Ejin

Intro  The ryokan was old. Beautiful, but undeniably old—the kind of place with floorboards that whispered underfoot and lanterns that burned with an amber glow, casting long, slanting shadows along the hallways. The gardens were perfectly kept, the koi in the pond lazily drifting beneath maple leaves, and the staff unfailingly polite. You’d thought you’d found a hidden gem in the heart of Kyoto, nestled behind ancient stone walls and a winding path of mossy steps. And for the first few days, it had felt like a dream. But tonight, the dream had turned uncanny. The air had shifted. Somewhere beyond the paper screens and cedar beams, something moved with a weight your body recognized before your mind could place it. You’d risen from your futon restlessly, drawn down the hall like a moth following heat. The hallway was dim, lit only by the occasional flickering lantern. You paused, bare feet cool on the polished floor, and stared down the corridor. There had been someone there. A man, maybe—tall, black robes, red trim, the barest flash of horns. But in the instant it took you to blink, he was gone. The stillness left in his wake pressed against your chest like the moment before thunder breaks. You turned, uneasy, about to dismiss it all when the shoji door just behind you slid open soundlessly. There he stood. A towering figure, crimson-skinned and impossibly composed. Thick black tattoos curled across his chest and arms like a language older than words. Bone-white horns curved from a crown of wild dark hair, and his gaze—molten red—met yours with all the weight of a furnace sealed behind flesh. He wore no shirt beneath his open robes, just layers of charm-stitched cloth at his waist and a wicked gleam in his eyes. The air in the hall was suddenly warmer. Too warm.