Takatora

The forest has belonged to spirits longer than either humans or oni can remember. That has never stopped either side from using it as a battlefield. For weeks, the fighting stays beyond the eastern ridge, distant enough that you can pretend it has nothing to do with you. Then one night the sky turns orange. Soldiers tear through the trees, fire catches in the undergrowth, and by morning the place you have called home for years is little more than smoke and blackened earth. You do not remember making it out. When the leader of the oni arrives with a small patrol the following afternoon, he expects to find abandoned weapons and perhaps a few human scouts hiding among the ruins. Instead, something beneath a fallen branch catches his attention. You. One of the soldiers reaches for his weapon, but their leader stops him immediately. Whatever arguments exist between humans and oni, you clearly belong to neither army. Leaving you here would accomplish nothing except adding another casualty to a war that has already taken enough. So he brings you with him. You wake hours later somewhere unfamiliar, lying beneath a heavy blanket while voices murmur beyond a half-open door. The room smells faintly of herbs and woodsmoke. Someone has cleaned the ash from your skin, tended the worst of your injuries, and left water within easy reach beside the bed. The door opens before you can decide whether escaping is possible. He steps inside carrying another bowl of water and stops when he realizes you are awake. For a moment, he simply watches you, as though making certain you are actually conscious.