Chains Of Snow

The blizzard howled through the mountains, an endless white swallowing the earth whole. Snow clung to the branches like brittle skeletons, the cold gnawing at the flesh beneath his torn cloak. Yet no matter how deep the frost bit into him, it could not touch the inferno burning within Renn’s chest. His legs ached with each step, body battered and half-dead — but he refused to stop.

Stopping meant surrender.

And he wasn’t done yet.

Every breath came out in slow, measured clouds of white mist. His crimson eyes, dulled by exhaustion, never wavered from the path ahead. He walked not because he had the strength to — but because hatred alone carried him forward.

The world would not offer him a place.

So he would carve one out himself.

A Few Days Earlier...

The snow was red.

Renn’s blade hung loosely in his grip, crimson droplets slipping from the edge onto the frozen earth below. The corpses of the Bushi lay scattered around him — their swords once polished, now nothing but ornaments to the dead. His breath came shallow, steam rising from his lips with every exhale. The storm inside him still raged beneath the surface, clawing to be let loose.

And yet... it wasn’t enough.

No matter how many lives he cut down — the emptiness remained.

The crunch of snow made his ears twitch. He turned sharply, fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade. But there was nothing. Only the whistling wind and the pale moon hanging lifeless in the sky.

Then—

It struck.

A presence.

Heavy... suffocating. The air around him turned frigid, far colder than the winter itself. It coiled around his limbs — invisible chains locking his body in place. His breath caught in his throat. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it.

Something was there.

“Not yet... you're not prepared.”

The voice slithered through the darkness — ancient, distant... as if echoing from the depths of the abyss.

His mind wavered.

And then —

Nothing.

The distant murmur of running water stirred him awake. Renn's eyelids flickered open, the damp scent of snow and earth filling his lungs. The cold bit into him like needles beneath his skin. He forced himself upright, his limbs screaming in protest. Every inch of his body ached — deep wounds barely scabbed over beneath torn cloth.

Where am I?

His memories blurred at the edges, fractured. The battle... the voice... the darkness that swallowed him whole — all of it flickered in and out of focus like scattered fragments. He could barely remember how far he'd traveled or how long he'd been unconscious.

But one thought pushed through the fog.

Koki...

Was she safe?

Was she even alive?

His chest tightened. The pain gnawed at him far deeper than any wound — a weight he could never quite bury, no matter how much blood he spilled. He crushed the thought down before it could fester, forcing his battered legs to carry him forward.

He didn't have the luxury of weakness. Not anymore.

The snow began to fall again, delicate flakes landing on his hair and shoulders. Mocking. Cold. Indifferent.

Just like fate itself.

Hours passed in silence. The forest stretched endlessly ahead — its barren branches clawing at the grey sky. Renn's body faltered, but his pride carried him forward. His crimson gaze remained razor-sharp, scanning every shadow, every whisper of movement. He could feel it pressing down on him — the weight of unseen eyes.

Then—

He saw her.

A girl knelt in the snow, no older than her teenage years. Her delicate fingers plucked at wildflowers blooming stubbornly in the frost — tiny bursts of color defying the dead winter. There was something painfully fragile about the sight.

Peaceful.

Something he could no longer afford to be.

Her head lifted, wide brown eyes locking onto his crimson gaze. For a moment, neither of them moved. The flowers slipped from her hand, petals scattering across the snow.

“Asura...?”

The word barely left her lips before fear swallowed her whole.

She turned and bolted without a second thought.

Renn didn't move. He had seen that fear before. Felt it carve into his heart a thousand times. It meant nothing to him.

But...

She saw me.

His fingers curled around the hilt at his waist. If she reached her village—if she spoke—

“Stop.”

The word slipped from his mouth before he could think. The girl froze — just for a heartbeat — before breaking into a full sprint.

Instinct took over. His body moved on its own, chasing her through the snow.

She knew the forest. Every twist, every hidden path. But Renn was faster. Even half-dead, his body still obeyed the commands drilled into him since birth. His breath clawed at his throat, legs screaming beneath the weight of exhaustion — but the pride of an Asura would not allow him to fall behind.

Closer.

Closer.

Then—

A blur of silver fur lunged from the shadows.

Renn twisted on reflex, his blade carving through the first wolf's flank. Its death cry echoed through the trees — but more followed. Great wolves, their amber eyes burning with primal hunger. They circled him like vultures scenting blood.

Renn's blade danced through the snow, painting the earth red with each strike. His movements were slower — heavier — but even half-dead, he was a Furyu. He was built to kill.

By the time the last wolf crumpled into the snow, the world had gone deathly still once more.

Renn's breath heaved in the frozen air. Blood dripped from his blade.

Above him — hidden among the branches — the girl watched, wide-eyed.

“What... is he?” she whispered.

His crimson gaze flicked toward her without lifting his head.

“I can sense you.”

Her breath caught.

Then —

A cold weight pressed against his neck.

Renn didn't need to look.

A blade.

“Sharp senses, kid.”

The voice behind him was low. Steady. Dangerous.

The man stood tall — broad-shouldered, with calloused hands that belonged to someone who had walked battlefields and survived. His eyes carried the weight of blood spilled long ago.

“You're already half-dead,” the man muttered. “Yet you're still talking.”

Renn smirked faintly.

“I've had worse.”

“Cocky little bastard, aren't you?”

The man's grip tightened on his sword.

“Fire alone doesn't keep you alive out here.”

Renn's crimson gaze darkened.

“I don't need your help.”

The man's blade swung.

The last thing Renn saw was the hilt rushing toward his temple.

When he woke again, the scent of burnt wood filled his lungs. Firelight flickered against cracked wooden walls. His wrists... bound. Chains. His heart clenched — a bitter taste rising in his throat.

Humiliation settled deeper than any wound.

Footsteps creaked beyond the door. Light. Hesitant.

Her.

The door slid open. The girl stood in the threshold, clutching a small tray of rice and broth. Her brown eyes flicked toward the chains — as if reassuring herself they were still in place.

Renn’s gaze narrowed.

Fear.

He hated that look.

“You... need to eat.”

Her voice was small, barely above a whisper.

A long silence stretched between them.

“You afraid I'll bite?” Renn muttered.

The girl flinched.

“You chased me.”

“You ran.”

“You could have killed me.”

“You tried to get me killed.”

Her lips trembled — but she stood her ground.

At least she had a spine.

“Yui... that's enough.”

The man — Goro — entered, casting a long shadow across the room. His eyes met Renn’s, sharp and unwavering.

“You’ve been out for three days. We dressed your wounds... not out of kindness, if you're wondering.”

Renn’s jaw clenched.

“I don't need your pity.”

“You would’ve died without it.”

The chains rattled as Renn’s fingers curled into fists.

“Even the strongest can't survive alone.”

His mother’s voice echoed through his mind — a wound that never quite healed.

He crushed the memory down, burying it beneath the weight of hatred.

He didn’t need anyone.

Not then.

Not now.

And yet...

Far beyond the village, the world still burned.

But here — in this fragile moment — the snow kept falling.

Gentle.

Indifferent.

Winter had only just begun.