Winter—a dreadful time for anyone, really. Freezing temperatures. One wrong step and you're knee-deep in snow. Ice-covered roads. All delightful.
At the highest point, deep in the snow-covered mountains, there was a small clearing surrounded by trees that were, like everything else, blanketed in snow. And in that small, tranquil yet dangerously calm and silent clearing walked a man—knee-deep in snow.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
"Ghh!"
Reiji Kurozuma covered his frozen nose with stiff, painfully hard-to-move fingers, trying to warm them with his breath. The icy surface of the snow offered slight resistance before cracking under the weight of his foot. Each step sank him knee-deep.
"It feels like my damn fingers and toes are about to fall off. This sucks."
Reiji cursed under his breath. He was homeless. His parents had passed away from illness, and his older brother had left to live his own life. Reiji lived alone in the mountains, in a tent, refusing to be like every poor homeless bastard soaking in the streets and covered in dirt.
…
The forest was quiet and still. Any movement stood out, making hunting easier. Reiji had a bow slung diagonally across his back—from his left shoulder to his right hip. The string pressed tightly against his chest, and the hard wood rested against the quiver on his back filled with arrows.
The only thing keeping him warm was a kimono. A kimono without sleeves.
The quiver on his back was handcrafted from leather. He didn't pride himself on it—he'd done a sloppy job, even by his own standards. It was made from thick leather, with uneven, weirdly shaped sticks acting as internal support.
The bow slung across his back was stolen, along with the arrows he reused again and again.
Suddenly, he dropped to the ground—he'd spotted a deer. It was as if the world held its breath and went completely silent. Instead of taking slow steps, he pushed his legs through the snow to avoid loud, cracking noises.
Once close enough, he silently and slowly aimed his bow. He pulled out an old, used arrow. A professional archer would call it insufficient, but for Reiji, it was all he could ever ask for.
With the bow pulled back, he fired.
Twang! Thwack!
His arrow hit the deer's side, causing it to flee and leaving a trail of blood that stood in stark contrast to the white snow.
Surprise filled his face. He took off after the deer.
I need that arrow back!
The need to retrieve the arrow—and possibly have deer meat for food—filled Reiji's mind as he followed the easily visible blood trail in the beautifully clean, untouched snow.
He kept following it, making sure not to stray from the imaginary route the blood had carved.
I should catch the deer if I just follow this trail.
His steps were hasty, even in the deep snow.
If I don't catch it, I'll probably starve today. No—I will catch it, even if it's the last thing I do.
He found the deer on the ground a while later. Blood-stained snow surrounded the dead animal. His heart hammered with joy as he picked up the pace and ran as fast as he could toward it.
Yes, yes, yes! I've got it!
He pulled out another arrow from his quiver and used it as a knife to cut the entry wound open.
Ssssk!
The arrow made a rough noise, suggesting that cutting the wound open wasn't easy. Nonetheless, he managed to pull out the arrow he'd shot first.
It had fully entered the deer's side—its entire length, from tip to feathers, buried inside the body.
He placed the blood-covered arrow into the quiver and slung the bow diagonally across his back, from his left shoulder to his right hip. Without much difficulty, he picked up the dead deer and slung it over his right shoulder, being careful not to damage the bow.
…
He sat in a circle dug into the snow, about four meters in diameter. The edges were high enough that, when seated, he was completely invisible beneath the never-ending white blanket.
In the middle was a campfire that kept him warm and cooked the deer meat he was eating off a wooden disk. The disk was handcrafted—he'd used his katana to carve it with precise strikes.
"Hm. The sun is setting. I should go to the village."
He stood up and slung his scabbard and katana diagonally across his back, leaving his quiver and bow behind. The handle rested behind his right shoulder, and the scabbard angled down to his left hip.
He then made his way down the icy, snow-covered mountain. He surfed down the icy paths he'd carved by going up and down the mountain every night and dawn. A grin stretched ear to ear as he glided across the ice.
"Woohoo!"
Reiji reached a flat patch of the path and came to a halt. The village, which was right in front of him, was built around one main dirt road, with houses on each side. He walked a bit farther and turned right, now heading uphill.
The village was still busy, even as the sun had only about thirty minutes before sinking behind the hills, plunging everything into a darkness so thick you could touch it.
"Mommy, Mommy!"
"What is it, dear?"
"Who is that man?"
The child, who seemed to be four years old, pointed at Reiji. He stood out—the only one with a katana and a sleeveless kimono, a very summer outfit to wear in the dead of winter.
"Stay away from him, dear. He's a strange man who wanders the village at night. We call him The Ghost Who Learned to Breathe."
Reiji Kurozuma ignored the mother and child. He looked off to the horizon at the setting sun. When it dropped below the hills, everything went dark, as if a switch had been flipped, and he was the only one left outside. He carefully—but not obviously—made sure no one wandered off.
He knew he was considered a strange man. Parents often stepped in front of their children to shield them from him. He completely understood. Reiji believed that no one in this village deserved to be in any danger, so he protected them every single night until dawn without fail.
...
He spent the night walking up and down the main dirt road. He walked uphill to where the village ended, then turned around and headed downhill. At the lower edge of the village, he turned around again and walked back uphill—over and over. He thought he looked like a crazy, unstable man.
After what felt like forever, he turned around once more at the lower edge of the village, planning to walk back up again, growing tired and irritated. But this time, as he turned, he felt something—something at the other end of the village, straight ahead.
He stared into the darkness. He couldn't tell if he was losing his mind or if something was actually there. Reiji Kurozuma stood still, heart hammering, as he reached behind him and gripped the handle of his katana with his right hand.
Shing!
He drew his katana only a few centimeters from its scabbard, the blade making a quiet sound that echoed through the dead, dark, and still night. What followed was his worst nightmare.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Something is running at me!