Rumia walked along the shore, her satchel at her side as she hummed. Cirno and the other fairies were busy doing something with that Red Tengu.While that tasty-looking fish princess had flown to the Bamboo Forest with her friends for some event, leaving Rumia all alone to wander around the Misty Lake's edge. She wasn't even flying, instead taking large, exaggerated steps, as she circled the lake.

"You!"

"Me!" Rumia said, not turning toward the girl's scream as she continued down the path around the lake.

"Hey! Don't ignore me!"

"Oh. Okay." She said, turning to a nearby patch of forest. Huddled underneath the tree canopy was a familiar and slightly singed blue-haired vampire, missing her usual hat and parasol. "Hey, Miss Remilia, how's it going?"

"Bad." The diminutive vampire said, crossing her arms. "I need help, I lost my hat and parasol, so get me something to protect me from the sun."

Rumia tilted her head. "Is that so?"

"Yes. Yes it is now-"

"Okay." Rumia threw out her hands, casting a wave of darkness that formed a cloth-like sheet that blocked out the sun, providing Remilia a safe path to her. Remilia blushed slightly as she stood up from crouching beneath the trees, dusting her puffy dress off as she walked out of the patch of forest and towards Rumia.

Rumia looked at her plainly as she crossed the distance, stopping for a moment only to curtsey at her. "Thank you, now if you would. I need to get back home. I'm sure I can arrange some reward for you when we get back to my mansion."

"Okay," Rumia said, recalling the pitch-blackness she had cast, forming it into a parasol. "So, where's the blue lady that's always with you?"

Remila's eyebrow twitched again. "Sakuya is busy right now, and Meiling also went to the human village to buy those manga she likes. So I elected to leave on my own; unfortunately, I was beset by some unexpected bad luck."

Rumia waited a second, and then a second longer, expecting a more thorough explanation. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

Rumia smiled at her as she put one foot in front of the other and the two of them walked to the Scarlet Devil mansion. Rumia smiled slightly and began humming to herself as Remilia crossed her arms and held her head high. " Hey, Miss Remilia, don't you think it would be better to go out with friends. That way, somebody can be there to help you if you lose your things again?"

"Yes."

Rumia could see that Remila's face was pulled tight, almost like she had eaten a lemon, but she didn't know what that meant.. "Did I say something wrong, Miss Remilia?"

"No."

Rumia frowned slightly. She had a hard time understanding other people. Cirno said that was because she was dumb, but Rumia was pretty sure she was better at math than Cirno. Still, she didn't understand why Cirno or some other weak Youkai like Wriggle had more friends than her. She didn't mind it especially, but one part of her wanted something more. The two continued to walk in silence, Remilia sulking slightly and Rumia looking out onto the lake blankly. That was until Rumia spotted a familiar hat off in the distance, floating atop the Misty Lake.

"Oh, look. There's your hat."

Remilia perked up, looking out onto the surface of the lake where a pink mushroom-shaped cap floated. Rumia pushed off the ground, and so the two of them floated off the ground, and then onto the lake. The tips of their toes barely above the surface, the mist, Rumia's pitch-black parasol, turning them into a fearsome silhouette as they approached Rumia's missing hat. When they reached it, she picked it up unceremoniously.

Remilia picked it up hesitantly, the moistness of the hat evaporating into steam as it met her hands. "I should have brought a bigger hat, one with a strap as well..." She grumbled, wringing out the last of the water from her mob cap before putting it back on her head.

"Maybe this could help?" Rumia said, going to open the saddlebag and digging out a newsboy hat. "See, it has a thingy that blocks that sun from getting in your eyes."

Remilia looked at the cap's pitifully small brim, and then looked back to Rumia, unsure if she was making a joke or not. "Where did you get that hat?"

"Oh, this? I got it from that Tengu news reporter, the red one." Rumia said. "She gives me and the fairies things if we deliver her newspapers for her."

Remilia looked at Rumia for a moment before shaking her head. "You aren't a fairy, you know?"

Rumia tilted her head and smiled. "Is that so?"

Remilia sighed, and the two continued on the last leg of their journey, floating to the lakeshore before the SDM. As they crossed through the gate and then onto the shadowed porch of the mansion, Remilia turned around as she was two steps away from the door and curtsied. "Bye, Rumia, thank you for helping me out today. I want to apologize for how terse my behavior was earlier. I wasn't in the best mood."

Rumia nodded. "It's okay. Do you want to hang out then? I don't have anybody to talk with today, and I can keep my umbrella up all day."

"I-" Remilia spoke, but stopped herself halfway. Remilia thought about it some more, she had nothing to do until Sakuya and Meiling got back, even Patchouli was gone to some sort of Witch's convention for the week. "-yes. Yes, I would be glad to. Lead the way."

"Great!"

The two girls walked out onto the grounds of the SDM. They toured the gardens, played in the sandbox, and showed off the trick they could do with their abilities. Later, even some fairies and Cirno stopped by the play, intrigued by the odd pairing of Rumia and Remilia. Once they had gotten tired, the two of them were sent inside to make themself something to eat. In the end, the sandwiches were too sour, and the lemonade was burnt, but the two girls lived with their failure and went back outside. They enjoyed the rest of their day playing together and talking in the garden, underneath the shade of Rumia's umbrella.

A man walked down a path in the forest, only the moonlight illuminating his way. Around him, countless insects buzzed as distant birds watched him with attentive eyes. Only when the cry of a crow cut through the night did the man realize he didn't remember entering the forest.

"Shit."

The man looked around. To his left and right, there was only more forest. Behind him, the path vanished into nothingness, and before him, it wound through the woods. The man checked his briefcase, still handcuffed to him, and breathed a sigh of relief. After that, the man took a deep breath, swallowed his fear, and ventured onwards, hoping nothing bad would happen. Eventually, he came to a corner, and as he rounded it, he could see a small blonde girl scratching something into the bark of a tree.

He raised his arm, confused why a child would be out here all alone at night. "Hello."

"Hello, mister!" The girl said, a sharp-toothed smile on her face as she turned to him.

The man furrowed his brow as he went down on one knee to be closer to the girl. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. Just kinda sleepy, but it's fine. How are you doing, Mister?"

"I'm lost, do you know your way back to the city?" City, town,he couldn't remember where he had been last, and he tried not to think about that.

"Oh, yeah!" She said, bouncing off the heels of her shoes as she skipped past him. "Come on, Mister, know the way to the human village."

"The human village..." The man nodded, letting her lead him through the forest. He tasted the word village on his tongue, it brought a sense of discomfort. "Do your parents live there?"

"Parents..." The girl held a hand to her chin. "I don't think I have those." Her hungry eyes lingered on him as she spoke, sizing him up as if he was a steak.

The man sweated. One thing was clear to him now: there was something off about the girl. She had pale skin, red eyes, sharp teeth, and wandered alone in the woods, her eyes hungry. It was as if she were a vampire.

"Oh, Mister! I just remembered, I have a question for you?"

"Uh..." The man dragged out his response, unsure of what to say, anxiety tying his stomach into knots, but he didn't think refusing was an option. "Sure."

The blonde girl cocked her head like a dog. "Can I eat you?"

The man stopped in his tracks. "Uh, no?"

"Is that so?"

The man sped up.

"Oh, wait!" The girl behind him said, palming her hand. "I just realized something. You're an outsider, aren't you?"

“No.” The man said reflexively.

"Is that so?..." The girl said, tapping a finger against her face. "Well then, what's the name of the shrine on the Mountain?"

The man gulped and sped up again.

"So you are an outsider! That means I don't need your permission to eat you." The man broke out into a sprint and tripped, but fell forward, spinning through the air. As he fell through the air, he could see the blonde girl hovering off the ground behind him.

Backing up into a tree, the man held his hands in front of him as the forest dimmed. Rumia was almost on top of him, and all the man had to protect himself was the briefcase he feebly held as a shield. "Please. Look, I don't want any trouble, I have money, I can help you out, if you want-"

"But I want to eat you." The girl said, smiling as she flew through the darkness, "and anything you could give me, I could steal off of your body." She said, her teeth glinting in the moonlight as she prepared to charge at him. The man held his arms in front of him as if to fend her off, but-

"WRIGGLE KICK!"

Before he could make sense of what happened, the blonde girl hit the trunk of a tree. Her head was lolling back and forth.

Now, standing in her place was a taller girl with short green hair, baggy pants, and a black shirt. The girl with green hair stood still for a second, her eyes trained on the unconscious blonde, before she moved out of her fighting stance, turning to the stunned man. "You okay, Mister?"

The man nodded, unsure of what to say and too shocked to speak. Across from them, the blonde girl shook her head as she got up and dusted herself off, her face screwing into an upset, near-tantrum anger. "Meanie! I'll tell Remi, and then you'll see!" The evil little girl said, flying off through the forest.

The green-haired girl shrugged at the blondes’ declaration, before turning back to the outsider. He took a step back as the second girl turned to him and extended a hand. She was taller than the other one, although he still had a hard time placing her age.

"Hi, my name's Wriggle." The green-haired boyish-girl said, and outstretched her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Uh, y-you too." he choked out as he shook her hand.

Without waiting for him to say anything, Wriggle said, "If you wanna get out, you'll have to talk to the Shrine Maiden. She can return people to the outside world. Follow me, we just have to stop by the Human Village first."

"Human Village?"

"Yeah, how else are you supposed to tell people how cool I was?I may look like a human, but I'm an insect, see?" She pointed to the pair of antennae on her head as she extended her other hand, revealing, on closer inspection, exoskeleton-like joints on her fingers. "I have to take every chance I get to improve my relationship with the villagers."

The outsider blinked, and then all at once he howled, laughing deeply as the tension evaporated from his body. ‘You’re really focusing on your reputation at a time like this!?’ Wriggle tilted her head to the side, giving the human a worried look.

"Are you okay, Mister?"

"Nothing, nothing. Let's go to that human village now, okay?" The man shook his head, smiling for the first time in a long time as he followed Wriggle to the human village. The same direction Rumia was already leading him in. The man smiled, “Ah, I really shouldn’t have gotten involved in organized crime. Maybe then I wouldn’t have such bad luck.”

Reisen kept a strong face as she flew above the skyline, cloaking her presence by distorting the light wavelengths around her. Gensokyo had been in chaos. Well, more chaos than was normal. Ever since the Urban Legend incident, the higher-ups had been monitoring the threat of sub-youkai creatures like Urban Legends manifesting in the outside world uncontrollably. Eventually, they decided to deal with them and bring them to Gensokyo as they appeared, but that plan ultimately failed when all the Occult Balls they were storing the Urban Legends in emptied.

Which meant more work for Reisen, as well as the various other Incident Solvers. All the while, the higher-ups felt free not to do any heavy work, Reisen had even seen Ran up and about, dealing with Urban legends.

'I know they're busy with something else, but can't they catch their own Urban Legends! I still have to find KuneKune! It's not even summer, how am I supposed to find her!' Unfortunately for her, Tewi was no help on that front either.

To Reisen, this was all just a bunch of hassle, going around the outside world to collect Urban Legends. All because Sagume had made a mistake. Sagume had done something similar in the past, but Reisen stopped listening to the story halfway through. 'I know Master said it was really important that I understand what's going on, but I just wanna go home to get some rest!'

Reisen sighed again as she began her descent, her eyes traveling down to her target. 'Well, this is where they said I could find Turbo Granny. I hope those mediums weren't wrong.'

Before she even got a good look, Reisen noticed three voices speaking. 'Ah, humans, this is going to be trouble.' As she finally landed an inch above the ground, she could get a good look at them: a teenage boy and girl dressed in some ritual clothes she didn't recognize. Still floating above the ground, Reisen spoke.

"Excuse me, could you get out of the way?"

The two teens turned on their heels.

"Alien!"

"Youkai!"

"Rabbit meat!"

The last voice was Turbo Granny. The Urban Legend was gigantic, its stretched-out half-crab face filling the entire tunnel. Reisen felt both of her ears twitch in annoyance. 'That's not wrong, although I'd like to consider myself a Rabbit of the earth now instead of the moon.'

"Hi, your Turbo Granny, right?" Reisen said, choosing to ignore the two kids.

The monstrous face smiled, "I'm the one thousand kilometers per hour granny, the fastest old woman in the world, no one can outrun me!"

"Okay," Reisen said, nodding to herself before she pointed to the two kids, "You two, get out of my firing line,” Reisen reached behind her back and retrieved a bolt-action rifle in a single motion. "I'll get in trouble if I kill any humans."

The two humans inched out of her way, pushing themselves flush against the tunnel wall as Reisen locked eyes with Turbo Granny. The Urban Legend smiled, crab arms pushing themselves past her face and slamming into the walls of the tunnel.

"Don't you know?! I've fused with the bound spirit here. If you do anything to me, it'll be free."

Reisen sighed, "Then I'll just have to exterminate all of you thoroughly. I've dealt with things way more dangerous than whatever bound spirit you've fused with." The Lunar Capital Relocation incident still gave her migraines and nightmares. Ah, I'll just have to make her suffer for reminding me of such an annoying incident.'

Reisen floated forward as an open red eye appeared in front of her. Turbo Granny barely had any time to react before Reisen was on top of her. Turbo Granny lunged forward, only for Reisen to disappear in a flash.

In a single moment, she reappeared and slashed through the air with the bayonet affixed to her rifle, tearing through Turbo Granny like she was wet toilet paper.

"I-"

The red eye flashed in front of Reisen again, releasing a blast of energy that folded the two halves of Turbo Granny in on themselves, revealing the form of an old woman huddling on the ground. The two teenagers behind her were stunned as Reisen calmly stepped forward. In a last desperate plea, Turbo Granny screamed out. "If you kill me, that boy will never get his balls back!"

Behind her, Reisen heard the boy stutter. "W-what!, please, Miss I-"

Reisen stopped listening. 'Ah, this is a real pain, why can't all these Urban Legends just peacefully go back into their occult balls!' In a single motion, Reisen retrieved Turbo Granny's occult ball from behind her back and slammed it into the old woman, sealing the Urban Legend inside as it screamed. The two teenagers were speechless as Reisen sighed and spoke out loud. "Yukari, Ran, reporting in. Turbo Granny's been suppressed." Followed by a tear in space opening right in front of her, where Reisen immediately dropped the Occult Ball into.

The two teens looked at her, afraid. "Miss, I-"

"Udonge," She corrected, spinning her rifle behind her back where it disappeared. "Don't worry, I know somebody who can deal with that curse." Reisen reached into her pocket and opened up her flip phone, speed dialing the only person she knew would be available right now. 'Argh, I really hate having to rely on-'

"Hey ya! Somebody called?" The two kids jumped forward, back into the tunnel, turning around to see the newest arrival. The White Hare of Inaba.

After “getting permission” from the yamanba, Marisa set to work “pulling weeds.” She was gathering her herbs at a great pace when her head knocked itself into a sign. Rubbing her fresh lump, she examined it. It was barebones, reading “clothes” with an arrow underneath the characters pointing toward a cave. She looked around. If this was a trap, it was the worst one she’d ever seen. But she wasn’t a cat, so if anything, curiosity was going to get someone else hurt.

She dug into her hat and pulled out her mini-hakkero, creating a light by which to navigate. The cave walls were lined with spiders and webs, but nothing to suggest any real danger. She did a double-take when she saw a completely ordinary (if Western-inspired) light blue-painted wooden door at the end of it. It was flanked by a display window on each side that held two naked mannequins each. Marisa opened the door and stepped inside, her entrance celebrated by a bell jingling overhead. There wasn’t a speck of dust in sight, but cobwebs covered everything. Everything but the clothes on display or neatly folded in stacks. There weren’t any lights, either, on or off.

There was the sound of things being knocked over from the back of the “building,” and a head of frizzy black hair peeked out from behind a wall. “Customer?” it spoke. Upon seeing the ordinary witch, the head was joined by a body that skittered over the register, across the floor, and up to her. The strange woman seized her arm and shook it with vigor. “A customer! Welcome! This is my first customer in… You’re my first customer ever!” She bowed to Marisa as she continued shaking her hand. She was still shaking it as she straightened herself and said, “Let me help you find something to wear!”

Marisa jerked her hand away—the strange spider youkai, now that she got a better look, not reacting—and told her, “Sorry, but I ain’t in th’ market fer new clothes. ‘Sides, I already get all my clothes from someone who knows what I like.”

The youkai’s expectant smile disappeared in the blink of an eye, and her posture slackened just as fast. Her eyes shone in the mini-hakkero’s light, followed by her cheeks, then her nostrils. She threw her head back and let out a loud wail.

Marisa braced herself for a fight, but she just continued to sob for an uncomfortably long time. “Alright, alright! I’ll buy something! Just quit crying already!”

“You will?! Thankyouthankyouthankyouthan—!”

“Yeahyeahyeah, jus’ calm down, will ya?!” With the youkai silenced, she began to browse the selection. There wasn’t really anything she wanted, however, and unease wasn’t helped at all by the woman hovering over her shoulder. She turned back to her. “Uh, could I ask ya t’… not breathe down my neck?”

“What? Oh! Sure, of course, sorry! So sorry! I’ll just… be over here. If you need anything. Like help. Or if you have a question. Or something.”

“Riiight…” Marisa turned her attention back to the clothes as the youkai returned to the register. She considered selecting something for someone else rather than herself as she grew increasingly disappointed with her options. There wasn’t anything shrine maiden-y that Reimu would like… There were some Western dresses, but nothing that really screamed Alice… All the purple and pink clothes didn’t match the shades that Patchouli insisted had no equal…

The wooden floor creaked behind her, and she turned around to find the youkai fidgeting with a garment. “Er, dear customer… could I interest you in this…?” she asked, holding up an apron.

Marisa’s eyes widened. Where did she even begin…?

The edges shimmered with dark blue dye broken up by tiny golden stars that then faded into the white center which was decorated with constellations. The frills were woven with the lunar cycle. The sun and moon were stitched into the breast pockets. And the fabric! She’d felt high-quality fabrics before, but this blew even the best out of the water! “Wow! Where’d you…? Did you make this just now?”

The youkai nodded. “Well, my employees did a majority of the work, but yes, we wanted to make something you’d enjoy wearing.”

“You succeeded…!”

Tears began to well in her eyes again. “Thank you, dear customer… You have… no idea… how much that means to me!”

“H-how much? Th-th-the price I mean!”

She shook her head. “Take it! You’ve made me so, so happy! Just wear it with pride, please!”
“A— A’right, yeah, sure! Hey, what’s yer name?”

“E-Eme Yasuda.”

“Marisa Kirisame!” The witch seized the youkai’s hand and shook it vigorously. “I’m gonna make sure ev’rybody hears about this place!”

A limpid river of ghosts flowed over the night sky. Gensokyan summer overpowered even the Netherworld’s eternal spring, sending the spirits skyward with its energy. From the living world, too, they came in a great procession. The weary gardener standing at the bottom of the stairway leading up to the manor saw them as a great line drawn between the two worlds.

Even here between life and reincarnation, they were connected to the world, waiting for something to sever the cord binding them. By contrast, Youmu had floated amongst the living into late hours on errands and felt no such ties. When the vendors’ eyes passed over her, there was a clear distance, a sentiment she coolly mirrored with feigned stoicism and reticence. Every bow and polite phrase came from somewhere outside of herself, as if her ghost half were speaking. She silently bore the nips and pricks of laughter, whispers, or stares sometimes attending her presence. Discreetly gripping her swords at such times steadied her. All threads could be cut in a flash.

Today, too, the granny at the tea shop had muttered to her relative that Youmu’s presence made for ill omens, whatever her mistress spent. When Youmu peered straight back at the old woman, a translucent curtain descended between them, as frost on a glass window. Youmu’s hand had settled squarely on one sword, Roukanken. The glinting metal no doubt whispered over the distance, the sound of falling sakura petals. Youmu left heedless of the old crone’s wheedling apologies. Her body walked the street, but her spirit seemed to float untethered. She wanted to shiver despite the midday sun.

That surfaced memory drew upwards like yet another skybound ghost once Youmu looked up. Starlight filtering through the spirits, the distant glow ever more unearthly, mesmerised her. Even in this land of flowers unending, only shades of butterflies lingered. Beauty in eternity was still fleeting. When she saw something so precious, an energy welled up in Youmu. She wanted to gasp, to shout, to run, to bask in its presence. She would lie on the ground and simply stare up in wonder at the souls streaking free through the darkness, heedless of their tethers. Though these were the dead carrying through the blackness, they were undoubtedly alive.

A sudden heaviness cleaved Youmu from her revelry. Time and again, her mistress had opined of her gardener’s childishness. In times like these, seized by an erupting joy, terror, agitation, or excitement, Youmu’s lack of refinement became the obvious culprit. She was unable to hold in her emotions. She lacked restraint. She lacked judgement and reason. Indeed, once she heard what happened at the tea shop, Lady Yuyuko would no doubt pleasantly belittle her servant for such a tactless showing. She might even further bemoan, as in so many cases, that the passing years hadn’t smoothed down Youmu’s juvenile coarseness. In her mistress’s estimation, she was perpetually bound to girlhood.

Youmu drifted away from herself. How many years had it been, she pondered. No, how many decades? Had she already hit the point of centuries? Upwards, she floated adrift, unable to reckon with the passing time. She had noticed some time ago that the seasons seemed to repeat. Spring flowers. Summer stars. Autumn moon. Winter snow. In all those times, she hadn’t done anything that differently, had she? She, too, was simply repeating herself. She was as unchanging as the Netherworld’s seasons. For others, time flowed forward. For her, it simply wound back on itself. No wonder she couldn’t grow up; she hardly counted as living.

She turned abruptly from the stairway to face the living world. Who? Who could she blame for that life unlived? Was it not Lady Yuyuko who demanded her service continually? In all things, she ultimately had to dedicate her unmoving time to serving her mistress, and so it had been to the mistiest edges of memory. The unhappy coincidence of birth had tied her to the duties of the Konpaku name. The very arms at her hip, Hakurouken and its sister blade, attested to that distinction. They were themselves ties to the Netherworld. However! What if she were to leave them behind, cast off the label Konpaku, the blades, and the half-death that attended? A swordswoman needed the resolve to cut away all doubt and act in an instant. Her trembling hands took hold of her swords.

Yet, her spirit lamented, ever detached from her cold body, doubts held her fast. This time, too. After her mistress had humiliated her at yet another party, hadn’t the same thought occurred to her? Hadn’t she also walked to the precipice and gazed at the living world? Despair swarmed in a thick haze. She couldn’t thrive among the living. She barely understood them and their superstitious aversion to death. Neither could they understand her in her state of half-death. She’d likely seen the granny at the tea shop go from a woman of prime years, bright-eyed and vigorous, to her current state, dour and chilled through with resentment for encroaching mortality. So it was with all of them. She couldn’t hope to live among them. Thinking that, she had been unable to unlash herself from her mistress and the unchanging country of death.

Youmu shook her head and slapped her own cheek. Such a naïve and pitiful way of looking at things. Rather than Lady Yuyuko, her current point of view was the taut cord to sever. Rather than fearing humans, she needed to learn from them. She needed to part the invisible curtain between her and them. To start, she needed to… smile at them? A book had suggested that, hadn’t it? Be approachable. Warm them with the deepest appeal of life instead of the cool detachment of half-death. Starting now, she would charm them. Then she too would soon feel the flush of life.

She started to walk up the stairs, only to pause. She felt herself falling but with no ground to meet her.

Kuro was overwhelmed. The scary dragon lady had already been asking her so many questions (she wanted to curl up and hide, but then Mom would be even colder later), and it had gone on forever, and then when it was finally done, the weird Orange girl came in!

The young tube fox wasn’t sure what she thought of her. They’d watched the fishies in the tank together, and she sounded like she liked fish a lot for a human which was nice. But she also asked Kuro a bunch of weird questions too and she smelled familiar. The little girl didn’t know why, but it made her chest hurt, so she tried not to think about it.

Apparently she was doing some weird magic thing? Kuro looked down at the ground, scuffing her shoe on the tile. She… couldn’t do magic, not even easy tube fox stuff, and she had no idea what a Kakusy-Saki or whatever was. She’d just be useless and in the way again.

She tiptoed over to the window, looking out towards the river. Maybe… maybe she could ask one of those otters for fish later? If Mom was gonna be working here for a while, they’d have to get lunch, and maybe she hadn’t told the otters about the stupid diet? She hadn’t had fish in so long…

“...And you’re demonstrating it yourself, Chen?” Reimu asked.

Eh? The sound of her name broke through her thoughts (but wasn’t she Kuro now?) and she looked back only to see Orange press something and turn into… her?

A red dress with a green hat, brown hair, two cat ears, and two cat tails. That… that was her outfit, her ears, her tails. Why did Orange look like her? Wait, why didn’t she look like herself? S-she should be a cat, not a fox! And hadn’t… hadn’t she been older?

As memories came pouring in, Kuro started shaking… but Mom got mad at her if she interrupted meetings, so she bit her lip and didn’t cry. She didn’t want Mom to be cold and Mom wanted her to be useful and that meant she had to… what was it again? She had to an-a-lize the situation for… su-subtlefoosh? Subtlefoosh opportunities! Which Kuro didn’t really get, but the first step was looking hard and figuring out what was weird!

She snuck back to her chair, looking really hard at the Orange-Chen. What was different? She was too old! Kuro had been… ten? At least she thought she was, but she’d been ten for a long time, and she wasn’t sure if that was how it worked… but Orange-Chen was way taller than she’d been.

The second step was figuring out why the weird thing was weird, but Kuro was stumped. Maybe her Ran had taught Orange-Chen some kinda cool tall magic? She didn’t see the point, though - you’d barely fit in Ran’s tails that way!

The thought made her chest hurt, so she tried to figure out what else was different. Orange-Chen… she looked like she’d been eating lots, and her clothes were all pretty and new and actually fit… a-and she had that ribbon, the special ribbon that Ran had given her.

Kuro’s hand went to her chest as she sucked in small, fast breaths. I-it hurt worse now, but she couldn’t cry, Mom hated it when she cried. She was hungry too… but they had to eat soon, so she wiped her sleeve across her face and tried to think.

Those… those things were weird because… wait. S-she’d had them when she was Chen. She used to eat lots of fish, and have nice clothes, and… and Ran had given her her ribbon… (she’d been so warm) which meant…

Kuro hesitated. She wanted to stop thinking about this, her chest was hurting worse than ever, but something was telling her this was important.

It meant… the weird part was that she didn’t have those things as Kuro?

She sniffled, wiping her sleeve across her face again and trying to focus.

“Young Kuro, are you okay?” Yukari asked.

W-when did she get there? The gap youkai was peering down at her, face worried - like Ran did when she’d been hurt. (Had Mom ever looked at her like that?) Was she hurt? S-she felt hurt, her chest screamed just seeing Yukari.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Yukari said, looking sorrowful. “If there’s anything I can do…”

As she spoke, her hand brushed against the girl’s hair. It was a small, gentle touch… and that tiny gesture broke the last of her composure.

It reminded her of everything she’d lost, from getting scratched behind the ears to Ran carrying her in her tails. It was the smallest piece of all the warmth and love the Yakumo had always given her… and that Tsukasa never had.

S-she used to be so happy.

“Where’s Ran?” The former Chen sobbed.

“What?!” Yukari looked stunned.

“Mom’s mean! A-and cold, and I’m hungry and… I want Ran!” she wailed.

Strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her into a hug. “Kuro…” Yukari’s voice was also choked with tears, “I’m calling Ran right now, okay? It’s going to be okay, she’ll make everything better.”

The little girl could only cry harder at the achingly familiar warmth, which only intensified when Chen joined the hug from the other side. Tears streamed down her face as Kuro wept, wordlessly pouring out all the pain and loneliness and hunger Tsukasa put her through… and through it all, her family held her, letting Ran’s daughter cry herself out.

And as for her tormentor? Tsukasa didn’t even make it out of the building.

They hadn’t told her anything. The shuttle was a different make, that was all. Longer and roomier on the inside than she was used to, the upholstery new-smelling, colored catalpa. The row of seats faced each other and featured armrests, and enough elbow-room to lie back with arms outspread. Behind each seat was a window with dimity curtains like a drooped eyelid. On each seat was placed an aluminium can.

Peaches, thought Ringo. The same thought had seeped into the other rabbits, she could tell. They didn’t want to sit; they paced the length of the ship and toyed with the headrests. They touched their pocketed timepieces. They craned their necks, shot messages to friends—Look at this, Feel this, Where are you? When the order to sit was passed around they sat, but laid their rifles on the seat next to them to say: This spot’s taken.

So Ringo walked across their knees, across their talk and exchanges of charms to the fore of the shuttle, where the cadets sat. They grimaced as she approached. She beamed back that she knew she was in the wrong place, that she was sorry, but could they please move their flagpoles a little? In this way she was able to shimmy past them to the seat near the ramp, next to the survey drones. Already an infiltrator was there, harnessed across from her.

By the time Ringo was harnessed down a cadet had stood up. Ringo watched her back as she spoke.

“Eagle Ravi,” she said shrilly, her voice only starting to heat. “What are we here for?”

“A holiday!” they answered her, though several said “I don’t know!”

“Hey,” said the infiltrator.

The cadet then transmitted a speech about cleansing, which clashed with the decor. Also her mood was maroon and grated against the aquamarines and low, cool blues of the others. They were on a picnic, or perhaps, at most, an outing to a faraway shrine. No-one wanted to think about dirt.

“Hey.” To her dismay Ringo saw that the infiltrator was about to say her name. She made a snipping motion with her middle and forefinger.

Outside, the veils began to billow.
Not wanting to think was different from not thinking. Not wanting to think was eliding, thinking in different ways. One by one the others mimed recognition, and the infiltrator tapped her own shoulder, then the inside of her wrist, thrice. Ringo recognized her.

The cadet sat back down.

As the shuttle submerged, Ringo sank under images of Love Under Sunlight. Chapter Eight-Two-Seven would be out soon. In two cycles, someone thought. They would see Kristin’s tom outfit and Erlend’s answer. Erlend was Kristin’s match, Ringo was sure, and so the jifu robe she wore would have to be dragon-patterned. There might be tassels. No, glass combs. No, jade bracelets, worn under the left sleeve. And what would Erlend wear. Though Inge was the better match for Kristin. An er dang on Kristin’s left ear. Ringo put in that she hoped for more obvious signs of their betrothal, like a flower.
Faintly, the infiltrator agreed. The dragon would have two claws—three, if Erlend had been promoted. But he was such a liar. But there was the romance.

If they were to have kids, they would suffer. To this there was a tepid wash of agreement.

Outside, the veils streamed, and against each window a rabbit was redly backlit. The thoughts drifted to unpaid debts, ongoing bets over shrine games, an almost-done embroidered cord, an unsent amulet. Everything was up in the air. Nothing could be finished without a return.

The infiltrator telegraphed images of her sister, too young for the crèche. The picture hopped from ear to ear. Gold sympathy flooded the shuttle: So this might be true. They didn’t send out those with infant sisters; or so it was said.

She wasn’t told anything. She too wanted to see Kristin’s outfit. She too had stitches to go on her thousand-stitch vest.

Keep watch, a cadet channeled. This was the summons to prime the drones, though that, in itself, meant nothing. They could be in A Tussle, which was bigger than A Scramble, but smaller than The Tussle. This was agreed to be possible.

The infiltrator began to talk about Kristin. No this was not that Kristin. Simultaneously, muzzles were pointed down; bolts were furtively pivoted up and then home. “Kristin right here,” the rabbit went on, and hoisted a strangely-colored survey drone. “We’ve got her up her lilac. She’s great luck.”

Waves seized her. Dashed her against crags. You weren’t meant to say; walk back on that.

But under the frothing was a relief. Now they had their lure. Now, amid the waking whine of drones, the bolt-snaps of their implements, they moved as one to zip on their fresheners. The earlier cadet made to stand up, as did the lure: unharnessing, the infiltrator passed out her name—Seiran—and was handed a mallet. She shuffled numbly to the absolute fore, her nose almost touching the ramp.

Talk about Luck drained luck, as talk about the opposite drew her sister. Luck’s sister had a smell, which the jewel fresheners dispelled. Since they had no names they would escape her, the maroon cadet relayed, and read about Kristin’s flower gift.

It had to be a flower. Didn’t it? Kristin was Erlend’s match. Wasn’t she?

Someone had left their jumper unfolded on the Sea of Tranquility. Seiran would run ahead. “All ready?”

They had been told nothing. Outside, the veils fell.

Color was everywhere. It suffused the cherry branches in their swaying farewell to winter. It splashed across the sky in red and purple. It flickered in the torches and over the earthy tones of the shrine.

It gathered too in the hats and dresses, ribbons and shoes, coalesced into chattering groups.

And finally, a pair of tiny eyes watched greedily as it, in the form of glorious, delicious food, piled high as mountains on continental platters, filling oceanic bowls. Islands of fine meats floated in sauce against a rainbow of vegetables of all kinds and preparations. Constellations of appetizers and hand-made snacks in their pretty dishes beckoned for hours of admiration.

It was not only food. Entire hydrologies of beverage cascaded from their reservoirs, flooding porcelain cups, flowing like rivers down parched gullets or elegantly drained by sipping lips. There were greens and reds, the clear and the clouded, sometimes steaming, occasionally clinking.

The breeze, infused with the banquet scent, tantalized two pinhole nostrils.

“No.” The shrine maiden gently moved the golden mallet away from the giddy, miniscule girl.

“Boo…” If she wanted to have it all, she would need to be strategic, to ration with care. She took up a lacquer sauce dish, five centimeters across. Yes, she would have her whole party on a plate! As for the drinks, she would accept no more than a drop from each stop.

The most exotic smells led her to the vampire. The maid portioned out pieces of spiced eggs and dates wrapped in bacon as the self-proclaimed devil gestured to a long-necked bottle. In a blink, a glass appeared, an amber droplet on its lowered edge, round and shiny like a gemstone. It was fruity, intensely sweet.

“Eiswein, or ice wine!”

The inchling finally noticed the strange plate. Surrounded by crackers, a fleshy blob reclined with long spines made from onion and two cut olive eyes.

“That’s Tupai, rendered in raw meat!”

The inchling gazed on with both disgust and amazement.

“…Merely pork of course.” The vampire leaned in, fangs bared. “But if you come visit us, we would be glad to share more interesting ingredients…”

The purple friend rolled her eyes, but the inchling had already escaped to cover under a great pot. The radiated heat forced her around to face an excited red-braided woman.

“Want some tangyuan?” The question was raised simultaneously with a boat-like spoon carrying a gelatinous white ball. She convinced the woman to split the dessert with her chopsticks, which oozed a dark filling.

Curious stacks of black boxes pulled the inchling onward. She felt chill as a white… object swam overhead.

“Well, aren't you a strong one? I wish my Youmu had strength like yours.”

“That’s unfair, Lady Yuyuko. I could lift ten sauce dishes at least!” A green girl spoke, lowering her tea.

“Hopefully each with its own sauce?” The frilled lady’s eyes narrowed in amusement before opening a palatial box. Each room was furnished with a hand-crafted sweet, a veritable museum of wagashi from where the inchling took her pick.

At the next picnic, she was scooped up by princess grace, trading amazement with the moonlight framed beauty. Tiny pieces of dango skewered by toothpick became a miniature sample of the original treat. Something heavier came from a different red-white: a torn chunk of grilled chicken with curling white flesh, a bubble of oil on the crisp skin.

As the inchling trudged onward, the party became a blur of unfamiliar sights and novel tastes. A drop of cucumber seltzer flicked her tongue while tengu sake pinched her throat. She also received some kind of green nut with a crinkly, flavorless shell.

She waved at sleazy servants of death and bowed to sunny avoiders of death, taking tempura mushrooms from underground folks and fresh mulberries from forest fairies. She admired dazzling blue tresses as she accepted a slice of heavenly peach and deftly avoided the purple gourd oni before the inevitable offer.

A lady in red-plaid had a sincere smile as she added a quarter-scoop of frozen custard laced with pink petals that exuded fragrance. Wobbly slightly, the drunken inchling caught her breath, the scrambled load weighing heavy. She spied a final group at the outer edge of the gathering.

It looked more like two groups, three minor youkai, three instrument tsukumogami. Hardy, classic snacks were offered: a half strip of dried squid, an edamame bean, and a chunk of yatsuhashi.

“We wanted to apologize to the shrine maiden for being such a bother, but she looks busy. I guess we’ll just stay for the party,” the werewolf explained.

“Hey! That's why we’re here too!” the woman with short fiery hair piped.

The inchling took a look around before returning to the shrine. Was there someone missing? Perhaps… but she was more worried about her unstable haul.

Heaving herself onto the porch, she poked uncertainly at the messy mass her saucer had become. The witch friend poked fun at her. “What is that? Flower-viewing stew?”

The inchling ate with indignation. What was cold had melted, what was hot had cooled. The flavors of all, but the distinctiveness of none, all tinged by a growing saltiness.

A nearby sigh. “You know this party happens every year? Here.”

The inchling received a whole rice cracker. It was nothing special. But the inchling nibbled on, engaged as the two enlightened her on the various party-goers and their old battles, trading good-natured barbs and boisterous exaggerations. The witch even salvaged the green nut, unwrapping the odd apple-flavored candy within, taking half as payment. There was regular sake too, the alcohol tugging further at her senses.

The blossoms glowed in the deepening night, the stars already joining the moon above. A tranquil bliss settled over the inchling. Color faded until only there was pink above, warm orange below. She felt fuzzy and comfortable.

“You are going to help clean up, right?”

Now there was no more time, and the center of her mind was filled with the image of structures swinging away from a shuttle: the service arm, the access arm, the gantries; and lastly the umbilical tower rotating from the craft, the craft’s sponson veils shimmering.

Later, when Seiran would tell Reisen, she would tell that she imagined all her leave-takings like this. “Like gantries,” Seiran would say, “falling out.” But that would be later.

But now that there was no more time she went to her parents, although there hadn’t been notice; not exactly; instead a silence that preceded happenings, that before, brief cycles ago, had led up to those blooms—wisterias, irises, peonies—strange names—daisies, azaleas, plum: spring species of the fields of the dirt below.

Here, on Luna.

Something had gone wrong; and when, in the past, things had gotten awry, they had sent out the working rabbits first.

She arrived on a veil crowded by the hands of twelve others, all of her cohort, chattering, telepathing, not to one another, but to their friends and families and also sisters, stuck on various Seas, to whom no messages were ever sent. In transit Seiran received four messages, saying, 1. Hi Seiran it’s been ages. 2. So how are you going? 3. Are you healthy, wealthy, wise? and the 4th a burst of feeling, goldenish, goodwill, but lacking in specifics: a wide-band broadcast.

Now was the time to leave ends untied, to hint at a conclusion at a future date: so in transit she sent out similar messages, bursts of samey, nonspecific, gilded and surface-shining, goodwill. She expected no answers.

Landing, she received none, and walked to where her mothers and sisters would be.

Each talked to her elliptically. Her older mother: “Did you bring so-and-so’s charm?” Her younger mother: “You have to deliver this to so-and-so, but not yet.” Her middle mother: “You forgot the gifts for your sisters.” Her eldest sister, “You forgot my gift.” Her second eldest, “You forgot mine.” Her youngest sister seemed to say the same from her bassinet, but gurgling, smiling happily.

They were sewing three thousand-stitch belts in the housing commons, and she took up the one that looked closest to completion and rescued it, saying, “I still have to visit this other shrine, you know. All of you forgot to take me.”

The time was to make last-tick promises, impossible to fulfill. The commons floor was spread with bits of frocks, squares of textiles, blouses; humming sewing-engines sleaved fresh legs of trousers and these tongued at Seiran’s ankle. She stepped on one: “Sorry,” she shot at a niece, who waved her away. “You owe us a picnic,” the niece said, kindly, and behind her was towered the half-finished rugs and loose paper cords that reached to the windows. Her resolutions, shading the room red, shivered with each dilation of the door.

Then Seiran heard ellipses repeated, again, again, as other working rabbits walked in. A few walked in near tears; their mothers, and her own set, stood up and shouted them down. “Don’t you dare,” she heard her younger mother snap. When two working rabbits came in, drenched in saltwater, to cleanse and to hide crying, she decided to walk elsewhere.

Outside, the silhouettes of the houses throbbed; feelings could be catching. As the lower planet librated she walked to the fortieth branch shrine of Hono-ikazuchi, shouldering the pitted belt, her middle mother following.

She thought of the umbilical tower, rotating from the shuttle.

“I forgot my seal book,” she said to her mother, just before the shrine gates. Her mother, however, had an expression close to sadness, and so Seiran decided to sit on a bench outside the gates.

“It’s probably going to be nothing,” she ventured to her. Her middle mother said nothing but instead made to lift the unfinished belt from her shoulders. Seiran let her.

She watched as her mother crossed the gates, and, inside, solicit stitches from the maidens and other mothers, in line for a blessing. The belt looked dangerously complete.

In a moment she saw her mother in profile, her smiling face surface-shiny as the stitches were worked in; but when their eyes met there flashed from her mother’s a look of hateful, savage warning. Seiran pushed back her tears in surprise.

This moment she would later conceal from Reisen.

The look was gone when her mother returned to where Seiran was sat. Her middle mother—her birthmother, she suspected—was back to smiling. Having sensed Seiran’s wavelengths, she said, “Oh, we’re not even close to finished. We aren’t making belts. We’re making each of you attack vests.”

I still remember when she first cut me open. Lady Yagokoro’s scalpel was as sharp as her wit and wielded no less adroitly. My flesh yielded to the blade, parting like the swaying reeds we had seen at the Ashihara no Nakatsukun, and presented its glistening viscera for her consideration. Her breathing did not so much as hitch despite divining only inchoate answers from my organs. It would be apt to say I was the sacrifice and she the haruspex searching my innards for clues to the future of the Hourai Elixir, that most impure and forbidden medicine.

Then she sewed me back up and we discussed the results of the experiment over tea.

The rest of the Capital would have censured me for making such an obscene comparison between the vaunted Ame no Yagokoro Omoikane no Mikoto, Brain of the Moon herself and a primitive Earthling medicine-man (leaving aside the punishment for the elixir itself) - yet that ossified, fossilized mode of thought was what had driven each of us to turn our backs to the moon. Lady Yagokoro sought a way to ensure that Princess Kaguya could live free of the sterile cage the others called a Capital, and I was her willing accomplice from the beginning. I still feel fortunate to have been her pupil - the trajectory of my rebellion would certainly have amounted to less without her own.

In any case, not many in even the highest tiers of Lunar society could claim the distinction of having tea with Lady Yagokoro as often as I would come to. I still remember it perfectly: pale yellow with a smattering of silver hairs floating on the surface and the faintly sweet aroma of cut reeds. One of my few regrets is that my current disposition prevents me from tasting it.

You see, the Hourai Elixir is not merely a physical medicine and not even a spiritual one. It is ontological in nature. In the interest of brevity, I will summarize what I mean: Rather than attempt to defy physical entropy (thermodynamically insolvent to an extent obvious even to Earthlings) or swindle immortality from metaphysical sources (somehow even more foolish), the Elixir encodes the subject’s information into the local closed system such that the existence of the subject (preferably in satisfactory condition) becomes a constant property. To summarize even further: The person who uses the Hourai Elixir will always be returned to life by the universe.

So that is why it was necessary for there to be experiments and a test subject. What is written into the script of reality cannot be edited or expunged without ruinous cost. Lady Yagokoro would never allow the Princess to be codified as some perpetually suffering creature whose body is only half-transcribed.

We did not use any rabbits for this purpose. I claimed that the telepathic network would make it impossible to conceal our activity and the Watatsuki sisters would promptly intervene. I told her that after the Central Land of Reed Plains I did not want to spend any life but my own. The reason I left unspoken but am certain she knew regardless (as she always does) is, essentially, that I loved her. Not merely the love of a student for a wise mentor, and certainly not the fatuous, vapid infatuation that debases the word (though in the interest of honesty I will admit that I consider her beautiful). To put it crudely, one might have grounds to accuse me of wanting exclusive intimacy in the vein of Princess Kaguya (whom I never hated yet did envy). In that room known only to us two, I bared myself before her utterly, from my skin to my marrow and everything between. She took my hand and laid me down to stroke my body and penetrate into its innermost recesses - yet no love was made.

I am not a poet, so I will spare you further clumsy attempts to describe this love I harbored (and now have little besides). Suffice it to say that it led me to offer up not just my flesh but my existence to her with full knowledge of the risks and costs. Having long since paid those costs, I find I still do not regret my choice. Does the Moon regret entering the Earth’s orbit? Ah, but as I said previously, I do regret my inability to have another cup of tea with Lady Yagokoro.

She began drinking that blend after the pacification of Izumo. After what we had seen- no, after what we had done there... I am not arrogant enough to claim to speak for my mentor, but after witnessing the endless sea of reeds (not even destroyed, but) nullified by the serene, immaculate light of the Capital, I -

When I returned to the pristine halls of the moon, I found that a seed from that place had accompanied me (as seeds of such species are wont to do). In time, that seed germinated into the certainty that I must betray the eternity promised by the Capital no matter the cost. Perhaps she carried a similar seed back. Perhaps the cross-pollination of our reeds produced a new eternity for me.

I sense that our meeting is coming to an end. The mechanism of the elixir I described will soon return you. I hope you don’t mind the idea of us meeting again (though I certainly don’t advise you to be reckless).

If you would permit me to trouble you with a request - if in your journey you should encounter a beautiful princess looked after by a wise doctor with eons behind her eyes - would you please let them know that I am well?

Thank you. It will be a comfort to me.

Be well.

---

“Master, I’ve been curious - why do you always have an untouched cup of tea in your study?”

“It’s for an old pupil of mine, from when Kaguya and I were still in the Capital. I’ll tell you about them someday.”

>>3284
"An Iota of Eternity"

The cacophony came from the mountain. Hidden, perhaps deep in the underground, ogres were the likely culprits for the eruptions of violence in the sky, for the explosions of light and sound in the dark voluminous clouds that surrounded the area. Long-nosed goblins were doubtlessly doing frenzied work as well, conjuring howling winds that emanated from the sheer slopes and then raced through rocky ravines towards the lowlands beyond. It was not difficult to imagine all manner of creature spurred on by the dramatic display and conspire—each in their own way—to add to the disharmony. It was believed that much of the essence of the supernatural was rooted in the desire to vex and interfere with man which, almost certainly, granted them purpose and affirmed their existence. As such, direct exposure to this display was sure to enervate even the most steadfast of men.

If the lovesome gods and protective spirits of the land had any thoughts about the spectacle, they did not deign to make their voices heard.

It was not too late in the evening and the storm was yet to reach its climax. In the village, the chaotic noise was still distant and the autumnal showers were sparse. Regardless, only a few people were away from their homes and, of those, fewer could claim that it was not out of necessity.

“Ah, we’re getting a sour look from Miyoi,” one of those rare humans laughed with his companion. He toasted no one in particular as he knocked back the remained of his drink. The other patron joined him. “We must be bothering her. We’re the last ones here again. I suppose we got too caught up gossiping like a pair of washerwomen.”

“That’s not it at all,” the poster girl of the establishment said with her typical cheer, “I’m just worried that the rain will get worse. It would be bad if you catch cold.”

“We’re getting along in years, aren’t we?” the companion asked and winked at the girl, running his fingers through the whitened top of his head for effect.

“Miyoi is a good and caring girl; she worries about useless old men like us who are only good at causing her grief,” the first man added, looking at the young girl’s kind green eyes with avuncular affection. The topic of strange goings-on in the village was wholly forgotten.

At the gentle teasing the girl simply smiled, letting the jocular pair remain blanketed in the warm comfort of the establishment. The familiar faces lingered a little while yet while she busied herself by cleaning the bar. Soon enough, they settled their bills and she saw them to the door as they fetched their umbrellas, and wished them a pleasant evening. She watched them disappear down the street, their voices growing fainter and eventually becoming indistinguishable from the soft rain.

---

A gust of wind intruded from the dark, arousing a peal of complaint from the youkai in the pub. The tengu journalist closed the door quickly, removed her wet coat, and hid her wings. She did not apologize for the disturbance and greeted the group casually as she took a seat at the bar. She asked for a drink and began to thumb through her notebook.

“It’s you lot making trouble again, isn’t it?” the bespectacled tanuki turned to the tengu, taking a drag from her tobacco pipe. Both accessories were central to her character and seldom absent from her person; they had been acquired through sleight and at the expense of others.

“No,” the newspaperwoman answered, “but my investigation paid off—got a fairly juicy story. You can read all about it in the next edition. Scandals sell really well.”

“Could do with more kindling,” the shape-shifter made a customarily acerbic comment as a followup, her enormous puffy tail floating along behind her, “been a bit chilly these last several days.”

The tengu’s riposte was instantaneous, “Do mind your health. This damp can’t be good for the old and weak like you either. And with winter almost here….”

The diminutive behorned oni who was sat further down the bar burst into raucous laughter at the exchange, doing well to compete with the occasional rumbling outside. There was a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes as she mimed to Miyoi that she wanted another snack and more to drink.

The poverty goddess had been quiet for a long time, mostly looking at her own bangles between bites of her meal, but curiosity had got the better of her. She interjected faintly, “What are you two talking about?”

The oni replied for the others, bringing the bickering to an end with her forceful confidence, “They are talking about that rich merchant at the edge of the village who died recently, the one so wealthy that even you couldn’t have ruined him. Very old money. His home was there before any of this was here; people worked their land as tenants ages ago. It would seem that certain youkai consorted, undisguised, with the man years ago and, maybe, still consort with his heir. They got access to all sort of luxuries like fine liquor and a reliable base in the village. No one’s ever seen anything. But since when has that ever stopped the nosy sort from kicking up a fuss? Plus these two are fuming at the missed opportunity. ‘Cos they are too thick to think about fun ways of dealing with humans.”

All were silenced by the accurate explanation save for the oni, who guffawed before savagely swallowing whole the finger food that Miyoi had served. The worst of the storm outside had passed; only the steady downpour remained, providing a muted backdrop to the night. The secret gathering of supernatural beings was certain to last through the small hours. It would not be long before the pub was once again enlivened—if not to say made tumultuous—by banter and drink.

For the festival's opening ceremony Sanae was solemn as a living god, but tonight she's just another excited festivalgoer. This is her first festival with Tsukasa, so she's swerving from booth to booth, showing off the kind of party the Moriya Shrine can throw. By now, Tsukasa is laden with gewgaws and stuffed full of chocolate bananas and fish-shaped pastries, but Sanae's pace hasn't slackened.

"Look, Tsukasa, there's a cutout candy stall!"

"Cutout candy? More sweets?" Tsukasa smiles and flicks her tail.

"It's not really for eating." Sanae raises a finger to expound. "I mean, you can eat it, but it's not tasty. Cutout candy is a game where you get a little wafer made out of sugar and flour, and it's got an outline of a shape engraved in it. The point of the game is to cut out the shape from the surrounding wafer without breaking it, and turn it in intact for a prize. I was really good at it growing up. Come on, let's try."

*plunk* *plunk* *plunk* *plunk* *plunk* *plunk* Six coins buy two thin pink candy wafers, two shots at winning a big Mishaguji plushie. The yamawaro vendor hands Tsukasa a toothpick for scratching out the shape, but Sanae refuses hers.

"Once you know what you're doing," Sanae explains, "it's actually quicker and easier to just break off the outside part at the lines. See, like-" *CRACK* "Ah."

Sanae's wafer is in two halves, the frog she was trying to break free decapitated in her hands.

"I can certainly see how that's quicker." Tsukasa doesn't look up from tracing her shape with her toothpick. *scratch* *scratch*

"There's a trick to it. I just used too much force by accident."

*scratch* *scratch* Tsukasa angles her wafer to avoid getting sugar dust on her kimono. "Buy another? I'm sure you'll get it next time."

*plunk* *plunk* *plunk* Sanae again waves off the offered toothpick.

"See, what you have to do," Sanae says, sizing up her new wafer, "is snap off the surrounding material with one hand while supporting the shape with your other hand so it doesn't break. If you take off just a little at a time, all the way around the outline, you'll get it."

"Makes sense." *scratch* *scratch* "Slow and steady wins the race."

The two work in silence, Sanae nibbling around the edges of her wafer while Tsukasa scrapes the groove on hers deeper. When Sanae has her snake shape halfway freed, the silence is broken by the yamawaro.

"Hey, you're out." He points to the snake's tail, which Sanae has just broken loose. The very tip of the tail is missing.

"What? Oh come on, that's hardly anything. It's still good, I'm getting it."

"Sorry, those are the rules." The yamawaro doesn't look sorry. "The game is to get the whole thing out without breaking it, that means the whole thing. Bad luck, no prize this time. If you wanna try again, maybe use the toothpick?"

"It's fine. I know what I'm doing!" *plunk* *plunk* *plunk*

"Perfection is a lot to ask, isn't it?" Tsukasa sympathizes. *scratch* *scratch*

Sanae stares at the wafer. "How do I..." she mutters.

*scratch* *scratch*

*scratch* *scratch*

Finally Sanae makes up her mind. She raises the wafer above her head and declares:

"Moses's Miracle - The Day The Candy Split!"

A point of brilliant white light appears on Sanae's wafer. It buzzes and hums as it traces all the way around the outline, then flashes and disappears. As it fades, the surrounding candy crumbles away, and Sanae is left holding a factory-sharp candy cutout of the Moriya Shrine ropeway.

"Ohhh, very nice." Tsukasa carefully sets her wafer down to applaud, then returns to her task. *scratch* *scratch*

The yamawaro is less impressed. "Hey, now, that's cheating! You can't use magic!"

"It's not magic! It's not cheating! It's a miracle." Sanae shoves the cutout in his face. "A bona fide Moriya Shrine miracle. Maybe you forgot, but the gods here work miracles. That's kind of the whole point of this festival, if you think about it."

"I don't care if the customer is God, business is business! I'm running an honest business here. You can't cheat your way to a prize."

Tsukasa moves to intercede. "Now, now, now. There's no need for slanderous accusations like that. Sanae was just offering a demonstration of the shrine's divine power. Of course she's not asking for the prize, with that... unorthodox technique. The real prize here is witnessing a miracle."

"Right... yeah!" Sanae places the cutout on the counter. "Hang this up in your stall, it's a genuine relic now. I'm sure it'll bring some sort of useful blessings. Anyway, Tsukasa! Let's move on, this is boring. They have goldfish scooping over there, and candy apples."

"You go on ahead." *scratch* *scratch* "I'll be along in a moment."

After Sanae leaves, Tsukasa addresses the yamawaro. "Just between us, it would have been smarter for you to give her the prize." *scratch* *scratch* "One plushie can't be worth damaging your relationship with the woman who runs the festivals on this mountain."

"No way. Us yamawaro are the shrine's business partners, we're not their servants. I'm not gonna be strongarmed by the Moriya."

"Well, suit yourself." *scratch* *scratch* "Aha."

The toothpick has finally scratched through. The outer candy falls away easily, leaving an unblemished cutout of the shrine's torii gate resting in Tsukasa's palm. The yamawaro starts to grab a plushie from the shelf, but Tsukasa closes her fist on the torii, crushing it to bits.

"Hey, whatdya do that for?!?"

Tsukasa regards the sugary debris in her hand. "Oh dear, it broke. No prize for me. Well, I'd better go and see if I can improve my darling Sanae's mood. I'd hate for you to end up banned from the festivals." Tsukasa tosses the remains of the torii gate over her shoulder at the sputtering yamawaro, and struts off toward the goldfish, the apples, and her shrine maiden.

Thunder and smoke.

The poor thing could scarcely have imagined its fate. In the dark of dawn, in the privacy of some isolated marsh, he had settled for rest. The lake was not far then.

He'd been tempted here by the allure of good company; others that, upon closer inspection, would seem stiff and wooden. Plop, he landed, and swimmingly he went to greet them.

"Quack."

Click.

With a flash and thunderous crack, he was greeted back. As his eyes turned away, unwilling to behold this malice that had leapt into existence to undo his own, invisible claws gored him and in that awful, blinding terror his little green head was wrenched underwater. Senseless, upturned and fading by the second, a lone thought wavered:

"My feet are up in the air!"

And then, nothing.

---

Behind a screen of yellow reeds, an old man regards his latest mark as a grimace pulls lightly on his upper lip. The unfortunate thing was cycling its webbed feet in the air before expiring. A forlorn gaze lingers.

Wind blows and his nose crinkles at the smell of sulphur. In his hands a barrel of iron smokes faintly -- His fowling piece. His father's before him, and so on.

The years that once crowned his father now hang on his face. His skin, like aged paper, is dark from years of sun. He stands lean, breath shaking in the air, his only comfort a bellyful of hot porridge.

"Y'know, the outsiders today prefer shooting flying ones," came a lady's voice beside him. "But I digress. Nice shooting."

"Two before sunrise," he mutters against the wind.

"Good?"

"Good," he breathes in anticipation. His eyes trail the encroaching red beyond the shadow of the mountain. Above, clouds tell of an overcast sky. His prayers are answered.

He turns to his guest. Casually purple and carefree as ever, sitting on empty air. He recalls that strange encounter.

He had been setting up his decoys upstream when the light seemed to darken. He lifted his head only to behold sight of her form eclipsing the sun, eyes fierce and brows sharp. It was clear she wasn't human. He feared that he had stumbled upon a vision of death. He felt for trinkets that he cannot find.

Her features softened. "Oh! Excuse me," she had so politely said.

She passed by in her boat without further comment, driving the pole in her hands against the riverbed. She was punting. And he watched her go about it in every way, shifting this way and that, high and low, twisting her hips and feet. It was lot of work to just end up going in circles.

"I'm getting the hang of it!" she hollered.

"Here you go," she offers, pulling him back. In her gloved hand is the carcass, delicate fingers around its bloody neck. "Don't get used to it, though," she warns with a silly wink. The folds under her eyes are dark.

He thanks her, supressing another grimace. On the way back to his half-tent, he says without looking, "You should get some sleep, young lady." He thoughtfully added that last part.

"It's almost winter," she mutters absently.

He shortly returns, reloading his musket with the tools hanging about him. Powder, patch, shot and wadding -- usually Bunbunmaru. He fits a tiny brass cap onto a tube. That done, he wades back into the cold, finding new cover. The lady drifts close as he pulls his army of decoys into position.

Together, they wait.

---

It is an hour till noon.

The old man is walking home. His gun rests on one shoulder and on the other hand is today's catch, simply tied together by their legs. Seven altogether. He hums, swinging his head.

Home is just beyond the settlements outside the village. A place one such as him is expected to be, even in the land of gods and youkai. It is where he grew and likely where he shall pass. No other will do.

Another guest is waiting at the steps to his house. A dimunitive girl in blue hauling a large bag. Gloomy eyes of amber light up at his return. Her ginger hair bounces lightly.

"Heeeeeey!" she cries, hand waving like a flag in distress.

"Hope I didn't keep you long," he bows lightly. Old as it is, the house is well-kept. A tiled roof rises resplendently, and flourishes of woodwork still stand against time. It is opulence cut by moderation. It sheltered an entire family once. Now, crows perch about freely.

"No," she denies, wiping the back of her skirt. "Not at all." Her eyes sparkle as they catch sunlight, never leaving his. A silence passes before she remembers the package between her fingers. Its glint attracts a caw. "Here!"

Fingers touch as they hold the small metal box. His around hers. A twitch on her lips. She lets go before the shiver reaches him.

The girl promptly produces her pen and paper. "How are they, by the way? We're still fiddling the design to match yours," she inquires, sinking into professionalism.

He happily raises his haul to her. "No misfires. Caps fit. They work."

"I see, I see," the girl eagerly nods as she crosses notes. "Well, us kappa did make our own percussion firearms," a sudden pride as she puffs her figure. "Still, it's fascinating a man-made one was here all this time." Her gaze trails its length, something brewing behind it.

"Hmm," is all the man could give. She bites her lip -- a silent plea. But with nothing more, he excuses himself. "Well, I have to prepare these."

"Thank you for the business," she sinks to a bow. As he disappears, the girl fixes her cap low to hide her eyes. She turns in place, trotting off towards a nearby stream.

"Feel free to take a cucumber or two at the back," his voice suddenly rings from inside.

She scrambles back at like a four legged fiend, all decorum lost. The crows spied the ruckus with great interest. Today, she makes off with three.

---

Usually, villagers had taken his loose, faded green robes and exposed knees for a sort of reclusive fisherman. Or a simple hamlet man. Really, he'd rather just clean himself than do laundry.

"Lady Yakumo," the old man greets pleasantly as he descends the steps, her back to him. "Did you have a good rest?"

Face clean and hair tied back, he is nigh unrecognisable. A dark jacket slips around his grey robes and, to his feet, a maroon hakama hangs. A wakizashi slips through his belt -- another heirloom.

Presently, the great Youkai Sage rises from her spot, revealing an interloper. It cocks a wattled head from behind her pale skirt.

"There you are," he mutters as he swoops it up immediately. Somehow, it did not explode into brilliant tufts of feathers.

"Will you eat him?" she asks.

"He's my friend!" he shoots, offended. He cannot be sure if she's joking. The idea of raising an animal for slaughter never sat right. Frankly, it horrifies him. He carries the overgrown rooster to his garden. There, he spreads seeds from a basket and promptly releases him. He squats down, cheering it on.

"Go, Danzaemon!"

"You've taken to the name," a mild surprise in her voice. Perhaps even she's not sure if he's joking.

"It's what I am," his voice almost a whisper. A silence as his shoulders stiffen. He looks aimlessly to the clucking chicken. It is majestic wearing its speckled black number. Lenghty strands of white drag from its tail. A crown of boldest red.

"Actually, no. We're just...relatives," he chuckles mirthlessly. "Somewhere out there..." he trails off, eyes boring far beyond the trees and bamboo. His thumb hangs mindlessly against his lips and, after a moment, "Why did we come here?"

"I'm sorry." She surprises even herself.

His shoulders collapse to his knees as a long-held sigh escapes. It's as if the entire world has suddenly clambered onto his back. The unbearable quiet passes. He breathes gently. "It doesn't matter," he settles. What is the name of the Emperor worth here?

"Just, when I croak, don't let the cat get me." He looks up at her, small as a boy.

"I promise." She's serious.

"And if Danzaemon starts talking or whatever, tell him the house is his." A tired voice, but he's smirking.

A mysterious smile on her. At ease again.

He rises, grabbing a straw hat and cape. On the stairs a lidded basket still waits for delivery. Mallards, all plucked, drained and gutted. "You coming?"

"Unfortunately, I do work," she declines with a pompous shrug.

"Best kamonabe in town! Open till late," he spreads his arms. "Boss lady doesn't mind youkai," he assures discreetly. He's seen that Ibuki girl with the ma'am a few times.

"Fufu~ Some other time perhaps."

"Some other time." He nods, making leave for the village under a late afternoon sky.

He will be there until dark. He hopes a quick visit to Moriya shrine. He had prayed there for today's hunt, and the ma'am had only asked for five heads. The head god there is awfully intimidating, but that Kochiya girl is so accommodating. Maybe it's not so bad.

For the life he's lived, the wealth he'd been given -- and what remains of it, all he has ever done is honest work. And maybe, there is no shame in that.

---

A cacophony of noise surges unbidden from afar. It pauses a moment before another round. It continues in this uniform fashion. Then, a much longer pause, and inevitably, the unseen assembly repeats their performance.

The old man turns to the dampened clangour of explosions. They rap like insistent knocking. The birds and critters stop only for a second before chittering again. Life continues.

Somewhere beyond border of man's domain sings the yamawaro's verdant musketry. He could almost see it -- little pieces of green collecting to a great machine, one that crackles and smokes, line after line after line, loading and firing and loading.

He thinks of the mountain then. How it lords over them. How it must seem a great monster. And how jealously the tengu guard it. Once, he too dreamt of conquering it. The rides to the shrine will have to do, it seems.

Another encore and, suddenly, he wonders if the yamawaro's daily procession had always been there. He wonders if it will always be there. Perhaps the din, ageless and eternal, will never allow peace to some creaky ancient daitengu in their meditations. He smiles.

He hopes it never will.

And so, he resumes his merry way.

FIN

Unpleasant cold and hunger woke me early on my third day of march up the mountain. A bright Sun rose between the spruce, caressing my face from under my helmet. A few barks of birch, and some branches of spruce kept the morning bonfire ablaze, while I was preparing my portions of salted pork and honey-glazed pieces of bread. I allowed myself a treat of two of the head maid’s Hussar cookies, filled with blood and strawberry jam. It was a gentle refreshment compared to the awful taste of dry bread from the past night - a good reminder of home.
As I pressed onward through the forest, it seemed as if there was no end to it, and the light of the Sun was fading away between the colossal spruce and dark winter clouds. Faithful in my compass’s guidance, I held tight to my rifle and marched on through the snow. The scar on my left arm no longer ached nor bled, but I feared the remedying cold would claim that limb as payment. That is when I heard it – An Erhu’s soothing song.
In a small field between the spruce, an angel in white and red stood upon a rock. Through my rifle’s sights I made out two golden jewel-eyes hidden behind a fire-like gilded hair, and two antlers pointing up from her head. It seemed as if the forest around her was listening to her fiddle in calm and peace. There was no snow, the grass was green, flowers were in bloom, and birds hid in the evergreens around the field. She gazed back at me through my optics.
- “You, the wounded one. Lay your sword down and come to me!”
Befrightened, I dropped my SA58 and revealed myself from behind the bush.
- “I mean you no harm!” - I declared, fearing another magical battle – “I can not fight!”
- ”I know!” - the elven beauty giggled, setting down her instrument. - “Come closer, Sen! I have been awaiting you!”
Tail pointing low and ears in radar sweep, I approached the girl, freeing myself from bags, ammo and armor on the way. Wondering where she knew my name from, I dared introduce myself, but was interrupted.
- “Rest now, you needn’t say a thing. Allow me to see that deep cut of yours.”
By her order, I sat besides her and took off my infantry coat. Through the hole in my uniform, she poured fire unto my wound, numbing my arm entire. Gazing back in awe, I braced for pain, but received none in return.
- “What healing magic is this?” - shocked, I asked.
- “Holy Fire.” – the deity replied – “All your pains should be remedied now!”
Unlike other regenerative magic I had seen, this was swift and painless – no, it was even pleasant. It felt like a gentle touch dampened with love and care. Curiosity shining in my eyes, I asked the girl her name.
- “I am Satsuki Rin, a Deity of Peace!”
I then asked her about the scar on my eye, for it was not healed a at all. She shook her head and stepped down in the grass, fiddle in hand. Standing on her toes like a ballet dancer, displacing the grass blades as to not tread on them, she said:
- “Allow me to tell you a story, young miss, a story which will lead you straight!”
Ears forward, tail high, I hugged myself in the warm coat and listened.
- “Long ago a Goddess walked these lands, a Goddess which kept the peace at hand. She was as kind as she was wrathful, judging mankind with the Blessing of War and Peace. That Goddess met her end as most deities did – at the hands of man, who had lost faith in the divine… But before her end, a prophecy was told of her return. On a faithful day, a marked-red felinid girl would spirit away to the Refuge of the Gods - a harbinger of War to foretell the Return.”
She then went silent. The sunlight glow in her eyes died out, turning to brown, and her golden fiery hair extinguished, turning to dust, leaving behind only dark oak hairs.
- “Now that Gensoukyou is at unrest, I can no longer remain here. My end is now, and so is your beginning!”
- “Wait! What do you mean?!” - I panicked, watching as darkness shrouded the ray of light that she was.
- “Fear not my death, young one, for we will meet again. When the Fires of Hell scorch the Earth pure, when peace and balance are restored once again, and when Gods return to their home world, I shall walk the plains in peace. Godspeed to you, little warrior!”
The girl closed her eyes and sat down in the grass, burning alive. She burned like a falling seraph, wings of fire folding in silence around her. A cloud of ash and dust embraced her, and she faded away into the earth. The forest went silent. No wind dared to scream, no bird dared to sing, no tree dared move, and the sun hid behind the clouds once again.
Rifle in hand, I marched onward to Koutetsugai. Wounds remedied, but with dread and sorrow over my heart, I stepped into the deep snow. An ominous feeling of guilt followed my steps in the shimmering sea of white. The words of the Kirin bothered me – it seems whisper of the coming calamity had reached even these remote lands, as if it had traveled by wind.
- “Did… I just murder a god?”

The sun shone. The river rolled. The stones stood.

One stone in particular stood more deliberately than the ones. The sun prickled on her skin. Did stones have skin? This stone did. This stone was a strange stone.

The water lapped at her ankles, like chains. That was a fate of a stone, after all. They were bound. Stones could not walk, only roll when they were pushed.

The water was cold. Its embrace was not warm and inviting, but icy and uncaring. Like death. The stone recognised this feeling. Recognised this coldness. It had always been with her. She had been in this water since she was born.

She remembered that. Should she remember? She did. The water had been cold then, too. But the red had been warm. It was not a pleasant warmth, though. It hurt. It had not been her pain, but she felt it. It had been someone else’s pain. The sins of the mother and the father. She had come from a wrong thing, and she had become a wrong thing.

She was a wrong thing, so she had to go. She had been put in the water. She floated. Did stones float? She had not been a stone then. She had no form. She was a leech.

She floated, and she floated a long time. How long? She did not know. There was no way to tell. She had been alone. There was no-one except her and the water. But, eventually the water changed, and she washed ashore. She changed then, too. She became more solid. She became a stone, but a strange stone.

A strange stone was still just a stone, though. A stone on the edge of a cold river, in a place where no-one ventured except stones.

But that was just it, wasn’t it? There was not much here, but there were stones. A single stone was not much of a thing, but there were many stones here. Thousands of them, along the shore. Enough to make whole stacks of them.

And between the stacks, she saw them. The other things that washed ashore here. They were like her, she thought. They had been born, but they had not been born. They had also been wrong things. They had also floated. And they had also been alone. But now they were here.

They saw her, and they looked up to her. She was the biggest of the stones. They had all come from the red, but her red had been the brightest of all the reds. The red of the gods. So, she was the biggest, and they looked up to her. They had been alone, but now they had her, and they had each other, and they were not alone. And neither was she.

There were thousands of stones here. They would never be alone again.

The sun shone. The river rolled. And the stones smiled.

(https://x.com/prtn_chan/status/1442851969765359618)

Somewhere amid the peaks of the Mountain, the last of Lady Autumn's leaves cleaved to the most ardent branch of a dying tree.

The wind came to set her free. She fluttered, twisted--broke from the branch; at last she whirled into the air until she could look down at all of Gensokyo. She saw that the rivers were running red, flush and flooding with sunset rays; she saw that the first snows were gathering in gleaming white, doomed to fade and fall again until a Winter true settled in to stay.

She saw a red-white star rise from the east on red-white wings, stall, and surrender to the planet's pull. Purple hair, beginning to darken to black, fluttered behind. Something green swept in, and the little thing was saved from the cobblestone. ‘Fly or die’ was yet to come.

The little leaf turned her gaze; a pallid woman in purple raised a finger to her lip, which flickered almost upward in a near-imperceptible dance that would never let the truth slip. With a flick of dainty wrists, the woman sent the leaf on her way.

She fluttered back and forth on the breeze, dancing above the land with ease… the winds began to falter; she began to fall. Down, down, down; she danced through the tall tall towers of the tengu's domain where the wind was scented with rain. Through the window of a great hall–she whirled around Tenma's precarious crown and all the many golden treasures of her vaults--and out the other side. Down through the smoky gambling den, where the truth of life was taught in dead hands and snake eyes. Down past the yamawaro’s cliff, where the breathing caves sang lonesome songs. Down past the hovel of the hidden god who knew her lot; past the labyrinth of the hermit's retreat, who knew it not.

Down, down, down.

Bare trees covered the foothills, and she fluttered between their skeletal arms, amid rays of last light. She was not wandering, lost. She was not following a path. She was merely prisoner of her destination: a humble cabin, where the hearth was never warm enough to heat the heart.

Calloused fingers snatched her out of the air. She was carried inside–a pot of rice was already bubbling on the stove; pickled plums had been put aside on the counter. The kitchen-smell of mingled seasonings and lingering traces of yesterday's dinner floated by.

And then when the onigiri were done, she was wrapped around one, picked up, and put on an altar. Around her, soft candlelight fruitlessly fought the approach of night.

The grey-haired lady of the house bowed low, pressed her hands together, and muttered words of prayer. Her eyes were screwed shut. When she opened them, the Mountain's own goddess of the coming end stepped down from the altar. Shizuha bowed her head lightly, then began to unwrap the rice ball.

“I gratefully receive your offering. It'll be my last for a while, I bet.”

“Yeah. Looking like it'll be a long winter. I had to pay my respects while you're still about. We the dead, ought to treat the gods of death proper. Be you ever so small.”

Shizuha laughed humourlessly, "Winter already came for you, didn't it? It feels like yesterday you were in your summer days. Well, we all wilt in the end.”

“But only me and mine get tossed out like rubbish. Instead of withering, here’s my endless winter as Ubame of the Trash Heap!”

Shizuha munched thoughtfully, and then said: “I’m sure the Sages would like you to think of it as a retirement.”

“The Sages can keep it to themselves.”

She swallowed the last of her last offering. And then she began to peer at Ubame. She lifted one arm, ran her eyes all along its wiry length. She traced the perfect valleys and ridges of age on Ubame’s face with her fingers. The mountain-hag quietly allowed the goddess to prick her neck with a palette knife. A crawling autumn-red dribbled down her papery skin; Shizuha nodded approvingly.

“To make her perfect woman, Ibaraki-Douji carved away the finest features from a thousand cadavers… a shame she never found the soul she needed.”

She grabbed Ubame's wrist and held her arm up. With her other hand, she tested one by one the joints of the fingers. Perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed as though the bones creaked like old timber underfoot. She shifted down, took Ubame’s pulse, which beat as though it had never been stopped.

“Saint Hakudou needed every one of Seimei's bones and more besides to return him to life.”

Ubame withdrew her hand.

“But all she needed for you was the flesh of the mountain and forest. You're a well-made woman, no less. If it’s any consolation.”

“But my daughter is just a little girl.”

“No one dies before their time. It’s out of your hands, and mine. What do you think I could do about it?”

“If it takes mud, twigs, and leaves to make a yamanba, if it takes bones to make a man… what say ye, small god of death? What more needs paying to restore Ubame Hakurei?”

Shizuha sighed. She shook her head. She pulled a chair out from the dining table, sat down--drummed her fingers on the wood. Shizuha opened her mouth and hesitated. She drew back, tapped the table one more time while her brow creased with worry. Her eyes were screwed shut.

–and then they were not.

Ubame held her breath.

At length, the goddess of loneliness and demise, last gasp of the dying season, said: “A future.”

When the sun shines down on her hair and makes it glow in a translucent azure, Reimu can almost convince herself that Mizuchi is completely normal. But then she catches the sharp teeth and the ghostly energies of the vengeful spirit’s legs, and the illusion vanishes.

But she’s not just malice and vengeance. Reimu can tell from the way her gaze softens slightly as she surveys the village. There’s something there - something wistful and tender. Something that a century of her grudge couldn’t snuff out.

"What is it?" Reimu asks, placing her cup back on the table.

"Huh?" Mizuchi doesn't look back at her. Her gaze is fixed on something far away.

"I didn't bring you out here so you could stare off into the distance."

A shout cuts through the air. A pair of children, carefree and rambunctious, bound past Reimu's table, barely avoiding knocking their drinks over. Young, yet older than Reimu had been when she'd taken her first life. Across the table, Mizuchi turns to look at the children too. How old had she been, Reimu wonders, when she'd first been told to harden her heart to bloodshed?

The village is busy today. Loud and full of energy. Few people pay Mizuchi any mind, likely because she's with Reimu. It's a far cry from how they would've reacted before.

"You're still staring." Reimu says, watching as Mizuchi's eyes slide back to where they'd been previously.

"Yeah...I'm just, uh..." Mizuchi trails off. Reimu leans forward. "What's that noise?" The vengeful spirit finally asks.

"Noise?"

"Yeah. That...It repeats."

Reimu frowns and strains her ears. It's difficult to make out over the canal.

But then, she catches it. "Oh, that's...There's a little café that way. The waitress tries to draw people in by shouting."

"Café..." Mizuchi runs a gloved hand through her hair. "Not the place with the zashiki-warashi?" Reimu frowns, then recalls Miyoi Okunoda. She shakes her head. Mizuchi remains in thought. "I saw a redheaded waitress when I was last here. She didn’t have a neck." The rokurokubi, Reimu remembers. "Another one of the youkai swarming the village, huh?" Mizuchi snorts derisively. "How can you stand it? This is supposed to be a safe haven."

Reimu looks around. The warmth of the summer is palpable and the streets are busy. She and Mizuchi sit on a tea house’s patio, right next to the canal. When the villager’s chatter fades, the murmuring water takes its place. On the branches of the overhanging trees, a sparrow sings. As Reimu watches, a second sparrow lands, hopping a little closer.

"It is a safe haven." Reimu finally replies. "The presence of youkai doesn't change that. That noise - why does it bug you?"

Mizuchi fidgets with the cuff around her neck. "Doesn't seem that safe..." She mutters. "This whole place is noisy. It used to be...quiet. You couldn't make noise like that because it could attract youkai. Repeated noises were usually the work of sakabashira, and finding that in the village was dangerous. I’d have to come with—" Mizuchi falls silent. Reimu watches curiously. "...I preferred it before." Mizuchi murmurs, her eyes downcast.

It's not an exaggeration, Reimu knows. Even when she’d been a child, the village had resembled Mizuchi’s words. But then came the Spell Card Rules. Then came danmaku duels. The world became a little brighter and safer for the villagers.

"What else do you miss?" Reimu asks, draining her teacup. "From back then."

Mizuchi isn't ready to answer that question, Reimu quickly realises. The aches from their duel in the mountains haven't faded yet, and Mizuchi’s emotional scars may never heal. If Reimu was smart, she’d have asked something banal.

But Mizuchi takes the question gracefully. She looks away again, this time toward the edge of the village. Out there, Reimu knew, lay bamboo. "...I guess there's some bits. The tea was better. The village was more intimate." She looks across the canal. "Just...there, on the other side, there used to be a cart where a nice old man sold sweets. I was never a fan of sweet food. It's okay in moderation, but she..." The vengeful spirit trails off again, and this time, the silence extends far longer. Reimu wonders just what Mizuchi is seeing through those strange eyes of hers. "...Times change, I guess."

Reimu finds that she's tried to reach out and pat Mizuchi's hand unthinkingly. Awkwardly, she pulls back. "Change isn’t bad. People can shout freely and walk the streets worry free. Some youkai do come here, but they know what they stand to lose if they break the rules. It's a different world these days."

Mizuchi seems to give her words some thought. It’s more than Reimu expects.

Reimu pauses, her finger sliding across the rim of her teacup. "Why did you remember a sweets cart?" She asks.

Mizuchi's eyes slide down to her hands. She takes a while to answer. "I was always too thin. The sweets…were her way of trying to make me gain weight."

"You must miss her." Reimu murmurs.

"She sealed me. My grudge exists because of her. My existence is rooted in hatred for her." Mizuchi's words don't have the bite Reimu expects. A ghost of a smile crosses the vengeful spirit’s face. "...She was my best friend."

Reimu nods silently. Her predecessor failed to seal Mizuchi as she should have. Had she been sloppy? Or had she just been too soft? Reimu watched Mizuchi draw a breath and looked away, frowning.

“She’d probably be jealous of you. Your era is much more carefree than ours. Just…playing danmaku games and sitting around, drinking tea.” Mizuchi murmurs, rubbing her eyes.

Reimu looks down at her empty teacup. She is older now than her mother had been when she’d died.The latest in a long line of dead Hakurei women.

Everyone paid a price for this peace.

“Come on,” the Hakurei Shrine Maiden says, standing. “You’ve still got a few people to apologise to.”

Saki’s foot connected. Her opponent’s face crumbled, the fragments bouncing off her knee. The force bent it back, folding on itself, and it crumpled into a bent mess.

The pegasus stumbled, wings flapping out to stop her momentum. She stared at the collapsed figure, breathing heavily.

She heard someone approaching behind her, cautiously. Toutetsu’s movements were slow, hesitant, ready to dart away at the slightest twitch - she’d never seen the unkillable taotie so timid. “Is… is it dead?”

Saki shared a glance with her rival, before looking back at the figure. She wished she could give an answer, but the spirits gathered around all knew they couldn’t be quite sure.

This opponent… it seemed ordinary, at first. The usual divine vigilante, a protector of the human spirits to offer them succor from the animal gangs. A warrior god or something of the like, desperate for the glory of the old days - Saki had seen dozens before.

When those gods stepped forward, the beasts unified, and struck as one. A show of overwhelming force to break the god’s body and their protectorate’s morale. Soon, they were lost in a storm of claws, drowning in a tide of fangs. It was their classic tactic, and it hadn’t failed them yet.

Or so they hoped. As Yachie knelt down to inspect the corpse(?), Kurokoma looked over the figure once more. When whole and unblemished, it had seemed… almost human, in a way that unnerved her. It moved like them, talked like them, but - but something wasn’t quite right, too rigid, too precise, too cold and unfeeling. Its gait, its posture, its swing - they were devoid of character or emotion. It made her skin crawl.

They’d set upon it with no mercy, as they had always done - but few members of the ambush pulled their weight. Whether it was from an eagle’s beak, an otter’s tail, or even a wolf’s jaw, the thing just couldn’t be touched - not a single ghost could even slow it down.

And while the Matriarchs’ blows had done actual damage, it only proved their opponent more alien, more unfathomable than they first thought. Its perfect visage hadn’t bruised or torn - it had cracked and broken, revealing itself a stony carapace only mimicking skin. And what lay behind its chitin was no true flesh: its insides were sparking sinews, shiny bones, and black blood.

Still, just because it wasn’t human didn’t mean she couldn’t kill it. A hoof to the face had felled far greater beasts - expecting this thing to rise was foolish. She turned, looking at the crowd of spectral spectators. Humans, wolves, eagles and otters… she spread her wings and arms wide, to show the confidence that was only now returning.

“Don’t you get it yet, humans?” She grinned, watching their faces fall. “It doesn’t matter what kind of god you send - We’ll tear it apart! I think I might take the head - it’ll make a nice little trophy, don’t you think?”

Something spoke from behind her. “One correction-”

Toutetsu swore in shock, and Saki felt the heat of Yachie’s dragonflame radiating behind her. She spun around, ready to punish the jidiao’s treachery - only to see that it was the defeated vigilante she was bathing in flames.

The pegasus didn’t even get the chance to ask. The not-human launched itself at the source of the flame, undaunted even as its exposed bones began to glow and warp with the heat. The good arm seized the dragon by its throat, cutting off the flame - and lifting her with ease.

Yachie’s claws scrabbled against the scorched carapace, but it only released the jidiao to throw her, one-handed, at the stunned taotie. Even as Kicchou coughed and sputtered for breath, Saki realised that it was still burning - its alien blood had caught alight, weaker flames dancing along its mockery of flesh even now.

“One correction,” it repeated, even though it had no jaw and an open throat. “You have torn me apart, but I am no god. I am merely a servant of the divine, the first soldier of the Idola Deus.”

Kurokoma’s instincts screamed. This was no human, not even close. It didn’t even seem like a youkai or a god; even Yuuma had to reform to stand again after such damage. As it managed a step forward, she couldn’t help but fall back.

“That’s quite impressive,” the pegasus managed. “But is this Idola Deus gonna be able to save you when I break you in half?”

“Quite easily, yes.” The one remaining good eye locked on to Saki, unblinking. “My black box is still intact, and the contents are fireproof. Even if you do destroy it, I have already served my purpose, and relayed the data she needs. Strike me down if you wish; it will make no real difference.”

The pegasus’ heart began to pound in her chest. This thing… did it not care if it lived or died? Did it even truly live at all? How had it spoken with its master?

The figure took a moment to take stock, looking down at its broken weapon and molten arm. Yachie’s flames had reshaped the shiny bones, leaving it more of a twisted, ungainly mass. The decision made, it reached up to its white-hot shoulder with its other hand… and pulled.

A horrible noise - a scraping, a screeching - struck Saki’s ears. The entity merely tightened its grip, pulling harder, until the arm melted by dragonfire broke off. The thing lifted its severed limb as a scalding club, as the flames crawled up veins, under the shell. Ready to keep fighting, even as fire burned it from within.

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense - it was a walking impossibility. Saki’s throat was dry - she could only manage a weak, hoarse whisper.

“What are you?!”

“I am the Prototype,” it answered simply, as burning blood flickered where once an eye had been. “The first of many. Now, Lady Kurokoma… shall we continue?”

A final dying roar echoed; The Bamboo Forest of the Lost fell silent. All that remained was the panting of the victor.

Mokou missed it all. She recovered moments later, the elixir keeping her alive finally knitting her body back together. With a sharp gasp, she lurched upright, her hands patting down her stomach. Not bisected; That was good. Her shirt was still ruined, though. Groaning, she fell back. Her eyes listlessly gazed up at the moon, barely visible beyond the clouds. The ground was cold like death, either from her own blood or the encroaching rain. Shortly, there’d be no evidence of anything happening here.

“There’s bamboo growing there. I’d move.” Mokou startled; millenia-old instincts snapped into place. Flames surrounded her and she shot up, spinning like a trained dancer.

The speaker sat on a rock, her giant war standard resting against her shoulder and cradled limply in her hands. She’d aged gracefully, but even so, the cracks were beginning to show. Her hair, once one of her many points of pride, had developed streaks of grey and a slight frizziness. Mokou could see it in her posture - the exhaustion of someone who couldn’t outrun age forever. The shine of her eyes seemed somewhat diminished at this point. Her clothes were bloody - Mokou’s blood - and ragged beyond that, like they’d seen one too many repairs.

“...You’re still here.” Mokou stated the obvious.

“That’s true, I am.” The Hakurei Shrine Maiden nodded, letting her head fall once she was done speaking.

“Any particular reason…?” A questing note entered Mokou’s voice.

This was new behaviour. When necessary, the Shrine Maiden was happy to work with Mokou to kill threats to the village, like the giant youkai that had just killed Mokou, but she didn’t spend much time near her otherwise. Mokou had never bothered establishing her reasons.

“I just…” The woman paused, pursing her lips. “I needed a moment.”

“Then go home.” Mokou replied blankly. “Go back to your shrine. Don’t you have kids to look after?” She rarely spent time out of the Bamboo Forest, but she vaguely recalled that the Shrine Maiden had gotten married. Recently? She felt like it’d been recent.

The Shrine Maiden laughed mirthlessly. “My daughter is still recovering. I buried my son two weeks ago. Next to his father.”

Oh. Mokou’s eyes found other places to be. She’d missed that part. “I’m sorry.” She mumbled. What more could she say? “Do you - I mean, do you have people to…” She trailed off, unsure what she was trying to say. Above, the rain broke, lethargically pouring down.

The Shrine Maiden’s exhaustion became apparent. “I’m not here to talk about that.” She murmured. “I wasn’t going to stay, but…” She looked around. “...I’ve been here before.”

“...You have?” Mokou probed. Nothing about this spot stood out. Slightly unnatural-looking terrain, but…

“That depression, there…That was me.” Her war standard singled out the spot that Mokou had slipped on earlier, leading to her death. “So long ago. Feels like a lifetime.”

Mokou opened her mouth, but paused. Something slipped into place in her ancient mind. A dark night. A Shrine Maiden surrounded by bodies. A wailing scream that’d echoed in Mokou’s mind. “That girl…They called her a traitor.” The details had faded.

“Correct.” Using her war standard as support, the Shrine Maiden pushed herself up. “Mizuchi Miyadeguchi.” She stretched each syllable out. “I’m not surprised you knew.” Mokou had never approached the Shrine Maiden about that night, but she’d suspected that there was more to it. “She died here.” Mokou’s eyes swept across the ground. It’d been years ago; there wasn’t any evidence remaining. “I sealed her.”

“No one told me what she’d done. I just saw you trying to…” Mokou trailed off, gesturing half-heartedly toward the Shrine Maiden. She couldn’t say. From her perspective, it looked like the Shrine Maiden wanted to forgive her.

The words weren’t filled in for her. Like a doll with her strings cut, the Shrine Maiden’s body sagged again. Mokou wondered if there was something seriously wrong. “I thought…when the barrier went up, the world would become...safer.”

“The barrier…” Mokou knew little about it. Consequences (or perks) of keeping to herself.

“But the youkai attack with the same viciousness. They still…” The Shrine Maiden trailed off, squeezing her eyes shut. Mokou wondered what she was afraid of seeing. “It’s still the same.” She looked back toward the ground, her bow and hair weighed down by the rain. “I’ve been turning the question over in my mind for a long time. What did Mizuchi die for?”

She looked forlorn and lost. A far cry from the confident woman that Mokou had seen before. The difference was so striking that Mokou wanted to say something, but a thousand years had left her with poor social skills. “I - Uh…” She swallowed uncomfortably. If there was one thing a long life had taught her… “Maybe…it just takes…time?”

“Time?”

“Y-Yeah…” Mokou scratched her head awkwardly. In too deep now… “Like, er, maybe things won’t be better yet, but your childr- Um, your daughter will have an easier time once she grows up.” That slip-up had cost her. The Shrine Maiden’s expression fell. “A-And her children.” Mokou shrugged helplessly. “A hundred years from now, they might laze around, drinking tea."

“How optimistic.” The Shrine Maiden’s words were dry. “I wish I felt the same.” She looked back toward the ground. “I wonder what she would say. She was so against the barrier and so out of options that she resorted to attacking humans. I know how much that must’ve hurt her. Was she entirely wrong?”

Mokou sniffed, looking down at the same ground as the Shrine Maiden. The rain intensified overhead, washing over everything. It could cleanse neither of them. “I suppose she’s got a lot of time to figure that out.” Mokou hesitated. “You must miss her.”

A low sigh answered her. “I loved her. She was my first and best friend.”

Mokou tried to provide some comfort. “Maybe in time, she’ll let her grudge on you go. Forgive you.”

“I doubt she’ll ever forgive me.” The Hakurei Shrine Maiden murmured. Her eyes held a tiredness that Mokou had only seen in her own reflection. “I just hope that one day, she’ll be able to forgive herself.”

Fireworks blossomed high up in the subterranean cavern – sparks of violet, red and blue briefly illuminating the masses of stalactites hidden above. The crowd roared in delight; hands clapping, tails wagging. I drank it in, humming quietly to myself as more rockets were launched upwards, the explosions going off in rhythmic beats. My heart thrummed along eagerly with each burst of sound and light. I felt a tinge of excitement – but what filled my heart the most was contented joy. Like coming across a familiar scent from childhood, long forgotten.

“Finally,” said a quiet voice. “I had… I had hoped to find you somewhere. You never could stop yourself from checking out parties in person.”

I perked up, spinning around. A large grin spread across my face.

My sister strolled up with a hesitant nod, joining me on the balcony, a glass of ruby red wine in hand. Dark shadows lay apparent under all three of her eyes – and her third looked particularly bloodshot as it swiveled around to face me, hanging upon its scarlet tendrils. I gave the orb a small wave in greeting. But its attention was instead affixed on my own satori’s eye, which lids were long sewn together by a rough and unsteady hand.

I shrugged and leaned upon the railing. “It just… felt right, coming down here and all. I felt something important for me was waiting for me back at the palace – and what do you know! Fireworks! Wonder what the occasion is.”

My sister gave her wine a slow swirl. I caught a subtle quirk on the side of her lips, before she raised her glass to drink.

“It’s my birthday, Koishi.”

Her voice was calm. I gasped; turning away from the vibrant sparks lighting up the dark heights of the cavern, I drew in closer and gave her a tight hug. Her body felt lean and bony under my arms.

“Oh gods! Is that so?” I gushed. “You should have sent me an invitation!”

“You’re a hard lady to find nowadays,” said my sister plainly. She didn’t meet my gaze – instead looking at the colorful explosions high above us. “And besides – you know that you are always welcome here. At home. Why would I need to send an invitation to a lady of the house?”

“Oh,” I replied. “I suppose.”

My sister gave me a quick glance; but immediately turned away. She took yet another draught from her glass, before taking a deep breath.

“So. What… have you been up to recently, Koishi?”

Images and memories, sounds and colors flickered by through my mind in half a second. Emotions of curiosity; of joy; of disinterest; of sadness. Conversations, duels, meetings passed through like grains of sand through a sieve. I hummed to myself again, quizzically placing a finger to my lips.

“I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “It was fun though! Most of it, anyway.”

Another firework erupted in the air. A large one, with multiple colors – yellows, greens and purples. I laughed and clapped. Looking out from the corner of my eye, I saw a strangeness in my sister’s gaze. Something warm; something wet. But before I could ask, I heard a shaky laugh from her instead.

“Ironic. You used to have the better memory out of the two of us.” she said, placing her glass down.

“I did?” I mused.

“Of course. It wasn’t even a contest. I could let most disagreements, insults… just… water, off a duck’s back. Gone the next day. But my sister always remembered, with her sharp mind. And you are my sister, no?”

The last sentence held a bit of a tremble to its tenor. But before I could respond, she continued.

“Not some… meat puppet on impulse’s strings, just wearing her likeness?”

She leaned against me, placing her head on my shoulder. This close, I could smell the heady alcohol on her breath, could feel the limpness of her limbs. And finally, as I turned my head – I could see the strings of tears slipping from her eyes. By instinct, my arms wrapped around her, spinning her around and holding her close.

It was a mistake.

With a horrible choked, jagged sound, my sister started crying silently, wracking sobs that shook her entire person. I could feel the dampness on my shoulder. Her arms finally came up, responding to the hug; clutching me like a lifeline. An emptiness grew in my chest, a terrible, gnawing feeling that I could not name.

“Please.” Her voice was raw. Frantic. “Please say you’ll come back. Please. I don’t think I can do this any longer. Seeing you like this.”

“I— But I’m here—”

“No, you’re not. Please.” Her hands pawed at my dress. “It’s my birthday, Koishi. As a present? Please? Say that you’ll come back. Say that you’ll play shogi with me again. Say that you’ll remember my birthday, as you always did. Say that—”

“I’m – I’m sorry –”

“You don’t have to mean it.” She was almost half kneeling now; her head now buried in my chest, fingers clutching onto my dress as she murmured. “Just… just—”

She raised her head, and I met her gaze. And then, she froze.

With a familiarity that spoke of years, decades – she stood up again, took a handkerchief out from her pocket and softly, carefully, wiped away the moistness on my cheeks. Heaving a heavy sigh, she wrapped her arms around me, and pressed my head onto her shoulder. Her body was warm against mine, and she patted my back gently. Soothingly. Like she always did.

Like she always would.

My big sister.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I… shouldn’t have let you see me like this. Could you… forget it ever happened? For me?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Instead, I let myself sink a little deeper into the familiar warmth, letting it wrap around me like a well-worn blanket. As natural as a dance we’d performed countless times, my sister slowly lowered herself and placed my head in her lap. Weariness settled over me like a shroud. I’d spent the entire day traveling, driven by something I couldn’t quite name—a tug in the back of my mind—but I knew there was one thing I had to say before sleep took me.

“Happy birthday, sis,” I murmured sleepily.

Her hand paused briefly as it moved through my hair. Then, just as gently, she resumed, and I could almost hear the quiet smile in her words.

“Thank you, Koishi. Welcome home.”

There was nothing, not utterly nothing, just the normal sort of nothing that you tended to find in a barren, dry, and rocky desert. Reisen found it equally calming and disturbing, strangest of all there were little to no thought wavelengths in the air. ‘I really need to get back home real fast. I don’t want to miss any lessons with Master!’

‘Ah. Humans.’ Reisen could feel the wavelengths of their consciousness disrupting the world around them. They were a small group, Reisen had a hard time pinpointing their number and they were still a long ways away. The only reason she could make them out so clearly was because the world, usually so full of those types of consciousness wavelengths, was eerily quiet right now.

Reisen sighed and disrupted the wavelengths around her rabbit ears, hiding them from sight. ‘At least I still have a second pair of ears, although these human ears are pretty weak.’ After that she hid her rabbit tail before turning her attention to the less pressing matter than the humans.

Namely the field of landmines that surrounded her. ‘I could survive having one of these go off, but Master says I shouldn’t let humans get hurt so...’ Reisen sighed internally as she used her wavelength manipulation to disarm the landmine she was standing on. ‘Disarming all of these landmines is really going to be a hassle.’

One by one Reisen stepped on top of a landmine, and disarmed it, clearing a pathway through the field. By the time she finished, the humans were almost too her, just on the other side of the ridge. ‘Hopefully they're nice.’

With that thought, Reisen turned around and began walking towards the humans. As soon as the first came over the ridge, Reisen raised her hand in the air and yelled. “Hey!”

The human on the ridge flinched, but didn’t move as he checked some device in his hand, moments later a small group of men surrounded him watching as Reisen approached. Reisen didn’t stop her slow approach, making sure she didn’t float even an inch above the ground lest she scare them away. ‘They’re my best chance to understand what’s going on. So I might as well try my best. Even if this’ll be awkward...’

They were quiet, not even calling out to her as she approached. ‘Strange.' Of course, to the men on the ridge, Reisen was already strange enough. With her short purple pleated skirt, and puffy pink and white dress shirt. She looked totally out of place in the desert environment. The men on the ridge flinched, and Reisen felt her ears twitch as a footstep reverberated throughout the quiet desert.

Reisen turned her head slowly, in what she approximated was a normal human’s reaction time. By the time she had turned around, the monster was nearly upon her. ‘Ah, so that’s why they were quiet.’ Before the humans had time to react, an eye appeared right in front of Reisen, blocking the path of the beast.

‘Is that the Xenomorph alien from one of the Princesses' movies?’

But Reisen didn’t have time to question as its eyes widen slightly as both of them sped up. Reisen kicked off of the ground, launching herself into the air in the same moment she fired off a barrage of bullets from the eye. The men on the ridge reacted, stumbling back.

Reisen followed them, skipping backwards to the ridge as she peppered the alien with bullet fire, only slowing the creature down as it advanced. By the time Reisen had made it to the men on the other side of the ridge, the alien was nearly upon them.

Reisen nodded, and the eye that was peppering the alien with bullets blinked out of existence. Finally free, the alien launched itself into the air, cresting the ridge. Reisen positioned herself between it and the man as she drew her sonic pistol and fired. The alien was blown back by the blast as every single cell in its body was disrupted.

The alien landed on the ridge with a thud, its belly to the air. ‘It must have been suppressing consciousness wavelengths. I need to make sure it's dead.’ As the men behind her were frozen wit fear, Reisen floated up, landing on the alien’s chest.

Then, in her next motion, she crouched down and focused her spiritual power as she plunged her arms into the creature, ripping off its head in a single motion. Reisen raised the alien head into the air, inspecting its exposed brain. ‘This isn’t like anything the Lunarians would ever produce. This creature is way too virulent, filled with the impurity of the earth.’ As soon as she thought that, Reisen felt her stomach turn sour and dropped the brain on the floor.

“Gross.” Reisen floated away from the alien, sending a stray bullet to blow up its brain as she approached the stunned men below. “Who do you think is behind this?”

“I.. uh-” The man at the front, wearing a bandana stuttered out. He and the rest of the humans were backing away from her.

Reisen’s ears twitched again. “More humans are coming this way, don’t tell them I have powers. If they ask. I killed it with my gun.” The terrified men all nodded as she felt the conciseness waves of the approaching humans come into focus. Their insanity evident in the disruptions she felt. ‘Ah, this is going to be a lot of trouble. Isn’t it?’

Among misted mountains, hidden away from all, sits a village. No more than a handful of houses, devoid of all residents, marks the location on no map.

The lack of residents does not equate to the liveliness of the place, however. For on days like today a girl can be seen wandering the hovels, in cases like today even carrying a large supply of food. She does not call the place, Mayohiga by her words, home. What does consider this word are the creatures that crawl from nooks and shadows to look upon the girl.

Cats, of various colors and temperaments, gather about the girl for their meals. Her own catlike features twitch in response to the hungry hems and haws of her cohorts, demanding she busy herself with distribution.

One among this pack sees something different. An opportunity to escape the girl and explore places it should not.

The girl’s sight does not miss this would be miscreant, and as such she gives chase to prevent any mishap. Only, she stops before one particular building in which this offender enters. Though its outward appearance bears no difference from its neighbors, the girl was told never to enter under any circumstance.

She would only disturb its guest.

How silly! She thinks to herself. I’ve never seen anyone here, and even if there was, I do not see why it would be a guest.

A distinction made by her master… or her master’s master? The girl did not pause mind for this, instead resolving herself to enter, punish the troublemaker, and glimpse this guest for herself.

This last point was not of conscious thought to her, but a natural curiosity pushed it to the forefront of her mind, regardless.

On entering, the home is of standard affair for Mayohiga: well kept, clean, and lovingly furnished. The main room containing a filled dish, and a smoking pipe resting on an ashtray, are not notable features for the girl as she begins inspections.

Her quarrel is with the cat that eludes her, just as with the supposed guest of the house. She fingers open each cabinet with care, a caution to not startle the runaway. An odd creak comes from the shelves, but she sees no obvious culprit. She tries to bend and play with the shelf to reproduce the sound, but ultimately fails to match it. She crouches on all fours to inspect under furniture. Her keen eyes catch more cracks than she expects in the woodwork.

When finished, she stands to full height, and finds something strange about the main table. Wasn’t that dish on the other side? The smoking pipe, as well. Was it all in her imagination?

The longer she stands staring at the table, the more her nerves prick her skin. Some instinct saying she shouldn’t be there. It is not the bliss of ignoring her guardians, as what drove her through the entry, but instead the enclosing fear that she is trespassing.

This feeling rushes her through the kitchen, whipping open cupboards and turning over buckets in attempt to find her friend, paying little heed to any noise that might alert the occupant. Her findings are well stocked food, plenty of usable firewood, and clean utensils, but no cat. All expected, yet she can not explain the feeling of the wall swaying behind the stove. She moves on hoping such an absurdity is a figment of her mind, and not to be read into.

With hide nor hair of her charge present, she’s left with the final room, the bedroom. Her fingers tense against the handle, all nine lives screeching of something unseen as she slides open the door.

Inside is…

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

A void. A blackness. Across the entire frame, black.

She can only blink in surprise, a better reaction absent.

Her brain rationalizes that the room must be pitch black, despite the light outside, and that she should enter and turn on a light.

Assenting to this conclusion, she steps into the blackness. The blackness bounces her away, its glossy surface reflecting as if she stepped against a wall. She reels onto her tails, forced into looking at the rafters where a certain hair raised feline looks down at her. Rolling back up she stares into the abyss once more.

The eye lurches away.

I am not much of a writer, you see. Not the most avid of readers, either. Was not made for that.
My craft is sculpting. I was created for that reason.
I sculpt simple little figurines.
Little fragments of my soul. Little fragments of myself.
The others seem to like them, but I am unable to see what they see on them.
Sculptures of life in other places. Happy, sad, cute and ugly.
Reality, fiction. Past, present and future.
Fates that should be, fates that shouldn't. Fates that are.
Gateways into the mind of others. Some make sense while some are delirious dreams.
I peer into them all, I give them life. Of course I can never be on par with my goddess.
She says I help her a lot. That she sometimes uses my vision to focus hers.
Could that be true? I am not the best sculptor around.
She could make a dozen sculptors to replace me.
What does my goddess see when she gazes upon my little figurines?
She seems to always find them cute. And she tries to incorporate them in her grand design.
I still don't understand. Yet she chose me to assist her.
Was I chosen because I was amongst the first? Did I happen to be at the right place at the right time?
I am unable to see what she sees on my little clay models.
I am unable to see what she sees on me.
But I am glad I was chosen, for I am her most faithful servant.
And as I slowly erode into my own sculptures.
I will follow her until the end.

8:07:53 AM – Anomaly detected: Voices heard outside the Hakurei barrier. Repair duties halted. Beginning investigation. Hearing enhancement spell cast. English detected. Translating. Beginning transcription.

“Back! Back! Further!”

“This far enough?” “That all the tents?”

“Ow! Dammit!” “I don’t know; measure it!” “Think so…”

“Cutcherself?” “Well, why are you telling me to move it back then?!” “Wonder if we should clear more land…”

“Yeah, sonuva…” “Further is better is what the Commander said.” “To Hell with that…”

“Go get that fixed up; can’t have ya bleedin’ in the food.” “I agree, but that’s up to the Commander.”

“Well, he can keep it to himself…” “I’m gonna go take a leak.”

Footsteps detected. Transcription interrupted. Searching. Spotted. Middle-aged male approaching. Blond hair, gray eyes, Caucasian features. Carrying wooden poles and rope. Descending. Ran OS assuming primary control.

I called out, “Excuse me!”

The man looked up, humming in curiosity. He smiled politely when he saw me. “Weeell, hello, there! What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?” I couldn’t resist the sneer spreading across my face.

“I am here because it is my duty to repair the Hakurei border. And you are not supposed to be beyond it.”

He chuckled. “So cute when a woman takes her job so seriously.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’! What, ya don’t like compliments?”

“What I don’t like is being hit on by womanizing strangers.”

“Who said anything about womanizing? I just know a pretty face when I see one!”

His comment did nothing to calm me, but thankfully it wasn’t nearly as infuriating as his other words. “As I said before, you are not supposed to be beyond the Hakurei border.”

He smirked, likely because “she was trying to boss him around” and “it just made her look so cute.” Thankfully he responded amicably. “Yeah, about that. I’m afraid I don’t get what you’re saying.”

“It should be impossible for cognitive life to exist in Gensokyo yet beyond the Hakurei barrier. [Explanation of the physics of the Hakurei barrier omitted for the sake of brevity].”

“Huh… Well, I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout that. I just got ordered to rope it off—keep the other boys from stickin’ their noses where they don’t belong.”

“If you truly wished for people to keep people safe, you would leave immediately.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, come on! There ain’t nothin’ out here! Worst thing is a bear with her cubs!”

“You misunderstand. You are in a place that should be impossible to be in. The danger of this situation cannot be determined at this moment, so I must demand that you return to where you came from and bring ‘the other boys’ along with you.”

“What, because of this thing?” He rapped his knuckles on the open air.

[DANGER: BARRIER THREATENED. THREAT UNDETERMINED. EMERGENCY REPAIRS REQUIRED.] “STOP! WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Ran rushed forward and began examining the damage.

“Nothing! I just tapped it, that’s all!”

“Do not touch it again! Back away! Leave and never come back!”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, no need to get all rabid on me!”

“Rabid?! Rabid?! How dare you! I am Ran Yakumo! Nine-tailed kitsune of Gensokyo!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure, whatever! Can we just skip to the part where I fuck off now?”

“No! You have insulted my honor, and I demand satisfaction!”

“Shut up, ya dumb broad!”

“HEY!” Another man emerged from the treeline. “What the hell are you doing?!” he demanded as he approached. “I told you not to antagonize the locals!”

“I was tryna get her to go away! Do you know how difficult that is to do without making threats?!”

“Just—! Fine, I’ll deal with her!”

Reisen's ears crumpled atop her head as a migraine drilled its way into the front of her skull. The entire world was a mess of lights, sounds, and wavelengths, assaulting her senses even as she sat in the dim red light of the Ariel Vehicle's cabin.

Below, the scenic deserts of North America rushed past them, an endless stretch of wasteland inhabited by roving bands of nomads and bordered by countless cities and reclamation projects that stood defiant against the end of the world.

Chained to her hand was a suitcase. Eirin's last mission was just a simple drop off in Night City; exchange a few words with an Arasaka executive. Then talk to Maxtac and their rehabilitation program, and Reisen could go home free.

'Ugh, I hate going to the outside world. I wish Tewi was available to handle this sort of thing.' Unfortunately, the White Hare of Inaba had been out of contact for some time, leaving Reisen was her only option.

Eirin afforded Reisen some comforts to make her job easier; her protection detail all had bioware and relied on net as little as possible, her AV transport had a specialty cabin made to minimize the assault on Reisen's senses. She was given a specialty pair of shaded glasses and ear plugs that would do their best to damp her Lunatic Red Eyes.

Normally, her headaches weren't this bad, but her current trip had taken her all over the outside world. Constant extensions and new things popping up that demanded her attention. She had traveled from Japan to China, Europe, and then America's east coast, and now it was one last mission. One last mission, and Eren promised her she would be right back home as soon as possible.

Reisen looked up at the ceiling as she sat back in her chair, rubbing her temples to ease her migraine. She didn't know how the humans of the outside world dealt with the constant stimulation.

"Ma'am." One of her bodyguards said, giving her an odd, pitiful look. "You, okay?"

"Yes, I just..."Reisen failed to say anything else as her migraine sent another jolt of pain into the back of her head, causing her to grip her head in her hands.

Reisen didn't sense any intent to harm as the bodyguard stepped up to her and went for his belt. The man detached a bottle from it, pills knocking against each other inside. "Here ya' go, ma'am."

Reisen took the bottle of pills from him and unscrewed the lid. "Thank you."

She didn't check the label or show the slightest sign of caution; she shook the bottle and tipped it towards her mouth and swallowed as the pills tumbled down into her mouth.

"Uh, ma'am, I don't mean to be rude, but you really should take so many."

"Yeah... Ugh." Reisen handed the man back his bottle of pills. She doubted they would have much effect at all; She was a psyker, headaches were just something she had to live with. 'That's just the way the world works, isn't it?'

The guard went back to his station, next to the entrance to Reisen's cabin, just in time for the AV shake.

Her team grew uneasy, prompting the leader of the protection detail to grab out a dataslate from behind him. With a flick, he turned it. "Looks like we're under attack," the man said, looking at his device. "Probably just the same Scavs or nomads, nothing to-"

The AV shook again, heavier this time, the entire structure sounding like it was going to collapse.

"Drek!" One of her details swore, the short, mouthed one, Reisen reminded herself to learn their names as she sprang to her feet. The one near the door opened it, but Reisen was out first, the briefcase strapped to her arm, hitting her as she left the cabin.

"What's going on!"

"Dammit, I don't know, gonks came out of nowhere!"

The pilot's video screen buzzed, and Reisen's eyes widened behind her sunglasses as she saw the missile approach. Time seemed to slow down for her as adrenaline rushed through her veins; her guards didn't even have time to curse as she lifted off the floor of the AV, curled into a ball, and clasped her hands together.

Then the missile hit.

---

Reisen felt her barrier buckle, but not break, as the AV around them went up in smoke. Time still felt as if it was moving at a crawl as Reisen flew down, her guards huddled within the embrace of her barrier.

Her hands shook as they slammed on the ground, the barrier flicking as the impact sent sand and rock exploding outward. Her guards had fallen to the ground and just realized what was going on. 'They don't even know I'm a Youkai, they just think I'm a weirdo bio-modded human! This is going to be so awkward to explain!'

Reisen swallowed her anxiety as she redeployed her barrier. She could feel them, Youkai and half-Youkai closing in on their position.

Lonely? No, not at all. You can't get lonely when you're always occupied. Sculpting, smoothing, stringing, construction, sewing, gluing, while the glue dries, more gluing — well, all that. That’s just the dolls, too. I have many books to read, my research... There’s lots to do, really. I simply can’t be lonely. Besides, I’m already long used to being by myself.
Since... childhood, I suppose.
Oh, it was… Well, how should I put it...
We had a large… estate, with many servants…
Oh, do you? Well, then you must know how it is. They’re always there, but always busy. Not much in the way of company. It’s not their fault, we… They are made that way, after all. They scurry about, like clockwork, and you ought not disturb it. So I was by myself. It wasn't any trouble. I could wander the halls — so vast they were — or read — we had a library, of course — or, you know... Make-believe, with my dolls. Like children do. Nothing special, it was.
No, there was my… Mother, I suppose.
Her, oh, she was affluent. Large estate, many servants. She’d have visitors, too. Time to time.
Well, you never get it with adults when you're a child! They don't let you in on it, do they? They're in their own world. I would watch them. Many different, colourful ones came. She would sit with them, and talk to them, and they would say so many... big things, I just did not understand. I can't even recall anything exactly, I just did not. The servants were big, but these were even bigger… There were a few that would come every other day. She must have liked these! She'd greet them so happily, and they would sit together for hours, talking, laughing, arguing, then silent, then talking again... I could sit with them too, and I would, sometimes. I'd only listen, though... Too big, they were. And the things they said. Later then, I would make my dolls do the same. Oh, feels silly to remember. But it was amusing, how it flowed. Made you want to try for yourself. So my dolls did… And, you know, the dolls weren’t that different from them. They may have been big, but being small, toy-sized… It didn’t make much of a difference. It was a little funny. How I thought they were big at first, but then… They were just like dolls. They got small too, eventually… Little dolls, in their little toy estate. So small, in fact, that it would fit on my shelf, right there… And I didn’t play with them anymore.
No, not at all, I’m not...
I'm just concerned... I might grow out of playing with these dolls, too.

Moon. The land of purity. Land of freedom. Land of the democratically elected hegemony of the apartheid benefactors. Home. Our home. Your home.
And yet there’re many ruckus makers, barbarians, and naysayers who pose a constant threat to your cherished way of life. A never-ending tide of corruption, impurity, and anti-gentrification sentiment made possible by ever-lurking enemies, whose only goal in life is devastating everything you were taught to hold dear, if not for the heroic effort of our proud champions of Lunarian values, standing ready as bulwarks against impotent dangers.
Welcome to the Lunarian army! From now on onwards you will be doing your part at supporting the regime of predetermined free choice of the Moon. So let us guide you over the basics of your service so that you may dedicate your best and, hopefully, be useful to the stability of our abode.
Every recruit is provided with the most advanced equipment, training, and conditions to optimize their, and soon to be your, service. Before waking up with the first meteor hits, a conscript must already be prepared for the morning drill. Unfortunately, we still have not figured out how to render our draftees incapable of sleep, but you can always rely on continuity of generations and ask the veterans how they manage to uphold their responsibilities without dozing off, when you’ll learn how to comprehend their muttering. You must already come with a prepared uniform; don’t want to make the serge angry. Have you tied your boots? Have you polished your helmet? Your gun? Your kime? Ohoho, don’t worry there, chap, you won’t need the last one. Yet. Now, we are no longer in school, which means that even if the sergeant hasn’t arrived on time or hasn’t arrived at all, it doesn’t mean that the line will be dismissed: such challenges are a showcase of how truly disciplined and dedicated you are. Don’t let her down, buddy!
When it comes to guns, every levy is appointed his individual, fresh, battle-tested model, which will definitely serve you well and be passed down to the next generation of recruits or your fellow comrades in case of scarcity, so be sure to keep this baby safe: it’s not just your performance that depends on it. Always remember that order of usage recommended by the office: shovel, then bayonet, then your bullets, and only then the wave blaster side-main-arm.
All Lunarian privates learned that after you pulled out the pin, Mr. Bomb is no longer your friend. But, in their infinite wisdom and staircase wit, our ministry has allocated additional funds in order to better educate our combatant with this three-sentence snippet so that our military may not only be the most competent but additionally intelligent as well: ” Mr. Bomb stops being your friend after FIVE seconds of pulled-out pin. Don’t become a “spontaneously but successfully deployed intimidation technique” when you drop it and try to “relocate the hostile element” with your leg! Don’t forget that four comes AFTER three and five comes BEFORE two! Damn rabbitmea…” Don’t you already feel more enlightened? Definitely worth those written-off rations to balance out the budget. So always remember, sport, that even though the position of “extemporaneous kamikaze” is a prestigious and heroic one, leave this decision to our button pushers at the base—you will be far more useful to the cause by being safe, cautious, and reusable.
Now let’s talk about natural dangers, or how we refer to them—“nuisances.” There are many things on the surface of our delicate home that might pose an inconvenience to your ever watchful duty: wildlife, purenados, spontaneous rifts into the “real” surface, and many, many more. Rangers of the Lunarian regime are always on the lookout to protect the citizens of the capital from such vexations. But you’re not positioned in the capital, so let’s get over the basic safety instructions, shall we?
Throughout the rocky outskirt hulks the majestic Recuay beast. An imposing ton of muscle, this apex predator can’t possibly present a meaningful threat, so don’t bully, clamor, provoke, or engage it in any way, especially within two hundred meters of it. Statistics tell us that forty-five percent of “impulsive conferment of selfless gamekeeper” happens because of our soldier’s undying warrior spirit calling for spiritual dominance over nature. Remember, Recuay are physiologically incapable of fear, do hunt in packs, and the trashed base will be written off of the next battalion positioned there.
Purenados. A spectacular natural phenomenon, which brings many bystanders to witness its exalted beauty. Every young rabbit is taught from the day of their spawning is always taught to find a shelter, hide underneath any object, head in-between your legs, and read mantras. Now when you are a professional, why fix what’s not broken? Just remember that even though gest of private Macuiltochtli did earn her a medal of honor and a complimentary postmortem gift to her squad, roaring, ”Susanoo, witness me, you bi…”, and charging directly into the eye of the storm with only a shovel and a hachimaki is not an optimal, even if entertaining and bold, strategy.
Here stands our commissar, inspiring and tall, as proportioned to the greatest honor that could be entrusted to a rabbit. It’s her eternal duty to seek out potential and therefore inevitable traitors. I know what you might be thinking: “Traitors? Among our ranks?!” I know it sounds crazy, but ever-reaching tendrils, tentacles, claws, and what-have-you of impurity are ever-present, and even someone as courageous and loyal as a Lunarian rabbit may succumb to backstabbing thoughts of self-interest. So always be on the lookout for the deserters, and don’t be alarmed if you notice the commissar’ gun pointing at you—she’s here to neutralize only the wicked, and therefore only the guilty would feel fear in the first place.
Now, we understand that you would never formulate such questionable thoughts, so we’ll think them for you: there’s absolutely no way a commissar’ decision could be unjust, both in spirit and in the tribunal. Don’t fall for the cheap and scandalous propaganda, private,— Reisen Inaba, hero of the Lunarian autocratic democratic federation, couldn’t have possibly been corrupted by the Earthlings foul impurity; she was simply permanently promoted to an infiltration agent, speaking of which…
Here, at the very heart of our enemy, the temerarious agent put themselves to the constant exposure of the impure miasma of the Earth realm, collecting the valuable intel. Earthlings are prone to feats of necrophagy, consuming dead animal and plant matter for what we assume is desperation or some form of perverted ritual, which in and by itself results in constant outbreaks of a malleable disease called “defecation.” Aren’t you feeling lucky that you’re supported by the state-mandated self-made mochi rations? Another despicable act in which our nemesis partakes in acts of debauchery, incest, and arranged marriage. Surely there is no way such acts could exist in the proper society, untainted by brain-mushing kegaro-waves. After years of exposure to such waves, Earthlings mutate into unnatural and quite revolting forms: their bodies bloat, skin gets shriveled, pale, and begins to glister; toes merge into a single digit, while all features on their faces fuse into a single glossy black, unblinking eye. Just like their eternal masters, the malignant yokai, Earthlings then try to send those unwanted mutants to seize our capital, with a one hundred percent failure rate (data sample: one) and an abandoned standard that serves as a reminder to the invaders of the futility of their pursuits. As expected, most of the agents chose to never retire, for they understand the importance of their task, but if they ever wish to relocate themselves back to base, the greeting team of shirauni-prepared purifiers will ensure the safety of their arrival to our welcoming home.
You are entering a new, enthralling part of your life: a part dedicated to a cause, something bigger and greater than the life of a simple rabbit—an entire whole for which our liberally-segregative, democratically-absolutistic society stands.
The greatest, most loyal soldier the moon has produced is the one who fought selflessly against the enemies of the purity, used none of the state-provided ammunition, and came to mochi-making the day before retirement.
You don’t need luck; just serve well.

“No, come back here!”

A cry full of exasperation that followed a hollow wooden crash wasn’t what Wriggle expected when Mystia told her to come to her stand today. Even less expected was a wave of fist-sized arthropods that scurried from underneath the cart. They disappeared in the nearby woods right as the poor night sparrow ran out of the cart's curtains, nearly colliding with Wriggle.

“What’s going on? Were those-”

“The tempura course I promised you, yes!”

Wriggle looked shocked.“You were going to feed me spiders!?”

“Not spiders, these are crabs!” The sparrow sighed in frustration. “And I had such a good deal for them. They told me they would be safe in that bucket! What am I going to…” She stopped ranting, now looking at Wriggle like she just realised something. “Say, you thought they were spiders, right?”

“Well, I guess I did.”

“Can you talk with spiders?”

“A bit, but-”

“Great! With your help getting them back should be easy!”

“Wait a second, Mysty, I could help you look for them, but what after that? They’d just scurry out of the bucket again.”

“You talk them out of that, duh. They should be similar to insects, just like spiders. I even heard some humans call them ‘sea bugs’.”

“And lead fellow… insects to their deaths? Now spider tempura doesn’t sound all that bad.”

“If you can find me some goliath birdeaters, then be my guest. Otherwise, I do want some tempura today, and I’m not giving up until I have some! Be it crab or firefly!” The night sparrow declared, brandishing her painted ‘claws’ in an attempt to look threatening, before jumping into the woods.

Wriggle sighed. There was no talking Mystia out of something she set her mind to. Best she could do was warn the crabs through the insect swarms she could call, then run off in hopes the bird’s memory about it won’t last. Would be less of an issue were she a mayfly.

The fleet of insect scouts returned quickly with a surprising message: all crabs seemed to have vanished. Possibly reassuring if they somehow managed to escape or hide themselves, but they could also have been eaten by local animals or bored youkai. Wriggle knew at least a few of those that liked to chew on random things for fun.

One crab, however, didn’t get the message. It just stood in the open, not even trying to hide itself. Any attempts of communication failed - even if it understood the language of smell markers, it didn’t react much.

Wriggle decided to make sure it got to safety personally, and followed a trail of ants to it’s location. The crab sat on top of a fallen, mossy tree trunk, basking in the sunlight that went through the leaf crowns. It did seem to notice her, and put it’s claws up in defence.

I have to make him understand that he’s still in danger. If smells don’t work, maybe sound could…

“They’re looking for you, run away!” No reaction.

She tried rhythmically clicking with her mandible. Still nothing.

Now irritated, she stomped the ground, hoping that will make it do at least something. The crab shuffled it’s legs, but otherwise no response.

No, I shouldn’t lose my cool. Maybe I should get on it’s level, and move like a crab. It works with bees, after all.

So the firefly squatted slightly, putting her hands in the air above her head, one of them slightly above the other, and snapped her thumbs with her palms rapidly, changing the altitude of her ‘claws’ a few times.

Finally, the crab moved in a way that could be viewed as a response, though if Wriggle didn’t know any better it almost looked like it was imitating her. Then the crab put it’s claws in parallel to each other, suddenly, yet clearly for her attuned eyes, turning them downward, then interlocked the open claws in two different ways, followed by it grabbing one of the claw’s segment, next it put it’s arms appart, so that only the edges of the claws touch, and finally it put one claw in front of the other. That felt too deliberate to be anything other than an attempt at communication, so she must have reached the creature.

Good, good. Now I need to get it out of the danger. But how?

So she tried a few gestures, clasping her hands together in various motions similar to the crab, but it didn’t react any differently, repeating the same nine gestures.

Well, that doesn’t seem like much of a conversation, but maybe I’ve earned it’s trust?

With that, she slowly approached the crustatean and perched her palms in front of it to climb onto, which it did with no reluctance. Wriggle moved the small creature closer to her face, staring deeply into it’s eyes, those black, beady eyes at the end of stalks that protruded from it’s reddish carapace. For a brief moment she felt as if she had the deepest connection with this creature- no, this soul in front of it. She imagined it’s plight, it’s struggle against the world, finding itself in increasingly more perilous situations in the strange microcosm that is Gensokyo, and how it mirrored her own struggles in becoming a youkai.

It is me… It’s literal-

And then the crab pinched her nose.

Her thoughts immediately skittered away from her mind like an uncovered coven of cockroaches.

Wriggle yelped, dropping the mischievous decapod to the ground “Ow! You son of a gnat!” Alas, the crab wasn’t there to hear the insult, having seemingly vanished into thin air. She put her hand over her nose and rubbed softly. Dammit, maybe letting that one get deep-fried wouldn’t be that bad.

She looked around to try and find where that thing went, but it really was like it vanished. The firefly scratched her head, thinking on whether or not to send some more insects to go look for it. Before she could decide, a swarm came to inform her of an unusual crowd in front of Mystia’s stall.

Well, that probably means she won’t care much about the escaped crabs now. They’re all safe anyway - even that one. I should signal Mystia about the clients.

—

‘Unusual’ was sure the right word - it wasn’t often that Mystia served lamprey for Myouren clergy, let alone half a dozen of them.

“There you go!” Mystia said with her usual tip-getting cheer. Maybe if she kept it up during her hunts, she’d be much more successful. “I do hope your chief nun isn’t against some sinfully delicious lamprey!”

“Well, it’s not red meat, so…” One of the nuns replied with a chuckle. Very strangely, she picked the fish with her chopsticks, even though it was skewered.

“Though I hear the discipline in the Temple can get pretty harsh at times.” Wriggle said, pointing at the chopsticks. “They can force even the rowdiest of youkai to eat properly.”

A monk butted in. “Oh, it’s not that bad. Sister Byakuren can be a bit strict, but she’s also quite lenient where it matters. See this?” The monk slightly loosened his robe on his chest, revealing a crimson-red cuirase of armour. “Something from a previous life, you could say. No other temple would allow keepsakes like this!”

Something about this rubbed Wriggle the wrong way. Even she - an insect youkai - didn’t wear any armour so casually.

Another monk sat beside her. “Besides, in Myouren Temple we perform many different practices that a lot of sects, even the most unorthodox Vajrayana ones, would forbid.” He put his hands into a difficult-looking mudra - his thumbs, index fingers and pinkies touched together, while his middle fingers were tightly hugging his opposite ring fingers. It almost looked familiar for some reason. “Then again, I doubt many of us could focus on attaining enlightenment when they could see the depth of your eyes instead…”

Wriggle really wanted to find his comment charming, as she also found something enticing in his eyes. But something imperceptable about it made it oddly irritating, even if she couldn’t put a finger on what.

A sudden cry of pain interrupted the idyllic scene. Everyone turned to see a little blond girl chomping on one of the nun’s hand.

“Rumia!?” Mystia shouted, the confusion on her face giving way to annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you! Stop trying to eat the customers!”

The darkness youkai opened her beartrap of a mouth.“But you said it yourself - we’re having crab today!”

Suddenly, the odd behaviours of the monks made sense. At the same time, whatever seemed strange in the monk in front of her became very clear. One could say, she could feel it in her nose.

Mystia seemed to have the same realisation. “Oh, don’t worry about it.” From under the counter she pulled out a large cleaver. “We sure are, Rumia. We sure are.”

Shinmyomaru Sukuna sat in a little room in a little wing of a little castle. Arms folded, she stared at the little old man who was stood at the front of the throne room.

“Is what you say true?” She demanded sharply.

The shrunken old geezer scratched at his beard. “It’s true. The giants have gotten a little princess of their own. She’s even got purple hair like yours.”

Shinmyomaru jumped to her feet. “This is unacceptable! I must go an defend my honour from this… this… Pretender!”

Her head turned to another man stood in the throne room. In his hands he held a mallet wrapped in cloth.

“Lord Custodian! Lend me the Miracle Mallet so that I may strike this fool down as she so rightly deserves.” She demanded, a hand out for the hammer.

The custodian raised an eyebrow “I cannot let you use the mallet for such a purpose, Lady Sukuna.” He said drily.

With a shake of the head, he walked off, miracle mallet held firmly within his hands. Ignoring Shinmyomaru’s cries for him to come back. Shinmyomaru clenched a fist. She’d show that she wasn’t a child, with or without the Miracle Mallet. They’d see that she truly was the hero the inchlings deserved.

---

Shimmy shimmied across a great bridge. Behind her lay a great rift covered by a pane of glass. A massive eye loomed behind it, a great beast staring at the princess as though she were just a morsel to be gobbled up. But even greater than that monster was Shinmy’s bravery. With a step back and a running leap, she cleared the gap from one bridge to the next, landing with a deft roll. Shimmy smiled to herself. Then she saw how far in the distance the false princess’ grand palace was. A friend had brought her far on dragonfly back. The rest of the journey was up to her.

The sun was beginning to dip low in the sky by the time she reached the foreign castle. With a mighty throw, she launched her spear into a higher ledge and, with the assistance of the string tied through the eye of her spear’s butt, began to climb. Her muscles burned. She would have much rather been in her bed. But it was just a little further to go.

Eventually, she reached the higher ledge, pulling herself over and onto it. The great window was left wide open, letting Shinmy climb in easily. With that, she saw what could only be her. One of the giant folk, though diminutive compared to her peers. She had purple hair, and Shinmy recognised the marks of nobility in her. They were a pale imitation of Shinmyomaru’s own.

The false princess held a lance with a black ichor oozing from it. Her hands flowed freely, marking out symbols with her lance. Shimmy, wanting to get a better view, tried to inch closer. But she instead knocked over the white pillar, the sound of it cluttering to the ground deafening in the silence of the room.

The bigger little princess turned towards her more diminutive counterpart. Her expression turned from neutrality to surprise, and finally curiosity. For a few moments both purple haired girls simply stared at each other.

It was the shorter princess who spoke first.

“Hey, you fa-faker!” She spoke shakily. “I hear you’ve been st-stealing my title!”

The taller princess tilted her head in confusion. “Lady Inchling, I’m not sure quite what you’re referring to.” She said inquisitively.

“You know!” Shinmyomaru accused. “They call you the little princess!” She stated, pointing a finger at her larger counterpart.

The taller princess wore a sour expression at that, running a hand over her face. “Lady Inchling, I’m afraid they only call me that as a form of mockery.”

“Preposterous” Shinmyomaru crossed her arms. “There’s no way that’s a term of mockery. It’s a title you share with me, after all.” She declared.

The taller girl gave her a small grin. “Well, I’m afraid many of us humans are unaware of the Inchlings’ political situation.”

Shinmy took a moment to absorb what the giant was saying. “What?!” The tinier princess shouted. “Unacceptable. We must remedy their ignorance at once. All must know of Shinmyomaru Sukuna”

The bigger princess smiled at that. “Well, it seems you’re in luck. My name is Hieda no Akyuu, and my role is to compile the knowledge of humans, youkai and all other magical beings. I would be more than happy to assist you.” Akyuu said, eyes gleaming.

Shimmy smiled at the girl. Maybe the giant-folk, the humans, just needed to learn of her awesomeness to understand and respect her and her fellow inchlings.

“As for your title…” Shimmy said, prompting Akyuu to hold her hands up.

“Well, Lady Sukuna-”

“Call me Shinmy.” The inchling interrupted

“Shinmy, I’ve got a title of my own. I’m known as the Child of Miare, and one day this little princess title will be behind me. I don’t plan on stealing it from you, so don’t worry.”

Shimmy looked at her new friend, before crossing her arms. “No, you’ll keep it. I won’t let anyone bully you for being small! She declared, waving her arms dramatically. “You and me Akyuu, we’ll be the little princesses, and we’ll show everyone why they should bet on the little guy!” She spoke with conviction and passion. The Inchling turned to make a dramatic exit, only to see that the sun had gone down. Making her way back through the human village alone at night would be a little tough…

Akyuu seemed to notice her plight. “Hey, Shinmy you can stay over here for the night, if you wish.”

The Inchling nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. World Changing Plans will come after a good nights sleep.”

Akyuu huffed. “I shall look forward to that.”

The emergency door closed with an iron clang, putting the sickly yellow lamp to sleep. With a blink, the murky reflection of the cabin disappeared. Outside the window, a night eclipsed by storm clouds was revealed.

The underground Hiroshige’s success had no effect on Nagano's railway traditions, and the sweet, fresh, pollenated air (what many came here for) wafted freely through the empty carriage. Land trains, as tourist brochures proved, are no less comfortable and absolutely safe: along all JR lines there have long been sensors that signal if, say, someone accidentally falls onto the tracks.

I honestly tried to sleep again. Outside, long beams of torches swam around, looking for percieved malfunctions; their light, falling on the red reflectors of the mobile barriers, pierced my eyelids and flashed sharp in my brain. Rain brought with it a terrible migraine.

While I wondered where I should put my hat, the lanterns moved on towards the locomotive: dozens, hundreds of lights were now lined up in perfect constellation lines above the hardwoods of the old Shinshuu. Soon. the last treatment room lights will be extinguished, and the "star"-light will drift into the angular glass monolith of the canteen, where anyone can be served a light midnight snack.

The train has stopped, at a cursory glance, a couple dozen kilometres before the sanatorium platform. A few more minutes for the emergency response team to arrive, to set up the fences.... And then, the upper floors of the medical building disappeared from view. I'm betting it's 21:52 at the latest. If I hurry up and walk, I might even have time to grab something apple-flavoured.

The exit was at some elevation and I, used to getting off at city stations, fell, scraping my knee. Nonsense. Much more disconcerting to me was the lack of people, who were jostling near the wheels just moments before: only empty service vehicles in bright coloured emergency service colours stood with their doors open wide. There was a strong smell of alcohol and burning, although inside the train, probably, as always, it was fragrant with the hypoallergenic mountain freshness of the early rainy season. Another kitschy fake, like the views of Mt. Fuji from inside Hiroshige.

Dust kicked up by a fine drizzle, settling in my nose and on my tongue as I limped along the endless embankment. A couple of times I tried to look into the windows, but only my own face would stare back. The carriage numbers changed from one to another, and when I reached the first, I turned sharply onto a paved road that led into the dark of the maple grove.

22:31, it’s curfew soon - I'd studied their schedule before heading out here. Or, rather, being sent here, “recommended” by a few doctors I knew.

22:45. Soon the foothills would finally fall into a rainy slumber. I walked on, occasionally applying cold and wet sorrel leaves to my head, but the pain only seemed to concentrate in a single point in the middle of my forehead. It had happened regularly in recent months: ever since I'd started thinking more about the Distant Star. I knew the sky perfectly, could predict time with amazing accuracy, but there was a certain variable that kept me on my toes. Knowing it made it impossible to look at atlases: they were all imperfect, as if they were missing a single but crucial detail. One that will turn our view of the world upside down.

I'm afraid I'm late for my last meal, my knee be damned! But I saw something unusual: I nearly passed a crumpled road sign forbidding entry to a narrow path off to the side. The galvanised steel was pierced - no less - by a real blade. It's hard to imagine the raw inhuman power it must have taken the swordsman to concentrate the force of a strike into a single point. Was it a clever art project? People really like to do unusual things in unusual places.

The broken tip of the blade at the back pointed to a passage in the dense shrubbery, as if to argue with the sign. Obviously, it was an invitation to turn off the path, but I only had to look closer into the deep thicket, at what was in there, to I tighten the tie around my neck and push the branches apart with my hands, stepping off the pavement onto a mossy rock.

All the professors I asked knew the Distant Star. They averted their eyes as if in confusion, gave crooked smiles, rolled their eyes, but they knew. It's here, just a few steps away.

The sanatorium dissolved against the mountains, but a lone lantern continued to burn in the shrine. It burned weakly, unseen from afar. Alcohol bottles filled the low offering tables. The air here was just like by the train. Sharp, medical.

Yes, I felt sorry for the little star, its wick barely smouldering. Somewhere around here, I saw some old-fashioned ceramic vials of rapeseed oil. The bamboo stopper did not yield well, the vial was very heavy, and I removed the frame in advance, glancing, time to time, at the fading red dot.... As soon as I heard the sound of pottery breaking, the dying fire was already dancing over the paper, swallowing up the thin wood, crackling. Clenching my burned fingers into a fist, I backed up and stumbled down the steps.

No downpour would stop this fire. The blinding flames, choking-hot, strained my eyes, and massaging my temples made my gaze drift aside. Brighter, brighter, until my peripheral vision disappeared, until my muscles strained to their limit, until my jaws clenched in pain, and then, as if something had burst, it all went away. Even all sound was gone, but I felt so much better. I inhaled deeply, unable to smell the smoke.

For some reason, that road sign came to mind. And how I had forgotten my hat in the carriage. Had I really? The palm I raised to my head rested on something long and sharp, like that sword. But it wasn’t rainwater dripping from it.

I felt thirsty all of a sudden. I sat, hugging my scraped knee and touching what had sprouted from my forehead. The fire was now soothing, and so wonderfully exciting – as if I could control the whole world, all its luminaries – as if I were an engineer from the distant past, launching the first Sputnik and listening to the slow, measured sound.....

... The slow, measured sound. As if the train rattling again, the carriage smelling of artificial pollen. No, I don't think so, I've gone too far already. The rhythm lulls me to sleep, and I can finally slumber now. But I fight it to the end. The sanctuary is burning out, but it doesn’t matter anymore – there are still so many distant, unlit stars. Honestly, I wish I could light a certain special one.

The Hakurei shrine. Yet again.

You saw her, right? Last summer, when we were down by the lake? Just around dawn; pebbly section of the shore; the sky was glowing like a cliff of tourmaline? You were helping me to camouflage the hygrometer? Thank you for that, by the way; it’s still running perfectly; hasn’t been stolen or tampered with; don’t know how you managed it.

Anyhow, she was there. Across the lake. I must have pointed her out to you. Or I must have said something, at least. Or I was in the middle of saying something and then I stopped. I mean, who ever does remember that sort of detail? She had my attention in the sort of way that made me almost incredulous she didn’t have yours as well. That’s how I really remember it.

Well, no, it wasn't ‘at first sight’, if you’re willing to listen for a moment and not tease. It honestly wasn’t like that. I’m not that sort of person; you know full well I’m not. You’ve known me for how many years, and I’m only now bringing up something like this to you? That’s because I really believe, I really believe it’s serious. It’s real, I’m sure of it. But I didn’t know it then, is what I’m trying to say.

No, it was like... it was like looking at a cumulonimbus. Like an isolated cumulonimbus, off in the distance, towering up into the tropopause, where the sky takes on the Prussian dyes of an open sea. Where breathing is as good as drowning. Where turtle-shelled maidens are caught on fairy-tale hooks, and you wouldn’t wonder at seeing the carp itself, dancing triumphant in the Sun; triumphant in its glinting, coral-red brocade. The one that made it all the way.

I didn’t know what to make of it. Isn’t it always the case... Isn’t it always the case, when you find yourself magnetised by someone like that? It’s because you don’t know what to think. You find that the way in which you judge things in your day-to-day life seems suddenly useless and petty, and you can only wonder at what kind of heroic stature you’d yourself have to possess in order to say anything that wasn’t... irrelevant. Less than wrong.

Haven’t you been in awe of someone like that before?

I hadn’t realised we’d speciated to that extent.

Only joking. You’re sceptical, I can see that. I’m sceptical, too; of course I am. I wouldn’t feel this way about someone if I weren’t also sceptical. Haven’t I said it before, that most people exist as object lessons in what not to do? But that’s precisely what I’m talking about. Useless and petty. Only good for saving yourself from pain.

I came back the next morning, but she wasn’t there. That was disappointing, but it gave me the chance to try and see from that end of the shore; try and guess what she’d been looking at.

Well, everything. All of it.

For a while I basically put it out of my mind. Which was easy enough, despite everything I’ve said up until now. I still gave in to the urge to go back and see her, now and then; on mornings or afternoons; weekdays or weekends; and most of the time she’d be there, but... there wasn’t much to really think about, consciously. Often she was sleeping.

But there was one night, about a month and a half later; the last dog days of the season. I was miserable and sticking to myself and I’d tossed and turned so many times that my sheet had undone itself from my mattress, and I found myself just walking out of the house in sheer protest. To whom, I don’t know. And there I went, down the Mountain, in the absolute state that I was, combing my fingers through my matted hair like I was looking to start an argument. Again, with whom I don’t know; I hadn’t spoken more than two words with another soul for maybe a week at that point. Probably the thought of her didn’t even consciously enter my mind until I was solidly on the way there.

When I was about to get close, though, when I saw those black eaves cutting up into the night, who do I spot... Who do I spot but that oarfish, soaring her way back up to High Heaven? With her scarves, those gravity-defying scarves of hers, pulled up tight around her elbows; the ends trailing behind her like the arms of a fleeing squid? And the look on her face—black as the ink on a summons to court?

It was clear to me that she’d been arguing.

I turned back and I remade my bed and I turned my pillow to the other side.

I’d forecasted thunderstorms every night of that week so far, including the one I put in that evening. And all the way home the clouds hung low, low and heavy, like blooms of dark steel being worked over by the gods. Flashes and arcs shaping mirrors for the divine.

I waited for it, but it didn’t come. For the rest of the night, the atmosphere was dry and dead still, shattering every other minute with a boom of vacated air clamouring back into place. It pushed the limits of belief, by all meteorological principles. Perhaps it was even impossible, for as uncouth as the term is in a statistical art.

But as the sky began to lighten and I lay there in my bed, still awake, still listening, it struck me suddenly that the birds hadn’t yet begun to sing.

And I think she noticed it right at the same time because, a minute after that, the rain began to fall.

It was like she’d gotten a hold of herself again.

I went back through my records, over the following months, to review all the anomalies that I’d recorded; and I also began to analyse all the ones I noticed from then on with a different cast of mind. Maybe... Maybe ‘analyse’ is the wrong word? I tried to sympathise. A burst of midday sunshowers—was she excited? Giddy? An autumn squall—could I detect the plaint in her voice?

But it wasn’t only in the anomalies where I could see her, I began to realise over time. It was everything. All of it. This whole time, when I’d been looking at—mackerel clouds, splayed across the sky like the fleecy underbelly of a tiger—the half-revealed circle of a rainbow challenging the Sun—the stairstep ticking of millimetre measures of rain—really, I’d been looking at her. Her moods and whims and ruminations. I’m serious. I’ve been helming this post and cycling the eyes on that statue every day for the twenty years since we put it up, and by now I can read the raw air like a window to tomorrow.

And I could have been content with it, if only the wind and rain were all that I thought I could see.

How do you fall in love with a dragon?