He was no hero. He was only a black dog — kicked until he forgot warmth, driven from place to place until he forgot he had ever belonged anywhere. Fleeing a city without mercy, he receives a name from a wise bird — the first name of his whole life — and with it, the road to a forest he believes will be his final refuge. There, for the first time, he finds himself among creatures who do not raise their hands: • a monkey who laughs to hide an old slavery; • two mice who own nothing but crumbs and kindness; • a snake judged for his scales before he is ever judged for his deeds. Together they cross a world that sees in them nothing but their colour: • a father who speaks of love even as his hand falls upon his daughter; • a library that burns together with its guards and its books; • a train carrying a stranger's corpse, and no one turns to look. But slowly, the forest empties. One companion vanishes. Then another. And the circle of the living tightens around a question no one dares speak aloud: From whose hand will the next blow fall? Daji is the tale of a world that raises its hand against every creature that is different — and of the one question that haunts every page: Who taught the victim to become the executioner? Do not open this book if you are looking for a comforting ending.