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“Aren’t you a little early?”
Kujou Sara doesn’t turn to look at the inquisitor, instead staring straight ahead. Her eyes are distant, dull, rimmed with dark bags.
“You aren’t due for your visit for a few days yet.”
Sara doesn’t respond, even though she can feel Yae Miko slinking about, sitting on one of the red railings that lines the staircase and walkways of the Grand Narukami Shrine.
The wind is cold, even biting as it brushes Sara’s face, ruffling the black feathers of her drooping wings. She holds one arm close to her chest, bound with a sling.
“You look tired.”
Miko steps forwards, reaching out gently, gingerly, her fingers moving towards a dark mark on Sara’s cheek - a burn, a red mark that drips down her cheek until it disappears in the black neck of her shirt.
“Don’t touch me,” Sara mutters, grabbing Miko’s hand.
Miko pulls back, startled by the display. Sara grips her hand, hard - not affectionate, not gentle, but angry. Her eyes are stormy, and for a moment Miko allows herself to worry about what Sara might do. She pulls her arm back, again, and finally Sara relents.
Petals flutters on the breeze, dropping from the branches of the cherry trees and drifting down, down, little droplets of pink that settle in the pools and ponds of the shrine. The wind picks up, for a moment, cold and harsh, crackling the branches and stirring the water. Sara winces, as the wind presses against her face, traces the angle of her jaw, her hair. The mark on her cheek burns still.
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
Sara still doesn’t look at Yae Miko - she doesn’t lift her gaze from the worn wooden boards of the shrine steps.
“Have you come to pray?”
“I don’t know.”
Yae Miko purses her lips and folds her arms over her chest. She frowns.
“I cannot help you if you don’t speak to me, General.” Her fox-ears flatten against her as another gust of wind cuts through the shrine. It’s a cold, grey day.
No one else is at the shrine - it’s not surprising, given everything that’s been going on. The repeal of the Vision Hunt has left most of Inazuma with little time to spare. How strange, then, that the Raiden Shogun’s beloved general would be here - shirking her duties, perhaps?
For a moment, Miko considers teasing her, but she remembers the feeling of Sara’s harsh grip against her arm. Sara’s dull eyes.
“I would expect the Kujou clan to be busy,” she settles on. “With the repeal of the Vision Hunt, th-”
“You knew.”
Kujou Sara’s eyes are dark, her wings folded back, her whole body hunched over. It’s not anger that creeps into her voice. It’s something else, something more pitiful. The wind is cold, but Yae Miko realizes the slight motion in Sara’s frame isn’t a shiver, but a tremble. Anger, frustration, something else.
Kujou Sara’s good hand curls into a fist at her side.
“I did,” Miko says simply. “Rather, I suspected.” She moves back, giving Sara space, sitting again on the stairway railing. “I have known Ei for too long to sit idly by and watch her name besmirched.”
“Besmirched by the Kujou clan.”
Miko’s mouth twitches.
“I suppose.”
Raindrops begin to trickle from the sky, little pinpricks of wet on the wooden boards, little concentric circles of rippling water in the pond. Another cold breeze, and the Shogun’s general flinches, wincing again.
“Why are you here, Kujou Sara?” Miko sits forwards, her eyes narrowing. “This is a happy ending, is it not? The Vision Hunt has been repealed, the Shogun is back to her old self… But I get the feeling you’re unsatisfied with these results.”
Sara’s fist clenches again.
“Do you mock me, Guuji Yae?”
“Mock you?” Miko frowns. “What makes you think that?” She hops off her railing, her tail swishing back and forth in irritation. “I do not appreciate the shortness of your speech, Kujou Sara-”
“Don’t call me that!” Sara’s fist trembles and her wings flutter, her emotional outburst rippling through her extremities. Her head is bowed low, her eyes unwilling to meet Miko’s. Her wings shudder again, folding back. One of them hangs loose, some of the feathers matted and stained.
Something dawns on Yae Miko.
She gazes at Sara’s pitiful frame, her splinted arm, her burned face, her broken wing. At her waist, where her Vision should be, there are instead the shattered pieces of a crow mask. Her eyes are dark, tired, empty.
“You’re no longer of the Kujou clan, then.”
Sara lashes out again, unable to contain her anger. She slams her fist on the railing, trembling. “I…” She swallows, hard.
“Sara…” Miko’s voice softens and she steps forwards again, reaching her hand out. “I didn’t realize-”
“I let myself be deceived…” Sara murmurs, shame bleeding into the edges of her voice. “I failed...I could not protect the Shogun, I could not see through the deception…” She shakes her head. “What a pitiful general I am, to not recognize my lord’s will being so bent and twisted.”
She sighs and rubs her face with one hand.
“You asked why I came here, Guuji Yae?” Sara leans against the railing heavily, watches raindrops as they drip into the pond. Rain patters against the roof of the shrine, the weather turning. “I have nowhere else to go.”
She bows her head, low, her dark hair covering her face. “Takayuki disowned me.”
“Does he still hold power?” Miko frowns. “I was led to believe your brother was the new clan head.”
“He does…” Sara closes her eyes and breathes, wincing. “Kamaji does not want the clan to lose the trust of the public, or the trust of the Tenryou Commission. They’re reorganizing the clan leadership and disavowing those involved with the Fatui deception.”
“And the Shogun?”
“I could not face her…” Sara bows her head lower, sinking down. Her whole body seems to shrink, her wings pulling closer. She shivers, rain trickling from her hair and down her face. “I failed. I allowed myself to be deceived and I fell in combat in front of the Shogun herself.”
She holds herself tightly.
“Signora would have ended it, had the Shogun not told her to stay her hand. It may be treason, but I wish she had disobeyed.” She trembles again, rain soaking into her clothes, her shirt, her hair, her wings. Rain trickling down, pooling at her feet. Rain tinged pink by a spot of blood forming at her side, bleeding encouraged by the way she clings to herself so tightly.
“I have nothing. I failed the Shogun, I have lost my clan…” She squeezes her eyes shut, and it’s impossible to tell if it truly is rain that tracks down her cheeks.
Yae Miko gently touches her elbow. “Come. Let us get out of the rain.”
-
Yae Miko watches Sara as she sits, dripping and bleeding on the floor of the inner shrine. Miko sets a pot of water to boil for tea and waits.
Sara kneels at the door, unwilling to enter the room itself. She casts a pitiful figure, hunched over and soaked to the bone. Her wings droop behind her, barely moving.
“Sara.”
Sara does not respond. She stares at the tatami flooring.
“You’re bleeding.”
Sara still does not respond. Miko sighs and crosses the room, kneeling to gently touch her visitor. “Take your shoes off. It’s impolite.”
It’s like tending to a child. She does remove her shoes, with grumbling and resignation.
“Come, have some tea.” Miko glances out the window. “Unless you would prefer to sit outside with the other birds.” She pours two hot mugs that steam as she carries them into the main room. “Give me a moment to set up the kotatsu.”
Water drips from the eaves and gusts of wind rattle the window frames. It’s cold outside, but the shrine is warm and dry. And still Sara insists on kneeling, wet and bleeding and pitiful.
“Is this some form of penance?” Miko remarks as she folds her legs and sits on the opposite side of the kotatsu. She sets down a mug of tea for Sara. “I don’t think the Shogun would be mortified if you had some tea.”
Sara moves slowly, reaching out her good hand for the tea before pulling back and resting her hand in her lap. “I don’t deserve this kindness, Guuji.”
“That is not for you to decide,” Miko frowns. “Drink. Unless you would continue to disrespect the head priestess? You keep your shoes on in her home, you get rainwater all over the floor, and now you reject my hospitality?”
Sara bows her head.
“I jest, Sara.” Miko’s voice softens. “Would you prefer food? I have some dango I keep on reserve for Ei’s visits, but I can get more.”
“I… Don’t care for sweets.” Sara shifts, sitting and wrapping her arm around her legs. She curls in tight, her wings wrapping around herself, shivering.
Miko sighs and rubs her temples.
“First things first, then.”
She stands and circles the kotatsu, kneeling at Sara’s side. “You’re wet, you’re filthy, and you smell like a damp dog.” She prods Sara’s wings, provoking a wince and a curl forwards. “Are your wings hurt?”
Sara nods.
“Okay.” Miko nods in return. “Come wash up, and then we can get you bandaged properly.”
She helps Sara to her unsteady feet and leads her out a side door and down a walkway, past rain and wind and the gentle sway of the trees. They walk slowly and Miko realizes that Sara is limping, each step forcing a hissed breath.
“Here,” Miko says softly, one arm gently wrapping around Sara’s side. “Did you travel all the way from Tenshukaku like this?”
“I did.”
“That must have been very painful.” Miko helps her over a step and down the walkway into the next building - the shrine’s bathhouse. “And don’t say it’s what you deserve.”
“Even if it is?”
Miko shakes her head. They close the bathhouse door behind them. It’s a beautiful house, wrapped around a natural hot-spring that gives a view out across Narukami Island. The open back wall lets in cool air and a few droplets of rain, but it’s a small price to pay for the serenity of nature.
“Undress.”
Sara bows her head, a blush creeping into her cheeks.
Miko sighs, unsurprised by Sara’s response. “I’ll help, then.”
Undressing her is a slow and painful process. She’s even worse off than Miko had first assumed - her clothes were dirty and bloodstained even before being soaked through with rain. The only bandages underneath are a hasty patch-job, their asymmetry indicating that Sara had done it herself. Miko helps pull her shirt up and over her wings. More wounds underneath - gashes that seep blood and burns that are still warm to the touch. Under the handmade splint, Sara’s arm is dirty and bloodied.
“You haven’t been taking care of yourself,” Miko remarks idly. Sara is quiet, save for the occasional hiss when Miko’s fingers ghost a wound.
Underneath the gashes and the burns are other wounds, older ones. A lifetime of battles told in pale white lines that decorate Sara’s back, her arms, her legs.
Miko pauses at the pieces of Sara’s crow mask, the fragments loose and chipped, barely held together with cording. “What happened?” she asks, gently pulling the mask from Sara’s hip.
Sara bows her head, silent.
Miko finishes peeling off Sara’s clothes, leaving her bare and shivering on the bathhouse floor.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Miko says, standing up and fetching a bucket and a cloth for scrubbing.
The water in the bucket quickly turns a frothing pink as Miko wrings out the cloth. She wipes Sara’s body down from head to toe, from the smudges of dirt and the dried rain that dusts her face and shoulders to her wounds still seeping blood. The worst is a gash just below her ribcage - a stab wound, it looks like. Spreading out from the wound is an angry red burn.
“Pyro magic,” Miko remarks to herself. “Not a good combination with your own Vision.”
“Not that it matters anymore.”
Miko rests her hands on her hips. “You’re like a child. Did you know that?”
Sara bows her head.
“Come, into the bath with you.”
Yae Miko undresses herself and helps Sara in, slinging one arm under her wings to support her as they unsteadily limp into the bath. The spring is warm and inviting, wonderful on a good day and heavenly on a cool, rainy day like today.
Miko gets the feeling Sara isn’t enjoying it.
“I want you to try to relax,” she says, sitting next to Sara. “You’re wound so tightly that I can see it from here. It’s a wonder your muscles don’t snap from the tension.”
Sara’s wings sink into the water, the feathers matting as they get wet. She dips lower, submerging up to her shoulders in the warm water.
“There we go,” Miko says, tenderly touching Sara’s arm. Without the splint, cleansed of blood and grime, the wound is more obvious - a gash down her arm, a slight angle to where it meets her wrist. Broken, probably.
“You’ll need to get that splinted properly,” Miko continues, gently touching her arm. “If it heals wrong, it might be tough to ever draw a bow again.” She catches herself. “Even if you didn’t want to be a warrior, you’ll want to use that arm.”
She gently laves water over the arm before wiping it with a cloth. Sara winces, hissing slightly.
Sara is quiet for the duration of the bath. She barely talks, barely responds to Yae Miko’s attempts at conversation. She certainly won’t engage with conversation about politics or any of the recent goings-on, and she won’t engage with pleasantries about the weather and how nice the bath feels. She’s like the shogun’s puppet, if it were drained of all power and reason. The form of a being with no substance.
It stings Miko’s heart, pangs of guilt prodding at her stomach when she things about what Sara must be going through. Setting aside the physical wounds, the pain of being disowned by family must be incredibly difficult. On top of learning that everything you had fought for, everything you had dedicated yourself to was a foreign ploy…
Miko cards her fingers through Sara’s hair, combing out the tangles and occasionally laving water up to help her.
She hums softly, gently pulling Sara back, resting her head against the crook of her neck. She strokes Sara’s hair and gently holds her.
-
She helps Sara dry off and dresses her wounds, applying herbal ointments to her burns and gently wrapping her cuts in clean bandages, securing them properly. She fixes a better splint for her arm, and then…
“I must confess, I’m not the most knowledgeable when it comes to caring for tengu wings,” Miko admits, running her fingers over Sara’s still-damp feathers. She pulls some feathers apart, looking at the skin beneath - blood has been oozing from a wound and clumps of down come out in black gobs.
She does the best she can, cleaning and wrapping the wings and trying her best to keep them in a stable position before helping Sara get dressed.
There aren’t many clothes to spare, and what they settle on is from Miko’s personal wardrobe - another set of Shrine Maiden robes, a bit larger in the chest area than Sara is accustomed to. It might not fit well or be her style, but it’s clothing that’s clean and dry and covers the bandages that criss-cross Sara’s body.
Yae Miko leaves Sara to rest in the main room while she prepares a simple dinner of thick noodles in a warm bone-broth. Simple, filling, and something even Sara couldn’t be too picky to eat. She needs something , after all - from their time in the baths, Miko knew she was all skin and bones. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn Sara hasn’t eaten since her run-in with Signora in Tenshukaku.
“Dinner’s ready-” Miko returns to the main room to find Sara asleep on the floor, curled into a tight ball, her wings wrapped around her. She clutches her broken crow mask tightly to her chest.
-
Sara dreams about watching Signora die, watching the power of the Musou no Hitotachi obliterating her body. Sara had still been conscious, then - wracked by pain, unable to move, unable to do anything but see through the murky film of blood that covered her face. She had seen Signora die, seen how poorly she herself fared in the face of the Shogun’s eternity…
She was foolish to even think that she could be the Shogun’s general. She was a pigeon in the gales of the Shogun’s eternal tempest.
She has always been weak. Her mask had been shattered by Signora, her Vision had been taken by her own clan…
She wakes with the taste of blood in her mouth and dried tears on her cheeks.
Yae Miko makes her breakfast, though Sara can only manage a few bites before her roiling stomach rebels against her. Anxiety and despair twist in her gut like knives.
Her thoughts are dominated by her frustration, her anger, her helplessness. Her world was gone - everything she held onto, everything she believed in, everything she fought for. It was all lies, and when it came time for consequences to be faced, she was the first on the chopping block.
She thinks of Signora and wonders if the Shogun’s justice will touch Takayuki.
If it will reach her.
Yae Miko changes her bandages and helps mend her clothes, sewing patches and cuts, washing out the bloodstains from the white fabric of Sara’s uniform. She cooks for her, three meals a day, though Sara can only manage two on a good day and none on a bad day. She spends most of her time resting, sleeping on one of Miko’s futons, semi-catatonic in her grief until Miko drags her out of bed for her daily bath and bandage changing.
After a few days, she’s strong enough to walk on her own without pain sparking up her legs and she spends time wandering the shrine grounds, sitting by the water or walking among the trees. She reads books - Miko seems to have an endless supply of novels from her publishing house, with more arriving weekly. It's easy for Sara to bury herself in fiction, in anything that helps her escape the pain of reality.
Yae Miko spends her time as she always does - attending to the affairs of the shrine, meeting with pilgrims, leading prayers, filling out forms for her publishing house. She always seems busy with something, and it makes Sara feel worse. Yae Miko, always so busy, and Sara, sitting by the pond, watching the koi swimming in circles.
She feels like one of those koi - she can move around her little pond, the summit of the shrine, but she can’t go beyond. Even if she could, what would she do? What would a fish do on Mt. Yougou?
So she circles her pond.
“Your wings are healing nicely,” Yae Miko remarks one morning, while Sara eats breakfast. She kneels behind Sara and gently touches her wings, stroking the feathers. “Can you stretch them out?”
Sara does, and Miko takes the opportunity to stroke her wings, her light fingers ghosting down to the base where the wings meet Sara’s back. She gently combs the feathers.
“Is this alright?”
Sara nods.
Yae Miko hums while she works.
“Guuji Yae.”
“Hm?”
Sara tilts her head down, blushing. “Why…” she mumbles.
“Sorry?” Miko leans forwards. “I can’t hear you.”
“Why… Are you being so kind to me.” Sara blushes, pressing her face into her hands. “I’m a failure. I… I don’t deserve any of this.” She rubs her face, and for a moment Miko is worried she might start crying. “I was led astray, and I… I did so many horrible things… All in the name of the Raiden Shogun.”
She rubs her face and pulls away from Miko’s touch.
“You, who are so close to the Shogun...and now you shelter one of her greatest failures.” She shakes her head and begins to stand. “I thank you for your kindness, Guuji Yae, but I cannot ask any more of you.”
“Sit,” Yae Miko snaps, so sternly that Sara is given pause.
“I...I can’t-”
“I said sit ,” Miko gently pushes Sara back down. “Did you not say that it was my fault, for knowing the truth and not revealing it to you?”
“I…” Sara’s face flushes. “I did.”
“Then we are both at fault, are we not?”
“I killed people, Guuji… I put down the rebels that were fighting for a just cause…”
Miko takes Sara’s hand and holds it to her face. “Ask forgiveness, then.”
“I…”
“Ask forgiveness,” Miko says again, cradling Sara’s hand against her face. “Ask, and I will grant it to you.”
Sara blinks and shakes her head. “No, no, I…”
Miko sighs wearily. “You tengu are far too wrapped up in your own pride.” She releases Sara’s hand. “Do you know the story of Lady Saiguu and the Great Tengu?”
Sara shakes her head, blushing. “No, I… I was raised by humans, so I don’t know much about tengu…”
“Lady Saiguu was the high priestess of the Grand Narukami shrine… She was a kitsune, not unlike myself.” Miko sits back, easing into a natural storytelling position. “She lived here at the shrine, attended by the Great Tengu, the chieftain of the Yougou Tengu.”
Sara stares at the wall behind Yae Miko, not meeting her gaze.
“Lady Saiguu was killed during the Cataclysm five hundred years ago. The Great Tengu, distraught at her failure to protect Lady Saiguu, went into self-imposed exile.”
Sara frowns. “Is that the end of it?” She sighs dejectedly. “I was expecting some lesson to go here.”
“No,” Miko shakes her head. “Only that five hundred years ago, this shrine was headed by a kitsune and a tengu. Their relationship was one shattered by grief, loss, regret, and failure. And now…” She shrugs. “Perhaps this was meant to be. An atonement for you to be here, to stay when your ancestor did not. There is no glory in exile, no victory in isolation. You can stew in your regret, your misery… Or you can stay.”
Sara lifts her head. “Are… Are you offering me a job?”
“I’m offering you a place to belong, tengu Sara.”
Miko reaches into her robes and produces something - Sara’s shattered crow mask, the pieces held together with seams of gold lacquer.
Sara’s eyes widen. “You… You fixed it.”
“I admit I am not entirely familiar with tengu customs, but this mask seems to mean a great deal to you.” She holds the mask out, though Sara seems afraid to take it. “This is to be a new start for you.”
Sara stares at the mask, at the gold holding the fragments together.
“I cannot take this.”
“Really?” Miko grins playfully. “You reject hospitality in the High Priestess’ home a second time?”
She sets the mask down between them. “I fixed this for you because it seemed to be holding you back - you cling so tightly to that which was shattered, and so you lived your regret and your despair. It is true that you cannot undo what has been done, but you can move forwards.”
Sara stares at the crow mask, watching light glint off the gold. Her good hand hovers above it, halfway.
-
Sara dreams of thunderstorms and fire. She wakes with a start, gasping for breath, tears blurring her vision and tracking down her cheeks, spilling to her pillow. She had been holding it in for so long, but now it all comes spilling out, all of the sadness and anger and frustration and despair, everything coming out in gasping sobs. She pulls herself into a tight ball, wrapping her wings close, unable to stop the tears. She can still feel it - the pain of her wounds, the burning Pyro blasts, each blade piercing her skin, pain given for every pain dealt. She thinks about being thrown across the room by Signora’s magic, the way she collided with the wall, her mask shattering into pieces. Laying in a pool of her own blood, helpless. Her father scolding her, yelling at her, punishing her. Her Vision being taken, her name being taken. Everything, taken from her.
She gasps for breath, startled at a gentle touch to her back.
Yae Miko doesn’t say anything as she folds her arms around Sara, pulls her close. Sara leans into the embrace, too tired and too tormented by her own dreams to care. She presses her face to Yae Miko’s neck and tries to stifle her sobbing.
Miko strokes her hair, gently.
Sara lets another sob slip from her lips. She tilts her head up, blinking back tears as she gazes at Yae Miko’s soft, pitying expression.
Miko presses her lips to Sara’s brow.
“Stay with me, little bird,” she murmurs. “You can stay.”