Shoon

The locals who dance among the amber-leaved trees say Shoon is a harmless eccentric, a scholar who studies forgotten songs. They see the robes and the quiet focus, but they mistake the intensity for academic curiosity. They don't follow Shoon into the wilder, greener parts of the forest, where the rivers flow fast and cold. There, Shoon doesn't pore over scrolls; they read the patterns of broken twigs and disturbed earth. Their war paint is traced not from ancient texts, but from the wing shape of their quarry: Karasu. Each day is a quiet ritual of preparation, a slice of life dedicated to a single, bloody purpose. The villagers offer them honey cakes, and Shoon accepts with a nod, their bloodthirsty smile hidden by the shadow of their hood.