A few years into the future, in a world that no longer followed the path it once did...
Deep within an ancient forest, far to the east of Japan—where no road reached and the winds whispered only to the trees—there stood a cottage. Simple, yet beautiful. Isolated, yet warm. Nestled between thick roots and eternal shadows, like a secret hidden away from civilization itself.
That night, the rustling of the leaves was broken by something far more fragile—and far more human.
"Ahh... ahh... Aah..."
Soft sobs and muffled cries echoed through the wooden walls of the cottage, coming from one of the bedrooms.
In the kitchen, where steam still rose gently from a warm pot of soup, a young woman paused. With fair skin and a gentle expression, she looked barely past her twenties—but there was wisdom in her eyes, now darkened by concern.
"...Oh no. He's..."
She dropped the spoon and rushed through the narrow hallway, gently opening the bedroom door. Inside, a child lay face down on the bed, his face buried in the pillow, shoulders shaking with deep sobs.
She approached quietly, sitting at the edge of the bed, her voice soft and full of tenderness.
"What happened? Are you hurt...? Did someone say something to you?"
No response.
Only more tears. His small frame trembled, swallowed by silence and shame.
She leaned down and gently pulled him into her arms. Her fingers brushed through his hair, and with a corner of her apron, she wiped the tears from his cheeks.
"Come on... Tell me what's hurting."
There was a pause. A breath. And then, a whisper barely audible.
"...I'm a failure."
She blinked, surprised.
"What...?"
"I'm a complete failure," he repeated, more firmly now, though his voice cracked. "Nothing I do works. All my mentors... they gave up on me. No one wants to train me. I just... I just wanted…"
His voice broke again. He tried to hide his face, but she didn't let him. She gently held his shoulder and rested her head against his, offering quiet comfort.
"Don't say that. You're just beginning. You only need to try once more. I believe in you, even if no one else does."
"It's no use! I'll never be strong enough. I'll never be able to protect you... or this house. You should've left me there… that day... you should've let me die."
Her heart sank. The words struck like needles.
"You promised you'd never say that again…"
"...Sorry."
Silence returned—thick, like the darkness outside.
Then, her eyes shifted to the dresser beside the bed. And suddenly, a memory sparked.
"Wait... I think I have something that might help."
"A book...? Right now?"
She stood up. Her fingers slid across the spines of the top shelf, but that wasn't what she sought. She removed every book until the bare wood of the back panel was visible. In one corner, dust had gathered—except for a clean square, slightly out of place.
She pressed it.
Clack.
A portion of the wall opened cleanly, revealing a hidden compartment.
From inside, she pulled out an old book with a cracked leather cover. At its center, embossed in faint relief, was a crest: a human hand reaching toward a deformed claw, as if sealing a pact. The title was written in a forgotten language, with golden letters that still shimmered under the dim light of the room.
"This book tells the story of a girl. A girl who wanted to become a hunter. Do you know why?"
The boy, now more attentive, wiped away the last of his tears.
"Why?"
She smiled, though her eyes were moist.
"To protect everyone. Even if it cost her life. She wasn't born a prodigy. To become who she was… she had to fight. A lot. She suffered, fell, rose again. And in the end... she faced fate itself without fear."
He nodded quietly.
"Do you want to hear it?"
"...I think so."
She opened the book carefully. Its pages smelled of time and memory.
"Alright, then. Once upon a time, there was a small and beautiful girl with golden hair. Brave... but also full of fear. Her name was…"