The smoke rose slowly. Not up. Not skyward. It clung to the ground like wounded mist, curling around boots and stones. Four pyres burned beyond the inner wall of Sunstone. Snow had melted in black circles around the fire. The air smelled of pine pitch and scorched linen. Beneath the ash, bone.
Kaito stood at the edge, still. Not at attention. Not in mourning. Somewhere in between. The heat touched his face but never reached his bones. His hands hung loosely at his sides. His shoulders ached, not from the cold. The ache came from something else. He did not know the name.
Two of the dead he barely remembered. Faces blurred by fatigue and helmets. He tried to recall voices, habits, anything to mark them in his memory. Nothing came. That felt worse. One had given him a dried persimmon on the march. The other had asked for flint. That was all. That was enough.
Ryudo stood beside him, unmoving. Not even blinking. His bandaged arm hung limp. He smelled of salve and smoke. Nakamura leaned on a crutch nearby, his head bowed. His lips moved. Maybe a prayer. Maybe cursing. The snow around his foot was dark with melted blood.
Behind them, a gust pulled the banner loose from its post. The red cloth slapped against wood. Watanabe flinched.
"Leave them," Watanabe said, breaking the silence. "They're gone. We're not."
No one moved. The fire crackled. A log split. Sparks spiraled into the wind.
Kaito finally turned. His eyes burned from the smoke. Not grief. That was what he told himself.
Inside the garrison walls, the mood had changed. Training continued, but it was raw. Not refined. Ashigaru stabbed too hard, broke spears, shouted too loud. Rage stood in place of focus. Fear disguised as fury. No one smiled. Not even the officers.
Kaito walked the narrow hallway past the inner hall. One door, slightly ajar, caught his attention. A quiet voice inside. He knew that voice. Lady Saya. Another answered, rougher. Watanabe.
He paused.
"We should have pulled them back," Watanabe said. "Too soon to send scouts into those woods."
"They bought us time," Saya replied. "And information."
"Dead men don't file reports."
Silence stretched. Then Saya again.
"You still think this is about tactics."
Kaito took a step back. The words weren't for him. But they stuck. He moved on.
The northern wall overlooked the old path, once a trade route, now abandoned. Trees pressed in on all sides. There were rumors of movement in the woods. Beast tracks too large to name. Shadows that moved without wind. Three patrols sent out. Only one returned. Kaito had led it. That made him valuable. It also made him dangerous. No one said it aloud, but he saw it in the way they looked at him.
He walked along the palisade until he reached the overlook. The sun was low. The sky streaked with copper. He leaned on the beam, letting the cold seep into his arms. Below, the forest breathed. Snow settled on every branch, but the silence was not peace. It felt like a held breath.
Someone approached. He heard the steps before he turned. Saya. Not in armor. A heavy cloak, dark blue. Hair tied back. Eyes sharp.
"You shouldn't eavesdrop," she said without heat.
"Wasn't trying to."
"But you did."
He nodded.
She stepped up beside him. Looked out at the woods.
"I want your opinion," she said.
That surprised him.
"On what?"
"That place out there. The forest. What's moving in it."
Kaito thought before speaking. The wind tugged at his collar.
"Something old," he said at last. "Not wild. Not exactly. Feels like it's waiting. Watching."
"You saw it?"
"No. That's the worst part. I just knew it was there."
She nodded. No scoffing. No doubt.
"You felt the same thing when the boar attacked the village," she said. "Your instincts are sharper than most."
Kaito shrugged.
"I just listen."
She studied him. Not with admiration. Not exactly. With weight. She was measuring him against something unseen.
"We're preparing to send another scouting group," she said. "A small one. Covert. This time I want you to choose who goes."
He blinked.
"Me?"
"You led the last one. You brought them back. That makes you responsible."
Kaito looked down at the forest. His breath came slower now. He saw it all in his mind. Snow-covered trees. Shifting shadows. Blood in the branches. Ryudo with his arm split open. Nakamura dragging a body. The cold screaming.
"What if I say no?"
"Then you say no. But you won't."
She turned and left him there.
That night, the wind howled across the garrison. The pyres had burned out. The ashes buried in the snow. Kaito sat awake by a brazier, staring at the embers. Ryudo sat opposite him, silent as always.
"You still have one arm that works," Kaito said eventually.
Ryudo raised an eyebrow.
"You're on the list," Kaito added.
Ryudo said nothing, then reached for a rice cake. Chewed slowly.
Nakamura limped in later. He said nothing. Sat. Pulled out a knife. Sharpened it with deliberate care. The sound filled the room. Drag. Scrape. Drag. Scrape.
Kaito watched them both. The people who had bled beside him. He thought of the ones who hadn't come back. Of the ones who had burned today. He knew he should feel something clearer. Anger. Pride. Determination. Instead, he felt the slow weight of knowing he would go again. That they all would.
Two mornings later, they slipped through the gate before dawn. No fanfare. No blessing. Five of them. Kaito, Ryudo, Nakamura, and two fresh recruits whose eyes darted too much. The cold bit hard. Their cloaks dragged with frost. The snow was ankle-deep in some places, knee-deep in others. Every sound felt louder in the silence.
They moved without words.
The trees thickened quickly. Light struggled to break through. It felt like walking into the throat of something that had not yet decided whether to swallow.
At midday they found the first sign.
A tree bent unnaturally forward, as if kneeling. Its bark peeled back in strips. Underneath, dark green rot. The ground around it steamed faintly.
Kaito crouched, hand to the earth. Still warm.
"That's not snowmelt," Nakamura whispered.
Ryudo drew his short blade. The others followed. No one spoke of retreat.
They pressed on. The deeper they went, the more the forest changed. Trees grew close together in unnatural patterns. Some twisted like knotted rope. Others leaned in as if listening.
A low humming started around them. Not from the wind. From beneath the ground.
The youngest recruit stumbled.
"Did you hear that?" he asked. Voice trembling.
Kaito raised a hand. The humming stopped.
Silence again. Then a crack.
A branch. Maybe.
Everyone froze.
Ryudo pointed ahead. Two trees, blackened at the roots. The snow around them gone. In the center, a circle of bare earth. Too perfect.
Kaito stepped forward. The air changed. Thicker. Harder to breathe. Like walking underwater.
In the center of the circle lay a mask.
Bone-white. No eyes. No mouth. Just a smooth surface. It pulsed faintly.
Kaito reached toward it, hand hovering.
Then he heard it. A voice. Not words. Just presence. Heavy. Watching. Waiting.
He pulled back.
"We leave it," he said.
"But it might be important," Nakamura said.
"It is. That's why we don't touch it."
They marked the spot. Turned back. Every step felt slower. As if the forest did not want them to leave. Snow started falling again. Heavy. Wet.
It took them until dusk to reach the outer path. When they emerged from the trees, the sky was bleeding orange.
They made it back.
No one cheered.
Kaito reported to Saya that night. She listened without interrupting. When he mentioned the mask, she stood. Went to a shelf. Pulled a scroll.
Unrolled it.
A drawing. That same mask. Older. Cracked. Surrounded by inked symbols.
"You did well not to touch it," she said.
"What is it?"
"Proof," she said. "Something is waking."
Kaito did not sleep that night.
The fire in his room burned low. The wind outside whistled through stone cracks.
And somewhere far off, in the forest, something hummed.
Waiting.
Watching.
Remembering.
---
Word Count: ~2,020
Would you like the next chapter to push deeper into lore, character relationships, or more action-heavy? Or a shift in POV for contrast?