Shadowwwing
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1. Ash and Silence
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 02:36:46 +0000 UTCJiang Tian knelt in the light dusting of snow, ignoring the damp chill seeping through his trousers with practised ease. He’d been tracking this deer for the last six hours and wasn’t going to let something as banal as being uncomfortable ruin things for him now.
The forest lay still beneath the promise of early winter, its silence broken only by the occasional creak of branches and the whisper of the wind through bare trees. The air was crisp and dry, tinged with the scent of frost and distant pine, and Jiang exhaled slowly, watching his breath curl into the cold.
Hunting was something of a seasonal occupation, and while he had more success – or was willing to take more risks – than other hunters even in the depths of winter, Jiang knew that this would likely be his last big hunt before the heavy snows arrived. That was fine. It was far from his first winter, and their family was well prepared for the months of scarcity.
Normally, he wouldn’t have even bothered coming out this far, but a herd of deer had been pushed closer to the village by some danger in the deeper woods – probably a spirit beast of some kind. It was an opportunity, and Jiang had ever been one to leap at those.
Which led to him crouching low behind a cluster of frost-touched bushes, eyes locked on his prey. A young buck, ribs barely beneath its burgeoning winter coat, stood barely thirty paces ahead, head lowered as it foraged for grass hiding under the blanket of snow. It favoured one leg, the rear left, where a jagged wound marred its hide. A wolf’s doing, most likely, and a fatal wound for an animal going into winter. Already, he could see it was too skinny to survive the coming months – and yet, the deer had survived long enough to escape its predator and was tenacious enough to keep up with the rest of the herd. That, Jiang had to admit, was impressive.
Still, survival did not mean safety. And today, the deer’s luck had run out.
Jiang moved with practised precision, raising his bow in one smooth motion. The wood, recently oiled to protect against the cold, creaked softly as he drew back the string. His world narrowed to a single point—the place just behind the buck’s shoulder, where the arrow would slip between the ribs and into the heart.
The forest held its breath.
He loosed.
The arrow struck cleanly, and the deer dropped without so much as a cry. The rest of the herd scattered, their white tails vanishing between the skeletal trees. Jiang lowered his bow, already rising to his feet.
A clean kill. Efficient.
Snow crunched beneath his boots as he closed the distance, the weight of the hunt settling into his shoulders alongside the usual considerations. How much of the meat would they dry? How much should be traded? Should they sell it to the butcher and save the money for later? Their stores were in good condition—his mother had ensured that—but winter was long, and things rarely went as planned. If the snows came early, if one of the storage barrels soured, if his sister took ill…
Best to be prepared.
Jiang crouched and examined the carcass. A poor winter for it would have meant a poor winter for predators, too. Still, it would be enough to feed his mother and sister for a few weeks if they were careful and supplemented the meat with their supplies of grain and the odd lot of berries he sometimes found in the woods – not to mention Madam Hu would probably be interested in buying the pelt. She was old enough to complain bitterly about the cold every winter, though far too stubborn to ever consider moving to a larger town.
With a huff of effort, Jiang adjusted his stance, rolling his shoulders beneath his cloak, and shifted the carcass up and over his back. It was heavy, but he was strong. Always had been. Even as a child, he’d been quicker, sharper, more aware than others his age. It wasn’t something he thought about much—it was simply the way he was.
Above him, a raven cawed, the sound echoing through the forest. He quirked a smile. Ravens were scavengers, smart enough to follow hunters in the hopes of scoring an easy meal. He didn’t mind tossing them the scraps he didn’t care for, but didn’t have the time right now.
The village lay six, maybe eight hours to the south. Typically, he would have camped for the night—there were good spots to the west, beneath thick pines where the wind couldn’t cut so deep—but not with the scent of fresh blood clinging to him. Wolves, bears, and even the occasional spirit beast prowled the deeper woods. No, better to press on.
He started walking.
— — —
The sun was already low, sinking behind the jagged peaks of the Qingyun mountains in the distance, casting long blue shadows over the snow-dappled ground. The village of Liǔxī experienced early nights and late mornings, thanks to the mountain ranges to the east and west.
Jiang Tian was making better time than he’d hoped for, his steady pace unhindered by exhaustion despite the long day. His breath came evenly, legs strong beneath him, and though the deer had weighed heavy at first, his body had long since adjusted to the burden.
Yet, something gnawed at the edges of his awareness.
The forest was still. Too still. The usual sounds of the night—rustling underbrush, distant howls, the occasional hoot of an owl—felt muted, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. The sensation prickled at the back of his mind, an instinct honed over years in the wilderness. His father had called it hunter’s sense—that feeling when the forest quieted before a predator made itself known.
Jiang wasn’t afraid, not exactly. Every hunter knew what it was like to become the hunted, and he’d had his fair share of close calls with fellow predators. But something told him that this was… different. Worse.
He pushed forward, lengthening his stride. The sky had darkened fully, the path ahead illuminated only by the pale light of the rising moon. He adjusted his grip on the deer, readying himself to pick up the pace.
Then the wind shifted.
Smoke.
Jiang inhaled sharply, his senses sharpening at the acrid tang that flooded his nose. Not the thin, pleasant wisp of chimney smoke or a distant campfire—this was thick, heavy. Wood, thatch, something else underneath it.
Burning.
His stomach clenched, but he didn’t waste a second. His body moved before his mind could finish processing, muscles acting on pure instinct. He dropped the deer in the snow without ceremony, barely hearing the dull thud as it landed. Above, a lone raven cawed at the bounty he was leaving behind. A full day of work abandoned in an instant.
He ran.
The world blurred around him as he sprinted through the trees, feet finding familiar purchase on the uneven ground. He barely registered the branches that snagged at his cloak, the icy wind biting against his skin. The scent grew stronger with every step, acrid and unmistakable.
His pulse pounded in his ears.
The trees thinned, and then—
Light. Flickering orange in the distance.
Jiang’s breath came fast and sharp as he burst free from the forest, emerging at the crest of the gentle slope that overlooked Liǔxī Village.
His home was burning.
Flames licked at rooftops, smoke curling into the sky in thick, choking plumes. The streets were empty. No shouting, no scrambling figures hauling buckets of water.
No one was fighting the fire.
No one was there.
Jiang didn’t stop to think. He ran.
His boots pounded against the packed earth of the village path as he pushed forward, his gaze locked on his family’s home on the outskirts. It was a small thing, sturdy despite the years, built just outside the village proper where the land sloped into the woods. The distance had always given them a little privacy, a little peace.
Now, it made them vulnerable.
The first bodies appeared as he passed the central square. Dark shapes sprawled in the dirt, some still clutching weapons, others lying in the awkward stillness of the dead. Jiang didn’t slow. He didn’t check their faces.
It was a bandit raid. It had to be.
He had seen the aftermath of raids before, had heard the stories from traders passing through. Villages burned to the ground, people slaughtered or taken, everything of value stripped away.
It didn’t matter.
Not right now.
Jiang sprinted past a collapsed food stall, past the well, past the smouldering remains of what had once been the tailor’s shop.
Then, at last—his home.
His heart pounded as he neared the familiar shape of the house, the sight of it standing—still standing—cutting through the haze of smoke and fire. It was untouched, the flames still distant, though the air was thick with the smell of charred wood and blood.
Jiang didn’t hesitate. He slammed his shoulder against the door, not bothering to check if it was unlocked. It burst open under his weight, the wooden frame groaning in protest as he stumbled inside.
“Mother! Xiaoyu!” His voice cut through the thick silence, hoarse with urgency.
No response.
The hearth was cold, the small table overturned. A bowl lay shattered on the floor, its contents spilled and dried.
No blood. No bodies.
They were gone.
Jiang stood still for the first time since he’d smelled the smoke, his breath coming in slow, measured exhales. His mind worked rapidly, assessing. The house wasn’t ransacked—no drawers torn open, no signs of a fight. They hadn’t been killed here.
Which meant… they’d been taken.
His hands curled into fists.
Outside, the fire crackled. The village lay in ruins, its people either dead or dragged away. His mother and sister were out there somewhere, in the hands of raiders who would not be gentle, who would not be kind.
Jiang inhaled deeply, steadying himself.
Then he turned and stepped back outside.
It appeared his hunt wasn’t over yet.
