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A sunday like all others: the sun was shining, a light breeze was tirelessly pushing the clouds to different positions on the blue sky, the trees were sprouting. Spring was coming, and with the blessing of Buer, all trees had dressed in their greenest colours, and their blossoms bloomed, more lovely everyday. Everything screamed for celebration; the happy dogs, waggling their tails, the cats, wrapping themselves around peoples’ legs, meowing cheerfully, the pigeons, flying around. The big tree of Sumeru had started blooming, after decades of not doing so; blue, pink, purple and red blossoms were now decorating its leaf crown. The Dendro archon had grown stronger than ever, and happier, and that happiness paid off, and it was obvious with all the flowers blooming, the birds chirping, the days being pleasantly warm but accompanied by cool breezes to keep everyone happy. Buer was back. The people of Sumeru never realised what they were really missing out on, until the archon returned and their yearn for colours, dreams and imagination flooded back like the creeks that fill up with water after a dry summer.
Families were out in the streets, talking to one another, inviting each other into their home, celebrating all women that were blessed with having kids. Kids ran up and down, and the tables were set with so much food in such quantities, it seemed like it was New Year already. Oh, yes. Mother’s day. A day set in the calendar to celebrate everyone blessed with kids. A day in which work halted and fun unravelled; a day in which people rejoiced with nature at the gifts of the newcomers, whether they were kids or sprouts.
In his small room, high up in the sanctuary of Surasthana, Scaramouche the Wanderer sighed as he pulled the blinds to close. All he was seeing was too painful. He could see families laugh, interact with one another naturally, and not because some “wise kitsune” had urged them to spend time with one another. They were… family-ing in a way he had never experienced. Everyone had something to celebrate, and they were making that obvious; sounds of music and scents of delicious food combined and united in the city’s atmosphere, finding their way to the darkest, furthest away rooms, like the wanderer’s. Outside of his room, pink blossoms grew and fell to the ground like snowflakes.
Today was a bad day. Today was a day that reminded him painfully of the past, with flowers that resembled home and an affection that resembled the emotional abuse he had so long endured at the hands of his creator. Buer wasn’t home. She was off with the golden haired traveller, experiencing adventures, and he was alone, with no one to talk to. Even though he told himself he didn’t need nor enjoyed the talks he was having with her, they were weirdly therapeutic and made him feel a sense of inner… peace. Talking with Buer helped him clean his mind.
He glanced around in his room. There was his bed, calling for him to fall on it and hide between the blankets, and forget everyone, until someone came to check on him, forcing him to put up an act. But the bed would not help his case; everyone knows what someone huddled in a bed on a spring day as nice as this one meant: sickness. Whether it was depression, or actual sickness, people that didn’t really care about him and only wanted to appeal to the young archon insisted on keeping him company, bringing him food, opening the blinds.
So the bed was the least favourable of the options he had. Going outside wasn’t even in question. His room was his last resort of safety, and he wouldn’t be able to handle his self-destructive thoughts pestering him. But just sitting there, doing nothing, didn’t feel.. Nice.
He searched around in his room, looking for an activity to do. The bed was off the table, and so were the books, for he had neither patience nor passive enough an energy to just… sit down and do nothing but read. He was filled with adrenaline, due to the memories that sparked up, reminding him of each fateful mother’s day that he was forced to spend in the eye of the public with his mother’s mortal remains. His mind was racing, thoughts sparked up and left as quick. Oh, fuck it. Going to bed it was.
No hesitation, he fell on the bed, head first. Directly dove into it, grabbing the pillow on each side of his face, trying to become one with it. Oh, why was he the one that had to spend the day like that? Why couldn’t he, the way the other kids did, celebrate with his mother and thank her for breathing life into him? Why did he have to be the one with the non-functional family? Why didn’t his mother search for him the night he disappeared? Why did she never care? Why was he self-exiled, far away from his roots, on the hunt for? For what, exactly?
Tears were threatening to spill, and that, he was not in the mood for. His mother, his roots, his history, long in the past (it seemed), it was not worth crying over. No, no, tears were not going to fix that big a problem. Anger. Anger, anger and more anger filled the troubled teen’s mind (considering the games of archons and what-nots, 500-ish years count as teenage years now, don’t they?). He deserved more than the ugly feelings he was experiencing every time he saw pink blossoms. He deserved more than the stormy nights he cried himself to sleep, afraid his mother his creator had found him. He deserved revenge for all the ugly things he had faced in his messy, disoriented life.
And he would get it. Like the wave of clarity that clashes in one's mind post-nut, he was awake, sober from crying and aware. Why cry, when you can avenge?
Some weeks later, Buer would return to the sanctuary, only for guards to tell her that the wanderer had left, taking some of his belongings, telling them not to bother looking for him. They had received orders not to handle, and were waiting for the young, wise girl to tell them, in turn, what they were to do.
Of course, the first thing the young archon did was rush into the former inhabitant’s room. But it turned out that it was not a joke. The bed wasn’t made, in fact, the sheets looked like they had been thrown around, perhaps in search of something, and the curtains were open, the window closed. There weren’t many things missing from his room; his money, his hat, some clothes. And on the table, smiling to her, was a white envelope, addressed to her:
Buer
Written with a plain pencil, the last words that had rushed into his troubled mind as he made his mind up to stop hiding and face his biggest fear.
D ear Buer,
Happy mothers day! I hope you had much fun going on adventures with the traveller. You must have, for the weather didn’t budge a little bit, with the sun shining brightly down on us “mortals”. Funny how I include myself in that category. Buer, oh Buer, how I wish you were here. Maybe we could have worked something out, for I know that you do not agree a single bit with what I’ve decided to do. But don’t think of yourself as guilty; I shouldn’t be dependent on you all the time. I came to the realisation that I didn’t deserve what happened to me. I, too, deserve to have a loving and caring mother, and not just someone that created me by accident and discarded me the same way someone disgards a dirty rag after it’s fulfilled its job. I will chase after my fate and get back at people who wronged me, starting off with dearest mother. Don’t try to stop me, for you are already too late. By the time you are reading this, I will have soared through the air and reached my… homeland.
Dearest Buer, please forgive me for leaving you suddenly. I will return, given the chance, but I do find the chances of that happening… slim. I don’t have the strength I used to have, nor the gnosis, and I am going to stand against a god, an archon, a deity. I know I hope that whilst reading this, you’re whispering words of encouragement to me, for I will need them.
With the best regards,
Wanderer
Inazuma hadn’t changed much. It looked as if time had frozen in place, even though the laws had changed since the last time he was there. He remembered hunting his mother’s gnosis down, remembered the remarks of the kitsune as he succeeded in receiving it, in return for the twin’s life. How she had talked down to him, told him… mean things. The weird sting in his heart. Seeing how much the archon ~through the old kitsune~ was ready to offer to save the golden-haired, trouble-causing girl, even though things had been so different with her own kid creation, it.. hurt.
He walked through the streets, irrecognizable due to diminishing all memories of him in Irminsul, thinking of a plan. Considering all the changes that had been made in the laws, the people still seemed strangely conservative. He received weird looks from everyone, suspicious ones. However, he was not bothered as he walked around the city. It seemed more… lively?
He decided to take a stroll in the Kujou headquarters. Something had changed there. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it excluded a rare form of.. authority, in a way it hadn’t before he left. Kujou Sara exited the training grounds, behind her a group of young men, who seemed to be in their first year of practice to become part of the shogunate. She didn’t try to be subtle as she mustered him; he was not from there, for she would have known him, she concluded. However, he wasn’t a stranger to this country, that was obvious. There was something on him, something that made him not only belong, but somehow blend in with the locals; such a trait was a rare one, and a suspicious one at the same time.
But by the time she thought of it, he had already left in a hurry. Seeing familiar faces wasn’t one of his strengths, after all. He remembered the stories told by the traveller, from his travels in Inazuma. They had grown quite close in the small period of time that she and her companion had stayed in Sumeru. Close enough to stay together at night, telling stories of their travels and the enemies they had encountered in their strange path towards finding a home.
There was one story that had stood out to him; of a boy who wanted to achieve musou no hitotachi , at least once in his life. To stand in a duel against the archon. Tomo , his name had been. Had, because, as one would expect, he had failed. And there was nothing left of him. No grave, no tombstone, no nothing. Just his memory, living on in other people’s hearts, along with a vision, buried in an island whose population consisted almost entirely of cats. He wanted that. A duel in front of the throne, but not like the one that the traveller had achieved. Not one against some enemy, but Raiden. One, in which winning meant more than saving your life.
So, it was no surprise that soldiers stormed at him from each side, trying to hold him, as he barged into the throne room of the old palace, demanding a duel in front of the throne, with no one less than the archon.
The Shogun’s slow walk towards him made him shiver. Each of her footsteps echoed in the empty room, adding to her elegance and authority. It screamed of it, actually; she was the one in charge, and she would handle the intruder.
“Let him go.” her voice was firm, as was her hold onto her weapon of choice, a polearm . That was not his mother. That was not who he was here to fight. The person walking toward him was someone unknown to him. He wanted Ei . Despite that, he changed his stance to one of security, stability, caution. He was ready to barge at her. They fought for a little while. His flying gave him some sort of advance; however, his opponent was a fierce one; many times, she almost struck him; he would have been dead for a long time if he hadn’t trained as fiercely as he had in his path to become a harbinger.
“Come on, now, Ei. I know you’re somewhere there. Why don’t you come to greet me? Do I mean this little to you?” he screamed, furiously. “It’s me, Ei!” a twist of desperation mixed into his cracking voice. The shogun’s pupils dilated in shock: who was this person, why did they know ei? Her stance froze, her eyes closed. For the wanderer, everything turned black. Almost in pixels, the world regenerated itself in front of him, with tiny purple squares.
This world was new to him; terra incognita . The floor was covered in sand, and shaped to weird, spiral formations. Its colour reminded someone of purple; given that that purple was washed out and all purple tones were removed, and now all that was left was imagination~ imaginary purple . However, it reminded him of purple; it reminded him of the cave of his creation. Dark, washed out, broken, the way he was. It was enclosed in a circle by a series of red gateways, similar to the ones one could see while walking up the Narukami shrine. some were broken, some had fallen. Yet it was obvious: this was no common place. The purple sand covered the ground and sucked in all the noise. It was eerily quiet. He knew not of that place. However, he knew one thing. Home. he was home.
The sky’s colour was a bloody red; it seemed like time had stood still whilst dawn was breaking. The sun had frozen in place, and, appearing in an eerie black colour, it shone down on earth with red rays; it was blinding. The sky was almost empty; in some parts, big, dark clouds covered it, but there was no thunder. Yet.
Ei sat in the middle, meditating. She was floating in the air, her legs crossed. At the same time that she put her foot down, unfolding her body to stand against the intruder, a purple gash slashed the red sky in half, shining down Inazuma’s proudest purple. One could hear thunder bolts; this was it . He had reached his destination. Continuing, though, was the next step. Getting out of this place, alive, as the victor.
“Kunikuzuki.” He was caught off-guard with that. He had erased his memory out of everyone’s minds, hadn’t he? even the traveller, who didn’t belong in this world, and was subsequently not affected by any of its magic, had forgotten him. So had the god of wisdom. Why did she remember him still?
“You cannot erase a mother’s memory.” Ei whispered, her voice loud enough due to the silence of the room. She stood now, her stance aristocratic, open, soft, her arms wide, inviting; anything but the fearful, with sharp features, attacking stance of the puppet that had greeted him in the throne room.
Hah. a mother? Her? Even the kitsune had been a better mother than her. All the times she turned her back on him, everytime she was disappointed in him for not being the part she was missing. She was not the one he viewed as his mother. Not that he viewed anyone like that, to be fair. She was the one who had placed such a heavy burden on him. She was the demon he was fighting each night in his sleep; she was the reason his walk used to be cowered, scared. She was the reason that he took a boat and sailed away from his homeland.
She was the reason for his misery. Yet, she had the nerve to stand there, call him by a name he didn’t go by, reach out.
Perhaps that was the drop that caused everything inside him to spill; like a flood, all his negative emotions crashed on him and he charged straight at her. A strong gust of wind pushed her back, her stance now faltering, the soft smile on her face disappearing. She stood still for a little, her hand over her chest, heaving. She was not tired, no; she was shocked, for she expected no such thing, and unsure, for she didn’t want to strike back.
The wanderer needed no further invitation; seeing her as vulnerable as she was right then, he charged again, and again; leaving behind his powers of electro, he shocked his creator into further delay. Where were his electro powers? Why was he fighting with the strength of faith instead of obedience, why was he using the power of freedom instead of eternity?
The wanderer stopped mid-air, a grin decorating his face. An ugly grin. His creator had pulled out her sword; it was shining as mighty as the thunder. It was blinding, almost. But it just fueled him. Thunder growled and lightning striked, whirlwinds came up and swept away the formations of the sand. There is no battle so hateful to the gods as a battle between kin, and no battle as thirsty as battle between deities. These words were confirmed. Ei’s carefulness was soon swept away by her son’s charged attacks, trying to slice her into pieces, into nothing. One person had attempted such a thing before. The golden-haired girl, and she had almost succeeded.
Truth be told, she saw the girl in her son; crafted to serve as replacement to her sister, there were some feminine characteristics still on his face. But that was not what reminded her of the girl. It was the warrior spirit they both carried themselves with, the calculated movements, powered by insane amounts of rage. Their fighting for something greater, a cause more noble than themselves, in which surviving was key to progressing, not winning.
She didn’t know that her son had managed to grow more soft thanks to her. She didn’t see how he actively tried to copy her in their shared fights. She couldn’t know the adrenaline that rushed inside him each time he met her, each time they held hands, each time their lips met softly. The carefulness in which he held her and his attentiveness whenever they were intimate, all that had shaped him into what he was now, all that fueled him on to be greater, and to return sometime to once again reunite.
The fight grew somewhat more aggressive; the wanderer had much to say to his mother, yet the words just couldn’t leave his mouth, couldn’t reach her. His charges could. Each blow said something, and each parry of his mother was an answer.
Minutes passed. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Decades. Aeons. They wouldn’t know.
A green crystal fly appeared. The wanderer’s eyes dilated in shock, he froze in motion. This was the perfect opportunity for ei. She could finish what her son had started, and cater to his wish of returning to the soil that birthed him. All she needed was a flick of her sword, which would unleash onto him and break him. And she could start anew.
She was tempted, for a split-second. But it was her kid. Her creation, the one she put so much energy, effort, and love to create. Sure, she had failed somewhere along the way. But she had failed with her citizens and started anew alright, hadn’t she?
“Stop.” It was neither a plea, nor a command. At the same time that she said it, the crystal fly disappeared. The wanderer shifted his attention to her. Her hair had fallen out of the braid and now flowed around her, complimenting her soft, motherly characteristics. His hands dropped beside him, his gaze softened.
“My boy. My sweet, sweet boy. My poor boy. Come to me.” like a puppet being moved, he followed her words and approached her. Her hands caressed his face and her thumb wiped away the tears that formed.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for the pain I've caused you. I’m sorry for holding you back. I’m sorry for not being better. Please, forgive me.” She was crying and he was crying. The thunder had ceased and the red sky was replaced by evening. The sun set, painting everything golden. And his heart thawed. And he forgave her.
“Go. go, find what you’re looking for." She broke the silence after a long time. Her hand stroked his head, through his tangled up hair. A tear fell off his cheek, onto the ground. Ei closed her eyes and smiled. A purple sprout found its way through the sand. They took a step back, as it unfolded into a tree, on it purple leaves. Hope. strength. Origin. But most importantly, roots.
Days later, on a ship, on his way to the country that froze his heart in the first place. On his way to the person who destroyed him entirely, his mother’s words followed him like a warm breeze and nested inside his heart, filling his entire body with warmth.
,,I was successful, after all. Makoto still lives on, in you. You’re perfect, kunikuzushi, and don’t let anyone or anything, not even yourself, tell you otherwise. You’re so perfect, believe me…,,