Chapter 1: The Seed

There laid a single seed in the middle of the stained plains. The shapes and holes surrounding it came in multiple sizes, holding remnants of weapons, bones, and armors. 

A battlefield had ravaged those lands for days to no end, and now both sides were dead, leaving a peaceful momentum behind, filling the dead with the dread of the chilly breezes.

The only remnants left were the loot that the scavengers would soon come to collect to make some money, often ignoring the dead ones, leaving them behind, allowing nature to do its job of returning them to the ground, from dust to dust.

Amidst the terrain, footsteps closed into the center of this ill-looking forest, where piles of bodies reached as high as the smallest of trees. 

“Worthless junk...” the man mumbled, annoyed, holding his long straw hat with two fingers due to the chill breeze; picking up anything valuable along the way.

The trail behind him didn’t take long to disappear, thanks to the falling snow. Behind his figure, the winds ravaged in twirls, causing some of the snow to look mystified and alive, an illusion of its beauty.

“A storm approaches? I understand.” He touched his pommel lightly with a knuckle softly. A brief moment after, the two tiny bells of the black scabbard at his waistline rang.

‘Danger?’ He looked around, focusing his eyes the best possible, and to his surprise, in their corner, a tiny figure remained.

“A child?” His movement halted due to surprise at the sight of the unexpected survivor. 

His pupils widened at her appearance. “A girl...” A long blonde strawberry hair hid inside a fur cloth. Porcelain-like skin, similar to a deceased who froze to death from the cold. On the lower part of her face, small lips tainted in purple, and a nose with a red mark on its tip.

‘Abandoned by its parents?’ The war that ended recently, the victims, prisoners of war, or even survivors. There were multiple possibilities for the origin of this kid.

Cautiously, his hands unsheathed his katana from the scabbard, leaving a dark, beautiful edge remained facing upwards. Upon closing the range between himself and the one on the ground, like a reaper gauging one’s neck to attempt a clean cleave, his sword remained in front of the victim’s neck. 

“I should give this suffering soul some mercy...” The metal drew closer and closer until, finally, it went through the figure who remained asleep, half-frozen, embracing the sweet scent of death.

---

A distant voice alongside a jolt went through my brain, waking up my senses.

“Uh? Where am I?” A freezing sensation surrounded me alongside beautiful white plains with little to no verdure and naked trees.

My stomach growled, causing me to place a hand over it.

‘Wherever this might be, I’m starving.’ My eyes looked around to find something to fill it with, receiving but despair as a reward from the surrounding emptiness and whiteness.

Not too far away, soft steps approached, stealing my attention towards them.

‘Who’s that?’ My body remained still, watching how his fingers secured his peculiar yellow hat.

My eyes watched the snow around him, at the way it flowed majestically, the twirls and turmoils it made, beautifully it captivated me, and if I wasn’t half-frozen, my body would’ve done a better reaction.

“A child?” He halted a few steps from me.

“Who are you?” This time around, we exchanged looks, and a conflicted expression remained planted on his face.

“I’m Keru...” his back straightened up, allowing me to see his face better, a light tanned one, past his teens but not old enough to reach the thirties, “... and you?”

‘And me...’ that was a significant question, big enough to cause my brain to ache further from the earlier shock-wave. Yet, despite the pain, my name came into mind, a strange yet pretty one at that, “Yuki.”

“That’s a peculiar name,” his right hand remained on top of what looked to be a long black vertical case.

“I could say the same to you,” I coughed, after a failed attempt at giggling, shrugging my unease away.

His eyes leaned lower towards the black scabbard, “what do you think?”

Before I could respond to his question, he kept speaking, “yes, she must be sick.”

At his words, I sneezed, causing my furry ears to tingle cutely; horizontally, my index finger passed on my nose.

“I guess you’re right,” he looked at my confused self, and at that I questioned him.

“Say, who are you talking to?”

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“Can’t say I’m speaking to someone,” the tiny bells from the scabbard rang.

I muttered the words that came into my mind, finding that peculiar sound nostalgic, “a storm approaches.”

At that he looked confused at me, “did you hear its voice?”

“Its voice? Aren’t you the only one here?” I leaned my head lower, confused, crossing my arms to warm myself up as much as possible, pushing some of the snow away from my shoulders and lap, noticing how my breath took a ghastly shape whenever it left my lips. Like a fog, it mystified the air between us, and in no time, it vanished out of our sight.

“A coincidence then,” he mumbled, approaching me, turning around once his feet arrived close enough, leaving his back exposed for me to lean on.

“Come on, get up, we have to leave this place before the blizzard catches up to us.”

“Alright,” I used my leftover strength to climb to his back, crossing my legs around his waistline and my arms around his neck, despite the poverty of my body, lacking the nutrients from multiple missed meals. The tail danced behind me, twirling the rest of the snow away. 

In no time, he resumed his march, taking us on a straight path.

“Where are we going?” My cheek leaned onto his shoulder, causing my left ear to touch his dark, short hair. If there was something interesting to this young man, was that he looked like a warrior, one of those wandering ones who searched the land for opponents in television dramas.

“Hopefully outside these woods,” the chimes rang at each step he took; his head moved to the sides as if trying to find something or someone, keeping a moderate amount of awareness. Meanwhile, his hand remained resting on top of the obsidian scabbard, almost like he touched night itself.

Further away from the two of us, sounds and emotions travelled magically through the veil of darkness and snow; eyes pried onto my back, red bloodthirsty ones, filled with resentment, hatred, and the will to do evil. Warriors from the wolf kin gripped their weapons as their teeth and fangs rubbed fiercely onto each other, raging from within. Large iron axes, sharp dimmed edges, crimson old stains painted throughout the wooden stick that held all of it together. A clear sign of merciless killers, backup forces of my enemy clan, the grey wolf one. They hated us as much as we loathed them and a war resulted from such a never-ending cycle; sadly for me, one that we lost, one where my family died. 

But there was more to it. I who laid on Keru’s back, realised that these memories were not quite what they felt to be. As a starter, I was no more and no less than lost till he found me. Yet the more steps he took me away, the fresher my mind turned out to be, getting my thoughts slowly sorted. Yuki was not this fox girl’s name. To be fair, she wasn’t old enough to receive one. And beasts, or perhaps monsters, didn’t generally receive one. Such was a blessing of someone capable in the ways of magic, or at least with enough inner power.

Unknowingly to the two of us, my seed was about to sprout, from the name I didn’t supposedly own, to the one Keru innocently and naively gave me through my cluelessness. My eyes closed softly, leaving my body to warm itself, draining the energy from the one in front of me.

And so, I dreamed about my former life, the one before being a fox, the surprisingly one that made me who I was now, the inner me. The first memory to arrive was when I was little, no more than five springs.

“That’s right, Yuki. In our shrine, the gods are always watching over us,” she smiled kindly at me, sipping on some of her green tea.

“How do you know that, grannie?”

Her old yet sturdy finger pointed at the scenery that we watched over together while chatting. In the direction aimed by the tip of her nail was a brown tree, with multiple branches filled with pink flowers.

“That tree has been with our family since ancient times. It protects us with its many arms and rigid body. And during peaceful times, it cherishes us with its fragrance, alluring our noses, telling us that it’s fine to be out in the open.”

My teeth broke a cookie in two, splitting it in half brown and half black. I chewed on its buttery side, leaving the sweetest part to later, as chocolate tasted better.

The two of us took a sip at the tea, wetting our throats with a sour flavour. Despite the bitterness, it blended nicely with the sugary aspect of the snack. At that, I smiled, causing grannie to do it too. A joyful memory that didn’t end there.

“Our ancestor, the one who planted the seed, told us that one day, far from his time, we would get to see his blessing passing over in cherry tones.”

My eyes glanced over at the beautiful petals, “he was right, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. Now the spirits will never come near our family,” she looked at me, pointing to the branches. Attached to them there were talismans, held by white strings. White papers with red ink, and distinct symbols.

Then I mimicked her, placing the palm of my hands against one another, rubbing them up and down, “thank you god tree.”

And she added to my words, “thank you for protecting us.”

It was not till thirteen winters later that my grandmother died, and with her passing away, my family buried her under the tree. Then we sold the house and moved away, to a different country, in hopes of avoiding the great war that annihilated thousands of people. The mushroom bombs that fell down from airplanes, with enough power to completely end our entire race.

“Will we be okay?” While in the car, I voiced out my worries, in hopes of being reassured, for the fear clouded my trembling heart.

My mother's arm extended behind to me, through the side of her seat, to which I grabbed carefully, caressing it with my own fingers, softly and warmly. It was at times like this that the image of the days with my grandmother came to mind. The wonderful memories of spending summer vacations in her house, the one at the top of the mountain. 

Hundreds of years ago, my family used this place as a shrine, having lots of guests whose joy filled it with good energies. But more than anything, it had the people’s prayers, the believers and the non-believers. All of them with a reason to be practitioners of their own medical arts. Sure that nowadays they replaced it by the scientific and sophisticated ways of technology, yet it would be wrong to say that no one used it anymore. And, despite old, ancient to be precise, acupuncture was an art that many searched for. Many who bore the pain of a sore back, those who sought for an unorthodox method of relaxation and cure, and of course, the ones filled with curiosity. 

From the time I lived with my grandmother, there had been only learning lessons. Despite the strict moments, there were also lovely ones, blissful and beautiful days. But despite everything, by god’s will, or perhaps the lack of my family presence and nurture, the tree ended up dying.

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