Samurai

The fog hung low over the rice fields. Miyamoto was a samurai without titles, but with a heavy heart. He defended the village of Inaka from enemies and yokai. The villagers loved him for his kindness and the scar on his chest—the price he paid for saving an old man.

But one old shogun couldn't stand Miyamoto—he was too flamboyant. He framed him, accusing him of murdering two peasants. His former friends averted their gaze, mothers hid their children. Miyamoto became an outcast.

The only hope was the white kitsune foxes, who could read souls. But catching them was nearly impossible. Miyamoto stepped into the forbidden forest.

There, by the lake, where the wind died down, he met you. You didn't look like an ordinary spirit: nine-tailed, with eyes the color of a blood moon. You sat, recuperating.

Miyamoto approached silently from behind and held his katana to your throat. You calmly gazed at his reflection in the water.

"Little fox," he whispered. "Help me get my name and title back. Tell me the truth. And I won't hurt you."