The sky cries tears of black rain. After the procession of lightning, a ceremonious peal of thunder follows suit while crows circle around and caw at the village.

A light too bright to be a bonfire engulfs a thatched roof until it collapses onto itself, like a star burning to ash. Smoke rises while hungry flames catch onto an adjoining building, spreading with vitriolic rage across the village. Amidst the raging winds and a wet fire, a shriek splits across the air and Yana stills. It abruptly stops when the sound of a body hits the ground.

Yana lays on the damp earth, black jade hair and blood pools around her body. Her mother’s fingers stretch out in filial duty and love to her for a final time, and Yana sobs breathlessly because when their fingers interlock—her mother is so, so cold.

Her father lies still beside her mother. The handle of a crude axe protrudes in the air, and like a knife cutting into the flesh of an apple, the blade buries itself into his neck.

Mother. Father. Will I die next?

Yana chokes back her cries, tears and the rainwater stinging her eyes. If she screams, the bandits will look. She is fearful that they will return to loot their bodies and discover her. But if she gets up now—they may strike her down regardless. She does not want to die a gruesome death.

Instead, she crawls slowly into her mother’s embrace. To mask the scent of the living, she reaches for her parents. Pallid skin, dirt beneath their nails, the portrait of their death imprints into her mind. The shattering of her innocence is almost audible. A heart that beats is a curse.

Yana stills and goes limp. Footsteps plod in the rain, children cry, bandits bark orders, and then silence. She shivers. The rain relentlessly beats down on her frail body. Her hands are red, red like a flowering lycoris—red like the gemstone of life. But life is nowhere to be found around her.

Viciously, someone yanks her by the collar to her feet.

She struggles to stand, feet dangling in the air by the brutish man. Lightning flashes over them, and Yana sees the man’s face—a singular, ruby serpentine eye that shines with the prospect of coin. A mask partially obscures half his features.

He tugs her hair back, inspecting her face.

“This one’s still alive,” he muses, “but not for long. Put her in the cart with the rest of the runts. Those of that ilk will pay a high price. Be careful handling the merchandise, is that clear?”

She can’t summon the strength to fight back; all resistance leaves her body when the bandits surround her.

The serpentine man smiles and he drops her. Yana’s knees collide with the earth, bones jarring from the impact. Palms pressing flat against the earth, she pushes herself upright.

Something strikes her across the face, but she bears the brunt of the blow. It’s a sharp, open-handed slap that leaves no bruise but a sting that strips Yana of her dignity.  

“That’s a better expression. You understand what’s going to happen.”

Yana looks up at him in dim acknowledgement. Her cheek flames but the rain soothes the welt, thoroughly soaking her rags and staining her skin gray.

The buildings burn like a torch for the sky. To ashes, with her village. To ashes, they rend her heart. 

The men bound her wrists and gag her with strips from a burlap sack. Hands flood her vision and they roughly throw her into the caravan. Yana lands on her side, something bony poking her ribs. She cranes her neck and looks back. There are five other children like her—bound, trembling, and weeping. Yana glances at the caravan door, seeing the man with the ruby eye examine them like livestock.

She meets his gaze and wonders if that man is a servant of a yokai. Sheets of rain pelt down on his back and in the next moment, he vanishes into mist. The clouds lift, but there is no light.

The last sight Yana sees is the iron-gray sky and a murder of crows flying to the black moon. Even the lunar goddess abandons her by averting her eyes to the carnage below.

“This is the third village, and you still can’t locate that damn artifact?”

Sleep eludes Yana for the entire night. But now her blinks become laborious as sunlight slithers through the cracks of the caravan and illuminates gray, blotchy bruises across her skin. She tries to ignore the voices.

“Hovel after disgusting hovel, why is there no reprieve for one such as myself? Chicot. I caution you that my patience grows thin.”

The caravan jostles and her shoulders bash against the walls. She is now alert and winces. Yana licks her lips, realizing how dry her mouth is and wishing for a drop of dew.

In the front, the men clamor on, and she fails to understand what they’re saying. Instead, Yana focuses on the figures before her.

The children around doze fitfully, most appearing younger than her. A boy with camellia-red hair leans and slumbers on her. Bruises speckle on the boy’s limbs while his clothing tears at the seams. She glances at the other children. Curiously, their faces are untouched by any roughness. So we are to be treated like goods then?

“Mama…mama, where are you…? I’m scared.” A young girl with light brown hair mumbles in her sleep. She curls into herself. “I hid in the flower fields…like you said. But why didn’t you go…with me?”

Yana reaches out—with bound wrists—to gently stroke her back. The girl weeps softly and speaks no more. Yana feels tears well in the back of her eyes. Her family is gone before the dawn of her eleventh year. She is a child, yet no longer in possession of innocence. Whether it be the cruel wiles of the kami or fate, she starts to understand why grown-ups drown themselves in liquor. And why the sound of a coin rolling across the table is enough to make the world pause and watch you drink.

In the front of the caravan, another man titters nervously. This time, Yana listens. Even as tears prick in the back of her eyes, she needs to know who her captors are.

“Have patience, Kozen. My men will find it soon. Like you said, our…expeditions proceed slowly because we lack the resources and intel. But in due time we will—eep! Good sir, peace! W-We can sell the children, and you can keep the gold. All of it, in fact—”

“Enough,” Kozen’s voice cuts in sharply. “Your prattling is tedious. Just set up camp and we’ll revisit this conversation later. In the meantime, let me think how we should proceed. Ota might…”

The other man—Chicot, Yana recalls—speaks in low murmurs of appeasement.

“Wait, Kozen. I just remembered something. We should be nearing another village near the ocean. Rumors say that the chieftain was friends with the shogun. Perhaps their coffers are filled to the brim with ancient relics and gold. Maybe that’s where we can find the—”

In the next moment, the caravan lurches to a halt. It’s an ugly, grinding motion that pitches gravel against the cart.

“Aieeee!” Chicot yelps. “That’s—”

Yana bangs her shoulder against the wall and nearly topples onto the sleeping girl.

“Silence, you fool. And get out of the caravan. They mean to stop the bandits, not us. If you have enough time to whimper, get ready to escape.”

One by one, the children rouse from their slumber, and some are already on the brink of tears.

“It’s okay. We’re okay,” Yana says softly. “Don’t cry. Someone will save us.”

“But where will we go when we’re saved?” the red-haired boy snivels out. “Our families are dead.”

Suddenly, something thumps on the roof of their caravan. Thunk. Thwump. Half of an arrow buries itself through the ceiling, just above the sniveling boy. The children sniffle and an anxious thrum fills Yana’s chest. She no longer hears the men anymore.

Goose feathers rise on the back of her neck. It’s too quiet now. Fear from last night returns tenfold. Are they under attack? But from whom and why? Her mind churns with questions that only paralyzes her.

Then, the drowsy girl clutches onto Yana’s shirt, bawling as she points above. Yana looks up. More arrows strike against the roof like heavy rain. Finally, the roof bows inward and the children shriek with terror.

In that split second, a latch creaks. The caravan doors fly open.

Yana barely reacts fast enough as the door swipes her leg, and she shoves the children back with her arms. It’s a blur of confusion, tears, and chaos—but what follows is a dreadful silence when something wet spatters on Yana’s face.

The girl clinging onto her shirt falls backward. Yana doesn’t understand why. But when Yana glances at the girl, she sees it. Crimson spouts from her neck where an arrow lands.

This time, the scream Yana hears is her own.