To reside in The Fire Hunter’s world is to be perpetually afraid of something. Whether that something in particular is a Fiend that is running wild, or even your fellow man, it’s always present and looming. And it is easy to understand way; in the past, a terrible catastrophe struck humankind and made it so that humanity could no longer harness fire. Coming into proximity of it would lead to the body instantly burning, and if it should happen to occur within a group of many people…well, it doesn’t take much imagination to think about what could happen. And the show does not shy away on showing just how terrible it really is. The sea of black, red, and orange bathe the screen as people scream for the pain to stop, as though they were mere kindling that allows the fire to spread at an alarming rate. In a flash, everything could be gone. So, there’s only one option that seems sensible: cloister yourself from everyone else, and keep outside contact to a minimum. Choose loneliness.

It is this cloistering quality that makes The Fire Hunter a hard sell, both as a seasonal anime and as a general fantasy story. The idea of a sprawling world for our characters to explore and meet so many new faces (along with an equally-sprawling soundtrack) as they fight against a relatively clear-cut evil is traded away. Where is the sense of grand adventure? Instead, what we see and experience is an intense interiority, which allows for the series to develop some fantastic subtextual worldbuilding. Both in terms of the larger social structure and character relationships, there are constant layers to be unpacked and chewed on. Within the pods of villages that exist on the outskirts of the capital city and beyond, they had to learn to defend themselves against the possibility of the fire that could kill them, but they cannot survive purely on their own. A single village can only have access to so many resources, so it became necessary to create a commodity that can bring commerce of some kind (muku paper, or a paper to communicate with the gods, being the most-referenced in-show).

The world is thusly one that, as sequestered as a village might want to be, must rely on others for money, bartering, and liquid fire. And presiding over their safety from the Fiends are the Fire Hunters, the ones whose sickles and dogs kill Fiends for their golden blood to create a new source of light and heat. Whether as a village or as a villager, the ability to work determines one’s worth. With Fire Hunters acting as both guardian and harvester of the most-precious of all resources, they achieve a quasi-divine reverence among the people of the show’s universe.

This interplay between isolation, reliance, and the Fire Hunters’ guardianship is what brings us into the narrative proper, with Touko being in the wrong place at the wrong time. As a Fire Hunter sacrifices his own life in a forest to slay a Fiend so that Touko can live, she is subsequently marked by her own family and village as having committed a cardinal sin. She is regarded as a harbinger of misfortune, and must atone for, albeit indirectly, causing the Fire Hunter’s death. Such is the weight of the sin that her own sister wears a black mask as Touko boards the train, treating her as akin to an undesirable. And as a mere child, Touko is the most reluctant of reluctant heroes, perhaps bound more by a sense of duty to return Kanata and the Fire Hunter’s sickle to his family in the capital rather than any inner drive that she may have at the start. She boards the truck not knowing at all what awaits her, and the derisive attitudes of her home and any she might encounter on the way insinuate that the journey will be anything but pleasant, or safe for that matter. She’ll learn a lot as she travels on about the cold world around her.

(Touko's introduction includes death and blood, a harbinger of the conflict she will be thrown into with forces beyond her understanding and control)

But her journey of discovering is not one she undertakes alone. The Fire Hunter has another story move in parallel to Touko, that of Koushi, the now-orphaned son of a famed Fire Hunter who is taken in by a wealthy family in the capital. Gifted with a beautiful mind, he accepts the offer by the Okibis to escape the old life he once lived, along with having proper doctors look after his sister, in exchange for using that mind of his. There is apprehension about the current state of the world, and Okibi wants Koushi to figure out how to make like his father did and harness skyfire, an even-more-powerful substance from certain Fiends. Between the Fire Hunter’s death involving Touko and what Okibi is asking of Koushi, humanity seems to be hurrying its way to another conflict, and one that might have just as dire consequences for their existence. Moments of levity are few and far between; it is only when Okibi’s daughter Kira seems rather taken with Koushi, or one of the eventual brides-to-be on Touko’s train say something caustic, that the series allows itself to breathe for a moment.

The pieces move slowly and deliberately, almost like a mournful dance rather than a grand spectacle, best encapsulated by its aesthetic decisions. The series plays itself like a series of theatrical tableaux, both in terms of its emphasis on specific moments of heightened tension and in visual presentation. The soundtrack lacks any of the grand-sweeping orchestrations or soaring triumphs of brass, woodwinds, and strings with explosive percussion that we sometimes expect from the standard fantasy fare. Things are more brooding; the music adopts lower tones and murkier timbres as stringed instruments play in their lower registers and the percussion feels less broad and more echoed. It is meditative rather than epic. Complete with highly-stylized still-shots that deliberately contrast with the rest of the presentation, they read as a kind of contemporary spin on the famed “Dezaki postcard memory,” meant to signify either overtly or subtextually just how important or extreme a particular person or moment in time really is. The affect is that The Fire Hunter tends to be more suggestive than anime normally produces, with Nishimura Junji treating its world and Oshii Mamoru’s series composition of the original novels as museum pieces.

(This image of Kira is one of the few times that the series allows softer yellows and whites into the aesthetic, showing that her heart is, perhaps, one of the few points of light in a miserable world)

And nearly every painting in that museum is a breathing testament of misery and murkiness. The palette employed throughout the series is muted, as even the golden blood of the slain Fiends feels almost too dense and congealed to be “bright.” It is unnatural both in that sense and in the natural sense that we associate blood with red. Even when properly harnessed as either a source of light or heat in its yellow hue, that unnatural quality remains. The only real source of light comes from fire (which we know is the ultimate death sentence), the sun which is rarely shown, or in selective postcard memories. The use of setting and placement of the characters within it robs the world of its happiness, as though even the mere implication of fire and heat is something that must be avoided at all costs. Especially as the stories of Koushi and Touko continue on their way, it allows a real contrast between the higher-class house and its comforts that Koushi enjoys versus the cold, hard steel of Touko’s train or the shaded canopy of the forest she travels through. At times, it is intensely claustrophobic. At others, it feels so vast so as to feel that something is just wrong. Every inch of The Fire Hunter is tinged with something to be afraid of, no matter who is traveling with you, where you are, or what is waiting out there.

I mentioned before that The Fire Hunter is a bit of a hard sell. Barring the fact that it’s only one season at present, its affect is, on some level, quite alienating, and the narrative runs thick (as do its infodumps). Yet, the unfolding mysteries about the Spiders, the Fiends, Okibi’s goal, Kira’s feelings, Touko’s quest, the divine clans, and many other things make a dystopic steampunk-esque fantasy that feels like more is constantly waiting to be unearthed. Its off-kilter form of presentation and animated character acting gives tension, repose, and rumination plenty of time to dig into the earth, and its world is only revealed to be more horrifying the further it goes along. In the midst of its bleakness, a few characters stand poised to take their steps into whatever fire-laden fate awaits them.

Just remember that the metaphorical shadow on the wall is not just cast by fire – in this case, the shadow itself IS fire.