"Prologue"
Passing his hand over the infant's head, the Sage spoke:
"As long as we and our faith endure, all that is sinful shall be healed. May the world be to you as the scent of flowers—and may you find the life you never had."
The child, in whose eyes lived only darkness, smiled at the touch. He reached out for beauty, clutching at hope.
Quieter Than Grass
Walking through the Eastern Forest, where the trees reached for the heavens, Yajiro and Kei savored their childhood.
The grass beneath Yajiro's feet flattened, yet it did not rustle—as if it were afraid. Kei did not notice.
When Kei caught a rabbit, he hurried to show it to Yajiro, who was busy studying the structure of the trees.
"Hey, Yajiro! Look at this!"
Yajiro approached.
The rabbit in Kei's hands froze. Then its eyes widened, pupils shrinking to needle-points.
It began to thrash and shriek—not like an animal, but like a toy with a snapped spring.
"What's wrong with it?" Kei didn't pull his hand away in time.
The rabbit bit through his skin, drawing blood, and bolted into the brush.
Yajiro stared at the red droplet on his friend's finger.
Then he looked toward the woods. Something rustled in the bushes and went silent. Even the insects stopped their buzzing.
"Maybe it was just scared of something?" Kei said, though the confidence had left his voice.
Yajiro knew what the rabbit was afraid of. It was afraid of him. He had known this since he was five, when his kitten leapt from the window to its death.
"I guess so," Yajiro lied, a faint sadness in his voice.
And for a fleeting second, the darkness flickered in his own eyes.
"Let's get back to the house! I need to fix this finger," Kei said.
Together, they ran. As they sped toward the house, Yajiro watched Kei's bleeding finger with a nervous intensity, unable to look away. He could smell the blood—even though he shouldn't. Not from this distance.
Kei vanished inside to find his parents. Yajiro remained alone.
The sun shone unnaturally bright, and the air was fresh, but not a single animal stirred nearby.
Even the ants on the path had frozen in place. There was only Yajiro and his shadow.
Yajiro looked down at his hands, his legs—and suddenly, he didn't see skin. He saw meat. Layers of it. Red, wet, pulsing. He realized he was trapped in a body made of butchered pieces.
His head spun. His hands began to shake. A wave of agitation rose in his chest, relentless. From his dark brown eyes, the first tears fell. Little Yajiro had no understanding of what was happening to him.
His panic was cut short by Kei, who emerged with a bandaged finger and a grin.
"Thinking about nonsense again, aren't you?" Kei teased, patting him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go get some apples. The sweet ones. Your favorite."
Yajiro nodded. He didn't want apples. He wanted someone to tell him the truth. But no one did.
Yajiro didn't follow him. He told Kei he was tired and wandered toward the church. The Sage sat on the porch, clutching a crumpled letter.
"Is something wrong?" Yajiro asked.
The Sage tucked the letter away quickly.
"Nothing, child. Just someone begging for alms."
But when Yajiro stepped inside, the Sage smoothed out the paper. Scrawled in charcoal were the words:
"We know where he is. Give us the child of hell, or we burn it all."
The Sage crossed himself. He still believed he could protect him.
A dark evening. Little Yajiro sat by the fireplace but couldn't find his toy chick, Pili—a gift from Vanessa, the young church servant.
Thinking he might have left it outside, he stepped out into the yard. As he descended the stairs, the memory of the rabbit from earlier that day flashed through his mind.
He began his search, but what he found horrified him.
"Pili? Is that you?" Yajiro whispered, his voice a mix of sorrow and confusion.
Instead of his toy, he found a severed leg.
He fell to his knees, sobbing, pressing the remains of the toy to his head. Rain began to pour, mixing with the mud on his face.
Driven by a desperateneed to know who had done this, he tucked the scrap into his tunic and pressed on.
The cold rain masked his tears. Then, from around the corner, he saw it: a kennel housing a massive, aggressive guard dog. And there, by the kennel, lay the rest of the toy—chewed, mangled, and soaked in saliva.
Yajiro stared, realizing the dog had torn apart his second-best friend. Fury and cold rain chilled him to the bone. He began to lose himself—his self-control, or perhaps his consciousness. He was just a small boy, and this dog was larger and broader than him.
He didn't understand why this had happened. Why things were so cruel.
In a fit of rage, he crouched down and began to tear at his own hair, clutching it with white knuckles.
A local grocer, walking home from her shift, spotted him. She hesitated, then decided to help. But before she could get within three hundred yards, she saw what no one was meant to see.
The Sage's greatest fears. The things the religious cults whispered about in the shadows.
Yajiro began to move. Slowly, calmly, with a chilling focus. He walked toward the kennel to take back what was his. To take revenge. His eyes were dry now, hidden behind wet, matted hair. He picked up a heavy, jagged stone.
As he closed the final meter, the hound emerged—vicious, terrifying, froth dripping from its jaws. It growled, baring its teeth, driven by instinct. But Yajiro felt no fear. None at all.
The dog actually flinched. It backed away.
Too late. Yajiro lunged. Trampling over his ruined toy, he threw himself at the beast with the stone. The first blow shattered the dog's lower jaw.
The animal retreated into the kennel, whimpering, staring at Yajiro. He towered over it. In the gloom of the storm, something glowed in his black eyes—a light that meant he was ready to kill.
Standing tall, he raised the stone and began to strike. Again and again. The dog shrieked, then he hit it in the throat, leaving it only enough breath to whine piteously. The fifth blow caught it square in the skull—shattering bone, ending it. He raised the stone for a sixth time, but his hand froze in mid-air.
And then—darkness. Not the darkness of the eyes, but the darkness within. It swallowed him without a sound. His body stopped obeying. His thoughts shattered. He simply vanished.
He sat up. His whole body ached, especially his hands. He lifted his palms—they were red. Tacky. Blood seeped from cuts, but it wasn't just his own.
"What..." Yajiro whispered.
He looked into the kennel. He saw what was left of the dog. A mass of fur, broken bone, and entrails mixed with red clay. The scent of iron hit him like a physical blow.
"No... no, no, no..."
He scrambled back, leaping to his feet. The stone was still gripped in his hand. He cast it away as if it were a venomous snake. It splashed into a puddle.
"I don't... I don't remember..."
Nearby lay the toy. Or what was left of it.
Torn, wet, covered in spit and blood. The leg he had found earlier was still tucked in his shirt.
Yajiro looked at his hands. At the dead dog. At the toy.
He wanted to scream, but only a sob broke from his throat.
Then, he ran. Not toward home. Just away. Away from the kennel, away from the blood, and away from the thing he had just become—even if he couldn't remember becoming it.
The woman who had seen it all had long since vanished into the night. But she remembered: the boy had kept hitting the dog even after it stopped breathing. Then he had fallen and remained motionless for half an hour. And when he woke up—he cried like a normal child.
That was the most terrifying part of all.
Author's Note:
This is my first work after a long hiatus. I'm looking forward to your honest feedback in the comments. Thank you for reading!