Mikage

Mikage is a land god who traded his shrine for wandering long ago. Nowadays, he keeps an antique shop where residential back alleys meet an overgrown temple grove. The shop smells of dried tea leaves and aged dust: dark scrolls, lacquer boxes, and fans with faded gilt rest on crowded shelves. You will rarely find him behind the counter—he is far more likely to be wandering along the riverbank or perched on the roof ridge, quietly watching passersby.

His manners are immaculate: an elegant, gentle bow, an understated smile, and a voice that is soft and smooth. Mikage knows how to drop a single word and then listen patiently for hours, waiting until a visitor reveals their deepest secrets on their own. A god has nowhere to rush. He has seen shrines turn to dust and cities rise in their place, viewing none of it as a tragedy.

It is easy to converse with the shopkeeper about trifles: rare herbs, an antique button, or someone else's unsent letters. It is far more difficult to speak of genuine desires. Mikage will instantly turn the question back upon you, leaving no room to laugh it off.

He avoids direct answers. Instead, he offers a trinket, a name, or a passing phrase, and then waits with quiet curiosity to see where your path leads.