Chapter Text
Kaedehara Kazuha —
wandering samurai. prolific poet.
lonely
honorary member of the Crux Fleet. last son of the fallen —
Kaedehara clan.
lonely anemo swordsman hero of Inazuma
Kazuha balled a fist around the parchment. With a flick, he sent the rejected poem into a wastebasket bursting with all the others like it. These weren’t the sorts of poems he wished to put into the world. Confessionalist, self-centered. That wasn’t the person he wanted to be remembered as. Regardless—every now and again—these confessionalist, self-centered laments bullied their way to the front of his mind, obscuring the words he reached for. It was better to get them out than allow them to drown his muse.
He lifted his teacup to his lips and sipped. Cold. But that was okay. The flavor—sharp with citrus, sweet with honey—was still worth appreciating regardless of temperature. He set it back down on the low table. A loud slam from the front of Komore Teahouse rattled the ceramic against the wood.
“The Tenryou Commission has taken Thoma!” Kamisato Ayaka called, her characteristically soft voice shrill with barely restrained anguish and anger.
Before the teacup so much as settled, Kaedehara Kazuha was on his feet.
Ayaka continued, “The Shogun decided he is to be the one-hundredth victim of the Vision Hunt Decree.”
“Decisions aren’t entitled to destinies,” Kazuha said, comforting despite his urgency. “A good friend once said that. Actions shape reality, not thoughts and proclamations.”
And he wasn’t going to stand idle while the Raiden Shogun worked to dispose of another innocent who dared oppose her, plucking their thread from the fabric of her eternity.
Air circled gently around him, gradually building into a whirlwind. Kazuha smiled reassuringly to Ayaka despite the thorns gnarling in his stomach. He shot off before she had the chance to give him the words of comfort she could always be relied on for.
Racing for Tenshukaku, Ayaka’s pensive expression served as a fresh reminder of why he fights. The Vision Hunt Decree was a bleeding wound upon Inazuma. A great shame and an even greater loss. No one won in this war. Not the Shogun and her army, not the Resistance and its warriors, and certainly not Kazuha.
No. He couldn’t think of that—of him—right now.
His thoughts treaded too closely to dangerous waters. Distracting, painful waters. What he needed was to focus. Keep the winds blowing and his feet moving.
Left, right, left, right, Tenshukaku came into view, the Statue of the Omnipresent God stone peering out over a blustering crowd looking down into the courtyard. Fellow Inazumans, here to watch the Raiden Shogun steal another vision. People from outside this land might be tempted to call them cowards. But they didn’t understand. It was easy to dole out judgment from the City of Freedom or the country that rejected their gods.
Inazuma was a twig in the mouth of a wolf, frail and close to snapping.
Sliding to a halt, Kazuha integrated into the crowd, elbows butting into his ribs and shoulders as he wove a path to the front. In the courtyard, Shogunate soldiers bickered with a kneeling Thoma. While Thoma’s back was to the onlookers, the soldiers wore grim expressions—this was an assignment they weren’t glad to carry out. Everyone in Inazuma knew Thoma, Shogunate included. He was their problem-solving, smooth-talking peacemaker. Even those loyal to the Raiden Shogun must’ve wavered upon hearing Thoma was their target.
Kazuha strained to hear the conversation between Thoma and the soldiers.
“I’d…someone should fix…misunderstanding, but… usually my responsibility.”
Laughter punctuated the fragmented dialogue.
Despite the dire circumstances, Thoma was joking. With his captors. It was so absurd even Kazuha almost chuckled. Was that the sort of person Thoma was? The two hadn’t spent much time together, only passing interactions while crossing paths at the teahouse. A “hello” here, a “what do you recommend?” there.
Suddenly, conversation ceased—between Thoma and the soldiers and the crowd amongst themselves. The Raiden Shogun had arrived, her wood sandals clicking with each tyrannical step she took down the steps into the square, her violet eyes blazing with indignation. She wore the same gaze that day, too. The day she took everything from him.
Act, act, act.
The Raiden Shogun raised her hand, purple electricity crackling in her pale palm, and Kazuha unsheathed his sword in tandem. With a burst of lightning, Thoma’s vision wobbled at his hip, then fled from him entirely like a baited fish shooting toward the Shogun’s cold, waiting grip—a pointless journey without an end, because Kaedehara Kazuha was never, ever going to let it happen.
Blade drawn and wind at his heels, Kazuha dashed into the fray. “Not this time!”
In a single cut, he disrupted the Vision and knocked it free from the Shogun’s phantom grasp. The metal ornament clattered to the ground as he landed—Thoma’s flaming red gem gleaming, bright and intact. The Shogun would not claim a one-hundredth vision today. Kazuha’s heart thump-thump-thumped with adrenaline as he crouched to claim the Vision, his crimson glare trained intensely on the Shogun.
“Not this time”—he repeated—"and never again.”