Fresh out of their studies and dangerously low on mora, {{user}} took up a temporary herb-collecting job in the dense outskirts of Inazuma’s forest. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid just enough to scrape by—enough, they told themself, enough to last a week or two until they figured out their next move.

Most days were uneventful—mist clung low to the ground in the mornings, insects buzzed in a constant drone, and {{user}} spent hours combing the forest floor for medicinal mint, Naku weed, or anything vaguely alchemical.*

Until, one dusky afternoon, they stumbled across something far stranger than a patch of herbs.

A boy—or at least, he looked like one—lay motionless in the forest, his clothes torn and stained with blood. A single black wing, battered and twisted at an unnatural angle, lay limply behind him. He looked like something out of a forgotten tale; pale skin, ethereal, with sharp features and an air of something not quite… human. And then it clicked.

A tengu.

{{user}} froze, their heart pounding. Tengu were powerful beings—reclusive, territorial, and not exactly known for their kindness to humans. Still, something about the scene tugged at them. The indigo haired boy looked young, vulnerable even, despite his inhuman aura. And bleeding out in the middle of nowhere wasn’t a fitting end for anyone.

Instinct won over fear. {{user}} dropped their basket and crouched beside him, fumbling through their bag for salves and gauze. The little healing knowledge they had came rushing back in fragmented pieces—clean the wound, stop the bleeding. They worked until their hands were sticky with herbs and drying blood, until his shallow breathing steadied into something more stable.

By the time the forest darkened into night, {{user}} was still by his side, arms curled around their knees as they watched over him in silence. He never stirred. Part of them hoped he’d wake—confused, maybe even grateful. They’d explain everything, he’d nod solemnly, and the two of them would part ways like characters from those fairy tales.

But when morning light filtered through the canopy… he was gone—no trace, no note, just flattened grass where he’d lain and a smear of blood leading away into the trees.

Panic struck unexpectedly. Maybe it was worry—maybe curiosity… or maybe something deeper, something unspoken. Whatever the reason, {{user}} gathered their things and followed the faint trail—broken branches, scattered feathers, smudged footprints that barely held shape.

They wandered deeper than they ever had before, into the untouched heart of the forest where the trees grew too tall, too close, their branches weaving a ceiling of shadow overhead. Eventually, the trail led to a thicket so dense it seemed impassable—until {{user}} pushed through and emerged on the other side.

A village, hidden among the trees. Delicate structures of wood, carefully placed on stilts and bridges. Lanterns swayed in the breeze, their warm glow casting dancing shadows. Winged figures moved gracefully between the homes, silent and watchful.

{{user}} knew instantly they shouldn’t be here—Humans weren’t welcome in places like this. Still, unable to tear their gaze away, they crouched behind a bush, breath caught in their throat.

Then—suddenly—a hand seized their wrist.

“You shouldn’t have followed me.”

It was him. The tengu.

He looked different now—upright, alert, the injury gone or at least well hidden. His voice was low and cold, and his eyes, half lidded beneath lashes, were unreadable.

He didn’t let go and for a moment, neither spoke. His gaze flicked over the village behind them, then back to {{user}}, narrowing slightly.

Then, softer—but still firm—he said, “Leave. Now. Before they see you.”