For the gods, two years of war is a blink. For ordinary people, it is a lifetime. In that span, the Shogunate Army and the Watatsumi Island Resistance clashed more than a hundred times. The dead on both sides passed ten thousand. Homes emptied. Boats sank. Fields went quiet. Hatred hardened until men could no longer picture peace.
Watatsumi Island had long been short of land and grain. When the Sakoku Decree and the Vision Hunt Decree tightened around Inazuma, the island's life line—small sea trade with Liyue—thinned to a thread. Poverty became sharp and constant. Even so, their weapons were worse than the Shogunate's, their armor lighter, their stores thinner.
And yet the Resistance still fought on. Donors from afar, small victories, and a spirit that refused to bend pushed their line from Yashiori Island to Nazuchi Beach. Some said one more push would send them onto Narukami Island itself. Many believed the end was near and that victory would be theirs.
Only a few kept clear heads. On all of Watatsumi, the clearest head belonged to Sangonomiya Kokomi—divine shrine maiden, strategist, and the island's leader.
She looked up at the sky now and felt her blood turn to ice.
Thunder rolled across every cloud. The entire heavens pressed down on Inazuma. The power in the air made even brave hearts bow. Kokomi whispered the truth she had feared most:
"It's over… The Raiden Shogun has been alerted."
---
Watatsumi struggled for years under the decrees. Kokomi had argued against war with all her strength. But local nobles, angry and hungry for power, flattered the Fatui and stoked the people. They pushed the Resistance into battle without her consent.
The first time the Shogunate marched in force and the nobles panicked, they finally begged Kokomi to lead. She almost laughed. When the sea was calm, no one wanted the little priestess with books and maps. When the storm came, everyone remembered the "living god" of Watatsumi.
Still, she took command. Not because she wanted glory, but because the people needed food, medicine, and time. She fought to win small, then negotiated, then pulled back to secure grain, tools, and rest. It worked. Step by careful step, life improved on Watatsumi. The Resistance even replaced broken weapons and patched armor.
That was when the same nobles who had begged her help began to whisper that Kokomi was weak. "We win and she retreats," they said. "She shames the dead." They cut deals behind her back. Fatui agents slid into their circles with smiles and coin. Bit by bit, the front edged forward again—past reason, past safety—toward Narukami Island.
Then came the news that warding stones on Yashiori—old devices that kept evil energy quiet—had been smashed to shape the battlefield. Kokomi went still as stone. She did not know which fool ordered it, but she knew who would be blamed: Watatsumi. The war slipped from her grasp. And now the Archon herself had taken notice.
Kokomi wrapped her arms around herself and watched Nazuchi Beach glow with violet light. If the Shogun moves, our spears are reeds. She remembered the story all Inazuma knew: the Musou no Hitotachi that split Yashiori Island. She had no doubt what a god could do.
If the Shogun demanded payment for this disorder, Kokomi would be the first coin offered—leader of Watatsumi, priestess of the great shrine, and the Resistance's mind.
Another bolt fell. Her hands and feet went cold. If lightning truly falls, who survives on that beach?
---
KRAAACK—KRAAACK—KRAAACK.
Violet fire laced the clouds above Nazuchi Beach. Sand jumped where the thunder kissed it, pocking the shore with shallow craters—but no one died. The sound alone made everybody stop. Blades lowered. Bows dipped. Silence fell—then a shout rose from the Shogunate ranks.
"The Shogun! Eternity to the Shogun!"
They were soldiers, not schemers. They had one simple faith. Faces upturned, they slammed spear-butts into the sand and chanted as one:
"Eternity! Eternity! Eternity!"
On the Shogunate side, Kujou Sara—armor dusty, bow-string raw—dropped to one knee and looked up at the tearing sky.
"General, I have failed to stop this chaos. I await your order."
Across the field, the Resistance wilted. They were brave, but they were human. The weight of a god's gaze choked courage in their throats. Weapons slipped from hands. Panic rippled through the lines.
"General Gorou—General!" came the cries. "The Shogun is here—what do we do?"
Gorou's ears were flat, tail stiff. You don't "do" anything against a god, his eyes said. He opened his mouth to order a retreat—
—and a soft, teasing voice cut through the storm like a paper fan through incense smoke.
"My, my. So lively… Another few steps and you'd have knocked on Narukami's gate."
Yae Miko walked onto the beach as if it were a festival street. Pink hair, fox smile, sandals whispering over wet sand. In her hand, a long violet blade hummed with power so thick it made hearts ache. Everyone recognized the presence around that steel: the Raiden Shogun. To see this sword was to feel the Shogun standing there.
Shogunate soldiers lifted their spears and roared:
"Eternity to the Shogun!"
The Resistance broke. Armor hit the ground. Gorou ran with his men, shouting the only command that made sense: "Retreat! Retreat! Fall back now!"
Miko did not even glance at them. Her eyes settled on Kujou Sara with a look that was almost pity.
"Kujou Sara, General of the Tenryou Commission," she said, voice gentle and cutting at once. "Unlucky."
Sara's brow tightened, but she said nothing.
Miko lifted the violet blade so its light washed the sand. Her tone became official, edged with iron:
"By order of the Raiden Shogun: the Tenryou Commission and Kanjo Commission heads are under judgment. They deceived the throne, colluded with the Fatui, and bled the people. The Kujou clan's core members are detained and sent to Tenshukaku."
The field froze. Even the waves seemed to hold their breath. Sara's jaw set, but her eyes never left the sword. She bowed, low and exact.
"Understood."
---
Far away on Watatsumi, Kokomi received the same decree by courier—ink still damp, seal still warm. She read it once, twice, a third time. Her shoulders sank. She felt relief, fear, and a strange kind of sorrow.
Relief, because the storm was not aimed at the common soldier or the islanders at large. Fear, because gods had finally stepped into the game she had tried to keep them out of. Sorrow, because all the blood on Nazuchi had been for nothing—just a ladder that lifted liars and cowards high enough to be seen.
She closed her eyes and let herself feel it—wronged to the bone. She had begged for patience, for slow wins, for clean ledgers. She had been called timid and faithless. And now the truth, like lightning, burned the fog away: the capital's rot, the Fatui's hand, the forged reports, the stolen Visions, the empty granaries—all of it had driven Inazuma to this shore.
None of that was her doing. But the people would still see her banner on the wrong side of the field. Her name would be the one the frightened whispered.
She straightened. No more battles today. Send orders: pull back in good order, no chasing, no last stands. Save men. Save food. Save boats. There would be talks after this storm. There always were.
---
On Nazuchi Beach, Miko lifted the blade once more. The thunder softened to a deep purr. She nodded to both sides—one nod for duty, one for mercy.
"Lay down arms. No more killing today. The Raiden Shogun has spoken."
No one argued. The Resistance limped away. The Shogunate stood in tight ranks, silent and steady.
In the hours that followed:
Kujou family compounds in Inazuma City were sealed; documents, ledgers, and correspondence were taken under guard.
Kanjo Commission storehouses were opened and counted; sacks of grain marked with Fatui stamps were carried to public squares for relief lines.
Orders rode to every island: no executions at the front, no private revenge, no looting. Justice would be public and recorded, not whispered at sword point.
News reached Watatsumi by nightfall: the Shogun had ended the Vision Hunt Decree, begun to loosen Sakoku to bring in grain and medicine, and issued an Edict of Sin, apologizing for believing lies and promising redress. The words spread from boat to boat and house to house. Some people cried. Some only sat very still and stared at the sea.
Kokomi stood alone under the shrine eaves, the paper in her hands softening with steam from her breath.
"So it was never about crushing us," she said to no one. "It was about cutting out the rot."
Her heart hurt—and yet somewhere deep, a tight knot loosened. All her careful steps, all her hard choices to trade victories for bread, had not been cowardice. They had been love. She hoped the people would see that in time.
---
At dawn on the beach, Yae Miko stood where the sand still bore round, harmless thunder pits. She smiled to herself. A warning, not a slaughter. The point had been made.
Footsteps came to her side—light, unhurried, familiar. Mathew watched the pale horizon with her, hands folded behind his back.
"You stopped a war with a walk and a sentence," he said.
She flicked him a sideways glance, amused. "You brought the storm. I delivered the letter."
He chuckled. "And carried a certain sword."
Miko's lips curved. "Borrowed. Returned." She tilted her head. "Kokomi will feel wronged today."
"She should," Mathew said simply. "She paid the price of others' pride. Make sure she is invited to speak when the rebuilding begins."
Miko nodded. "I will make sure Ei listens."
Mathew's gaze drifted to the city beyond the hills. "The purge has started. Half the old power is already gone. The rest will learn—work for the people or step aside."
Miko exhaled, relief softening her shoulders. "Then maybe we can feed the hungry first, and argue about banners later."
He smiled. "Show me Inazuma's heart after this, Guuji. You promised me a proper tour."
"Mm. After I sleep," she said, and laughed—bright as bells after rain.
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