It always snowed on the day of the festival.
The elders said it was a blessing-a sign that the spirits were pleased, that evil would be kept away for another year. White paper charms hung from trees in the distant village, prayers whispered into the cold air. Fires were lit. Bells were rung.
But far beyond the village, deep in the mountains where the forest grew thick and silent, Toji had never seen any of it.
His parents lived alone, cut off from the world by towering pines and endless snow.
The forest was their home, their shield, and their prison. No roads led to their cabin. No neighbors came to visit. Only the wind, the animals, and the slow passing of seasons kept them company.
Toji's father was a hunter.
Not the kind who chased rabbits or birds, but one who hunted the top predators-the beasts other men feared. Wolves. Bears. Creatures whose skins sold for high prices in the village market. He would disappear into the forest for days and return bloodied, carrying pelts over his shoulders.
Those skins, along with the finely sewn clothes his wife made, were sold through traders who never spoke of where they came from.
Toji had never seen the village with his own eyes.
He imagined it often-the noise, the colors, the market stalls filled with people. He wondered what it felt like to walk among others, to hear voices that weren't swallowed by trees. But his father always said the same thing.
Stay in the forest.
So Toji obeyed.
Mostly.
Whenever his father went out to hunt, Toji followed-quiet as a shadow. He learned by watching. How to move without snapping a branch. How to hold a dagger so it felt like an extension of the hand. Where to strike so the animal would fall quickly. Cleanly.
His mother hated it.
She was a tailor, known-at least by name-for her beautiful kimonos. Her hands were gentle but strong, fingers skilled from years of stitching patterns into silk. She never stepped into the forest to hunt, never wanted Toji anywhere near that life. She wanted him beside her, learning the trade, safe from claws and teeth.
But Toji never listened.
The forest called to him louder than needles and thread ever could. Curiosity burned in him, mixed with mischief and a hunger to see more than trees and snow. He wanted the world his father walked into and returned from. He wanted the village. He wanted more.
One day, his father finally made him a promise.
If Toji could catch a deer on his own, he would take him to the village.
From that moment on, Toji trained harder than ever. Days blurred into weeks. Weeks into months. His hands grew steady. His steps grew light. Two months passed beneath falling snow and silent moons, until the day finally came.
The day of the festival.
The day the snow fell heavier than ever before.
The forest was quieter than usual.
Snow fell in slow, steady sheets, muffling every sound until the world felt distant, like it was holding its breath. Toji moved carefully between the trees, his small frame wrapped in furs far too big for him, a dagger clenched tightly in his gloved hand.
This was it.
He had followed his father countless times before, but this was the first hunt that mattered. The first one that would decide whether the promise was kept-or broken.
He remembered his father's voice in his head.
Watch the tracks. Not the animal.
Toji crouched, brushing snow aside with his fingers. There-fresh prints. A deer. Not old. The edges were sharp, not yet softened by falling snow. His heart began to pound, but he forced himself to breathe slowly, just like he had been taught
One step. Then another.
He moved against the wind so his scent wouldn't carry. Every crunch of snow under his boots felt thunderous, but the forest did not react. The trees stood still. The birds were silent.
After a while, he saw it.
The deer stood in a small clearing, its coat dusted white, head lowered as it dug through snow to reach frozen grass. It looked peaceful. Unaware.
Toji swallowed.
His hands trembled-not from the cold, but from the weight of what he was about to do. This wasn't watching anymore. This was his choice.
He crept closer, remembering where to strike. Fast. Clean. No hesitation.
Just as he raised the dagger-
A sharp crack echoed through the forest.
The deer's head snapped up. In a blur of movement, it bolted, crashing through the trees and vanishing into the white.
Toji froze.
His chest tightened. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty clearing, shame burning hotter than the cold. He had failed. The village, the promise-gone.
Then he heard it.
Another sound. Low. Heavy.
Not a deer.
Toji slowly turned.
The forest no longer felt empty.
From between the trees, eyes glinted in the darkness-watching. Not one pair. Several. Shapes moved just beyond his vision, too large, too deliberate. His breath caught in his throat as a deep instinct screamed at him to run.
These were not ordinary animals.
The snow continued to fall, silent and indifferent, as the forest closed in around him.
And far away, unseen by Toji, the festival bells began to ring.
The sound of bells broke his focus.
For a moment, Toji forgot the hunt, forgot the deer, forgot the forest watching him. The bells were distant, faint—but unmistakable. Festival bells. The kind that should have been ringing far away, down in the village.
His heart skipped.
Home.
Without thinking, he turned and ran.
Snow kicked up behind him as his boots pounded the ground. Branches clawed at his clothes. His breath burned in his chest, but he didn't stop. The bells rang again—clearer now—pulling him forward like a thread tied around his chest.
But something was wrong.
The farther he ran, the farther the bells seemed to drift away.
"No…" he muttered, forcing himself faster, legs aching, lungs screaming. Each time he thought he was close, the sound shifted—slipping deeper into the forest, leading him somewhere he had never been.
Then, suddenly, the bells stopped.
The silence hit harder than the sound ever had.
Toji slowed, breath ragged, heart hammering. The forest around him changed. A thick fog began to roll in, crawling between the trees, swallowing trunks and branches until the world shrank to a few pale steps in front of him.
"Where did it go…?" he whispered.
He turned, trying to retrace his steps.
Nothing looked familiar.
The fog was too thick. The trails were gone. The forest he knew—every tree, every path—had vanished as if it had never existed. Panic crept into his chest as he realized how far he was from home.
He should have run.
But curiosity rooted him in place.
Something had made that sound. Something wanted him to hear it.
Moving slowly now, Toji took a cautious step forward.
Then he saw it.
A shadow shifted to his right.
It was massive—far too large to belong to any animal he knew. It loomed through the fog, its shape distorted, stretching unnaturally between the trees. Toji's body went cold. Fear locked his muscles in place.
He was alone.
Lost.
Exhausted from chasing the bells, his legs trembled beneath him. His hands felt numb. He wanted to scream, to run, to do anything—but he couldn't move.
The shadow moved again.
Closer.
His breath hitched. Instinct finally broke through the fear. Toji drew his dagger, the blade shaking in his grip as he held it out in front of him. He knew it wasn't enough. Knew it wouldn't save him.
Regret crashed down on him all at once.
I wish I stayed at home.
The thought echoed in his mind, louder than the bells had ever been.
The fog pressed in. The shadow loomed.
There was no running now.
Only one choice remained.
To survive.