The Dreams of the Little Warrior

The cold bit into his skin, but the boy did not slow down.His breath rose in white clouds, synchronized with the precise movements of his arm. The old wooden sword cut through the air, each strike tearing through the morning silence. With every motion, snow burst around him in vaporous flurries, lifted by the sheer force of his training.

Strike, pivot, dodge. His body—still young, yet already robust for his age—executed each sequence with relentless precision. His knotted arms, proof of his tireless efforts, wielded the weight of the wood with perfect control. He let no strike go astray.

The icy wind rushed between the village houses, whipping through his short, unruly red hair. But he did not flinch. His brown eyes, burning like embers under the pale morning light, remained locked on an invisible opponent.

He had been training since dawn, alone, away from the village.In this space where the world seemed frozen in eternal winter, there was only him, his sword, and his ambition.

He knew he could not stay here forever. He wanted to see what lay beyond the fjords, beyond the snow-capped mountains that imprisoned their village like a frozen cage.

So, he struck. Again and again.

A swift step through the powdery snow. A perfect pivot. Then a fierce blow, loaded with all his energy.

CLACK.

The impact echoed like a thunderclap.His sword had met an obstacle. Another blade.

Mata blinked. Someone had parried his attack.

A dark silhouette stood before him, a calm expression on his face.

— "You hit hard for just a warm-up."

Mata grimaced, immediately recognizing the voice. He took a step back, lowering his weapon.

Facing him, Yahiko stood with a wooden sword in hand. His light brown hair, tousled by the wind, let a stray lock fall over his pale forehead. His brown eyes, sharp as steel, watched his friend with a hint of amusement.

Mata shook his head, catching his breath.— "Could you at least warn me before showing up like that?"

Yahiko raised an eyebrow.

— "And deny myself the pleasure of an impromptu duel?"

Mata tightened his grip on his wooden sword. A smile stretched across his lips.— "Glad you showed up."

The fight began without another word, and Mata was the first to move.

He lunged without hesitation, aiming straight for the center.His wooden sword cut through the air in a brutal thrust, propelled by the full force of his body.

But Yahiko reacted in an instant. He pivoted to the side, letting the attack pass just inches from him. The wind from the strike brushed against his face, but he paid it no mind. In one fluid motion, he swept at Mata's legs, trying to unbalance him.

Mata, quick on his feet, jumped in place, narrowly avoiding Yahiko's sweep. But Yahiko had already anticipated his evasion. Without losing a second, he raised his arm, ready to bring his sword down, targeting the opening Mata had just created.

Mata reacted in a fraction of a second. He couldn't block the attack head-on. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed Yahiko's head with a firm grip.A heartbeat later, he used it as leverage to propel himself backward, escaping the dangerous close-quarters engagement. His foot found solid ground in the snow, instantly resetting his stance at a safe distance.

A single heartbeat passed.

Then, with an explosive step, Mata charged again.

This time, he held nothing back. He attacked with full force, unleashing a series of powerful strikes. His wooden sword whistled through the air, a relentless storm of blows meant to crush Yahiko under sheer pressure.

Yahiko retreated, absorbing each impact. He intercepted every swing with his own sword, deflecting the attacks, focusing on dispersing Mata's strength rather than meeting it head-on.

Each blow resounded like a thunderclap. Yahiko felt the vibrations reverberate through his arms, numbing his wrist. As he kept stepping back, his breath quickened.

Then, as he shifted his footing, he felt an anomaly beneath his boot.

His foot had struck a softer patch—an almost imperceptible dip concealed under the snow. For a split second, his balance wavered.

Where anyone else would have sunk into the ground, Yahiko's body reacted before he even registered the danger.

A lightning-fast command, a neural impulse sharper than thought.

His muscles contracted instinctively, locking his footing in place. At the last moment, he compensated for the sinking ground, engaging his entire lower body in perfect coordination. His foot barely grazed the loose surface before stabilizing—so seamlessly that it was as if nothing had happened.

Mata, fully focused on his assault, noticed nothing.

But Yahiko had understood.

This hole could be a weapon.

The next instant, he made a decision.

He took another step back, resisting the urge to strike. Not yet. Mata had to fall into the trap on his own. His friend, fully absorbed in his onslaught, remained oblivious to the anomaly. His powerful fighting style required him to hit hard, to root himself into every strike to maximize his impact.

That was his weakness.

When his foot landed in the concealed dip, his balance broke for a fraction of a second.

Yahiko, like a predator, struck at that exact moment.

With a swift motion, he twisted his sword and brought it down in a fierce vertical slash, aimed straight at Mata.

An instinctive, precise choice. He knew Mata was in the middle of engaging his muscles to recover his stance, and that brief moment of hesitation would prevent him from countering immediately.

One strike. One chance.

CLAC.

Yahiko's wooden sword crashed down with tremendous force.

But Mata reacted at the very last second.

A spark of realization flickered in his eyes—he had understood the trap. He didn't have time to dodge, but he could still block.

With an almost inhuman effort, he raised his weapon above his head. The impact was colossal. Yahiko's sword slammed against his, the sheer force making the wood groan under the pressure, his arms buckling from the strain.

Mata gritted his teeth. His foot sank even deeper under the pressure. He was stuck.

But he refused to yield.

Drawing strength from deep within, he let out a sharp growl and, with a surge of raw power, pushed Yahiko back.

Yahiko staggered, stopping a few steps away, eyes wide with disbelief.

— "Seriously… you managed to block that and push me back?"

Mata, still half-trapped in the hole, exhaled with a tired smirk.

— "You're the one saying that? How did you know about the hole?"

They locked eyes for a moment.

Then, simultaneously, a grin stretched across their faces.

The very next instant, they dashed toward each other.

No more strategy. No more analysis. Just one final clash.

Their wooden swords collided in a thunderous impact.

A fleeting moment of suspension.

Then, both were sent flying backward, repelled by the sheer force of their own strikes.

One step back.

Then another.

Silence settled between them.

Panting, they stared at each other.

Then, they burst into laughter.

— "A draw, huh?" Mata exhaled, resting his sword on his shoulder.

— "Looks like it." Yahiko ran a hand through his messy hair before sighing. "You're as stubborn as ever."

Mata raised an eyebrow, amusement gleaming in his gaze.

— "And you're still just as annoying."

They laughed together, their voices echoing in the crisp morning air.

Then, the two boys collapsed onto the snow, lying side by side, their breath still uneven, waiting for the rush of endorphins to settle. The icy wind whipped against their faces, but neither of them cared. They simply savored the moment of respite.

After a few minutes of silence, Mata slowly sat up, planting his wooden sword into the snow in front of him.

— "One day… I'm leaving."

Yahiko, still lying down, turned his head slightly toward him, raising an amused eyebrow before sitting up as well, propping himself up on his hands against the cold ground.

— "This again?"

Mata clenched his fists.

— "I'm serious."

Yahiko watched his friend. He had heard this countless times before. That obsessive dream of leaving the village, crossing the fjords, becoming strong enough to never feel powerless again.

But he didn't blame him. He respected that ambition. He had never met anyone as determined as Mata.

— "You still want to hunt those 'demons'?" Yahiko asked, without a hint of mockery.

Mata locked eyes with him, his brown gaze burning with fierce resolve.

— "Of course. You know what I heard that night."

Yahiko nodded. He knew. Mata had told him everything, word for word.

A year ago, while eavesdropping on a meeting between the village chief and the elders, he had uncovered a truth that had shaken him to the core.

The "Great Winter" of ten years ago—the one that had paralyzed the village and claimed so many lives, including his parents—had not been a natural disaster. It wasn't the snow. It wasn't famine.

It was something else.

And yet, all his life, he had been told it was just a cruel winter, an unforgiving cold that had taken the weakest. He had believed that story… until he overheard that conversation.

They spoke of a night drenched in blood, not ice. Of a horror emerging from the darkness, consuming the village in a single night.

A single word had been uttered.

"Yokaï."

That name had burned itself into his mind like a brand.

And suddenly, hazy memories he had never truly understood resurfaced.

He didn't remember much. He had only been four years old.

But sometimes, in his nightmares, the images came back.

The scent of cold wood beneath his fingers.

His mother's embrace, holding his small body tightly with a desperate gentleness.

His father's grave expression as he whispered words he hadn't understood back then.

They had hidden him beneath the house, bundling him up in layers upon layers of blankets and wool to shield him from the biting cold. His heart had pounded as they stroked his hair, whispering the same words over and over again:

— "Stay still, Mata. Don't move. No matter what you hear, stay here."

Then, silence.

He had waited. A few minutes? A few hours? Maybe longer.

Alone in the darkness, he had clung to the faint warmth his parents had left behind.

But it had faded, little by little, until only the cold remained—an oppressive silence that felt endless.

When the villagers finally found him under the house, he didn't even cry.

It wasn't the winter that had taken his parents.It wasn't famine.

It was that thing.

A creature from elsewhere, laying waste to everything in its path.

And yet, no one spoke of it.

When Mata overheard that conversation, his first instinct had been to rush to Yahiko. His best friend had listened without interruption, but as the story unfolded, Mata had seen his expression change—his features stiffening, his eyes darkening with something between disbelief and deep concern.

Yahiko had believed him. Mata knew that much.

But he could also tell that this revelation had shaken something in him.

Yahiko remained silent for a long moment before finally speaking, his voice lower than usual.

— "I… I remember something too."

Mata raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

He, too, held onto a memory from that night. Faint, fractured by time. He had been too young to grasp what had happened, but one image had stayed with him:

A silhouette, standing in the snow, its back turned to him.

He didn't know who it was, nor why that presence had burned itself into his mind.

The memories were blurry, incomplete. But Yahiko had believed Mata's story without question.

Because he, too, carried a secret.

Then, Yahiko told him about the strange sensation he sometimes felt. A force, elusive and unexplainable, stirring within him without warning. Sometimes, it would take shape before his eyes—wavering shadows, vague figures flickering into existence before vanishing like mirages.

Back then, they were only distorted outlines, too unstable to resemble anything real. But they were real.

He had never spoken of them to anyone. Not his mother. Not his sister.

Who would have believed him?

But as he listened to Mata talk about creatures from another world, about monsters that adults refused to acknowledge, a thought had lodged itself in his mind.

If he was capable of summoning those forms…

Then why couldn't those demons exist too?

Mata had been the first to listen. The first to believe him.

At least, until laughter shook his shoulders.

— "Wait… you're telling me you can just make things appear with your mind?"

Yahiko didn't flinch. He wasn't joking.

So, he showed him.

Back then, his recreations had been clumsy, barely perceptible… but real enough to send a chill down Mata's spine.

He had frozen, mouth slightly open, unable to believe what he was seeing. For days, he had hounded Yahiko to do it again. Over and over. Searching for an explanation, a flaw.

Then, after a few weeks… he had come to accept it.

And that day, he had made Yahiko a promise.

— "I'll keep your secret."

But this truth—both fascinating and terrifying—only fueled a quiet fury within him.

Yahiko wasn't the only one carrying a secret. The entire village was. And no one would speak.

Mata had tried to find answers. Every time, he was met with the same wall of silence. Avoided gazes. Conversations shifting away.

As if that nightmare winter had never happened.

As if his parents had never died that night.

All he had were questions.

And no one to answer them.

So, he had stopped asking.

He had realized that as long as he stayed here, in this prison of snow and unspoken truths, he would never know.

Since that day, not a single morning had passed without him training.

He would grow stronger. Strong enough to break that silence. Strong enough to make sure no child would ever be orphaned the way he had been.

And one day, he would leave. He would cross those mountains, beyond the frozen fjords, and find the answers they had stolen from him.

Silence settled between them, broken only by the icy wind sweeping across the snow. Mata let out a quiet sigh, as if trying to push away the weight of his thoughts.

Yahiko watched his friend for a moment, then shrugged slightly.

— "You'll never change, huh?"

Mata lifted his gaze, caught off guard by his tone.

— "No matter the obstacles. No matter if no one follows you… You'll keep going. Because that's what drives you, isn't it?"

Mata opened his mouth… then closed it.

He didn't like to admit it, but Yahiko understood him better than he wanted to acknowledge.

A heavy, nameless weight settled between them.

Thick with the things left unsaid.

Then, without really knowing why, a chill crawled up Yahiko's spine, creeping slowly along his nape. His body tensed, almost imperceptibly.

Something was wrong.

He turned his head toward the edge of the forest below. His gaze swept over the frozen shadows between the trees… and then, he thought he saw it.

A flicker of movement. A vague silhouette.

A fragment of shadow swallowed by the depths of the woods.

His breath hitched.

He knew the wildlife here like the back of his hand. Every rustle in the undergrowth, every shifting shadow beneath the trees had meaning.

He could tell the erratic flutter of a startled crow. The swift, silent leap of a deer weaving between the trunks. Even the ghostly prowl of a fox stalking its prey.

But this—this fleeting movement, this indistinct presence—was like nothing he had ever seen before.

His heartbeat quickened.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to pierce through the unmoving dark between the trees.

Nothing.

Just the forest. Still. Cold. Silent.

One heartbeat.Then another.

Yahiko furrowed his brows. Without realizing it, he had already risen to his feet, guided by an instinct he couldn't yet name.

— "Mata…" he murmured, his gaze locked on the tree line.

His friend turned to him, frowning.

— "What?"

Yahiko hesitated for a fraction of a second.

His instincts told him it was nothing.

But his heart said otherwise.

— "I don't know… Follow me."

He had no idea what they would find.

But somewhere, hidden in the silence of the forest, something—or someone—was watching them.