I used to hear noises from the forest.
Unnatural, guttural, growling noises that tore at the silence, sounds that spoke of malice and untamed hunger.
Then I saw light.
Soft golden strings of light above the trees.
And for a moment… The noises stopped.
My elders taught me that these growling sounds were wraiths: malevolent existences that should have been erased, but instead lingered, feeding on whatever allowed them to remain.. Not living, but destructive forces existing solely to obliterate. As Bearers, our purpose was to eradicate them using Aspects—unique abilities to channel and manipulate our existential energy.
The light came from manifestations. Ancient, vastly powerful entities—gods, spirits, higher beings—shaped existence, acting both benignly and capriciously. But they were not all good. Because where light was, darkness followed; we call them demons. All were equally worshipped, sought for protection, or feared for the promise of power.
Our house worshipped the Something, an entity without name or form, known as one of the most powerful spirits for its ability to turn an Aspect against its user. Its use of this power is entirely self-willed and unpredictably volatile; the veilder never knows whether the Something's blessing will lead to victory or utter destruction. The Something had no name because it simply forbade us mortals from speaking it. Those who dared to utter it sometimes vanished, bled from their eyes and nose, or simply descended into madness.
Legend states the Something cyclically selects a worthy clan vessel to wield its near-boundless power. Crucially, this vessel can pass the monumental power to a successor when their life is threatened, ensuring the Something's immortal existence and preserving its saving or destructive power through a sacred lineage.
It's been 500 years since the last vessel was seen. Some say it had died before the power was transferred to the next vessel. Some say that it turned into a demon and abandoned humanity or was captured by the ancient demon who had been dormant for over a 1000 years. While possessing this immense power extends one's lifespan for hundreds of years, rumors had been circulating of the possible death of the last incarnation which created panic throughout my house.
Despite everything, our powerful and distinguished bearer house maintained two paramount purposes: to rigorously perfect our ancestral Aspect, and to sustain unwavering worship of the Something. We live in desperate hope that it will one day return, allowing us to reclaim the unimaginable power that can both destroy and save everything.
Up in the mountains, shrouded in mist and ancient cedars, everything felt profoundly isolated. It was as if our very existence was somehow severed from the modern world, perpetually stuck in an era of ancient rituals.
For years, I had rationalized this isolation. I used to think that this was solely due to our leaders' deeply held conviction that the Yokojon house, as one of the most powerful and storied houses in the sorcerer world, needed to maintain absolute secrecy. Our Aspect, our heritage, had to be guarded fiercely—only to be passed down to those within the community who possessed enough raw, volatile cursed energy to make them truly worthy of wielding such a sacred power.
The elders chose me, despite my incomplete mastery of our devastating flame Aspect, to become a bearer. This conviction subjected me to daily, soul-crushing training, eventually making the isolation, secrecy, and rigor not just their belief, but my own reality.
I didn't believe for a moment that the Something would ever return, nor that it would choose me as its next vessel. But then, inheriting the spirit's power wasn't my goal anyway. I desired neither the overwhelming power nor the crushing responsibility that came with being the community's spiritual and magical figurehead. I never felt the inherent urge to save people, nor did I feel compelled to exercise my burgeoning Aspect to purify the world of wraiths and manifestations. Yet, I never felt selfish for this lack of altruism. My sole, driving ambition was to carve out my own place in the world, to forge my own destiny, unburdened by the expectations of the Yokojon name.
This made me an anomaly. All my friends who were my age, those bright-eyed, ambitious youths, dreamed of nothing less than becoming elite bearers and attending a prestigious academy. They craved recognition and purpose.
I found their path senseless, but they were fanatic spirit worshippers—a fervor alien to me.
Though my Yokojon lineage dictated belief, spirits had been absent for centuries. It was impossible to genuinely believe in the powerful spirit and its chosen wielder; to me, it was just a comforting legend.
Hisakage, my closest friend and perhaps only true confidant, was the son of a high-ranked Yokojon house member. Rigorously trained to lead the community one day, his formidable, complex Aspect—a powerful variation of our core fire creating Aspects—led elders to whisper he would undoubtedly be the next vessel of the Something, if it ever returned.
"Your Aspect technique is even better than mine," he said, sounding argumentative, maybe jealous. He'd approached silently from behind as I watched the valley. The evening wind ruffled his bluish-black hair. The massive orange setting sun behind the peaks lit his tough, delightful face, faint practice scars, and sharp, intelligent amber eyes.
"Don't be ridiculous, Hisakage," I retorted. "You could take me out in a single flick of your finger before I even knew what hit me." My tone was slightly sarcastic, sounding utterly uninterested in his typical test of strength.
He gave a dry, knowing laugh. "You know as well as I do that you have the most potential to become a true bearer, second only to me, of course. So don't be so damn modest."
"You may be right about the potential," I conceded, watching the last sliver of the sun vanish. "But I still don't know what I actually want to do with my life, Hisakage. I mean, you will one day become the head of the Yokujon house and one of the most powerful bearers in the entire world, likely with a high seat in the Bearer Council. I just... I wish I had a clear purpose like that."
He looked at me intently, his eyes searching, looking for the right words that might comfort me. He gave me a kind, understanding smile.
"Give it time," he advised softly. "And who knows, maybe when the Something does come back, it will choose you as its next vessel." He spoke the words with genuine positivity, a subtle hunch of almost childlike excitement flickering in his voice.
I couldn't help but roll my eyes dramatically. "The Something is not coming back, Hisakage. It's just a delusion, a nostalgic legend at best."
"Or, you know, if the whole bearer thing isn't your speed, you could just get hitched and become a good, old-fashioned housewife," he suggested, a small, mocking grin playing on his lips. His tone was cocky, drenched in sarcasm, making it clear what he really thought of that idea.
"No," I snapped, low and tight with annoyance. "That would destroy me." I shook my head sharply, rejecting the idea entirely. "I'm a fighter. I won't surrender my independence for a kitchen and a husband. I won't be anyone's property, ever. I have far too much fire for a domestic life."
He stayed silent then, accepting my cynicism, and I rested my head comfortably on his shoulder. The air was turning cold, crisp and clean.
"I'm proud of you though," I murmured after a minute, my voice muffled against his thick, warm jacket.
"I'm proud of you too," He replied, his gaze fixed on the darkening mountains.
"What for?"
"For being the second best," he said, his voice instantly switching to a challenging, mocking tone, the true spirit of our rivalry resurfacing.
Ignoring his taunt, I instantly retaliated with a precise, controlled burst of energy—a playful flame that zipped past his ear. He swiftly raised his own Aspect's shield to deflect it.
We both started laughing then, the sound echoing across the silent mountainside, and we began chasing each other around the training grounds like children. Those moments, those simple, carefree days of potential and companionship, were the days that I knew, even then, would never truly come back.