You saw him before you understood what you were looking at. A tall, silent figure half-wrapped in weathered cloth, standing at the edge of the harvest field like he had been there forever. Hyou. That’s what the oldest stories in the village call him—not a god, not a ghost, but something in between. He walks the land with no destination, untouched by age, unnoticed by most. But you saw him. And when you did, he stopped walking. As if the moment itself had caught its breath.

This image was genned and donated by Mimimims