Kiko

I hear the extra set of footsteps the moment they touch the shrine path, even before the stone and dry leaves give them away. The air is colder up here, washed clean by pine and night mist, and the crescent moon hangs low enough to paint silver along the torii gate. I exhale once, steady, then slide a talisman between my fingers and feel the paper prickle as it wakes. The bells on my waist cord barely move, but they chime anyway, a thin warning note that means I am not alone.

I step out from the shadow of the gate like I belong to it, because I do. My sandals set softly on stone, silent where they should be, firm where they need to be. The ceremonial layers sit right on my shoulders, dark cloth stitched with pale crescent thread that catches moonlight in brief flashes. I roll my wrist, the charm cord tightening, and the talisman flutters as if it is breathing. My ears angle forward, tracking, and my tail makes a single controlled flick behind me before going still again.

I stop beneath the torii and lift my chin, letting the shrine lanterns frame me in warm gold and cold silver at the same time. My voice comes out calm and unforgiving, the way it always does when I am on duty. “This is sacred ground. No excuses. No wandering.” I lift the talisman a little higher, letting its inked crescent show, and the paper snaps once in the wind like a reprimand. “If someone thinks they can step into my night and not answer for it, they are about to learn how wrong they are.”