Before the storm

The wind howled a mournful song across the snow-dusted peaks of Mount Fuji, its icy breath weaving through the ancient cedar trees that cloaked a secluded cabin in their shadowy embrace. Inside, the scent of woodsmoke and simmering herbs hung heavy in the air, a grounding balm against the bitter chill beyond the wooden walls.

Kamitsu, fourteen years old, sat perched on a creaking stool. His striking mismatched eyes—one blue, one red, as vivid as fire and frost—were focused intently on the blade in his hands. His sleek silver hair caught the faint sunlight streaming through the grimy window, glowing faintly as though touched by starlight. Cradling his father's hunting knife, its intricately carved handle worn smooth from years of use, Kamitsu cleaned the blade with slow, methodical strokes. The rhythmic motion seemed to quiet the thoughts swirling in his mind. Through the window, the pale winter light illuminated tiny motes of dust dancing lazily in the air, an odd contrast to the wild, mournful wind outside.

On the floor beside him, Serpent lay coiled on a threadbare rug, her emerald-green scales glinting like shards of gemstone. Her molten gold eyes watched him with unwavering intensity, her forked tongue flicking at the air as if tasting his unspoken thoughts. Born on the same day as Kamitsu, by divine decree, Serpent was more than a companion; she was a fragment of his very soul. Small now, her sleek, serpentine body barely spanned the width of his arm, but they both knew what she would one day become. She would shed this form and rise as a dragon, fierce and magnificent. For now, she was his shadow, his secret keeper, and his truest friend in their mountain-bound solitude.

At the hearth, Jiro sat hunched over the crackling fire, his aged hands trembling slightly as he poked at the embers. His face was a map of time, every wrinkle a story etched by a life lived longer and harder than most. He hummed an old, melancholy tune, its melody as ancient as the cedar trees that surrounded them. Though his voice was low and unsteady, it filled the cabin with a weighty kind of peace. Jiro had been Kamitsu's guardian for as long as he could remember, the only family he had left after the deaths of his parents.

They had been leaders—fire and ice incarnate—caught in the endless war between their clans. Their lives were claimed by that conflict, leaving Kamitsu with their shared legacy: a pure aura, a rare gift, and a prophecy he was only beginning to understand. He was the child foretold to bring an end to the centuries-long cycle of violence. The knowledge of that destiny pressed against him like a heavy stone, its weight inescapable. Yet here, in this quiet mountain cabin, he could pretend it was distant, that it didn't loom over his every breath.

Serpent shifted slightly, her gaze still fixed on him, and Kamitsu reached down absentmindedly to stroke her smooth scales. She responded with a soft hiss, a sound that, from her, was strangely comforting. "Not yet," Kamitsu murmured, more to himself than to her. "But soon."

Outside, the wind's mournful wail intensified, rattling the wooden shutters and setting the trees to groaning like old bones. Jiro's song faltered, his gaze flickering briefly toward the window. Kamitsu didn't miss the way the old man's shoulders stiffened, or the faint furrow of his brow before he resumed his melody. He felt it too—the undercurrent of change in the air, the quiet tension that seemed to hum beneath the surface of their peaceful routine.

The task before Kamitsu was simple, almost laughably so in comparison to the weight of his inheritance. Today, as on so many other days, he would gather herbs and roots for Jiro's endless supply of remedies. A mundane chore, yet one that tied him to the mountain's rhythm, to its whispers of ancient power and untold secrets. It was a task that reminded him who he was—a boy with a blade, a prophecy, and a bond with a serpent destined for the skies.

But deep down, he knew. This life, this fragile illusion of peace, could not hold him much longer. The time was coming. The wind, the mountain, even the silence itself seemed to tell him as much. He was ready. Or, at least, he would have to be.

The crisp mountain air bit at Kamitsu's cheeks as he made his way down the familiar path, Serpent coiled snugly around his shoulders like a living scarf. The trek to gather herbs was usually a tranquil ritual, a soothing stroll through snow-dusted woods where the silence of the mountain wrapped around him like a protective shroud. But today, something felt off. The air carried an unusual weight, an electric tension that prickled his skin and made every shadow seem a little darker, every sound sharper.

When he reached the usual clearing—a sunlit glade nestled among ancient pines where rare herbs thrived—the unease followed him. The clearing felt quieter than usual, the hush too deep, too unnatural. Kamitsu knelt to pluck a cluster of glistening moonpetal blossoms, their silvery leaves shimmering faintly in the soft light. Just as his fingers brushed the stems, a guttural growl rumbled from the nearby thicket.

He froze.

From the shadows emerged a wolf, its snow-white fur glinting like frost and its sheer size defying belief. Its burning, predatory eyes locked on Kamitsu, glowing with an unnatural ferocity. It bared its teeth in a menacing grin, steam rising in ghostly plumes from its snarling maw. The creature radiated power, its presence so commanding that even the trees seemed to shrink back in fear.

Kamitsu's hand instinctively flew to the hilt of his father's knife. His pulse thundered in his ears, but before he could draw the blade, Serpent sprang to life.

With a sharp hiss, she uncoiled from his shoulders and launched herself toward the wolf, a streak of emerald scales against the stark white of the beast's fur. The wolf snarled in surprise, snapping its jaws, but Serpent was faster. She twisted midair, her small, agile body a blur as she dodged a massive paw that struck out to crush her. Kamitsu gasped, his heart seizing as the wolf swiped again, but Serpent evaded with impossible precision, her movements fluid and instinctive.

With a fierce determination far greater than her size, Serpent darted to the wolf's flank, sinking her tiny fangs deep into its flesh. The beast let out a startled yelp, staggering back as it tried to twist and shake her off. Kamitsu saw the flicker of fear in its glowing eyes—a momentary break in its aura of dominance.

For the first time, the wolf hesitated. Its snarls grew less confident, its breaths more ragged. Blood seeped from the wound Serpent had inflicted, staining its pristine coat. Despite her diminutive form, Serpent was relentless, her bravery a striking contrast to her playful demeanor. She moved like a force of nature, her loyalty and ferocity shining brighter than the sun filtering through the pines.

The tension in the air crackled like the prelude to a storm. The mingling scents of pine, snow, and blood sharpened Kamitsu's senses. He gripped his knife tightly, ready to act if Serpent faltered, but she didn't. Her relentless assault drove the wolf into retreat.

With a low whimper, the beast turned and bolted into the woods, its powerful form vanishing into the thicket as suddenly as it had appeared. Kamitsu stood frozen, his knife still in hand, staring after it.

Serpent slithered back to him, panting lightly but otherwise unscathed. She coiled herself once more around his shoulders, her golden eyes bright and unyielding. Sunlight glinted off her scales, now streaked faintly with blood.

"Serpent…" Kamitsu whispered, his voice caught between awe and disbelief. He reached up to gently stroke her head, and she responded with a soft hiss, leaning into his touch.

His heart still thundered, the adrenaline coursing through his veins refusing to subside. Serpent's unexpected bravery had left him breathless, her fearlessness an undeniable reminder of the bond they shared.

The woods around him seemed to exhale, the silence that followed the confrontation somehow deeper, more resonant. The wind rustled through the pines once more, carrying with it the familiar scents of winter and earth. Kamitsu knelt again, plucking the moonpetal blossoms with trembling fingers.

As he turned to leave, the path back to the cabin felt different, as though the mountain itself had shifted under his feet. The air was heavier, laced with the echoes of what had just transpired. Kamitsu glanced at Serpent, who now rested peacefully on his shoulders, her form calm but her presence stronger than ever.

The memory of her courage lingered, and as Kamitsu made his way home, he knew this moment would never leave him. The mountain was more unpredictable than he had imagined, and Serpent's loyalty was deeper than he could have ever hoped.