Hold your breath with your arms outstretched, wait for someone to come

by coldfrenchfries

Summary:

Ei, she wrote again. A caged bird is still a bird. It’s still able to fly once the door opens. I hope you remember how to do it. If not, I’ll teach you.

How do you grieve, Miko?

Notes:

hello genshin impact fans (tosses this in the void)

Even now, with five hundred years between her and eternity, Miko still dreamt of Ei when she slept. It wasn’t a daily occurrence, not enough to make her question whether it was a cruel sign from the gods or not, but it was enough to rip out pieces of her. Mostly in her chest, where nerves and arteries and veins would be cut like silk ribbons when she woke up. 

Still, sometimes she checked for injuries and was both relieved and heartbroken to find that she was still standing. In her dreams, she would look at Ei like she used to. Notice the lighting pulsing through her fingertips, the tapestry of a long life sewn into her hair. She would see her eyes, still full of life, still full of grief, still full of everything. 

And Miko would sit on the shrine’s steps, think briefly of Makoto who she remembered with love, and then turn to Ei. Their hands would slip together, electricity humming through the air, and Miko would wish that her selfish desire for a life with Ei truly happened.

In retrospect, it was a plan built on a flimsy foundation. A door with no lock. A storm with no thunder. Keeping a god wrapped around her finger could be blissful, yes, could be romantic and wonderful. But it wasn’t her place. A shrine maiden is still a shrine maiden after all. And trapping lightning in a bottle would only scar her hands. 

But Miko dreamt of it. She soaked in the fantasy in those first few days of Ei’s departure, when she was uncertain whether or not her legs would be able to carry her anymore. When grief was the color of a crow’s feathers and she found nothing but darkness outside the shrine. 

Then a year passed. And then another one. To herself, she was nothing but a fox who was born with eternity running through her veins. Even when given human features. A voice, a body, eyes, and hands. To Miko, a year was nothing but an afterthought to her. 

And yet, she still raised her head when she smelled rain in the air, still ran to the shrine’s entrance when gray storm clouds rolled in. She would hear the crack of lightning. The loud voice of thunder. When she saw violet against the sky, she would pray that it was Ei.

Ei, returning home. Ei, running to her arms. Ei, throwing away the concept of finding the ending of grief in a place darker than the night. 

Then the storm would pass. The sky would open up, resulting in nothing but blue skies and chilly winds. And Miko would curse Barbatos for the change in weather, and then beg the other Archons to return what was stolen from her. 

Pull her out of that place, she wanted to say. Bring her home, already! 

Miko rolled her eyes at every finished prayer, ashamed at her neediness, embarrassed at her loneliness. A shrine maiden is still a shrine maiden. It doesn’t matter whether you were the one to hold her when she was sobbing after her sister said goodbye prematurely. It doesn’t matter that you helped her build a doll that looked like her, a doll that would run the country when she inevitably hid from the world. 

It doesn’t matter she didn’t say goodbye, but you still felt a kiss against your cheek the night she left. It was when she thought you were sleeping. 

After her dreams, she would rise earlier than all the other girls, rise before the rest of Inazuma. She would notice the glow of the morning on the steps. Pink, violet, orange. Beautiful, streaking, unfinished. 

Miko would think of Makoto, who would probably be the only one that would be brave enough to face her little sister head-on. Who would probably love mornings like these. 

She would think of Ei too. The one that would be able to step outside the Plane of Euthymia if she chose to. The one that would be able to sew the pieces that fell from Miko after she fled. The one that didn’t enjoy mornings, but would still try to find the beauty in them for Miko’s sake. 

And then Miko would get up, dust her dress off, and go about her day as if nothing happened. She would ask the other maidens how their day was, accept prayers from people Ei would never hear, and try her best to limit her grief. Keep your hands busy, it helps with the heartache. 

Miko tried to believe it. 

– – 

Sometimes, she looked towards the bird squawking at the puppet’s feet. Sara, a girl who kept devotion close and her bow closer. Miko got a laugh out of the sight on a good day and tried her best to muffle her sobs on a bad day because Sara reminded her of herself. When she was younger, more naive. 

Sometimes, she entertained the snowy girl, Ayaka, when she visited as a representative of her clan. She often had that boy trailing behind her, the one who still called her Miss Yae instead of giving worth to her title. Ayaka would nudge him like a sister who was annoyed at her brother. 

“It’s Lady Yae, Thoma!” 

“Right, right, sorry!” 

She liked them both. It reminded her of conversations only heard through thin walls, when Makoto and Ei would bicker over petty things. Gods or not, they were still sisters. 

Sometimes, she would notice a ripple in the calm waters below and know that Kokomi would visit. She would claim she was on official business, but Miko knew better. Being a general grew tiresome, leading one side of an already doomed war took a toll on Kokomi and her quiet nature. Miko would offer tea, a place to rest. 

Again, all signs of her and the others pointed back to Ei and Miko when they were younger. All of them were children in her eyes. Children, young and hopeful. Not yet grief-stricken or missing any pieces. 

And then there was the Traveler, a girl born from starlight and who seemed older than she implied. She knew a thing or two about grief, a thing or two about swordsmanship, a thing or two about what it meant to be missing someone and missing the pieces they took with them. 

Miko called Lumine a child too, same as she would any other visitor. She would entertain her celestial companion and answer their questions about the puppet and the Decree. And at first, she expected this child to grow bored with her and her stories to run off to fight a monster, to give her grief a physical representation and action to go with it. 

Lumine stayed much to Miko’s annoyance, and for the first time in five hundred years, she let Ei’s name slip past her lips. It sounded warped and strange and made a pressure tighten in her throat. It sounded comforting and loving and made her chest brighten. It sounded like home. It sounded like unfamiliarity. 

Young girl, she wanted to say. You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that. But can that stubbornness heal a torn nation? Can it bring back lightning and the woman that chased it? 

Can you bring her home?

“If it’ll stop this decree,” Lumine said as her gold eyes glimmered with a feeling Miko knew too well. “Then I’ll do it.” 

Miko laughed and let a smile curl against her lips. “Okay, then.” 

– – 

Ei, she wrote down one late evening. The stories I have for you can’t be enough for one book. It has to be told in person. Ei, would you even be interested in the life I’ve led since you’ve stepped out of it? Do you remember me? 

I’m still going to bring you home. I’m going to show you every last memory of us. I love you enough to do that. I hope you realize that someday. 

– –

Lumine, the traveler from another world, the one who struck her sword into the face of danger and lived to tell the tale after it was over, was a girl that got caught in her stubbornness. Her naivety. Similar to Sara, similar to Kokomi, similar to her and Ei and everyone who came before her. 

Miko stepped in with a piece of Ei slipped into her pocket. She sighed and shook her head as the young hero was now on the floor at the scent of poison. Paimon was too. Pathetic in nature, a low trick even in terms of her standards. 

She tossed the Gnosis to Ei’s first attempt at eternity, the failed puppet shaped into the liking of a boy. The one with violet eyes like Ei’s, but none of her gentleness. The one who joined a group in search of some form of camaraderie, the group that was now nothing more than a dull headache to Miko.

“Here,” she said calmly. “I hope this is enough for you. I hope to never see you here again.” 

She picked up Lumine who curled at her touch and whispered someone’s name. She let her rest at the shrine and asked Kokomi to give her the finest medicines Inazuma had to offer. 

– –

“Is she going to be okay?” Paimon asked, her voice quiet and filled over with worry. 

Miko nodded. “Mhm, she’s going to feel good as new.” 

“Good!” Paimon said with a smile. “I didn’t want a new traveling buddy anyway!” 

Miko sighed and tended to the girl’s injuries late into the night. 

Ei, she thought. You should look at me now. I think you would laugh at my attempt at being a nurse.

– –

In the dream, five hundred years after feeling the warmth of her touch, Ei still looked the same. When Miko was awake, she often lost the sound of her god’s voice or the outline of her body. The memory stung all the same, but sometimes the clearness of it all grew dull, grew further in the distance. 

In her dreams though, there was Ei. 

Ei, standing in the pits of her grief. Ei, letting the quietness of the Plane consume her. Ei, opening her eyes to find a familiar face. 

“Miko?” She asked. 

She stepped closer. “Hello, Ei,” she said plainly. 

Her chest was breaking open. Her tears were barely contained and she wanted nothing more than to run into Ei’s arms. Grief had the color of a crow’s feathers. The backdrop of Ei’s palace looked the same. 

“Come home,” she whispered. “You don’t have to spend the rest of your life here. Makoto-” 

Ei winced. Heartache struck like lightning. 

“Makoto wouldn’t want this.” Was this the edge of her feelings? The neediness caught in her voice… Was that her speaking? “I don’t want this.”

“Please.” 

Hold your hand out as your chest remains torn in half. Offer a different life, one where you can be together. One where a caged bird can still be free. 

She’s so close you can almost feel her heart dancing in a rhythm. 

“Miko,” her god said. “I can’t.” Take a breath. Take another one. “It’s for the nation.” 

“To hell with the damn nation!” 

You were a shrine maiden. You were a nine-tailed fox hopelessly in love with a girl. You thought that admiration would turn the tides in your favor, bring the eye of the storm back to its rightful place. 

“I just want you with me again!” 

In the end, your god rejected your curse and your prayer. She still had the decency to wipe your tears, still had the softness to hold your cheek like how she used to. You soaked in the fantasy and then were sent back to your world. 

A shrine maiden is still a shrine maiden. A dream is still a dream. 

– –

Miko woke up with her heart in her throat and sobs shaking her shoulders. In the past, the other girls wouldn’t bring her dreams to the surface even if the walls were thin enough to hear her. They would let her ache, let her scream and curse every last deity she could name, and then they would carry on as normal. 

She let the morning warm her as she wiped the last of her tears away. She sat on the steps, memorizing the details of Ei’s face in her dream as if it had happened. She took in the details she had forgotten. 

Lumine got up not too long after. As Miko predicted, she was feeling better, feeling as good as when her brother was still by her side. She stood next to her, a hand pressing against the shrine’s entrance. The wind ruffled her hair. Her hair was the color of the sun, the color of starlight. 

“Inazuma is beautiful in the morning,” she whispered, her voice still tinged with sleep. 

Miko looked towards the colors of the sky. “It is.” 

– – 

Ei, she wrote again. A caged bird is still a bird. It’s still able to fly once the door opens. I hope you remember how to do it. If not, I’ll teach you. 

– – 

In the days leading up to sending the traveler straight into the Plane, Miko’s dreams only grew more vivid, more detailed each night. In the day, she helped Lumine prepare before she ran off to aid another person or kill another monster. In the evening, she had conversations with Ei. 

“Are you letting me in here?” She asked once. “Is the Ei that I’m seeing the real one?” She sighed and rested her chin on her hand. “Or has my grief driven me to madness, finally?” 

Ei shook her head. “You’re not mad, Miko.” 

“Then,” she took a breath. “I’ll see you soon.” 

There was a ghost of a smile on Ei’s lips after so long. 

– – 

From a distance, Miko watched as sparks of lightning flashed across the dark sky. She heard the clanging of metal, heard a young girl shout in frustration when put against a god’s weapon. She would have laughed in the past, found amusement in seeing Ei fight against someone so much smaller than her. 

But Lumine was the one to rip open Ei’s palace. She did it twice, both with ease and excitement to find where her journey would lead her. And for that, Miko was grateful. 

The Plane of Euthymia was a dark place, colored and shaded to match a woman’s long standing grief. It would be no match for the traveler, no matter how many enemies her sword had cut throughout her days. 

Miko stepped forward, placed a hand on Lumine’s shoulder. “I’ll take it from here.” 

– –

When the door closed, the traveler left them to stand on the thin line between grief and eternity. The conversation from earlier was something tangible, something she could hold, but couldn’t savor in Lumine’s presence. With the door of the Plane locked, the sky lit up for the first time in five hundred years. 

Miko didn’t know what to say at first. She moved, took a few steps into this space which looked so much newer in the sunlight. There was Ei. Ei, standing there. Ei, lightning in a bottle. Ei, the real her, the one with blood and a heart to hold every memory of them together. 

Naturally, she gave in. She ran into her arms. 

“It’s you,” she gasped as tears stung her eyes. “Oh God, it’s really you.” 

Somehow, Ei managed to laugh in between her sobs. There was an apology, one the god of Inazuma had been working on since she first stepped in here. It was tearful, long, poetic in some parts, enough to make Miko sob as hard as it made her laugh. 

And by the end, there was an offering. Miko stood, faced eternity with a half open chest, and held her hand out. 

“Ei,” she whispered. “Please come home with me.” 

Pray to your god. Maybe one day she will look at you and answer your call. 

– –

Unlike foxes, gods didn’t need to sleep. They were given the world at their fingertips and told to become something greater than themselves. The simpler humanities they once had would be soon forgotten about as time wrapped around them. Miko knew that, but Ei still slept next to her anyway. 

She rose one morning with warmth touching the floor and her fingertips. Lately, Miko had been taking the time to admire Ei when she wasn’t aware of it. As if to make up for lost time, lost moments that could have been. 

She can admire a god in her moment of rest, finally finding the peacefulness that had been lost during wars and stories of nations. She can think of their days together, what plans they can come up with today to heal Inazuma from the inside. Or maybe they can indulge in more human traditions, the ones forgotten about in the span of a long life. 

Some days, Miko didn’t think about any of that though. Some days, she rose from her bed, pressed a kiss against Ei’s cheek, and moved to sit on the shrine’s steps. Sometimes, Ei would join her. 

“I’ve never noticed how beautiful the nation could be,” Ei said one morning when the sky was a series of vibrant colors. 

Miko looked up at her then back to the scenery. “Much has changed since you’ve been gone, but the sky hasn’t.” 

“I’m glad I’m able to see it then.” 

Miko smiled. “Me too.”

 

Notes:

uhh hi if you've made it to the end tell me what you thought!!

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