The muffled crunch of snow beneath him was the only thing keeping Akira Tsukihiko tethered to reality. For what seemed to be an eternity, the young man had been running through the snowstorm with no clear destination. His scattered mind could only focus on the blood on his hands and the memory of the limp, mutilated corpses of his family. He was unable to fully accept what had happened, resorting to hypotheticals as a form of denial. If only he had come home sooner. If only he hadn’t left at all.

Akira was dying. He was woefully unprepared for a blizzard. His black hair drooped over his face from the moisture, covering his swollen, purple eyes. The side of his tunic had been burned off by a wyvern’s fiery breath—charring his skin in the process—and left him exposed to the extreme cold. The cold bite of the wind started cutting into Akira’s legs, the sword on his hip becoming increasingly heavier. The grip on his bow tightened as his freezing hands searched for some semblance of warmth, numb and stiffened from the cold.

With stinging eyes and a lump in his throat, Akira trudged endlessly through the snowy forest he had been raised in. He tried desperately to focus on his surroundings rather than the gruesome site he had just left. He didn’t want to think of how his mother had been mauled beyond repair, shielding her children from the inevitable. He didn’t want to think of how he had just left their bodies there without a proper burial, or how he had held his sister in his arms as she gave her final words to him.

The entire time he had been running, Akira was silently thankful he had not encountered any monsters. Even the frost tigers Akira had hunted since he was a child were nowhere to be seen. Some part of him was hoping to see them—those malicious blue eyes and claws of ice—if only to distract his mind from the atrocity he had seen.

The faint crunch of snow brought Akira back to his senses, and he knew from the rhythm of the steps that it had to be a human. But even with his extraordinary sense of hearing, most sounds were deafened by the howl of the storm, so for Akira to hear footsteps at all meant someone was closing in on him.

Shit! Is that the hunter those soldiers were talking about? Akira forced himself to think about the current situation. Even with the head start I got from the communication delay, they still managed to catch up?

Akira knew he could not outrun fatigue. His limbs were giving in. No matter how fast he ran, he knew he would inevitably be caught. Instead, he decided to stop and take in his surroundings. The thick, dense forest combined with the snowy fog completely blinded him, so he resorted to his sense of hearing. The unrelenting roar of the blizzard slowly faded as Akira took deep breaths and closed his eyes. He searched for the faint crunch of footsteps around him.

Once he found it, he focused on that one noise and listened in on its minutia—the direction from which the sound came, the volume of the footsteps. He nocked an arrow and took one last deep breath, focusing on the serene image of his sister. As painful as it was to conjure that image now, it always helped Akira relax his mind.

Opening his eyes, Akira zeroed in on his target and tracked his movements with his bow. Even as the lump in his throat grew heavier and his eyes began to water, he did not falter; at all times, Akira knew his target’s position. The footsteps’ volume seemed to fluctuate, and the direction of the noise changed constantly as if his target was taunting him, but Akira kept his aim on target. After running circles around him for ages, the target finally started approaching Akira. As the sound of its footsteps grew louder, Akira drew his bowstring back even further, his arms burning from the expense of energy.

But suddenly, the footsteps stopped right behind a tree. Akira steadied his aim as he called out.

“Over there! Behind that tree!” Akira cried out against the storm, “Give me one good reason not to put an arrow right into your head! I- I killed my entire family and nothing’s stopping me from killing you too!”

The man revealed himself from behind the tree, a large double-edged longsword in his hand. He was donned in a black tunic and wore a cloak fitted with a bear pelt—the distinctly grey fur of an ursa major—across his shoulders. His long, brown hair was tied into a ponytail that flowed with the harsh wind.

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“Really?” Akira could barely make out, the wind’s howl returning. “Do it then. Shoot me.”

Akira kept his bow aimed at the man, unwavering but also with no intent to shoot. The man did nothing but point his sword at Akira. The two locked gazes, neither wanting to break the neutrality.

Eventually, after a grunt of frustration, Akira relaxed the bowstring and put the arrow back in its quiver, which was slung over his shoulder. In response, the man sheathed his sword but did not move from his spot.

“You, boy,” the man called out. “From your bluff, I assume you to be Akira Tsukihiko, yes?”

Akira glared at the man and brought his hand to the opposite hip. Even if the man showed no intent to kill, Akira still had a hand on his sword’s hilt.

“So what if I am?” Akira’s grip on the hilt tightened. “If you knew already, you would’ve killed me by now.”

The man observed Akira, eyeing him top to bottom. He looked around before cautiously approaching Akira. Akira stepped back and drew his blade slightly.

“Yes. But the reports stated that you were a vicious demon that slaughtered his own family.” The man stopped a half a meter away from Akira. “One good look at you tells me you’re naught but a boy. So, explain yourself lest I cut you down right now.”

Akira stared dumbfoundedly at the man. He seriously believed Akira was a human when every other villager thought he was a demon? Akira glared at the man, maintaining his stance.

“You really think I’m gonna fall for that?” Akira drew his blade and pointed it at the man, who remained still. “You’re just gonna give me a false sense of security and kill me when I’m distracted, aren’t you?”

The man let out a small chuckle and crossed his arms.

“Answer me! Is this some kind of twisted joke to you—toying with your victim?”

“That burn on your side.” The man pointed at Akira’s burn. “From a wyvern, yes?”

Akira finally looked away, glancing at the burn on his left side. He clicked his tongue as he leered at the man once more.

“What does it matter to you?”

“Demons can’t survive a wyvern’s breath, let alone walk around in a blizzard for such a long time.” The man rolled up his left sleeve to his elbow, revealing a massive burn scar that covered the entire forearm. “Humans, on the other hand, can survive much worse fire than that.”

Akira scoffed and sheathed his sword as the man grinned.

“Now that you’ve settled down,” the man said, “do you mind telling me your predicament?”

Akira paused for a moment. Should he really be trusting this man? He seemed trustworthy enough, but Akira was still reluctant to reply.

“Well, I was coming home from a market run and-”

The faint sound of horses cut Akira off, and both men turned to see the glow of torchlight in the distance. A mob of soldiers—some on horseback, others on white pegasi—were approaching, led by a knight atop a black pegasus. The man clicked his tongue.

“Dammit, they’ve already caught up!”

“They?” Akira scratched his head with one hand and scrunched his eyes.

“Okay, the story can wait,” the man said suddenly, pulling Akira’s arm, “But we must leave. Now.”

Akira looked back at the soldiers, still squinting.

“Wait, but I thought you worked for them.”

“That matters not! Just run!” The man yanked Akira’s arm, causing Akira to stumble into a run.

The two ran through the forest, the man unsheathing his blade and periodically looking back. Akira just kept following the man, not bothering to turn around.

Akira’s heart pounded his chest, threatening to drown out the galloping of the horses behind him. The rush of adrenaline he was experiencing was not enough to mask his aching limbs. His knees threatened to cave in as he took each agonizing step.

After a while, the man took Akira’s arm and directed him to the left through the thick of the trees. They kept running, swerving in and out of the trunks, until they reached a cliff. The man looked down and saw what he hoped was fresh powder at the bottom.

“Alright,” the man said while turning around, “I trusted you, and now I need you to trust me.”

Akira replied with a nod.

“Okay. We’re jumping,” the man said before launching himself off the edge of the cliff.

Akira took a second to process what had just happened before a thud brought him back to his senses.

“Wait, we?!” Akira peered over the edge in disbelief as he saw the man relatively unscathed and motioning for Akira. Akira gulped as he froze in place. The fall was at least 10 meters and the man expected him to jump?

“Akira, just jump! Hurry!” the man called out.

Akira remained static. He knew he had to trust the man, but he could not bring himself to jump. It was only when Akira heard the muffled neighs of the horses and the flaps of the pegasus’ wings that he forced his body to move. He took a deep breath before running off the cliff, closing his eyes and bracing as he fell through the air.

Akira passed out on impact.