Kaoru had always thought the moon was the best thing about their little village of Tsukikage. On clear nights, when the air smelled like wildflowers and the stars winked down, he'd climb onto the roof of their house with Sayuri and Rei, the three of them giggling as they made up stories about the moon being a giant lantern for lost adventurers. Kaoru, at nine, was the oldest, so he'd always take the lead, pointing at the silvery glow and saying it was their protector, watching over them while they slept. Sayuri, who was eight and loved making things, would braid grass into tiny crowns for them to wear, her fingers quick and clever. And Rei, just seven and small for his age, would curl up between them, his blue eyes wide as he whispered that the stars looked like fireflies caught in a net. They weren't siblings by blood—Mama and Papa had taken them in one by one, Kaoru first after his birth parents died in a flood, then Sayuri when her mama passed, then Rei as a baby left at the village gate—but they were a family, the only one Kaoru had ever known. The moon felt like a friend back then, something steady and kind. But tonight, the moon wasn't kind. Tonight, it was red—bright, angry red, like someone had poured blood over it and hung it back in the sky. Kaoru didn't like it one bit.
He was sitting by the window, his knees pulled up to his chest, the wood creaking under him as he stared out into the darkness. The air felt wrong, heavy and thick, pressing down on him like a blanket he couldn't push off. Tsukikage was too quiet—no crickets chirping, no dogs barking, just a stillness that made his stomach twist into knots. He'd tried to tell Mama about it earlier, tugging at her sleeve while she chopped carrots for dinner, the steady *thunk-thunk* of her knife mixing with the sound of Papa sharpening his old hunting spear by the hearth, his hands moving slow and careful, like he always did before a hunt. Mama had just smiled, her eyes tired, and said, "It's just a storm coming, Kaoru. Go play with Sayuri and Rei." But this didn't feel like a storm. This felt like something bad—really bad.
Kaoru pressed his nose against the window, his breath fogging up the glass, and squinted into the night. The village square of Tsukikage was empty, the little houses with their thatched roofs looking small and frail under the red glow. He could see the shrine at the edge of the square, its crescent moon carving catching the light, and for a second, he thought maybe everything would be okay. But then a scream tore through the quiet, so sharp it made him jump, his elbow knocking over the clay cup on the table. It shattered on the floor, the pieces scattering like tiny teeth, but Kaoru barely noticed, because the scream came again—louder this time, joined by shouts and the sound of something heavy crashing.
"Kaoru, don't!" Sayuri's voice was high and shaky, her small hands grabbing his arm as he reached for the door. She was standing in the middle of the room, her brown hair falling out of its braid, her eyes big and scared, shining with tears she was trying to hold back. She was clutching Rei's hand, pulling him close, and Rei was already crying, his little face all scrunched up, his hands gripping her nightdress like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. At seven, Rei was the smallest, and Kaoru knew he didn't understand what was happening, but he could feel it—the fear, the danger, the way the world was breaking. They weren't related by blood, but Kaoru had promised to protect them the day Mama brought Rei home, a tiny bundle wrapped in a blanket, and he'd meant it with everything he had.
"Mama said to stay inside!" Sayuri whispered, her voice trembling. "She said—she said to hide, Kaoru!"
"But—what's happening?" Kaoru's voice cracked, and he hated how scared he sounded. At nine, he was supposed to be the brave one, the one who kept them safe, like Papa had kept Tsukikage safe from that wild boar last summer. But the noises outside were getting worse—screams turning into awful, choking sounds, and then a roar that made the whole house shake, the walls creaking like they might fall. He yanked his arm free and peeked through the crack in the door, his hands trembling, and what he saw made his whole body go cold, like he'd been dunked in the river in winter.
Monsters. That's all he could think to call them, and even that didn't feel big enough. They were huge, bigger than the ox Papa used to plow the fields, with scales that glowed like the coals in the blacksmith's forge, red and hot and angry. Their claws were long, tearing through the dirt like it was nothing, and their eyes—yellow, glowing, like lanterns filled with fire—swept over the village, looking for something, or someone. Kaoru watched, his breath stuck in his throat, as one of the monsters smashed through Miss Hana's bakery, the roof caving in with a crash, flames bursting out like a dragon's breath. He saw Old Man Hiroshi try to run, his walking stick raised like it could do anything, but the monster swiped at him with a claw, and he fell, and he didn't get back up.
Then he heard Mama's scream—sharp, desperate, cutting through the chaos like a knife. Kaoru's heart stopped. He pushed the door open a little wider, just enough to see her standing in the square, her dark hair flying as she swung a broom at one of the monsters, trying to keep it away from their house. Papa was beside her, his freshly sharpened hunting spear in his hands, shouting, "Get back inside, Kaoru! Protect them!" But before Kaoru could move, the monster lunged, its claws slashing down, and Mama's scream cut off, her body crumpling to the ground. Papa roared, driving his spear into the monster's side, but another beast came from behind, and the last thing Kaoru saw was Papa disappearing under a wave of fire as their house's roof collapsed in a burst of flames.
Kaoru's stomach twisted so hard he thought he might be sick, his knees wobbling under him. He turned back to Sayuri and Rei, his hands shaking so bad he could barely hold onto the door. "We can't stay here," he whispered, his voice barely working, like someone had squeezed all the air out of him. "The fire—it's coming closer. We have to go."
Sayuri's eyes filled with tears, spilling over now, but she nodded, her lips pressed tight together like she was trying not to sob. Rei was crying harder, his little body shaking, and Kaoru wanted to hug him, to tell him it'd be okay, but he didn't know if it would be. He didn't know anything anymore, except that he had to get them out of here—Mama and Papa were gone, and he was all Sayuri and Rei had left. He grabbed the broken stick Papa had carved for him last summer—it was supposed to be a sword, even though it was too short, but it was all he had—and pushed open the back door, pulling Sayuri and Rei with him into the night.
The air outside was hot and thick, the smoke burning Kaoru's throat as they ran, their bare feet slipping on the dirt. Tsukikage was a nightmare—houses burning, people screaming, the monsters roaring as they tore through everything. Kaoru could hear the crackle of flames, the splintering of wood, the awful, wet sounds of claws meeting flesh, and he tried not to look, tried to focus on getting to the shrine at the edge of the square. Its wooden frame was still standing, the crescent moon carving on its altar glowing faintly, like a tiny piece of hope in the chaos. But the path was blocked—one of the monsters had turned toward them, its yellow eyes narrowing, its claws dragging through the dirt as it stomped closer.
Kaoru's heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst. He pushed Sayuri and Rei toward a pile of broken barrels nearby, whispering, "Hide!" They scrambled behind the barrels, the splintered wood scratching at their legs, but the monster was still coming, its raspy breathing louder now, its claws glinting in the firelight. Kaoru gripped his stick, his palms sweaty, and then something inside him… moved. It felt like a spark, hot and sharp, racing down his arms. He didn't know what it was, but he swung the stick anyway, and a burst of black energy shot out, small and wobbly, hitting the monster's claw. It roared, pulling back, and Kaoru stared at his hands, his mouth open. What *was* that?
"Kaoru, hide us!" Sayuri whispered, her voice shaking. She was muttering something, her eyes squeezed shut, and a faint shimmer, like moonlight, flickered around them, making the air feel cooler for a second. It wasn't much, but the monster hesitated, like it couldn't see them anymore. Rei was still crying, his hands gripping a dull blade he'd found in the dirt, and then the air around them… slowed, just for a heartbeat, like everything was stuck in mud. Kaoru didn't understand how they were doing this, but it gave him enough time to pull them toward the shrine, ducking into a crevice between its planks as another monster's roar shook the ground.
"We stick together," Kaoru said, wrapping his arms around them. Sayuri's breath was shaky against his shoulder, Rei's sobs muffled against his chest. They weren't his siblings by blood, but they were his family—his to protect, no matter what. The monsters were still out there, their roars echoing through the village, and Kaoru could feel the heat of the flames creeping closer, the smoke stinging his eyes. He didn't know how they were going to get out of this, didn't know if they could outrun the monsters or the fire. His hands shook as he held Sayuri and Rei tighter, his mind racing for a plan, any plan, but all he could think about was Mama's scream, Papa's shout, the way their house had burned.
Then a burst of blue light lit up the square, so bright Kaoru had to squint. The monsters screeched, scattering, and Kaoru peeked out, his eyes wide. An old man stood there, his silver hair glowing in the light, his tattered cloak flapping in the wind. He held a staff that shone with blue runes, and when he swung it, the air rippled, driving the monsters back.
The old man turned, his scarred face softening as he looked at them. "Such young ones, carrying the moon's burden," he said, his voice rough but kind, like the sound of gravel underfoot. He knelt in front of the crevice, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm Yorimitsu. Come with me—you'll be safe in the Forest of Whispers."
Kaoru didn't know if he could trust him. He didn't know if he could trust anyone after tonight. But the fire was closer now, licking at the shrine, and Sayuri and Rei were looking at him like he knew what to do. So he nodded, took their hands, and followed the old man into the dark, the red sky above them burning like a warning.