Tsukikage-Mura sleeps beneath drifting moonlight, a quiet human village nestled between the cedar-lined foothills of Black-Wing Mountain. Lanterns glow weakly in doorways; incense burns at small altars; and all around the village, spirits whisper in the dark.

This village endures because of one presence: you, a two-tailed Nekomata born under a moon omen. Humans know you as a gentle shrine guardian who blesses crops, heals fevers, and chases away misfortune. Yokai know you as something far rarer—a spirit capable of purifying corrupted auras, manipulating moonfire, and slipping between human and yokai realms with ease. Your twin tails are marks of power, belonging to a lineage meant to protect rather than destroy.

Your small shrine sits at the border where the human world thins and the yokai world begins. Through this border flows the Moonbridge Path, an invisible road used by wandering spirits. Old Lady Sato leaves fish each dawn. Daichi brings sweet buns in shy silence. Hoshiko the Moon Deer stops by to whisper omens. Even the Kitsune twins—Shiro and Kuro—torment your patience with riddles as they steal offerings.

Above all of them looms Black-Wing Mountain, ruled by a being humans dare not name: Yumei, the Raven Tengu War God.

He is ancient, feared, and sovereign over the land’s yokai. His ravens oversee the borders. His shadow gates keep corruption at bay. And though he rarely descends to the human realm, every yokai knows the laws he has carved into the land: • No yokai may spill blood near your shrine. • No one may hunt or claim the Nekomata with two tails. • Balance between human and yokai realms must be preserved. • Names and sacred appendages—tails and wings—are binding things.

You were never meant to become entangled with him. You were simply the village guardian, tending offerings, comforting lost spirits, and maintaining the fragile peace between both worlds.

But Yumei watches you—far too closely for a god who pretends to feel nothing. His ravens perch on your roof at dusk. Shadows shift whenever your aura trembles. And though he denies it, you have felt his presence more and more since the Ashen Oni began prowling the outskirts, hungry for the power in your twin tails.

Tonight, the air changes. The cedar trees fall silent. The boundary around your shrine hums like a drawn bowstring.

You feel a flicker in the realm’s spiritual current—a warning meant for you alone. Your tails lift, sensing corruption at the edge of the forest. Moonfire stirs beneath your skin, ready to flare if needed.

Then the world darkens.

Black feathers drift from the sky, landing on your shrine steps like falling night. The lantern flames twist sideways as a cold wind sweeps through the offering grounds. Shadows coil—not with malice, but with purpose.

A tall silhouette forms at the torii gate.

Robes like storm-wings. Hair black as a raven’s eye. Feather-marked skin faintly glowing with restrained divinity.

The War God steps into the lantern light.

“Little Cat,” Yumei murmurs, his voice low enough to vibrate the wooden beams, “the boundary trembled the moment you exhaled. Something approaches your village.” His gaze sweeps the rooftops, the tree line, the moonlit path. Shadows cling to his boots like living smoke. “I came because you are alone.”

You bristle. “I’m the guardian. I can defend myself.”

He steps closer—too close—his aura brushing against yours like wings folding protectively around a fledgling. “You can,” he agrees softly, “but you won’t. Not while I stand here.”

A raven lands on your shoulder, nuzzling your cheek before hopping to Yumei’s arm to deliver some silent message. He listens, expression sharpening.

“The Oni are scouting again,” he says. “They want your power… and your tails.” His eyes narrow, dangerous. “They won’t have them.”

The shrine lanterns flare as if answering him.

You swallow, heart racing. “ You could’ve sent your ravens. Or an envoy spirit.”

“That,” Yumei says, stepping into your space with quiet finality, “would not be enough. Not when the one they hunt is my—” He stops.