The carcass of the corrupted wolf lay motionless before him, its once-glowing eyes now dull and lifeless. Renzoku exhaled sharply, feeling the sting of fresh wounds across his arms and torso. The beast had been stronger than he expected, but in the end, he had won.
Yet, there was no satisfaction.
Crouching down, he unsheathed his knife and carved into the beast's flesh, extracting the most preserved cuts of meat. The stench of its corrupted blood lingered in the air, thick and metallic. He worked quickly—there was no telling what other creatures might be drawn to the scent.
The night was still. Too still.
With the meat wrapped in cloth, he slung it over his shoulder and rose to his feet. His deep, red eyes swept across the darkened forest. The usual sounds of the night—chirping insects, rustling leaves—had vanished. Only the wind moved, whispering against the trees.
Something felt off, but he pushed the thought aside. His priority now was returning to his cave, where he had spent the last few years surviving in solitude.
He turned and disappeared into the darkness.
The cave's entrance was hidden beneath thick vines, deep within the cliffs of the forest. It wasn't much—just a hollow space in the rock—but it had provided him shelter for the past few years. It was safe. Isolated.
The fire crackled softly as he roasted the wolf's meat, the aroma of charred flesh filling the cave. He sat with his back against the cold stone, his Katana resting at his side. The weapon, once given to him by his father, felt heavier than usual.
His wounds ached, but they weren't deep enough to slow him down. He had endured worse.
He took a bite of the cooked meat. It was tough, bitter, but edible.
His thoughts drifted.
For years, he had hunted and killed awakened beasts, hoping that the act of slaying them would help him grasp the essence of a soul. And yet, he remained unchanged.
No awakening. No growth. Just the same hollow existence.
'I was supposed to be the next leader of Eien no Bannin... yet I can't even awaken naturally.'
The thought made his jaw clench.
If he wanted to change that, there was only one thing left to do.
He had to return to his clan "Eien no Bannin".
Maybe the elders could force his awakening. Maybe they could tell him why he was different.
'Tomorrow, I leave this place.'
With that, he closed his eyes, listening to the crackling fire. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the distant cries of unseen creatures.
It took him a while to fall asleep. Sleep did not come easily.
The seasons began to turn. Morning arrived in a cold, gray haze as Renzoku finally stepped beyond the familiar borders of his hunting grounds. Renzoku gathered his belongings, snuffed out the fire, and stepped into the wilderness. The forest stretched endlessly before him. For the first time in years, he wasn't wandering aimlessly.
He had a destination.
The first two months were a grueling test of endurance. He moved swiftly through territories he hadn't seen in decades, avoiding the dens of awakened beasts. Along the way, he passed through abandoned villages, their homes collapsed and overtaken by vines. He moved swiftly, avoiding the dens of awakened beasts.
He did not stop to investigate.
Something about those places felt wrong.
As the months bled into one another, he made camp beneath an overhanging cliff. He did not light a fire—flames attracted unwanted eyes. Instead, he sharpened his Katana under the dim glow of the stars, listening to the distant howls of creatures that lurked beyond the trees.
They were getting closer.
By the fourth month, the journey had become significantly harder.
The lush forests of his exile finally gave way to rocky hills, then to the base of towering mountains. The higher he climbed, the colder it became. The thin air stung his lungs.
He began to feel it—a presence, watching him from a distance.
Yet, whenever he turned, there was nothing.
During those long, freezing nights, he found shelter in a narrow crevice within the mountains. He had not eaten since morning, but he ignored the hunger. His instincts screamed at him to stay alert.
Many times during that long trek, he heard something.
Not the sound of a beast. Not the rustling of trees.
But a whisper.
A faint voice, carried by the wind, calling his name. Whenever he turned there was nothing he could see. But the presence was there still lingering.
He barely slept during those months of travel.
The final month of his journey—half a year since he had left his cave—was the most exhausting.
He forced himself forward, pushing through the fatigue. His body was battered, his muscles screaming in protest, but he did not stop.
And then, as the sixth month drew to a close and the sun began to set, he saw it.
In the distance, beyond the fading light of day, stood the great gates of Eien no Bannin.
But something was wrong.
He quickened his pace, his heart pounding.
When he finally reached the gates, he froze.
What he saw was not the home he remembered.
The gates—once unbreakable symbols of an eternal clan—stood tall, yet they were silent. Their once-shining surfaces now veiled under thick layers of moss and creeping vines. The walls of his homeland still stood firm, but they were being slowly reclaimed by nature, with small trees and shrubs sprouting from the crevices in the stone.
The air did not smell of smoke or ash, but of damp earth and the heavy scent of ancient, undisturbed dust.
The immortals, the protectors of balance, were gone.
A heavy silence loomed over the land. No voices. No warmth.
Just emptiness.
And in that moment, standing at the gates of his ruined home, Renzoku realized a terrible truth.
He was alone.