The waning moon hung over the mountains of rural Japan, casting a pale glow across the night.
The wind whispered through the bamboo trees, carrying with it a distant murmur — almost like a muffled sob.
A lone female figure walked along the dirt road leading to the small village.
Her gray cloak, torn along the edges, dragged across the damp ground.
The hood covered her face, revealing only a few strands of white hair falling over her forehead.
She staggered.
Her steps were uneven, as if every movement demanded a strength she no longer possessed.
The lantern by a distant gate flickered, briefly lighting the road.
It was enough to reveal one detail:
The cloak was stained…
with blood.
The woman drew a breath — a faint, barely existent sound — and forced herself forward.
The village was close.
Very close.
The bells of the nearby temples echoed softly in the distance.
But before she could reach them…
Her legs gave out.
She fell to her knees.
The lantern nearby swayed in the wind.
And then, drained of all strength, she collapsed fully onto the road, unconscious.
Silence claimed the night.
For a few moments, nothing moved.
Until…
Soft footsteps approached, accompanied by the wavering glow of a handmade lantern.
A man in simple clothing — seemingly a local villager — stopped beside the fallen figure.
His eyes widened at the sight.
"Hey… can you hear me?" he asked, kneeling down.
He touched her shoulder carefully.
No response.
The lantern flickered and illuminated the woman's face beneath the hood for a brief second…
And the man recoiled, startled by what he saw.
"My God… who are you?"
The flame trembled.
The night trembled with it.
And in the distance, a howl echoed across the mountains, as if announcing the awakening of something that should never have returned.