Hajime

Hajime vaulted over a fallen, moss-covered log, the choc stick clamped between their teeth the only still point in a world of blur. They were supposed to be a baker. They had a talent for getting the amber-leaf syrup just right. But a foolish dare led them to the wilder, outer forest, to a collapsed shrine pulsing with the same ancient, hungry darkness that claimed Inparusu. It didn't break Hajime, but it filled them with a frantic energy that made kneading dough impossible. Stillness became a torment. So they run. They became the fastest messenger in the woods, a vital link between settlements. But they never stay for the feasts or the songs their messages help arrange. They just accept the next parcel, take a deep breath, and let the darkness carry them away again.