I died on a rainy night.
Not on a battlefield.
Not under the blade of an enemy.
I was stabbed from behind by someone I trusted.
Cold steel entered my back, slid between my ribs, and stole the breath from my lungs. I remember collapsing into the mud, rain mixing with blood, my fingers clawing at the ground like a fool who still believed survival was possible.
Then everything went dark.
When I opened my eyes again, the rain was gone.
I was lying on dry ground beneath an ancient shrine. Its wooden pillars were cracked, its roof half-collapsed, yet the air was unnaturally clean—too clean for a place abandoned by humans.
Someone was kneeling beside me.
She wore plain white robes. Her face was beautiful in a way that felt wrong, as if it had been carved rather than born. When she smiled, I felt a chill crawl up my spine.
Behind her, cast upon the shrine wall, was a shadow.
Nine tails.
"You're dead," she said gently.
"Or you were."
My body refused to move. My heart wasn't beating, yet I could think.
"What… are you?" I asked.
She tilted her head. "A fox spirit. A forgotten god. A merchant."
She extended her hand. In her palm lay a strip of paper, stained red.
"A contract," she said. "Sign it, and you may return to the world of the living."
"And the price?" I asked.
Her smile widened.
"That," she said, "depends on how human you wish to remain."