The night was colder than usual.
The wind howled through the wooden slats of the small, empty hut where Renjiro had been left to sleep. He curled into himself on the thin, tattered futon, his tiny hands gripping the rough fabric as he shivered. There was no warmth here. No voices to soothe him.
Only the darkness.
The same darkness that had been there since the beginning.
And then, it spoke.
A voice—not from outside, not from any villager or elder, but from within him. It wasn't a whisper like before. It was deeper now, richer, vibrating through his bones like a second heartbeat.
"You are awake."
Renjiro's breath hitched. He pulled the blanket over his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away.
"You hear me now, don't you?" the voice rumbled, steady and patient.
He did. It was inside him.
Something deep. Something vast.
He shook his head violently. No. No, I don't hear anything.
"Do not be afraid, little one. I have always been with you."
A hand. Not a real one, but the feeling of one, resting against his back. His body went rigid, but there was no weight, no warmth. Just pressure, just presence—like a shadow stretching over his skin.
"Do you know what you are?"
Renjiro whimpered. "A monster."
The voice was silent for a moment. Then, it laughed.
A deep, resonating chuckle that curled around him like smoke.
"No, child. Not yet. But you will be."
The First Glimpse
He didn't sleep that night.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it.
A massive form, shifting in the darkness of his mind. No clear shape, no face, just a mass of writhing shadows with eyes that glowed like dying embers. It watched him, waiting.
And deep inside, something pulled at him—hunger.
Not his hunger. Its hunger.
A need so vast it made his stomach twist, his throat dry, his hands shake. It wanted something.
And for the first time, a thought crept into Renjiro's mind, so quiet he almost missed it.
What if I gave in?
Would the hunger go away? Would the voice finally stop whispering?
His fingers twitched. His mouth felt dry.
And then—
Knock.
A sharp sound against the door of his hut.
Renjiro's breath caught, his entire body going stiff. No one ever knocked. No one ever visited.
He hesitated before slowly getting up, bare feet padding across the wooden floor. The hunger inside him coiled, watching.
He slid the door open.
And for the first time in his life, someone was waiting for him.
A man knelt in front of him, eyes gentle but tired, his hair streaked with gray at the edges. He wore the armor of a seasoned warrior, but there was no hostility in his gaze.
Just warmth.
"You must be Renjiro," the man said, voice steady. "My name is Takeshi. I'm here to help you.
Takeshi – The Mentor Who Shouldn't Have Been
Takeshi was a man who carried the weight of his past on his shoulders, though he never spoke of it. His broad frame hinted at years of rigorous training, his posture always steady—neither rigid like a soldier nor slouched like a man defeated.
His hair was dark brown, streaked with gray, tied loosely at the nape of his neck, a sign of both his age and his experience. Deep lines creased the corners of his mouth and eyes, though they were not the marks of laughter. They were the remnants of battles fought long ago, of losses endured in silence.
His eyes were his most striking feature—deep-set and dark, but not unkind. They held a quiet sorrow, a lingering regret, yet beneath that, there was something else. A flicker of warmth, of patience, of understanding.
He wore the armor of a seasoned warrior, though it was far from pristine. His dark blue and black shinobi robes were faded from years of use, reinforced at the shoulders and forearms with protective plating. A single scar ran down the left side of his jaw, disappearing beneath his collar, a testament to battles survived.
Takeshi did not carry himself like the village's other warriors—those who saw battle as honor, who lived for duty alone. There was no arrogance in his movements, no pride in his stance.
Instead, he moved with the quiet presence of a man who had lost much… yet still chose to stand.