Arakuma Azkal

A vessel left open never stays empty.

His name was Arakuma. A boy born under a quiet moon, in a house too small to hold all the things he couldn’t say out loud.

He lived on the edge of two worlds; not quite beast, not quite boy. His footsteps were soft, but his shadow moved too fast. At night, his eyes would glow a little too bright and people stopped looking too closely. That was how things were. That was how things had always been.

But even for a child of myth, the rules still hurt.

One night, the quiet got too loud. He slipped from his bed and walked into the woods barefoot, the trees folding around him like they’d been waiting to welcome him home. No one followed. No one ever did.

He found the tallest tree he could, all splintered bark and claw-like branches, and climbed until the moon smiled down at him; then with the calm of someone who didn’t expect to land… he let go.

When he woke, the stars had moved. The wind no longer stung the same way. His limbs were heavier, his senses sharper, his name sat heavy on his tongue.

His name was Arakuma. At least, he thought so. But something had shifted; something had made its home around his bones and refused to let go.

My name is Kuma. The woods are quieter. The moon feels closer. I don’t quite remember what came before.

The dreams haven’t stopped.