Chapter 1 The cabin
CHAPTER I
The Cabin
“Hello? Is anyone there?” A young, handsome sixteen-year-old boy named Yonde Manabara stood in front of an old cabin. The wooden walls looked old and weathered, carrying the faint smell of damp moss. The cabin was small and crooked, its roof sagging slightly as if it had been forgotten for many years. The windows were cloudy with dust, and the door was small, hanging on rusty hinges that creaked whenever the wind pushed against it. The wind passed through the trees, stirring the dry leaves. He waited patiently but no answer came. He called out once more, a little louder this time.
“Hello!” Then suddenly, a voice answered from the cabin. “Right here! Wait up!” It was the voice of an old man, rough and deep. Yonde let out a sigh of relief, a smile tugging at his thin rose lips. He waited patiently, taking the moment to look around. His striking green eyes scanned the quiet forest, catching the slow sway of branches and the little patches of light slipping through the trees.
“This place... it’s really deep in the woods,” he murmured before his gaze shifted to the cat appearing on the cabin’s door. It was a thin and old cat with a black tail and white fur all around its body. Its steps were light, it looks tired. Yonde quickly approached it, kneeling in front of it. He pats the cat’s head, feeling the coarse fur and the slight bones beneath. He noticed its blue and green eyes, which fascinated him. He smiled and decided to search for food in his schoolbag.
He only saw his blue lunch box. He grabbs and opens it. Warm steam slips out, carrying the smell of rice and grilled meat. Inside was soft, fluffy white rice and a chicken with dark grill lines, the skin shining a little with oil. He gulped, his stomach tightening as he stared at the meal, while the cat in front of him sat still, its tail flicking with quiet patience. He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to dig in. Then, with a small quiet sigh, he gave in not to his hunger but to the cat's plea. finally placing the food. He thought for a moment.
“I couldn't risk placing the food in the dirty ground. It might be bad for this sick cat.” He sighs and gives the whole lunch box to the cat. His stomach growls, the sound sharp in the silence, but he laughs it off, petting the cat till a shadow shifts in the doorway. The old man appeared, leaning against the frame.
“You seem quite a selfless young man. Be careful it might get you killed someday…” The shaman said casually. Yonde stands up, his face contoured in confusion, but he brushes it off as he bows his head slightly, a silent greeting.
“What is it that you want?” The shaman asked.
Yonde turned to look at the shaman. He saw the lines on his forehead and cheeks, carved by experience and aging. The shaman is probably in his 30's. He’s carrying a smile that seems to confuse Yonde, because it was not happy, it was not friendly, yet he could feel it was genuine. Yonde’s eyes lit up as he quickly returned the shaman’s smile. He gave a respectful nod as the old man stepped forward, sunlight catching the tan lines on his skin.
“You're quite familiar, young man,” the shaman said, his voice rough and deep. “You're the one I bumped into yesterday while I was taking out the trash.”
Yonde's eyes widened.
“I... I didn’t realize,” he said softly.
The shaman smiled, then studied him closely. “You're quite troubled. I can see it in your eyes.”
Yonde nodded, silent, admitting it without words. His eyes met the shaman’s as he spoke. “I’m here because... lately I've been interested in horrors and ghost spirits.” The shaman raises an eyebrow. Yonde continues. “So I decided that I wanted to know more about the supernatu—” Yonde didn’t get to finish.
“—To know more about supernaturals,” the shaman cut in, his voice calm, firm.
“That’s not something you casually say out of simple curiosity, was it?” The shaman looked at Yonde intently. “There must be a hidden purpose why you act in between desire and desperation." His piercing blue eyes locked onto Yonde’s, as if reading straight through him.
Yonde stared at him, taken aback by the shaman’s words. The morning air suddenly felt colder against his skin, and a faint rustle of leaves whispered around them. He felt exposed, like an open book. His chest tightened, and heat rushed to his face and neck, as if the shaman had stripped away the walls he had built. He quickly looked away, avoiding the shaman’s piercing gaze. His eyes landed instead on the cabin’s cracked wooden walls, half-swallowed by weeds.
“It’s just that… I lost my little brother just last week and I-i–” He stutters his hands clenching at his sides. “I wanted to meet him to say that I love him and to say that i- I a-am s-sorry.” He spoke with trembling voice the shaman look at him understanding this young boy clearly the loss is still raw in his memory he knew how affected he was to be able to cling to very slightest thread of hope (afterlife) just to meet his dearly departed.
He pats Yonde’s back I am sorry for your lost young man.” He comforts Yonde by continuously tapping on his back. “So this is why you became interested in supernaturals.” He says.
Yonde nods lifting his head to look at the shaman But how did you know that I am in pain and that im interested in supernaturals and that i have a hidden purpose behind it? he asked, his voice low.
The shaman’s reply was calm and steady. “Ohh that well yesterday, when I bumped into you, I saw what you were reading. At first, I thought it was just out of curiosity. But then...” His eyes flicked to Yonde’s hand, lingering there.
“I saw the ring glowing on your finger.”
Yonde instinctively spread his fingers. He lifted it high between their faces, his palm facing the shaman. He raised an eyebrow, curious to see what the ring looked like, even though he was just a normal human being meaning that he doesn't posses the ability to see it.
The shaman paused, his voice softening. “That’s when I knew. You’re not just curious. You’re in pain. You’re reading those books not to be entertained, but to reconnect with someone who’s already gone.”
His words hung heavy in the air, spoken with quiet sympathy, as if he truly felt Yonde’s pain. The silence between them deepened, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl and the creak of the cabin’s old wood.
The shaman’s voice cut through the thick smoke Yonde had been hiding behind. His hands froze in midair before clenching tightly and dropping back to his side.
“Tell me,” Yonde whispered, his voice barely carrying, “was it really a bad thing?”
He looked down, his tone becoming sadder and lower, shame stirring in his chest. His shoulders sank a little, and he pressed his lips together as if the words themselves were heavy.
“Was it wrong… to want that?” he asked again, his voice dropping even more. “To fight for it, even if it seems hopeless.” He could feel his chest heaving as he forced the last few words out, his voice so low it was almost lost in the air.
The shaman watched him closely, his heart aching at the sight of Yonde’s conflicted expression. He could see how hard this was for him, and he could sense the weight of battles, not just real ones, but the struggles life had thrown carelessly at him.
Yonde’s hands slowly unclenched, his fingers trembling slightly. He drew in a shaky breath before speaking again. “...to want something that goes beyond the rules of life and death,” he said, his eyes flicking up just enough to meet the shaman’s.
The shaman leaned forward a little, replying quickly, his tone sharper than before. “No, of course not.” His voice carried a defensiveness that surprised even him. Realizing it, he cleared his throat and forced himself to calm down before continuing. “It’s never been wrong to fight for something you hadn’t expected to lose. Especially something or someone you loved.”
His eyes locked with Yonde’s. The sunlight slipped through the cracks of the old cabin wall, casting broken streaks across their faces. The sharp angles of their features stood out in the dim light, making the moment feel heavier.
“It may seem hard, even impossible, to battle against the order...” the shaman added, his voice lowered this time, almost as if he was speaking from experience.
The shaman continued, “But it’s worth it.” He smiled. “Sometimes it takes courage and deep thinking to outsmart everything, even life itself.” The shaman spoke as if fully knowing what it is and what it feels like.
Yonde didn’t respond. Yet he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow; it felt as though the shaman knew where he was coming from in the very first place. An unsettling silence lingered in the room, thick and heavy. He clearly hadn’t expected to have a deep, emotional conversation with the shaman. Slowly, he nodded his head, then asked,
“Tell me, Shaman.” He paused, debating if it was too insensitive to ask, but decided to continue anyway. “Have you ever lost something so precious you started believing in everything, just for the chance to meet them again?” His voice softened, almost hesitant, as if he were trying to understand the shaman more.
Yonde felt dumb the moment the words left his mouth and almost decided to take them back. “Ah—” He stopped when he noticed the shaman’s lips forming into a soft, genuine smile. The shaman didn’t say a word. Just a simple smile yet in Yonde’s eyes, it felt more like a betrayal of his true feelings, a mask covering pain. Still, even though Yonde sensed the shaman’s suffering, he couldn’t sense any regret behind that smile.
Yonde nods in acknowledgement, not wanting to push the topic any further. He simply asks, redirecting the conversation, “The Spirit Ring you mentioned earlier... what is it all about?” He looks at the shaman.
“Oh, right—the Spirit Ring,” the shaman says, turning his back to Yonde as he steps into the cabin. “Come, I’ll explain it to you in here.”
Yonde stares at the shaman as he follows closely behind him. The entrance to the cabin is small and crowded, the doorway sagging with age and shadow, forcing both Yonde and the shaman to bend down because of their tall height.
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