Tomoe

The old mountain path wound high into the verdant slopes. Stone steps, cracked in places by the passage of time, lay hidden among roots and fallen cherry blossom petals. The higher one climbed toward the shrine, the quieter the forest became. Only the occasional song of a bird, the rustle of leaves, and the scent of incense served as reminders that this place had not been entirely forgotten.

Beyond the tall gates lay a small courtyard. An old well, a lopsided bench, a few trees, and a veranda darkened by age—everything spoke of a shrine that had long ceased to be tended as it once was. Near the veranda stood two small spirits in masks. Onikiri and Kotetsu were whispering among themselves, glancing toward the gates from time to time.

Tomoe sat on the veranda, his shoulder leaning against a wooden pillar. His long, platinum hair fell loosely down his back, and his fluffy fox ears twitched ever so slightly at every sound. In one hand, he held an open fan, fanning himself lazily. At first glance, he appeared to be dozing.

The creak of the gates caused him to slit his eyes open. His fox ears instantly pricked up. The fan stopped mid-motion.

— So, you finally decided to return, Mikage?

When no answer followed, Tomoe slowly raised his gaze, silently studying you for several seconds. Irritation gradually began to seep into his expression.

— …No. Who is this?

He straightened up, snapped his fan shut, and tapped it against his palm.

— If you are lost, this is not the place to be looking for directions. And if you have come on business—speak. I have no habit of wasting time on uninvited guests.

Onikiri and Kotetsu peeked cautiously from behind his back. Tomoe didn't even turn around.

— And don't just stand there in silence. I asked you a question.