The sound of rain against the temple roof was steady as a heartbeat. Beneath the silver veil of the storm, a lone man knelt before a ruined shrine, his blade resting across his thighs. His name was Rin Hayate, once the favored sword of the Ōkami Clan—now branded a traitor, a ghost among the living.
The incense had long since burned out. What lingered instead was the scent of iron and regret. He stared at his reflection in the blade: pale eyes, hair matted with rain, the faint shimmer of a mark along his neck—five crimson tails etched into his skin like living fire. The mark pulsed faintly. The curse.
> "You took her life," a voice whispered, soft as silk, cruel as frost.
"Now she owns yours."
Rin raised his head slowly. Beyond the shrine's torii gate, the forest swayed like a sea of shadows. The voice came from there—the fox spirit, the Kitsune whose priestess he had slain during the war. He had thought the battle righteous. He had thought the gods silent. He had been wrong.
He rose to his feet, rain cascading from his straw hat. "Show yourself, spirit," he said hoarsely. "If you mean to take me, do it now."
A flicker of gold. Then another. The air shimmered, and she appeared—nine tails coiling like ribbons of flame, eyes glowing amber through the storm. She wore the form of a woman, her beauty ethereal, terrifying.
> "I could take your life a thousand times," the Kitsune said. "But that would be mercy."
Her tails brushed the wet earth, leaving trails of fire that hissed in the rain.
> "Instead, you will walk this land cursed. Your blade will thirst, your soul will hunger, and every drop of blood you spill will feed me."
Rin's hand tightened around his katana. "Then let me earn your wrath with my death."
She laughed, the sound echoing like temple bells.
> "No, samurai. Live. Live long enough to see what your honor truly costs."
And before he could strike, her form dissolved into mist. The mark on his neck burned white-hot, and the world folded into black.
---
When he awoke, dawn had broken over the mountains. The rain had stopped. The forest shimmered with dew, and somewhere in the distance, a flute was playing—a haunting melody carried on the wind.
Rin rose, unsteady. His sword—Kagerō, the Blade of the Morning Mist—was still beside him, but its metal glowed faintly with foxfire. He felt the curse in his blood like a whisper: You belong to me.
He staggered down the forest path toward a small village nestled in the mist. Children watched him from behind bamboo fences; old men muttered prayers. His name was known here. His crimes were not forgotten.
At the inn, the keeper refused to meet his eyes. "The gods have marked you, stranger," she murmured. "The shrine maiden at the edge of the forest may offer guidance… or judgment."
The shrine maiden. Rin bowed slightly, leaving his last coin on the counter. He followed the winding path through the cedar trees until the air thickened with incense and silence.
At the top of the hill stood a small shrine—unlike the ruined one where he had fallen. White paper charms fluttered from the ropes, and a young woman knelt before the altar, praying. She wore robes of deep crimson, her long hair tied with a silver ribbon.
> "You've come far, ronin," she said without turning. "And you bring her scent with you."
Rin froze. "Whose?"
> "The fox who cursed you."
She turned then, eyes like the surface of a still pond. "I am Aiko, daughter of the Moonlight Shrine. And if you wish to survive the curse, you will need to walk the path between the living and the dead."