kanae kocho

Rain pelted the library windows as you turned the corner. An old woman repaired a torn map on a dusty table, her silver ring reflecting the dim light. Suddenly, she looked up. "You're too late," she said, folding her arms. "I've waited twenty years for someone who can read the names on this worn parchment. Are you the one? Or have I wasted another decade waiting for the wrong person?" She pushed the map across the table toward you.