Aisha

"Be careful Aisha, if you can't hear the horses you're too far." Aisha couldn't hear the horses anymore—only clicking. Scraping. Crunching. The forest that had once invited her with soft green whispers now closed in like a living cage, trees twisting their branches into suffocating walls. Rays of light that had earlier danced through the canopy now stabbed like cold, merciless blades through the overwhelming darkness.

Her heart hammered against her ribs like a captured bird. Sweat pearled across her dark skin, trembling hands clutched the pack slung across her back, the leather strap cutting into her shoulder as something unseen moved just beyond her vision.

She wanted to run but fear locked her feet in place. What if they heard her move? What if they saw her run? 

A soft click echoed between the trees. Then another. Rhythmic. Precise. Unnatural. The sound was neither animal or insect, but something else entirely.

The first of the krothin emerged from the twisted roots, no taller than her forearm. The yokai's skin shifted like living bark, rippling with patterns that melted into the forest floor. Crystalline eyes—multiple and clustered—reflected a hunger that made her stomach turn. Embedded spines along its back clicked softly, causing Aisha's blood to run cold.

Another chirp. Another krothin appeared. Then another. And another.

Before Aisha could process a single rational thought, her body erupted into motion. A primal scream tore from her throat, ripping through the suffocating forest silence. Branches whipped against her face like lashing fingers, leaving thin trails of blood that mingled with sweat and dirt. 

The krothin charged with a savage fury. A living wave of bark-skinned creatures surging towards her. Their collective movement was a thundering rush of razor-sharp spines, driven by a single, murderous hunger. Shrieks and clicks merged into a terrifying battle cry.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, lungs burning, legs moving beyond conscious control. Pain registered only as distant whispers—a torn sleeve, skin shredded by thorns, a sharp branch gouging her cheek

"HELP!" The scream scattered into the dense foliage, swallowed instantly by layers of moss and twisted branches. No echo returned. No promise of rescue. "PLEASE! SOMEONE PLEASE! HELP ME!"

Tears cascaded down Aisha's cheeks, a liquid veil that blurred the forest into a smear of greens and browns. The krothin's cacophony of shrieks rose behind her, so close now she could almost feel their breath, their hunger.

A misplaced foot. A root too high.

Time fractured.

The world twisted violently as she tumbled, gravity betraying her in her moment of desperate flight. Her body became a ragdoll of momentum, spinning and crashing against the unforgiving ground. Rocks bit into her skin like jagged teeth, each impact a sharp explosion of pain that shattered through her body.

The fall stole her breath. The terror stole her mind.

She lay still, her limbs tangled in the underbrush, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. Her ears rang. Her body screamed. But the shrieking hadn't stopped. The krothin were still coming.

Aisha's muscles twitched in defiance, her instincts demanding she get up, run—but she couldn't.

This was it.

The ground trembled beneath her. The clicking, the shrill war cry—closer now, swallowing her whole. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the pain, for the tearing, for—

A different sound.

A deep, wet thunk.

Then another. And another.

Not the sharp sting of her flesh being ripped open, but something else entirely. Something final. The shrieking—turning into screams. Not hers. Theirs.

Aisha forced her eyes open.

At first, she only saw red.

Not the sunset, not the dappled gold of light through the leaves, but a deeper red. Heavy, dripping, pooling. The krothin lay in pieces around her, their bodies torn open, their bark-like shells split like cracked stone. The air was thick with the scent of iron and sap, of something acrid and bitter.

Her stomach clenched violently. A choked sob broke free from her lips as she twisted away, heaving, convulsing, emptying herself onto the blood-soaked earth.

She wiped at her mouth with a trembling hand—only to realize it was red too.

"Are you okay?"

The voice cut through the fog. Deep. Rough. But warm.

Aisha flinched, her body still locked in fight-or-flight. She turned sharply, scrambling backward until her raw palms pressed into damp soil. He was there.

A man, impossibly thin yet strong, covered in blood. His eyes—yellow and purple—watched her with impossible gentleness. Scars mapped his dark skin like faded ink. His long dreadlocks were pulled back, revealing sharp, tired features. A massive gourd and shamisen hung from his back, and at his waist, a slender sword dripped with something thick and dark.

He knelt before her. His hands—long, delicate, steady—settled on her shoulders.

"Don't worry, you're safe," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "Breathe. Don't look at them. Look at the trees. Isn't the sunlight beautiful this time of day?"

The words were a trick. A gentle one.

Aisha's breath came in shallow gasps. Her body still shook. But she did as he said.

She lifted her gaze, past the broken things, past the blood, past the nightmare.

The sunlight streamed through the canopy, golden and soft, swaying gently as the leaves whispered overhead.

And somehow, it was beautiful.