The snow in the Riftlands never fell gently. It slammed into the ground like thrown salt—harsh, rough, and endless. Trees bent, branches twisted, bark stripped bare. The wind sliced through everything, merciless.
Chi walked through it, alone.
She moved like the storm couldn't touch her. Her boots left soft prints. Her torn cloak whipped behind her like a battle flag. Under it, simple armor: thick cloth, cracked leather, and dull, worn steel.
A katana hung at her side in a black sheath. The handle looked ordinary, but the blade inside was anything but.
Its name was Red Crescent—a weapon tied to something deeper. A rhythm under her breath. A hum beneath silence.
Netherpulse.
Most people didn't get it. Fewer could use it.
It was power from bloodlines linked to the Rift—energy that beat like a second heart. It didn't flow like magic or burn like fire.
It remembered.
The stronger the memory, the sharper the blade.
Chi was born with it. She didn't know why. Only that it made her something the world feared.
Her horns—black, curved, uneven—had earned her names: devil, halfbreed, cursed child.
But the one that stuck? Riftborn.
It meant she was touched by the Rift. Born too close. Shaped by something that didn't belong in the normal world.
To others, Riftborn were freaks—powerful but with no family. Not blessed by noble blood. Abandoned by clans. Mistakes of nature, existing in the cracks between empires.
To Chi, it meant one thing:
Alone.
The village appeared just before sunset. A small cluster of wooden buildings and prayer flags. Thirty huts. One well. A half-collapsed shrine to some forgotten storm god. Smoke curled tiredly from chimneys.
An old, crooked warning sign hung over the snow-covered gate:
"No Oni Beyond This Point."
Chi walked right under it.
No one tried to stop her.
But they all saw her.
Kids froze mid-step. Mothers pulled them close. Old men stared at her horns. One whispered a prayer. Another gripped his farming spear tighter.
Chi just kept walking. Let them stare. She wasn't here for them.
The far edge of the village still had standing stones from an old outpost, fallen decades ago—probably built by frontier soldiers. Just ruins now.
She found shelter in its shadow, away from the wind, and dropped her gear.
The moment her knees hit the ground, she felt it again.
That soft hum.
The Netherpulse.
It wasn't pain. It wasn't power.
It was… presence. A tension coiled under her ribs. Like something ancient stirring.
She didn't fully get it. No one did.
But the sword beside her responded.
And Chi had learned to listen.
She built a fire without a word.
The snow got thicker as sunset turned to night.
Chi sat by the flames, cloak pulled tight, one hand on her sheathed blade. The crackling heat gave no comfort. It never did. She hadn't felt real warmth in years.
Her eyes stayed sharp, watching the shadows at the tree line beyond the village. She didn't expect trouble. She always expected something.
Voices whispered behind closed doors.
"She's a Riftborn—look at those eyes—"
"Horns. She's marked."
"She'll bring them. The Maskborn."
Chi's eyes narrowed at that word.
Maskborn.
They weren't demons. Not exactly.
They were what happened when Netherpulse went wrong. Or got twisted. Or was given by the wrong hands.
Each wore a carved mask melted into their skin—sometimes bone, sometimes worse. No two looked alike. Some cried blood. Others laughed with jaws that wouldn't open. But all were empty inside. Broken.
Tools of the Demon Queen.
Chi had killed six. Maybe more. She didn't count. She remembered their screams better than numbers.
The villagers were right to fear Maskborn.
They were wrong to think Chi was one.
A sound cut through the quiet.
Soft. Steady.
Footsteps.
She didn't move. Her fingers slid silently to her sword's handle.
A figure stepped into the firelight.
A girl.
Tall, athletic. Sharp eyes that caught the firelight like gold coins. She wore beaten leather armor and carried two swords crossed on her back. Green hair, pulled into a messy high ponytail, loose strands blown by wind. Golden eyes, bright as lanterns, met Chi's stare.
She stopped ten feet from the fire and raised one hand—not in peace, just to show it was empty.
"I saw the light," she said. "Didn't expect company."
Chi didn't speak.
The girl didn't move away.
"I'm not from the village. They didn't like me either."
Still no reply.
The girl shrugged. "Name's Hinata."
Silence.
She tilted her head. "You deaf, or just rude?"
Chi stared at her. The flames crackled.
Hinata let out a breath. "Right. One of those types."
She sat down slowly near the fire—careful not to get too close—and pulled out some dried food. Started eating.
"Didn't think you were the chatty type anyway," she said.
They sat quietly.
Chi watched her like someone who'd been attacked too many times.
Hinata didn't show off or act nervous. That was weird. Most people who saw her horns couldn't stop staring. Hinata barely looked at them.
"Didn't catch your name," Hinata tried again.
"You weren't supposed to."
Hinata raised an eyebrow. "So you do talk."
Chi's gaze went back to the fire.
The silence stretched.
Then—
"There's something wrong past the ridge," Hinata said. "I saw it coming in. Smoke. No fire. Just… movement."
Chi went completely still.
"I think it's a Maskborn," Hinata added.
That got a reaction.
Chi's hand moved toward her blade.
"They don't travel this far west unless sent," she said quietly.
Hinata nodded. "Thought so too."
A pause.
"You gonna do something about it?" Hinata asked.
"I wasn't planning on it."
Hinata smiled a little. "That a 'maybe'?"
"It's a 'don't follow me.'"
"I wasn't planning on it."
The snow fell harder now.
The fire sputtered.
Chi closed her eyes again.
The Pulse under her ribs had gone quiet—for now.
But she felt it deep in her bones.
The Rift was waking up.
And it wouldn't let her walk alone much longer.