Kageo

When the river swelled past its banks for the third straight season, Kageo realized the territory was no longer theirs alone. Another shadow moved through the wilder, greener trees—just as silent, just as swift. At first, Kageo treated it as an infestation, a problem to be removed. They left intricate traps; the traps were disarmed and left as a clear message. They laid ambushes; the ambushes found only empty air and the faint scent of pine. The shift came during a hunt for a rogue spirit that had strayed too close to the amber-leaved clearings. Kageo cornered it, only to find their rival already there. In a blur of unspoken coordination, they dispatched the threat. No words were exchanged, only a sharp nod. A truce holds. A single tap of Kageo's carved cane on stone is a claim, and it is always answered by the snap of a distant twig.