At the End of the Ashen Forest, the Sage Learns of the Boy's Past Life
The continent's frontier, where the forest elves once flourished and are now said to have perished. The deep Ashen Woods spread everywhere, where miasma and beasts keep people away. Magic remains only as ancient relics and curses, never systematized. Villages are isolated, and the closed societies fiercely expel heretics. The village where the boy was born has a law to quarantine, not kill, the cursed children.
Sol, a boy with memories of a past life, has lived in lonely isolation as the cursed
At the End of the Ashen Forest, the Sage Learns of the Boy's Past Life - Grey Dark Pursuit
The air in the assembly hall was stagnant, thick with the mingled smells of earth, soot, and old tallow.
Fedo, the village chief of Rusta, leaned forward over the central long table, both hands planted firmly on its surface. His white hair, streaked with gray, was slicked back, and his sharp gray eyes pierced through the prayer-priest standing at the entrance. The old scar running vertically down his right eye stood out even more starkly in the dim lamplight. Mid-fifties. A lean man with a hooked nose, the corners of his mouth trembled faintly with every breath he exhaled.
"……Say it again."
His voice was low, utterly flat.
The assembly hall was the largest stone building in the village, normally used for gatherings of the elders or haggling with traveling merchants. Sacks of ash-barley were stacked against the walls, and bundles of dried medicinal herbs hung from the ceiling beams. In the four corners of the room sat small pots filled with purification ash, white powder spilling slightly onto the floor.
Māgu, the prayer-priest, stepped forward a single pace, his robe with its border depicting gray flames swaying as he moved. A gaunt body. A pale face. The man, wreathed in incense smoke, spoke in a hushed voice.
"Soru has crossed the boundary stone. Toward the northern mountain path. During the night."
*Thud.*
Fedo's fist slammed against the long table. Dust rose, and the lamp flame wavered.
"Crossed the boundary stone, you say."
His voice remained flat. But a thick vein bulged at his temple, and his gray eyes narrowed with fury. Slowly, Fedo opened his fist on the table. The ring of seki-seki stone on his left ring finger caught the lamplight and gleamed dully.
"That filth dares…… against my village, against my law."
In his mind, the year of the plague sixteen years ago resurfaced.
That year, a disease that swelled the belly black had spread through the village, killing twenty-nine people, from young children to the elderly. Fedo himself had lost his wife, and had buried his five-year-old son in the ash pit. The day after the burial, the previous prayer-priest had spoken.
—The taint of the forest-folk has accumulated in this village.
Because the child bearing the ash-mark had not been burned in the purifying flames. Because generations of village chiefs had followed the soft law of quarantine, the taint had devoured them all.
Fedo believed. He had no choice but to believe.
Since then, he had prioritized burning the cursed children above all else. The full moon festivals of spring and autumn. When plague or poor harvests continued, the gray flames would purify the taint. The smell of burning. The voices he could hear. All of it—Fedo had told himself, over and over, that these were sacrifices necessary for the village's peace.
And this spring's full moon festival—it had been decided that Soru would be burned.
The cursed child, sixteen years old. Keeping him alive for sixteen years had been like smoking meat, saving it for the next plague. A living talisman to preserve the village's tranquility.
And now, he had fled.
"What a farce."
Fedo clenched his teeth. His molars ground audibly. Rage surged up from the pit of his stomach. Rage—and, just a little, fear.
*(If the villagers learn that the cursed child has escaped—)*
The villagers' anxiety would erupt overnight. The taint would return to the village. The plague would come again. They would whisper such things to one another, and begin to cast doubting eyes upon the law they had all obeyed. Fedo's power was a tower built upon the villagers' fear. That tower would tilt with a groan at the slightest disturbance.
"Send out pursuers."
Fedo's voice took on the tone of command.
"Eight men from the watch and the hunters. Two dogs. Immediately."
Māgu nodded silently. White smoke rising from the incense burner drifted slowly between the two men.
"Take him alive. He is the sacrifice for the full moon festival. Without burning him in the gray flames, the village's purification cannot be completed."
As he spoke, Fedo glanced out the window. It should have been early morning, but the sky was dark and overcast. From the northern sky, from the direction of the Ashen Forest, a lukewarm wind flowed in.
"Have them carry seki-seki stone and wormwood. Do not let the forest's taint touch them. When capturing him, cover mouth and nose with cloth dusted with seki-seki powder. If you numb his limbs, he won't be able to struggle."
Having said that much, he turned toward the entrance of the assembly hall. Outside, the sound of a bell was beginning to ring. He could see several village men gathering in front of the hall. Faces still heavy with sleep. Faces that did not understand what had happened.
Fedo closed his eyes for a moment.
Then, he declared:
"Those who fail will face the customary punishment. Hunter chief—bring *that* here."
Māgu's cheek stiffened for just an instant.
The punishment—a custom of Rusta Village, inflicted upon those who broke the law or failed to fulfill the village's orders. The offender was exposed in the stoning square for three days and three nights, given neither water nor food. In winter, one froze to death; in summer, the night-beasts would come.
Fedo stepped forward toward the gathering villagers.
"Listen well."
His low voice echoed across the dim square.
"The cursed child Soru has fled. He crossed the boundary stone and headed for the northern mountain path. This means the village's taint is leaking outward. If we leave the taint unchecked, plague will visit this village once more. Poor harvests will continue, and ash-wolves will attack the livestock. The law of the boundary stone has already been broken. Now, with purification ash, we must bring him back."
The villagers stirred. Women pressed hands to their mouths; men exchanged glances.
"Eight pursuers. They head north at once. Capture him alive. As the sacrifice, he will be burned in the flames of the full moon festival. That is the only way to restore the village's peace."
Fedo slowly swept his gaze across the crowd. His sharp gray eyes seemed to stab at each person, one by one.
"To the purification ash. Obey the law."
The low voice was not a prayer—it was a command.
A cold wind blew through the village square.
The northern sky hung even darker, sinking low.
---
At that same time, two figures were making their way along a mountain path that skirted the edge of the Ashen Forest.
The path was less than a meter wide. On the left, a slope of gray dead trees continued from the Ashen Forest; on the right, a moss-covered rock face. Fallen leaves and small stones piled underfoot, each step producing a dry, crunching sound.
The spot on Soru's right shoulder where the high-wolf had bitten him still throbbed dully. Thanks to the medicinal herbs Efi had gathered in the forest and crushed into a poultice, the rot had stopped. But a numbing pain still pulsed deep within the wound from time to time.
More than anything, for a body that had spent sixteen years moving only upon the narrow straw of the isolation hut, this journey was brutal. His ankles felt heavy. His knees were shaking. His breathing quickly grew ragged, and his vision sometimes blurred white.
"……Aren't we going to rest?"
When Soru spoke in a hoarse voice, Efi, walking ahead, glanced back over her shoulder. Her long, near-white gray hair swayed gently, though there was no wind. Her left eye was gold, her right eye deep brown. That strange misalignment of her gaze always made Soru flustered.
"Rest? Here? Do you have some hobby of sleeping on ash-wolf droppings and dead branches?"
A flat tone. A drawling sarcasm.
Soru fell silent. He had no answer other than *no*.
*(……That's not it. That's not what I meant.)*
Words swirled in his head, but they wouldn't rise to his throat. It was pathetic.
Efi glanced at Soru's face, then gave a small snort of laughter through her nose.
"Your legs are already at their limit, aren't they. Say that kind of thing out loud. My legs hurt, I want to rest, I'm hungry. Simple words, aren't they."
"……My legs hurt. I'm hungry. ……I want to rest."
Soru repeated the words flatly, just as he'd been told.
Efi blinked for a moment.
Then she laughed, a low chuckle from the back of her throat. Still laughing, she sat down on a flat rock by the roadside.
"How obedient. ……We'll rest."
Soru let out a breath of relief. The exhale lasted longer than he'd expected, and he was a little surprised at the depth of his own exhaustion.
Efi reached inside her black robe and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. A lumpy hard-bread made of ash-barley. She snapped it in half with a crisp crack.
"Eat. Small bites, chew well. If you wolf it down, your shrunken stomach will be shocked and you'll throw up."
She held out half toward Soru.
Soru simply stared at the bread for a long moment.
*(Receiving food from another person.)*
It was the first time in his life.
At the isolation hut, gray gruel and water had always been left outside the door. Someone from the village would hang it from the end of a long stick and push it toward him, "so as not to touch the taint." Receiving something directly, from hand to hand. That alone made his chest feel strange—ticklish, almost painful.
"……Can I really take this?"
"If you don't want it, give it back. I'll eat all of it myself."
Efi began to pull her hand back.
Soru hurriedly accepted the bread. Their fingertips brushed, ever so slightly. Efi's fingers were terribly cold.
"……Thank you."
Soru spoke in a thin voice.
Efi didn't answer, instead beginning to gnaw at her own portion. The dry sound of her white teeth crushing the hard bread.
Soru put a bite of bread into his mouth.
It was hard and dry, but there was a faint fragrance of grain. Chewing slowly, a pale sweetness spread across his tongue.
*(It's good, he thought.)*
Feeling such a thing—it seemed like something from a distant world.
—The self who had been stoned in the village square, and the self who now received bread from a wandering witch.
For sixteen years, nothing had changed. Every day had been prayer and stones and straw, stretching on like an endless night.
And yet, in just a few days, it had all warped and twisted.
*(Nothing has changed. The only thing that's changed is the location.)*
Soru told himself that. Leaving the village didn't mean he'd become human. The taint was simply moving from one place to another.
But.
*(The bread was good.)*
That fact popped softly, deep in his chest.
Suppressing his emotions was like breathing for Soru. But today, something faint was leaking out from beneath the lid.
---
Toward evening, the remains of an old stone structure appeared on the left side of the path.
Several half-collapsed stone pillars stood there, covered in moss and vines, as if forgotten. The construction was different from human dwellings—older, smoother. The corners were rounded, and fine markings were carved across the stone surfaces.
"……There's something."
When Soru stopped, Efi walked on ahead.
Her gait changed. The hesitation vanished, and she was drawn in a straight line toward the row of ruined pillars.
And then—Soru saw it.
Efi touching the surface of the stone pillar with her bare hand.
Touching it, and then tracing the carved patterns with her fingertips, as if entranced.
Her expression brightened for an instant. The face that had been covered in a thin film of sarcasm throughout the journey—just for that moment, the years fell away, and she looked like an innocent child. Her gold left eye caught the evening light and glittered.
"This is from before the 'Gray Blaze'…… much older. It's a boundary marker. Not between villages—the forest-folk erected these to mark the borders of their own lands."
Efi murmured, as if to herself.
"This pattern…… yes, it's modeled after oak leaves. And this—this is the mark of a water vein. ……How unusual. This is a southern style. Why would it be on a northern mountain pat
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