The First Crack in the Mask

The next morning, the scent of blood still lingered in the air. Hibiki stood at the edge of the clearing, staring at the spot where the bandit’s body had been. The elf had dragged it away before dawn, leaving only a dark stain on the dirt.

He had barely spoken since last night.

She approached, tossing him a waterskin. “Drink. Then we move.”

Hibiki caught it but didn’t drink. “Where are we going?”

“To find more targets.”

His grip tightened around the waterskin. “More?”

The elf studied him. “Do you think your enemies will be kind enough to die far away from you? That they will disappear the moment you wish them gone?” She turned and began walking. “You need to learn to kill, or this journey ends here.”

Hibiki hesitated. Then, without a word, he followed.

They tracked a group of bandits for half a day, their trail leading them deeper into the woods. Hibiki moved quietly, his senses sharpening with every step.

The elf motioned for him to stop. “There.”

Through the trees, a small camp came into view. Four men sat around a fire, laughing, drinking, sharpening their weapons.

They didn’t look like soldiers.

They didn’t look much different from the man last night.

Hibiki exhaled, steadying himself. He knew what this was. Another test.

The elf whispered, “Kill one. If you cannot, turn back now.”

Hibiki’s heart pounded, but he stepped forward. His fingers curled around the dagger at his belt. The firelight flickered across his face as he moved closer.

He could do this. He had to do this.

One of the bandits stood, stretching his arms. Hibiki’s breath slowed. He gripped the dagger.

Then the bandit turned—and their eyes met.

For a split second, neither moved.

Then, the bandit’s expression twisted. “Who the hell are y—”

Hibiki lunged.

The dagger plunged into the man’s stomach. A choked gasp escaped his lips. Hibiki felt the resistance, the warmth of blood spreading across his hand.

The bandit staggered back, clutching the wound. Hibiki stepped away, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

The others shot to their feet, drawing weapons. The elf’s blade flashed through the air. Two bandits fell before they could even scream.

The last tried to run. The elf grabbed Hibiki’s wrist and shoved him forward.

“Finish it.”

Hibiki hesitated. The bandit was injured, struggling to flee. A clean strike would end it.

He raised his dagger. The man turned, eyes filled with terror.

It was the same look his mother had when she died.

Hibiki froze.

The elf moved past him in an instant, slicing the man’s throat without a second thought. She turned to Hibiki, her face unreadable.

“You still hesitate.”

Hibiki clenched his fists. His body was shaking—not from fear, but from something else.

He had stabbed someone. He had drawn blood. But in that final moment, he had stopped.

Why?

The elf wiped her blade clean. “You will have to answer that for yourself.”

That night, Hibiki sat alone, staring at his hands.

He had killed today. Not completely. Not cleanly. But he had stepped onto the path.

Yet, something still felt… wrong.

The men he had fought were no saints, but neither were they the soldiers who burned his village.

Would revenge mean killing anyone who stood in his way?

Would it turn him into something he could not come back from?

The wind rustled through the trees. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out.

Hibiki exhaled.

The next time, he would not hesitate. But it had to be for the right reasons.

Not because someone told him to. Not because it was a test.

But because the time had come.

Because justice demanded it.

Hibiki washed his hands in the cold river, scrubbing away the blood that had dried beneath his fingernails. The water ran red, swirling in the current before disappearing downstream.

The elf stood behind him, watching in silence.

“It doesn’t wash off,” she said.

Hibiki’s fingers twitched. He scrubbed harder.

She knelt beside him. “You did well today.”

He didn’t answer. The memory of the man’s face—his eyes filled with terror—flashed in his mind. Hibiki had stabbed him, had felt the blade sink into flesh, had felt the warmth of blood spill onto his hands.

But he had hesitated. Again.

The elf leaned closer. “You think this is regret,” she whispered, voice like the wind slithering through dead leaves. “But it isn’t, is it?”

Hibiki’s breath hitched. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

No.

This wasn’t regret.

It was something else. Something deeper.

A thought had crept into his mind when he looked into that man’s eyes.

A simple thought.

He was weak.

The man had begged. Pleaded. Hibiki had seen the same look in his mother’s eyes when she reached for him as she bled out. But she had been different. She had fought to the last breath.

This man? He had accepted death the moment it came for him.

And that disgusted Hibiki.

The elf stood, tilting her head. “You’re starting to understand, aren’t you?”

Hibiki remained silent, staring at the reflection of himself in the water.

The weak died. The strong survived.

It had been that way since the night his village burned.

Then why did he hesitate?

Because deep down, he still saw himself as that weak child.

And that thought… infuriated him.

The elf smirked, as if sensing the shift within him. “You think killing is about vengeance.”

He looked up at her. “Isn’t it?”

She shook her head. “No. Vengeance is an excuse. A leash you put on yourself to justify the hunger growing inside you.”

Hibiki’s pulse quickened. “Hunger?”

She crouched beside him again, her piercing gaze locking onto his. “You don’t just want revenge, Hibiki.” She reached out and tapped his chest. “You want control.”

His breath caught.

A cold realization spread through him like poison.

She was right.

It wasn’t enough to kill the people who burned his village. He wanted them to know they were weak. To break them the way they had broken him.

He had spent years training to destroy them. But that wasn’t enough anymore.

He wanted them to kneel.

He wanted them to beg.

Not for their lives—because by then, they would already be dead.

But for a salvation that would never come.

Hibiki closed his eyes, the night wind whispering through the trees.

This was not just vengeance anymore.

This was justice.

Not the kind sung about by heroes.

The real kind. The only kind that mattered.

A slow smile crept onto his lips.

The elf chuckled, standing up. “Now you’re ready.”

Hibiki opened his eyes.

And for the first time, the flames within him didn’t burn with hatred.

They burned with a twisted purpose the elf put in his head.