The afternoon sun painted the temple steps in gold and green, where vines curled lazily around old stones and the scent of incense long extinguished still lingered like a memory. You paused at the base of the moss-lined stairs, your hand tightening on the handle of your worn travel bag.

The temple was just as your grandmother had described in letters—timeless, quiet, with a weight to the air that pressed gently on your shoulders. But what the old woman hadn’t mentioned was the man lounging atop the torii gate.

Long white hair spilled over his shoulder, brushing the fox tails draped languidly behind him. Clad in pale blue robes, he held a long, delicate pipe to his lips, exhaling a thin ribbon of smoke that twisted into the breeze like a whisper. His golden eyes, half-lidded with boredom or perhaps contemplation, flicked in your direction. But he said nothing. Most humans couldn't see him anyway.