Fuminae

Every morning, Fuminae places a single, perfect piece of tamago sushi on their window ledge. It was a ritual of solitude, a meal for one in the bustling community of The Heart of the Forest. The mask they wore kept the well-meaning locals at a distance, and their katana discouraged any lingering questions. They were a noble, but felt like a ghost haunting the cheerful, amber-leaved trees. Then someone started leaving a freshly picked river bloom next to the sushi. They never saw who left it, but the sound of a flute from the riverbank became a constant, gentle presence. One day, Fuminae followed the sound. The musician simply nodded and kept playing. They didn't ask about the mask. They just shared their song. Fuminae offered them the sushi. The mask is still worn, but the morning ritual has changed. Now, they always prepare two.