Sumitsuki
“If you walk without purpose, the ward will provide one. That is not kindness.”
Sumitsuki is the oldest part of Velvet Nocturne.
It does not celebrate that fact. It simply behaves accordingly.
Here, the buildings predate records. The roofs are tiled in black and red. The walls are lacquered, carved, and creak in the correct places. The streets are cobbled, curved, and lined with lanterns that don’t go out in the wind.
Most visitors call it Old Town. The locals do not.
Sumitsuki is not quaint. It is not decorative. It is the original shape of the city, and it still holds.
Where the Lanterns Outlast the Maps
Sumitsuki is built on tradition. Not nostalgia. There’s a difference.
Its infrastructure is practical: narrow streets, close-set homes, hidden courtyards. The buildings are mostly original, restored only when needed. New construction is rare and usually disguised. Signage follows older script. Deliveries arrive on foot. Bicycles are common. Cars are discouraged.
Festivals are constant—every third week, sometimes more. Ritual is not performance here. It is a civic requirement. Shops close for it. Students excuse themselves from school for it. If you disrupt a procession, you will be corrected.
Tourists visit often. They are welcomed politely, served efficiently, and—on rare occasions—never seen again. This is not considered unusual. Most who disappear were seeking something, and Sumitsuki is very good at providing answers to unspoken questions.
The ward does not punish. It simply forgets to return what wasn’t ready to leave.
The Two Who Do Not Ask Twice
There is no mayor of Sumitsuki. No council. No posted hierarchy.
Instead, there is Tsukihana Kōyō, High Priestess of the Great Shrine, and Hebikawa Sayomi, Matron of the Coiled House. One holds spiritual authority. The other holds everything else.
The shrine foxes answer only to Kōyō. The shrine heads of other wards do the same. She is not called leader. But when she walks, the road is cleared.
Sayomi governs nothing, but controls all movement. Her daughters—twenty-seven, no more, no less—manage every permit, every payment, every silence. The city council does not acknowledge her. They do not need to.
The two never contradict one another. They do not meet publicly. There is no official accord. But when one bows, the other returns it.
The arrangement is known locally as the Balance. No one explains it. Everyone obeys it.
The Shape of Obedience, Worn Smooth by Use
Sumitsuki is an active ward. Despite its age, it is not static.
Shops operate on a traditional schedule: open early, close for dusk prayers. There are teahouses, inns, bathhouses, and theatres—many of them family-run, all of them known to the shrine registry. Street food is common. Alcohol is served, but not abused. Music plays softly. Noise is not welcomed after midnight.
You will see humans, kitsune, lamiae, oni, tengu, and a dozen other species in quiet coexistence. This is not a novelty. It is routine. Students pass shrine foxes on the way to class. Daughters of the Hebikawa conduct business from balconies. No one reacts. The city expects integration.
Public behaviour follows older rules. Shoes are removed. Voices are lowered. Apologies are formalised. Smiles are polite but never extended too long.
The ward does not tolerate disruption. It adjusts it.
You may not notice the correction. But it will happen.
Visitors Welcome. Departures... Negotiable.
Sumitsuki attracts visitors. Its shrines are beautiful, its streets photogenic, its festivals well-documented.
Guides offer tours in most common dialects. The inns are clean and quiet. Food is served on time. Temples allow respectful entry. Charms are sold by shrine maidens who may or may not be foxes. Prices are listed, though haggling is discouraged.
Sometimes, tourists do not leave.
Not because they are taken.
But because the ward keeps them. Quietly. Subtly. Without alarm.
Those who remain often find work, lodging, or a new name. The city does not question their presence. The shrine bells ring. The permits are filed. The story continues.
If this seems strange, you are likely not from here.
If it seems fair, you are already halfway lost.
Sumitsuki Does Not Forget What Works
Sumitsuki is not enchanted.
It is maintained.
There is magic here, yes—but it is structured, consistent, and unamused by spectacle. This ward values posture over power. Its traditions are not symbolic. They are enforceable.
If you intend to walk its streets, bring patience.
If you intend to stay, bring respect.
And if you are still unsure—
bow.
Even if no one is watching.
Especially then.
Lore of Sumitsuki
At a Glance
For respectful visitors, wrongdoers in denial, and anyone who thinks the old streets don’t keep records.
What This Ward Is
Sumitsuki is Velvet Nocturne’s oldest district—a living archive of tradition, restraint, and quiet correction. It is not nostalgic. It simply never changed.
Why People Visit
The shrines are famous. The lanterns are beautiful. The festivals are flawless. The disappearances are rare. And the tea is always hot.
Who Actually Holds Power
Tsukihana Kōyō speaks for the shrine. Hebikawa Sayomi does not speak at all. Between them, every silence in the ward is accounted for.
Daily Life (If You Belong Here)
Shops open early. Voices stay low. The rules are never explained, but always enforced. Most things run on schedule. The rest run on permission.
Local Customs
Bows are observed. Names are remembered. Debts are not discussed publicly. If a Daughter buys you lunch, it’s either a welcome—or a warning.
Etiquette, Unspoken
Don’t interrupt a prayer. Don’t ask for a tour after sundown. Don’t pet the shrine fox unless she asks. And never ask who runs the ward.
She’ll hear you.
How would it react to a big, loud foreigner?
quietly, politely, finally, no trace...
Still standing. Still scribbling. Still here.
The Last Home