The snow in the Whispering Pass was no longer white; it was stained a thick crimson, steaming under the midnight chill. Shinji grit his teeth so hard he felt they might shatter, his scarred hands trembling as they gripped the only thing left of his world: the broken hilt of Akira's katana.
Across from him, Akira's lifeless body lay like a flicker of light fading into the darkness.
"I will find you in the next life…" Akira had whispered before exhaling his final breath.
But Shinji didn't want the next life. He wanted this one. He wanted the ones responsible to scream just as he was screaming now in the silence of the forest.
That was when he saw them: two spheres of pure gold glowing through the mist. A roar that was not human made the very ground vibrate, and a tiger with fur as white as the moon emerged from the shadows, blocking his path. It wasn't an animal. It was a Yokai.
Shinji raised his broken blade, his eyes clouded with madness and grief. "Out of my way, beast," he spat, his voice cracking. "I have blood to spill, and I don't care if it's mine or yours."
The tiger didn't strike. Instead, it tilted its head, and for a second, the golden glow in its eyes felt strangely familiar. It felt like a warm hand on his shoulder in the middle of a blizzard.
"Revenge is a blade without a hilt, Shinji," a voice echoed directly inside his mind a voice that sounded like a thousand rustling leaves. "If you swing it, you will only bleed yourself to death."
Shinji froze. The beast knew his name. But more importantly, it spoke with a calmness that he hadn't felt since the massacre of his clan.
"How do you know who I am?" Shinji growled, taking a step forward, the snow crunching under his boots.
The white tiger took a slow, majestic step toward him, its presence radiating a power that made the air heavy. "I am the echo of what you lost, and the guardian of what you have yet to become.