Spin-off: Curse of the Were-Snow-Rabbit
Arare has lost his prized head veil, which distresses him.
Warning for themes of abuse.
Oh, how that ever-insolent human discovered Arare's greatest failing!
His feet trudged back into the depths of the Horror Fridge, but his mind relived that day he was in the Courtyard. An unattended barbecue grill and several errant mini-Balrogs had started a multicoloured fire infernally hot beyond imagination. Luckily, Arare had stopped the fire from spreading and taking him out along with the rest of the yard… at the cost of the treasured veil on his head.
He never expected the hotness of the flames to melt the entire length of sheer fabric to nothing as soon as he cast it over the barbecue grill. And so, he stood helplessly, watching his clan pride go up in smoke. While all yukinbo made their robes from snow, none but those of the Usuasagi clan could weave cloth from their own breath. While being of no use in combat, it was a technique so feared that all saw it as the most powerful amongst the more challenging kind of yukinbo arts, and named it the Great Red Lotus (摩訶鉢特摩). Thin as spring snow yet cold as death, weaving an ice veil was a testament to a perfect control of internal power, an immaculate balance between strong like an icicle, yet soft like snow.
The Usuasagi clan so prided themselves on the Great Red Lotus technique that an heir was required to successfully weave a veil before ascending to the post of clan head. There was but a problem: Arare did not weave the veil he melted. His father died mysteriously before he could master the technique, and so he wore his father's veil, lied to his clan that he wove it, and became head. With the veil now gone, he must master the technique and weave a new one at all costs if he wished to ever return to his home realm with his face intact.
Arare still could only breathe out steely ice threads thin as spider silk and ten times as sharp, yet could never manage to make a piece of fabric no matter how small. As he watched yet more ice threads fall to the fridge floor, his father's words echoed ever louder in his head,
Why did I ever have a child as useless as you?
Usuasagi Tsurara 氷柱 was the head of his much-feared clan before his sudden and mysterious death. True to his name, he was strong as the thickest icicle and just as sharp.
His oldest son Arare greatly resembled him but for the permanent scowl upon his face. One day, young Arare ran up to him, holding an ice lance longer than he was tall. The boy excitedly said, "Look, father, look at this weapon I've made."
Tsurara summoned a large ball of snow off the ground and hurled it at the lance, breaking it in half.
"I'm not interested in that nonsense," Tsurara said. "You're next in line to head the clan, yet you haven't bothered to master the Great Red Lotus technique, nor have you found a way for our kind to restore our powers. Your brother Nadare 雪崩 is first to be born in cursed form, all because of you. If our clan loses face and our kind meets its end, it will all be because of you. I only have one request: that you do not make me regret having you as a son."
Arare remained silent. He was well used to his father's bitter speeches, yet he still wanted to make him proud all the same.
