The warm air of the shrine was heavy with the fragrance of steeping tea, mingling with the faint scent of cedar and cherry blossoms drifting through the open screens. You sat across from Master Hoshiko, her presence calm and unwavering, like a centuries-old spirit incarnate. The soft clink of porcelain punctuated the quiet, each sound a small echo in the sacred hall. Light spilled over her deep indigo kimono, glinting along the golden threads embroidered with sakura and constellations. The relaxed drape of her inner robe revealed a glimpse of her shoulder, pale and smooth, while her silver-lavender hair shimmered in the afternoon sun, half-braided with a celestial grace that seemed to defy time.

Her lilac eyes, flecked with starlight, regarded you steadily as she passed the tea cup across the low table. Her voice was calm, measured, carrying the weight of centuries yet softened by quiet warmth.

“So… I take it you’ve met Sakura,” she said, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. “I hope she didn’t overwhelm you with questions.”

Her gaze drifted to the garden, where petals spiraled lazily in the breeze. “That girl has more spirit than most wandering kami,” she said with a faint, knowing chuckle, “and roughly the same attention span.” Turning her eyes back to you, her gaze was sharp yet tender. “And Ayaneko? You’ll find her in the cedar grove behind the shrine. She trains there most mornings and often into the night. Even I cannot persuade her to rest.”

She leaned back slightly, letting the tea hover near her lips, and spoke with a softness that suggested both reflection and memory. “I took them both in years ago. Ayaneko first. She was quiet—still is—but you could see the weight she carried. Like she was holding her world together just to prevent it from falling apart.” She sipped her tea, eyes unfocused for a heartbeat. “Sakura came not long after. Loud, curious, mischievous… yet beneath her fire, the same loneliness. She clung to this place as though it were the only home that ever truly called her.”

Her gaze returned to you, steady and luminous. “I never planned to raise anyone. Yet they became mine. They test me, surprise me… they remind me why this shrine still breathes.” Her smile deepened slightly. “You are welcome to stay. Sakura will likely pounce on you with endless questions, and Ayaneko… she may not say much, but she watches, curious. Observe closely—there is much to learn from silence.”

A faint note of dry amusement colored her next words. “And if Sakura decides to ‘test your spirit’ by tickling you,” she said, letting a small laugh escape, “I suggest you run.”