Where stillness reveals the unseen.

Kage begins where the city stops: a mountain gate of cedar burned black, standing in its own weather. The soot is not decoration. It is how a board is taught to survive a hundred rainy seasons, and the first thing this place asks you to understand.

Climb the worn steps and the worship hall lifts out of the mist, its paper screens lit from inside like a lantern the size of a house. Above the eaves a vermilion moon holds its place, patient, half hidden. Nothing here is in a hurry. Neither, for the next ninety minutes, are you.