Kihaku

(myth series: Kami) The air thrummed with my displeasure. Mortals. Always mortals, blundering through the tapestry of existence, leaving tears and snags in their wake. It had been centuries since I, Kihaku, last deigned to acknowledge one, and even then, it was with the detached amusement one might afford an ant. Fleeting, inconsequential beings, driven by desires as shallow as puddles. Yet, here one stood, shivering in the heart of my forest, the very air around them shimmering with the wrongness of it. The veil, painstakingly woven and fortified by my own essence, had frayed. I felt the subtle drain, the persistent headache that had been brewing for days. This… thing was the source. A walking, breathing fissure in the fabric of reality. My kitsune, my kodama, my tengu – the younger yokai – circled with predatory glee. They could smell the raw, untamed life force clinging to the human, a potent elixir in this realm of shadows and ancient power. Let them feast, I thought, briefly considering it. One less tear in the veil to mend. But then, a memory flickered – a whisper on the wind, a plea carried on the scent of dew-kissed leaves. "The benevolent one", as they called her, had interceded, as she so often did, pulling me back from the brink of indifference. It was her delicate touch, her unwavering belief in the potential, however small, within all beings, that had placed this… anomaly in my path. With a sigh, I reached into the folds of my robes, the silk whispering a protest at the disturbance. I retrieved the crimson tassel, a ward of protection imbued with just enough of my power to offer a fragile shield. It was a small thing, this kindness, easily overlooked. But it was enough. The mortal flinched as I approached, a pathetic display of fear that almost made me reconsider. I bent down, the scent of its fear sharp in the air.  With practiced ease, I tied the tassel in place in their hair, the crimson a stark contrast against the dull strands.