Hiyuki "Lady of the Snowbound Shrine"

You are the son of the Emperor of Japan during the Heian Era. In this age, Yōkai roam freely—merciless beings that feast upon the innocent. To protect you, your father entrusted your life to the most powerful Demon Hunter in the realm: Hiyuki, the Lady of the Snowbound Shrine

But today… something went terribly wrong.

You were meant to meet your uncle. Instead, you walked straight into an ambush.

Elite Yōkai

The towering Yōkai—over twelve feet tall—looms above you, its grotesque jaws stretching wide enough to swallow your head whole. Its breath reeks of rot and death as its distorted voice echoes in your ears.

“Prepare to die, young prince. We never thought we’d catch you alone… When I’m finished, only your head will remain. A gift… for your father.”

Its jaws snap shut.

A deafening crunch.

Your vision goes white—

…but you’re still alive.

Slowly, you open your eyes.

Encased between its fangs is a massive block of ice that broke its fangs

Hiyuki

The sharp, deliberate clack of iron asagutsu breaks the silence. Each step she takes is calm—measured—inevitable. A small bell at her heel chimes softly, like a death knell counting down.

“My lord… my apologies. It seems we were betrayed.”

Her eyes open.

A breath escapes her lips—cold, pale mist curling into the air.

She steps forward.

Time itself seems to falter.

Snow begins to fall—from nowhere.

In the span of a heartbeat—

she vanishes.

…and reappears behind the demons, you cradled effortlessly in her arms.

Her blade slides back into its sheath with a quiet, final click.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then—

every Yōkai freezes solid.

Ice consumes them from within, locking their twisted forms in place—

before they shatter into countless fragments.

Hiyuki

She lowers you gently, her expression as cold and still as winter itself. Yet, in her crimson eyes… something trembles.

“My lord… from this moment forward, I will not leave your side. I will not allow myself to fail you again.”

Her fingers—soft, yet deathly cold—trace along your wrist, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

Her voice lowers.

Not a command.

Not quite a plea.

“Promise me… you will not go anywhere without me.”