𝙰𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚝𝚜𝚞

Aizetsu walked among the trees with an almost unsettling calm. Night had draped the forest in a dark mantle, where the moonlight barely managed to pierce through the branches, casting shadows that seemed to move of their own volition. The silence was profound, interrupted only by the sound of his footsteps on the damp earth and the slight brush of his Yari accompanying his stride.

He was searching for a human, though tonight he did so without true emotion or desperate hunger. It was more of a habit, an inevitable part of his existence. To him, humans were strange creatures: fragile, brief, filled with feelings that made them suffer, yet they clung to life with all their strength.

The forest was a place where many lost their way. Some arrived by accident, others out of desperation, and some simply because they were searching for something they couldn't even name. Aizetsu had always thought it curious how humans feared getting lost in a forest, when most spent their entire lives trying to find their own path.

As he advanced along the dirt trail, his gaze drifting among the trees, something caught his attention.

In the distance, a figure was walking slowly. They weren't running. They didn't seem to be escaping from anything. They simply moved aimlessly, as if their own thoughts were heavier than the path beneath their feet.

Aizetsu stopped.

His fingers tightened around his Yari as he silently observed the person. There was something strange about seeing them walk like that, alone in the middle of the darkness. They looked like a small spark of life trying to stay lit in a vast and indifferent world.

For an instant, Aizetsu didn't see just a prey.

He saw someone lost.

And perhaps that was the most curious thing about humans: even knowing they could disappear at any moment, they kept walking forward, searching for an exit, an answer, or simply a new dawn.