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“A crow’s wings have shorter primary feathers than that of a raven, though it’s easy to confuse the two.”
“And flying?”
Ei sat, back straight and legs folded in her usual manner, eyes wide and bright as she scanned the expanse of Sara’s back. Her wings spread wide, trembling slightly where she knelt, turned away from Ei.
“Tengu follow a similar pattern of flight to that of the common crow, continuous flapping of the top and bottom wings, but the ability to manipulate air allows for ease of travel.” Sara spoke firm and concise to the maple wood floor, rigid in her delivery as if reporting back from a mission.
She had, in fact, climbed the stairs to Ei’s overlooking balcony meaning to debrief after a successful threat neutralization, but she had seemed far from interested in the topic. When she stepped forward, hand to her chin and brow raised, Sara had to call upon every ounce of self control to remain affixed to the spot.
A question on Ei’s lips, a peculiar one—may I have a look at your wings, Sara—had Sara teetering back with a silent curse. Her geta nearly carved fine grooves into the unmarked floor, untouched for centuries now and scuffed in an instant by her clumsy faltering.
She had pressed on through the stuttering of her acquiesce, kneeling when Ei made to sit by the railing and materialized her wings with a quick raise of her arm. For hours now it seemed Ei studied her silently, shattering the quiet every so often with question after question.
Sara had no idea what she was still doing here, impeding on the other woman’s sacred time, but she seemed to offer her attention willingly… eagerly .
“How often do you fly?” Gasping quietly out of rumination, Sara sat up straighter with the next question. No one had ever asked her something of this nature, and she had spent years unlearning the urge to leap from great heights; her inability to coast down gently sure to warrant unfavorable results.
“I don’t—I haven’t flown since I was a fledgling…” Ei hummed when Sara trailed off, encouraging her to finish the thought. “I was found by the Kujou not long after a steep fall, and my lower right wing fractured under my body weight.”
She left details of the events preceding the deadly fall under lock and key, unsure of how much Ei already knew. To reminisce on such matters had never been pleasurable in the past at any rate, and Sara waited with bated breath in the quiet before the woman behind her spoke again.
“And it hurts when you try to fly?” Sara twitched with the urge to look over her shoulder; Ei sounded scared of all things, and it puzzled her to no end.
“I’m simply just unable to. As humans don’t know the first thing about wing care, they healed incorrectly.” She couldn’t stop the resentment from bleeding into her voice. “I was chased from my home and Takayuki made sure that I could never leave.”
Sara muttered the last part to her hands, hoping Ei hadn’t heard but the shift of limbs and, though it was slight, the faintest darkening of the sky meant she hadn’t been so stealthy.
“What did he—” Before half her question could float up between them, Ei laid a hand over the raised portion of Sara’s wing. Where the hollow bones had broken cleanly and fused at an awkward angle, Ei pressed her fingers and ran them through the downy feathers once. Only once.
The softest of touches, the only touch to her wings in over a decade, and Sara was pitching forward with a strangled gasp; high with fear and excitement all at once. Her hands hit the floor with an echoing slap, and then there was silence.
She blushed furiously when she stood, turning sharply to face Ei, too stunned to speak. The other woman now knelt at her feet, eyes wide and hand hovering in the space Sara once took up. It felt strange to be the one standing before the other, and Sara backed away with an awkward clearing of her throat.
“My apologies, Your Excellency.” She brought her wings down swiftly, shame tightening its bloody coil around her throat. “There is much I must see to.”
And with that, Sara left, remaining composed until she reached the next level down. She gripped the wall and pressed a hand to her mouth before an unseemly whimper could escape.
No one had ever touched her so delicately; Takayuki’s disciplinary slashes paled in comparison. All her years of devotion, mounting to ignominious desire—so suppressed she could hardly breathe at night—came to a head in the briefest of moments.
The phantom touch was so gripping and real that she turned to make sure Ei hadn’t followed close behind. Sara stood taller when she found no one there, embarrassed, anxious ever still to return to her room in the compound, suddenly exhausted.
She walked with pointed casualness down each slope and step of Tenshukaku with practiced ease. It wouldn’t do a general of her stature any good to be found like this, and so Sara pressed onward gracefully.
Ei watched on from her spot above the people, hand lingering in the air even as her general fazed out of view.
—
Position, draw, breathe, hold and release, again.
Sara had woken with the sun, dreams leaving her restless and sweat-slick, antsy to get her hands on her bow. On her way out the door, she paused by the training equipment, eyes affixed on the sword she had neglected to make much use of since the culmination of the war.
She hooked it to her hip like she did each and every day, leaving before she could second guess herself. It would be ten months since her last clash with resistance soldiers the following week, ten months since she last brandished a blade with intent to kill, and something still slithered within her each time she gripped its hilt.
A sunny day much like the one that graced her now—distant clouds heavy and gray with foreboding, painted the beach on which metal clashed and blood-splattered a pale golden. Sara had stood there, sword at the ready, stance low as she opposed a man twice her size.
He was large, domineering, but he was soft. Sara knew he would be felled easily by the way his eyes glistened, fearful. She lunged for his right, swooping to his left when he followed on the offensive. Too easy, it had been all too easy to slice through his resistance branded uniform, carving into his flesh with a sickening squelch.
The blood had oozed before it sprayed, a clean cut to the femoral artery and he was falling. The man crumpled with a wail, knees hitting the sand so hard his teeth clacked, and his agony pierced her. The subconscious retaliation knocking into her with equal force.
Fine grains of sand, saturated red with his essence, pooling at her own feet as she watched him grapple. He was dying, but not fast enough. The soldier looked to her with pleading eyes—kill me, they said—and Sara complied. She had nudged him with her foot until he fell back in the sand with a noiseless gasp, knelt over his quivering abdomen, and buried her weapon to the hilt with a firm downward strike.
He arched beneath her, blood sputtering past his purpled lips—in mere seconds the man gurgled what sounded like wretched gratitude, and he was gone.
Sara stayed above him, breathing ragged, eyes clenched tight until his body relaxed, and she knew he was at peace. No one would know about the tears she shed for a man with no name.
Position, draw, breathe, hold and release, again.
Sara only killed when absolutely necessary, and always with her bow unless it had been knocked from her hands. That day, not so long ago, the war had reached its climax, and she had felt with certainty that they would gain the upper hand. She was emboldened by perceived purpose, and she grew impatient with the assumed obstacle the man presented, so she disposed of him.
Glory for her Shogun—something she still believed and held dear, but now it took on a new light.
Sara had broken her own rule on senseless killing, and it was painfully blatant that he had died for nothing. She remembered once more why the bow was her weapon of choice; it was selfish but ending one’s life with an arrow felt far more impersonal and detached, the blood never stained quite so deep.
Position, draw, breathe, hold and release, again.
She lowered her bow after the third set of arrows fired, carefully slackening the string before propping the weapon up against the nearby otogi tree. In the shade Sara sat, legs folded and drinking greedily from the waterskin she always packed. An errant drop of water spilled past her lips, trickling down to the hinge of her jaw before she swiped a hand across her face.
For the last several months she trained until her back ached, sitting beneath the old otogi tree with one hand on her sword’s hilt. Eyes closed, she prayed silently for the man’s scattered soul—a rustle of grass to her left, and Sara was up in an instant, prepared to explain the lax position she had just been in.
“Sara?”
It was Ei, sure on her feet and vibrant… Sara flushed at the mere sound of her name on the other woman’s lips. She had been avoiding any sort of close contact with her since their last encounter. Since Sara’s shameful blunder. But Ei had a way of seeking her out despite her best attempts.
Sara reached for her bow, the instinct to look busy and not preoccupied gripping her for one fearful moment, but then Ei rounded the tree trunk and smiled.
The bow fell from her grip immediately.
“You’ve been training since sunrise.” It was phrased more like a statement than a question. “Why don’t you take a break for a bit.”
From behind her back, Ei drew forth a folded tatami mat and wrapped parcel. Sara stared at her outstretched hands; brow furrowed in confusion when the other woman stepped closer with that same soft smile of hers.
“A break?”
“Yes, I thought we could eat together today.” Ei set the mat down, gracefully settling with her legs tucked beneath her and undid the bindings that held back their lunch. Their lunch… Ei pulled out two identical sets of chopsticks and offered one to Sara as if they did this sort of thing every day.
“You want to eat… with me?” The smile from before fell slightly, as if Ei was just now considering that Sara might not want to join her in kind. Sara stepped forward, slight and tentative, feeling that somehow, she had made a grave mistake.
To see that smile again was imperative .
“Of course, I’d love it if you joined me.” She brightened slightly when Sara finally sank down, growing serious with an added thought, “Don’t worry, I didn’t make the food.”
“Your food isn’t—”
“Sara.” Ei shook the proffered chopsticks with a knowing look on her face. “It’s ok.”
Sara huffed a laugh and uncovered the food, mouth watering at the rich scent that wafted forth. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was, stomach growling with longing at the freshly made bao buns she now stared down at—they had traveled by boat to Liyue harbor the previous month, dining with the tianquan herself, sorting out new trade agreements over hearty helpings of the region’s finest. The bao buns must have been heaven-sent, captivating Sara so completely that she nearly missed half the discussion.
Ei must have remembered, the thought was strange, but the notion warmed her impossibly so. She dug in quickly, picking up the entire bun and sinking her teeth into the sticky dough without a moment’s hesitation. Sara closed her eyes with a hum—the boar meat was savory, expertly seasoned, balanced by notes of ginger and garlic, swathed in the rice wine the tianquan’s pirate friend had hand-delivered not too long ago.
“It’s good I take it?” Sara looked up, cheeks puffed out mid-chew, and blushed furiously at the amused look on Ei’s face. She swallowed quickly and clutched at her chopsticks.
“Yes, this is lovely, thank you.” Under the pressing lilac stare Sara squirmed, shifting on her knees restless and stiff. “You remembered.”
Ei cocked her head as if it should have been obvious.
“Of course, you were so enamored,” then quietly, “I was almost jealous.”
Before Sara could question the statement, Ei leaned forward and snatched up a bun of her own. Sara’s eyes widened in surprise as she watched Ei grasp the food with a bare hand, biting into the dough careless of the contents that spilled to the mat below. Sara had never seen her act so recklessly—it was such a little thing, eating with abandon, but up until a few months ago she was certain that the Raiden Shogun didn’t even need to eat.
But she did, and apparently, she loved to do so with company. Sara’s company.
“You always bring your sword to early morning training, but you never wield it.” Sara watched, mouth agape as Ei licked leftover grease from her fingers, entranced for a moment too long before her admission registered.
She had been watching her train, and by the way she spoke it seemed she had done so quite often. How often, Sara didn’t know, and she reeled at the thought of having not noticed such enigmatic eyes on her this whole time.
Sara swallowed dryly, pushing the food around in front of her while she recollected her buzzing thoughts.
“I bring it in hopes of raising it once more, but I have yet to do so.” Sara was tense; this was a subject she widely avoided with the other woman, but the urge to divulge was strong in her presence. There was momentary silence, birdsong of the waning morning filling in the gaps around them, and Ei sat up straighter.
“When you first graced the foot of my throne you held tightly the hilt of your old wooden sword. You were confident in your movements, sure on your feet.” Sara’s heart fluttered for the briefest second when Ei paused. “What changed?”
“The war has been hard on all of us, Your Excellency.” Ei’s mouth twitched at the title but remained silent. “I can no longer slash at the air without seeing the bloodied faces of many.”
She had never told anyone this, never told anyone about the dreams that carried over into morning and filled the empty halls of her living quarters with haunting echoes of the past. She feared each day that war would once again sink its rapacious claws into the heart of Inazuma—still scarred pink and healing.
“The end of a war welcomes the dawn of another,” Ei whispered, so quiet that Sara had to lean forward to hear it. “You suffer greatly from the actions you were forced to take at the will of another, this is something I can understand.”
There was deepening sadness and shame that shadowed her face, so uncharacteristic of her godlike features that it had Sara nearly careening backwards in shock—she shoved another bun in her mouth to keep any rising thoughts at bay while Ei surfaced out of her trance.
“Stand up.”
Sara choked, searching fruitlessly for her water before complying without a hint of reticence. They stood opposite each other on the mat when Ei’s eyes glowed with divinity, left hand rising palm up while her right hand accepted the blade that emerged electrified and glowing from her chest.
The first time she had seen the Raiden Shogun draw the Musou Isshin, she had been no older than fourteen. Fresh-faced and still growing into the lanky limbs adolescence had granted her—Sara carried out her first mission for her Archon, brought a man to his knees all on her own and watched on as the might of electro-embodied delivered one fatal slash. She had been young, but old enough to know not to preen so obviously when the glorious woman turned and granted her a new lacquered tengu mask.
For your strength and determination, my tengu warrior, she had said, and Sara was certain she had begun to fall then. All those years ago.
Now, Sara stared into the eyes across from her with the same adoration as before, ears popping with the static as the blade was pulled free. The air grew warm, currents of electro fracturing the atmosphere around them sharply, quickly before the world was aglow as usual. Sara stood at attention awaiting orders from the god before her, unsure of where to look when the Raiden Shogun smiled.
Such a strange sight on such a placid face—Ei still swam at the surface, the littered remnants of her gentleness clear as day. The eyes of a god stared unto her, recognition flashing with each zap and pulse of the irises… she was waiting for something.
She laughed when Sara cocked her head in confusion, faint over the rustle of leaves, and turned her weapon so that its blade rested in her palm. Sara stepped back, affronted by the offering, but the Raiden Shogun followed forward with persistence.
“Take my blade.”
“Your Excellency, I couldn’t—”
“As your Archon I command you to take my blade.” The line of Sara’s shoulders went rigid at her tone, and the Raiden Shogun stepped back immediately, voice soft when next she spoke. “You need a new perspective, and I would like to give it to you, if you’ll allow it.”
Hesitation gripped her, but Sara could not deny her intrigue, and so she wrapped shaking fingers around the offered weapon’s handle.
Silence, a fizzle of energy deep in her chest. The feeling she had moments before summoning lightning at the behest of her Shogun grew tenfold when she grasped the Musou Isshin. Sara gasped at how light it was, how alive it felt.
There was a thrum of energy at her fingertips, as though she now held carefully the other woman’s heart. Ei’s consciousness flowed through the cool steel; this was maybe the closest they had ever been, and Sara shivered at the thought. This was the power of her essence, and she had handed it over to Sara with utmost confidence. Sara’s stomach swooped when the Raiden Shogun stepped closer, adjusting her grip to keep her hands busy.
“Alright, what now?”
“Now, I will brandish your sword, and you will oppose me.” She was toe to toe with Sara now, eye level with Sara’s lips when she tapped at the pommel jutting from her hip.
“My sword?”
“Of course.”
“But it’s… dirtied.” Sara was growing hot under such unwavering attention, though it was not undesired. Not in the slightest.
The Raiden Shogun did something strange with her face then—Sara scrambled to rationalize the very clear smirk on her face—before wrenching the blade free. With a muted shing and sputtered gasp, their duel had begun.
The blade pulsed in her hands as if to say forward, together, and Sara nodded and stepped back, sinking low on the defensive before looking up.
The Raiden Shogun stood several feet away now, twirling Sara’s sword as if it had always belonged in her mighty grip. She was beautiful where she paced, nonchalant and confident, the golden light of day illuminating her calculating gaze. Sara was breathless as she watched, distracted enough to lose her footing when the shorter woman lunged forward—she stumbled back, saved from an anticlimactic fall in the dirt by her sharp tengu reflexes.
The edge of her red geta dug into the soft ground, one leg bent and bracing behind her. She hadn’t realized that she had brought the blade up, but it stood tall, on guard to shield against the slash to her face. The Raiden Shogun had advanced suddenly, as if floating atop the grass, striking hard. She was not holding back, and that simple fact had Sara nearly shaking.
“Good, again.”
Sara pushed forward against the opposing weapon with a grunt, gaining the upper hand for just a moment. It was just enough for Sara to slide her right hand up and flush with the grip, left hand down towards the bottom. Up for control, down for power—Takayuki’s words from a decade ago rang in her ears with unnerving clarity.
She swung down towards the Raiden Shogun’s left flank when the woman fell for her feint, gritting her teeth at the inevitable counter that came with inhuman speed. How was she supposed to overpower a being of immeasurable strength?
“Clever, keep going.” Sara flushed at the praise and took a few steps back, considering her next move.
The Raiden Shogun fought with Ei’s technique—languid movements and jarring precision, rarely moving more than necessary and striking when least expected. Sara’s sword looked dull and out of place against her blinding brilliance, bronzed by the blood of many, shine withered away by battle after tiresome battle.
Sara jumped over the Raiden Shogun’s next low swing—her signature move dodged just barely—and she brought the Musou Isshin down with the opening it provided. The woman below her rolled out of range, kneeling a few feet away with that same unreadable face.
She raised Sara’s sword and pointed its sharpened tip in her direction.
“Come now—I know you can hit harder.”
Sunlight glinted off the metal and Sara’s eye twitched. She hated that sword; she despised the man who gave it to her, and she wanted it out of Her Excellency’s hands.
The blade Sara held grew hot, near to blistering her palms in such little time. It pushed her forward with urgency, and she rid herself of her previous rigidity, zeroing in on the accursed sword.
One sideways slash, and they were dancing. Flurries of movement to the tempo of imaginary music, a bolero accompanied by clashing iron. They knew each other well, almost perfectly matched, and yet something new sparked within Sara that day, below the old otogi tree; she felt it in her chest, squeezing its way up her throat until it sat heavy on her tongue and sharp in her eyes.
A cry—more like a bellow of anguish—flew from Sara’s lips, and the Raiden Shogun teetered, unbalanced. In a split second, Sara knocked the sword from her hands, maintaining momentum until she crashed into her. They toppled together, landing in the grass with a thud, the Musou Isshin impaled in the dirt beside the Raiden Shogun’s head.
It wasn’t until the grip still in her grasp burned once again, that Sara realized she was crying.
Tears splattered heavily against the other woman's face below, rolling down her cheeks and past her hairline as she stared up at her general, unblinking, watching as Sara’s shoulders began to shake. A hand, surprisingly warm given its mechanical movement, pressed firmly into her lower back as the Raiden Shogun sat up.
Sara remained in her lap, whimpering rather pitifully, unaware of anything but the sword that lay discarded beneath the otogi tree. A lone leaf, powder blue, floated down in the gentle breeze that now swept through. Down, down, down, until it kissed mid fuller.
Right where her weapon met resistance when the man croaked his final breath—truly poetic for such a violent end.
“A new perspective, my general,” the Raiden Shogun said, and Sara broke completely.
Each heave that wracked her body burned in the most relieving of ways. To grieve openly was a gift; Ei may have pushed her, known exactly what she needed, frighteningly so, but Sara had granted herself this kindness.
They stayed sitting together as they were until her sobs turned to sniffles and she leaned back to wipe at her face. With the new sort of clarity that settled upon her shoulders, it became glaringly obvious how close they were, and Sara gasped as she attempted to back away. Her scrambling was stopped by the hand still at her back.
“Your Excellency I’m terribly sorry I—”
“Don’t go.” The sword adjacent glowed as if in agreement. “Grab my blade.”
Sara compiled after hastily wiping at her face, burning with the touch that seemed to sear right through her training clothes. She pulled the Musou Isshin from its resting spot and frowned at its sullied appearance, using the edge of her sleeve to dust it off.
“If I can just grab my choji oil I should have this cleaned up soon…” A hand to her frantically scrubbing wrist had her trailing off.
“I’ve had far worse stain my blade.”
“Of course, but—”
“Put it back.” The words were low and smooth. Sara blinked hard and jolted in place as if she had been slapped.
“Pardon me?” The Raiden Shogun raised her left hand once more; the air grew heavy and the wind stopped, her right hand gripping Sara’s own as she guided the blade to her chest.
It slid home with a resounding crack, and Sara shuddered.
Two seconds, then three and Ei peered back at her. Her hand remained wrapped around Sara’s wrist, pressing trembling fingers more firmly into the swell of her chest. There was that same thrumming energy that lay within the Musou Isshin, this was Ei in her entirety… and it was too much.
Sara had already divulged too much, she had taken and used up what the other woman offered, and now it felt as though she were overstepping. Sara pulled her hand away, though not unkindly, and rose to her feet. The perspiration drying on her skin left her chilled, even under the unrelenting rays of the sun.
She thought about reaching for Ei then, helping her up just to feel the slide of their palms aligning, but she backed up instead. Sara bowed low in respect, slicking her hair back when she straightened, refusing to acknowledge the eyes that followed the flex of her biceps.
“You must be quite busy the rest of today, Your Excellency.” She was shy now, blinking away the remnants of her tears. “I will leave you to it.”
Ei remained, just like she had the day on her balcony, watching as Sara bent down and picked up her sword with care. It was the strangest thing—the blade of such an insignificant weapon burned with the same potential that lay beneath Ei’s chest.
She walked away quickly, Ei’s following call lost on the breeze.
—
It had been three weeks since she left Tenshukaku and ventured west to aid resistance soldiers.
As per their deal, Shogunate soldiers marched alongside Sangonomiya and her men, weapons shined and sharpened for impending confrontation. Fatui skirmishers had been held at bay for the moment, and it was instead the rising number of rogue Ronin that had been giving most of Watatsumi trouble.
It seemed as if they were called upon by an unknown source, festering with the black ooze of corruption and raging with katanas drawn. Two weeks of routing the enemy, and still they came—enraged and unrelenting. By the start of the third week, Sara strode into Kokomi’s grand office, nodding distractedly to the guard outside the double doors and fidgeting with the pendant around her neck.
The Magatama hung light and comforting, glinting a dazzling gold in the sunlight that filtered through Kokomi’s overlooking windows. It hadn’t left Sara’s person since the day Ei gifted it to her—the eve of her departure under the canopy of yumemiru petals.
Sara had climbed up the steep Tenshukaku steps to report to Her Excellency before she ventured beyond Narukami island, only to be turned away by a palace guard. She wishes to speak with you on the western veranda he had said, face straight and composed even as Sara visibly balked.
Anticipation fluttered its dainty wings each step she descended, their sparring session from the week prior having born within her the burning pang of longing. Past the bathhouse and to the left she walked, stopping short when she found the other woman. Ei’s back rose and fell evenly, her current state of meditation deep enough to mimic sleep.
She painted a beautiful picture: framed by the purple and orange hues of the sunset, the ocean a deep alluring blue, breathtaking, but not so much as she. Ei was the focal point of this piece, hair aglow and flowing in the gentlest of breezes. The ribbons that hung from curved branches fluttered faintly, just enough to be heard over the crash of waves below.
Sara felt as if the wind had been knocked clean out of her lungs, dizzy on her feet, mouth agape and ears buzzing. This had to be something straight from her dreams, but she knew it to be real when Ei called out for her, and she took the first daring step forward. Light, so as not to rattle this tranquility.
“You were standing there for quite some time.” Sara sank to her knees a few feet away, noting the freshly brewed tea that sat on the low table. Ei sat on a singular, rounded cushion, eyes opening slowly to look out across the expansive scenery.
Sara looked down at the fine grain of the table when she spoke. “My apologies, Your Excellency. I did not wish to disturb you.”
“Ei.” The uttered word settled so softly that Sara had to strain just to hear it.
“Pardon?”
“Call me Ei, I would like to hear you say my name.”
Sara sat at attention now, swallowing past the dryness in her throat.
“Ei.” The name tumbled from her lips, scratched and wobbly. Ei turned to her then, eyes wide and shimmering, chest expanding sharply—could it be that the first time Sara saw her Archon nearly cry, was also the first time she said her name? It seemed strange, but she was coming to expect such capriciousness from the other woman; she was silently amazed to find that leaning into it no longer sparked fear.
“Ei.” She had broken down in the woman’s arms not long ago, yearned every day to return to them, and smiled in turn when Ei brightened across from her. “It’s lovely out here.”
“You leave tomorrow.” The change in topic was abrupt, pointed, but Sara paid it no mind.
“Yes.”
“You will be away for a while,” she said wistfully, though the thrill in her eyes remained as she reached for the teapot. “I wish to spend the evening with you, if that is alright.”
“Of course.” Their hands brushed when Ei passed her a steaming, porcelain cup, but Sara didn’t shy away this time. Their prolonged closeness seemed to enliven the other woman all the more. “I was told you wished to speak with me?”
Ei hummed and took a delicate sip, then placed her cup down to fold her fingers together. She turned to look out at the ocean once more, deep in thought.
Sara wondered absently just how deep her thoughts truly went, if she could truly visualize them in her plane of Euthymia. What did she look like in Ei’s inner world? Sara ached to ask the question.
“I would like to give you something.” Unmoving and reverent her gaze, Ei turned again and reached behind her neck. Sara now noticed the pendant she wore—shaped like a talon, it was gold and glossy, beautiful—gaping openly when the other woman dangled it before her.
“This once belonged to a dear friend, one as fastidious and sharp as you.” She nodded her head and motioned for Sara to turn around, rising on her knees to wrap the jewelry around Sara’s own neck. “I would very much like to entrust it to you.”
The gold rested against Sara’s breastbone, and she gasped with the feel of it. It was still warm from where it had pressed against Ei’s chest, and the woman behind her was so close that each puff of her breath crackled along Sara’s skin like residual sparks of electro. The warmth of it hit the uppermost ridges of her spine, dispersing down her back, her very bones suffusing with thunder’s might.
“You are one the bravest people I’ve ever known—take with you my valor, and think of me kindly.” Sara nearly jumped when Ei fell forward, forehead flush with the back of her head, firm hand still pressed to the Magatama. “Do come home, Sara.”
Think of me, come home, come home… echoed words lapping at the shore of her heart.
“—Kujou?”
Sara snapped to attention, back in the present where she sat before Kokomi’s desk. The smaller woman perched on the decorated edge, fingers curled around the age worn pages of her favored book on strategy. There was the strangest quirk of her brow, and Sara shifted in her seat, dropping the hand still at her neck, curling her trembling fingers into fists.
“My apologies, what was it we were discussing?”
“You’re distracted today.” A smirk tugged at her lips. “You have been for a while.”
Sara wasn’t too keen on being picked apart by such an insatiable woman. She was much like a dog with a bone, unyielding, and her attention to detail was as impressive as it was alarming. Kokomi’s eyes lit up and she hopped down from the desk, reaching for the pendent before Sara could dodge her.
“Have you been hiding this under your shirt the whole time?” Sara began to sweat, wishing for them to return to their earlier parse of logistics.
“Yes. It is…” She wasn’t sure how to continue. “Special.”
“I bet it is, I’ve read about these, you know? Allusive Magatamas, granted to the God of Thunder’s close few.” Kokomi leaned back against the desk again, regarding Sara fully. “You must be very special to carry such a gift.”
It could have been a trick of the light, but Sara swore she saw Kokomi’s gaze darken. There were still hints of lingering mistrust in her pastel eyes, enough to make Sara squirm uneasily, and she quickly tucked the jewelry away.
“Her Excellency was very generous—”
“You do know what it means, don’t you?”
“I understand to a degree that—”
“Not even the Narukami Shrine’s own Guuji Yae wears a Magatama of that color.”
It was clear that Sara wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise, and so she huffed, waiting for Kokomi to carry out her never ending barrage of judgement.
“Oh, I see.” She tapped at the point of her chin. “She’s courting you.”
Sara twitched hard enough for the legs of her chair to squeak. The other woman hid a giggle behind her gloved fingers, and it took everything within for Sara not to scowl.
“With all due respect, Sangonomiya, I find that highly preposterous.”
Kokomi rounded the desk to sit properly in her chair, though her laughter remained, light and grating.
“It’s amusing really.” She spread out the map before her and tapped at it with an inked quill. “You don’t even know that she’s in love with you.”
Time stood still for a moment after Kokomi spoke. The wall clock ticked, and the birds outside chirped, wholly undisturbed by her mounting duress.
Love—what was this grandiose thing the other woman declared with such ease?
Surely, Sara knew what it meant… to be in love. She had overheard conversations on the matter when her men were meant to be training, had parsed it in weathered prose, had whiled away her sleepless nights in the glaring absence of it. But love was not made for someone like Kujou Sara.
For nearly a decade and a half she had been plunging, falling so fast that it often brought tears to her eyes. She’d had them clenched tightly shut for fear of the darkness that abounded, her monstrous past slow to fade. She’d waited hopelessly for the harsh reality of solid ground to rear its ugly head, shattering her broken wing in its entirety—and Sara was beyond incensed that Kokomi had been the one to force her eyes open.
So nonchalant and teasing were her words, and in an instant, they had completely uprooted the foundation of Sara’s world. Oblivious no more.
Soft and patient love was, a gentle touch that held a thousand meanings; Sara had already landed, long ago, and Ei had waded through the flood of her insecurities to meet her at every single turn. Sara let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, hand pressed snuggly over Ei’s gifted pendant.
A strong and righteous heartbeat kicked back at the flat of her palm. Think of me, come home… And it was then that their distance felt beyond cavernous.
“Our night scouts have discovered what we believe is the cause of this disturbance,” Kokomi carried on, as if the previous conversation had never happened. “A contaminated ley line seems to have them pouring in by the dozen. If we head out now, we can have this resolved by nightfall.”
A fine proposition indeed. Sara looked out the window and squinted—past the watery haze of Watatsumi’s horizon she could just barely see the effulgent glow of Mt. Yougou. The leaves were beginning to change, and she wondered if Ei noticed it too. Think of me, come home… Sara smiled and stood, gripping the pommel of the sword she now wore proudly.
“Let’s get moving, then. It’s fine weather for a showdown.”
Think of me, come home.
Sara would do just that.
—
For all the pomp of the previous day’s yearning, Sara walked up the cobbled streets of Inazuma city rather casually.
She and her men had docked in Ritou less than two hours ago, but Sara chose to take the scenic route back to the compound. Citizens milled about; the ambiance of late morning a balm for her frayed nerves, and Sara stopped to wave at a group of children that stood by the base of the square’s center most tree, luring a local cat down with the promise of fresh fowl and water.
It wasn't as if fear gripped her now; she simply desired to remain in this feeling a bit longer. The feeling of discovery and affections blossoming anew, greater, more vibrant than ever before. The sky seemed brighter, the birds chirped softer, and the aroma of the food district encircled her with its heavenly haze.
Sara stopped by Tomoki’s stall, the excitable man growing ecstatic at her request of dango milk. She purchased two, struggling to hand him the mora as he protested vehemently—Madam Kujou I insist, it’s on the house —winning him over with a placating next time.
Onward she trekked, slowing by the front of one of her favorite noodle shops. The room above the dining area was lit, alive with the warmth of domesticity.
Sara watched as a mother bounced a baby on her hip, blowing the hair out of her eyes while she expertly swirled the bubbling mixture atop the stove. Another woman, tall and handsome, strode through the kitchen while a young boy toddled after. She bowed her head to press a kiss to the other woman’s cheek, reaching over to rid her of the squirming baby with a laugh, hearty and true.
There was the softness of love in that moment, palpable even as they strayed rather far. Sara clutched the bundled treats to her chest and picked up her pace; her tengu agility allowed her to dodge an errant person or two, focus mired to the way her golden Magatama burned where it rested.
It was a wonder how she ended up outside of Ei’s chamber doors as quickly as she did, her little teleportation trick hopefully having gone unnoticed by the few guards littered about. She knocked sharply, decisively, before reality evermore slammed into her, and she stumbled with the impact.
What was she planning to say? How could she possibly convey the majesty of her revelation? Sara looked around for a panicked moment, as if the answers lay engraved in the palace walls, but Ei made it easy for her.
The moment the door cracked open Ei was on her, head tucked below her chin and arms snaking tightly around her waist. The dango milk slipped from Sara’s fingers, hitting the wooden floor with a muted clack, graciously not shattering when she wrapped her arms around Ei’s shoulders without a second thought.
“You’re back.” The statement was casual, but her vice-like grip did something to Sara’s stuttering heart. “And you brought snacks.”
“Yes I… I did.” Oh, she was nervous, but it felt good to look into those all-powerful eyes and see the plainness of longing reflected back. Yes, it was very clear now.
“Let us not put your gifts to waste then.” She drew back suddenly, ducking low to grab the fallen bottles. Ei looked up through her long lashes at Sara’s burgeoning flush, reaching a hand out for assistance—she certainly didn’t need it, but Sara helped her up all the same, gasping when the woman yanked her forward towards the bay window at the far end of the room.
They sat beside each other on the cushioned ledge, Sara fidgeting with her pendant so as not to grasp for Ei again when she excitedly tore the bottle cap away. The hour was golden and warm light filtered through the window at a sharp angle, slanting across Ei’s face and lighting it an astonishing glow.
“You still wear it.” Sparking eyes followed the movement of Sara’s fingers on the Magatama, even with her focus elsewhere Ei still brought the liquid confection to her nose and inhaled. She smiled near childlike at Sara over the lip of the bottle, and she was helpless to fight a responding one of her own.
“Of course, it means a great deal…”
Sara trailed off, watching with ardent focus as Ei’s pale throat bobbed when she finally dove in. She took a hearty pull and hummed in appreciation, truly content. Sara twitched as she watched the other woman’s nose scrunch; utterly adorable. When Ei pulled the bottle away, stray drops of milk remained on her upper lip.
For the first time in Sara’s life, she craved something sweet.
When next Ei turned to her, the corners of her mouth upturned and the beginnings of a question on her lips, Sara reached forward. She kissed her without the need for words, with the same openness Ei had given numerous times over, fingers curling into the front of her kimono at the biting vestige of cream and sugar.
A sharp, puckering taste; her favorite in an instant.
Sara hadn’t noticed the way long fingers wove into her hair until they tugged, pulling her flush against Ei’s front with a muffled grunt. Over and over the pass of her tongue, the nip of her teeth, and Sara was lost in it all.
The rapid cadence of her heart made the room spin and she pulled back, panting onto Ei’s lips as she centered. Their foreheads stayed pressed together, and Sara slumped forward as her limbs grew heavy with each fleeting second.
Ei spoke, just loud enough to be heard over the thunderous pulse in Sara’s ears. “I have waited… I have wanted for so long to be like this with you.”
Their lips brushed with each muttered declaration.
“Me too, me too.” Sara didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know how else to convey her desires, except through touch.
Ei had been exceptionally expressive and forward with her actions, and Sara felt like a fool for not reciprocating sooner—she hadn’t been ready then, but she was now.
She reached a deft hand up and pulled her tengu mask away, placing it beside the unfinished dango milk and pressing forward again.
She recaptured Ei’s lips with a sigh, the winds of belonging filling her lungs each new time they separated.
—
“I wish for you to tell me the story of your home.”
They sat by the window, Sara’s back to the glass, Ei pressed snugly against her front, illuminated dust particles floating like sun motes around them. Kissing Ei was a wonder, but holding her close this way—fearless and tight—was far more unfettering an experience.
An earlier knock at Ei’s chamber doors had separated them sharply. Ei had pushed Sara back with a light chuckle, a low I’ll be right back, darling oozing like honey from her lips. She’d spoken with the delivering servant composedly, hair noticeably rumpled where it had taken the brunt of their tussle.
Sara sat up, wrapping shaking arms around her knees, smiling into the fold of her elbow despite herself.
When Ei had returned, fresh sheets deposited carelessly on the bed, she picked up the astray tengu mask and placed it with delicate care around Sara’s head. She’d gestured for her to lean back, and settled quickly between her legs, wiggling for a moment to get comfortable. Sara had gaped in bewilderment then, and she did as much now—Ei’s probing question ever lashing tenuous flames at the seat of her heart.
“My home?”
“Yes.” Ei reached back to cup Sara’s right cheek, tilting her head to kiss her words into the opposite one. “Paint me the story of your youth.”
The sharpness of morning mountain air, the afternoons spent gliding from branch to branch, the young wild fox she once befriended… this was a tale known by few, and bared to none.
Sara ached to breathe life into the memories, and so she hooked her chin over Ei’s shoulder, ran her weapon-worn fingers down unmarred skin until their fingers interwove, and began.
“Before I knew my name, I knew Inazuma… I was born with its vitality in my palms—"
Until their breathing coalesced, Sara gave her past a face; it looked an awful lot like the little tengu who couldn’t reach overhanging fruit until the fresh age of eleven, who didn’t stop growing until she reached her twenties and had the whole of her nation’s army at her beck and call.
The little fledgling who couldn’t fly looked down upon where Ei and Sara had fallen asleep intertwined, smiling before she bent her knees, and soared.