Work Text:
Up, out, up, down, went his blade. It was a fencer’s salute— I salute you, and promise to fight honestly. The words were a formality and rarely spoken, but to his surprise, his opponent muttered them under her breath. She had foregone a blade, instead wielding a long violet wand. Her Vision hung from her belt, matching his.
He got the sense that it had been a bad idea to challenge her to a duel. He knew full well that she was undefeated. Still, as he stood there, he felt a surge of confidence in his belly. It was worth trying, wasn’t it?
“Fencers ready?” he said, eyeing his opponent from head to toe. She was wearing white armour and a cloak, giving her the appearance of a war general, and her hair was piled up in a large bun on her head. In comparison he felt underdressed.
“Ready.” The two of them eased into on-guard positions. In his mind, he could barely believe what he was doing. Who he was fighting. An honour even to speak to her…
“Fence,” his opponent said. He advanced on her, pushing her back to the edge of the clearing. It was only a few seconds before he realised she was making no attempt to hit him, only dancing away from his blade— she was toying with him.
He had to catch her by surprise. That was easier said than done— his opponent was cunning, and notoriously unpredictable as well. Just as she was nearly into the trees, he extended his arm and went in for a flèche.
One second, she was in front of him; the next, she had disappeared. He whirled around and narrowly managed to avoid a bolt of purple lightning. In a single second she had flipped the bout, and now she was pressing the offensive, hurling electricity at him left and right. From her hip, he saw her Vision was glowing.
She paused for a brief second, raising her wand up to her chest. “Is that all you have in you?” she asked, not unkindly. As if it was only natural to be defeated so quickly.
“Continue, Guuji Yae,” he said.
A twinkle appeared in the Guuji’s eye. “Of course,” she said, as the tip of her wand began to glow. “Let me see if you are as clever as you are determined, or—”
He saw the attack coming. She lunged at him, cutting herself off, and he sidestepped her. Her advances were erratic, forcing him to play defensive. The Guuji danced circles around him, so fast that he swore she was in four places at once. She plays mind games. Don’t be fooled, he told himself.
Above them, the clouds rumbled. A drop of water fell onto his wrist. Both of them grinned at the same time, different plans running through their minds. As if in anticipation, his Vision began humming on his hip. He clutched it tight with his other hand.
“Mind the storm,” the Guuji said, sounding amused.
“My lady, you should mind the rain,” he replied, reaching down into a place inside himself and pulling. His mind strained and stretched, his vision going split-screen, and then he was both two and one with his Vision. His blade shimmering blue, he pushed her back to the centre of the clearing with a frenzy of blows, though he never moved. For a single moment he saw her smile falter.
The Guuji raised her wand again. “Two can play that game,” she said. With a spin on her heel she blinked out of existence, then reappeared nearby a second later— and where she had originally been, a purple spectre raised its arms and flung lightning at him. A fair fight, he thought, and went in for the attack. Spectre clashed with spectre, human clashed with kitsune, and when the world snapped back into focus their thoughts were all adrenaline.
Now they were in lockstep, trading blows and parries. Their Visions sang, growing louder as the storm surrounded them. Every attack they made was countered, every defence broken through, and through it all they did not care to think of exhaustion. How could anyone tire in this state of exhilaration?
It was an eternity later when the Guuji pulled away. “Yashiro rascal,” she said, and her voice betrayed only a hint of breathlessness. “You have talent.”
His cheeks warmed. Of course she would still remember that nickname. “Nothing compared to yours, my lady.”
“Well, you’re right about that. Unless you’d like to prove me wrong,” she said. “If you’d like, I can stop going easy on you.”
His heart sank. Upon seeing his expression, she laughed. “Do you want to give up?”
“No. Go on.” He straightened, squaring his shoulders.
When the Guuji raised her wand again, he reflexively dropped into his on-guard position. “As you wish,” she said, and then without missing a beat she leapt at him.
He raised his blade in defence, but before he could finish moving, his body froze up. In vain he attempted to retreat, and found himself paralysed. In front of him, the Guuji was pointing her wand at his head. Electricity was flowing from it and forming a bubble around him.
“What?” he managed to say. Even his mouth was uncooperative.
“Did you forget what you are fighting?” the Guuji said, approaching him. Her voice was changing, becoming deeper and more growly. “Tell me, what do you know of a yako’s talents?”
He dared not lie to her. “Very… little.”
“Mmmm. Do your research next time you challenge someone to a duel.” Was he imagining her growing taller, or becoming more animalistic? “I want you to show me who you are, with honesty this time. Let you discard your pretences, Kamisato Ayato.”
A bolt of lightning escaped from the tip of the wand and struck him in the centre of his forehead. He flinched, expecting pain, but none came. His brain caught up with his reflexes, and he found he could move again; a second later, he realised that the Guuji was gone. Above him, the clouds rumbled.
“Think,” the Guuji’s voice said in his ear, startling him.
He whirled around, but saw no-one. “Where are you?”
“Think,” she repeated. “Are you as clever as you are determined, or—”
Ayato evaded the lightning strike by a hair. Catching her drift, he began running. Lightning hit four more times, each one less than a metre away from him. Rain battered down on him, cold water dripping down his neck and seeping through his shoes. He squeezed his Vision and felt it thrumming in his hand.
A plan hatched in Ayato’s head. Within him he tugged at his Vision again, and drew away from himself. The shadow of him that appeared in his place lasted a second— lightning struck it once, twice, three times, disintegrating it into water droplets. In the centre of the clearing, Ayato stood unharmed.
The Guuji laughed again, her voice seemingly coming from thin air. “Good.”
“How are you doing this?” Ayato demanded.
“Think.”
Lightning struck the edge of the clearing. He wondered for a moment why it hadn’t struck him, until a purple spectre formed in the same spot. Three more followed behind, surrounding him. They drifted towards him as if on the wind, each one vaguely humanoid in appearance.
“Ayato,” one of them said. Its voice sounded distant, like a dream character’s. “Ayato,” echoed another, its voice slightly more feminine. Around him they cried in unison, “Ayato, Ayato, Ayato,” until he thought it would drive him insane.
“How are you doing this?” he repeated, though his voice was drowned out by the thunder. No reply came, just the incessant repetition of the illusions. Ayato lowered his stance.
One of the shadows coalesced into a smaller, familiar figure, one with a pleated skirt and a ponytail. “Ayato, you’re ruining everything we have,” she said, and her voice made him step back.
“Ayaka?” he said, before the figure to his left assumed another familiar shape, a blond man wearing a jacket and a horned headband. The new figure sighed in dismay. “Why did I ever trust you, Ayato?”
Ayato drew back, and his back brushed against another spectre. This one was of an oni, tall and muscular and possessing a pair of pointed horns. “Hey, I don’t take kindly to being lied to, Kamisato Ayato,” he snapped.
The spectres started to circle him, their voices growing louder. “Ayato, Ayato, Ayato,” they said, and his skin crawled. When they were all within centimetres of him, and he could feel the electricity sizzling against his clothes, he drew his blade and extended in front of him. The spectres laughed.
“You’re playing games with my mind,” Ayato said, trying to keep his hand steady. “There’s no other way you would know this about me.”
“Know what? Your sense of duty? Your relationships with Thoma and Arataki Itto? Your insecurities? Mm, yes, you do keep those well-hidden,” the Guuji replied. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to stay up here. I simply wish to test your wits.”
He backed away from the spectres again. “How can I prove myself to you?”
Ayato should’ve expected the Guuji’s response, but was still exasperated when she said, “Think.”
Taking in each of the spectres, he wracked his brain and memories, looking for an answer. As the three spectres pushed him to the edge of the clearing, it occurred to him: there had been four spectres not a moment ago. Now there were only three.
Ayato asked, “Where is the fourth figure?”
He expected the Guuji to reply, but instead the spectres answered— by drawing their weapons. Ayaka’s longsword glinted violet in the rain. Behind her, Itto wielded a club, while Thoma’s naginata was strapped to his back.
“Oh, I see how it is,” Ayato muttered under his breath. Ayaka leapt at him, sword swinging, and he parried each one. A second later, Thoma and Itto hoisted their weapons and lunged.
Three against one might have been hopeless, but with another use of his Vision the scales were evened. Letting go of his formalities, he gave into instinct. He pushed forwards on Ayaka, advancing until she was breathless; on Itto he dashed under his arm and pressed his blade to the oni’s throat, and he tripped Thoma and kicked his naginata away from him.
“Yield,” Ayato said. His heart squeezed. The thought of hurting them made him sick to his stomach, even though he knew they were just replicas. Instead he flicked his wrist, disarming Ayaka and letting go of Itto. His own illusions faded, and he was left in the centre of the clearing, drenched yet unhurt.
“Impressive,” the Guuji said. Around him, the spectres fizzled and vanished. “Yet we are not finished.”
“I am ready for your fourth challenge, my lady,” he said.
“Good. There are many tests you have endured. Of skill. Of determination. Of intelligence. But we are missing one.” Quieter, she said, “A test of moral character.”
He asked, “What does that entail?”
A pause. Then, from behind him, a different voice said, “Kamisato Ayato.”
Ayato turned around, and froze. The spectre he now faced was instantly recognisable to him— tall, female, with long braided hair and a short kimono. He’d seen her painted a hundred times, once in-person from a distance, and now she was here in front of him. He laughed in disbelief. “You cannot be real.”
She did not respond, just regarded him with a cold stare. After several moments of silence, Ayato decided to take a different approach. He bowed and said, “Forgive me, Your Excellency. Your appearance surprised me.”
“Rise,” the Shogun commanded him. He shivered meeting her eyes; despite knowing it was a fabrication, her voice forced his obedience.
“You are the Yashiro Commissioner.” It was not a question.
“I am. My lady,” he added hastily.
She crossed her arms. “I am in need of your cooperation on a new matter I have been considering. I trust you are willing to accept it.”
“What kind of matter?”
“A decree. One to preserve Eternity. I understand now what must be done to maintain it,” the Shogun told him. “The antithesis of Eternity is change, and the driver of change is ambition. Therefore, if we wish to have an eternal Inazuma, the idea is that we regulate ambition.”
He tilted his head. “How?”
Her eyes drifted to the gem on his belt. “It would entail taking away humanity’s Visions.”
The idea was so ridiculous to him that he nearly laughed. “Your Excellency?” he said, assuming she was joking. When her facial expression never moved, dread coiled up in his stomach. “You are proposing a hunt. A… a vision hunt decree. Such a thing would not be sustainable, or popular.”
“Not without your support.” The Shogun’s voice was a flat monotone. “Which I trust you will give.”
In his chest, his heart started to pound. He said nothing. In his silence, the Shogun continued, “Whatever suffering this ‘vision hunt decree’, as you call it, would cause— it is nothing compared to the damage unmonitored ambition has wrought upon Inazuma. What is freedom, without the Eternity I promised the people of Inazuma?”
No words would escape Ayato’s throat. He couldn’t meet the Shogun’s eyes. On his hip, his Vision made a low hum. Could he live without it? Could he conceive of himself without his ambitions? Could he conceive of an entire nation without them? He didn’t think so.
The Shogun stepped towards him. “The Yashiro Commission will support my decree,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.
What would happen if he defied the Almighty Shogun? Did he even have the courage to do so? He was supposed to be loyal to her until his last breath. What kind of devotee was he, if a single order made him shake like this? It wasn’t about him— it was about Inazuma.
But what could he do, if the ruler of Inazuma acted against Inazuma’s own best interests?
Ayato took too long to speak. “That is an order, Kamisato Ayato,” the Shogun demanded.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in and out. Don’t worry. It’s just illusory. “I cannot, Your Excellency,” he whispered.
“Why not?” she said, acidly.
“Your Excellency, if it came to pass, Inazuma would descend into civil war.” He cleared his throat. “It is wrong to rob someone of their ambitions, let alone an entire nation.”
The Shogun said nothing. Ayato squirmed under her gaze; under it, he felt like a small animal. As he stood there, her form shimmered once, twice, and then lost shape around the face and hands. The illusion was falling apart.
“Put your steel behind your words,” she said, her voice distorting. “Show me you are as moral as you are clever, or—”
She seemed to attack in slow-motion. As if watching himself from a distance, he parried her blade, and then without thinking advanced on her and cut her across the face.
A gasp echoed from the Shogun, and from all around him. The world flickered once, twice, like a mirage— and then normalcy returned, and the Guuji stumbled away from him, her hand pressed up to her cheek.
Ayato froze, and so did the Guuji. She dropped her hand, and across her cheek he saw a long red gash.
“I have never met my match,” the Guuji said, emphasising every word, “with a mortal.”
For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Ayato’s heart was pounding like wardrums in his chest. Then the Guuji grinned and gave him another fencer’s salute. “You are something extraordinary indeed.”
Ayato returned the salute. “Thank you, Guuji Yae.”
She shook her head. “Please. Call me Miko. You’ve earned the right.”
“I… of course. Miko.” Now he was bright red. “But I… I just have one question.”
“Is it about the ‘vision hunt decree’?” Miko asked. When Ayato nodded, she sighed and said, “I’m afraid that’s not fiction.”
“It’s not? So she will take our Visions? Is there nothing you can do? I know you are close to the Shogun.”
Miko sighed again. “Her Excellency is bullheaded. I could not convince her otherwise.”
When Miko met his eyes, he felt his heart pound even faster. There was something about her eyes, her smile, that made his heart flutter. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, but he knew for certain that he liked it.
“If it does come to pass,” Miko said, “I would like you to help me resist it. You have shown me that you have the moral fibre.”
He found no difficulty in this decision. “I would be honoured.”
“Good. Go get cleaned up, then. You are busy today. This evening, I would like to meet with you. I have much to discuss.” Miko patted him on the hand. “It’s a pleasure, Yashiro rascal. Ayato.”
“You too. Miko.”
She smiled and said nothing more, just turned away into the trees. Her white cloak was visible for only a fleeting second, before she vanished. Ayato stood there for a minute longer, watching the sun rise, before he followed behind and back to his duties.