear slowly, and drags its head through the dirt before plunging into the earth. Shifting her attention to the animal trap she kneels, gripping the cold steel teeth and prying the jaws apart. With an audible snap, the wolf's hind leg is freed. The animal immediately throws itself into her arms, tail wagging furiously, nuzzling against the stranger as if to say thank you."Utari, you're alright... don't ever run off like that again," she murmurs softly, pressing a cheek to the wolf's head. While still crouched she parts the hair from her waist revealing trinkets and other tools attached to her hip. She removes a length of bamboo containing water and pours it over the wolf's bloodied leg, rinsing away the grime and fresh blood. Needing a bandage she doesn't hesitate to turn to her own clothing. Preparing to rip the piece of cloth from her hakama-like trousers, Natsuo quickly interrupts.
His hand trembles as he extends the cloth from his bento box. "U-umm... I—I a-apologize for interfering..." He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, betraying him. "Please... take this. You can use it to bandage its leg."
The stranger reaches out and accepts the cloth, their eyes softening slightly. "Thank you, for such a kind gesture, even after I threatened your life. I misjudged the intent," she says, though it sounds less like an apology and more like she is correcting a mistake in her own mind. "You are small and fragile. You tremble like a leaf in the frost." she observes, her voice devoid of mockery, merely stating a fact. And yet, you stayed."
Natsuo shifts nervously, eyes cast downward, fingers fidgeting. "I... I come from a n-nearby village, and we are in the m-middle of construction. These traps were placed to r-rid the area of animals... b-because of that... your pet was hurt." His voice cracks slightly, shame curling in his chest. I-I am deeply sorry," Natsuo continues softly, the weight of his guilt heavy in each word.
The stranger's eyes narrow and fill with a profound, haunting blankness. The declaration strikes a chord in her mind that doesn't ring true. A flash of something—not a picture, but a feeling—surges through her. "The way his voice breaks...from the strain of unbridled sympathy. I have heard that tremor before." A name sits on the tip of her tongue—a name that starts with a soft breath—but as soon as she tries to catch it, it dissolves like smoke. She looks at Natsuo's flushing cheeks, and for a second, he isn't a stranger but a ghost of someone she is supposed to protect. In the moment the world feels like a tapestry with the threads pulled out, leaving only holes where names and faces should be.
The forest around them suddenly feels, unnervingly still, as if the trees themselves are holding their breath to witness the exchange. The only sounds left are the faint, dry rustle of leaves and the rhythmic, soft breathing of the wolf, now calmer as it settles against its owner's side. Utari lets out a low, pained whine, leaning his weight into the stranger's thigh. The vibration of the sound breaks the heavy trance she is under, snapping the threads of the blurred, ghostly memories that had begun to surface. She blinks, the lethal tension in her shoulders easing just enough to let the air back into the clearing. She looks at Natsuo—not as a threat, but as a puzzle she has decided to set aside for now. "If you did not lay this trap," she says, her voice regaining its steady, velvet resonance, "and it is your people's custom for this... 'construction' of which you speak, I find no fault with you."
Natsuo blinks, taken aback by the figure's solemn proclamation. His voice falters, low and earnest. "I a-appreciate the magnanimity of y-your patience and understanding." he says with a respectful bow. The wolf pads forward, brushing against Natsuo's leg, and licks his trembling hand. Natsuo freezes, surprise flickering across his face, and a small, nervous smile tugs at his lips. He continues " I... I'm s-sorry we began with a m-misunderstanding. My name is—"
"NATSUO-!"
The shout carries from a distance, startling him. He twist his head to look over his shoulder.
"Natsuo..."
A voice drifts to him again, but it is not the fevered shout from before. It is a soft, almost musical, sweet whisper brushing lightly across his ears, like the wind threading through the branches. The breath catches in his chest while his heart thuds against his ribs. He glances around but the forest is still—no figure, no wolf—only the faint rustle of leaves and the scent of wisteria lingering in the air. For a fleeting moment, he thinks he might have imagined it all but the lingering warmth of the wolf's earlier touch on his hand tells him otherwise. Natsuo exhales shakily, staring into the vibrant brush, his heart pounding with a mixture of wonder, guilt, and the faintest spark of something he cannot yet name.