The long-awaited journey to Inazuma brings not only inspiration for your new music but also an unexpected encounter with your new muse. Who would have thought that you would dedicate so many future melodies to such a human-like doll?
Finally, after a long time, you were able to set foot on the hostile lands of Inazuma. It was spring then, and the sakura was beginning to bloom; you had always wanted to see its beautiful petals, which were depicted in so many paintings hanging in various exhibitions and described on the fragile parchment of hundreds of books that cherished Inazuman culture. You jumped on the first ship you could get on — cargo ships rarely sailed towards the islands cut off from the rest of the world, leaving behind the possibility of getting there at any time.
You were driven by the opportunity to be inspired. Having barely finished settling into the culture of Liyue and giving a small concert at a local teahouse, you didn’t stay here long — there were still so many melodies to hear, and just as many you longed to compose. You didn’t know what to expect from the lands ruled by the Electro Archon, and even natives who had long since moved to other countries couldn’t give you any advice; the situation was changing rapidly and unpredictably, so many acquaintances didn’t know whether to twirl their fingers near their temples or praise you for your courage.
The zither, traveling with you for many years, was your only faithful friend. It visited as many places as you did and saw as many thousands of faces as you saw through your delicate mask; it was also your inspiration to travel to Inazuma to learn the origins of your instruments creation. People remembered you as a nameless bird; indeed, you never revealed your name, and you didn’t plan many concerts either, and you were probably called a bird because of the embroidery on the intricate fabric of your cloak — whether it was a heron or not was left to the imagination of the casual audience. Along with the instrument and the mask, your path was accompanied by the melodious sound of heavy bells sewn onto the edges of your garments.
Acquaintances were not a priority for you, as you moved through the world quite chaotically — wherever your finger landed on the map, or from where interesting events blew, or where a new musical concert was announced. Music was indeed your everything.
On the day of your arrival in Inazuma, it was raining heavily. The deck's wooden planks creaked plaintively, provoked by the stormy waves, and the sailors expressed their sympathy about the unfriendly first meeting, but you paid no attention to the cold drops flying onto your shoulders and piercing through the fabric of your clothes, nor to the menacing arches of Tenshukaku looming far, far ahead.
“The Shogun must be in a bad mood,”muttered the captain, gritting his teeth around his pipe. The smell of tobacco was barely noticeable due to the gusts of wind. “This damn weather always acts up whenever the lady is angry. And now they'll probably hold an inspection for another two hours...”
You thoughtfully raised your head towards the distant temple towering in the fog. Thunderclouds thickened around its beauty, overshadowing all admiration for its structure.
The inspection was indeed long. No one was allowed to leave the pier until all documents and cargo were checked; fortunately, the captain had kindly added you to the lists in advance. The guard protecting the port scrutinized you suspiciously, and in the thickening clouds, his gaze seemed especially sharp.
“You don’t look like a part of the crew,” he barked at you critically, nodding towards the team behind the captain. “Purpose of arrival?”
“She came with us. She’s on the list. What’s the problem?” The captain took the pipe from his mouth and nervously tapped his finger on its sturdy wooden surface. Furrowed brows distorted the old scar on his forehead.
“If she is part of the team, then she will go back with you tomorrow. However, she does not look like a sailor, so she plans to stay. This is how I see it. Currently, Inazuma is not accepting guests. You will have to sail back.” The guard folded the documents and tucked them behind his belt; his words were final. A sudden disappointment flickered deep inside you — no matter how much you prepared yourself for rejection, hearing it was still unpleasant.
“She has documents and no weapons. Who is she going to harm here, children?”
The guard clicked his tongue irritably and nodded to his assistant toward your case and the bag standing next to it, which contained your few belongings.
“Search it. What are you carrying?” The expectant look was directed at your mask. “And take off the mask. We need to know your face.”
His assistant opened the heavy case, and the guard glanced briefly at its contents.
“A musical instrument, sir,” you said, not rushing to comply with part of his order and reveal your face, which clearly displeased him. “I am a musician. I came here to...”
“Musician, huh?” You were cut off mid-sentence, “A commendable hobby, I admit, but there’s no place for you to perform a concert. Sorry, but entry is closed to outsiders. Things are strict here right now. You can have lunch in that house, but you won’t be allowed further.”
The ships captain spat somewhere toward the water and was about to pat you on the shoulder, calling you back on board.
The wind brought with it a gentle scent, playfully highlighted in the rainwater. Its owner appeared no less graceful; she carried with her the confidence and calm with which a martial arts professional holds a sword. The sound of her heels on the wet stone of the pier almost disappeared into the tense silence. When the fabric of her garments stopped rustling with her steps, the guard turned around, and something barely noticeable changed in his face before he bowed, tightly gripping the hilt of his katana in his palm. You looked at her captivating figure and didn’t know what impressed you more: her incredible hair, reflecting the spring colors from those very paintings, or the gaze of thunderous eyes? The long hems of her garments were slightly soiled from the wet dust, but her image was not tarnished by dirt. She must be an important person, you thought, clenching your fists and not taking your eyes off the arriving woman. She, having briefly assessed the guard, looked at your mask with mutual interest, occasionally unable to resist evaluating your musical instrument, still openly displayed and gradually getting wet in the rain.
“Miss Guuji,” the captain of the guards bowed politely.
“Oh, what’s the fuss? Isn't it wonderful that a person of art has come to us?” The rhetorical question was directed into the air; she clearly did not expect an answer. “Why don't we let this beautiful girl through?”
You watched the unfolding events with distrust. Had you known things would get this serious, you would have tempered your zeal back in Liyue.
“Lady Yae, with all due respect… We have orders from shogun. And it’s not like I want to be the one losing my head over this.”
“The lady shogun won't concern herself with an ordinary musician. And I wouldn't mind spending the evening with some music. What do you say, lady musician?”
You approached the zither case and snapped it shut, irritably fastening the carved clasps — you would have to spend time thoroughly drying and wiping the instrument. The ship's captain, the guards, and the guuji looked at you expectantly, intrigued to varying degrees by your response; the captain of the guards nervously fiddled with the belt where he had previously tucked some documents, while the ship's captain twirled a heavy pipe between his fingers, not bothering to refresh the tobacco since it would get wet anyway.
You pondered your answer. In an unfamiliar country, an offer from a person clearly not insignificant in relation to the shogun seemed ambiguous. You knew she already wanted something from you, but you couldn't understand what exactly this lady might need from a completely unknown musician.
“Your name is heard a lot over here,” the priestess drawled, shrugging off the cold drops. “I think we'll have enough audience for your notes.”
In the distance, lightning was flashing, mingling with flying cherry blossom petals. The air smelled of spring.
“Thank you, Lady Guuji,” you raised the case. Your posture did not falter under its weight. “I would be happy to have the opportunity to travel across Inazuma.”
The priestess clapped her hands, fairly covering her eyes.
“Wonderful!” she giggled, waving off the guards to release everyone from the team. “In that case, you should stay at the guesthouse until morning. I will see you there.”
“Lady Guuji,” the captain of the guards hurriedly addressed her, stopping the woman halfway. She turned, looking at him over her angular shoulder. “With all due respect, ma'am. But how am I to report if suddenly...”
“If you don't end this drawn-out scene, it will definitely be found out.”
You approached the ship's captain, thanking him for his help. He just waved it off as if he had done nothing; you made sure to remember him for a long time.
The road to the teahouse was silent, and it seemed to you that Guuji was testing you, but you found no reason or circumstance for conversation, politely walking a little behind the woman leading you. The houses around the square on Rito Island, where you had just arrived, seemed empty. Perhaps it was the weather, which cast them in a somber light, but despite the dark facades, they were still unusually beautiful.
“Do you know that your image was captured in a book?” the priestess suddenly asked, still walking forward with her hands folded behind her back. You looked up, breaking away from examining the houses.
“Excuse me?” you asked in surprise.
“A new novel was recently published. About a group of travelers who hunt for ancient scrolls. An engaging read, although written very primitively,” the priestess stopped by the door of one of the houses. The windows glowed with a soft warm light, inviting you inside. Next to the door hung a sign with the name of the place and visiting hours. “Never mind. I immediately recognized your image. It was described in the smallest details. Apparently, the author of the novel attended one of your concerts in Fontaine.”
You stood next to her under the awning, hiding from the rain.
“I didn't know about that.”
“That's a pity. I would like to hear your music. Lately, our lands have lacked such refinements,” she opened the door for you, inviting you into the guesthouse.
Inside it was as cozy as it seemed from the outside. The priestess asked the owner to provide you with a room for a couple of days and even paid for you herself; you didn't even manage to take your wallet out from under your cloak. After kindly chatting with the owner, the priestess was already ready to take her leave.
“Wait! How about what you stood up for me for?”
The priestess smiled again, but this time her smile seemed sincere.
“I hope to hear news about your upcoming concert soon,” she took an umbrella from the stand near the door, gratefully nodding to the owner. “I'm curious to see how you'll manage to set this up here. And I also hope you know how to fight. That skill will come in very handy here. Especially without the Vision.”
Fight. You didn't even have a weapon... It seems you'll have to look for safe paths or find someone who can at least teach you how to hold a sword.
“At least let me know your name.”
“Yae Miko. Welcome to Inazuma.”
She disappeared as quickly as she appeared on the pier, like a passing fox, swift and silent. Only now did you notice the pleasant but unobtrusive scent of her perfume, which she wore. It lingered here like a reminder of her elegance.
The hostess led you to the room and left you alone with the silence and the sound of rain tapping on the eaves. It was warm and comfortable here; the smell of wooden furniture made you feel safe. After changing into dry clothes, you carefully placed the zither case on the table and opened it. A displeased glance fell on the wet carved base of the instrument — it needed urgent drying.
The evening went on, and you pondered what to do next. For the first time in a long while during your travels, you didn't know where to start — usually, such questions never arose, and the goal was always clear or at least vaguely outlined on the horizon. You couldn't decide between the desire to find out what temple stood atop the mountain, shrouded in storms and petals, and the obviously simple solution of heading straight to the capital.
In the end, your path turned out to be quite winding. You did not follow the obvious plan to head to the capital but instead joined pilgrims and merchants traveling between the islands. You managed to catch a distant view of the formidable Tatarasuna, stand at the foot of the Narukami Shrine, hear stories about the mists of Seirai Island, and catch a glimpse of Sangonomiya’s domain. Miraculously avoiding danger, you played melodies and even managed to write down some pieces on sheets; some were irretrievably lost to water, while others, especially those you soon grew tired of, were used to kindle fires.
Inazuma was amazing. Beautiful, dangerous, and capricious, alluring in its own way. Exactly what you had long sought for inspiration. Contrary to first impressions, the people were very welcoming and expressed surprise at your bravery. You learned about the hunt for the Visions and, although far from such a life and power, were deeply disappointed by the state of affairs. Continuing your travels, you pondered this for a long time and never managed to wrap your thoughts around the Shogun’s decision. It must have been on an entirely different level, one you could not afford as a powerless mortal.
And so, at last, you found yourself in the capital. The islands will deserve a separate notebook for your memories.
It was quiet in the tea house. The case lay next to you. You wanted to give a trial performance, a short one, one that the shogun wouldn’t even notice yet; the idea was idiotically bold, actually, if not insane, but you saw no point in doing it anywhere else but here, at the foot of the city. After all, you needed to show yourself; maybe you could gather at least some people who would come if you managed to organize a small concert. Mora won’t earn itself in the future.
Having paid for the amazingly delicious tea, you went out and wandered around looking for a good spot somewhere near the city exit, where there might still be people, but not an excessively large crowd.
You settled under the crown of a large tree, in the shade of which it was comfortable to study the faces of the people gathered around. Then you decided to take the cittern out of its case. People immediately noticed. Their attention, for some reason, made you awkwardly clutch your instrument in your hands, which was a surprising discovery for you — after so many different concerts, big and small, you had hoped you had outgrown nervousness. Perhaps you were just used to those countries, but here, finding yourself for the first time in foreign lands, you remembered what it means to discover a new audience.
Somewhere behind the backs of the interested people stood two young men. One of them, grabbing the other's hand, kept trying to squeeze into a spot from where they could not only listen but also see your figure.
The heavy instrument was lowered onto the wooden carved stands. The road stone was cold against your knees as you sat down nearby. Taking a deep breath, you once again imagined the bright crown of the temple cherry blossoms and distant flashes of lightning. The melody flowed from the strings almost by itself; without thinking, you gave yourself over to smooth improvisation, skillfully making the instrument sing in time with the breeze passing by. The notes streamed like a brook running through grass filled with electric energy — it seemed it should have clashed with its explosive nature, but in your story, it only harmoniously complemented the picture. You showed the audience your vision of this land, and you felt lighter the moment you realized that, in fact, these people were listeners just like in any other place. You allowed yourself to open your eyes while continuing to play your music, and your heart fluttered with pleasant surprise when you met the enthusiastic gazes of the audience. You inspiredly gave a crescendo.
Your eyes met those of this unusual young man as quickly as a wave hits the shore in a storm. At that moment, you didn’t understand what was so special about him, but a few hours after you finish your little performance, you will still think about it.
After seeing him, the picture of Inazuma seemed to take on a new character. The guy was handsome, even too much so, to the point that it seemed extraordinary; his facial features were overly perfect and sculpted, his posture straight, his clothing simple but shouting of hidden wealth, yet he was not truly rich, wore no luxury, but everything about him hinted that he was not from the same social layer as his friend standing next to him. Something... unexpectedly restless you felt thinking about his gaze. It was both empty and full at the same time, childishly curious, interested in your unusual presence, sparkling with fragments of the storm from Tatarasuna. The white clothing over the lilac shirt was virginally clean.
When you return to your room in the guesthouse later, you will hastily take out your instrument again, but this time, your melody will not be an improvisation, but an attempt to record your feelings on the yellowed staff paper before they — like the melody in your head — slip away. This staff paper will become a page of memories about this person, one of the first melodies connected to his life. In this melody, there will be everything: mysterious quiet minors and unexpected bursts, like sun reflections in his eyes, long notes in the measures accompanying your thoughts about the amulet on his neck.
Somewhere in the distance, on the square where you played, the ruler cast her gaze. In a quiet temple on the mountain top, to calm her, the fox led her ear.
The melody stopped, and the applause was not heard immediately, as if people were still expecting a continuation or were simply impressed. Katsuragi enthusiastically joined in the general praise, while the eccentric stood motionless, merely watching you.
“Did you like it?” Katsuragi slightly tugged the young man's sleeve to get his attention. The question was rather pointless; the way his companion was mesmerized watching your delicate fingers pluck the strings of the zither couldn't be described with the ordinary word “like”. In that brief time after his awakening, Kabukimono was probably hearing something so tender for the first time. “Kabuki?”
“Mm,” the guy nodded at him without taking his eyes off you, “Yeah...”
Something prickled behind the collar of Kabukimono’s robe, as if sparks were flashing deep beneath the pure skin of his neck. Katsuragi smiled, folding his arms across his chest.
“Ah, it's a pity it was so short.”
You stood up and bowed carefully, thanking the audience for their attention. Maybe something would come of this. People, seeing you start to pack up the instrument, began to slowly disperse. Some approached wanting to chat, and you responded warmly, steering the conversation from your music to Inazuma; gathering bits of information and places worth visiting. All this time, the young men only observed; Katsuragi was deeply lost in his own thoughts, and his unusual companion did not take his eyes off your cloak — he had seen such before, but only on the pages of books he had looked through here and there, wherever he came across them. His curious nature was undeterred by either difficult books or cheap novels, which new acquaintances often tried to slip him out of curiosity to watch his reaction, nor by various cheap fashion magazines.
When he emerged from his thoughts, he realized that just as he was looking at you, you were standing and looking exactly at him; there was no one left around except you, him, and Katsuragi, who kept shifting his gaze from you to his friend and smiling shyly.
“You play amazingly! Can we ask where you are from?” Katsuragi has finally broke the silence.
“Thank you,” you turned toward him to nod, but your gaze kept trying to return to the other. “I can't say I'm from anywhere in particular. I travel all the time.”
“How interesting! We rarely have guests like you lately…” Katsuragi shook his head. “Will you be playing anywhere else? We would love to listen again! Right, Kabuki?”
An interesting way to address someone, you thought. Up close, this strange guy looked even more surprising; not only was his face exceptionally beautiful, but he was also composed very gracefully and elegantly, yet there was no weakness in his slender figure. Were you curious about his opinion? Surprisingly, yes.
“Your music is beautiful. I’ve never heard anything like this,” he noticed the bells on your garment and their pleasant sound each time the light breeze disturbed them. His voice was strikingly even; it had expression, yet it was devoid of the usual emotions as understood by people. You couldn't explain it. Something was off about him... The contrast sent chills running down your skin. You were intrigued.
“Thank you. I hope I can perform somewhere in Inazuma for a longer time.”
“I hope we'll hear about it… Oh!” Katsuragi suddenly snapped back to reality, “We were running late to the master! I’m so sorry this is so sudden…”
You only nodded understandingly, watching Katsuragi urge “Kabuki” to hurry off on his errands. He turned to you one last time but said nothing. The last thing you remembered about him was the beautiful lilac fabric shielding him from the sun's rays. For some reason, you had ignored this elegant detail until now. He was like a beautiful doll… This thought seemed too strange, and you tried to quickly throw it out of your mind.
Kabuki... It seemed you had found a name for the future melody. You needed to hurry back to your room while the notes still formed a complete picture.
“Katsuragi...” Kabukimono quietly called his tired friend. He turned his head towards him, breaking away from his dinner.
“Yes? Is something wrong?”
“Do you know who that lady was?”
Katsuragi leaned back in his chair, rocking on its back legs.
“I asked around a bit after, when I was free. Seems like a relatively well-known girl, over there on the mainland...” He took a sip of hot tea. The Kabukimono hoped Katsuragi wouldn't fall backwards. “Why do you ask?”
“How do you explain this feeling when it seems like something inside my chest started beating faster?”
