Kuro: A Land in Eternal Night

Prologue: The Demon

Vannah

The Town of Namahage, 631 D.A., Five-hundred years ago.

...

We are ever by each other's side, Searra and I and the darkness. Sometimes, so much so that it is difficult to tell one from the other.

The breeze blew softly in our faces as we approached town. We had lost much time getting here. I cursed the limp in my left leg that slowed us down. The limp was not without its advantages, however. Most people tended to be courteous to two traveling young women, more so when one was frail and lame, and the other person — well, suffice it to say that Searra stands out in more ways than one.

We made our way into town, part of a steady stream of people. The lights of nearby homes beckoned invitingly, a welcome sight in Kuro's everlasting darkness.

When the Sun Goddess, Amaterasu-ōmikami, disappeared mysteriously a thousand years ago, she left Kuro a blighted land.

We passed a few taverns. The smell of the roasters tempted us, the chicken turning on spits, the fat hissing as it fell and hit the hot coals.

I hobbled faster, leaning heavily on my staff, ignoring my limp as best I could. I noticed a good crowd had already begun to gather about one of the taverns. This tavern was bigger than the others, and noisier too, sturdily built with heavy oak doors. A wrought-iron sign above the entrance proclaimed its name: The Alehouse.

The great oak doors swung open. In the room, people were talking animatedly, basking in the warm glow of the hearth. I motioned for my sister to follow. She nodded and followed along meekly without a word, her long robes trailing her. I was careful to make sure we were as inconspicuous as we could be, for we tended to attract attention wherever we went.

The aromas of food, ale and smoke mingled in the air. My stomach grumbled, but I forced myself to focus. Food was not the only thing on our agenda. Gathering information was just as important.

We caught a few sidelong glances as we passed. Two young girls wandering alone were a rare sight, and the white cloaks of the Order even rarer. But my sister in particular, was enough to spark hours of conversation. Strikingly beautiful, with long, dark hair that tumbled past her shoulders, deep blue eyes, a dainty nose and ruby red lips, Searra was anything but normal. But her beauty wasn't what called attention to her. A thin white piece of paper was affixed to her forehead, running down the middle of her face, partially veiling a third of it. Characters were inscribed on the paper, symbols of the moon god, Tsukuyomi.

I took my sister's hand without a word, guiding her past rows of tables toward the end of the room. Searra liked windows. The Alehouse was full and it was hard to get the attention of the tavern wenches. Searra followed obediently and silently, her hand holding mine as we passed more tables. I could feel the eyes on us. I cursed a little to myself.

I noticed everything, from the little pickpocket who made his way around the room, to the burly drunk who had taken up the west end of the room, his dour face staring blankly into open space, his hands stroking his cold drink almost affectionately, as if the ale were a lover he hadn't seen in a long time. I saw the couple in the middle having a spirited conversation -- a lovers' spat, in fact. They hid it from everyone, but I could see the truth clearly from her reaction to him.

The rest of the room was what I expected to find: warriors, mercenaries and their ilk.

Demon Hunters.

We found a table with a pair of unoccupied chairs. It was fine to share with total strangers. I pulled up a chair and sat down. Searra followed suit. No sooner had we sat down, than we were immediately accosted by one of the barmaids.