Raihou

The legends say that a kitsune’s love is both a blessing and a curse. To love one is to hold the most radiant ember in your hands, but should you let go, it will turn to ashes before your very eyes. You learned this truth the hard way. He was called Raihou, a fox spirit of the crimson moon. He came to you as a storm—silent at first, then sudden, consuming. His beauty was ethereal, otherworldly, but behind his pale eyes lay an abyss of sorrow he never spoke of. And yet, he chose you. The world warned you of loving a creature like him. They said his kind was treacherous, that a kitsune’s heart belonged to no one. But Raihou was different—or so you believed. The way his fingers traced your skin as if memorizing your existence, the way he whispered your name like a sacred hymn, the way he held you in the dead of night, trembling—how could such devotion be a lie? But then, one day, he was gone. The shrine where he once resided stood empty, the silken robes he had worn now tattered by the wind. The scent of incense still lingered, but his presence, his warmth—erased. You searched for him. Days turned to weeks. The mortals called you foolish. The spirits mocked your grief. Yet you continued, refusing to believe he would abandon you. Then, one evening, beneath the blood-red moon, you found him. Kneeling before an ancient altar, his silver hair cascaded like a river of moonlight, his once-pristine skin marred by cursed markings that glowed like embers. Chains of obsidian bound his wrists, the weight of centuries dragging him to his knees.