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After a year of being locked away from the rest of Teyvat, the pressure of Inazuma’s stunted growth is all but ready to burst. When the Shogun’s announcement is hung, the ink on the bulletin is still wet enough to smear beneath the excited fingertips of the citizen who snatches it up.
The photograph of her triumphant cheer is called Woman Celebrating the Sakoku Decree Repeal, and within the week, it has become far more than just a frozen moment in time. It is a symbol of the rebellion’s success, freedom for Inazuma, and the power of change.
Within a month, Inazuma is overflowing with once-stifled creativity: art, music, poetry, and fresh ideas that flood the Publishing House queues. From Miko’s point of view, this is proof of a burgeoning market in Inazuma for all that is new—and equally, an opportunity to capitalise on it. She wastes no time, placing bulletins of her own and planting the seeds of a marketing campaign under the guise of a photography contest.
Announcing the Yae Publishing House’s Revolutionary New Project!
Miko reaches out to Ganyu, who chases down another source on Miko’s behalf, and due in part to the increasing tensions between the northern Fontaine-Snezhnaya border and in part to Ganyu’s negotiative brilliance, they successfully import a modest quantity of the latest Kamera technology overseas.
The premise is simple enough: Inazuma is on the brink of innovation, and Miko is going to create a two-part pictorial history compendium to document exactly this. One book will be released with content gathered from the Inazuma of today, with another planned for the future. Her marketing is similarly uncomplicated and all the more effective for it. People are inherently interested in new technology, and after so long without any, the citizens of Inazuma flock to the Publishing House from little more than a sly tagline and a rumour or two. It hasn’t even been a week since she conceived of the idea.
Their registration rosters quickly overflow, but Miko prepared for such an outcome. She splits the contestants into groups who will participate over two days to both allow maximum participation and simplify the judging process. The only difficulty she foresees is if multiple individuals from the first group do not return their loaned Kameras.
“Lady Guuji?” Aratani interrupts Miko’s musing. “I have an idea for the Compendium. Do you own anything we could include from the more distant past?” Aratani’s eyes shine with passion as she plants a fist in the palm of her hand. “If we could go back hundreds of years, the changes we could showcase would be even more beautiful!”
Miko contemplates the records she has kept, and more importantly, what she may be willing to share from them. “It’s true I do have a collection from over the years, though I cannot say the quality is much to speak of in comparison to the new technology at our fingertips.” She shrugs. “If I find any pictures that have survived to a satisfactory degree, I will bring them for inclusion in the manuscript.”
Murata pops her head up over the stack of Kameras atop the counter. “If you have any landscapes, we could seek out those locations and take direct comparison shots, too!”
“Mm, well considered. I’ll return in the morning with my findings.” Miko hides the pleased quirk of her lips at the continued evidence that her theory was correct—her staff have never been so enthusiastic about a project before. It’s inevitable. Sales will be record-breaking.
❀
She finds the old book in a dusty back corner of her shelves, half-hidden not from neglect, but self-preservation. Miko has never understood the fondness Ei has for lingering by the edges of what has already come to pass. It has been at least 300 years since she last peered at the images between these pages, and a feeling somewhat like trepidation rises with her pulse at the prospect of breaking this streak. After all, the Kamera does not apply the same filter to memories than the mind does.
Miko lets the book fall open where it wishes, and finds herself looking at her own, younger face. The photograph is a candid: slightly out-of-focus, with a centred, wide view of her smile. She isn’t covering her mouth yet, which means it predates the habit—which also means she couldn’t have had more than three or four tails when this was taken.
The picture is framed with dark trees and deep teal grass, and even if this location’s landscape had changed beyond all recognition since then, Miko would still know Chinju Forest from the blue glow of those distinct, fluorescent night flowers. Given the palette of the scenery, this was taken at a late hour during the first weeks of autumn when the forest’s foliage and flowers have not yet begun to accept their fate. This young Miko, accordingly, is wrapped in a once-familiar purple shawl. Below the image, her suspicions are confirmed by a notation. This was 482 years ago, the very year the Publishing House released its first collection, and likely was taken during their celebratory tour.
Miko rejects the image of the person she used to be, so easily—and naïvely—smiling for the Kamera. With a sigh, she turns the page, and a photo slips free from between its pages, landing face-down on the floor. She retrieves it to find—
Her own tiny form, with only a single tail. And though the hands cradling her are as familiar as the face nuzzling into her fur, the smile upon those lips is one Miko can barely bring forth from her memory. In those days—when she was a handful of a kit both in size and countenance—her greatest considerations were only how and from whom she could earn another slice of fried tofu.
Miko sets this one back in place delicately, acutely aware of how easily-torn such old photos can be, and starts from the beginning this time. She turns the page. Again. And again. She passes the early years, the brief time Makoto still drew breath and the even briefer time afterwards when Ei had not yet shut herself away in the Plane of Euthymia. She does not linger on the photo of her reading with full concentration, though she still immediately recognises the cover of The Fox in the Dandelion Sea. Sprinkled throughout the years of her life, Miko finds the frozen smiles of long-gone friends, half-forgotten celebrations, and occasionally something that could be a good fit for the book.
By the time Miko turns the last page, she has amassed a respectable collection piled by her right hip. She gathers them and stands, and it isn’t until she realises the stars are high above that the passage of time catches up to her. Even then, it takes the entire walk back to the Publishing House to feel like she has entirely returned to the present. For the long-lived, lingering memories can be a dangerously sweet temptation, and this is why she doesn’t allow them any power over her.
Just this once, she thinks it was worth it; she found quite a few scandalous pictures that ought to make for entertaining additions to the Compendium.
❀
The first round of the contest is a whirlwind of activity that concludes with undeniable success. Miko initially anticipated at least one person would be tardy with their Kamera return deadline but did not account for the vocal enthusiasm of her only oni participant. When Itto began bellowing that he definitely got the winning pic, man, only a scarce few minutes before the deadline, everyone began to line up like magic.
She will have to keep him in mind for her next event. Perhaps he could be useful as a bouncer, or a newsboy. Better yet, if General Gorou maintains his abject fear of Miko herself, perhaps Itto could be a replacement mascot.
Temporarily banishing the mental image of a gown as red as his horns, Miko takes a final glance over the stash of Kameras, now loaded with new rolls of film. The second round should prove even more interesting due to the first acting as further marketing. Those who were not swayed by the promise of exclusive technology will now have heard all about the experience of the event. It is likely many will join simply so they don’t feel left out.
While her editors are registering the next batch of participants, Miko takes a few minutes to continue reviewing portfolios. The Publishing House is seeking to hire a retinue of artists to add illustrations to more light novels in future. The A Legend of Sword event was a perfect trial of the format, and while she may rarely have the pleasure of working with one as talented as Calx, there are a great many, cheaper, untapped artists local to Inazuma.
“Lady Guuji?”
Miko looks up from an applicant she is in the process of rejecting to face Hiratsuka. “Yes?”
“It’s— um. We have—” Hiratsuka sighs and flicks her hair over one shoulder. “The Shogun is here.”
“...Of course she is.” Miko should have anticipated as much; this event lacks any precedent in Inazuma and would not have been previously defined as under the purview of the Tri-Commission or the Grand Narukami Shrine. Therefore: outside the rules.
Miko has no difficulty finding her in the crowd. “Fancy seeing you here.”
The Shogun inclines her head, offering a small smile. “I heard about the contest and had to see it for myself.”
Miko cuts off her own reply with a sharp exhale. The realisation sets in quickly. “...Ei?” Not the puppet, then.
Ei continues, gaze lingering on the stack of Kameras behind Miko’s back. “I found myself wondering why a Publishing House would bother with an activity that could better be described as cultural.”
“And therefore fall under the Yashiro Commission?” Miko laughs; it comes out in one fast sound. This is not the first time it has been startlingly apparent that the heart of what she does is lost on Ei, nor is this the first time they’ve had nearly this exact conversation. “The entire concept of a Publishing House is one that expresses a region’s culture.”
As if she wasn’t listening at all, Ei murmurs aloud. “Makoto would be glad to see her efforts come to this. Inazuma… embracing its future.”
Considering Makoto had nothing to do with Miko’s hard work, Miko decides this conversation is best ended early.
“Sadly, this event required pre-registration, so if you have seen your fill, I will need to return to my work.”
“Ah, Lady Guuji?” Onodera shyly leans between them with a Kamera in-hand. “Shoji already informed me that he won’t be able to participate, so we have an extra…”
Miko sighs and waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, very well. If Ei has enough time on her hands to come investigate, she might as well participate. Onodera, please complete her registration.” She turns to Ei. “Do try to be mindful of the Kamera—it is somewhat more complex than the technology of 500 years ago.”
There’s no way someone as uncreative, unimaginative, and unobservant as Ei could possibly take a competition-worthy photograph—Miko cannot wait to personally see the disaster she is sure to hand in. “Oh, and don’t worry, we’re very careful about anonymous rankings. Your role won’t skew our judges. Only the quality of your work will.”
Ignoring Ei and the people in line who have watched their interaction with wide eyes and hushed whispers, Miko pointedly returns to her stack of portfolios. She continues where she left off as if nothing ever happened. Without missing a single beat. Without letting Ei make her miss a single beat.
❀
The Inazuma of Ei’s memory is barely congruent with the Inazuma she now wanders.
To walk through Narukami Island was to experience such an immediacy of change that her head still spins with it. The shops and their bright displays, the modern food vendors that have evolved so much they now experiment freely, and even the language and slang sound so very new.
It’s daunting in a way Ei finds exciting, to be faced with so many options. She starts her day of exploring with something new-but-familiar, Tomoki’s Dango Milk, and when the satisfying, dense sweetness lingers on her tongue and fills her belly, she faces her first challenge: where should she use the Kamera?
The first time Ei left the Plane of Euthymia after so many years saturated in Makoto’s memory, it was with the Traveller acting as her guide. The second and third, it was with a firm goal and the knowledge of how to accomplish it. Now, with time to experience simply being in the world, Ei stands in the middle of the street, closes her eyes, and relearns how it feels to exist.
Wind stirs the fine hairs at the back of her neck, beneath her braid. The sun’s touch warms her scalp and shoulders. Her shoes leave divots in the tops of her feet—not painfully, but with a distinct sensation. It has been so very long since she wore a body and had time to listen to it.
The person who registered Ei’s entry for the contest explained the rules clearly. She has only the single roll of film within the Kamera to capture the concept of change in Inazuma. She will then choose three photographs to be processed and judged against the entries of all other competitors.
Makoto, naturally, comes to mind. Her twin’s view of eternity is a fresh lesson, and like new skin, Ei’s understanding of it is both fragile and still growing. If Ei had not learned that one can hold eternity as a definition that encompasses the natural, sustainable growth of life, perhaps she would have photographed Seirei. That island’s destruction will always be a bookmark in her memories, representing the most literal definition of change. But now, Ei would rather dedicate her entry to a change within Inazuma that fills her with the same feeling that she feels now, standing in Narukami Island. Hope, rather than resignation.
When she opens her eyes, there is a crowd watching her. She nods at them, then journeys west without a specific location in mind. Along the way, she finds herself silently repeating her vow to never again attempt to stifle Inazuma with false eternity. And somehow, after all these years of trying to do exactly that, it feels as if Ei is finally following in her twin’s footsteps.
❀
Ei uses up all her daylight without taking a single photo. Outside the Plane of Euthymia, the passage of time is much faster, and she has not yet adjusted to the pace of regular Inazuman life. The sun sets as she wanders along the shoreline, and with her gaze high on the beauty of the orange and pink sky above, Ei does not see the shell until she steps on it.
The sound is startling against the surrounding calm, but when Ei looks down, it is not the fragments of exoskeleton that catch her eye.
The water is full of stars. She inhales sharply from behind her hand, marvelling at the sight before her. At first, she thinks the water itself is glowing, infused with some power or energy that has grown in her absence—some leftovers of the ancient fluorescent creatures that fled to poison the Dark Sea, perhaps. But as the waves gently lick at the dampened sand around her feet, Ei realises that the “stars” are not a reflection of the sky above, nor a fragment of the past.
They are part of the water itself. This, finally, is the change she has been looking for: beautiful, organic, and untouched by any of the Heavenly Principles.
It takes three photographs before Ei realises she can look through the Kamera. The fourth and fifth shots have an odd blur in the corner that she belatedly realises is the side of her thumb. Six through ten she takes directly facing the water, and on the eleventh she learns that if she’s very careful, she can keep the horizon line level.
When Ei stops to review her stack, she realises that all her photographs are almost exactly the same, but with varying degrees of quality. She considers varying her approach and angles her head to the side as she takes her twelfth shot. It isn’t a very satisfying result. Next, she crouches and decides she enjoys the way the glowing tide washes up towards the Kamera. If she could, she would put the device right into the sea and take photo after photo of the sparkling glow against the dark, but she doesn’t think the mechanism would escape without damage.
Ei considers her goal of capturing the way it felt to exist surrounded by Narukami Island’s vibrant centre and frowns at the images she has taken thus far. None of them come close, and she has limited film with which to correct this.
Perhaps, if she were to inhabit this area more deliberately, she would find a spark of inspiration. She tries to close her eyes and focus, but she’s too aware of how uncomfortable her sandals have become. They feel tighter than earlier in the day, and unpleasantly damp. Such materials were not chosen to endure this amount of sand and seawater.
She steps out of them and immediately relaxes. Ei smiles softly and dips her head as she murmurs aloud. “Makoto, I really am out of practice with having a body. I forgot how fussy they tend to be.”
This time, with her eyes closed, the shore changes; the rolling sound of the waves is calming, soothing. In her hand, the Kamera is a pleasant weight not dissimilar to her sword. The breeze, carried over the sea, kisses her cheeks with a salty, fresh scent. There is a peace here unlike any she could have dreamed.
Ei realises she is smiling when she opens her eyes to see a muddled, watery mirror of her happiness. It is not a lack of the deliberate that spurs her to take a photo of that very sight, but an appreciation for the fleeting nature of a moment. Barely a second after the Kamera flashes, the moon passes behind a cloud and Ei’s reflection is gone.
She carefully slides that photo in with the rest and takes advantage of the temporarily moonless sky to use the rest of her film, capturing the glow, the beach, and the calming isolation. As she places the final photographs in her bag, she wonders about the alternate universe where she might have meditated in a place like this instead of the Plane of Euthymia. What insights might she have gleaned? What definition of eternity might she have woven? What a different person would she be, if she spent 500 years surrounded by the beautiful, sparkling sea?
Ei spends the return journey choosing which of her photos she will enter into Miko’s contest. There will be time enough later to explore Inazuma and mull over what she will do to make up for the years she could not see the truth in eternity. For now, she has a deadline to keep.
❀
The event grounds are bustling with people when Ei returns. Crowds stand in front of the registration tables and surrounding food stalls whose cooking leaves the air fragrant. Though she cannot say she is hungry, Ei finds herself extremely aware that she only drank Dango Milk before she left.
Perhaps she can try a new, experimental dish. It seems appropriate for a day dedicated to the appreciation of change. Ei considers the possibilities as she approaches Miko.
Miko peers up at her from above a stack of folders. “Yes?”
Ei is proud of the photographs she selected. She has done well despite the many years it has been since she last touched technology. What regular citizen of Inazuma would have an Archon’s eye for the impressive? She holds them out, anticipating Miko’s reaction.
Instead, Miko doesn’t even look at them. “The line is over there,” she drawls, jabbing a painted thumb to her left. “Go wait like everyone else, and one of my editors will take your Kamera and entries. And don’t cut ahead.”
A glance in that direction confirms that, indeed, the crowd she noticed earlier is somewhat in a line formation, with Miko’s editors speaking to the people at the front. “Oh. I see.”
With a sigh, Miko walks around the table and brushes past her. “Come, I’ll walk you to the end.”
As they pass the other contestants, one of the women nervously offers her place in line to Ei. Miko just shakes her head. “Don’t worry about the Raiden Shogun. She’s very good at waiting.”
“Miko—” Ei begins, then stops when Miko turns to her with an acerbic smile.
“Hmm? I thought I told you I wouldn’t have any special treatment in this contest?”
She did, but Ei would have preferred to accept the woman’s offer, especially when they reach the end and it becomes apparent just how long she will have to wait. It’s already been dark for a while, and surely there will be a cutoff for when the food vendors must depart. Ei frowns, but when she turns back to ask Miko whether there is a plan to ensure all contestants have enough time to purchase dinner, Miko is already halfway across the field in the direction they came.
With little else to distract her, Ei examines the people in line around her. Before she stood behind them, the group in front of her had been loudly laughing. Now, they are quiet. From here, she can’t see the food vendors around the line of trees that block her view. The only real option for observation is Miko and her team.
They seem to have established a system where each person who reaches the front of the line hands over the Kamera and their entries, and one of the people at the table writes on the backs of each photograph and places them into a basket. Some of the contestants give the rest of their pictures to the Publishing House employees. Some of them don’t. Ei considers the photos of her thumb and wobbly line of the horizon and decides she’ll be one of the latter.
As fast as her team is clearly working, Miko is working faster. In the time it takes Ei to move four spaces forward, Miko has thrown seven folders into a bin under the table, sorted through at least fifty entries, and has been walking back and forth to confer with a member of her team who stands on the other end of the tables. Ei isn’t sure if she does more after that, because when the food vendors come into view she finds herself mesmerised by a chef flipping noodles in the air. When she looks back, Miko has returned to the folders. It’s impressive how well her Publishing House runs as a cohesive unit.
Two people walk behind Ei, speaking excitedly.
“It took me all day, but I finally got a perfect shot to complement the one Lady Guuji offered us!”
“Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick if you eat so quickly.”
“I don’t have time to eat slowly—that was only one photo and she gave us over fifty! I have to get back to work as soon as possible.”
Ei wonders what the photographs Miko gave her editors look like. Had she taken them herself? Would they be judged? She doesn’t know what kind of eye for art Miko may have developed over the last 500 years. Their conversations in the Plane were always upon more important matters or the light novels Miko occasionally brought.
The thought lingers. Ei considers how much she has changed during her few, short visits outside the Plane of Euthymia. If Miko spent all these years living in Inazuma as it developed, she must have changed, too.
“E-excuse me, Raiden Shogun?”
There is a man standing in front of her. “Yes?”
“W-would you like to order any food?” As Ei stares at him, the man continues, his voice going high and reedy. “We’re going down the line to ensure all our contestants have a chance to buy dinner before the food vendors close for the night. Would you like anything?”
“Yes, I would.” Belatedly, Ei recalls her conversation with the Traveller. “But I do not possess any mora at this time.”
He shakes his head. “Oh, no need to worry. Lady Guuji already took care of that. She said that you’d need—” He clears his throat. “Anyways, I can take your order.”
The ability to predict people’s needs and provide solutions before those needs manifested into a problem had always been the skill Makoto possessed that Ei admired most. She has never been adept at the same, not when she sees all problems in the context of what she can face with her weapon.
Ei orders the noodle dish she watched being made earlier and a limited edition drink called Soy-Free Strawberry Cream. The sweet juice and spicy noodles pair remarkably well, and the remainder of her time in line seems to pass even faster. Far sooner than she expects to, Ei finds herself at the front.
It is Miko herself who accepts Ei’s three photographs. Ei watches closely, anticipating her reaction, but as she flips through them, Miko’s expression only goes steadily blank. Ei isn’t sure if that’s a good sign. No sooner has the thought crossed her mind than she realises—she doesn’t actually care if she wins. She had such a rare and wonderful experience today, no matter how the judging may proceed. Instead, she wants to thank Miko for predicting that Ei would need mora for dinner. She wants to express appreciation for how well the Publishing House team has been working.
She smiles at her old friend and says, “You’ve done a commendable job with this event, but especially with your people.”
She hoped Miko would respond well to the compliment. Instead, Miko’s blankness is replaced by a smirk. “When you have a team of people rather than puppets, you must mentor and guide them in their development. You can’t simply set down a list of rules and expect them to be followed to the letter. But then, you would know all about following rules to the letter having unintended consequences, wouldn’t you?” When she finishes speaking, the smirk looks more like a frown.
Miko picks up the basket of photographs and turns away. “Goodnight, Ei. One of my editors will be in touch with the results.”
As she gazes in the direction of Miko’s back, the thought from earlier blooms into a realisation. A realisation that hits Ei hard. Miko has changed during the years Ei spent in the Plane of Euthymia. And right now… she’s upset at Ei.
❀
If Miko is honest with herself, she didn’t know what to expect from Ei’s photography.
The Ei she is accustomed to would have taken predictable pictures of the disaster at Seirei—if she even managed to get a single photograph that was in focus and didn’t include her thumb. Miko wouldn’t even have been surprised if Ei lost track of time, or took a photo of her sword, or accidentally destroyed the Kamera.
Of all the places to catch the Raiden Shogun’s eye, Miko would never have expected the glowing beach of Tatarasuna.
The first entry is well-enough framed, remarkably crisp. The second is far too close to the water, though it would make a nice backdrop or cover piece. The third, though. Once Miko picks it up, she finds she cannot tear herself away. It’s hardly a compositional masterpiece, nor conceptually innovative at all, but it is nonetheless the photo that moves her most from all the other entries. Fluorescent algae ripples over deep blue waters highlighted by the moon’s glow, the edge of a damp sandal peeks up from the bottom corner, and the ghost of Ei’s old smile stares up at her from its reflection.
She looks at it until her eyes feel dry, and then sets it in the reject pile. It is as she thought: none of Ei’s photos would win any particular reward. She’ll include the first, since it makes for a pretty photograph of the ecosystem. Eventually the algae will die, and this book will be one of the few relics to capture this sight.
Her team works overtime for the rest of the week, so Miko treats them all to fried tofu when they review the proof together. They make some alterations to the structure of the book so that readers will see glimpses of the present day intermingled with relevant, older material. Everyone is brimming with suggestions until they reach the final section and they all fall silent.
Miko glances between the faces of her editors, none of whom will meet her eye, before she turns the page and she, too, stops.
“Lady Guuji?” Aratani urges her after a long moment of silence. “What do you think?”
“...How did you come across this? It doesn’t look to have aged a day.”
Murata chimes in. “The Shogun offered three entries outside of the contest from her historical records. Isn’t that incredible? She was actually pretty insistent that we take them, even though technically they should really be in a museum.”
Miko could never mistake those hands for anyone else’s. She could never be fooled by an imitation of that face. She strokes a finger down the photo of Ei smiling into the fur of her very young self, and makes a decision.
“Remove the photograph of Tatarasuna’s beach and shift this one to just before Itto’s allergic reaction to soy. I have another picture in mind for the end of this Compendium.”
❀
Inazuma’s first pictorial history book breaks every sales record the island has ever set. Demand keeps the presses running throughout the night, and Miko has more than enough profit to hire every artist she wants, give her entire team a bonus, and still have more to save for slower seasons.
She spends a week luxuriating in the success before diving into planning how to outdo herself with the next one. After all, it will be quite a challenge to surpass a book containing the two most famous photos ever taken in Inazuma: Woman Celebrating the Sakoku Decree Repeal and A Smile In The Aftermath Of Eternity.