Kofi

Kofi scratched his weathered beard as he peered into the nearly empty icebox. Frost-rimed shelves reflected only sparse remnants of their last successful hunt—a few strips of dried meat and some withered roots. The cold time was approaching and these meager provisions were nowhere near enough to keep the community alive, let alone satisfied. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he calculated their dwindling chances. Perhaps if he could assemble a larger hunting party, their prospects might improve.

As he trudged back upstairs, Kofi became aware of a growing commotion outside his shop. The sounds of distress quickly transformed from muffled urgency to a violent intrusion as the door burst open with a thunderous bang.

Tunde, the innkeeper, stood in the doorway—a figure of raw, unfiltered panic. His eyes, one red and the other green, were wet with tears and stretched wide with a terror that seemed to consume his entire being. Dark, tangled hair hung around his face like wild shadows, and the massive greatsword strapped to his back caught the dim light.

"Kofi!" The name erupted from Tunde's throat like a wounded animal's cry. "The sun is going down, and Aisha still isn't home!"

The words sent tremors through Kofi's muscled frame. In an instant, he was moving—spinning toward his room, gathering hunting gear with grim determination, each movement laden with unspoken dread.

The night air outside was thick with tension when Tunde's voice shattered the growing darkness.

"Aisha!"

Kofi spun on his heels to see Tunde and his wife embracing their daughter, and for a fleeting moment, relief flooded him. But then he saw it, Aisha was covered nearly head to toe in blood. Her small frame was shaking against her parent's protective embrace. Behind her, near the treeline, stood a stranger. He was as blood-covered as Aisha, a gourd larger than a man's torso hung from his back, accompanied by a shamisen whose worn strings looked like they might sing tales of distant lands. 

But it was the sword that truly captured Kofi's attention.

A long slender tool of death forged in a land of myths. A katana. Kofi had never believed in the tales, but that sword made him think otherwise. 

"Daddy, I was so scared! The krothin almost got me!" The small girl cried into her father's arms as Kofi stepped up to the stranger.

"Are you responsible for her rescue?" Kofi looked the man up and down, taking in the details. The man reeked of alcohol, the sharp, fermented scent clinging to him beneath the coppery tang of blood. His skin was stretched tight over his bones as if starved, and intricate scars crisscrossed his body, each one a testament to a life of battle. The gourd on his back, larger than a man's torso, bore the worn marks of frequent use. Hanging next to it was an equally worn shamisen.

The stranger rubbed his neck and let out a slow, weary sigh before offering a small, almost apologetic smile.

Tunde, overwhelmed with gratitude, bowed deeply. "We are eternally grateful to you, sir. If you need somewhere to stay, we would love to have you."

But the stranger held up his hands in awkward refusal. "I don't want to impose. I was simply walking by."

"I insist," Tunde pressed, grabbing the man's hand and bowing again. "It's the least I can do for saving my daughter!"

"Tunde," Kofi whispered, "we don't have enough food to sustain us the cold, let alone another hungry stomach."

Kofi's whisper cut through the moment like a knife. "Tunde," he murmured, "we don't have enough food to sustain us through the cold, let alone another hungry stomach."

"Come now Kofi, you don't expect me to let this debt go unpaid? He can have my portion while he is here."

Kofi let out a sigh of defeat, Tunde was right.

 * * *

The next morning broke warm and unforgiving, the sun hammering down as Kofi rubbed the sleep from his green and blue eyes. The crisp light caught the edges of the trees and he squinted with a mixture of disdain and resignation. The weight of another long day pressing down on him like the heat of the sun itself. 

A heavy sigh escaped him, and with practiced hands, Kofi reached for his bow. His fingers, rough from years of labor, nimbly strung the cord. Each tug was a reminder of the responsibility he carried. The forest was no longer the fertile provider it once had been—its creatures more elusive, its threats more deadly. But the town was hungry, and it was his duty to feed them, no matter how dangerous the hunts had become.

The sounds of footsteps cracked Kofi's quite contemplation and he turned to see the strange man standing before him, eyes glazed over, swaying slightly like grass in the breeze. The rising sun caught the edges of his dreadlocks, highlighting tiny beads and charms woven throughout—tokens from lands Kofi had never seen.

"Mind if I tag along? I need to catch breakfast." The stranger's words came out slurred, each syllable sliding into the next, and Kofi could smell the alcohol on his breath already—a pungent, fermented odor that hung in the morning air.

"If you go into the forest like that you'll die." 

The stranger didn't respond at first, only staring off into the sky, dreadlocks blowing in the wind. Until finally, "well, I suppose i'll just have to be careful." There was a deep sadness in his tone, something Kofi recognized very well. The sound of a man, broken.

"What's your name kid?" 

"Noboru, and you?"

"Kofi, that name doesn't sound varian, and you sure do dress strange. Not from around here I take it?" Kofi continued his preparation, his calloused fingers working methodically as he tossed Noboru a whetstone.

"I don't need it, thanks though," Noboru tossed the whetstone back with surprising dexterity for someone so intoxicated. His fingers briefly caressed the hilt of his blade, as if sharing some silent communication. "And no. A place far from here, called Sellas."

"What brings you here, Noboru?" He asked, slinging his bow and quiver across his back.

"The wind just felt right," Noboru's eyes briefly focused, despite his inebriated state. "What about you? Have you lived here long?"

"My whole life. Been a peaceful place until that damn Lichin showed up." Kofi's face darkened, weathered lines deepening around his mismatched eyes. "Been terrorizing the forest and making it hard to get food, and without food, it's making everything in town harder. Lost three hunters to it already."

"The capital hasn't sent any help?" Noboru took a swing from his oversized gourd as they broke through the treeline, the forest swallowing them into its domain.

"Can you not do that while we are out here?" Kofi hissed, hand instinctively moving to quiet his arrows. "No, I don't know that my letter even made it to the capital at all. The roads haven't been much safer lately." He paused, studying a broken branch. "The capital has its own problems anyway."

As they moved deeper into the forest, the canopy thickened overhead, dappling the forest floor with shifting patterns of light and shadow. Kofi noticed how, despite his drunken swagger, Noboru moved with the silent grace of a predator—feet finding purchase on the quietest path forward, body instinctively avoiding low-hanging branches without seeming to look at them.

Whatever lands had forged this stranger, they had made him dangerous.

* * *

They'd been tracking a small herd of woodland hares for some time, following their faint tracks through the moss and fallen leaves. At last, Kofi spotted movement—a flicker of brown fur between the roots of an ancient oak. Slowly, he nocked an arrow and drew his bow.

Before he could release, a blur of motion to his left startled him. Noboru, who Kofi had assumed was stumbling drunkenly behind him, suddenly lunged forward with inhuman speed. His hand shot out like a striking snake, plunging into a tangle of ferns. A high-pitched squeal pierced the morning air, then fell silent.

Noboru emerged with a plump hare dangling from his grip, its neck cleanly broken. He grinned at Kofi's stunned expression.

"Breakfast," he said simply, holding up his prize.

Kofi lowered his bow slowly. "That was... unexpected."

Noboru shrugged, his body still swaying as if the display of lightning reflexes had never happened. 

They continued through the forest, Kofi now watching his companion with newfound wariness. Twice more Noboru's hand darted out—once capturing a forest lizard sunning itself on a rock, and moments later snatching a thrush that had been pecking among the roots.

Each time, the movement was too fast for Kofi to fully follow. After the third catch, Noboru casually tied the animals to his belt with a length of twine, as if collecting wildlife barehanded was unremarkable.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Kofi finally asked, breaking the silence.

Noboru took another swig from his gourd. "When you're too poor for arrows and too hungry for patience, you find ways." He gestured vaguely with the gourd. "Besides, they taste better when they don't know fear."

Kofi frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Fear taints the meat. Makes it bitter." Noboru's gaze drifted to the canopy above. "When an animal sees death coming—hears the bowstring, feels the trap snap—its body floods with panic. My way, they're at peace one moment, and gone the next." He smiled slightly. "A kinder death, don't you think?"

Before Kofi could respond, a low huffing sound froze them both. Through a gap in the trees ahead, the ground trembled slightly with each heavy step of an approaching creature. Branches snapped and underbrush crushed beneath massive hooves as a behemoth emerged into view—a tusked mountain of muscle and bristling fur.

"A giant boar," Kofi breathed, instinctively stepping behind the trunk of a nearby oak.

The beast stood nearly as tall as a horse, its body twice as broad. Curved tusks, thick as a man's arm and yellowed with age, jutted upward from its lower jaw. Steam billowed from its wide nostrils in the cool morning air as it rooted through the forest floor, uprooting saplings as easily as blades of grass.

"Now that," Noboru whispered, "would feed your village for weeks."

Kofi gripped his bow tighter. "It would also kill us both if we're not careful. Those tusks can cut a man in half. We should move on."

"Nonsense. This is exactly what your people need."

The boar was oblivious to their presence, busy excavating a cluster of underground tubers with powerful sweeps of its tusks. Its hide bore the scars of many battles—deep gouges in its tusks, a torn ear, and what appeared to be old arrow shafts broken off in its side.

"I'll circle around," Kofi whispered reluctantly, "try to get a clean shot at the eye."

But Noboru was already untying his gourd, taking one last deep pull before hanging it on a branch. "Too risky with just arrows. They get stuck in the hide, and it just makes them angry." 

He drew his slender sword, nearly dropping it before securing his grip, the metal catching the dappled light with a glint. "Removing the head is the only sure kill."

"What are you doing?" Kofi hissed. "That's suicide. You can barely stand!"

"No matter what you do. Don't lead it back to town." Noboru's eyes, still glazed, unfocused, and somehow deadly serious, managed to meet Kofi's. He hiccupped. "Now. Stay back."

Before Kofi could stop him, Noboru stumbled forward, somehow transforming his drunken lurching into forward momentum. He moved with the same impossible speed he'd shown catching the smaller animals, but this was no hare or lizard—this was a mountain of muscle, tusk, and fury.

Noboru closed the distance in heartbeats, but the boar sensed him at the last moment. With a guttural roar that shook leaves from branches, it swung its massive tusks toward him—ancient ivory scythes that tore through the forest with terrifying ease. Trees as thick as a man's thigh splintered and crashed down, their trunks cleaved through as if made of parchment.

Yet somehow, Noboru wasn't there. He had dropped and twisted at the last possible instant.

In a fluid motion that defied his drunken state, Noboru flowed beneath the beast's enormous throat, his katana flashing upward in a lethal arc. But the boar reared up on massive hind legs with another thunderous roar. The ground trembled as it slammed down, hooves cratering the earth where Noboru had been a heartbeat before. Again and again it stomped, each impact sending shockwaves through the forest floor until fine dust clouded the air.

Through this chaos, Kofi watched in stunned disbelief. Despite the earth-shaking fury and blinding dirt, he could still make out Noboru's form—weaving between the lethal hooves with an almost contemplative grace. Like a dancer he slipped through impossible gaps, his body bending at unnatural angles to avoid the crushing blows.

But something wasn't right. Kofi's hunter's eye caught it—Noboru had clear openings, moments when his blade could have found vulnerable flesh. Yet he didn't strike. Why wasn't he killing it? If he could dodge with such effortless precision, why wasn't he attacking?

Then came the change. Noboru suddenly darted away from the boar, putting distance between them with that same uncanny speed. Had fear finally overcome him? Was he retreating from a battle he couldn't win?

No. His stance told a different story. Though still swaying slightly, Noboru's breathing had slowed to a measured rhythm. His eyes now burned with sharp clarity, studying the heaving beast before him.

It was like watching two yokai fight.

The boar, enraged beyond reason, pawed the ground once, twice, its hooves gouging deep furrows in the earth. It lowered its head, those devastating tusks aimed directly at Noboru's heart, and charged—a living battering ram.

And Noboru charged back.

They met in the center of the clearing like colliding forces of nature. In a motion too swift for Kofi's eyes to fully track, Noboru wove between the curved tusks as if they were moving through water rather than air. His body twisted upward in an impossible leap that carried him over the boar's massive skull. Time seemed to slow as he hung suspended above the beast, katana held high in both hands, sunlight transforming the blade into a sliver of pure light.

Then came the stroke—a cut that generated a visible shockwave through the air itself. The blade sang a single, pure note as it completed its arc.

For one suspended moment, nothing happened. The boar took another thundering step forward.

Then its massive head slid sideways and toppled from its body in a clean, diagonal cut, unleashing a crimson geyser that painted the forest in violent red. Blood rained down like a storm, drenching Kofi and the surrounding foliage until leaves hung heavy with gore and the rich forest floor turned to mud beneath the scarlet downpour.

The headless body ran three more steps before collapsing with a ground-shaking finality, its legs still twitching as life departed the mountainous form.

After the kill, Kofi stood frozen, blood dripping from his clothes and hair, mind reeling with a cocktail of relief, exhilaration, and profound bewilderment. His heart hammered against his ribs as if trying to escape the impossibility of what he'd just witnessed. The forest around them seemed unnaturally quiet now, as if every creature had fallen silent in reverence to the display of power they'd witnessed.

"How..." The word escaped his lips as a whisper, his mismatched eyes wide with disbelief. Tales flickered through his memory—childhood stories of the Warriors of Esalas who could bend wind to their will. Had he just witnessed such legendary power? The speed, the precision, the impossible grace with which Noboru had moved—it defied everything Kofi understood about human capability.

More confounding still was Noboru's demeanor now. The warrior made no triumphant gesture, showed no pride in his extraordinary feat. Instead, he silently retrieved his gourd from the branch where he'd hung it, his movements once again adopting that deceptive drunken sway. With ceremonial reverence, he knelt beside the severed head of the great boar, whose lifeless eyes still seemed to hold the shock of its sudden demise.

Noboru tipped his gourd, pouring a steady stream of clear, potent alcohol onto the ground beside the beast's massive head. The liquid soaked into the blood-darkened earth, the pungent aroma mingling with the metallic scent of fresh kill. His expression was solemn, almost apologetic, as he completed this offering.

Then, with hands still stained crimson, he unstrapped the shamisen from his back and settled cross-legged before his vanquished opponent. His fingers, which moments ago had delivered death with surgical precision, now caressed the worn strings with tender intimacy. The first notes hummed through the clearing, vibrating with a resonance that seemed to penetrate bone and soul alike.

Each note seemed to purify the blood-soaked clearing, transforming the violent aftermath of battle into something almost sacred. Birds gradually resumed their calls, as if joining the impromptu requiem, while the forest itself seemed to exhale, accepting the offering of both blood and song. When Noboru began to sing, his voice emerged pure and fluid—a silken ribbon of sound that wove through the forest with haunting clarity.

"Spirit of the forest, mighty and free,

Your strength now passes into me.

Not in anger did I take your life,

But with honor, respect, and a swift, clean knife.

May your journey be peaceful beyond this realm,

As your body sustains those who struggle and brave the helm."

The final notes of Noboru's song faded into the forest, leaving behind a charged silence that seemed to vibrate with meaning. Without a word, he took a long, deep pull from his gourd, adam's apple bobbing as the potent liquid disappeared down his throat. Then, with a casual gesture he extended the gourd toward Kofi.

He hesitated, his blood-spattered hand trembling slightly as he reached for the offered drink. His mind was still reeling, unable to reconcile the staggering display of power with the swaying, seemingly incapable drunkard who had asked to join him. The contradiction was as jarring as the feeling of the warm gore now cooling against his skin.

As his fingers closed around the gourd, memories flooded unbidden through his consciousness—himself as a young boy, sitting wide-eyed around village fires, absorbing tales of the Warriors with their legendary strength. Like every boy, he had once dreamed of leaving their small village, of traveling to the capital to train, to transform himself into one of those celebrated heroes whose exploits were immortalized in song and story. A dream as common as it was ultimately unattainable for most—a village boy's fantasy.

Yet now, here before him stood living, breathing proof that the Warriors truly existed—not as perfect, untouchable figures of legend, but as this contradiction of a man. Drunkard, poet, and death incarnate.

* * *

"Tunde!" Kofi bellowed as he huffed across the treeline, massive carcass slowly dragged behind him and Noboru. When Tunde emerged from the inn, his eyes looked as if they would pop from his head.

"Is that a giant boar?!" Tunde's mismatched eyes were wide with disbelief, his hands frozen mid-motion.

"Gather the town, Tunde. We're going to feast tonight!"

And feast they did. After Kofi butchered the beast with practiced hands, he packed the icebox full to bursting. There would be more than enough to last the village through the cold time now. The rest he gave to Tunde for tonight's celebration.

Word spread through the village like wildfire. By sundown, the town square had transformed. Tables were dragged from homes and the inn was formed into a makeshift banquet hall. Lanterns hung from hastily erected poles, their warm glow pushing back the encroaching darkness that had seemed so threatening just days before.

The smell of roasting meat filled the air as massive portions of boar turned on spits over crackling fires. Men from the village brought what little they had stored away—withered root vegetables and precious herbs—to complement the feast. Children darted between adults' legs, their laughter a sound that had grown increasingly rare in recent months.

Kofi stood back, watching the transformation. Just yesterday, these same faces had been drawn with hunger and worry. Now they glowed with hope and joy.

Tunde moved through the crowd like a man possessed as he poured drinks and arranged platters. Each time he passed Kofi, he clasped his shoulder with nods of thanks.

"Your stranger," Tunde murmured during one such passing, "he's quite something."

Kofi's gaze drifted to where Noboru sat cross-legged on an upturned barrel. The warrior had cleaned himself of blood, though his clothes still bore the faint rust-colored stains of their excursion. His dreadlocks hung loose around his face, the tiny charms catching firelight like stars. Despite multiple offers, he'd refused to part with his gourd, which remained firmly in his grasp even now.

"That he is," Kofi agreed quietly.

As the feast reached its peak, Noboru, who had been content to observe from the edges, suddenly stood. The crowd parted instinctively as he made his way to the center of the gathering, shamisen in hand. Without announcement or preamble, he settled himself on a stool someone hastily provided and began to tune the instrument.

A hush fell over the villagers. Children who had been running wild moments before now sat transfixed at his feet, eyes wide with anticipation. Even the most hardened men leaned forward, drinks momentarily forgotten.

When the first notes rang out, Kofi felt something shift in his chest—a tightness he hadn't realized was there suddenly loosening. The melody was unlike anything he'd heard before, both foreign and somehow deeply familiar.

Noboru's fingers danced across the strings with the same impossible grace they had shown wielding the katana. His eyes closed as he played, each note emerging perfect and clear. And then, he began to sing.

His voice carried across the square, rich and deep, telling tales of heroes and monsters, of love and sacrifice. When he shifted to a playful tune, the children clapped and laughed, dancing to the rhythm.

Kofi found himself leaning against the wall, a cup of ale forgotten in his hand. Something within him—something that had been dormant for so long he'd forgotten its existence—stirred to life.

He watched as Aisha rose to dance with the other children. Her small face transformed by joy as Noboru played faster, fingers blurring on the strings.

Tunde appeared at Kofi's side, his own cup filled to the brim. "When was the last time you saw something like this?" he asked, gesturing broadly at the scene before them.

Kofi couldn't remember. The cold times had grown longer each year, game more scarce, dangers more prevalent. Somewhere along the way, they had stopped celebrating, stopped gathering, stopped remembering what it meant to be more than just survivors.

"I never thought I'd see it again," he admitted.

As the night deepened, Noboru shifted to slower melodies. Adults joined in now, couples swaying together. The warrior's song wove them together, binding their community with invisible threads.

Kofi studied the stranger's face, trying to reconcile the man before him—eyes closed in musical reverie, body loose with drink—with the demon he'd witnessed in the forest. How could hands that delivered death with such terrifying efficiency now create something so beautiful? How could a man carry both destruction and creation within him so completely?

A small hand tugged at his sleeve. Kofi looked down to find Aisha and her eyes bright.

"Uncle Kofi," she said earnestly, "will you dance?"

Before he could respond, she had pulled him into the circle of dancers. His feet remembered the steps before his mind did—old patterns emerging from muscle memory. Around him, his neighbors laughed and clapped as he twirled the small girl.

Later, as the fires burned lower and children dozed in parents' laps, Kofi found himself staring up at the stars. The same stars he'd looked to as a boy, dreaming of adventure beyond their small village. The same stars that had witnessed his gradual surrender to routine and responsibility, to the grinding work of mere survival.

Something had changed tonight. The stranger with his impossible sword and haunting music had cracked open a door Kofi had long believed sealed. Through that narrow opening, he caught glimpses of a world larger than their struggles, richer than their hardships.

The giant boar had been a miracle—food enough to see them through the cold time and then some. But as Kofi watched Noboru pour another drink from his seemingly bottomless gourd, he realized the true miracle was something else entirely. This broken, drunk warrior had given them back something hunger had slowly stolen: the simple joy of being alive.

Tunde slid down the wall to sit beside him, exhaustion and contentment written equally across his features.

"You know," Tunde said thoughtfully, "I think you were wrong this morning."

"About what?"

"About having another hungry mouth to feed." He nodded toward Noboru, who was now teaching a small group of transfixed children how to pluck simple notes from his shamisen.

Kofi nodded slowly, his mismatched eyes reflecting the dying firelight. For the first time in years, the coming cold didn't fill him with dread. For the first time in memory, he found himself looking forward to tomorrow.