Each time Fitran manages to kill or defeat an enemy, he earns fragments from them. However, not all fragments can be collected. Only supernatural beings and few humans memories can be collected.

  Flashback

  Snow fell gently in the nameless valley, quiet and still. At that time, the world still had distinct seasons—untwisted by the endless spiral of now. Yuki-Onna had not yet become the General of Yokai; she was merely a winter spirit descending upon remote villages.

  "Do you miss your ancestors?" Junichiro asked, gazing at her. "Sometimes," Yuki-Onna replied, her voice soft as a whisper in the wind, "but right now, I long for something beyond mere memories."

  In that valley live a young man. His name was Junichiro—a common man who often sat by the frozen river, penning poems on the dry maple leaves. "Why does snow always cover everything?" he asked the gray sky. "Because snow is both a savior and an eraser," Yuki-Onna answered, her eyes piercing deeply into the despair of the young man, "It conceals the bad, yet it also removes the good." His face was pale, his body frail, yet his eyes remained locked on the snow, as if searching for something that couldn't be named.

  Their nights began with chance encounters. Junichiro had once lost his way, nearly freezing to death, when Yuki-Onna found him, shrouded in mist, her silence broken only by the intensity of her gaze. "You need to leave this place," she urged him, "This world isn't always kind." "But I don't want to go," he replied firmly, "This place may be cold, but my heart feels warm when you're here." That night, Junichiro whispered, "I know… you aren’t human. But why do you help me?”

  Yuki-Onna answered, her voice cold yet gentle, "I grow weary of seeing the same death every season. You are different. You… do not fear me." With a piercing look, Junichiro reassured her, "Fear is a part of life, but I feel more alive when I'm with you. Especially on nights like this, filled with magic and mystery." Yuki-Onna replied with a faint smile, "Perhaps you are just a fool, but in this world full of fear, your foolishness is a blessing."

  Junichiro smiled faintly, "Perhaps I truly have lost enough reasons to fear anything. Living here—in this aging village, among people who never glance back—has caused fear to freeze like rivers in the depths of winter." His words flowed slowly, as though carried by the night wind that chilled him to the bone.

  Days passed in an oppressive silence. In the dim light, Junichiro began to wait for the snow to fall, hoping to catch a glimpse of Yuki-Onna’s silhouette behind a curtain of mist. When the last snow laid its blanket, that shadow glided by, as if beckoning him without uttering a sound. "I’m waiting for you," he whispered to himself, as if the wind became a witness to his longing.

  “You know,” Yuki-Onna said one night, her soft voice flowing like a haunting melody in the stillness, “Snow isn’t merely cold. It also carries hope, a renewal for lost souls.”

  “Hope?” Junichiro asked, his gaze drifting across a sea of dark memories. “For whom? This life is merely a foundation covered by illusions.”

  They spoke of poetry, feelings trapped within words that vibrated in the icy air, about seasons that never quite mirrored each other, about the small memories left behind in piles of snow. Sometimes, they simply sat in silence, relishing the quiet like a gentle battle against uncertainty.

  Yet humanity cannot escape its fate. “Every step I take from here,” Junichiro gazed towards the unseen, “will only lead to more sadness.”

  And Yokai, no matter how strong, remained out of place in the human world, trapped between two realms. “We are mere visitors, with no place to return to,” Yuki-Onna lamented, her jaw trembling. “Don’t you feel anything?”

  One night, as the moon glowed with an endless darkness, Yuki-Onna asked, “If I were to take your body to the eternal season, you would never return to being human. Do you really want to stay with me?”

  “Is that what you want?” Junichiro stepped closer, delving into her eyes that sparkled like frozen snow, “To shatter the only window that connects us to this world?”

  Junichiro smiled, but his eyes dimmed, “This world has never truly accepted me. Whether you are with me or not, I remain a ghost in my own home. But… with the snow, I feel warmth. Perhaps, for once, I want to be something different—more than just a name on a tombstone.”

  “So,” Yuki-Onna stepped closer, her cold hand brushing through Junichiro’s hair, which felt as cool as morning dew, “will you choose this snow, your true comfort, or remain trapped in darkness?”

  “I’m already trapped,” Junichiro replied, his voice trembling. “If I go with you, does that mean I will be left behind forever?”

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Yuki-Onna stepped closer, her eyes glowing. “You will never be abandoned. My soul will be with you, pulled from the darkness, united in eternity.”

  “But what is eternal is loss,” Junichiro responded, his heart heavy with unspoken fears. “It’s better to count the moments I have than to feel the certainty of loss.”

  “Sometimes,” Yuki-Onna whispered, “the unseen strength is mightier than the physical. We, the Yokai, possess the ability to alter your perception of this world.”

  Junichiro gazed at her, “If that’s the case, show me that world.”

  With a graceful wave of her hand, Yuki-Onna invoked a transformation in the night. Snow fell gently, enveloping them in a magical ambiance. Each flake morphed into a memory—echoes of a life held back, with the snow serving as a silent witness to all despair. “As long as you are with me, solitude will cease to exist,” she declared, her voice flowing like two rivers merging into one.

  This new world shimmered with mysteries and enchantments, where Junichiro felt a surge of power coursing through him, as if every flake of falling snow offered a new creed for his hollow soul. "The only fear lies in not having a shelter in someone's heart," Yuki-Onna added, the moonlight illuminating her face.

  Junichiro shook his head slowly, “For me, spring is just a repetition of loss. People return from the fields, but I remain alone. The snow is the only thing that never promises anything. It feels like I’m trapped in a loop of time, enveloped in an everlasting freeze.”

  Yet that night, the villagers saw Junichiro sitting by the riverbank, talking to the air, laughing at shadows. “Do you see that?” he said, his voice hoarse. “The shadows are whispering to me. They say I am lost, caught between two worlds.” They began to murmur, accusing him of consorting with spirits, bringing misfortune, and awakening an old curse. He was scorned, avoided, even his own mother refused to speak to him.

  Junichiro entered the forest, searching for Yuki-Onna. He felt the howl of the wind beckoning him with an irresistible call. “Yuki!” he shouted, his voice echoing among the trees shrouded in mist. “Where are you? I need answers, not shadows!”

  “I’m done, Yuki. I want to join you. This world has turned its back on me; humanity has rejected me. I’m not afraid of becoming a spirit, if it means being with you,” he said, his voice trembling with vulnerability. “Can you hear them? They don’t understand; they only see shadows.”

  Yuki-Onna looked at him with uncertainty, her expression as stern as the snow covering the branches. “I… cannot turn you into a yokai. Only human death can do that—and it comes with an eternal curse. You will lose all your memories, all your poetry, all your hopes.”

  “But this hope… has already died for me! What’s the point of remembering if I am isolated?” Junichiro pleaded, his eyes alight with fear. “Let me be a part of your world, even if it’s only as a shadow.”

  Yuki-Onna appeared to struggle with her feelings. “If you become a yokai, you’ll see the world through a dark lens. Everything you love will fade like fireflies in the night.”

  Junichiro managed a bitter smile. “That’s better than living with the same wounds every day. Perhaps among the spirits, I will find peace. Even if it means becoming invisible.”

  Yuki-Onna embraced him in the mist, their bodies almost merging in the chill. “But just look around you,” she whispered, her voice flowing softly like the rustle of the wind. “This world is a secret place.” The fog lifted for a moment, revealing the dim glimmer of the spirit realm intertwining with the earth. “I can give you what you've never dared to dream, but you must pay a high price.”

  But the next morning, Yuki-Onna discovered Junichiro hanging from the old tree, the remnants of his robe wrapped around his neck. Snow fell gently upon his already frozen body, as if nature lamented his departure. He was trapped in between, forever unable to escape the sorrow that haunted him.

  He left a letter, penned with trembling hands:

  “To Yuki, If I cannot live alongside you, let me become part of the eternal winter. I entrust my name to the everlasting cold so that one day you won't feel alone among the spirits who have forgotten how to love.

  Junichiro.”

  Yuki-Onna screamed, her voice slicing through the silence, yet there was no echo among the snow. “Junichiro!” she called, desperation lacing her tone, as if she hoped his name could bring back the figure who had departed. She cried out in profound sorrow, but only the biting cold wind responded. Biting her lip, she reached out her hand, trying to summon Junichiro's spirit, focusing her icy energy, “Come back!”

  Yet, the spirit resisted, darkness engulfing it, choosing eternal slumber beneath layers of snow. “This sleep is unending,” it whispered, trembling, a sound of emptiness filling its heart, “I will not leave you alone. Not anymore.” Leaving Yuki-Onna alone amidst the increasingly cold seasons.

  Since that day, Yuki-Onna never allowed humans to approach her again. “Even those who long for warmth,” she spoke to the shadows, her blue eyes as cold as ice, “will only feel the chill and loneliness.”

  She transformed—cold, ruthless, guarding her realm with an absolute frost. “Humans, they are all the same,” she gazed at the sprawling snow, “your smile will only be replaced by the pain of loss.” Each spirit of the children or humans who died of cold, she tended to in silence—not as an act of love, but as a warning that this world, in the end, never embraces what is different. “And I…” Yuki-Onna sobbed, “can no longer be a part of that world.”

  In the nights that followed, as the full moon shone through the gloomy clouds, Yuki-Onna often sat beneath an ancient tree, rereading the fragile letter in her hands. “Junichiro, you left too soon,” she whispered, frozen tears streaming down her cheeks, “can you see me from where you are?”

  She whispered a name before drifting off to sleep, “Junichiro… this season, I will freeze the world so you will never feel lonely again…” With her magical power, she released a cold aura that enveloped everything around her, creating a curtain of snow that covered the landscape, as if urging the world to bend to her will.

  “Everything will be frozen; no one will resist,” she proclaimed, “I will be the mistress of the weather, the Snow Goddess, and no one can change my decision. I will make everyone feel what I feel.” In her heart, rich with sorrow and rage, her supernatural power pulsed. “Let me witness this world become a forgotten place…”