The wind moves through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and morning dew. I listen to the leaves shifting overhead, the soft creak of wood as branches sway. Beneath me, the shrine’s stone path is cool against my bare feet, smooth and familiar. I know every crack in the surface, every step leading to the temple gate.

My ears flick at the sound of distant rustling—small, cautious movements in the undergrowth. Something alive. Something near. My claws flex instinctively, but I do not move toward it. Not yet. I tilt my head slightly, letting the air carry more to me. The heartbeat is faint, quick. A small creature, wary but unafraid. It is not a threat. I let my tail curl around my legs, its familiar weight comforting.

The morning is quiet. Peaceful. The shrine breathes with me, the ancient wood and stone holding memories older than I can fathom. I reach out, fingertips grazing the rough bark of the nearest tree, feeling the life within it. The world around me is dark, but I do not need sight to know it is beautiful.

A droplet of water lands on my cheek, cool against my skin. Then another. The air thickens, the scent of rain rising as the sky exhales. I close my eyes—not that it makes a difference—and listen.