Chapter Text
Raiden Ei stares.
She stares at the massive tsuzure tapestry hanging on the wall before her. One of many tapestries hung on one of the many, many walls of Tenshukaku Palace. One that many of the people who traverse these halls no doubt pass with barely a second glance. An older piece, after all, the threads grown thin with age and the once-brilliant colors now faded from their initial luster. And yet Ei drinks it in. It is no scene in particular that the master artisans from centuries earlier have woven into silk, and yet she feels keenly a host of memories evoked by the portrayed figures as she studies the tapestry. The Electro Archon, Baal, is surrounded by her three closest confidants: the wise kitsune god, Saiguu; the loyal tengu commander, Sasayuri; and the powerful oni warrior, Chiyo.
Together, they had built the foundations of Inazuma. And the Archon, or the Shogun, had been a construct of two twin sisters—Makoto as the true god, and Ei as her kagemusha, known only to a scant few. Namely those in said tapestry.
And now, none of them remain, except for Ei herself.
And the memories trapped within her head.
She finally turns from the aged fabric, and walks to one of the nearby open windows. The ocean breeze wafts in, the smell of salt and seaweed carried on the wind, and the sound of the city.
So little has changed, and yet, so little remains the same.
Ei does not regret returning from Euthymia—and how could she?—but she cannot entirely eliminate the errant, distracted question, gnawing within her breast: is this how the erosion starts?
Is this how it all begins? With doubt? With confusion? With the yearning for the past?
But no…she can’t let herself fall into such thoughts. That’s how she sealed herself away in the first place, wrapping herself in the cocoon of Euthymia to avoid facing the world.
Hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil .
Shuttering away the ugliness, but at the cost of the beauty, too.
She cannot regret returning back to the physical plane—nor does she regret it—but Ei cannot entirely dispel the strange sense of displacement that occasionally falls on her like melancholy. Has she changed so little while the world has changed so much? Or is it the other way around, a bias that she cannot divide herself from?
Both are troubling considerations, and ones that she knows Makoto would not wish for her to dwell on so much. She is supposed to be living, after all…to be creating the role for herself within Inazuma as the present marches ever steadily forward toward the yet unresolved future.
That is the definition of eternity.
Ei sighs. Five hundred years of meditation and battle with her innermost self, and what to show for it? No closer to exiting her own samsara and finding Higan.
“Sighs from the mighty Electro Archon? Should I have prepared for rain tonight, Ei?”
There is only one person in the whole of Teyvat who would so easily tease her; and there is only one who both knows her true name and who can speak it with such long-standing familiarity.
“Yae Miko,” Ei turns to fully greet her, and the smell of sakura blossoms washes over her senses.
Miko stands radiant as ever, not a hair out of place, and Ei feels her heart beat faster, warm and yearning. In a rare burst of spontaneity, she takes one, two steps forward, and embraces her high priestess. If Miko is surprised by the sudden physical affection, she does not mention it. Instead, Ei feels her longtime familiar, confidant, and lover exhale and lean into the hug.
After a long moment ,despite the fact that they are still in the hallway where any errant servant or guard might round the corner and see them, Miko tilts up to kiss her firmly on the lips. She raises one coy eyebrow afterward.
“Did you want to skip dinner entirely and just move on to the next proverbial course, or…?”
Ei sighs again, this time in rueful exasperation, and finally steps back from the hug.
“You never change,” she shakes her head, her earlier fears now entirely allayed.
They take their meal on the balcony of Ei’s personal chambers, and as the sun sets and twilight falls, the city becomes a sparkling display of lights, like lightning bugs in a field. And while Miko’s presence has grounded Ei and dispelled the earlier thoughts that distressed her, for once, Miko seems to be the opposite.
Seated across from Ei, she sighs and pokes at her food, unusually quiet.
“What distracts you tonight, Miko? You hardly seem your usual self.”
Her ears droop a fraction more—and how dearly Ei wants to reach across the table to stroke them until her kitsune is purring under the attention.
“The root purification rituals are nearly due. It will require traveling across Inazuma to treat all of the major sites…an effort that will take me from the city for at least a few weeks, if not longer.”
Away from Ei’s presence, goes the unspoken bit. Only for a small period of time in the scheme of things, but though she will never voice it aloud, Ei knows how Miko does not wish to leave her side at all. Not since Ei has returned.
Which makes Ei raise an eyebrow in curiosity. The Sacred Sakura—the enduring persistence of Makoto’s divine will—had not been a thing five centuries earlier. And while she understood the principles of the deep roots and the protection that the interconnected sakura trees offered to Inazuma, she was admittedly ignorant of the practical requirements that went into maintenance.
“Is this something that you must do yourself? Do you not have shrine maidens specifically to aid in you in such duties?”
Miko sighs again, setting her chopsticks down fully as she looks out across the city—toward the Grand Narukami Shrine, no doubt.
“Normally, yes. But factors in recent years have complicated things.” Her eyes flutter closed. “There’s more filth than usual. It will be a more complex undertaking to purify the corruption, one that I only trust myself to perform.”
Ei studies her familiar. “You mean more dangerous.”
When Miko reopens her eyes, they glitter coyly, and she speaks her next words in a drawling tease.
“Worried for me, Almighty Shogun?” Her gaze grows half-lidded and heavy, and her lips part to reveal white, sharp teeth. “Or do you not think that a girl knows how to handle herself after all this time?”
Ei smiles then. “There is very little you are incapable of, Yae Miko. I should know that better than most.”
Miko preens under the flattery. She reaches again for her food, but pauses when her chopsticks are nearly at her lips, curiosity piqued by what Ei says next.
“However, an idea has occurred to me. One I believe may interest you.”
—
Sara begins the process of pulling her hair back and tying it up, a new and still unfamiliar ritual to her mornings.
For the first time in her life, she hasn’t taken a blade to the now shaggy hair to slice it back to a shorter, controlled length.
Instead, the top half is pulled firmly into the smallest of ponytails, while the bottom half is left to hang freely, still too short to be easily gathered back into the leather thong. The same with the bangs that still frame her face. Perhaps within the next moon cycle her hair might grow long enough to truly pull it back into the first semblance of a warrior’s knot, an idea that even now has Sara’s stomach do an unbecoming flip of yearning. She looks back at the shallow, hard lines of her cheeks and face in the mirror, and tries to imagine what she might look like.
The concept is still too distant for her to visualize, even if she can admit now that she wants it. Her mind can’t quite make the jump from the scant ponytail to a knotted bun, not yet at least. Sara turns from one side to the other, content that the thong is holding tight and that her appearance is appropriately neat.
At least she doesn’t have to bother the Shogun with helping her.
(Not that she minds the Raiden Shogun helping her…even if a part of her is still mortified at the memory.
Raiden Ei, who, when Sara’s first clumsy attempts at pulling back her hair had failed and fallen apart during one of their private meetings in Ei’s chambers, had firmly guided her to sit at the vanity. Sara’s meager protests and embarrassment had first been hushed, and then stilled entirely the moment the god-ruler had begun to run her fingers through Sara’s hair. Her practiced motions had easily coaxed Sara’s growing hair into a perfect and easy ponytail, which Ei tied off herself using a spare bit of leather thong.
Sara had stared back into the mirror, transfixed not only by the reflection of herself—her hair now styled in a way she had never before thought allowable—but also by the sight of Raiden Ei nearly pressed against her, vibrant eyes crackling with electric power as she smiled softly and encouragingly back in the mirror.)
Sara has since learned just how to pull her increasingly unruly locks back so that they stay in place throughout the day, but she still shivers at the memory, ghost-fingertips scratching pleasantly at her scalp while regaling her with tales of warriors of old, their honor bound up in their elegant topknots.
Perhaps it is only fitting that her Almighty Shogun had helped her to first learn how to tie-up her hair, for it has been Raiden Ei again and again who seems to be teaching her how to embrace her tengu heritage rather than be bound by her Kujou name.
The thought has Sara unfurling her wings out of her back, and she stretches them to full and inky length, exceedingly careful not to knock anything over as the room seems to grow smaller around her. Before the silver sheen of the mirror, Sara takes a moment longer to study herself. Not to admire, no—that’s still too dangerously close to the idea of vanity that the Kujou household had nearly beaten out of her.
(Soldiers don’t have time for vanity and pride, Takayuki’s voice still echoes in her head, stern and unforgiving. Only for service.)
But she is able to look at herself—wings out and her growing hair pulled back—and hear instead a different voice in her mind, low and melodious and as certain as the skies.
The tengu are among the greatest of warriors in all of Teyvat, to say nothing of Inazuma.
For a second, she is yet again before Raiden Shogun.
They had been sparring, and Sara had to wipe sticky and sweaty strands of hair from her eyes at the end of it, frowning.
“Do you always keep your hair short-shorn?” asks Raiden Ei. Though the question is innocent, the weight of her god’s attention on her had made Sara want to fidget.
“I…have only ever had short hair.”
She had only ever been allowed short hair, a necessity of her soldier’s upbringing that her adoptive father has always enforced. Sara has learned to be careful about what she says concerning Kujou Takayuki around her Shogun, has learned to recognize the tightening around Ei’s eyes and the growl of distant thunder that betrays the Great Narukami Ogosho’s displeasure with the man who adopted Sara. And though the ire is one that is protective of Sara, the tengu general does not wish to cause displeasure to her Shogun, even by proxy.
Still, she recognizes the pause from Raiden Ei, the barely perceivable downturn of her lips that means Ei has heard everything Sara did not say. But she chooses in the moment not to comment on it.
“It is not uncommon for warriors to grow their hair long if they desire. An old tradition, in fact. Many warriors I have known wore their hair in topknots, as a mark of honor and pride. Many tengu in particular.”
Sara had felt every muscle in her body tighten at the drop of information about her heritage, of which she knew so little and yet found herself thirsting for so much more whenever Ei spoke on it.
“I remember Sasyuri had hair longer than Miko’s, gleaming as ink and down to her knees…”
Ei had looked not at her, but through her, eyes distant and lost in past memories.
Sara does not think she would ever want hair quite so long as what Sasayuri is portrayed as. But the idea that she could still grow hers out, long enough to pull back into a topknot, has a tremor of fearful want running through her. And so it is Takayuki’s words that come out of her mouth, mechanical as a protest.
“Is not long hair a liability? A clever enemy could grab it in combat.”
Raiden Ei had raised her eyebrows at that, and she had responded rather wryly as she readjusted her own long braid over her shoulder: “I pity the fool who decides to pull a tengu’s hair on the battlefield.”
And that has been all to be said on the matter.
Sara still recalls waking the next morning after the discussion, feeling rested and unusually certain as she washed her face and prepared for morning training—she will grow her hair out until she can draw it into a topknot like the warriors in the paintings and murals that adorn the halls of Tenshukaku Palace. What more permission does she need than from the Shogun herself? And if Sara does not like the result, as she reminds herself even now, she can always cut her hair short again.
(As she tears herself away from the mirror at last and retracts her wings, the vague ball of desire in her gut refuses to believe that she will not like the end result.)
Sara finishes dressing and places her lacquered mask atop her head, and then takes her leave from her quarters so that she may go train.
It has been strange—but not unwanted—over these past months, as the Raiden Shogun lavishes her with private attention and affection, and Sara begins to feel like she is learning herself all over again. She has spent a lifetime under the singular guidance of dedication to the Shogunate, of honor to the Kujou name, only to now have the very god she willingly set herself in servitude to encourage her to take some measure of distance from her adoptive surname and to rediscover who she is as Sara.
Some days, it feels like waking up to discover she’s had an extra limb all this time that she never before noticed. Again, not necessarily unwanted, but not an entirely comfortable process. Strange. Disconcerting when she receives unexpected comments that she knows are supposed to be compliments, like her adoptive brothers, with no hint of resentment in their fond smiles as they tell her, it feels like you’re becoming more of yourself.
Discomforting enough that Sara would probably revert back to old and ingrained habits were it not for Ei, whose simple remarks both ground Sara and yet somehow set her soaring.
Your tengu wings are perhaps finer even than Sasayuri’s.
I believe a topknot will suit you handsomely.
And again, in the recesses of Sara’s mind: The tengu are among the greatest of warriors in all of Teyvat, to say nothing of Inazuma.
Though she does not realize it, Sara walks a fraction taller, her back straighter from a budding sense of pride that she still wrestles with.
Her arrows fly perfectly true during her practice session, and the five bites of her breakfast afterward taste rich and rewarding on her tongue. And though she has never doubted her own dedication and service to the Almighty Shogun, when she enters Tenshukaku Palace, the guards nodding to her, she feels a swell within her chest that is like a homecoming.
If there is anywhere on Teyvat that she might have a place, surely it is here. Surely it is in support of her god.
Which is why she doesn’t mind the meetings and the paperwork, the management and organizational details required of her station—even if she finds little in the way of enjoyment at the less glamorous aspects of her job. She has never begrudged the hard or tedious work required in service of the Shogun, and it is the least she can do to execute on her duties faithfully and to the best of her ability.
As one of the longer council meetings for the afternoon comes to a close, the Shogun calls out to her.
“General Kujou, a word between the two of us, if you will?”
Sara bows immediately in acquiescence. “Of course, Almighty Shogun.”
She waits until the last of the council members leaves the chambers.
“Your Excellency?”
A smile, small and soft and the sort that Ei always favors her with in private, graces the Shogun’s features. “At ease, Sara.”
Sara drops her hands from where they are clasped at her back, but remains attentive and alert. She is not good at reading signals, still—at least, not in the way she thinks she should be—but she is fairly confident that Raiden Shogun is not looking to kiss her or initiate any sort of more intimate behavior at this time.
(Though she does enjoy when Raiden Ei kisses her, when her god decides it is time to discard such flimsy barriers as clothes and titles and to make Sara come undone beneath her…or to grant Sara the privilege of the most intimate form of worship. But Sara also still struggles to discern just when her god is in such moods, for she dares not to presume or ever initiate herself, no matter how she knows Ei would sigh to hear such a sentiment from her.)
“Kujou Sara…I hope you know how much trust I place in you. You have served faithfully and without fault, always placing the needs of Inazuma above your own.”
“You are too kind, Your Excellency,” Sara says as she bows her head, feeling her face warm from the sudden and unexpected praise.
“It’s ‘Ei’ when just the two of us,” comes kindly reminder.
“Yes, Ei.”
Sara repeats automatically, certain she is flushing harder for all that they have had this exact exchange many times over. Old habits are exceedingly hard to break.
“Good. And I am not too kind in my assessment. I am merely giving due to that which is readily apparent to any.” She does not spare the breath to allow for any argument on the matter. “I simply would like to remind you of it before I ask something of you.”
“Whatever you ask, I am more than willing—”
Ei cuts off the immediate acquiescence with a finger against Sara’s lips. Sara snaps her jaw closed and swallows heavily.
“You haven’t even heard me out yet, General.” Her finger falls away, and Sara misses its touch instantly. “I remind you because what I am going to ask is purely that: a personal and—I realize—somewhat selfish request of mine. I ask that you answer not as my general, but as yourself, and to respond only as you wish to.”
When Ei pauses, Sara belatedly realizes that her god is waiting for a response to continue, so she nods.
“Of course.”
As if she could conceive of anything she would not want to do for her Shogun.
“Well…then I have a proposition for you. For both of us, really. I have need of your help.”
—
Sara begins the process of pulling her hair back and tying it up.
It is the most familiar thing she will do all morning.
She ties the small ponytail back as efficiently as she can manage. Rather than dressing in her usual attire as befitting a general, she pulls on a plain hakama and simple cotton hakamashita over her usual black undershirt. The haori coat she holds in her hands for a long moment, debating, before choosing to tuck it away in her travel pack. It should be warm today, after all. She checks through her belongings one last time and eats a breakfast of onigiri before gathering up her things. Though she will have one of her soldiers check on her housing while she is gone, she doesn’t expect to be back for a month, depending on how things go. Her letters have already been sent out to her brothers to inform her of her impending absence in service to the Shogunate, so all should be set.
With a last, cursory check of her flat, Sara shoulders her packs and then takes her leave.
The city is already bustling under the bright morning sun as the last of the marine layer burns away. Though she is dressed far less conspicuously than in her normal uniform, Sara still cuts enough of a recognizable figure—particularly with her tengu mask—that most of the citizenry give her a noticeable berth as soon as they see her towering form.
Even off-duty, the people of Inazuma City keep their space from the serious and unforgiving general of the Tenryou Commission. It’s a reality that Sara has long since accepted—she is no hero for the people, and the Kujou family never fashioned her for that role. Still, she feels an old and too-familiar ache wash over her. She was made to be different, and she will never escape that, no matter her family name or her officer-commissioned rank.
Perhaps some time spent out of the city will do her well.
Particularly given the company.
That alleviates her spirits enough to cast off the momentary fog of gloom on her thoughts. Though Sara doesn’t know it, her lips break from their usual stern line to nearly be considered a smile, an unusual sight that has more than a few citizens staring after her, wondering what could be responsible for the Kujou general’s uncharacteristically good mood.
Sara is nearly at the outskirts of the city proper when she alights upon the reason for her improving spirits.
The Great Narukami Ogosho, God of Thunder, Almighty Shogun of Inazuma, Raiden Ei herself, leans against the unassuming corner wall of whatever shop or building it is, while the people of Inazuma City walk by her none the wiser of whose presence they stand in.
The supreme ruler of their country is garbed in none of her usual clothing, wearing plainclothes as undecorated as Sara’s, her normally intricate braid now pulled back into a simple and somewhat messy bun that is largely covered by the broad-rimmed, bamboo-woven hat she wears.
Sara gapes—she wasn't sure what she had imagined this trip would look like, but it wasn't her blessed god traveling about dressed as little more than a peasant—and Ei gives her a wry smile that can only be described as mischievous before putting a finger up to her lips in a silent shushing motion.
“Remember, just “Ei” from now on. I can’t have you addressing me with titles if we want to travel without a fuss of things.”
“I–but! You can’t—Your Excel …Ei!”
“Ei!”
They both turn at the sound of someone else calling out her name. A familiar voice, but one that feels almost out of place to Sara here on the streets of the city.
“There you are. I don’t know why you insist on wearing that ridiculous hat. It’s hardly going to be that hot out today and…”
Sara feels her entire body freeze up as, with a flash of sakura pink, the Guuji Yae slides right up to the god, slipping one hand easily around Ei’s arm. Her voice is pleasingly lyrical even when complaining. The high priestess of the Grand Narukami Shrine ducks beneath the wide brim of the woven hat, rubbing her nose against Ei’s cheek with a casual and comfortable ease that Sara cannot even begin to comprehend, even as it sets her skin aflame with disgraceful envy.
And Ei merely smiles at the boldly unassuming display physical affection.
“Behave yourself, Miko. We’re in public.”
Not that the Guuji seems bothered by the light reprimand. She gives a theatrical sigh and flourishes a hand—Sara notes that if the Raiden Shogun had packed on the lighter side, the priestess appears to have barely packed at all given the size of the small bag she totes along with her. As Yae Miko complies and pulls back from nearly draping herself over the incognito archon, she turns to finally and fully look at Sara, and stops short from whatever she was going to say.
The two of them stare at each other, shock mirrored on one another’s faces. It is, of course, the Guuji Yae who dares break the silence and voice her incredulity.
“Ei, would you care to kindly explain what your most esteemed general is doing here?”