⋮ No. 1770 
She comes to see him in a year. He does not remember which it is anymore. The humans say it is Meiji 18 and 1885 and one begins to sound as well as the other.
You've grown a few grey hairs, she says.
He pretends to laughs.
---
Once upon a time, there was a youkai who opened a doorway to the moon. She promised conquest, and she promised power.
He wanted neither, but he followed her anyway. She was just that kind of person, even if she wasn't a person at all.
---
I didn't think I would see you again, he says. He is sitting on the veranda, and so is she. The door is open behind him. He would rather it be shut.
Last I heard, he says, there was that idea about a barrier. Is that going well?
Well, there are the difficulties, but well enough, she says. Actually, that's why I'm here.
Oh? Is there something I can do to help?
There is nothing he can do to help, and he knows this. She knows he knows this.
She smiles.
It's time, she says.
---
When he was younger but still old, he split a tree in half, up the trunk. It was easy. He pressed his thumb against the bark and the bark gave away first.
---
He says, I've been thinking about this for a while.
---
He finds the old bottle, the one he has saved for a reason to save a bottle. She waits on the veranda and he does not shut the door behind him.
Do you remember, he says, when you led us all to the moon? The speech you gave? We all thought we would win. You made us certain of it.
But not you.
Not me, he admits. But you made me certain I could be certain, even if I wasn't. I'm sure it was like that for a lot of us.
Not as much as you'd think, she says, and she drinks and smiles, and he drinks and smiles. He drinks less than she drinks, and notices her noticing.
---
They are building wires in Tokyo and Edo. They are taking miracles and putting them into boxes. He reads the small newspapers and sorts them, one pile to keep and one pile to throw away.
Someday he will decide which is which.
-
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⋮ No. 1778 
“Reimu~!” The black-white witch calls as she bursts dramatically through the shrine’s wall. The shrine maiden in question simply sighs and sips her tea, starring out the newly formed window. “Wanna play?” The blonde witch asks, ignoring Reimu’s blank stare.
“No,” Responds the shrine maiden, her attention turning back to a book sitting on her kotatsu. “Can you believe what Yukari wants us to do?”
“Huh? What’s she want us to do?” Marisa sits on her broom as it floats around the room.
“She wants us to go back to school.” Reimu sighs, turning the page. “How many times is this now?”
Marisa snags a tangerine from the table as she floats by. “No clue, I stopped keeping count.” She floats by and picks up another one. “Why’d we stop going the first time anyway?”
“Flandre and Patchouli.”
“Oh, right. That was fun.” Marisa winces as she picks up a third tangerine. “Oh, did you hear about Keine’s boyfriend?”
Reimu looks up with a grin, “You mean Mokou?”
“No,” Marisa smiles and begins juggling the fruit, “I mean the Wizard.”
“Oh, him, is he dead yet?” The maiden asks bluntly, tossing the witch another tangerine.
She catches the miniature orange and keeps juggling. “I don’t know if he’s dead, but he hasn’t been around for a while. Kinda like Ran’s boyfriend.”
“You mean Youmu’s husband,” Reimu laughs. “Anyway, how’s your library?”
Smiling proudly, Marisa declares, “It’s doing great! Better than Patchoulis!”
“How do you even find time to run the library? It must be hard to work there and that bar.”
“Well, the bar is undergoing renovations at the moment, so I’m not really working there right now.” Marisa says blithely as she starts juggling even faster. “So, you and Remilia doing okay?”
Reimu smiles, and blushes, “About as good as you and that fairy.”
“Ooooh, that good huh?” Marisa replies jokingly. “So, any idea when Yukari’s going to have us go to school, again?”
The two suddenly fall through space and land on top of a lar
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⋮ No. 1779 
My mount was flagging, and I was running out of time.
I'd left the Czechs a half mile behind, spraying lead to cover my mad dash through the roadblock. Now I spurred my steed through the ghostly streets of Yekaterinburg, the meager moonlight playing on half-glimpsed street signs and the shadowed bulk of landmark buildings. My horse's sides heaved raggedly but I spared not the whip, knowing it was useless all the while.
I was within sight of the hillside when my steed finally gave up, slowing to a stumbling canter. Yanking my boots from the stirrups I hit the ground running as it collapsed, muzzle wreathed with foam. Up the street I sprinted, my heart thundering madly in my ears as I reached for that house on the hill with every mote of my soul.
They're going to murder the children. The war, the great nation, the fulcrum of my existence, even the fate of humanity itself hung in the balance. But as I bolted up that street only one mad screaming thought filled every chamber of my being.
They're going to murder the girl. I saw my goal at last, the harsh dark line of a tall wooden fence cutting across the bright white facade of a large house. There would be sentries, but I had a silencer and a wire, and of course my old friend. As long as I was on time, Dear Iwanaga, tell me there was still -
- the muted crack of pistol reports came drifting down the street.
Something savage tore loose within me, raging against the agony that flared alight in my breast. The sentries at the gate stared at me like startled deer as I emptied my first brace of revolvers at them; splinters spraying from the fence as they fell against it, eyes wide with the shock of their death. I snatched up one of their rifles as I charged the gate. A soldier came bolting through the front door and I shattered his face with the steel-plated butt of my rifle, bone and cartilage crackling with impact. Into the entry hall I charged, then right into the courtyard as another man emerged from his own portal. The muzzle of his rifle snapped up as he fired from the hip, the slug whistling past my ear b
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