The wind carried the scent of smoke and soil as Shiro Kaname walked steadily toward the distant village. His body still felt foreign—lighter, younger—but it obeyed his commands. With every step, he tested his balance, his senses, his magic.
There was still something inside him. A spark. Faint, but present.
As he crested a low hill, the village finally came into full view: wooden houses with curved roofs clustered around a central well, smoke rising lazily from chimneys. Lanterns glowed faintly along the streets, giving the place a warm, living pulse in the fading light.
A quiet place.
Peaceful.
He hoped it would stay that way.
Shiro pulled his simple tunic tighter as he entered the village. The few villagers outside looked up, some curious, others wary. A group of children paused their game to watch him with wide eyes. An old man sweeping the steps of a shrine narrowed his gaze, studying Shiro like one might study a riddle carved into stone.
"New face," a woman muttered as he passed.
Shiro stopped before a modest tea house. Its sign, painted with delicate calligraphy, read Willow's Rest. He stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling softly.
The scent of herbs, smoke, and sweet bread greeted him. A young man behind the counter glanced up, then froze.
"You're not from here."
Shiro nodded. "Just passing through."
The innkeeper—barely older than Shiro's new body—tilted his head, examining him. "You look like you've walked from the edge of the world."
"Something like that."
After a tense pause, the innkeeper nodded toward a table. "You can rest here. I won't ask questions, stranger. Not unless you bring trouble."
"I don't intend to."
A bowl of broth was brought to him—simple, but warm. As he ate, Shiro listened. The village was quiet, but not silent. Beneath the laughter of children and the crackling of fires, he heard something else. Something strange.
Whispers.
Not from people.
From the ground.
From the wind.
From the trees.
Magic. Faint. Ancient.
He finished his meal, thanked the innkeeper, and stepped outside just as the sun dipped behind the hills. The shadows grew long. The whispers louder.
Drawn by instinct, Shiro followed them.
Through the winding alleys. Past the shrine. Into the forest that bordered the village.
He reached a glade—a circle of stones etched with runes long forgotten. The grass here was undisturbed, yet the air shimmered with power. Something had once been sealed here.
Or summoned.
Shiro placed his hand on one of the stones. His magic pulsed. The whispers surged.
And then—
A presence stirred.
Not hostile.
Not yet.
"You are not of this world," a voice said from the shadows. Feminine. Ageless.
Shiro turned. A woman stood between the trees, cloaked in gray, eyes glowing faintly silver.
"You carry the scent of voidfire," she said.
"You know of the Void?"
"I know of what stalks the edges of reality. And I know you brought it with you."
Shiro clenched his jaw. "It's after me."
"It will be after us all, soon enough."
A heavy silence followed.
The woman stepped forward. "I am called Velira. Guardian of this glade. Tell me, stranger—what name do you bear?"
Shiro hesitated, then said softly, "Shiro Kaname."
Her eyes narrowed. "That name carries weight... even beyond this world."
He nodded. "I need answers. And time. To learn where I am. To prepare."
Velira studied him for a long moment, then nodded.
"Then come at dawn. I will teach you what I can. But tread carefully, Kaname. This world has secrets of its own."