Dawn broke with a muted glow, pale light spilling through the thin paper walls of the hermit's hut. Shino rose before the fire was rekindled, his resolve firm. The talisman at his chest felt heavier than usual, as if it, too, understood what lay ahead.
The hermit gave him dried rice cakes for the road and pointed toward the east.
"Follow the ridgeline until you see the River of Mist," he instructed. "But remember—your greatest trials may not come from the road itself, but from those who walk it."
Shino bowed, thanked him, and set off.
By noon, the road led him to a small settlement nestled between two hills. The villagers were gathered in the square, their faces drawn and tense. As soon as Shino stepped into view, all conversation ceased.
"There he is!" someone shouted.
Before he could react, rough hands seized him by the arms.
"Wait—what are you doing?" Shino demanded, struggling.
"You dare show your face here, sorcerer?" a man spat.
"I'm not—!"
His protest was drowned by the voices of the crowd.
"He came from the cursed battlefield!"
"No wonder the river's been shrouded in mist for three days straight—he brought it!"
"He carries strange charms. Look!"
One of the villagers yanked the talisman from Shino's neck and held it up. The runes glimmered faintly in the light, which only seemed to confirm their fears.
"Witchcraft!" someone cried.
The crowd's anger swelled like a storm. They dragged him to the center of the square, where an old woman—clearly the village elder—sat on a raised platform. Her sharp eyes studied Shino with unsettling calm.
"You are accused," she said, her voice carrying over the murmurs, "of bringing misfortune upon this village. Speak. Are you a servant of dark forces?"
"I'm not!" Shino said, his voice steady despite the fear tightening his chest. "This talisman was given to me by a hermit—it's a protection charm, not a curse."
The villagers scoffed. "Lies!" "He's bewitched the hermit, too!"
Shino's heart pounded. If he fought back, they would only see it as proof. If he stayed silent, they might condemn him.
Then he remembered the hermit's words: Your greatest trials may not come from the road itself, but from those who walk it.
He took a deep breath and knelt, bowing low before the elder. "If you believe I've brought misfortune, then let me prove otherwise. Let me face a trial—one that will show whether my heart is dark or not."
The square fell silent. The elder raised a brow. "A trial?"
"Yes," Shino said. "Test me. If I am guilty, let the spirits condemn me. If I am innocent, then let them spare me."
The villagers exchanged uncertain looks. Finally, the elder nodded slowly. "Very well. Tonight, you will walk the Fire Circle."
The Fire Circle was a ritual trial—Shino had heard of it before. At nightfall, they built a ring of fire and placed the accused in its center. If the flames rose to consume them, they were guilty. If they survived until dawn, they were declared innocent.
By evening, the circle was lit. The fire crackled, casting long shadows on the ground. Shino stood in the center, calm but alert. The heat licked at his skin, but he kept still.
As the night deepened, the fire seemed to grow higher. Sweat dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes. His breath came faster, but he closed his eyes and pressed the talisman—returned to him for the trial—against his chest.
Even the hardest stone can hold a beating heart.
The flames roared, but they did not touch him. The wind shifted, carrying the smoke away from the circle. The night grew strangely still, as though the world itself was watching.
By dawn, when the last of the fire burned down to embers, Shino was still standing.
The villagers gasped. The elder rose to her feet, her expression grave but respectful. "The spirits have spoken. He is innocent."
The crowd's anger melted into murmurs of awe and fear. Some bowed their heads. Others stepped back, ashamed.
Shino stepped out of the circle, weary but unburned. "I told you," he said softly, "I carry no curse. But I will tell you this—the misfortune you fear is real, and it is coming. Prepare yourselves, because the darkness ahead will not care who you blame."
The elder's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing.
When Shino left the village, no one tried to stop him. A few even offered him food for the road, as though in quiet apology.
As the path carried him closer to the River of Mist, Shino felt the weight of what had happened settle in his chest. This trial had not just proven his innocence to the villagers—it had proven something to himself.
He was no longer just a boy running from home.
He was someone who could stand in the fire and not be consumed.