Chapter Text
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In the woods, dry leaves crunched under my shoes as I searched for a plant that I didn't even know how I would find. The trees stretched high overhead like silent watchers, their branches tangled in whispers of wind. Shafts of golden light filtered through the canopy, casting the forest floor in a dappled glow, but none of it eased the heaviness in my chest.
I would do anything to help Yuan. That much I knew. The other members of our group—"Sheep" we called ourselves, half-jokingly—were beside her now, busy with odd jobs to earn the medicines we couldn’t forage and, of course, to keep a roof over our heads and food on our table.
I tightened the hood around my neck, more out of habit than cold. Spring had returned, but the shadows in the forest felt colder than they should have. The sun was already dipping behind the hills, setting the sky ablaze with pinks and burnt oranges. The sunset, with its vibrant colors, was a sight to behold, but I had to hurry. The villagers wouldn’t be happy if I came back after dark, especially considering where I was.
It was said that in these forests lived a protector—a kitsune, the fox spirit—who watched over a crumbling shrine hidden deep between moss-covered rocks and twisted roots. No one dared go near it. The old stories claimed the kitsune could bring fortune to those it favored... or ruin to those it didn't. Some believed it cursed our village decades ago after being driven from its sacred grounds.
Superstitions, most would say. But still, no one ever went too far in. Not unless they had no other choice.
A chill ran down my spine, uninvited. I stopped walking, breath caught in my throat. I thought I heard something—soft, like a rustle of fabric or the careful step of paws on leaves. I glanced behind me. Nothing but shadows and trees.
“Get a grip, Chuuya,” I muttered, shaking my head and pressing forward. It was just my imagination. I was tired, that’s all. But even so, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched.
Minutes passed. Or was it hours? Time felt different under the forest’s canopy. I crouched down to inspect a patch of plants near a fallen log, heart lifting for a moment—then falling again when I realized it was the wrong herb. The leaves were jagged and glossy, not the soft matte green I was searching for.
The herb Yuan needed was rare, hard to find, and I only had Shirase’s half-scrawled notes to go on. Something about a blue tint on the underside of the leaves, and a stem that turned red at the tip. He’d found it once, months ago. Said it only grew in places where the ground stayed damp and the sunlight touched it just right.
Frustrated, I stood and wiped my hands on my trousers, my eyes scanning the underbrush.
Birds called overhead. A pair of squirrels scurried up a tree, chittering at each other like gossiping elders. I passed a stream, its waters silver in the fading light, and took a moment to splash some on my face. The cold helped.
That’s when I saw it.
Nestled beside a stone near the stream’s bend was a small cluster of plants. My heart skipped. I stepped closer, careful not to trample anything. The leaves... soft. Slightly blue underneath. And the stem... red at the tip.
“This has to be it,” I whispered, reaching out.
But again, the feeling of eyes on me returned. Stronger. Heavier.
I froze, hand inches from the plant. The woods had gone too quiet. No birds. No wind. Just... silence.
I stood slowly, eyes scanning the woods. There—just for a second—I saw it. A flicker of white between the bushes. Something low to the ground. Fox-shaped, maybe. But it disappeared before I could really see.
“I’m not here to take anything sacred,” I murmured aloud, unsure if I was talking to myself or... someone else. “Just trying to help someone. Please.”
Whether the spirit—if it even existed—heard or cared, I didn’t know. But nothing stopped me. I plucked the herb carefully, wrapping it in cloth and tucking it into my pocket. The weight of it brought a strange comfort.
As I turned back, the sun dipped below the trees completely, and the first stars blinked in the sky.
By the time I reached the edge of the forest, twilight had fully set in. Lights from the village flickered like distant fireflies. My legs ached. My back hurt. But I had the herb. I just hoped it was the right one.
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The moment I stepped through the door, Shirase was already rushing toward me. His ever-disheveled hair looked even messier than usual.
“Chuuya! Did you find the medicinal herb? I need it right away, give it to me if you found it!” he exclaimed, practically vibrating with urgency.
I barely got a word in. “Yeah, I think so—here.” I handed it over.
He snatched it and turned away, muttering to himself as he hurried toward the kitchen. I didn’t take offense. That was Shirase—impulsive, intense, and probably the most caring person I knew, even if he didn’t always show it in the best way.
“I hope it’s the right one,” I said aloud, more to myself than anyone else. “No one’s explained to me exactly how it was supposed to look…”
“Be more optimistic, Chuuya!” he called over his shoulder. “It’s definitely the right herb. Don’t worry. Now all we have to do is mix it with the medicine and give it to Yuan. After a few days, she will be fine.”
A sigh escaped me, filled with both hope and exhaustion. I shut the door behind me, the sound giving me a small sense of closure after the strange journey.
I made my way to Yuan’s room. The girls were already asleep or resting, curled beneath mismatched blankets in the shared space. I moved quietly, not wanting to disturb them. Yuan’s eyes fluttered open as I knelt beside her.
“Hey, Yuan… how are you feeling today?” I asked softly.
She gave me a tired smile. “Ah… Chuuya, my favorite ginger. Come on, I’m feeling better today than yesterday. How about you? How was your day out there?”
I smiled gently. “It went well. I found the herb. And the surroundings were beautiful. Your favorite flowers were there too.”
Her eyes lit up. “Really?! Then next time, collect a hundred for me, and give them all to me, haha!”
“Absolutely,” I said, lying through my teeth. There had been no roses. But it made her smile—and sometimes that was medicine in itself.
“Now rest.. I’ll go say goodnight to the others and head to bed too.”
“You’re always the same, Chuuya,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “Always thinking about others… try to think about yourself for once.”
“Sure, sure… I will.” A lie. We both knew it.
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I passed through the common room, giving sleepy nods to the others—Mikasa, Yuto, little Rin and Kazue, who clung to a stuffed rabbit missing one ear. All of them part of this patchwork family we’d formed in the chaos.
Finally, I reached my room. Or the room I shared with five others. I collapsed onto the straw bed, muscles aching, thoughts swirling.
Lately, a strange illness had spread in the village. Yuan was one of the first, but not the last. Some were recovering. Others... weren’t.
I stared at the wooden ceiling for a long while, eyes unfocused. I didn’t want to think about the fox I might’ve seen. Or the stories. Or the sickness.
I just wanted to sleep. Just a few hours. A little peace.
I closed my eyes and hoped, this time, for dreams that didn’t feel like warnings.