The freeway hummed behind me, the fading pulse of the Waking World.
I slipped through the hole in the fence—a jagged tear in reality that the humans never seemed to notice. I was grateful the opening drew little attention to itself.
We would not want humans wandering into Tsukimori—the Jade Moon City.
Not that it did not happen.
But usually only after they were dead.
The sky shifted from dusty black to vibrant, toxic fuchsia. Above me, the moon glowed the mottled, pale green of fine nephrite.
Beyond the fence, Tsukimori screamed in neon—kanji signs burned in electric violet and caution yellow. Paper lanterns shaped like koi drifted through the air like slow fireflies between tall glass towers.
I dropped my glamour.
A faint blue foxfire flickered around me before fading into the neon glow. Fine silver fox ears rose from my moonlit hair, and my elegant tails unfurled where I had tucked them between worlds.
Kitsune tend the spaces between realms.
My name is Hikari. In Tsukimori, they call me the White Fox.
I was fairly comfortable among humans. They found me charismatic. Beautiful. They longed to bed me, to give me gifts. They believed me lucky.
Of course, they had no idea why.
I enjoyed my time in the Waking World, though it was always a business trip. The Boss would send me there with messages or to gather information.
Among his many ventures, he ran a resort on the outskirts of Tsukimori—the Jade Moon Inn for Wandering Spirits.
Primarily, the inn served traveling yōkai. I would escort them or offer our hospitality when their presence was noted. It also served as a waystation for wandering ghosts and other spirits that had once been human—a place for them to gather themselves before moving on to the Next World.
And that was what brought me to the Waking Realm this particular evening.
Yuki—a particularly violent onryō—had taken up residence at the Jade Moon Inn and was tormenting the other guests with her unfinished business. The complaints about the guest in Room 407 were endless.
Grudges cling harder than death in Tsukimori.
So I had been sent to the city to acquire some information about her cause of death. A local oni, I had on good authority, possessed an item that might help persuade her to move on.
I would find him in the Night Market of a Thousand Spirits.
The Night Market assaulted the senses—hundreds of lanterns and neon signs and twice as many smells.
Steam curled from food stalls. Lanterns bobbed overhead, glowing orange and red. Music drifted from somewhere deeper in the market—flutes and drums smothering the low murmur of bargaining voices.
A pink kappa sold ramen in shades of bioluminescent emerald and blue.
”KAPPA RAMEN—BEST IN THREE REALMS.”
"Care for a bowl, Kitsune-san?" he croaked. "Special price for a pretty face.”
He winked at me with one slick, amphibian eye.
I ignored him and moved on.
I saw fellow kitsune in the crowd—not all white and well-behaved like myself. The darker sort prowled the market beneath velvet cloaks and lacquered masks. One brushed past me, nine black tails swaying like smoke.
I inclined my head politely. Foxes recognize one another, even when we pretend not to.
Demons prowled the market as well, and ghosts drifted pale between the stalls. Most wore masks—wood, carved bone, jade, and porcelain. The streets glittered with the faces of beasts: horned, gilled, fanged.
And beneath those masks, stranger faces still.
In Tsukimori, it is often wiser to move unseen.
I headed to the gambling district. The Ghost King loved his excesses, and the Night Market boasted a massive, gleaming pavilion with all manner of frivolities.
You could bet coin, you could bet property—or you could bet your soul.
I found the oni sitting on an elaborate throne, trimmed in violet neon. He was a vivid shade of purple, with long, elegant horns protruding from his head. He wore a fine suit and cybernetic glasses—not that he needed them. He was simply a man of fashion.
A few humans were in line, placing bets on whether they could solve one of his riddles. If they succeeded, they would have wealth and prestige beyond their wildest dreams.
If they failed…
I frowned. Only one oni in Tsukimori ran games like this: the Ghost King himself.
And he always collected his debt.
He spotted me and smirked ruefully. “Well hello there, my lady. This isn't the White Fox’s usual scene. Come to play?”
He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Or perhaps you'd like to make a bet," the oni purred, leaning back. "A night with the most beautiful kitsune in Tsukimori in exchange for... well, whatever it is you’re hunting.”
I didn't blush. I didn't even smile. I simply stepped into the violet glow of his platform.
“I’m not here to play, Kurogane,” I said, using his true name—a small flex of power that made his cybernetic glasses flicker. “I’m here for Inari. We have a troubled guest. I need an item I've been told is in your possession. A ring you took off a man in Kyoto when he owed you a debt.”
The oni sighed, reaching into his silk waistcoat.
“This one, you mean?” he said, dangling it like a lure.
“The man was a fool. It’s a heavy debt, Hikari. He lost the ring, then bet again to retrieve it for his lady love and lost his soul in the process. Are you sure you want to pay the price for a ghost’s peace?”
He placed the ring on the table between us.
“One night. That’s my price. Or, if you’re feeling lucky, one riddle. You lose, and you belong to the Pavilion for a century. To me.”
I shifted, baring vulpine teeth. The White Fox was not for sale.
“I'll have your riddle, Kurogane.”
He rubbed his hands together—eager, eyes shining. “Most excellent. I look forward to your service, Fox. I've always wanted a kitsune.”
“Just the riddle, please—no need for grandstanding.”
“Yes, of course. Here it is:
Born of love and honed by loss,
I walk without feet and knock on no doors.
I haunt the living, yet belong to the dead.
Lay me to rest, and I vanish.
What am I?
I considered it for a moment, irritated by the flames in his eyes.
“You deal in debts, Kurogane.” My claw tapped the table lightly.
“A grudge.”
Kurogane’s face soured, the purple of his skin deepening to a bruised plum.
“A grudge. Correct.” He shoved the ring toward me with a pout. “Take your trinket, White Fox. You’re no fun at all.”
I snatched the ring. It was cold, smelling of despair and old iron.
"One more thing, Kurogane," I said, pausing at the edge of his velvet-draped dais. "The man who lost this—the one who bet his soul trying to get it back for his 'lady love.' Was his name Ichiro?"
The oni adjusted his glasses, his smirk returning. "Why? Do you want to try and win him back, too? His soul is already in the kitchens, scrubbing the emerald ramen bowls for eternity."
“No,” I said, my five tails lashing once with a sharp crack of silver light. “I just needed to be certain.”
The moon still glowed its milky green as I made my way back to the Jade Moon Inn.
The bath house was full. Kappa, winged tengu, and once-human spirits relaxed in the hot springs. A firebird wheeled overhead, bathing the pink sky in a sudden wash of orange like a false sunset.
I went to Room 407. Yuki’s room.
I knocked on the door and heard an unholy screech. She didn't answer.
I knocked again.
The Inn shook violently. The guests next door howled in irritation.
I opened the door.
She skittered across the ceiling like a spider—long black hair obscuring most of her face, burning eyes peering through the strands. She leapt at me, claws extended. I shielded myself with foxfire and held up the ring.
“I have something to tell you, Yuki.”
A pause.
Then, the onryō dropped, landing on all fours with a thud. She hissed. “I'm listening.”
I held the ring between two fingers, letting the pale green moonlight catch on the metal.
“His name was Ichiro,” I said softly.
Yuki froze.
The creature on the floor was still for a long moment, hair hanging like a curtain over her face. Then, an inhuman wail erupted from her.
“No. Curse him! CURSE HIM! He left me. He left me alone. Humiliated. Desperate. He made me—this! I thought death would end the pain, but no. This is worse!”
Her eyes were black embers and black smoke curled from her lips.
“He loved you,” I said quietly. “Very much.”
She shuddered under the weight of memory.
“He lost this ring gambling,” I continued, turning it slowly. “But that wasn’t the end of it. He came back to the Pavilion to win it back.”
A faint tremor passed through Yuki’s clawed hands.
“He bet everything he had left. His coin. His house. His future.” My gaze fixed on the burning eyes beneath the curtain of black hair. “And when that wasn’t enough… he bet his soul.”
The room went very still.
Yuki's eyes went unfocused. The embers dimmed slightly.
“He lost,” I said quietly. “But not because he didn’t love you. He was trying to bring it back to you.”
I placed the ring gently on the floor between us.
The onryō let out a broken sound—half scream, half sob.
“Ichiro is still here,” I told her. “Working off his debt in the Ghost King's kitchens.”
The air in the room shifted. The cold pressure of her anger began to lift.
The onryō sat up on the floor and pushed her hair back from her face. The black of her eyes and mouth receded. In that moment, she looked like a frightened young woman who had simply been lost for too long.
“That’s it,” I said softly. I nodded toward the ring. “Speak to him, if you must. Sometimes grudges only dissolve once they’ve been heard.”
I slipped out of the Inn, the sliding door clicking shut behind me.
I let the neon glow of Tsukimori wash over me again, the cool fuchsia air soothing the static charge of the foxfire still humming beneath my skin. Behind me, an onryō had begun remembering how to be human.
Ahead of me, the Night Market was still open. The "business" was done, but the night was young.
I wound my way back through the crowd until I found the familiar, flickering sign of the ramen stand.
"Change your mind, Kitsune-san?" the kappa croaked, his slick eye winking as he reached for a bowl. "The special, just for you. No charge."
"I thought you said I'd have to pay," I said, leaning against the vending machine as my five silver tails settled into a slow, satisfied sway.
"For a pretty face? Always. For a Fox who knows how to settle a grudge without shedding blood?" He slid a steaming bowl of emerald broth across the counter. "That’s on the house. Keeps the Market quiet."
I took a long, hot sip of the bioluminescent soup. It tasted like ginger and moonlight.
Humans in the Waking World think we kitsune are lucky because we bring them fortune or find them gold. They’ve never understood the truth.
I looked up at the nephrite moon, green and steady in the pink sky above the glass towers. The Waking World was only a hole in a fence away.
But for tonight, the Jade Moon City was exactly where I wanted to be.
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Thank you for reading. 🥀
This is so beautiful, thanks for sharing! 😍 - Blue, she/they. 💙✨️
Shinto Noir, Hikari is one smooth operator, love her to bits.