#oni shanks

You woke to a warmth that didn't belong to this world. First, you caught the scent of smoke and resin, then a coarse softness against your skin. Furs. Goatskins, heavy and warm, draped over you like protective hands. 

In the distance, a fire crackled, orange and vibrant. Its light danced across the walls of... a cave? A low shelter? And somewhere in that light sat a man.

His hair was red, looking almost blood-colored in the firelight. He sat with his elbows on his knees, steady as a mountain. When you moved, he lifted his head, and his gaze fixed on you with a strange intensity, cautious, as if you were something fragile that mustn't be startled.

"You’re awake. Are you alright?" he asked.

The first thing you noticed was a terrifying red mask covering his nose and mouth. It wasn't cloth or metal, but something in between like lacquered wood or bone, smooth and solid with fine ridges. It looked ancient, ritualistic. You swallowed hard, your throat felt like it was full of glass.

"Where... where am I?" you breathed, your voice trembling.

"Safe," he answered simply. Then, as if worried that wouldn't be enough, he added, "I found you at the bottom of the ridge. The blizzard would have killed you."

You tried to sit up, but the world spun. The man moved faster than you thought possible. He didn't scare you, he simply held your shoulders to keep you from collapsing.

"Slowly," he said. "You have a bump on your head. And a lot of luck."

His touch was surprisingly warm. It wasn't just from sitting by the fire, there was a peculiar vitality to him, a heat that the fire only seemed to complement. 

As the furs shifted, you realized someone had stripped away your frozen layers, dried your hair, and dressed you in a clean shirt.

"Did you... change my clothes?" you asked, more suspiciously than you intended. A flicker of amusement crossed his eyes. Even through the mask, you could tell he was smiling.

"I changed you," he nodded. "And it didn't kill you, so it must have been the right call."

You flushed red but lacked the strength to argue. Besides, his voice was calm. Grounded. There was no hunger in it, no mockery. Instead, it felt like something trying to anchor you.

"What is your name?" you asked softly.

"Shanks," he finally replied. "And yours?"

"I'm Y/N," you introduced yourself.

"Good," he said. "Well then... Y/N," he smiled. Those few simple words warmed you more than the furs ever could.

Outside, the blizzard howled. The wind slammed against the rocks as if trying to tear the cave open. Shanks tossed a log into the fire, which hissed in response, and handed you a mug. Steam rose from it in delicate spirals.

"Drink," he urged. "It’s broth. Some ginger in there. It’ll help."

You held the mug with both hands, your fingers still tingling. You took a sip, and the heat traveled down to your stomach like a miracle. The ginger nipped at your tongue, but pleasantly so.

"Why are you wearing a mask?" you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Shanks paused for a moment. The flames cast shadows through his hair, and the mask gleamed darker.

"In these parts," he said quietly, "questions are only answered when one is ready to hear the truth."

"And am I?" you asked. His gaze drifted to your hands, to the slight tremor you could no longer hide. Then he looked back into your eyes.

"Perhaps," he said. "But not today." You sighed and nodded, sensing that pushing him would be useless.

"Then... why did you save me?" you tried a different way. Shanks tilted his head as if the answer were obvious.

"Because you fell," he replied simply. "And I was nearby."

"That's not an answer," you protested weakly.

"It is," he countered. "You just don't like it."

"In this land, people don't usually help strangers." You pushed yourself up a bit further, wrapping the furs tighter around you.

"I am not a person," slipped out of his mouth.

Silence settled between you like another layer of fur, heavy and warm at the same time. Shanks didn't move, he just watched you. You felt your heart give a single, irregular skip.

"What do you mean?" you asked cautiously. Shanks sighed, his fingers tracing the edge of his mask as if considering whether to remove it. Ultimately, he didn't.

"I am an Oni," he said softly.

The word sent a chill down your spine like cold water. In fairy tales, Oni were demons with horns and fangs, nightmares born of the dark. Children feared them, adults spoke of them in whispers to explain things that made no sense. 

And yet... Shanks sat by the fire, watching your breath, making you broth. There was no cruelty in his movements. Only a strength he held on a tight leash.

"So... the mask," you whispered.

"To keep from tempting the world," he replied. "And to keep the world from tempting me."

You looked at him longer than was safe. There was something ancient in his eyes. Not tired, just... deep. Like lakes where you cannot see the bottom.

"Do you fight it? The world?" you asked.

"Every day." Shanks was silent for a moment, then nodded. And in that nod, there was something so human it made your throat tighten.

The night dragged on. The blizzard showed no mercy, and time in the cave dissolved into the crackle of the fire and your own slow breathing. Shanks placed a cold compress on your forehead when your head began to throb again. When you shivered from the cold, he moved closer, not touching you, just offering his warmth as an option.

"You shouldn't be so close," you remarked, trying to sound brave, though it came out more like a plea.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because... the Oni," you reminded him. Shanks laughed so softly it was almost lost to the fire.

"You think I'm going to eat you," he said.

"I don't know what to think," you admitted.

"Think this then," he said, his voice thickening as if leaning on something solid within himself. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it long ago. I wouldn't have waited for you to wake up." It was a terrifyingly logical truth.

"Then why do you act like you're dangerous?" you asked, nodding toward the mask.

"Because I am." Shanks stared into the flames. Then he added, more quietly: "But not to you."

That sentence lodged itself in your chest. Not as a promise, but as a decision he had already made. You watched his hands. They were strong, scarred, but careful with every movement around you. When he adjusted your furs, he did it as gently as if he were afraid you might break.

"Does it hurt?" you asked before you could think better of it.

"What?" He looked up.

"Being constantly... on a leash." Shanks went quiet for a while. Then he shrugged, but there was no lightness in the gesture.

"It hurts," he admitted. "But you get used to it."

"That sounds terrible."

"It’s better than the alternative," he said. And in his eyes, something wild flickered, something dark that the mask only confirmed, rather than hid.

"Aren't you alone? Don't you have... a clan?"

"I do. But most of them have their own tasks around the area for now." Shanks smirked. 

Toward morning, the blizzard finally began to break. The wind no longer roared, it only groaned. The snow outside still swirled, but the violence was gone. Shanks stood up and stretched. In the flickering light, he seemed taller than you had realized. He turned to you.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

You tried to get up. Your legs buckled, but Shanks was there instantly. Again, he didn't catch you roughly, he just gave you his arm, firm and steady. His palm was warm as an ember.

"I'm fine," you muttered, even though you were leaning on him more than you wanted to admit.

"You're not," he said without judgment. "But you will be."

You stepped outside. The world was still white, but no longer blinding. Dark ridges loomed in the distance. The sky was grey, but a sliver of lighter sky was appearing at the horizon. 

Shanks walked beside you, his mask glowing against the snow like a beacon. Occasionally he stopped to check a trail, occasionally he offered an elbow when your foot slipped. You were grateful for it.

"Where are we going?" you asked as you passed a lonely tree encased in frost.

"Anywhere where no one wants to put me in a cage," he replied. "And you?"

"I was supposed to reach the town past the pass," you said. "To catch a caravan. I probably won't make it in time now."

Shanks stopped for a moment and looked at you. Then, quite naturally, as if it were nothing special, he took his pack off his shoulder and handed it to you.

"Then I'll take you there," he said.

"Why?" You blinked.

"Because you fell," he repeated. Then he added, a little more softly: "And because I like that you weren't afraid of me when I told you what I am."

Your heart jumped, this time not irregularly, but clearly, loudly. You felt ridiculously caught off guard.

"I... I was afraid," you confessed.

"But you stayed," Shanks said.

You pushed on. The snow crunched under your boots, the air was sharp and clean. Shanks walked silently, but his presence was as solid as the path he was making for you. 

When you shivered again a short while later, without even looking at you, Shanks took off his cloak and draped it over your shoulders.

"Shanks," you breathed in surprise.

"Don't argue," he grunted. "If you want to prove something to me, prove that you can make it the rest of the way."

"You're terribly bossy," you mumbled, but the corners of your mouth lifted.

"I'm an Oni," he retorted. "Did you expect tenderness?"

You lifted your head, looked at him, and this time you allowed yourself to speak the truth, even as it felt frozen on your tongue:

"Maybe... yes."

Shanks stopped for a heartbeat. The wind caught a lock of his hair, and the cloak fluttered around your hips. Then he did something that warmed you more than any fire ever could. He leaned in so close you could feel his breath on your forehead, even through the mask.

"Then prepare yourself for it," he said quietly.

"For what...?" you whispered. Shanks reached out and lightly, almost imperceptibly, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"For me taking care of you," he finished. You walked on together, the blizzard left behind, with a second demon by your side.

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