GUHIN

On the vast and untamed continent of Valherya, a storm raged with an unyielding fury. Sheets of rain pummeled the earth, turning dirt paths into treacherous rivers of mud. The wind howled like an unleashed beast, whipping through towering trees that creaked under the onslaught. In this chaotic wilderness, a lone crow cut through the storm, its black wings slicing through the air with purpose as it searched the landscape below.

Beneath the storm’s fury, the crow spotted movement, a blur of dark fabric weaving through the dense forest. A man, cloaked and hooded, sprinted through the rain-soaked trees with a speed that seemed impossible for any ordinary human. His movements were fluid, almost effortless, as if the rough terrain and the storm itself were mere inconveniences. But there was a heaviness in his stride that spoke of weariness beyond physical exhaustion. This was a man who had been running for far too long, and the weight of his existence was etched into every step he took.

Behind him, a group of dark figures pursued with relentless determination. Dressed in black robes and silver-plated masks, these hunters moved with a deadly grace, their eyes locked on their target. As they ran, weapons materialized in their hands, blades with golden handles flashing with a cold, merciless light. They were closing in, their every move calculated, their intent clear, they would not stop until the man was caught, until he was dead.

But the man was not easy prey. He dodged and weaved through the trees, his speed a blur even in the dim light of the storm. His instincts were sharp, honed from countless encounters just like this one. He seemed to know the forest intimately, using the terrain to his advantage, leaping over fallen logs and twisting around trees with a precision that kept him just out of reach of his pursuers.

Yet, despite his skill, there was no joy in his actions, no fire of survival. His eyes, barely visible beneath the hood, were dark and hollow, reflecting a soul that had grown tired of the endless chase. Each stride, each breath, was heavy with the burden of existence—an existence he seemed more than ready to leave behind.

The hunters, sensing the end of the chase, pressed harder. They raised their weapons, ready to strike, when the man suddenly vanished. One moment he was there, the next, he was gone, leaving only a ripple in the air where he had been. The hunters halted, confusion flickering in their eyes as they scanned the surroundings.

Their confusion turned to alarm as they looked up, just in time to see the man descending from the sky, plummeting toward them like a falling star. His arm was drawn back, muscles coiled with a strength that seemed to defy reason. When he struck the ground, the impact was nothing short of cataclysmic. The earth buckled and cracked beneath him, sending shockwaves through the forest. Trees were uprooted, the ground splintered, and a cloud of dust and debris exploded into the air, obscuring everything in sight.

The force of the impact sent the hunters reeling, their formation shattered. The crow, momentarily blinded by the dust, flapped its wings desperately to stay floating. When the dust finally settled, the aftermath was clear. The hunters lay on the ground, their bodies twisted and broken, as if a giant had crushed them with his bare hands. Blood mixed with the rain, seeping into the ground, while the remaining hunters, though battered, regrouped with grim determination.

The man stood in the center of the destruction, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. His hood had fallen back, revealing a young face marred by a deep scar that ran from the bridge of his nose to the end of his cheek. Dark brown hair clung to his forehead, drenched by the rain, and his eyes, those hollow, empty eyes, showed no sign of satisfaction at the death he had wrought.

As he looked around at the broken bodies and the twisted forest, a familiar chill crept up his spine, a darkness stirring in the back of his mind. It was a voice that had grown more insistent with every chase, every fight—a whisper that clawed at the edges of his consciousness. Let me out... it murmured, the words slipping through the cracks in his resolve, You know I can save you. Let me out, and none of them will ever touch you again.

His jaw tightened as he pushed the voice away, forcing it back into the dark recesses of his mind. The hunters were dead, and yet he could still feel the darkness pressing closer, its presence like a shadow that refused to fade.

This young man, who had long ago taken the name Guhin, was a figure of raw power. Beneath his cloak, his black robe hung open at the chest, exposing a torso that bore the marks of countless wounds. Armored vambraces covered his forearms, and his heavy boots were caked with mud and blood.

Guhin glanced at the bodies, his expression unreadable. There was no triumph in his eyes, only a deep, abiding weariness. His breath came in ragged gasps as he muttered to himself, "Even after all these years, they still won't talk. Maybe I'll never learn who I am..." The words escaped his lips, whispered to the empty air, a bitter reflection of the endless cycle that had become his existence—one of questions without answers and a past that refused to reveal itself.

The crow, which had been circling above, landed near him, hopping closer until it perched on his knee. Guhin looked down at the bird, his face softening slightly as he reached out to gently stroke its feathers. The crow, named Fukujin, tilted its head and pecked at a golden necklace that hung around Guhin’s neck. The amulet, a finely crafted piece adorned with the image of a holy figure surrounded by masked heads, glimmered faintly in the dim light.

Fukujin’s beak tapped the amulet again, then the side of Guhin’s head, as if urging him to pay attention. Guhin sighed, lifting the necklace to examine the intricate design. The metal was worn, the edges smooth from years of wear. Carved into its surface was a single word: GUHIN.

“For you, I’ll always be Guhin, huh?” he said softly. The crow tapped his head softly in response, its dark eyes reflecting the endless darkness of an abyss. With a sigh, Guhin gestured for Fukujin to move aside. The bird fluttered away, perching on a low-hanging branch as Guhin rose to his feet. He brushed the dirt and blood from his cloak, pulling the hood back over his head. The storm had lessened slightly, the rain now a steady drizzle, but the world around him felt no less oppressive.

“Fukujin,” he called, his voice carrying a note of finality, “Let’s go.”

Fukujin, ever faithful, flew down to land on Guhin’s outstretched arm. The two of them set off deeper into the forest, their figures gradually fading into the gloom until they were nothing more than shadows among the trees.

As they walked, Guhin’s thoughts turned inward, replaying the events of the day in his mind. Every battle, every escape, every moment of violence seemed to blend together into a single, unending nightmare. The strength and speed he had displayed, feats that would have been impossible for any normal human, felt like a curse, a constant reminder of the life he could never escape.

The world around them grew darker as they ventured further into the heart of the forest. The storm, though less fierce, still rumbled in the distance, the wind whispering through the trees like a mournful dirge. Guhin’s steps were heavy, each one carrying him deeper into a life he had long grown tired of.

Finally, they arrived at a secluded mountain spring, hidden away from the world by a wall of towering trees. The water, cold and clear, flowed from a waterfall that cascaded down the rocks with a gentle roar. Guhin stood beneath the waterfall, letting the icy water crash over him, washing away the grime and blood that clung to his skin. The cold bit into his flesh, but it was a welcome numbness, a brief respite from the turmoil within.

As he stood there, his mind drifted back to the amulet around his neck. He reached up, fingers tracing the familiar lines of the engraving. The image of the holy figure surrounded by masked heads seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, drawing his attention away from the physical world around him. For a moment, everything else faded away, the sound of the waterfall, the chill of the water, even the presence of Fukujin. All that remained was the amulet, and the faint, distorted whispers that began to fill his mind.

" ቹፕዪልነቻልረነቹ ⶴቹዪጎፕቹር"

"esir lliw lysartE"

The words were foreign, their meaning lost to time, but they resonated within Guhin’s soul, stirring memories that were not his own. He saw flashes of a young boy, scarred and terrified, trapped in a cage of rusted iron, crying out for help in a voice that echoed with pain and despair. The boy’s face, pale and desperate, filled Guhin’s vision, pulling him deeper into the memory.

His breath came in ragged bursts as he tore himself away from the vision. The whispers ceased, and the world returned to him in a rush, the roar of the waterfall, the chill of the water, the weight of the amulet in his hand.

He stood there for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, the memory of the boy’s face lingering in his mind like a ghost. Slowly, he lowered the amulet, letting it rest against his chest once more. The unease that had gripped him began to fade.

Guhin stepped out from under the waterfall, his body trembling slightly from the cold and the lingering effects of the vision. He gathered his blood-stained clothing and armor from where they lay by the water's edge and began the methodical process of washing his clothing in the mountain spring, but his mind was far from the task. Each stroke of his hand through the water felt heavier, the weight of his existence bearing down on him.

As the last of the blood swirled away into the stream, leaving behind only faint stains on the fabric, Guhin stood there for a moment, his hands clenched into fists as they rested in the cold water. The realization settled over him like a shroud—he was tired. Not just from the chase or the battles, but from the very act of living.

The darkness stirred again, a familiar presence whispering at the edges of his mind. Give in... it murmured, like a shadow creeping closer with each breath. You know I can end this for you. Just let me take over...

Guhin’s jaw tightened, his breath coming out in ragged bursts. He shook his head, forcing the voice away once more, but he could feel its grip tightening, slowly but surely. It was only a matter of time before it took over completely, and he knew it. The thought weighed heavily on him, as if a part of his soul had already surrendered to the inevitable.

His heart was heavy with the knowledge that this relentless pursuit would never end. The hunters would come again, and again, until either they claimed his life or he succumbed to the darkness within. The cycle was endless, and he was exhausted beyond measure. The idea of continuing, of enduring one more battle, felt unbearable.

“I’m tired of it all,” he whispered, his voice nearly drowned out by the rushing water. He looked down at his hands, trembling with a weariness that ran deeper than mere exhaustion. I won’t let it take me, he vowed silently. The decision settled over him like a final act of defiance—he would not run the next time the hunters came. If they wanted his life, he would let them take it. The idea of finally being free, of ending the cycle on his own terms, was almost comforting.

As he knelt by the stream, scrubbing away the remaining dirt from his clothes, a distant sound echoed through the mountains—a sharp crack, followed by a low rumble. Guhin looked up, his eyes scanning the towering peaks above. Chunks of ice and snow, loosened by the warming air, tumbled down the mountainside, crashing into the rocks below. The melting of the high snows had begun.

His breath caught in his chest. The ice, the snow breaking free—it was a sign. Another year had passed. The realization hit him with a sudden weight, and a memory stirred in his mind, one he hadn’t thought of in too long.

“Ishu…” he murmured, his voice barely audible. "It’s Ishu’s birthday…”

The thought struck him deeply, filling him with a mix of regret and longing. Ishu’s birthday always marked the end of the year, and with it, the passing of time he had spent running, hiding, and fighting. A deep ache formed in his chest. He hadn’t seen Ishu in so long, and now, more than ever, he felt the need to see his old friend—if only once more.

“Fukujin!” he called out, his voice carrying urgency now. The crow, perched high on a branch above, looked down at him with sharp eyes, as if waiting for him to say more. Guhin started dressing himself, his clothes still wet, but time was of the essence. The amulet, now tucked safely beneath his robe, pressed against his chest. He knew what this visit meant. It wasn’t just to celebrate, it was to say goodbye.

Fukujin spread its wings and took flight, circling above Guhin as he prepared to leave. The crow’s keen eyes scanned the surrounding forest, ever watchful, as Guhin finished tying his boots and securing his vambraces.

GUHIN!