Chapter 4: The First Hunt

The lie was a chasm that had opened up between me and my family. They tried to pretend nothing had happened. Mom baked extra cookies, Dad told more jokes, and my grandparents retreated back into their silent, watchful state. But the image of my parents fighting that… thing… was burned into my mind. The whispers about a "seal" and a "demon" echoed in my ears.

I couldn't talk to them. So I talked to the only person I could.

"Demons?" Kizawa whispered, his eyes wide as we sat on our favorite park bench the next day. I had told him everything-the argument I overheard, the creature in the garden, my parents' secret weapons.

"It sounds crazy, I know," I said, twisting the strap of my backpack. "But I saw it, Kizawa. It was real."

He didn't doubt me. Not for a second. "No, it makes sense," he said, his expression serious. "The power you have… my father used to tell me old stories. About clans with special abilities who protected the world from Yokai, from demons. He always said they were just stories, but…"

"But maybe they're not," I finished for him. A heavy silence settled between us.

"There's a place," he said finally, his voice barely audible. "An old, abandoned shrine deep in the woods west of town. People say it's haunted. Kids who go there on a dare sometimes don't come back. Or they come back… different. Scared. They don't remember what happened."

It was a terrible, reckless idea. The kind only nine-year-olds could come up with.

"Let's go," I said, a thrill of fear and determination shooting through me. If my parents wouldn't give me answers, I would find them myself.

That weekend, we packed a bag with flashlights, water bottles, and rice balls. I "borrowed" the sleek, black-handled dagger from my dad's chest again, tucking it into my belt. Kizawa brought his two bokken. We told our parents we were going camping in his backyard and set off toward the woods.

The forest was dense and dark, the sunlight struggling to pierce the thick canopy of leaves. As we ventured deeper, the cheerful sounds of the town faded, replaced by an eerie silence. The air grew cold, heavy with the smell of damp earth and decay.

We found the shrine easily. It was a decrepit wooden structure, half-swallowed by moss and vines. A stone torii gate, cracked and leaning, marked the entrance. The moment we stepped past it, the oppressive feeling intensified. It felt like we were being watched by a hundred unseen eyes.

"I don't like this, Mizuki," Kizawa murmured, his hand resting on the hilt of his swords.

"Me neither," I admitted, my own hand gripping my dagger. "But we're already here."

We pushed open the creaking doors of the main building. Inside, it was pitch black. Kizawa clicked on his flashlight, its beam cutting through the gloom, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and intricate, faded carvings on the walls. They depicted warriors fighting grotesque, multi-limbed creatures. Demons. Just like the one from my garden.

A skittering sound from the corner of the room made us both jump. Kizawa swung his flashlight toward the noise. Crouched in the shadows were three figures. They weren't human. They were smaller than the one my parents fought, with greasy green skin, long, spindly limbs, and mouths filled with needle-like teeth. Their eyes, a multitude of them, glowed with a malevolent red light. Advance-level Goblins, I’d later learn.

They hissed, a sound like nails on a chalkboard, and scrambled toward us with unnatural speed.

There was no time to think. Kizawa moved instantly, placing himself between me and the creatures. "Stay back!" he yelled.

His wooden swords were a blur as he met the first goblin's charge. There was a sickening crunch as wood connected with bone. But these things were tougher than they looked. The goblin shrieked and swiped at him with long, sharp claws, tearing through his jacket.

Another one lunged at me. All our training, all our pretend-fights in the park, hadn't prepared me for this. This was real. This was life and death.

Fear threatened to paralyze me, but then I saw the blood on Kizawa's arm. And the fear was consumed by a tidal wave of incandescent rage.

The golden fire roared to life inside me.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" I screamed.

My hair exploded into its silver-and-gold glory. The dagger in my hand felt weightless, an extension of my will. The world snapped into that hyper-focused slow motion I was starting to get used to.

The goblin lunged. I didn't dodge. I met it head-on. My dagger flashed, guided by an instinct I didn't know I had. The blade sank deep into the creature's chest. It let out a gurgling cry and dissolved into black dust, just like the one in my garden.

One down. Two to go.

The other two paused, their red eyes blinking in surprise and, for the first time, fear. They turned their full attention on me, recognizing me as the greater threat. They charged together.

Kizawa was back at my side in an instant. "Together!" he yelled.

"Together!" I echoed.

What followed was a terrifying, chaotic dance. We moved around each other with an unspoken understanding. Kizawa, with his twin swords, was a wall of defense, his movements precise and powerful, forcing the goblins back. I was the offense, a whirlwind of silver and gold, darting in and out, my dagger a flash of deadly light.

I ducked under a wild swing, spun, and slashed the back of a goblin's legs. As it stumbled, Kizawa was there, a downward strike of his bokken smashing its skull. It disintegrated.

The last one, enraged, let out a piercing shriek and barreled toward me, ignoring Kizawa completely. It was bigger than the others, faster. Its claws raked the air where my head had been a second before. I stumbled backward, tripping over a loose floorboard.

I hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of me. The goblin loomed over me, its foul breath washing over my face, its jaws snapping.

This is it, I thought. I'm going to die.

Then, a shadow fell over the goblin. Kizawa, with a fierce battle cry, brought both of his bokken down in a powerful, two-handed strike right on the creature's head. There was a final, wet crunch, and the last demon dissolved into nothingness.

Silence.

The golden fire in my hair receded, leaving me weak and trembling. The adrenaline drained away, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion and horror. My hands were shaking. Kizawa was breathing heavily, his face pale, a long, bloody scratch on his arm.

We stared at each other in the dusty, dark shrine, the silence broken only by our ragged breaths. We had almost died. But we had won. We had faced real demons and we had won.

Kizawa finally broke the silence, a slow, disbelieving grin spreading across his face.

"We did it," he breathed. "We really did it."

A shaky laugh escaped my lips. "We did."

We were just kids playing with sticks and a stolen dagger. But in that moment, standing in the ruins of an ancient shrine, surrounded by the dust of vanquished demons, we weren't just kids anymore.

We were hunters.