The snake lunged.
Its mouth stretched wide—impossibly wide—revealing fangs as long as Yuki's forearm, dripping with venom that hissed where it hit the forest floor. The smell of death rushed ahead of it, hot and cloying.
Yuki jumped.
Not back. Not sideways.
Up.
He launched himself into the air just as the snake's jaws crashed shut where he'd been standing. The massive head kept going—momentum carrying it forward—and slammed into a thick tree behind him.
CRACK.
The trunk splintered. Wood exploded outward. The tree groaned, leaned, and began a slow, creaking fall.
Yuki landed on the snake's head.
His boots struck scales as hard as armor. He didn't hesitate. Didn't think. He raised the black ice dagger and drove it down with both hands.
Shink.
The blade punched through scales like they were paper.
The snake screamed—a sound that wasn't quite a hiss, wasn't quite a roar, but something in between that vibrated through Yuki's bones and made his teeth ache.
Then it moved.
Fast.
Faster than anything that size had any right to move.
The snake slithered at full speed—weaving through trees, crashing through undergrowth, moving like a train derailed and angry about it. Yuki clung to the dagger with both hands, his body whipping sideways, his legs flailing behind him.
Don't let go.
Don't let go.
DON'T—
The wind screamed past his ears. Branches clawed at his clothes. His arms felt like they were being pulled from their sockets.
He couldn't hold on.
He pulled the dagger free—and immediately flew off the snake's back, tumbling through grass and bushes, rolling end over end until he finally crashed to a stop against a moss-covered rock.
Pain exploded across his back.
He lay there for a moment, gasping, vision swimming.
Okay. That wasn't my best plan.
The snake noticed he'd fallen.
It turned—massive body coiling, green scales gleaming in the fading light—and charged.
Yuki scrambled to his feet. Too slow. His ankle screamed. His body felt like it weighed twice what it should.
He wasn't going to make it.
The snake was already there.
But this time—its mouth was closed.
It rammed him.
Boom.
The impact was like being hit by a freight train. Yuki barely had time to cross his arms in front of his face before the snake's massive head connected with his body.
He flew.
Backward. Through the air. Through trees—trunks that shattered on impact, sending splinters of wood flying in every direction.
One tree.
Two.
Three.
He crashed through the third and finally stopped, slamming into a fourth with enough force to crack the bark.
His vision went white.
Then red.
Then slowly, painfully, back to green.
He was on the ground. Lying in a bed of broken branches and fallen leaves. Blood dripped from his nose. His arms were covered in cuts—some shallow, some deep. His shirt was torn to shreds.
Nothing's broken, he thought, taking inventory of his body. Lungs still work. Heart still beating. Ribs feel... cracked? Maybe. Not broken. Cracked.
The snake slithered toward him.
Slowly now. Confidently. Like it knew the meal wasn't going anywhere.
Yuki lay still.
Wait.
Let it come closer.
The snake reached him. Its massive body began to coil—wrapping around him, squeezing, crushing. The pressure was unbelievable. Yuki felt his ribs compress. His lungs struggled for air. His vision started to darken at the edges.
The snake's head loomed above him, green eyes staring down at its prey.
Yuki looked up at the giant serpent.
And smiled.
"Got ya."
Shink. Shink. Shink.
Spikes of black ice exploded from his body.
They shot outward like bullets—fast, sharp, unstoppable. They pierced through the snake's coils, through its scales, through its flesh. The serpent convulsed, its grip tightening for one terrible moment before going completely slack.
Blood poured from a dozen wounds.
The snake's head hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Yuki pushed against the loosened coils and crawled free, gasping for air. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the canopy, chest heaving.
That... was close.
He sat up slowly, wincing. His ribs screamed. His ankle throbbed. But he was alive.
The snake lay motionless beside him, blood pooling beneath its massive body. The stench was overwhelming—metallic and rotten all at once. Yuki covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve.
I need to move.
That smell is going to bring every predator in the forest.
He grabbed his dagger—still embedded in the snake's side—yanked it free, and wiped the blade on the grass. Then he slung his backpack over his shoulder and started walking.
The forest grew darker as he moved.
The canopy blocked most of the fading light, turning the world into a maze of shadows and silhouettes. Yuki limped through the undergrowth, one hand trailing against trees to keep his balance, the other still gripping the dagger.
Need shelter. Need food. Need to rest.
Preferably in that order.
He found a tree.
Massive—at least ten feet thick, its trunk rising like a pillar of ancient wood. The branches were sparse, too high to reach easily, with few leaves and no fruit.
It'll do.
Yuki jumped.
His hands caught the first branch. He pulled himself up, ignoring the fire in his ribs, and climbed higher—branch to branch, hand over hand—until he was roughly three stories above the ground.
He found a branch thick enough to hold him, lay down on his back, and used his backpack as a pillow.
The canopy swayed above him, patches of darkening sky visible through the leaves.
He stared up at nothing.
Why did they leave me?
The question echoed in his head, unanswered.
This sucks.
Somewhere in the distance, hidden in the shadows of another tree, something moved.
It watched.
It waited.
Then it vanished into the darkness.
Yuki's eyes stayed open.
He could feel it—a presence. Eyes on him. Something waiting for him to close his eyes so it could strike.
I'm not sleeping tonight, am I?
He tightened his grip on the dagger.
Of course not. That would be too easy.
Five Miles West
The clearing was painted in blood.
Lord Genji stood with his arms behind his back, posture straight, expression unreadable. Around him lay the bodies of wolves—half a dozen of them, identical to the one Yuki had fled from earlier. Black fur. Yellow eyes. Massive frames.
Dead.
Tetsu knelt beside the largest carcass, a sharpened stone in his hand. He worked methodically—gutting, skinning, separating meat from bone. His stone skin had receded, but his hands were still steady, practiced.
The fire beside him crackled, already burning low.
"Lord Genji," Tetsu said, not looking up from his work.
"Hm?"
"Do you think the boy is alright?"
Genji didn't answer immediately.
"The forest is dangerous," Tetsu continued, pausing to wipe blood off his hands. "We both know that. But we don't know how dangerous. Not really. None of us have been here before."
He looked up at his master.
"Was it right to leave him alone?"
Genji's expression didn't change.
"He'll be fine, he's a Kinatarou." he said.
Tetsu frowned. "You give the boy too much credit."
"No." Genji's voice was calm. Flat. "I give him exactly the amount of credit he's earned."
He turned slightly, looking west—toward the direction they'd left Yuki.
"He survived a lot. This forest can't kill him."
Tetsu wanted to argue. He opened his mouth—then closed it. He muttered, "We don't even know what the forest holds."
Genji continued.
"Besides, we have our own mission. The Zenith Vanguard ordered the Violet Tree Club to eliminate a threat here. That is why we came. That is our priority."
He looked down at Tetsu.
"Yuki's survival is secondary."
Tetsu's jaw tightened.
Secondary.
He didn't like it. But he understood it.
"Yes, sir," he said quietly, returning to his work.
The fire crackled.
The wolves' blood soaked into the earth.
And somewhere in the darkness, five miles east, a boy with a dagger lay awake on a tree branch, watching the shadows watch him back.