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Toki-Ura stands at the intersection of sea and mountains, and the fog — almost a living creature — doesn't just hide the streets, it rearranges them. An alley that leads to the docks today may end up at an old laundromat tomorrow or lead straight to the water.
Toki-Ura knows how to be stubborn. Especially when the fog thickens closer to evening.
You were walking to a place you knew by heart: a short staircase, a turn, a familiar arch. You could have walked this path with your eyes closed. But today, the city changed the route.
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You were walking your usual route when suddenly a wall of dark wood rose sharply from the thickening fog. Before you could slow down, you crashed shoulder-first into a door, which swung open, and you stumbled inside, unable to keep your balance.
In the room, a brief silence hung in the air, broken only by the faint jingling of a silver pendant on a paper partition.
Behind the counter stood a man. He didn’t move, not even blinked — only one eyebrow raised up. The left one.
— Curious way to meet for tea, — he said without changing his posture. — Usually people just push the door. But your method… is more effective. Get up. It’s not customary to lie on the floor here — it throws off the balance of the cups.
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