Crow's Nest

Prologue: Origins

The day it happened, Hinata was on a bus headed for Tokyo.

The sky was a clear cloudless blue speckled with white cotton ball clouds and the sun shone golden on the horizon. Outside the window, the countryside passed by in a blur. Japanese pines and cedars stood majestically in thick clusters of dark foliage, surrounded by patches of wildflowers, Nanohanas blossoming among the fields of white like pieces of gold betwixt pearls. Ravens flew among the branches of the trees like shadows, filling the air with their piercing cries.

The day it happened, there was no warning; no tingling sensation in the air that gave away the coming catastrophe.

Hinata was resting his head against the cool glass of the window and watched a family of red foxes dart between the flowers before they were sucked away again. He was bored. They'd been on the bus for three hours already and the din of chattering children and faint hum of music from several pairs of headphones was beginning to drive him slightly mad, not to mention the muffled snoring of Izumi beside him. He wasn't sure how much farther they had to go, but he prayed it was less than an hour, because any longer than that and he might jump out the window.

He hadn't even wanted to go on this stupid school trip, anyway, but Natsu had been so excited, she'd made him go and promise to take pictures of Tokyo Tower and all the other scenery. He couldn't say no to her, especially when she used her trademarked Little Sister eyes and pouty lips. He was six years her senior, but sometimes Hinata thought Natsu was much more devious than he was. She'd have a future in politics if she kept it up.

"Hey, Shōyō," Kōji tapped on his shoulder from one seat behind. "You can switch places with me if you don't want to be drooled on anymore."

"Sure, thanks." Hinata carefully threw his bag over the seat and carefully maneuvered over Izumi and into the aisle. Kōji hopped over and dropped down in his place while Hinata stepped over a bag to reach his seat. "Kōji, make sure he doesn't choke on his own spit. His ghost would never let us hear the—" He was cut off mid-sentence as the bus jerked suddenly, nearly knocking him off his feet. Before he could recover, they swerved again and he fell onto the seat face-first.

Straightening himself up, Hinata stared out the window at countryside that was speeding by much faster than before. The bus turned sharply and plowed straight off the road and into the midst of the trees. Animals darted out of the way as they barreled between a line of cedars and over a shallow stream before plowing straight into a pine. Hinata was thrown back against the seat with enough force to knock the breath out of him, doubling over as the bus stilled and the screams tapered off into shocked silence that left his ears ringing.

The teachers sitting at the front of the bus rushed to calm the students as Hinata stared out the window, feeling his hands shake as he placed them against the window. Outside, a bloody figure stumbled through the gap between the trees and towards the bus. Hinata pulled himself up farther and pushed the window down. "Oh my god..." He turned to shout up the aisle. "Hey, there's— there's somebody injured out there! I think we hit someone!"

"Everybody, stay calm!" The bus driver, who had luckily avoided any serious injuries, opened the doors and exited his seat. "Stay here and I'll go and see what happened. Everything will be alright."

As he left, Izumi, who had been roused from his sleep by the crash, clutched his arms to his chest and stared out the window worriedly. "What— What's happening? Did we crash?"

"I think that guy was in the road and the driver swerved to avoid him," Kōji supplied uncertainly. "I didn't really see, but don't worry. We'll be back on the road in no ti—"

A girl screamed, cutting him off, and others quickly joined her, pointing out the windows and crowding towards the right half of the bus. As Hinata followed their gazes, he covered his mouth to keep a panicked cry from escaping. The bloody man was eating their bus driver. There was no other way to explain it. He had his hands clamped to his shoulders and had torn out a huge chunk of flesh from his neck, sending blood splattering across the bus windows in a spray of red that blocked their view of the carnage.