[father]

claimed by jishokoi

[father]

Note: Further into the reading, there will be moments where it seems like the plume shifts between human and feral form. This isn't magic, but a hallucination.

ALSO ALL THIS ART IS GONNA BE RECOLORED TO FIT HIM YEAH YEAH

The cold bites you like a ravenous animal, nipping at your heels. About a hundred feet back your toes had felt like they were going to fall off, pinpricks of pain simulating the feeling of your bones splintering from brittleness, but now they are numb. The only indication that your feet are still moving--trudging one by one, step by step, inch by inch--through the thigh-deep snow is the desolate landscape moving around around you.

You had come to this mountain to do some soul searching, but your journey for inner meaning had turned into a desperate attempt at making it to civilization before sundown. The sun set rapidly in this area of the world, and you could feel time slipping between your fingers like running water. Having not thought ahead, you had failed to bring enough supplies with you to last more than a day. You are completely out of water and have only a granola bar and half a sandwich left in your bag, lighter than air on your back. Your phone is long dead--not that you got any service up in the wilderness, anyway.

You pass a group of trees that look vaguely familiar, and a jolt of fear carves into your gut as the possibility that you have been walking in circles crosses your mind. About an hour ago you had decided that an aimless walk up the mountain had not been the best idea, so you had turned around and started slinking down. At least, you thought you were going down. It was hard to tell, as the stretches of mountain terrain on all of your sides sloped at an angle too gentle to detect. If you did not know any better, you'd think you were walking through the Antarctic plain.

At the bottom of the mountain lay the ski resort in which you were staying at. If you could just make it to a signal tower or one of the ski lifts winding up the mountain you'd be okay.


[A Mistake]
The curiosity of the young and reckless, insatiable in intensity, was a force to be reckoned with. Yeto, nineteen years old and faced with a choice he did not want to make, was at the end of his rope and willing to do anything to get out of choosing between carrying on the family farm or being disowned. That was why, before sunrise on a tranquil Saturday, he had packed a bag full of bare essentials, unhitched his favorite family alpaca, and set off towards the top of the mountain his hometown lay beneath.

It was fitting, he thought, that to escape the traditions set by the smothering culture of his home he was following one of their oldest customs. A pilgrimage up the mountain was usually reserved for the elderly and children when they came of age. In modern days, people rarely made the journey anymore. No one had the time, too busy with entertaining tourists and maintaining farms, and it had been deemed too dangerous-- one too many kids had disappeared and the mayor had finally put her foot down and outlawed any sort of trip whatsoever. According to the elderly left in town who had made the trip in their lifetimes, the temple at the end of the trail was crumbling and frozen over, anyway.

Yeto found that their words were true when, after a day's worth of hiking, he'd made it halfway up the mountain and was faced with a decrepit stone cave entrance. He was sure that, at one point, it would have been a beautiful sight. Two staff-like structures curled like snakes around the gaping entrance, one broken unevenly down the middle and the other still standing. Chimes hung off the end, jingling in the wind. The temple entrance, a hole in the mountainside, seemed to stare at him, its black depths offering no forgiveness as he stepped forward. No where to go but forward, Yeto figured with a disdainful snort.

Pulling his alpaca along, he leisurely lit a lantern and journeyed inside, disturbing loose pebbles beneath his feet. A few footsteps in and suddenly the entrance, walls cramped and looking worse for wear, opened into a wide, cavernous area, with a ceiling so tall Yeto couldn't see the end even when he craned his neck upwards, mouth hanging open in awe. In the center of the room stood a stone altar, frozen in ice. Upon the altar stood a statue of a beast, with shaggy fur along its back, mouth open in a snarl aimed at the entrance of the cave. Yeto stepped closer, finding that the altar rest in the center of a pool, long frozen solid. The temple must have, at one point, been a hot spring. Along the back wall thick chunks of ice were frozen in the shape of a waterfall. Yeto spun once, observing the temple. It was silent, peaceful, as if he'd entered an area where time had stilled and gravity meant nothing.

And yet, Yeto sniffed, looking around himself contemptuously. What a waste of a trip, he thought. The place was falling apart and smelled of moss and old paper. It was no wonder the elderly hadn't fought the mayor's pilgrimage ban since it led to this dump. Heavily, he sighed and leaned back against the altar, staring at his feet and the thick ice beneath them. He was no closer to figuring out his future, and when he finally went back home all he'd be faced with was his mother's wrath. He should have stayed on the farm; at least then his alpaca wouldn't have been strained on a frivolous journey made on a whim.

The god this temple was dedicated to didn't exist, anyway.

Yeto let go of Pika's halter, letting the alpaca wander off, sniffing the broken stone structures around them. He turned and looked at the altar statue. In the lantern light, the thin ice covering its long canines gleamed. Trepidatiously, Yeto knocked his knuckle against the tooth. It fell off, harpooning straight into the ice at his feet. Yeto froze, holding his breath, the silence threatening to suffocate. Then, a deafening crack, and beneath his feet the ice seemed to split, jagged like teeth. The temple walls crumbled, stone pillars and statues crashing to the ground.

With a yelp, he was swallowed up and everything went black.

Yeto woke with a pounding head, a sore back, and a concerned alpaca licking his face. Looking around himself, he saw the temple was spotless, the tooth replaced, the ice unbroken.

The tooth, the ice. Half-memories came rushing back to him. With a cry, Yeto shuffled back, still on the ground, eyes on the altar in fear. He remembered a voice, speaking to him as he struggled in ice cold blackness, but he couldn't remember what it had said. The skin on his back stung, he was exhausted and hungry, and all he wanted was to see his bed again.

He reached for his lantern, still lit after however long he had been passed out. Inside the glass cage, however, was not the flame Yeto had lit, but a single firefly, shining bright enough to light the whole cavern. Yeto tapped at the glass, and pain seared along his back.

A yearning, stemming from his very core, kept him glancing back at the altar, as if a noose had been tied around his neck and attached to the beast glorified in stone. He couldn't go home again, he knew. His future had been decided for him.


[Hope]

You trudge on and the wind picks up, biting through the jacket you clutch tightly around yourself. The snow gets deeper and the numbness in your feet spreads to your shins. The trees you'd been using as trail markers are arranged sparser and sparser, until the only trees visible are 200 feet behind you. The hood of your jacket, scrunched tightly around your dollar store earmuffs, is not enough to block out the whistle of the wind as it sprints past you, stirring up the top layer of pristine snow cover. Particles of disturbed snow swirl upon the even surface, like fairies dancing in the dying sunlight, saying a last goodbye to the sun.

It would be pretty if you weren't so terrified. You're lost, you're alone, and it is beginning to snow. You keep walking.

Darkness falls faster than you expected, and in minutes the mountain blocks the last rays of light. The wind howls, deafening you. You don't have a flashlight. Given no other choice and unable to see inches in front of your face, you continue moving, as helpless as a blind man in busy crowd. You feel as if you're drowning in a sea of night, clouds blocking the moon and stars. Forward feels like backwards, up looks like down, and your legs are icicles. Terror seizes your breath away when you realize that you cannot move anymore in this state. You are going to die here, frozen to death. You remember a tale overheard back at the ski lodge, of hikers dying on Mount Everest. The environment there was so cold that the bodies froze, never given a chance to decompose, forever a reminder of the stupidity of the dead. All you wanted was to find some insight into the meaning of your life. You did not come here to die, you think and regret and agonize as tears slip out, freezing to your cheeks before having a real chance to drip down your frostbitten face.

A light.

[The Basics, the Job]

Username; aaronzee
Name; Yeto Bun Machi
Gender; Male


For his occupation, Yeto aids wandering souls in finding their journeys' ends. Souls with no purpose in life--people born without a determined fate--drift through life with endless yearning, impossible to fulfill. At some point in their lives, their desire will bring them to Yeto's doorstep. Yeto has taken on the burden of being their guide, providing a peaceful gateway from an empty life to a fulfilling afterlife.

Given the nature of Yeto's job, he finds himself sad more often than not, dwelling on the tragedy that are souls with no fates. Each time he receives a new client, he weeps after their passing. He blames himself for their lives, though it is entirely out of his control.

Yeto's job is too much for him to handle on his own. As a sort of consolation, Yeto has many companions with him to help lead a client down the right path: fireflies. When Yeto successfully leads a soul to the bridge over, their voices are left behind as fireflies when they cross, which he keeps in jars on a massive wooden cart. Because the cart is too heavy to push through the thick snowfall, Yeto takes a single firefly at a time to greet travelers. He keeps the firefly in a lantern on the end of his walking stick and uses it to light the way to those in need of his care.



[Hail, Traveler!]

A lone speck in the distance of yellow light flickers, piercing the darkness like a lighthouse. A beacon of hope, you struggle forward with a pained cry, making a desperate dash in its direction. Death would not take you that night. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, liquid magma forcing your frigid limbs to move, move, MOVE--

Your left leg gives out beneath you, followed instantaneously by your right. In your haste, you had not noticed how high the toll was that your body had endured. Despair fuels your final sob, your last words, as you reach for the light with fingers you cannot feel, your hope, your savior. So close to safety, fate laughed at you. You were going to die after all. Your chest constricts, unable to get enough air in your lungs, and you pass out.



[Etc]

Yeto, forced to be a loner for his profession, is reclusive, hiding away in his home until forced out to perform his duties. He has only twice in his life received visitors that were not for work. He prefers things this way. Every meeting is a fateful encounter. The idea of making friends frightens him because he is blind as to whether their meeting could be the beginning of his companion's end.

Who is a guide without their faithful companion? Pika, Yeto's alpaca, helps keep Yeto on schedule and provides much needed company. Life gets lonely when one is stowed away in a cave on the side of a mountain. Pika keeps Yeto from losing track of the hours and anchors him to the earth. If Pika were not with him, Yeto feels that he would quickly fall into loneliness-induced hysteria. Pika also provides him with a positive hobby--knitting with the wool shorn from her back.

One of the few pleasures in Yeto's life is cooking. Given the climate of his home, few plants and animals can survive. What he does manage to cultivate ends up in one of his soups--the only food he knows how to cook. He makes sure to have a fresh pot always boiling in case he receives visitors.

Yeto's home requires him to traverse steep passes on high mountain terrain. He is terrified of losing his footing one day and plummeting to the ground.

[Warm Darkness]

You open your eyes to scratched rock walls covered in intricate tapestries, shadows cast by the flickering glow of fire. Blinking rapidly, you sit up too fast. Vertigo overtakes you, and you press the back of your hand to your forehead. You realize you've been stripped of your jacket and instead covered in a thick blanket.

You're not alone.


[A Consolation]

To honor the memory of those who have passed, Yeto paints simplistic tapestries. He has never fancied himself an artist, but finds solace in the idea that he's done something to atone for his inability to save the victims. The artwork acts as a substitute for headstones, since Yeto does not have the resources to mark graves with them.

[The Guide]

The stranger stares into the fire blankly, unblinking, as if he hasn't noticed that you've awoken. The still way that he sits unnerves you. You open your mouth to speak but not a sound comes out.

You sit in silence with the man for an eternity. You look around the room, and eventually settle for examining the art hanging from the walls. Thick brush strokes swirl into complex yet simple scenery. Each tapestry displays a subject, vaguely human in shape, surrounded by symbols and patterns. You realize that there is a story behind every illustration, but the closer you look the fuzzier your head feels. You can't seem to get a good enough look to decipher the true meaning. Eventually, you begin to doze off again, having lost interest, never quite closing your eyes.



[Guilt]

Passing over to the other side is painful, Yeto had learned quickly as visitors began arriving. The young woman presently lying on the thin mat on his floor clawed at her hair, a bright sheen of sweat covering her forehead. She was fighting the process, regrets refusing to let her pass. The process was agonizing to watch. Yeto closed his eyes, leaning helplessly against the cold stone walls with his eyes squeezed shut, willing the haunting sounds of struggle to just die already.

Selfish hatred bubbled up within him at the fact that he was the one stuck with this job and at the dying woman three feet away from him. Guilt quickly washed away the anger, accompanied by self-loathing. He was supposed to be helpful, easing their pain, ensuring that they passed on quickly and found solace in death.

He'd been confined to this cave, this mountainside, ever since he'd made that pilgrimage like a fool. He didn't want this life anymore, would rather have just spent his life raising cattle like he was supposed to, but he could not fight what had been chosen for him. The condition of the woman in front of him was proof enough that he was needed here.

The sounds of her struggles grew louder and Yeto reluctantly rose from here he sat to settle down beside her. He brushed her tangled bangs off of her forehead, murmuring sweet words to her, knowing they were empty. "It'll be alright," he hushed. "It will pass." Yeto couldn't even convince a tree with such weak condolences. Refusing to look her in the eye, he felt her gaze desperately burning into his skin. He hummed a prayer low under his breath, willing the higher forces to get this ordeal over and done with so he could get rid of the body and go back to hating himself in peace.

The first few people to come for his aid had painful, horrific passings accompanied by writhing and silent screaming as their souls were ripped from their physical bodies. If Yeto could have their suffering transferred to himself, he would.

But he wasn't magic. He was just a normal man fulfilling his purpose. All he could do was sit by, pray, and watch.

The woman gradually gained control of her movements enough to grab Yeto's arm with bone-crushing strength. Yeto forced his eyes to meet her wild gaze. Her eyes darted wildly between him and the fire. Confused, he looked towards the flame, flickering weakly as it died down. He'd left a pot of pumpkin soup simmering.

Oh, he realized. She must be hungry, after struggling for so long. Willing to attempt anything to ease the passing, he got up and poured her a bowl. Coming back, he observed that she'd calmed down enough to prop her up and pour a sip into her mouth. Her eyes finally drooped, heavy, looking exhausted. Yeto gave her another sip of the soup and could almost feel how her whole body seemed to relax, suspiciously fast. Perhaps she was standing on the precipice, and this was the final push needed to send her over. Her breathing, once shallow and quick, slowed to an even pace. Her eyes closed, and her body stilled.

Relief made Yeto's shoulders sag. It was over. Was it the warmth of the soup that had calmed her, or was it perhaps an ingredient? Curiously, he brought the soup up to his nose and sniffed, trying to recall what he'd put in it. Arctic pumpkins, some edible lichens, squash, a spice he'd ground up from some herbs--nothing out of the ordinary.

Though Yeto did plenty to distract himself--burying the body, conducting a one-person funeral service, finishing and hanging the memorial tapestry, spending time braiding and unbraiding his alpaca's hair, cleaning the cave, visiting the abandoned temple-- he couldn't keep the soup's hypnotic effects from nagging him until finally, one slow evening, he remembered. There had been rumors long ago, back in his home town, of an herb native to the mountains with drug-like effects on people unexposed to the foods of the mountainside. Tales of tourists arriving and getting lost on the mountains, complaining of visions of beasts that weren't there and their bodies turning sluggish.

After some investigating, Yeto found the culprit plant growing from between the ceiling cracks of his home. The solution to the pain had been right under his nose, right in his food, the whole time. He grit his teeth, anger rising. He was so stupid, all these people, seeking help, had instead been disappointed by the inabilities of such an incompetent healer. Eyeing the newest art hanging on the wall, flapping gently in a light breeze that managed to penetrate the cave opening from the outside, Yeto began to weep--as he always did at the end of the process.

Unable to forgive himself, the faces of those who had passed before would haunt his dreams that night.


[A Lull]

You are jolted from your reverie by a bowl being presented to you by large, black paws. You take the ceramic and peer inside at the thick, orange, soup-like substance sloshing around. Heat emanates through the patterned sides, warmth trickling through your palms to your whole body. Your stomach grumbles and you decide that, currently, you don't care who this creature is or what it is in the bowl. You're going to eat it. You move your lips as a silent thanks and slurp it down, all in a single gulp.

You lower the bowl and eye the man where he stands, hunched over as he digs through a cabinet in an elaborate cart set up near the side of the cave. A tall, fluffy animal dozes near it's front. The cart itself is made of rickety-looking wood and is covered in jars. Some jars are empty, but most contain fireflies, shivering in their jars as they dazzle you with the softness of their light.


[The Beast and Sleep]

Watching the faint lights twinkle lulls you into a trance-like state again. Another eternity passes. You're awoken by the sight of the beast, imposing in stature, pored over a blank tapestry. In his jaw he holds a brush, dripping black ink all over the floor. The beast pauses and looks at you. Pity and sadness pools in the depths of his ice-cold gaze. You are trapped by it, but do not feel cornered.

You watch, mesmerized, as the brush swirls patterns and lines on the tapestry. It does not feel right to defile a pristine canvas. For the first time since you awoke, you feel uneasy. Tearing your eyes away, you see the bowl, still in your hands, has been refilled. You gulp down the soup just as quickly as you did your first serving, eyeing your companion as you do.

The beast continues painting. The act feels vile, ominous, like each brush stroke is a razor blade being dragged across your skin. When you look down, you have no wounds. You do not want to watch the beast continue his painting. You opt instead for matching your breathing with that of the sleeping, hoofed animal resting nearby. You almost fall asleep again, but are jerked out of your daydream by the man rising to his feet, pinning the finished tapestry to the cave wall. You cannot tear your eyes away.

The art is minimalistic, but your gut is screaming that it's you. The man sighs, the first noise he's made throughout your whole time together. Gently, with one paw on your shoulder, he pushes you down onto the mat you'd been sleeping on. Your eyelids feel heavy as lead as you make eye contact with him. You feel like you've known him your whole life, yet his face is that of a stranger. Before your eyes, his forms seems to flicker between that of a large beast, with hackles covered in frozen fur and jaws dripping ink, and that of the gentle man who saved you.

He settles beside you and runs his hands through your hair, humming a soft, forlorn tune. You are reminded of a feeling long forgotten, of your mother cradling you close after a nightmare, protected and safe. For a moment, you see fireflies dance around your face.

You can finally close your eyes.


Hello, thank you for reading through my form!
I know it was long, but I hope the story was at least entertaining.
All art in this form is by me.
The winner may have all the feral art, pm me if you want the full sizes!