Mercerie @merceriee - Tumblr Blog

Jan 18

The Bluebird's Song

【Masterlist】【Series Masterlist】

Outlaw!Satoru Fojo x Fem!Reader

「Ongoing」 18+ ⋮ You, the soon-to-be heiress to the Zenin family fortune, are on the run with a hefty reward on your head, and the only people keeping you alive are outlaws who should've turned you in. At the center of it all is the most ruthless, cocky, and feared gunslinger in the land: Satoru Gojo. Hunted by the powerful and the violent, and bound to a man who could betray you at any moment, you learn that in a world of outlaws, trust is the deadliest gamble.

⭑.ᐟ Red Dead Redemption inspired au, outlaw!gojo

Word Count: 6.3k

Content Warnings ⚠ MDNI 18+, Smoking, death, angst, violence, gun violence, graphic injuries, blood, hunting, murder, kidnapping, betrayal, eventual smut, misogyny, mutual pining, arranged marriage, somewhat enemies to lovers? (tags will be updated as the series continues)

「Taglist: Open」

« Prologue - Chapter One - Next Chapter »

Naoya Zenin was a fine man.

In the eyes of both men and women, he epitomized everything a person could ever desire to hold in their hands. He would slick his dark blonde hair just so, naturally offering a smile as flashy as the intricate hand embroidery on his white cotton collar. The ladies in town were always swooned by his God-given charm, whispering behind covered lips that any lady must be worth a pretty penny for an ounce of his time. About how perfect he would be as a husband, a father, and heir to the Zenin legacy.

Naoya Zenin was a fine man.

You first met Naoya when you were freshly ten years old, just four months shy of your mother and brother being laid six feet beneath the black leam behind the local chapel. It had been an afternoon thick with the scent of summer honeysuckle, the air hanging heavy with the droning hum of cicadas.

The Zenin family had come for dinner–a courtesy visit, though nothing about it felt polite. You were buttoned up in a stiff mourning dress, its itchy black lace scratching at your skin while the adults chatted over glasses of liquor.

Naoya had already been taller than you, though not by much, and was far more composed than any boy his age ought to have been. He offered a polite nod, and you remembered thinking how odd he seemed then, like a grown man trapped in a boy’s body.

Still, he had bowed to you just the same, extending a hand as if you were already adults playing at propriety.

You, still numb with grief, merely curtsied. Your father, sitting at the head of the table across from Mr. Zenin, had given you a rare smile of approval then. It was enough for you to hold your tongue and keep your back straight, even when you wanted nothing more than to go back outside to watch the evening lightning bugs play in your mother’s garden.

The years since had softened Naoya in your memory, though only a little. He had grown into the man the gossip in town had predicted: polished, handsome, and charming in a way that always seemed just shy of genuine. He was fine, truly, everything a girl was taught to admire. But that was just it, wasn’t it?

He was…

Fine.

“Miss?”

Somehow, the bay beyond your window seemed to stretch on forever, forever glittering under the setting sun. The golden light fell on everything it could touch, gracing even the slow-floating dust that drifted about like the last flurries of a winter storm. Even the water itself was a sight an artist only wished to paint on paper, but there was nothing that could capture it’s beauty aside from your own eyes.

Many painters had tried, and of those many, all had failed.

You had never touched the water that went beyond the shores of your home. In the summer, when father was away, you and your maid would wade out with lifted skirts, letting the water pool around your ankles, watching the little fishing boats that dotted the horizon.

The fisherman’s lives were nothing like yours. That much was obvious. Their hands were calloused and cut, their clothes simple and old, their days dictated by their hunger and the tide.

And yet, even while you stood in the water with your delicate summer dress hiked up high, you envied them.

You couldn’t place the exact reason why, though.

Your hands, covered now in a soft satin the color of whipped cream, somehow felt foreign to you. Your skin was perfectly smooth, unblemished, untouched. You had never known hunger, nor the cold, nor even the sting of a cut on your delicate skin.

Instead of your days being spent under the hot sweltering sun, your days were filled with the embroidery gossip of other ladies your age, practicing pianoforte with your governess, and other, quite truthfully, comfortable activities.

But you stood here, wrapped in tapestries of such wealth only few ever possessed, with an ache in your heart.

It wasn’t that you were ungrateful. No, that was far from the truth. You knew how fortunate you were.

You had a life most could only ever dream of and then some. You had everything a young lady could want.

Everything a young lady should want.

The pearls around your neck hung loose but felt tight. They were a gift from Naoya, sent in a velvet-lined box accompanied by a card in his fine, slanted handwriting.

‘To my bride-to-be, with admiration.’

You had tucked that card into a drawer and left it there, unopened since.

Naoya was the future, and so were you.

Your families had been arranging the marriage for years, since you both were children. The Zenin family, with their expansive tobacco empire, had promised your father that Naoya would take your hand once you had reached a suitable age for such a commitment. And while you had no say in the matter, you had always known it would happen, as it was the way things were expected to be done.

But that ache…

It still sang like a blue tune in the dead of night, soft like a whisper in the spring wind. A longing for something you couldn’t quite name, a pull toward something more, somewhere just beyond your reach, like a dream forgotten upon waking, slipping through your fingers before you could grasp it fully.

Naoya Zenin was a fine man.

“Miss?”

You let out a soft sigh, your warm breath fogging the window.

“Miss!” Akari Nitta’s voice called again, her head now peeking around the oak door. You turned to find your childhood maid peeking her head into the room. “Mrs. Zenin and your father are asking for you. The guests have all ‘bout arrived.”

“Of course.” You replied, smoothing down the front of your dark evergreen dress while offering a smile. “I’ll be right down.”

As Akari disappeared down the hall, you cast one last glance at the bay, now awash in the soft purple blush of the beginning of dusk.

You would give anything to go just beyond the shore of your home, to carelessly drift in the coolness of the water that kissed the edge of the heavens.

But the heavens were not yours to touch.

You belonged to this house, to this family, and to a life that had already been written.

The grand staircase descended with perfect symmetry, gently carved from the finest marble that gleamed under the chandelier’s glow, the ornate railing only adding to its beauty. You gripped the banister lightly, your gloved fingers gliding over the cool, polished wood.

The foyer was full of faces you had seen at least a dozen times–distant relatives, family friends, business associates, and others–and they were all dressed to the nines, opting for their finest attire to stand chattering in the most anticipated evening of the year. Music drifted in from your father’s parlor, the soft waltz blending with the low hum of conversation.

And there, in the center of it all, was Naoya Zenin.

Naoya.

He stood at the foot of the staircase, his posture straight and commanding, his dark blonde hair neatly swept back with a shine that made it gleam like spun gold. And his smile, as always, was effortlessly charming and familiar, despite it never fully reaching his eyes.

His gaze met yours as you descended the last few steps, and for a moment something shifted, but it was gone before you could make any sense of it, his large hand taking yours.

“Ah, my dove,” he said, smooth and unhurried. He walked you up a few stairs where you now stood above the crowd. “You look absolutely beautiful, dear.”

He lifted his glass and turned.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Naoya’s voice rose, drawing the attention of the crowd as he held your hand in his, "I ask you all to raise your glass in a toast to my future wife, the woman whom I am honored to soon call mine in every sense of the word. May our union be one that lasts beyond time itself."

Clinking glasses and applause filled the room. Naoya’s arm slipped comfortably around your waist, pulling you closer to him before guiding you into the circle of conversation that had formed.

Naoya Zenin was a fine man.

Naoya’s hand never strayed far from your waist. His touch was gentle on your skin, which seemed to flush every time he naturally drummed a finger against it.

He introduced you to a man with a forgetful name, one of the Zenin family's long-standing business partners from the north, a stout man with a face as red as the port in his glass. His thinning hair glistened under the chandelier as he bowed.

“A vision of elegance,” The man had said, his boastful words slurring. “Naoya, you are quite a lucky man.”

Naoya chuckled softly as his grip on your waist tightened. “I consider myself the luckiest, indeed.”

“And you, Miss, are every bit as radiant as I have had the privilege of hearing,”

“Thank you,” you replied, inclining your head with a smile. “You are too kind, sir.”

The man laughed then, a deep, hearty laugh, before tipping his glass toward Naoya.

“A fine match, truly.” Naoya’s smile only widened in response, his thumb rubbing up and down the satin stitching at your waist. “It’s clear you’ll bring grace to the Zenin family. Not that Naoya is of any lack.”

Naoya forcefully laughed at that, a rich, low sound that hummed in your heart and caught the attention of the surrounding guests. “You flatter me, sir,” he said, “but I must agree. She will become the most beloved addition to the Zenin household.”

As their conversation continued, you nodded and smiled when appropriate, but you weren't paying any real attention. Their words had dissolved into a haze of niceties and “men’s talk”, as your father would say, the kind of talk that never delved deeper than a foot in the water.

The stench of cigars slowly drifted toward you, mingling with the scent of flowers, and for a moment, your stomach churned. Your father’s study was close by and occupied. The thought of him, surrounded by his business partners, talking about who knows what, and their thick laughter occasionally cutting through the air, made your throat tighten.

“Naoya,” your throat released before thinking, “would you mind terribly if I stepped out for some air? I believe I’ve had one too many glasses of champagne this evening.”

His sharp eyes flickered to yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw the faintest shade of irritation pass through them. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual charming smile.

“Of course, my dear.” He hummed smoothly, his hand releasing your waist for the first time all evening. “Don’t stray too far, though. I’ll be needing my partner for dancing soon.”

“Of course,” you curtsied before slipping toward the garden.

From the gazebo on the bay water’s edge, the life inside the house was reduced to only a soft murmur. The cool humidity was welcome on your flushed cheeks, the gentle wind carrying the faint scent of salt.

You let out a deep breath, your shoulders finally relaxing as you leaned into the wooden railing, head heavy as you sat your chin in your palms.

“Taking a moment to yourself?”

The voice startled you. Turning, you find a man standing a few steps away, his silhouette illuminated by the moon's soft light. He was unfamiliar, a man with a heavy cigar sitting lit on his lips, carrying a stance of comfortable confidence that separated him from the other men you had met inside.

“I am,” you replied politely. “And you are...?”

He took a step further into your mother’s gazebo.

“Shiu Kong,” he said simply, “I’m here on business with the Zenin family.”

You nodded. His name carried no recognition. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Kong. I hope you’re finding the evening enjoyable.”

He gave a faint smile, the unoccupied corner of his lip curling upwards.

“Enjoyable enough. Though I’ll admit, I’m not one for these kind ‘f gatherings.”

His accent surprised you, one you’d only ever heard from the dockyards of the industrial section of town.

“They can be a bit…overwhelming,” you admit, your fingers brushing absentmindedly against the wooden rail. “The conversations start to blend together after a while.”

Shiu Kong nodded, his cigar ember flaring as he took a slow drag. The sharp, familiar scent of Zenin tobacco mingled with the salt in the air.

“Not my crowd either. But business is business.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him.

“If I may, what sort of business brings you all the way out here, Mr. Kong?”

His expression didn’t change.

“I mind, but it’s nothing worth worrying your pretty head ‘bout. Nothin’ worth sharin’. Just talking to the right folk, makin’ the right deals. Ain’t that what these kinds of gatherings are for?”

“I suppose.”

For a moment, silence settled between you, broken only by the gentle lap of the bay water against the posts of the gazebo. It was odd, standing there unchaperoned with a man you’d never met, exchanging words that felt oddly significant in their simplicity. There was something about him too that made you feel at ease, despite the formality of the evening.

As your gaze drifted back to the shimmering stars reflected on the bay, Shiu Kong spoke again, his voice low and measured.

“You don’t look like someone who belongs here.”

You blinked before turning to face the man behind you.

“I beg your pardon?”

He shrugged, tapping the ash from his cigar onto the wooden floor. “Don’t take it the wrong way, miss. Just meant you don’t seem like the type enjoyin’ all this pomp and pretension. Thought maybe you were like me, here outta obligation.”

Before the conversation could delve any deeper, a light pouring out from an opening door caught your attention. Naoya stepped onto the back patio, his head turning as he searched. The sight of him sent a ripple of nerves down your spine, your moment of peace abruptly cut shorter than you’d liked.

“I should go,” you said politely, stepping away from the railing. “It was a real pleasure meeting you, Mr. Kong.”

Shiu inclined his head, his faint smile returning. “Likewise. Enjoy the rest of your evenin’, miss.”

Without another word, you quickly returned to the house, your steps light but deliberate as you approached Naoya. He smiled as his gaze locked onto you.

“Where have you been?”

“Just needed some fresh air. It’s a bit stifling inside.”

Naoya lifted his elbow, offering his arm.

“Come. Everyone’s asking for you.”

And you take his arm because, after all, Naoya Zenin was a fine man.

A fine man who came with a fine future.

The barking jolted you awake.

A persistent, sharp sound that sliced through the fog of sleep.

For a moment, you couldn’t quite place where you were, your mind still swimming in the haze of the dream you had been pulled from.

At first, it was distant, just a bark here and there, the dogs likely yapping at some wild creature, no doubt. Maybe a gator or a black bear stumbling too close to the estate’s edge.

It wasn’t unusual.

…

But then it grew louder.

And louder.

You pulled the covers tighter around yourself, telling yourself it was just the damned dogs being dogs, and that you were still tired from the evening.

But then a feeling came, a gnawing unease that crawled beneath your skin, heavy and cold.

Something felt wrong.

The night was still, save for the dogs. There was no breeze, no sounds of the estate’s life with the normal rhythms of the night. No rustling of the trees, no whispers of the wind across the bay. Just the barking. The relentless barking.

Your heart began to pound, but you told yourself it was for nothing. A bad dream. The dogs had only just gotten riled up. Maybe the alcohol and exhaustion from the engagement party were just messing with your head.

But the longer you listened, the more the knot in your stomach grew. The barking grew louder and louder, like something was driving the dogs into a frenzy.

You tried to ignore it. You tried with everything you could mentally muster. Rolling over and pulling the blankets tighter around you again, you shut your eyes, trying to muffle the sound as best as you could.

But then the barking stopped.

Silence.

The abrupt silence was deafening, pressing against your ears. For a moment, relief washed over you. Perhaps whatever had disturbed the hounds had finally passed. A bold bear getting too close for comfort, or maybe even a raccoon rummaging in places it shouldn't be.

But then the silence lingered, heavy and unnatural, as if the estate itself was holding its breath.

Your eyes flew open at this, heart suddenly thudding in your chest. The room was cloaked in natural shadows, the faint moonlight filtering through the lacy curtains, illuminating the ornate room. Everything was still. Too still. As if the air itself had been ripped from the sky.

You pushed yourself upright in bed. Nothing. Not the distant hum of the summer cicadas or the chirping of the resident cricket in your mother’s garden. Not even the soft lapping of the bay water against the shore. Just an eerie, all-consuming quiet.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the quilt as the gnawing unease from your stomach began clawing its way into your throat.

Something wasn’t right.

Sliding your legs over the edge of the bed, you winced as the cold wooden floor met your bare feet. For a moment, you hesitated, glancing at the bell cord by the door. A simple pull, and you wouldn't have to move. A simple pull and the staff would come running.

But no, you decided. It was late, and after the event, waking the entire household over barking dogs would earn you nothing but well-deserved irritated looks and muttered complaints.

Instead, you decided to look for Akari. The girl could hear a sewing pin drop from across the house in her sleep, so if anyone was awake at this hour, it would be her.

Crossing the room, you paused by the large bay window. Pushing the curtain aside, you peered into the night. The estate grounds, usually so alive with the gentle sway of trees and the occasional flicker of lantern glow, were eerily dark and still. Even the shadows seemed nervous, pressing into the corners of the earth like they were hiding.

Your pulse quickened again as you stepped away from the window, unease snaking higher and higher up your throat. The brass doorknob was cool under your hand as you turned it, the soft creak of the hinges disturbingly loud in the silence.

The dim hallway stretched before you. Your bare feet made no sound as you padded down the carpeted hall until you reached the staircase.

“Akari?” you called softly as you descended, your voice barely louder than a whisper. It was quickly swallowed by the quiet, the syllables hanging in the air before fading into nothing.

The dining room was empty, and the chairs were tucked neatly under the grand table. Your father's parlor was the same. The lingering scent of cigars from earlier in the evening was the only sign that anyone had been there.

“Akari?” you called again.

A cold breeze caressed the back of your neck, its unexpected touch sending a shiver prickling down your spine. You clutched your arms, rubbing them to chase the summer chill away, the cotton of your nightgown offering little protection.

Your eyes wander to find the source until they land on the parlor window, only slightly ajar. Likely to let the cigar smoke drift out.

You didn't think anymore of it.

“Akari?”

Once again, the call dissolved into the stillness. You rounded the corner into the dark kitchen, the stove’s iron belly cold, only lit by the faint glow of embers that had been extinguished hours ago.

You sighed, shaking your head at yourself. Maybe she had been more tired than you thought, and your unease was just your imagination running wild.

It wasn’t the first time you’d felt this way in the house, after all. The estate had its quirks, but for some reason, tonight felt different.

You just couldn’t put your finger on why.

Turning away from the kitchen, you decide to check the servants' quarters. If Akari weren’t there, you’d head back to bed. Surely this was all just the aftermath of an exhausting evening, your nerves frazzled by the lingering emotions.

The servants' corridor was much narrower, its lower ceilings and simple decor a stark contrast to the rest of the estate.

Your bare feet brushed against a loose floorboard, and you winced at the creak. You paused, holding your breath as if expecting a response. Nothing. No shuffling of footsteps, no sleepy voice mumbling out. The stillness stretched on, but now it felt less threatening.

Maybe the silence was just silence after all.

You reached Akari’s door, hesitating before raising your hand to knock. It was ajar, slightly crooked. It hadn’t been latched properly. Leaning closer, you peered inside.

The bed was made, the sheets still crisp and untouched. A small oil lamp sat on her bedside table, its wick extinguished.

She wasn’t here.

A frown tugged at your lips. Maybe she had gotten up to see what had riled up the dogs. You turned back, your mind running through a dozen mundane possibilities as you retraced your steps. You reached the main hallway again, unease beginning to claw back at the edges of your mind. The draft had returned, raising goosebumps on your arms. You shook your head, muttering under your breath.

She was outside. That had to be it.

You stepped toward the back door, your pulse calming as you settled into this explanation. Reaching for the latch, you paused.

“Akari, I’m headed ou-”

A hand clamped over your mouth.

Your scream died in your throat as your body tensed, every nerve alight with raw panic.

The grip was strong and iron-like, pressing against your lips and jaw with a force that you knew would leave a bruise. A second hand clamped around your chest, dragging you backward. Your heartbeat exploded in your chest, hammering painfully against your ribs.

“Shh.”

The voice was low, a hot whisper against your ear. It wasn’t anyone you recognized.

You clawed at the hand over your mouth, nails scraping uselessly against flesh, your legs kicking out in a wild, desperate attempt to free yourself.

“No need to make this difficult.”

The grip around your chest tightened as the stranger dragged you back, your heels skidding uselessly against the polished floor. You twisted your body violently, but it was no use; the person holding you possessed overwhelming strength.

The front door flew open with a forceful shove, slamming against the wall with a resounding crack. Before you could blink, the air was knocked out of your lungs as your side met the muddy ground, the cool, damp earth seeping into you. You scrambled to your knees, scrambling for purchase, but a sharp kick met your ribs, sending you right back to the ground.

Landing on your side, you managed a glimpse.

The stranger, a man you could now tell was some sort of newspaper story outlaw by his clothing alone, yanked your arms behind you. Coarse rope bit into your wrists, the fibers scratching and tearing at your skin as the man tied you with smooth efficiency.

“Stop y’er wigglin’,” he ordered.

Your legs thrashed, knees digging into the dirt, but the man pressed a knee into your back, pinning you down with ease. The weight crushed you, making it hard to breathe. The knot around your wrists tightened cruelly, the rope digging into your flesh until your fingers tingled with numbness. Another length of rope was looped around your ankles, binding them together just as tightly.

The man stood with a grunt before spitting on the ground by his boot.

“Sit tight ‘ere.”

You strained your neck up to get another look at the man looming above you, towering like a shadow that consumed the moonlight. He adjusted the brim of his hat with one hand, the other resting casually on the butt of–what you assumed to be–a revolver that had been slung low on his hip. His face, barely lit, was sharp and cocky.

A small, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his scarred lip.

His worn-out coat billowed slightly as he turned. The mud beneath his boots squelched softly as he made his way back into your home that he had so brazenly barged into.

You craned your neck further, straining to see past the ache in your shoulders and the ropes biting into your wrists. His broad silhouette disappeared into the doorway.

And then, you heard it.

Voices.

More than one.

There were others.

Their muffled voices spilled into the night, rough and boisterous, like men who didn’t care who might hear them. The clatter of boots against the polished floor echoed faintly.

Your breath hitched as you twisted in the dirt, your cheek pressed against the damp ground as you struggled to get a clearer view. From here, you could just barely make out faint movements through the windows; shadows shifting, figures gesturing wildly.

Then, cutting through it all, a single gunshot.

The sound shattered like glass. It rang out with terrifying clarity, silencing everything. For a split second, the world itself seemed to freeze, the echoes of the shot lingering in the air.

Your pulse raced, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. A sharp metallic tang flooded your taste buds, as if the fear that had nested in your stomach had finally escaped the confines of your body.

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for something, anything, but when the seconds passed without another shot in the night, you grew nauseous.

A rough hand gripped your shoulder, flipping you onto your stomach again. As you opened your mouth to scream, a familiar voice whispered over you instead.

“Shh!” Akari hissed urgently. You turned your head at this, finding her wide and terrified eyes darting around as she crouched beside you, a knife glinting faintly in her trembling hand. “Don't ya dare make a sound!”

“Akari,” You gasped out in a whisper. “What’s happening? What-”

“Robbery,” she interrupted, her words clipped as she worked quickly to saw through the ropes binding your wrists. “They’re robbin’ the house. I don’t know how many there are, but it’s bad, miss.”

The ropes gave way, and you winced as blood rushed back into your tingling fingers. Akari moved to your ankles, sawing at the bindings frantically.

“You need to run,” she whispered urgently. “As far and fast as you can. Don’t look back, don’t stop. Not until even the hounds can’t find ya.”

Just as the last knot came undone, the low rumble of voices grew louder, closer. Akari’s head whipped toward the house, her face pale and stricken.

“They’re coming,” she breathed, her eyes meeting yours in a moment of silent understanding. “Go. Now.”

Before you could argue, she pulled you up and shoved you forward, the force of her push propelling you forward. Your bare soles stung as they met the cold earth, but the urgency in her voice drowned out everything else.

“Run!” she hissed again, her voice barely audible over the thundering of your heart.

And so you did.

You ran.

Despite hearing the scream of your childhood maid, your friend, you ran. Despite hearing the frantic barking of dogs that were not your own, you ran. Despite hearing an eerie, mocking whistling of men and the trotting of boots, you ran.

Your breath tore from your chest in ragged gasps, your pulse a frantic drumbeat in your ears. The ground beneath your bare feet was unforgiving, the uneven earth littered with jagged stones and hidden roots that clawed at your ankles. Every step sent shocks of pain up your legs, but the pure panic in your chest drowned it out. Your thin sleeping garments offered no protection from the chill or the sharp thorns that tore at your skin.

But you couldn’t stop.

"Find her!" a voice bellowed behind you, closer now, guttural and furious.

Your heart surged with terror. You tried to run faster, but your legs felt like lead, trembling with exertion.

The bayou was alive with the most sinister sounds of life: the rustle of leaves, the low croak of predators, the splash of something moving in the water nearby. Shadows danced under the fractured moonlight, shifting and twisting into monstrous shapes that made you flinch as you ran.

The ground suddenly turned slick with mud, your feet slipping and sinking as you struggled to keep your balance. You stumbled, falling hard onto your hands and knees. The impact jarred your bones, and sharp rocks bit into your palms, leaving raw, bloody scrapes.

“Keep runnin’, darlin’!” one of them called, his voice carrying through the trees. “Ain’t no use!”

"She’s close!" Another shout, this one much closer.

A sob caught in your throat as you forced yourself up, ignoring the searing pain in your knees. Your vision blurred with tears. The taste of copper filled your mouth; you had bitten your tongue in the fall.

You pushed forward, your legs dragging like dead weights, and then you saw it.

The water.

The large river cutting through the bayou stretched before you like a vast black void, shimmering faintly under the moonlight.

This was deep, endless water. The kind that swallowed people whole and never let go. The kind that hid gators, snakes, and God knew what else.

Behind you, the sound of boots crunching through the underbrush snapped you out of your paralysis.

They were here.

Your mind raced. There was no cover, no place to hide. You could run back into the trees, but they would catch you. Of that, you were certain.

It was the water or them.

For a brief, terrible moment, you imagined their hands grabbing you, dragging you back to that house or elsewhere. A shiver ran through you at the thought. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. You stood trembling.

The water was death.

But so were they.

You took a step forward, then another, the mud sucking at your feet with each movement. And then you ran, throwing yourself into the black abyss without another thought.

The cold was a merciless shock, stealing the breath from your lungs. The water closed over your head, cutting off the sounds of the bayou and replacing them with a muffled, suffocating silence. You flailed wildly, your limbs thrashing against the current as you broke the surface with a choking gasp.

You didn’t know how to swim. Not really. But as the first shadowed figure broke through the tree line, shouting triumphantly, you threw yourself forward, arms thrashing as you tried to propel yourself away.

The water was thick and heavy, clinging to you like molasses. It was deeper than you’d thought. Your feet didn’t find the bottom, only an abyss that seemed determined to pull you under.

Your limbs burned, your movements growing slower with every frantic stroke. You tried not to think about what might lurk beneath the surface, but every brush of a stray reed against your leg sent waves of terror through you.

You kicked harder, your body trembling as you tried.

Every splash felt like it would summon something from below: teeth, claws, something ugly and hungry. Every ripple carried a promise of death.

But you swam.

And you swam.

The voices behind you grew faint, swallowed by the distance and the sounds of the bayou. All that remained was the rhythmic thrumming of your heart, the occasional splash of your arms, and the deafening silence of the night.

You didn’t know how long you swam for: had it been seconds, minutes, or hours? Time had lost its true meaning now. But when your numbing fingers finally brushed against solid ground, a sob of relief escaped your lips.

Your fingers sank into the soft earth as you dragged yourself out of the water, collapsing onto your stomach.

For a moment, you lay there in the mud, trembling and gasping for air, your soaked clothes clinging to your shivering body. The cold night air felt sharper now, caressing your skin as if you lay there bare.

Your thin sleeping garments were soaked, sticking to you like a second skin, so translucent that they left nothing for a wandering eye to imagine. Your heart still thundered in your chest, but the voices were gone now, swallowed by the bayou.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, face down and shaking in the wet earth, chest heaving with uneven, rasping breaths. Mud streaked your arms and legs, and every inch of you stung-cuts, bruises, raw skin.

But the blissful quiet of the night was louder than anything.

No more shouting. No more footsteps crashing behind you. Just you, the cold, and the cicadas singing.

You pushed yourself up on trembling hands. The world tilted. For a moment, you thought you’d be sick. But you swallowed it down and dragged your aching body forward. One arm, then the next. Crawling through the underbrush like some filthy and wounded animal.

It was only when you reached a patch of higher ground that you dared to stand. You braced your hand against a tree trunk slick with moss and pulled yourself upright. Your knees buckled. Your vision swam. But you stayed up.

Somehow, you stayed up.

The woods around you were dense and black, the moonlight filtering only in shards through the canopy. You couldn’t tell which direction you’d come from anymore. The cold had burrowed deep into your bones.

And then, a fire.

A flicker of orange in the distance. Small. Faint. But there.

You stared at it, unsure if your mind was conjuring up something cruel. But when it remained after several blinks, you started moving. Not with any purpose, just instinct.

You didn’t care who it was. Friend, enemy. Human, not. You didn’t care anymore. Your body just moved, driven by a desperation so primal you couldn’t even name it.

Each step was agony. The ground tore at your feet. Thorns snagged the hem of your garment. Branches scraped at your arms. The wet fabric clung tighter the longer you walked, chafing skin already raw. But the fire grew closer.

Closer.

And then, shapes.

Figures huddled near the flame, seated or standing in the flickering glow. A cluster of tents stood behind them, barely visible. Shadows danced across the clearing. Someone was walking a slow perimeter nearby, watching the woods.

You didn’t think. Your body just dropped.

Your knees gave out at the edge of the camp, collapsing hard into the dirt and leaves. You hit the ground with a soft gasp, your fingers splayed out for balance as the world spun around you.

A startled yelp rang out.

"Jeez-!"

A boy stood just a few feet away, having stepped out from behind a tree with a rifle now half-raised, eyes wide as dinner plates.

He stared at you in complete silence. And you stared back.

Or tried to.

Your vision kept dipping in and out, swaying at the edges. You tried to speak, but your lips moved without making a sound. The cold had frozen your throat.

And then he shouted–

“Shoko!”

There wasn’t fear in his voice anymore. It was urgent, desperate. Something filled with panic.

More shapes emerged. Fast. Heavy boots, coats, weapons raised, but not at you. Not yet, at least. A woman cursed under her breath before barking out, “Get the med bag, now!”

You didn’t have the energy to flinch. You barely had the energy to shiver. Your body swayed where it knelt, knees pressed into the dirt, arms hanging at your sides.

Then, warmth.

A heavy weight draped over your shoulders. A blanket, wool. Thick and scented with the smoke of a campfire.

“Don’t move,” someone said beside you. You couldn’t look up to see who it was, but it was kind. Not rough, not angry.

A woman knelt in front of you. Older, but not much more than yourself. Her hands reached toward your face, pausing when you flinched.

“I’m Shoko,” she said. “I’m not sure what happened to ‘ya, but you’re safe now.”

You didn’t answer; you couldn’t.

A distant voice muttered, “Where the hell did she come from?”

Another, “She swam. Look at her.”

And then one of them, the boy who had found you, whispered so quietly it wasn’t meant to be heard, “…I thought she was a ghost.”

The world tilted again. You swayed forward. Someone caught your arm. Hands braced your shoulders. There were too many people. Too many eyes. Too much sound.

And then-

Click.

The sharp, deliberate sound of a safety being taken off.

Everything stopped.

You didn’t have the strength to look, not at first. But you felt it. A presence. Heavy. Cold. Tall.

Then a shadow fell over you, long and cutting.

You lifted your head slowly and met the barrel of a pistol.

Pointed directly between your brows.

The man holding it had cropped and wild white hair, his eyes covered by the shadows of the night. He towered above you like a statue carved from fine marble, lips straight and unreadable.

His voice came as a low drawl.

“Give me one good damn reason not to pull this trigger.”

« Prologue - Next Chapter »

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