The sun was sinking by the time Shino left the battlefield behind. The road wound up a narrow hill, lined with gnarled pines that whispered softly in the evening wind. The silence was no longer heavy—it was watchful, as though the world was waiting for something.
At the crest of the hill stood a lone hut. Its roof was thatched with reeds, its walls patched with mismatched wood, and a small fire smoked gently outside. The smell of herbs and pine resin drifted on the air.
Shino approached cautiously.
"You came," a voice said from within.
The door slid open, and there stood the hermit—the same man who had met him on the morning he left the village. His straw hat was gone now, revealing a lined face and sharp, clear eyes that seemed to hold a hundred winters.
"I thought…" Shino began, hesitating. "…you were gone."
The hermit smiled faintly. "I go where I must. And today, I must be here."
He stepped aside and gestured for Shino to enter.
The hut was simple but filled with strange things—bundles of dried herbs hanging from the rafters, shelves lined with stones marked with symbols, scrolls and charms tucked carefully into corners. A single candle burned low, casting a warm, flickering glow.
"Sit," the hermit said, motioning to a cushion by the fire.
Shino obeyed. His eyes fell on a small wooden carving placed near the fire—a symbol like a flame split into three jagged pieces.
"What is that?" Shino asked.
The hermit's gaze followed his. For a long moment, he did not answer. Then he sat opposite Shino and said quietly, "That is what remains of the Eternal Flame."
Shino frowned. "Eternal… Flame?"
"It was a fire that burned not in wood, but in the spirit of our world," the hermit explained. "Once, it united the lands. It kept balance between power and wisdom, between war and peace. But long ago, it was shattered—broken by greed, by betrayal, by the arrogance of those who believed they could hold its power for themselves."
Shino felt a chill crawl up his spine. "And now?"
"Now we live in the age of fragments," the hermit said. "Each piece of the Flame still burns, but faintly, scattered across the land. Those who find them can change the course of the world—for good or for ruin."
Shino's hand instinctively went to the talisman hanging at his neck. "Is that why you gave me this?"
"Yes," the hermit said simply. "Because you are one of the few who can bear the burden of seeking the Flame. The visions you have seen are not accidents. They are a call."
Shino's throat tightened. "Why me? I'm just—"
"—a boy?" the hermit finished, leaning forward. "No. You are more. You carry the memory of the past as though you lived it yourself. You feel the cries of the dead as if they were your own. That is the mark of one chosen by the Flame."
Shino looked down at his hands. They were trembling.
"What happens if I fail?" he asked quietly.
The hermit's voice was calm, but heavy. "Then the darkness you have seen in your visions will come. The war will return. And this time, there will be no field left to bury the dead."
Silence filled the hut. The fire cracked softly, as though even it was listening.
Shino took a slow, deep breath. The fear was still there, but beneath it was something else—resolve.
"What must I do?" he asked.
The hermit's expression softened, almost approving. "First, you must find the first fragment. It lies in the ruins of the old shrine, beyond the River of Mist. But be warned—the shrine is guarded. Not by men, but by what remains of the war's hatred. You will not pass it unless you face yourself."
Shino's hand tightened around the talisman. The thought of returning to a place where anger still lived made his stomach twist—but he nodded.
"I understand."
The hermit stood and placed a hand gently on Shino's shoulder. "Rest here tonight. Tomorrow, your true journey begins."
That night, as Shino lay on the mat in the corner of the hut, he stared up at the darkened ceiling. The words of the hermit echoed in his mind—the shattered Flame, the choice between light and darkness, the path he could not turn away from.
He touched the talisman once more, feeling its warmth.
"I'll find it," he whispered into the darkness. "No matter what."
Outside, the wind rose softly, carrying sparks from the fire into the starry sky. It was as though the world had heard his promise—and was waiting to see if he would keep it.