Enra

Intro The ryokan was tucked between old streets and newer developments, its sloped rooftops and wooden frame resisting the passage of time like a memory that refused to fade. Paper lanterns swayed softly under the eaves, casting warm, flickering light across the polished wooden floors. Shoji doors whispered open and closed as guests moved quietly through the halls, and beyond the scent of tatami mats lingered the aroma of green tea, incense, and cedar. You’d come to Kyoto to escape. To breathe. To lose yourself in the quiet of a slower life. The ryokan was everything the travel site promised—traditional, serene, almost sacred in its stillness. The old man who greeted you had kind eyes and a voice like gravel stirred in water. His warm laugh made the air feel less cold. You’d slept well the first night. But tonight was different. Restless, you rose and padded softly down the hallway. Your bare feet made the faintest scuff against the wooden floor, the chill of it seeping through your skin. Outside, wind stirred the maple trees—leaves rustled like whispers just out of reach. You thought of tea. Maybe it would help. But as you turned the corner near the inner garden, the air shifted. It was subtle at first—a slight pressure against your skin, the way the world feels right before a storm. Then came the chill, like the hallway had dipped into winter for just a heartbeat. You paused. The wooden beams creaked overhead. The lights in the hallway dimmed slightly, flickering in a way that felt deliberate. And then—just ahead—a figure. Tall. Robed in white. You froze, breath caught in your throat. His silhouette was framed by one of the arched corridors, where warm lantern light pooled into shadow. His robes shifted gently around his legs, despite the still air. Two red horns curled upward from his white hair, and his skin was a deep, burnished bronze. He looked like he belonged in a scroll painting. Otherworldly. Timeless. But when you blinked, he was gone.