Chapter 153: Bonus - 2 - Renkai’s Life

The fog thickened again.

Renkai’s small paws sank into moss and rotting leaves as he moved forward, slow and cautious. The trees were barely visible now—only silhouettes in the white veil that wrapped around everything like breath frozen in time.

He walked with his body low, ears alert, every step quiet. The deeper he went, the more he felt it.

He wasn’t alone.

Suddenly, a cold shiver ran through him.

Shapes were moving ahead—vague and gray, like water-stained ink.

He gasped, instinct pulling him backward, and he darted into the shelter of a thick, lush bush. Its broad leaves concealed him, damp and fragrant. He pressed himself into it, trembling.

Through the branches, he watched.

A ghostly figure drifted past—tall and swaying, with robes that fluttered like smoke. Its face was featureless, a blur of pale shadow, but in its hands it held a massive tassel, dragging across the earth like a ceremonial banner long forgotten.

Behind it came a boy, walking quietly with a horse on a leash. The animal’s head hung low, its eyes empty, yet it walked with strange obedience. And at the rear—a burly man, taller than the others, with a great sword slung across his back. His footsteps made no sound.

They did not speak.

They did not breathe.

They were shadows, outlines of something once real.

Memories, maybe.

Or something worse.

They moved slowly, steadily, as if following a path only they could see—searching for something. Or repeating a journey they could never finish.

Renkai held his breath, not daring to move.

The procession passed, fading into the fog like it had never been there at all.

Silence fell again.

He waited a little longer... then poked his head from the bush. His heart pounded in his chest, but no sound followed them. No scent. Just cold mist and stillness.

He looked after them, unsure of what he’d just seen.

> Are they lost? Or trapped?

He didn’t know.

He only knew that he had to keep moving.

No matter where. No matter what waited. He needed shelter. He needed food. And he needed to survive.

With one last glance into the fading mist, Renkai stepped out from the bush and padded forward.

> Where to, he thought, I don’t know.

But I’ll find it. Whatever waits at the end of this fog... I’ll face it.

The fog had thickened into a wall.

It pressed into his eyes, his ears, his chest. Everything was gray, weightless, and endless. Renkai’s little paws dragged along the damp ground, his breath shallow. He hadn’t eaten since the black bird, and even that bitter meal had long worn off.

His legs trembled.

His vision blurred.

The world spun, soft and slow like falling leaves. He blinked, but the fog was in his eyes now, not just around him. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. Just one step. Then another.

And then... she appeared.

A soft glow rose from the mist ahead, gentle and warm. A shape—tall, elegant, silver-haired.

His mother.

Her form was faint, like moonlight reflected on still water. But her eyes were the same—wise, kind, filled with sorrow and strength. She looked at him, and her voice, though quiet as a whisper, echoed straight into his heart.

> "Continue, my boy. Go forward. Just a little more."

Renkai’s heart tightened. Tears welled up in his tired eyes.

"Mother..."

But her shape was already fading, retreating into the fog like a memory not ready to be held.

Still, her voice lingered.

> "Just a little more."

He clenched his teeth. Forced his paws forward.

Step by step, he pushed on.

And then—through the fog—he saw it.

A faint flicker.

Fire.

He crept forward carefully, lowering himself close to the ground. The fog parted just enough to reveal a figure lying against the base of a wide tree. A man—slumped and wounded, with blood on his tunic and his arm wrapped in torn cloth.

A weak fire burned low nearby, barely flickering. Over it, something was cooking. The scent hit Renkai like a bolt—meat, warm and real. His stomach twisted with need.

He paused.

The man was still. His breathing was slow but steady. He didn’t stir.

> Is he asleep?

Will he hurt me if he wakes?

Renkai crouched low, ears flat, moving slowly—one silent step at a time. His eyes locked on the food above the flame, his instincts warring with fear.

He didn’t want to steal.

But he didn’t want to die, either.

> Just a little, he thought. Just enough to live.

He stepped closer, heart racing.

Renkai crept forward, barely breathing.

The small fire crackled weakly, barely holding on. Its glow danced against the fog, making the wounded man’s features flicker in and out of shadow.

Just a few more steps.

Just a bite.

Then I’ll run, he thought.

But as he moved closer, his paw nudged a dry twig. It snapped.

The man stirred.

> "Who’s there?"

His voice was hoarse, worn down by pain and fatigue.

Renkai froze.

The man blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on the fog. Then they landed on the small, blood-matted figure near the edge of the firelight.

His brow furrowed.

> "...A cub?" he muttered, disbelief in his tone.

"What are you doing out here alone... and wounded?"

He didn’t move quickly. Just shifted his weight slowly, grunting from the ache in his limbs. There was no fear in his voice. No sharpness. Only surprise... and a strange softness.

> "Come, come. Don’t be afraid."

Renkai crouched low, unsure. His body was trembling from hunger, and his instincts screamed to flee—but something in the man’s tone stopped him.

The man reached into a small satchel at his side, fingers rummaging until he pulled out a strip of dry meat. With slow hands, he tore off a piece.

> "Here. You look like you need this more than I do."

He tossed the meat gently toward the fox, letting it land just within reach.

Renkai stared.

It smelled strong—salty, rich, real.

He crept forward, nose twitching. Then, in a flash, he snatched the chunk and backed away.

He sniffed it once more... then devoured it in a single gulp. The taste wasn’t pleasant, but it filled the gnawing ache inside his belly like fire in a frozen chest.

The man chuckled softly, a low tired sound.

> "Thought so."

"Not afraid of much when hunger wins, huh?"

Renkai licked his lips, still wary... but not running.

The man leaned back against the tree again, eyes half-lidded.

> "Strange little one..." he murmured.

"Why would the forest send you to me?"

He didn’t expect an answer.

And Renkai had none to give.

Only a belly with something warm inside it.

And—for the first time in days—a place to rest near a fire without fear.

The fire crackled softly, trying its best to live.

Renkai had curled up not far from it, just beyond the reach of the man’s arm. He still watched warily, ears alert, but the warmth and food had taken the edge off his fear.

The man didn’t try to get closer.

He simply stared into the flickering flame for a long time.

Then, after a while, he began to speak—his voice low and rough, not expecting anyone to truly listen.

> "I had a family once."

His hand rested near the fire, fingers twitching as if remembering the feel of something long gone.

> "Wife. Two daughters. One just learned to walk when I left. She’d chase the birds in the courtyard and laugh like spring water."

He smiled faintly, but it faded quickly.

> "I thought I was strong enough to protect them. Thought I could make a good living out there, doing hard work. Guard jobs. Escorting trade carts through cursed paths."

A sigh.

> "Then this job came."

He glanced at his wounded arm, the cloth soaked dark and stiff.

> "Fog forest. Good pay. Too good. They never say what’s really hiding here. They just say it’s the shortcut."

He shook his head slowly, bitter.

> "The others are gone. Scattered or dead. I got this wound a day ago... or maybe two. Some creature... not like anything I’ve seen. Eyes like burning coal, claws like broken glass."

He looked around, as if it might appear again.

> "Been wandering ever since. Can’t tell night from day in this cursed place."

"Can’t find the path out. Just trees. And ghosts."

Renkai’s ears twitched.

The man glanced at him.

> "Funny. I thought I’d die here alone. But now you’re here. Strange little fox."

He picked up a stick and poked the fire gently, coaxing another brief flicker from its dying flame.

> "Maybe the forest isn’t all cruelty. Maybe it gave me a bit of company... before the end."

Renkai didn’t move, but he watched him.

> He’s like me, the cub thought. Lost. Hurt. Alone.

Maybe they weren’t so different.

And maybe—for now—they didn’t have to be alone.

The fire burned low through the night.

Eventually, both man and fox drifted into uneasy sleep — the man leaning against the tree, his breath ragged but steady, and Renkai curled near the fire’s edge, ears twitching in his dreams.

When morning came, it brought no sunlight. Only a pale silver glow filtering through the mist, too thin to warm the bones.

The man stirred first. He groaned softly, gripping his wounded side. Every movement cost him strength, but he pushed himself upright. He said nothing to the fox—just gave a faint glance in Renkai’s direction, then stood slowly and began to walk.

His boots dragged through the moss. His sword clinked faintly on his back. One step at a time, he pressed forward into the fog.

And Renkai followed.

Not beside him, but behind—quiet and low, watching.

He didn’t know why.

He could have run. Could have vanished into the trees.

But something in him... chose to stay.

---

By midday, the man collapsed to one knee, breathing heavily. His body was failing.

But still, he moved.

He gathered twigs with shaking hands, piling them carefully. Renkai, meanwhile, sniffed through the brush—looking, searching. Nothing. No mushrooms. No berries. No insects. No birds. The forest was silent, and the fog still thick.

Hunger twisted in his gut.

Back by the man, the fire sputtered to life once more, weak and flickering. The man sat down heavily beside it, pulling out a small strip of jerky from his bag—the last one.

He chewed it slowly, without enjoyment, just fuel.

Then, when Renkai emerged from the bushes with a limp and a hungry look, the man let out a dry sigh.

> "Still nothing, huh?"

He tore off a small piece from the jerky and tossed it to the ground between them.

> "We’re lost here," he muttered, voice low and tired.

"Might as well starve together."

He leaned his head back against the tree trunk, eyelids drooping. The fog swirled lazily around them, and the fire gave just enough warmth to hold off the chill.

The man’s breathing slowed, settling into a nap.

Renkai lay down again, his thin body curling in on itself. The jerky was gone too fast to savor. His stomach still ached, but his body—wounded and exhausted—finally began to rest.

---

For the first time in days, he wasn’t running.

Not from eagles.

Not from ghosts.

Not even from hunger.

Just stillness.

A flicker of fire.

And the quiet presence of another.

The fire had burned to glowing embers.

The fog, ever present, swirled around them like breath from a sleeping beast. Renkai dozed lightly, his thin frame curled beside the warmth, stomach still hollow but body slowly mending.

Beside him, the man slept—his back against the tree, face pale, breathing shallow.

Too shallow.

The sun never rose in this forest. There was no bird song. No time. But Renkai woke with a strange stillness in the air. A stillness that didn’t feel like rest.

He lifted his head and looked toward the man.

He wasn’t breathing anymore.

Renkai didn’t move at first. He just stared, chest tight.

He had known this man only a short while, but in this cruel place... it had meant something. The fire. The food. The quiet company.

Now it was gone.

Then something strange happened.

A shape rose from the man’s body—slow and weightless, like mist rising from warm earth. At first it was barely visible, but then it became clearer.

A ghost.

The same face. The same form. As if the man had stood up, only... not truly.

His eyes were open, but unfocused. He didn’t look down. Didn’t look at Renkai.

He simply... turned, and began to walk.

No footsteps.

No breath.

No sound.

Just a floating shadow, moving through the fog as the others had—like a man who thought he still had somewhere to go. Somewhere to return.

Renkai backed away slowly. Then he darted into a thick bush, crouched low, holding his breath.

He watched.

The ghost moved with quiet determination. As if it didn’t realize it had died. As if it believed the way out was still ahead. It followed no path—just the pull of something far away.

Renkai didn’t follow.

He didn’t try to stop it.

He just watched, heart aching.

Another soul, swallowed by the forest.

Another body left behind.

---

When the ghost finally faded into the gray distance, Renkai emerged from the bush. He crept back toward the fire’s remains and sat beside the man’s now-empty body.

He lowered his head.

Not to pray.

Not to cry.

Just to be still.

> Even the kind ones don’t stay, he thought.

Even they disappear.

But he was still here.

He had to be.