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“oh, goddamn / my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand / taking mine, but it's been promised to another / oh, i can't / stop you putting roots in my dreamland / my house of stone, your ivy grows / and now i'm covered in you”
– ivy, taylor swift
It is not a ceasefire.
There is no such thing as an armistice during a desperate war, Sara thinks. It does not prevent her from accepting the company of an ocean’s heretic; a table laid out and an offer made. Let us not think of our losses now, I only wish for a game.
Sangonomiya Kokomi is, at the heart of the matter, a persuasive negotiator. Kujou Sara is, however, a stubborn opponent. When the board is set and the pieces are put into place— pawn, bishop, rook, lance, knight, silver, gold, king, repeat —she does not believe this to be a social call. Rumors have passed of the dwindling resources within the rebels. Rumors have passed of the dwindling faith soldiers have in Eternity. They both have plenty to lose, and yet a war is still a war.
“Is it true—how you’ve found a benefactor for your army?” Sara hates how she is the first to acquiesce. She is waiting for Sangonomiya to make her call, a lone knight standing near the center of the board. “My soldiers have seen their weapons in action. They’ve seen what the cost is.”
She’s heard the reports made of their recent battles. What once had been absolute victory for the Shogunate falling into bitter stalemates and into, eventually, more tragic losses. An enemy soldier unleashes something beyond their supposed potential, only to wither into an ember of their spark not long after. With the Vision Hunt Decree in effect, it is clear who the gods do not favor.
And yet, they still belong to Inazuma.
A civil war within a nation’s borders can never be so black-and-white.
What Sara fails to understand, however, is how their Divine Priestess— Her Excellency, as she’s heard the rebels claim—can allow such sacrifice to pass.
“We both are aware of what a revolution requires, General.”
The words are venom coming from Sangonomiya’s lips as she moves her piece. Her voice carries the lilt of the ocean’s song. It is just as overwhelming as the tides they summon.
( It does not hide the shred of vulnerability in the Divine Priestess’s gaze. )
“When our archon’s turned against us, and all our gods are dead, how else would we fight this war?” She looks up at her then, azure boring into amber. Sangonomiya Kokomi’s eyes are as deep as the very seas she’s embodied. In their depths, Sara finds herself a touch away from drowning.
( She finds herself wanting to drown. )
“We have to grasp at the power within our disposal, as long as there is an option.” It's said with the simplicity of a spymaster. The ends justify the means, whatever it takes to secure a victory. Where the Raiden Shogun is emotionless resolve in the statue of godhood, Sangonomiya Kokomi is unflinching determination in the pedestal of a divinity. There is something intoxicating about the way her mask falls. "There is nothing more powerful than a loyal soldier, don't you agree?"
Desperation, Kujou Sara can’t help but think, is a color the priestess wears with grace and calculation.
Even when the Divine Priestess looks at her, expecting something she has yet to decipher.
“The Almighty Shogun’s will is for the people—for Inazuma .” She does not remember anymore how many times they’ve done this dance. It’s a push, it’s a pull, and where Sangonomiya provides one response, Sara is prepared to sweep her off her feet, weapons unsheathed. No one surrenders here.
She doesn’t believe either of them know how.
So, effortlessly, Sara continues.
“We’ve all heard stories of nations that fall. It is with her unchanging Eternity that our country is spared for the same fate.” Another piece is placed forward, knight passing over pawn.
Anyone who is told the story knows about a nation stripped from the map, merely dregs of what it had been. A tragedy set five centuries ago, older than any of them now can compare. And if Sangonomiya cannot remind herself of Khaenri’ah’s collapse, then perhaps her god serves as another example.
“Is it truly our country if its people are no longer who they were?” It’s a soft question she poses, the weight of it hanging in the space between them. “Stripped of their ambitions, isolated from the world at large, displaced from home and from family. Is this the Eternity your Almighty Shogun believes in?”
The ire of water is a quiet thing. It’s unbridled rage, hidden beneath the surface, the ripples of a waiting tsunami. Something about the sentiment thrills her—the challenge, the rising response.
Everyone claims that the Divine Priestess of Watatsumi Island is a kind woman, half-celestial herself. This is a side she does not show her comrades: the wrath of a gentle girl, prepared to storm a war.
Human , through and through.
Unrestrained and hers to bear witness. ( Effortlessly, undeniably, who else might have the luxury to see their luminescent leader this way? )
A lance reaches the third row of Kujou Sara's side of the board. Sangonomiya does not hesitate to promote it. She does not hesitate when she speaks again:
“Is this the cost of her protection?”
She cannot answer this question. Sara plays her rook instead.
"Look around, General. The Tatarigami ravages our borders, our waters are poisoned with the Shogun's lightning, Liyue's archon is gone. This is not the time to chase after an Eternity none of us will live to see." There is a silent question provided in the absence of further insult or explanation: How can an immortal decide mortal suffering is the cost of Eternity?
Sara's fists clench from under the table. The same way a heretical priestess can be fashioned divine.
"The Tatarigami belongs to your god, Sangonomiya."
"And his corpse had been made by yours, General."
In the silence, one might hear a pin drop.
Instead, Sara hears the tap of a tile on the board.
Bishop captures knight.
"Your move, General Kujou."
Check.
Sangonomiya Kokomi is a paradoxical woman: a mortal who carries the aura of someone ethereal–traitorous as it is to admit, moreso than her own Shogun. She is human and yet she stands here, leading her people to fight against a woman that had been ( is ) their god. She fights for the hope of Inazuma, and yet she wages war against its ruler. A healer who does not hesitate to command a battlefield.
She is beautiful in the way a dream is beautiful–both unreal and so close to touch.
The longer she is in her sphere, the more Sara wants to admit her respect. After all, is that not how one should treat a worthy adversary?
Silver blocks bishop.
“Is that how your revolution is won, then? When vengeance is repaid, a god’s corpse for a god’s corpse?”
Something about the image of the Almighty Shogun’s blood spilt before her statue, as the worshipper of her murdered god holds the executioner’s decree, sends a shiver down her spine. A biting urge to press her lips against the knuckles of whoever comes out holy, with knees bent as the knight who held the sword. It runs cataclysmically intertwined with other truths: the death of the Shogun, hypothetical evidence of her general’s failure, the disruption of Eternity’s symbol–
“I do not believe in bloody retribution,” Sangonomiya tells her. “We’ve seen too much of it by now.”
It’s then that Sara can’t help but wonder of the distance between them–the years that stretch apart. Sangonomiya is not a child, despite her stature and features. But she is young, no less as young as herself. And yet, here they both stand now.
She silences the thought as quickly as it comes—for that encroaches on territory Kujou Sara knows she cannot return from.
“Did you not say, once, that you were skilled in the art of war?” The woman hums, as if that could silence the rushing of her pulse. Her veins feel more-than alive under the gaze of Sangonomiya, who holds an ocean in her eyes. “I’d assume you believed in it a little more. At least your soldiers do, with how willing they are to damn themselves in your glory.”
For once, there is no response, and Sara wonders if this is where their game reaches its end. But she knows Sangonomiya is not the type who believes in surrender—no matter how nice it might be to see her plea. They are both too stubborn.
It stands to say that losing had never been an option for either of them, because when Sangonomiya speaks again, she smiles like someone who has won the battle. “I’ve read in the books that a soldier in love is the most devastating ally. They’ll do whatever it takes to secure their desire.”
Pawn is promoted to tokin.
She’s certain it’s a pointed blow, but she doesn’t speak of it.
"Humor me, then, General Kujou—how do you love a God?"
The question should be one in which the answer comes in absolute certainty: with all your armor unsheathed, kneeling before their feet, with devotion stained in blood. The promise of an unchanging Eternity, resolute no matter the cost.
For Inazuma, and the Raiden Shogun's will, she would sacrifice all.
And yet, the more she finds herself staring at the Watatsumi Island's Divine Priestess—the more Sara finds it difficult to confess.
But still, Sangonomiya awaits an answer. And still, her loyalty is to the Shogun. Still, her devotion should be—is—unmatched.
How do you love a God?
“You make their cause your own, finding your salvation in their dreams. You tell yourself that it will be worth it—everything you do, how hard you work, and how much you dare—as long as it means—”The fruition of her ambition, crackling lightning in Sara’s veins, even for just the briefest second in an archon’s long life, “—as long as it means you’ve played even the slightest part in their exaltation.”
And yet, here she is, trading games with the enemy as if they were old companions. And yet, she is here, basking in the brilliance that is Sangonomiya Kokomi, daring for a moment to give her the slightest ounce of respect outside a battlefield. What that says about devotion, then, is something Sara attempts to ignore.
She hums and her voice is like a song, and maybe this is what it means—to drift so close to a siren’s symphony.
“And does she know how deep your devotion goes?” Sangonomiya asks so delicately, like an idle curiosity, like Sara would break upon the truth of their reality. But she is not someone to be held like the porcelain of the priestess’s island; Sara knows there is little the Almighty Shogun sees outside her goals. To treat a general like a fragile daydreamer is but a fool’s bargain.
She knows her place, in the end. And if it is not in the Almighty Shogun’s side, then it is paving the path for an Eternity she so desires.
“I’ve read in a book, once, that love should be heard. It is not a dance you take alone, else you forget why you have hands at all. To hold and to want.” The priestess’s head tilts. ”I believe, General Kujou, that you’ve been dancing alone for too long.”
It feels like an insult—one that spurns Sara's heart, when Sangonomiya looks at her with such… pity. There is an apology waiting in her face, and instead she remembers the murmurs of Her Excellency, My Lady—words from a commander’s mouth, a fugitive’s tongue. There are rumors, of course, of the company a rebellion’s leader keeps close. It has not escaped her notice how she speaks of love as if someone who’s found the fairytale.
She tries to ignore the pang of envy at the thought.
Gold captures knight.
Rook takes silver.
“Is there something you’re trying to suggest, Sangonomiya?”
Sara looks up at the girl before her—too ethereal to be considered real, and yet right there. So blindingly, achingly real, with hands that could be touched and a tongue that speaks a challenge. They’ve done this so many times now, Sara cannot remember when these games began.
She shakes her head gently, and in her voice, Sara can hear the hymn of revolution. “Only that perhaps it’s time you give yourself to someone who sees you. I do not wish for us to be enemies, you know.” There’s a pause as another piece moves forward in the board—the game nearing its end. “In another life, I think we could have been great allies.”
Friends, she thinks is the unspoken word.
More than, she imagines, as her eyes take in the Divine Priestess one more time.
The laugh that escapes the general’s lips is bitter when she makes her next move.
“You’ve taken a commander under your wing, and then one of the country’s most wanted fugitives. Am I supposed to be honored you think me worthy to join your cause?”
It is in the silence that Sara thinks she’s found her answer. It comes in but a whisper. Light, like the sea breeze.
“If I didn’t think otherwise, I wouldn’t dare let the enemy linger close enough to change your mind.” In the same way we do now.
There is a tap on the board once again.
Checkmate.
She has lost.
Sara, for once, allows herself to admit this defeat.
And Sangonomiya stands up, taking a ginger bow. A game that’s reached its conclusion, but only in principle and ruling. Sara can only watch, half in-awe, half in-fury, as she says, “Thank you for your time, General.”
Her hand skims through the board one last time, before gloved fingers find Sara’s own. It makes her pause, while the priestess slips her other hand underneath hers. There’s a weight in the touch, and Sara thinks she might burn at the proximity.
In another life, I think we could have been great allies.
And she presses her lips to her own knuckles in a quiet kiss that threatens to take all the sense away from Kujou Sara’s body. It’s brief and it’s fleeting and all too soon, Sangonomiya Kokomi breaks away.
“To winning the war, General.”
It takes but a second before she can remember how to speak—and it’s in an aching response when Sara replies, “To the future of Inazuma, Sangonomiya.”
When the Divine Priestess of Watatsumi leaves, a general finds a pearl left in the palm of her hand.
She pockets it.