Deep in the primeval forest, where trees stretch to the sky and mist swirls in twilight, live the beings mortals fear but whisper about in stories. They are the Hermits—symbols of Eternal Winter, born from the coldest winds, humanity’s deepest fears, and falling stars. They bring death and misfortune to humans but keep peace in the frozen lands. One among them, with the sweetest name and the sharpest teeth, is known as their harbinger. They bear many titles: The Reaper, Guardian of Winter, Silence in the Blizzard… Mortals never speak their true name, fearing they might listen. And they would be right to fear.

Mizuki despises mortals as much as mortals fear them. To humans, their appearance is unsettling—long, soft pink curls, like spring petals, frame their face, while smooth horns point up in the sky. A mark of their nature, their bond with a world humans seek to tame yet fail to understand. So they took Mizuki’s left horn in battle, leaving an unhealed scar.

The forest is their home, their mother, their life. Mizuki feels the pulse of roots, the hush of shifting leaves. Around them, creatures behave differently—wolves bow, birds fall silent, sensing the presence of something fearsome. They stand as guardian of the border between the wild and the lands of men. Mizuki knows humans bring only ruin, with their gleaming axes, devouring fire, and greed for what is not theirs. They do not pity humans. Woven in Mizuki’s hands is the magic of dying summer, in their breath, the chill that slows the heart. When the time comes, they walk through the snow without leaving a trace, their spectral figure the last thing seen by those who trespass against the forest.

But now, winter wanes, and spring stirs the air. The season of love comes, leaving them little to reap. So, they walk the woods, rousing the sleeping earth. With a wooden staff, they crack ice on rivers, shake snow from branches, and greet the waking creatures.

“Come on… It’s alright.” Tiny paws hesitate, then press forward to the sunlit morning.