The world after fire was quieter than death.
The ground still breathed heat beneath the ash, and every step Airi took sank into memories turned to dust. The air was thick with the scent of burned rice, charred wood, and something heavier — something human.
She wandered barefoot through what once had been home. Each movement sent pain crawling up her legs; her body was broken, her skin blistered, her lungs raw from smoke. But worse than the pain was the silence.
"R-Renjiro…" Her voice cracked, breaking like a bird with torn wings. "Onii… ch–chan?"
Only the wind answered, brushing through the ruins like a sigh.
She reached out and touched a piece of scorched wood, its warmth fading, its shape familiar — the table they had eaten at just hours before. Her mind painted images of his smile, his gentle teasing, the way he had promised to bring her fish again. But now, she could no longer even smell him.
The night stretched endlessly. She didn't know where she was going. Her bare feet found the dirt path leading out of the village, though she could not see it. The only thing she followed was sound — the faint trickle of water far in the distance.
"W-water…" she whispered, her throat aching. She stumbled forward.
Each breath was a struggle. Her hands, trembling, reached out to feel the air. Sometimes she thought she heard footsteps following her, but it was only the sound of ashes falling from her hair.
By the time she reached the river, the sky was beginning to pale with the faintest light of dawn.
The river sang softly — a low, endless hum. Airi knelt at its edge, her hands dipping into the cold water. She wanted to drink, but her arms felt heavy, her body swaying. The water carried a faint shimmer, like moonlight that refused to fade.
"I'm… sorry," she whispered to no one. Her voice was barely there. "I couldn't… save you."
The world tilted. Her head struck the water. The cold wrapped around her like a final embrace. For a heartbeat, she thought she saw him — Renjiro standing in the light across the river, hand extended, smiling gently.
"Let go," he whispered.
Her last breath left her lips like a prayer. The river took her.
And when the first morning sun rose over the mountains, Airi's small body drifted silently downstream — her face half-submerged, her pale fingers open toward the sky.
The river carried her into the unknown.
It might have been hours or eternity when the sound returned — a faint rustle, a murmur, not of water but of leaves.
Airi's senses stirred before her mind did. She felt warmth against her face — not sunlight, but something alive, soft as silk. Her chest rose with breath she did not remember taking. Her fingers twitched against damp soil.
When her eyes opened, she saw nothing. But she felt everything. The air hummed differently here — thick, ancient, breathing with unseen life.
Her body ached, though the pain was softer, dulled by a strange comfort that lingered in her veins. She touched her face and found a smooth cloth covering it — thin, white, and warm, as if woven from light itself. It wasn't hers.
She tried to speak, but her voice was gone. Her thoughts trembled like ripples in still water — and something heard them.
Child of ashes, a voice whispered. You return.
Airi froze. Her heart fluttered wildly. "Wh-who's there?" she managed, her stutter faint even in thought.
We are the wind that remembers, another voice said, this one kind and melodic. We saw you fall into the river of endings. Yet you rose here, within the roots of our forest.
She turned her head slowly, her fingers brushing the moss beneath her. It pulsed faintly, as though it had a heartbeat.
Don't be afraid, a deeper voice murmured — calm, ancient. You stand in the forest of those long forgotten. No mortal dares wander here. This is the domain the demon lord claimed. Yet even he does not walk among our roots.
The name made her shiver. Though she had never seen him, she felt the weight of it. The demon lord — the monster whispered about in frightened tales, the shadow said to devour souls.
"Wh-why am I here?"
The voices shifted like leaves. Because you would not die. Because the river dreamed your name.
Days blurred into one another.
Airi did not remember when she first stood. Her body felt foreign — fragile, still healing. When she touched her arms, the skin there was smooth but faintly tender, as though it had just been woven anew.
Only one place remained untouched by pain — over her heart, where a faint warmth glowed beneath her skin. When she pressed her palm there, she felt a soft pulse, and within it, a tiny shape — like a fairy carved from light.
The spirits never spoke of it. But sometimes, when she sat quietly, she felt their attention drift toward that mark — reverent, cautious.
The forest became her world.
She learned to crawl before she could walk. Her first meals were bitter berries, guided by whispering voices warning her which to avoid. The gentle spirits would hum when she reached for something safe, their tones warm like sunlight. The eerie ones stayed silent, watching, testing.
You must listen to the forest, they told her. It does not speak in words, but in motion. In breath.
At first, she struggled. Her mind reached out in scattered thoughts, words dissolving before they reached them. But slowly, she learned the rhythm — the silent transmission of thought and feeling, the thought transmitter, they called it.
It was like speaking through the heart instead of the mouth.
When she finally succeeded — when a soft spirit replied to her unspoken "Th-thank you" with a gentle warmth in her mind — Airi cried for the first time since the fire.
Her tears fell soundlessly onto the moss.
Her shelter was a massive tree at the forest's heart — roots thick enough to form hollow chambers. She made her home beneath them, where rain seeped in thin rivulets through the cracks. She learned to weave spider silk and broad leaves into crude garments, her fingers guided by unseen hands.
At night, she lay curled beneath the roots, the spirits' faint lights drifting like fireflies around her. Some nights they sang — songs of lost ages, of gods who once walked the earth.
Yet even surrounded by voices, she was lonely.
The first storm that came terrified her. Thunder cracked like the sky itself was breaking, and fire flashed across the clouds. She screamed, memories of her burning home flashing in her mind.
But the spirits did not leave her. The gentle ones whispered soothingly, while the eerie ones said only, Face it.
So she did. She walked out into the storm barefoot, rain soaking her hair and the white cloth over her face. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and she stood unmoving, trembling — until she realized she was not burning.
She stayed there until the rain ended.
Her training began soon after.
She learned to hear beyond hearing — the sound of leaves falling, of roots growing, of distant creatures breathing. She could feel the ripple of movement in the air, the pulse of energy in everything.
When the demon wolves came — creatures larger than horses, eyes glowing red — she was ready.
The spirits did not fight for her. They simply watched.
The wolves circled, growling, the ground shaking beneath their paws. Airi stood barefoot, her thin body trembling. The first one lunged, and she moved without thought — ducking, sidestepping, guided by sound alone.
Her hand found a broken branch. It became her sword. One strike — blind but precise — met the beast's throat. It fell, dissolving into ash.
The others fled.
The spirits' whispers filled the silence. She learns Child born of flames.
Weeks turned into months.
She trained beneath the harsh waterfall, her body growing stronger, her senses sharper. The icy water battered her shoulders, but she never yielded. She listened to its rhythm until she could predict its every motion.
She ran through storms, danced among lightning, fought shadows in the rain. Her laughter — soft and brief — sometimes echoed through the forest, though it never reached her eyes.
The girl who once trembled before fire now lit small flames to warm herself, her fear replaced by quiet reverence.
Yet as her strength grew, something inside her faded. The warmth of her voice, her tears, even her smiles — all became distant.
Emotion dulled into silence.
The spirits noticed but said nothing. Some mourned quietly; others approved. The heart must sleep to survive, the eerie ones whispered.
One evening, as the wind sang through the trees, Airi stood before her shelter. Her body was whole now — her skin pale and smooth, the blue fairy mark glowing faintly beneath the moonlight.
She touched the white cloth that veiled her face. It was no longer just cloth — it was part of her, a gift and a seal.
The spirits gathered around her, their voices blending into a single echo.
You have endured. You have learned. Now, the forest knows you.
Airi lifted her head slightly. "Kn-knows… me?"
It remembers your name.
For the first time since her death, she smiled.
The wind carried her name softly through the trees — Airi.
And far beyond the forest, in the depths of unseen darkness, something stirred. The air turned colder, shadows stretching. A whisper rippled through the land, reaching the ears of creatures that dared not speak it aloud.
The demon lord had felt the shift.
And somewhere in his endless night, he smiled.