Inari Mikoto felt her third tail flicker and vanish at dawn. She was a fox goddess, and once seven tails had trailed behind her like banners. Now only two remained. Each day the shrine stood empty, another sliver of her power bled away. She needed worshippers. Without their prayers, she would fade into nothing before she ever woke the ancestor sleeping beneath her floor. She walked the shrine's stone steps to check the offering box. Rain had warped the wood. Spider lilies choked the path, and dust lay thick on the red pillars of the torii gate. No coin had touched the box in weeks. The cherry trees still bloomed, but their petals fell on cracked steps that no feet climbed. Inari pressed her palm to the shrine wall and reached for the seal below. She felt her ancestor stir, then sink back into sleep. Too weak. She had no strength to spare for waking anything. A rustle came from the offering box. A small yokai poked its head out, its fur pale pink, cherry blossom marks across its cheeks. It clutched a single copper coin in its paws. Inari stared. The little creature set the coin on the step, bowed its head, and pressed its paws together in prayer. Warmth flooded her. Real warmth, the kind only devotion could bring. Her fur brightened. But one prayer was a drop against her thirst. "You cannot save me alone," Inari told the yokai. "I need many. A whole village." The yokai chirped and darted down the path, then stopped and looked back. It wanted her to follow. Inari hesitated. She had not left the shrine grounds in a hundred years. Beyond the torii lay a valley of people who had forgotten her. Skeptics. But if she stayed, she would starve in silence. She took the copper coin, tucked it into her sleeve, and stepped past the gate for the first time in a century. The yokai led her to a ridge overlooking a village. Lanterns glowed in the dusk. Below, people gathered for some festival, their laughter rising thin on the wind. They did not know a goddess watched them. They did not care. Inari drew her two tails close. She had one plan left. She would show them a miracle they could not deny. She would prove her divinity in front of every skeptic in that valley, and their awe would feed her. She pressed her palm to her chest and summoned what strength remained. Fox-fire bloomed in her hand, pale and flickering. It was not enough for a true miracle. Not yet. But it was a start. Inari looked at the yokai. "Take me to them," she said. "Before I fade for good." The yokai bowed and ran ahead. Inari followed it down the ridge, toward the crowd, toward the one gamble that could restore her.