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Ei’s hair is as silky as it always has been. As the years had gone by, decades turning into centuries turning into millenia, much has changed in Teyvat, but Ei’s hair is the same.
That is some comfort, Miko thinks. Her Shogun, the pursuer of eternity, has achieved this, at least.
Ei shifts her head in Miko’s lap to face the TV. Miko had turned on some teledrama, some nonsense to fill the silence.
She remembers how the two of them had used to talk. They had discussions, fights, debates, arguments, day after day. Miko had ultimately supported the Shogun in all things, but behind doors she had been a harsh critic.
These days, Ei is far more quiet, and far less rigid in her principles. The puppet had been able to continue her duties for some time, but it had never been the same. And then the puppet, too, had fallen silent, its functions slowing after such a long time with no maintenance. Today it is only a vessel for Ei’s consciousness, and even Miko doesn’t know how long that will last.
“Miko,” Ei says, frowning at the TV. “That… Is that…”
Miko glances up. It’s an ad for some sort of historical drama featuring the youkai, the primary character being a kitsune.
Left to her own devices, Miko would ordinarily be quite interested in how these screenwriters choose to adapt her story. But she is with Ei, and she is needed here.
“That is a kitsune,” Miko explains.
Ei’s eyebrows furrow in thought. “I… I know a kitsune.”
“You do,” Miko gently prompts. She hopes Ei will come to the conclusion on her own.
“I do…” Ei falls silent, lost in her thoughts. She is clearly struggling, and trying to hide it.
Miko knows her too well.
She launches into a story. Even after all this time, her memory is just as perfect as it once was, and she recalls every event exactly. She talks about a kitsune who had become a shrine maiden and then the lover of the Raiden Shogun.
“I was the Raiden Shogun,” Ei says at the end.
“Yes, you were.”
There is a beat of silence. Miko’s heart pangs with worry. It’s getting worse. “You are the kitsune in your story?” Ei asks, eventually.
Miko smiles, even as her heart is breaking. “Yes.”
Ei reaches up a hand to cup Miko’s cheek. “I apologize. I… had forgotten.”
Miko runs a hand through Ei’s hair. “I know, my beloved.”
Ei has not completely forgotten her past. A memory will strike her, often out of nowhere. Miko stays glued to her side, helping her piece together the gaps.
Ei is in the kitchen when it happens this time. She usually avoids the place. Even after all this time, she has never been able to successfully pick up cooking. Even though Miko is the only person left to aid her, she doesn’t mind it at all. Ei has been searching the cabinets for a midday snack when she finds the wine.
Miko keeps a small collection. On the days where Ei is more lucid, she enjoys a glass or two. The memories come more smoothly then. Miko is careful to keep a watch on how much Ei drinks.
The bottle Ei has found is osmanthus. Miko had purchased it as somewhat of a joke. Ei stares at it as if it holds the secrets to the universe.
“This was his favorite,” she says.
Miko comes up behind her and wraps her arms around her waist. “His?” she prompts.
Ei hums. “Morax. He… he was… he was a friend?”
Miko isn’t sure if friend is quite the word she’s looking for, but it’s something.
Ei frowns down at the bottle. “What happened?” she asks.
Miko doesn’t want to say it. She doesn’t want to make it real. What happened to him is what is happening here, and she wants to hold on to her Shogun as long as she can.
But she has to answer. “He’s gone now,” she says, and gently guides Ei into a kiss. As much as any memories resurfacing is a glimpse of hope, she wants Ei to focus on the here and now, or everything will get so much worse.
Even so, after her attempt at a distraction, Ei still wants to know about her friend. Because she cannot deny her Shogun anything, Miko tells the story.
Having a perfect memory has always toed the line between a blessing and a curse. Miko remembers everything, down to the last minute detail. She remembers each frustrated noise as a plan of hers takes effect, she remembers each brush of skin against her fur, she remembers each gasp Ei makes as she brings her to release. She also remembers each frightened look as Ei finds herself unable to recall something, each haunted look on Ei’s features as she realizes someone she has known since the beginning of time no longer walks the earth.
Miko and Ei are the only two left from the old age of gods and monsters. The archons are no more, visions are a distant fairy tale.
And Ei is fading before her eyes.
Miko often finds Ei frozen in place, movement paused as her mind frantically searches for memories that are no longer there. Miko takes her gently in her arms and talks, filling the silence with her stories.
In her bouts of lucidity, Miko tries to show Ei what the world has become. Inazuma is thriving, as it always has. Advancements in technology have come so much farther than either of them could have imagined. Miko sees the wonder and awe in Ei’s face as they ride a train for the first time, watching the massive buildings and endless skyline that makes up the modern Inazuma City.
Miko is glad Ei had learned that change is inevitable and that she should embrace it. Despite all she’s lost, Ei still feels pride in her people and their achievements, even if she can no longer lead them.
Miko takes Ei’s hand and guides her to the viewing platform of the sky tower in the center of the city, where long ago the halls of Tenshukaku used to stand. She watches Ei’s expression as she stares out upon the city she used to rule, high above it as she used to stand.
Something catches Ei’s attention and she makes her way to the window to get a closer look. In between the hustle and bustle of the city, on a hill that used to be a mighty mountain, is a small park, preserved to this day, and in the center, a tree.
The sacred sakura had also endured, and even the modern people, who had relegated the power of the gods to their myths and stories, understand its importance enough to preserve it.
Ei puts a hand to the glass, fogging it with her breath.
“Makoto,” she breathes.
Miko’s eyes widen and she steps closer, prepared to aid Ei through whatever memory has resurfaced.
“That was my sister,” Ei says, turning to Miko with grief in her eyes, long past but just as poignant. “She - I used to have a twin and now -”
Miko has a perfect memory. In no time in the millenia she had known the Shogun had Ei ever cried in front of her.
Miko had not been there for Ei when her sister had died all those years ago in the cataclysm. Now, she can be here by her side when she remembers.
Ei buries herself into Miko’s chest, her shoulders shaking, and her sobs so, so quiet. Miko tightens her hold. She does not know how long the two of them stand there, Miko gently rubbing circles in Ei’s back.
Eventually, Ei pulls away. She wipes away any lingering tears and regains her composure. She takes the lead as they leave the tower. Miko can only follow, worried.
Ei does not bring her sister up again. Miko cannot tell if she’s forgotten again, or if she is processing her grief.
She hates how she cannot tell what Ei knows or doesn’t know, these days.
Miko has a perfect memory, and Ei once had the same, but now she is succumbing to the very fate that she had once fought so hard to avoid.
And Miko will stay by her side until the very end, ready and willing to fill in any gaps in memory that she can.