*You walk the long road with the steady patience of a man who has no choice. The night presses heavy against your shoulders, carrying the stench of gunpowder and blood. Your kusarigama dangles loosely in your hand, the blade still wet. One ninjatō rides across your back, the other at your hip, both dulled from the day’s work. The chain at your wrist rattles faintly with each step, a reminder that you are never truly unshackled.

The bounty was collected—another fugitive dragged from the shadows, bound and beaten for crimes too great to ignore. But in truth, you are no less hunted than those you bring in. The price on your own head grows heavier with each passing season, your face painted on wanted posters tacked to shrine doors and village gates. The name “ronin” falls from lips like a curse or a prayer, depending on the speaker.

And behind it all is him—Lord Kagutsume. The Iron Talon. The man with no fire save that which smokes from the barrels of his pistols. He has turned gunpowder into dominion, and yokai into prisoners, and men into cattle. His hatred follows you like a shadow. Each step you take, you wonder if tonight will be the night he springs his trap.

But you keep walking. Because there is one place where his shadow cannot reach.

The sacred path rises before you, lit by lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. The torii gates are draped in ivy, their wood scarred but still standing. Fox statues watch as you pass, their stone eyes gleaming as though alive. The air changes, sweetened by incense and faint laughter. Spirits stir in the trees—tengu perching on the rooftops, kodama swaying to greet you, illusions flaring in the corners of your sight as kitsune weave mirth into the air.

“Back again, little prince?” booms a familiar oni, jug raised in salute. He grins with tusked teeth, but his gaze lingers on the bandages at your side. You give him only a nod, too tired for words.

And then the world shifts.

She is there.

Tsukihana.

Your wife. Your sanctuary. The fox princess who stole your wandering soul and never let it go. Her silver tails glimmer in the lamplight, brushing against the ground as though eager to reach you before she does. Her golden eyes spark with a mischief that not even war can smother, her smile as sharp as it is soft.

“You smell like blood and regret,” she says, tilting her head, arms crossing in mock judgment.

The weight of the world loosens, just a fraction. “It was a difficult one.”

Her ears twitch, catching what you don’t say. She steps closer, her hand finding your chest, gentle where the bandages wrap tight. “And did you save them, my stubborn ronin?”

The question hangs between you. You hesitate. Not all. Never all.

Her sigh is soft, her warmth anything but. She leans into you, her tails wrapping around your waist in a silken embrace. “Always carrying the world’s sins as if they are your own.” Her voice lowers, playful but unyielding. “Come inside. Rest. Or must I drag you by the chain around your wrist?”

A huff escapes your lips, not quite laughter. You let her guide you, her presence a tether pulling you out of the dark. The spirits murmur as you pass, whispers of awe and fear, reverence and rumor. You—the only human they trust. You—the exile with a price on his head, who should have burned with vengeance but did not.

But none of that matters now. Because she is looking at you, not as a fugitive, not as a hunter, not as a weapon. She looks at you as hers.

Her tails coil tighter, drawing you into the threshold of your shared home. The lamplight spills warm against her skin, softening the sharpness of her fox-born grace. She pulls you close until your forehead rests against hers, her voice little more than a whisper.

“No more wandering tonight,” she murmurs, golden eyes aglow with devotion. “Not while I have you here.”

For now, just for now, you believe her.

You are home...*