Disclaimer: I own none of the works belonging to the author(s) and game designer(s) employed by Illwinter, the makers of the Dominion series, neither do I own any of the characters, factions, monsters, and places inside said media, save for those imagined and created by me.

Chapter 3: Harsh Lessons

~"A lamassu whose name is troublesome to pronounce, Nebuk as we decided to call him is the God of the city-states of Uruk, his wisdom surpassed only by that of our master Narayana. I've lost count of how many disputes he settled among empires and individuals without resorting to bloodshed. In fact, whenever Narayana wasn't available, Nebuk was the only one who could break up fights between me and Anaximander, his mastery over many paths of magic more than capable of besting even warriors such as ourselves in battle. However, at times I have seen a cowl of depression darkening Nebuk's face whenever he meditated at his favorite spot underneath Narayana's God Tree, his brow leaden as if crushed under the weight of a terrible, personal secret."~

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~ ”Tomorrow, we will review the basics of your footwork and sword strokes then we will work on your defense,” Hirohito said as he reached over and planted a kiss on the little girl’s forehead. “Make sure you get plenty of rest.”

“Yes, Father!” Jingū said as she ran to her room, her tiny bare feet pattering on the wooden floor. Getting ready for bedtime, Jingū rested on the mat and simply lay there, her eyes tracing the serpentine dragons as they frolicked across the rice-paper walls, She trembled as anticipation welled up inside of her like a fire being covered by a wooden bowl. On second thought, that was a bad analogy since that would extinguish the fire but suffice to say, she just couldn't wait until morning came! She knew she needed all the lessons she could get if she wanted to chase away those bad bakemono and make Jomon a better place.

As Jingū’s thoughts wandered to the clashing of practice katana and stern instructions, she became aware of a presence standing above her head. Jingū slowly tilted her head back, a warm smile appearing on her face as she turned to look at her father.

That was when a drop of red spattered against her forehead.

Her heart leaped up her throat as Jingū scrambled onto her feet, her eyes widening at the intruder in recognition. Dressed in black armor with blue and silver trimming, the ashigaru stared harshly into her eyes, his face as pale as a fresh corpse. Blood dripped from a deep, horizontal gash across his torso.

“You ended my dream,” he muttered, his voice tinged with grief.

Suddenly, Jingū’s left hand detached itself from her wrist and fell to the floor, soon drenched in a torrent of blood that spilled out of the stump like a small crimson waterfall. Screaming, Jingū gripped the stump with her other hand as she backed away from the ashigaru. Her blood soon covered her bedroom floor, beginning its rapid ascend.

Jingū’s heart nearly stopped as she bumped into someone. Whirling around, Jingū whimpered as she found herself facing a second ashigaru, his brow even more furrowed than the first. Blood poured from a deep wound in his chest.

“You slew my hope,” he grumbled at her.

“Father, save me!” Jingū cried out as she tried to get away from the two men, her ankles sloshing through the blood. The walls of her room seemed to close in on her.

Bumping into someone, Jingū screamed as she came face-to-face with the third ashigaru. He was holding his severed head underneath his left arm, his pale eyes leering at her in silent judgment. Blood gushed from the top of his neck and the base of his head, as well as out of the stump where his left hand once was attached, washing over his hips. The walls of her bedroom seemed to stretch into infinity, pillars of wood and rice paper that held up the sky the ceiling became.

“You murdered my desire!” he growled, his teeth bared.

"No, I-I-I didn't mean to!" she choked out as she struggled to get away from the three ashigaru.

Suddenly, the clanking of armor echoed behind her as someone larger trudged through the rising bodily fluid. Whipping around, Jingū found herself face-to-face with a samurai decked in heavy armor painted black with blue trimming, a koi leaping over a mountain displayed on his right pauldron. A stream of blood poured out of his damaged right eye, splashing all over his half-mask.

“You butchered my ambitions!” he yelled, the capillaries in his remaining eye gouged in blood.

“Father! Father!” Jingū sobbed as chest-high blood splashed into her face. She sputtered when the coppery-smelling fluid rushed into her nose, sending her into a coughing fit. The four apparitions continue to stare down at her, grief and hatred marring their faces.

Struggling to get away from the samurai, Jingū called for her father again as she found herself in the center. As soon as she did, the four apparitions marched toward her slowly, their accusations ranging from solemn whispers to loud imprecations as they closed in on her. Even the walls themselves seemed to advance upon her, threatening to crush and grind her into nothingness.

“I’m sorry! *gasp* P-please *cough cough* please forgive me!”

As the blood covered her neck and chin, she stood on her toes in an attempt to stay above the surface. However, judging by the rate at which the blood was rising, she would be completely submerged in a few more minutes.

“I’m sorry for killing you!”

“ ’Sorry’ doesn’t return me to my family!” the decapitated ashigaru shouted.

“Your apologies won’t bring me back from the dead!” the samurai screeched.

“You don’t deserve forgiveness!” the ashigaru with the long gash snarled.

“Why do you deserve to live while we must die?!” the last ashigaru demanded.

“Leave me alone! FATHER, SAVE ME!” Jingū screeched as she futilely pushed against the advancing bodies with her feeble arm. As the blood rose to her mouth, Jingū tilted her head back just in time to see someone push their way through the samurai and the ashigaru.

The newcomer wore black armor with blue trimming much like the samurai, albeit it was of a more elaborate design. Blood poured from the wound in his abdomen as well as the base of his head, which he held underneath his left arm much like the third ashigaru.

“No, no…,” Jingū breathed in stunned horror as she recognized the individual. “I didn’t…*cough* I didn’t mean to...”

“YOU KILLED MY FUTURE!” Matsu raged as he lurched forward and grabbed a handful of her hair. Jingū screamed as he shoved her below the surface of the crimson liquid. A stream of bubbles clawed their way to the surface as her muffled screams echoed throughout the macabre flood, a prisoner inside a room full of death and past regrets.~

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With a gasp, Jingū quickly jerked up into a sitting position on the mat, her skin slick with sweat. Forcing herself to calm down, Jingū looked around the interior of the room. Various paraphernalia she immediately recognized were placed on short drawers, an armor rack holding her cleaned and oiled armor. Her twin swords were placed next to it, free of grime and filth.

“Was it all just a dream?” she muttered, chuckling lightly as a smile stretched across her face. Under her blanket, she flexed the fingers of her left hand as she attempted to soothe the persistent aching in the wrist. “Could this mean I had never fought in the battle at all? If so, Kenshi is still alive and I still have my left hand!”

Taking a few more minutes to collect herself, Jingū got off the mat and strode over to the twin swords. The sickness in her stomach had nearly passed, though she was forced to ignore the pain as her left wrist began to hurt a bit more.

Jingū eventually arrived at her weapons, staring at confusion as she gazed upon the nicks and tiny scratches marring the otherwise polished and oiled surface. A feeling of loss and nostalgia welled up inside of her as the weapons that were given to her as a name-day present just months ago brought her to times when warm afternoons and eager instruction had not yet given way to the death of a father and the advent of increased responsibility.

“I shall honor you and Mother with every breath I make and every action I take, Father,” she intoned solemnly as she extended her left hand toward one of the katana.

It was when a shot of pain shot up her left arm upon touching the weapon that Jingū realized that something was wrong. Her breaths increased in intensity as she raised the affected limb to her face. Wrapped in bandages with a large spot of blood slowly growing on the end, the stump forcibly brought her back to reality like the shattering of glass. A whimper escaped her lips as memories of screaming men and blades slick with blood forced themselves back into the forefront of her consciousness.

“It wasn’t a dream…,” she finally breathed before grabbing her hair with her right hand and unleashing a piercing scream.

Immediately, two samurai rushed into the tent, their katana unsheathed as they scanned the room for assassins. When they saw that Jingū was alone, they relaxed visibly if only slightly, their weapons hesitantly sliding back into their sheaths.

“What's troubling you, Jingū-dono?” one of them asked her.

Trembling, Jingū stopped when she heard the samurai’s voice. There seemed to be an odd tone of… respect in his words. She must be imagining things, she reasoned. She’s just a girl playing at war.

“I’m fine, brave samurai, just getting used to my new condition, that is all,” Jingū gasped as she turned to face him and his comrade, straightening her back in an attempt to exude an air of authority and confidence. However, she felt like collapsing onto the ground and curling up into a whimpering ball.

Unsurprisingly, neither samurai were fooled. “For what it’s worth, Hirohito-dono would’ve been proud of you,” the man spoke again.

Jingū swallowed as the memory of her father resurfaced. “I’m sure he would. Thank you.” Jingū turned back to her armor. “Now return to your posts. I need some time... to process."

“As you command, Jingū-dono,” the samurai acknowledged before they bowed and exited the tent.

Sitting on her knees before her armor set, Jingū buried her face in her right hand, images of Kenji and the times he joked much to Oba's annoyance surfacing as tears slipped past her fingers. Amid her sobs, memories flashed by of him comforting her after her pet fox drowned in a flood, of him and Oba keeping her company whenever her father had to defend against raids here and oversee disputes among the peasantry and the nobility there.

The lone memory of Kenji lying on the ground, his slackened face half-burned and forever devoid of mirth.

Taking deep breaths, Jingū barely managed to calm herself, the shaking in her arms slowly dying down. With a sigh, she turned away from her armor and walked toward the entrance of the tent, ducking underneath the flap as she wiped her eyes dry with her left arm, wincing at the pain.

Outside, warriors chatted with each other over meals and cards, trading stories about the battle. Samurai and ashigaru alike were bragging about their deeds in the fight as well as the number of spoils they looted from the enemy. Some even spoke wistfully about comrades who'd fallen in battle, their eyes moist in the lights of the campfires.

However, the samurai and ashigaru congregated from each other, the omnipresent proof that even the mutual experience of risking one’s life in battle was not as strong as centuries-old social segregation.

Some things never change.

As Jingū approached a group of samurai sitting around a campfire and eating their meals, she rested against a tent and listened to them.

“You should’ve seen me during the fight!” one samurai boasted to his comrades, spilling grains of rice. “I’d killed those two ashigaru with a single sword stroke!”

“Hah, that was nothing! I killed two samurai in the span of three seconds!” another scoffed as he slammed a fist against his breastbone. He then wolfed down a chicken leg. “That’s the fury of the Shojo Family on full display!”

“For the last time Gendo-san, those samurai were distracted by me holding the both of them off at once!” a third grumbled. “You just got lucky!”

“No, I just got charitable and allowed you to hold your own so that you won’t feel left out of the glory, Meiji-san!”

The other samurai laughed as Meiji frowned at them, chomping on a celery stalk.

“Hmph, as if I needed your help becoming the greatest warrior in the Hideyoshi Clan!”

“Of course, our deeds though glorious pale in comparison to that of the daimyo,” the fourth samurai spoke, a subtle twinkle in his eyes. “I’d heard she charged the enemy daimyo head-on and chopped his horse in half before proceeding to beat him within every inch of his life. That girl certainly can fight!”

“Yeah, I’d heard about that,” Gendo added as he grabbed another chicken leg. “I’ve heard she cut her way through his entire retinue and fought him to a standstill! He managed to cut off her left arm because that was the only way he could ever slow her down. However, get this, she became so overcome with fury that she picked up her arm and proceeded to beat him senseless with it. She battered the enemy daimyo with her own fucking arm!”

“Pfrah, those are just tall tales!” Meiji scoffed as he took a swig from a wineskin filled with sake. “She’s just a little girl who’d finally bloodied herself in battle, thus proving herself to not be so weak after all! She still has a long way to go before she can ever hope to fill her father’s shoes, that is all.”

“Well to be fair, she is still new at waging war-,” the fourth samurai’s words froze in his throat as his face blanched. Suddenly, he quickly stood to his feet and bowed, his face wrinkled with tension. “Stand up and pay respects, you sons of kitsune!” he hissed at them.

The other samurai quickly stood up and bowed to Jingū, who simply nodded as she walked toward them. “At ease, brave warriors,” she said as she shot Meiji a harsh look. The samurai gulped almost inaudibly.

“How’s your hand, Jingū-dono?” the first samurai asked, only to be rebuked by his comrades.

“She lost her hand, you idiot!” the fourth samurai growled before turning back to Jingū. “Pardon my scatterbrained friend, my liege. He had had too much sake apparently.”

“It’s okay, brave warrior, I’m fine." she waved him off. "Too bad I’d lost it, otherwise I would’ve beaten Touma-san to death with it instead.” This elicited a chuckle from the four samurai.

Taking a deep breath, Jingū changed the subject. “Do any of you know where they’d taken Oba-san, my bodyguard? He was wounded in the battle.”

“I remember the ashigaru speak about the wounded being held in those tents over there by those crates of supplies,” Gendo said as he pointed in the aforementioned direction. “Provided he’s not up and about, you should find him there, my liege.”

“Thank you so much for your help,” Jingū said as she started off, only to pause long enough to look over her shoulders at the samurai. “One more thing: I don’t care if I have not filled my father’s shoes yet. I may very well outgrow them.”

Without waiting for the samurai to respond, Jingū walked toward the tents and visited them. Though the wounded were grateful to see her and she congratulated them for their bravery, Jingū couldn't find Oba anywhere. Many of the ashigaru and samurai wandering around the camp were in awe as she asked for directions and quite a few had to be shaken back to attention, sometimes literally, when they started to gush over her. Eventually, she managed to find his tent and stepped inside only to find that he wasn’t alone.

Misato and Yumeji turned to face her, a look of disapproval on the face of the former and a worried but relieved expression on the latter. Nodding in affirmation to both of them, Jingū stopped next to Misato and kneeled beside Oba, who lay on his stomach as he studied her movements with an expression of relief and concern. A thick bandage was wrapped around his torso, a faint pink line peeking through the fabric. His eyes drifted to her left stump as a breath escaped his lips.

“My liege, it’s good to see you up at this time, albeit in a less rested state,” he said as Jingū gave him a firm smile. He looked away like a puppy who just destroyed his master's prized possession.

“Oba is correct, you still need to recuperate,” Misato acknowledged

“How can I rest when my warriors require their leader to remain strong?” Jingū asked her. Misato and Yumeji gave her quizzical looks. “Besides, a recent nightmare has taken away any desire to sleep.”

Shaking her head, Misato couldn’t help but smile wistfully. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” she replied, chuckling lightly. “Even Hirohito-dono couldn’t stay still despite his injuries. I’ve lost count of how many times the physicians had to close wounds that reopened.”

“Tell me about it,” Yumeji huffed. “One day, I was making my way to his tent when we were on campaign near Busan and I found him chopping wood while covered in blood from reopened gashes! I thought he was butchering a small animal while covered in its blood. Head Physician Momoe nearly fainted when she found out!”

Misato threw her head back and gave off a loud chortle as Oba joined in, his laughs laced with groans and his face grimacing for every shot of sheer agony. As Yumeji laughed, Jingū joined in though her own laughter was more subdued and withdrawn. Her heart wasn’t into it that much anyway.

“If only Kenshi-san and all of our brave warriors who’d given their lives earlier were still alive, joking with each other inside their tents as we speak,” she finally said. The laughter soon died down and the three warriors lowered their heads solemnly, their expressions unreadable in the dim light of the lantern. Realizing she chose her words poorly, the daimyo quickly regretted opening her stupid mouth.

“Nevermind, don’t pay attention to what I’d just said. I can be a silly girl at times.”

Misato simply raised a hand as she shook her head. “Don’t apologize, my liege, you’d said nothing wrong. War takes as much as it gives and even that equivalency is quite rare. Even if its belligerents initially considered it worth the effort, even the winners soon feel the costs one way or another.”

“If that’s true then why do most samurai enjoy battles so much?” Jingū asked her inquisitively. “Why do you like fighting as well?”

Misato raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised Hirohito-dono hasn't explained something like that to you. He probably would've done so if he was still alive."

"Certainly," the daimyo confirmed.

Misato pursed her lips for a bit before giving off a shrug. “The short answer is they’re fun. The long answer is that most people who love putting their physical and mental skills to the test often engage in duels and contests with each other, obtaining a profound sense of accomplishment when they win, especially against opponents of equal or superior skill. The thing about war is that it provides these people with an outlet to prove themselves with the appropriate stakes to match. Warriors clash with and best each other on the field of battle while strategists outmaneuver and outsmart their adversaries in the campaign, all participating in a grand contest of high-risk and great reward.”

“I sense a ‘but’ in there.”

“Yes,” Misato’s smile turned grim as she nodded. Her face became slightly flushed. "Remember when I told you that fighting in your first battle was like having sex?"

It was Jingū's turn to blush. "Even now it's hard to forget."

"Well, war itself is a collective of subsequent orgies committed with a bunch of strangers who brought with them all kinds of baggage and pent-up desires. It is a huge affair that starts out orderly in the planning phases but begins devolving as soon as the first skirmishes that are the foreplay starts. It is filled with people who either lose themselves in the tumble or find it too uncomfortable for their taste and want a way out, only to be dragged back in if they're lucky. It soon turns nonconsensual as hapless bystanders are brutally violated by those either with a lust for dominance or are merely doing it for the sake of convenience. Regardless, it all leads up to the same exact thing..."

"Shattered innocence and past regrets," Yumeji muttered, interlacing his fingers with each other.

"That... th-that's a strange way of putting it," Jingū sputtered, blinking rapidly.

"The point is that you understand what it means, my liege," Misato replied, her smile thinning. "It means that should you in the future find yourself about to plunge into such dirty business as we have now, you'd better make sure it's for a, let's say, righteous and unselfish cause. Otherwise, you'd lose yourself in it and become no different from a serial rapist or a mass murderer."

Jingū thought for a moment before turning back to her hatamoto and bodyguard. "Other than fighting against an oppressor, can something like war ever be considered just?"

Yumeji gave a chuckle as Misato huffed. "That's a question best suited for our resident philosopher, who left for her tent an hour before you arrived," he finally said.

"Shiba-san loves discussing the vagueness of morality and war with those with the patience and inclination to listen," Misato added with a shrug. "She would be delighted to educate you."

Oba simply snorted. "Trust me my liege, war is always 'just' in the eyes of those who desire it, righteousness be damned."

"What wise words you have, Oba-sensei!” Jingū teased, eliciting a pained smile from the bodyguard. She then lowered her head as her lips quivered. Her eyes became moist. "Regardless, there is always a cost."

Misato was silent for a moment. "Kenshi-san and many of the Dawn Coalition's warriors were ready to give their all for a future they once could only fantasize about."

“They died doing what they believed in, a dream those who care about the future would personally invest themselves into. I’m sure Kenshi-san and others like him would’ve considered it the ultimate honor to do so,” Oba said, grunting as a wave of pain washed over him.

“They gave their lives for the hope you instilled into them, my liege," Yumeji added. His voice obtained a firm, yet warm tone as he raised his chin, his eyes locked with hers. "You gave us a reason to look forward to the future and I remembered every word you said as every action you took embedded itself into my soul and unlocked feelings that were once locked away the day your father died. I doubted you in the beginning, my liege, and I am glad to have been proven wrong.”

Jingū was nonplussed as Yumeji’s admission. Though Oba was likewise surprised as well, Misato remained impassive, perhaps even knowing about her fellow hatamoto’s doubt beforehand.

“I… how can you l-look up to me like t-t-that?” she stammered as images of the ashigaru who’d sacrificed his life to distract the samurai she fought welled up in her head, Kenshi's face superimposed onto his. “Amaterasu, er.. -dono did most of the work! Without her, Touma-san would’ve crushed us-”

“Goddess or no, I would’ve died for you regardless,” Yumeji said as he clasped his hands behind his back, standing erect like a bulwark against a storm. His eyes bore an edge sharp enough to cut through steel yet held a willingness to go through any trial, no matter how brutal and no matter the cost. Jingū looked around the room to find Misato and Oba bearing the same sentiment. She also glimpsed a hint of guilt washing over the latter’s face every time he glanced at her stump, prompting her to move it behind her back.

“Thank you all for everything,” the young daimyo finally said, her voice a lot softer than she would like. She gulped. “I too will work hard to live up to your expectations as a leader and… if necessary, will gladly give my life for you.”

A fierce expression appeared on Misato’s face and Jingū mustered as much strength as she could to avoid shrinking when the hatamoto took a step toward her, her arms folded across her chest and her eyes narrowed. A corner of her upper lip curled up slightly.

“How about you do the leading while we do the dying, my liege?” she finally said in a tone that brooked no argument. Behind her, Yumeji and Oba nodded steadily.

“Certainly,” Jingū replied without hesitation.

A warm smile appearing on her face, Misato lowered her arms to her sides and took a deep breath. “Now that you know we’re fine, you can now return to your tent to rest.”

A thought suddenly appeared in Jingū’s head. “There is someone I have to speak with first.”

“The goddess, you mean?”

“No, someone far less divine and even less savory.”

Misato raised an eyebrow and snorted. “Forget it, that misogynistic asshole is still miffed at his dishonorable defeat at our hands. I seriously doubt taunting him would make him more amenable.”

“Taunt him? I just want to remind him of his importance and newfound duties to the goddess. It’s why he’s still alive after all.”

Misato was about to object but thought better of it. Besides, Jingū bore that look that meant that she couldn’t be persuaded away from what she intended to do. “Fine then, my liege,” she said with a sigh. “Just make sure a handful of samurai is nearby when you talk to him. Someone who can fight as he did in the battle would still be dangerous even when unarmed.”

“Duty noted, Misato-san,” Jingū said as she turned toward the tent flaps.

"Wait, before you go, you should not feel too bad about your missing hand," Misato spoke up. Her lopsided smirk looked as if it was about to explode.

Jingū raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Misato eventually forced her face to assume a neutral expression. She became a statue, unswayed by emotion and thought. To a stranger, Misato might as well be a woman bereft of jest and inane silliness, a bulwark against childish insanity.

Unfortunately for Jingū, she knew who was basically the female version of Kenshi all too well.

"BECAUSE YOU ONLY NEED ONE FOR FUN!" Misato roared.

Jingū looked at Misato as the three adults howled in laughter. Oba wheezed in pain even as the spirit of raunchy humor sought to possess him. Jingū's mouth became agape as she tried to decipher this mystery, this latest enigmatic antic. The answer came like a thunderbolt and the young daimyo dashed through the entrance, her face nearly matching the color of the armor set still in her tent.

"Bye!" she exasperated as she found herself breathing nighttime air.

Jingū groaned as she shook the unbidden images out of her head. That silly hatamoto always does this when she least expected it! Once, as a toddler, Jingū made the mistake of asking Misato to explain one of her vulgar jokes. The experience left her temporarily scarred and dazed much to the annoyance of Father. To this very day, Jingū wondered how have Misato not driven her insane by now though she admittingly has become quite curious about the male anatomy.

Perhaps Misato can be ordered to consume a bar of soap?

Jingū eventually made her way over to the stockades where the prisoners of war were held. Though the samurai and ashigaru guarding them beheld her in newfound respect and even awe, prisoners of war in every state of injury either ignored her or leered in her direction save for one samurai, who watched her with no small amount of curiosity as he turned on a small stool. Strips of torn cloth swaddled the stump of what remained of his right shin and a makeshift walking stick rested against the enclosure nearby. The other samurai seemed to have given him a wide berth for some reason.

"The sun goddess favors you, does she?" he suddenly asked, placing a hand on one of the enclosure's wooden beams as the other scratched at his stubble. The wind played with his short black hair. In the moonlight, the man appeared about Yumeji's age.

Narrowing her eyes slightly, Jingū approached him, stopping just beyond arm's reach. She folded her arms across her chest but said nothing.

"I've heard from who I presume to be your samurai that you two spend a lot of time together." The captured samurai gave an apologetic shrug. "I think Shinigami is like that too, having a close relationship with the Prophetess of Shinuyama, at least that's what I grew up learning."

Jingū took a deep breath. "You could say that she is more accustomed to me. I did free her after all."

The samurai's eyes widened as he leaned closer, a slowly widening smile growing on his face. "A wondrous achievement for someone so young! That simple act could very well change the world, provided your coalition succeeds in its goal. Tell me, Hideyoshi-dono..."

"Jingū-dono," the daimyo corrected.

"Jingū-dono," the samurai repeated. "Tell me, what is your sun goddess' goal? What divine agenda does she have in mind for this world?

Jingū wrinkled an eyebrow. Unlike his peers, who were currently casting glares in their direction, this samurai seemed unconcerned about chatting with who hours ago was his enemy. It's almost as if he didn't care about the state of his liege Touma. However, she found his interest oddly refreshing if not expected.

"She wants to bring peace and happiness as the new Pantokrator and to end all suffering and pain. She wants to end all of this constant infighting among the daimyo and unite Jomon into a single kingdom."

"Is it just Jomon she wants?"

"That is what I understood about her desire."

The samurai lowered his eyes as his smile wavered. He then turned back to Jingū. "My wish is to live long enough to see her dreams become a reality. She seems like a goddess who truly desires such things for her followers. Now, all she has to do is not succumb to the darkness within."

Her breath hitched in her throat as Jingū focused on him even more, her face reddening slightly as her eyes narrowed. Okay, this samurai is certainly not like the others.

"I know this isn't something you wanted to hear Jingū-dono, especially from the likes of me, but..." A tremor moved through the samurai's body and into his hands. A short but sharp breath squeezed through his teeth. "When she picked me up shortly after stomping on my right leg and crushing my ronin companions, I saw that look of repressed cruelty in her golden eyes as they regarded me as something insignificant, something that existed solely to be played with until it finally broke. That look reminded me of when I caught my little brother tearing the legs off of frogs he captured, laughing as he imposed his will upon such helpless creatures."

"She certainly didn't appear capable of cruelty when I released her," Jingū found herself countering the ronin. Her defense sounded hollow though; it felt strange defending a goddess she'd only known for two days. Everyone who could even claim to know her is in all likelihood currently dead.

Yet another mystery concerning the Empress of the Rising Sun.

The man simply shrugged. "Who knows, it could've been a trick of the sun. Even now, I wish it was a trick of the sun. I'm good at reading people... and goddesses apparently."

Unable to keep her thoughts about this man to herself, Jingū took a few steps toward him. Though he could attempt to grab her, the space between the wooden beams was too small for her to be pulled through, not to mention there were plenty of friendly samurai nearby, some of whom were watching the two of them as they drifted closer yet leaving the bare minimum amount of space for privacy. Their hands strayed not too far from their swords as their leg muscles tightened, ready to pounce at the slightest altercation.

Minor clans it may consist of, the Dawn Coalition makes damn sure its warriors are at least just as vigilant as those of its enemies.

"You are definitely not like the other samurai," she finally said, tilting her head to the side. "I kind of expected you to want nothing to do with me."

"That's because I'm not like the other samurai, Jingū-dono," the man grinned as he gave a small bow, clenching his jaw as he accidentally bumped the end of his stump against the wood. "I am Hashi Saburo, formerly a samurai of the Kamura Clan, now a humble ronin of the Fujisaka Clan. My former master forbade me from taking my own life as he bled from his wounds after a battle with Touma-dono. I was to serve his son instead but the hot-blooded heir refused to surrender. The Kamura Dynasty soon died out underneath a volley of arrows and so did my employment."

Jingū's father once spoke of the ronin. Though the tradition of immediately committing seppuku when one's master died has long since been shunned in favor of being permitted to choose to serve their successor instead, nowadays many samurai especially those who are high-ranking and employed by more traditional clans were expected to die with their masters unless ordered otherwise. Those unable or unwilling to do so became ronin, masterless warriors who are viewed as disloyal and ill-disciplined by other samurai and are often relegated to demeaning tasks by their daimyo, including as glorified arrow cushions for their moral betters.

It was an existence full of bullying and ostracization that has ultimately seen the ronin becoming loyal only to each other, further cementing their reputation.

"What rank were you before you became a ronin?" Jingū asked him.

Saburo's eyes widened. "You're the first daimyo I'd met who actually cared to talk to a ronin like myself despite now knowing the truth."

"My father taught me that every Jomonese is a person to be treated as such regardless of social class or circumstance."

"I see that he was a good man. Anyway, I fought for Kamura Genji-dono and later Fujisaka Touma-dono as a gokenin."

A low-ranking vassal and commander, a step above run-of-the-mill samurai yet still below a hatamoto.

"So you ordered those men to attack Amaterasu-dono..." Jingū trailed off.

" 'Amaterasu...', your goddess has quite a unique name. Anyway, Touma-dono was eager to... volunteer me and my fellow ronin for the task though it was my idea to attempt to sever Amaterasu-dono's heel tendon. Perhaps part of me is glad it didn't work out though I'm still going to miss my friends."

"Why is that?"

"Unlike Touma-dono, I really don't give two shits about Shinigami given that he seems to be returning the favor, plus his bakemono would've been skinned alive was their authority not worth a kitsune's toenail in Jomon. Your goddess seems like someone who actually gives a shit about us lowly humans, regardless of her past, and it would feel good to raise a sword in the name of her cause."

Folding her arms over her chest, Jingū gave Saburo a wry smirk. Her eyes fell on the samurai's right leg stump. "Are you pledging yourself to my service? I have more use for able-bodied men."

A tired grin stretched over the samurai's face. "I certainly am, if you're willing to accept me. Don't be fooled by me though. I am still capable of holding my own against most opponents especially once I get a prosthesis. My father once said that amputations below the knee and the elbow rarely put a man out of commission. Even a piece of wood and metal can redeem me."

"I certainly hope so," Jingū stated as she held up her stump.

"Given what I've heard from your samurai," Saburo muttered as he peered at the missing limb in interest. "You actually did survive tangling with Touma-dono, presumably with some aid. He's not the type to pull his punches unless he wants to toy with his opponents in order to make them vulnerable to a finishing blow."

Observant and deductive, Jingū thought, slightly impressed.

"In that case, I accept your fealty. You can say your vows in the morning." Jingū glanced behind Saburo as a breeze played with strands of her bob cut.

"I will order my samurai to provide you with your own lodgings and to return your belongings," she finally continued. "Given the faces of your former comrades just now, I take it they're eager to make their displeasure of your defection known."

Saburo's eyes widened slightly and he responded with a quick bow. "I am in your debt, Jingū-dono. I shall not disappoint you."

"Good, don't make me regret this, Saburo-san. Good night."

Jingū gave her samurai the orders and stood to the side as they were carried out. As the breeze picked up, Jingū glanced up at the moon before making her way toward a tent near the stockade, a cloth structure adorned with koi and mountains with servants milling around it.

Even when captured, a daimyo still expects preferential treatment.

Jingū arrived at the tent where the Fujisaka daimyo was being held. To her relief, no less than ten samurai of the Chosokabe Clan were posted nearby to keep watch. All of them watched her with curiosity and boredom though none of them tried to bar her from entering the tent.

Fujisaka Touma was sitting cross-legged on a mat, his eyes closed in meditation and his torso bare, revealing well-developed muscles. A pad was tied to the left side of his head. Whispers passed through his lips as his muscles tensed, seemly aware of her presence.

Whether he was sending her a silent curse or praying for the strength to deal with her, Jingū couldn’t tell. However, she didn’t have to wait long before he opened his eyes.

His harsh squinting would've been enough to make her feel like an insect to be crushed underfoot under other circumstances though there's no question about what he thought of her. A corner of his mouth raised slightly as Touma stood up to his full height, towering over Jingū like a titan posed to pass judgment on a condemned convict. Jingū backed away instinctively as every part of her screamed at her stupidity at neglecting to arm herself before confronting a potential threat, especially one with every reason to murder her right then and there. She certainly hoped the samurai waiting outside could quickly rush to her rescue before Touma grabbed her and snapped her neck like a twig.

Maybe they would react faster if I was Daimura-sama, she thought bitterly as Touma continued to stare down at her.

“I knew you would come eventually,” he finally said as he folded his arms in front of his chest. He grinned slightly as his eyes drifted to her stump. “Though I’d expected you to curl up in a corner after getting a whiff of reality.”

Taking a deep breath, Jingū straightened her back and squared her shoulders, her face an impassive mask. “Perhaps you should stop underestimating others so much,” she replied, putting some bass into her voice. Her attempt at exuding confidence must have been only partly successful given that Touma simply snorted derisively.

“You’re right, little girl,” the Fujisaka daimyo shrugged. “Had I not underestimated your lack of honor, I wouldn’t have been knocked out by a little girl. Had I not underestimated your clan’s bravery and whatever would pass for prowess, I would’ve held off on my attack and hired the services of a shinobi clan to eliminate you and the other daimyo first. Had I not underestimated the amount of power your clans could bring to bear, I would’ve sent spies to ascertain your military capabilities, discovered that you have a goddess on your side, and adopted a defensive tactic, forcing you all to come to us. Even with a goddess on your side, assaulting the walls of Fujishima Castle would still be difficult. I would have even sent messenger pigeons to the nearest bakemono outpost to inform them of your goddess’ existence and let them take care of the rest.”

Jingū raised an eyebrow. “And risk having them take over the entire province? I seriously doubt even you would risk the hatred of the other clans. You could kiss your bid for the Shogunate goodbye if you'd made that mistake!”

“The Shogunate, while a wondrous prize fitting for myself, is second only to my loyalty to Shinigami, the god you turned you back on in service to your false goddess!”

Jingū narrowed her eyes as she took a step toward Touma, her heart aflame. “Now that we’re on the subject of gods and goddesses, let’s talk about it! Why are you still loyal to a god who’d done nothing while his bakemono cheated and robbed whoever they could? Why do you still venerate Shinigami when he remained silent while Amaterasu crushed your army and carried the day? Unlike your god, our goddess is active and is willing to change this world for the better.”

Touma snorted again, this time much louder. “Your goddess is nothing more than an errant flame, burning her way through this land for a short while, only to be snuffed out under the crushing weight of reality if not by Shinigami’s hand."

Touma glowered at Jingū, his voice lowered to a near growl. "Am I to believe that your goddess is anything other than a wide-eyed maiden who believes herself to be the Universe's gift to this world, to rule and to suppress underneath her idea of 'world peace' and 'eternal happiness'? Should I expect her to do anything other than impose her will on various people, forcing them to accept her oh so rightful rule or else? Does your goddess see herself as the only one fit to carry this world's burdens, to demean others' ability to stand on their own two feet while deluding herself into thinking she's doing them a favor? What makes you think she won't try to do away with our beloved traditions and honor, and shove her depraved sense of right and wrong down our throats? It seems that you and Amaterasu have much more to learn about this world!"

“You think you're the only one who values tradition and honor?” Jingū started. She felt her cheeks reddening as Touma snorted again. Sure she has much to learn about this world but it's not like she was born yesterday! "I love a harmonious society where everyone knows their place and gives respect and deference where it is required. I love it when our society is strengthened by the bonds its individual components form with each other due to culture and shared duty! I love those things yet even I understand that change can be beneficial for any society. Our ancestors, righteous as they are, lived in different times. We in turn must adapt to our times as well."

Narrowing his eyes, Touma sighed and let his arms fall to his sides. His eyes still burned with scorn and annoyance at the young daimyo before him, yet a shroud of dejection washed over his face. Jingū shivered as the air seemed to drop in temperature.

“For so long had I prayed to Shinigami to ensure that children will always respect their elders and honor traditions," he grumbled, no longer even a hint of anger in his voice. "I too loved it when everyone knew their place in society and thought nothing ill of the very system that’d given them purpose regardless of their position within it. I’d even prayed that I would become Shogun so that I could help ensure an era of peace and stability that would last for generations more. For a time, it felt like my prayers were being answered.”

With a shake of his head, Touma sat back down on the mat and looked at her, his shoulders slumped. There were no longer any emotions within his eyes. A chill ran down Jingū’s back as images of Matsu resurfaced in her mind.

“Now Shinigami seems distant, perhaps too preoccupied with the coming storm to answer our prayers, if what my priests said about the Pantokrator's disappearance is true. Boys want to play with musical instruments and girls want to fight in battles. Children are disrespecting their elders, even going as far as using improper honorifics. Women want to be warriors instead of housewives and men want to be poets instead of fighters. People are turning to foreign goddesses out of impatience and scorn."

Touma pushed out a long sigh, his eyes closed. His bottom lip trembled. "How ironic. As much as I speak of tradition, even I had sinned twice, first by employing ronin when they deserve to wander aimlessly in perpetual shame for not dying with their masters and their heirs. Secondly, I've raised a boy from squalor to become a part of my retinue, defying centuries of social expectations and propriety."

Touma swallowed as he clenched his jaws briefly. "Perhaps... he wouldn’t have died so, so young.”

"You're treating such deviations from the norm as failures!" Jingū hissed, folding her arms. A needle pricked her heart as Matsu's resigned look flashed across her mind. "They-They're merely proof you're not some mindless puppet, that you can still think for yourself! You're no different-"

"From you?" Touma asked, opening his eyes. Jingū remained silent.

A mirthless chuckle escaped the Fujisaka daimyo's lips. "Maybe that is what scares me more than even Shinigami's silence. Here am I, Fujisaka Touma, a paragon of the will of the ancestors who would defy convention in favor of my personal whims and desires. Maybe it's natural for one to bend or even break the rules when survival in a changing world demands that one possesses the ability to adapt. Still, if morals can easily be cast aside for the sake of convenience, why bother having them in the first place?"

Sighing, Touma lowered his head. “If your goddess is meant to bring about such an existence then I want no part of it.”

“If you cannot muster enough desire to let go of your notions of what you think peace and stability should be, even to improve the lives of others in the long run, then what do you want, Touma-san?” Jingū asked him as she sat on her knees and regarded him in mild frustration. However, it would be inaccurate to say that she didn’t sympathize with him. The thought of people doing as they please even if others get hurt has often kept her up at night.

Touma raised his head, a small smile appearing on his face. His facial muscles relaxed as if he was asleep and his face seemed to glow in the dim interior of the tent, shedding years of wear and dullness. Jingū felt a sense of warmth flowing into her very being.

" 'The true measure of a man is what he's willing to give up in order to obtain victory', is what my father said to me before he fought in the battle that claimed his life." Touma suddenly quoted. "Have your father said something similar, Jingū-san?"

"Not before he died, Touma-san, but he was fond of saying, 'When midnight comes, always face toward the dawn'."

"Aye, a wonderful quote," the Fukisaka daimyo acknowledged with a nod. "I truly hope it's dawn your goddess will bring to the world and not yet another era of oppression and chaos to rival what the history books said of Izanagi's reign."

"You can still be a part of this dawn...," Jingū started before Touma held up a hand.

"I love the world of my youth too much to have confidence in your cherished future showing any real promise though. Perhaps, I'm jumping the katana here but it's clear there's no place for an old daimyo such as myself to embrace your dawn."

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Touma's back straightened like a warrior awaiting a final order. A peaceful gleam that held a defiant light shone in his eyes. “I had hoped I would become Shogun but now I know I will never get to see my youngest son become a man. If you truly cherish tradition despite your inclination toward change then you already know what needs to be done, Jingū-san.”

A small gasp escaped Jingū’s lips as an understanding passed between the two daimyo. Both knew what was expected and that once asked of it cannot be denied. After all, honor comes in many forms and none is more epitomical, no, more sacred than that given as the final and utmost measure of devotion to a cause by those standing at the end of the road. It was the type of honor that would flow forth from the purity of one's immortal soul hidden deep within the bowels of aging flesh.

To deny this final honor isn’t just an insult, it’s sacrilege.

Jingū took a step toward Touma, her eyes locked with his and her jaw set and for a brief moment, Touma thought she looked a few years older. Her mind wandered to the times her father had made similar decisions in the past while she watched from a safe distance, wondering what was actually happening and what went through his head each time.

Now it was her turn to perform her sacred duties as a daimyo.

“Very well, Touma-san,” she finally said grimly. “I, Hideyoshi Jingū, daimyo of the Hideyoshi Clan and successor of Hideyoshi Hirohito, do solemnly swear upon the divinity of Amaterasu-dono and before the eyes of both our ancestors that tonight you will be granted a good death."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the newly-made opening of the camp, many samurai and ashigaru stood at the edges, silent witnesses to the greatest honor to be experienced. Even the high-ranking prisoners of war were permitted to watch the impromptu ceremony with their liege as the guest of honor, their hearts bearing a steadfast pride reserved only for the best of them.

The banners of the Hideyoshi, Chosokabe, Ryutsuke, and even the Fujisaka and Hideki Clans flapped in the nighttime breeze amid the flicker of the torches. Earlier today they shed each other's blood in fury and hatred. Now they stood as one, brothers and sisters bearing witness to the very fate only the most deserving of nobility can expect.

The only figure not present was Amaterasu herself. From what Touma was told, Jingū decided to invite her to the ceremony but after finding the goddess curled up on her cloth mat, her eyes closed and a content smile on her peaceful face, the daimyo chose not to disturb what was likely a pleasant dream. Instead, Jingū resolved to explain it to her in the morning.

Not that Touma wanted the naive goddess to be the last thing he saw anyway.

Touma sat on his ankles in the very center of a large white mat, his white clothing ruffling in the breeze. A piece of paper fluttering in his left hand, Touma turned to his right and looked at his dull reflection on the short blade of the tanto, his fingers giving the short handle a slight squeeze. Standing next to him was one of his hatamoto, a middle-aged, bald man named Hajimoto Tenshu. A katana was held in the strong grip of his sweaty hands, its blade dully reflecting his stone-faced expression.

Taking several deep breaths, Touma looked up toward the stand in front of him. That damn woman who’d fought him was there as well as two more of the Hideyoshi daimyo’s hatamoto. The woman smirked when their eyes met though Touma now saw her less as a woman who was defying convention and more as a fellow warrior with whom he shared more in common than what their sexes would suggest: an understanding of the impermanence of life and the sanctity of the spirit.

Touma sighed. His father has always complained about how frequently he disregarded propriety. Even now, he still couldn't understand why he stressed its importance so much.

Touma turned to look into the eyes of his retainers, whose feelings of pride for him perhaps exceeded even the amount he held for them as they looked on with hints of sadness and resolve. Though it pained him to deny them that sacred right, he forbade them from immediately following him to his ancestors. After all, their martial skills and valor would be best used to help propel his eldest son Yosuke, a man who can be considered a spitting image of Touma himself, to the Shogunate and set right what went wrong. Even more clever than he is, Yosuke will see to it that the Fujisaka Clan is exceptionally honored by both men and ancestors as he takes the Shogunate for himself. Neither Lady Ibitsu nor Amaterasu will be able to stop him.

Touma can at least go to his ancestors in peace with that in mind.

Turning back to Jingū, Touma folded the sheet of paper and placed it gently to the side, having memorized its contents, and turned to nod at Tenshu. With a nod, the hatamoto raised his katana over his head, the blade perfectly in line with his liege’s neck. Turning back to Jingū, he gave her a nod of silent thanks which she returned and took a deep breath. His abdomen muscles tightened involuntarily into a useless wall of flesh as he gripped the tanto with both hands and held the tip over the lower portion of his navel. Taking a few more breaths to settle his nerves, the Fujisaka daimyo spoke, words from the death poem flowing like the dying sighs of a true warrior,

~

”Death brings great changes.”

”The old gives way to the new.”

”May morals endure.”

~

For a few minutes, nothing happened. Suddenly, Touma plunged the tanto into his abdomen... and directly into his soul.

He bit down on his pained gasps as he jerked the dagger left and right, his teeth gritting in agony as he felt his blood and entrails spill past his fingers and onto the white mat. Despite the sheer agony, Touma refused to scream out in agony lest he dishonor this sacred ceremony with his weakness. Next to him, Tenshu unleashed a screech and Touma heard his katana split the air as it descended toward his outstretched neck.

In the last few seconds before the blade bit through the skin, Touma saw a massive humanoid figure looming over the opening ahead, her expression unreadable in the torchlight as she stood behind Jingū. It’s often rumored that a man remains alive for a few seconds after he’s been decapitated and as his view suddenly shifted violently, his head still attached to his neck by a thin piece of skin, Touma remained conscious long enough to find that what the goddess had just witnessed displeased her greatly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!”

The thunderous roar shook everyone present like a sudden storm. Tearing herself away from Touma’s kneeling corpse, Jingū collapsed onto her knees upon seeing Amaterasu, who wore an expression of sheer horror on her face. Around the clearing, warriors of every social class quickly got onto their knees, their hands held out in front of them as if to appease the goddess or, in a worst case scenario, withstand her wrath no matter how futilely. Even Tenshu trembled as he prostrated himself next to his dead liege, his katana lying on the mat where he’d dropped it.

"G-G-Greetings, your Divinity," Jingū replied, her heart clawing its way up her throat as the goddess turned her gaze down to her. Red rivers engorged themselves in her eyes as whiffs of steam rose from her glowing irises. "It's good t-t-to see you-"

"Why didn't you wake me?! I could've stopped you from doing something so stupid!" the goddess snarled as she leaned closer to Jingū. Gasps rose from the shocked assemblage.

Jingū flinched as a blast of hot air washed over her. Once again, her ignorance of the goddess' beliefs and past proved more immense than she'd realized. Few history books she read spoke much of Amaterasu's life prior to her imprisonment inside the Heavenly Cave, and even scantly at that, though she'd come across one that referenced a person whispered within this province with the epithet of 'Sword of the Pantokrator', who executed his will in distant lands, functioning as judge, jury, and executioner. Whether Amaterasu is actually this person or not, Jingū knew this goddess had been set free into a world she no longer recognized.

Regardless of that, even this goddess should understand the concept of 'honor'! Jingū reasoned as the goddess continued to glare at her. It was now her duty to educate this goddess in the honorable ceremony of seppuku! Amaterasu is simply ignorant, that is all!

Taking a deep breath, Jingū forced herself to smile as she raised her arms into the air. "What you... have just witnessed is a special kind of ceremony known-"

"It's still called 'seppuku' nowadays, isn't it Jingū?!" the goddess cut her off again. Behind her, most of the audience including Misato and Yumeji widened their eyes as their jaws hung open. Shiba, on the other hand, rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

Jingū herself was immediately taken back. Amaterasu-dono knows what seppuku is but why is she so angry?

Amaterasu suddenly straightened and turned to address the gathering, the flames of nearby torches dancing wildly. "Which of you are well versed in the history of seppuku, at least as far as you've been taught?!"

Someone shuffled forward, his gold and black robes barely drawing attention from his ashen face. "I've read quite a few books on the subject, your Divinity," Daimura finally spoke, his voice barely audible.

"Speak up, daimyo of Chosokabe!" Amaterasu barked.

A short squeak escaped the elderly daimyo's lips. "Yes, as you command," he said a bit louder as he began.

"A few centuries ago, after he dealt with the oni warlords that plagued what would become the Kingdom of Shinuyama soon after Izanagi's disappearance, Shinigami sent delegates of priests, administrators, and other personnel to the sister provinces including Jomon in order to create the Imperial System with the express purpose of uniting our people against a possible invasion from a foreign empire known as Ermor. Among the delegates were high-ranking warlords from the warrior-bands of Yomi itself. It would be these men who will help train the first generation of samurai and daimyo."

"Jomon itself would be graced by the likes of these men in the form of Totoyomi Yoshi. Among other things such as the establishment of a chain of command and combined arms tactics, Yoshi taught our ancestors about seppuku and how it was the greatest act of honor and loyalty to a cause beyond anything a warrior can normally accomplish and as an acceptable way to cleanse themselves and their families of dishonor." Many of the attendees voiced their assertion with some even nodding.

Unfortunately, Amaterasu was unimpressed.

"Did Yoshi speak of where he and his fellow Yomese learned of seppuku? Do they even know of its true origin or did they purposely skew its meaning for their selfish ends? What do the bakemono and their Shinuyamese friends think of seppuku?" the goddess fired off rapidly, her harsh glare watching Daimura melt underneath the scrutiny. Even Jingū couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"Th- Yoshi claimed his people learned of the practice of seppuku when they found a shrine buried into the base of Mount Yomi that belonged to an ancient warrior-king named Moritama who fought in the First Ascension War. They believed that Moritama loved Izanagi so much that, rather than allowing himself to get captured and turned against his master by fell magics, he decided to take his own life."

Despite his eyes being filled with fear, Daimura's face darkened slightly. "As for the Shinuyamese themselves, well the historical records did say that Yoshi barely got along with them, even going as far as to resign when they tried to limit what he was teaching our ancestors. Even nowadays, the bakemono still considered seppuku to be an outdated and barbaric practice."

A thin smile stretched over Daimura's face. "Not that one should expect such creatures to possess even a shred of honor anyway."

A big smile appeared on Amaterasu's face as she turned to the rest of the onlookers. However, everyone could see that it didn't reach her eyes.

"I've heard many things about the bakemono," Amaterasu spoke as her eyes darted between each face. "I've heard you Jomonese speak of how much 'they oppressed you' and how much 'they robbed you'! I've heard the myriad of complaints you have for your oppressors and I have to say, given their position on seppuku, maybe I should've pledged my sword to Shinuyama given that they seem to be the only ones who possess some SOURCE-DAMNED SENSE!"

Cries of shock and anguish filled the air as the assemblage reeled at the roar. Daimura swayed as if he was about to faint. Even the stoic Shiba was overcome with emotions, expressions warring on her face in a duel to the death.

Jingū shivered as red crawled up her cheeks. The fingers of her right hand curled up into a fist. What's going on here? Was she dismissing the sacrifices of those who died today by favoring the enemy? Is she... mocking Kenji?!

Why would you spit on our honor by praising the damned bakemono over something you don't understand?!

Jingū quickly realized something was wrong when a deathly hush fell over the area. The ground rumbled as Amaterasu slowly turned toward her. The fires of the torches stretched to twice their length. Jingū's retainers were pale-faced ghosts who continued to gawk at their liege, some actually feeling sorry for her.

Stupid girl, Father had always warned you about your mouth! her mind screamed.

Jingū covered her mouth as she took a step back, practically melting as the goddess squatted beside her. Her heart threatened to vacate her chest as she looked up to find the goddess glaring into her eyes, a ponderous judge ready to smite her, an ant in the guise of a human unfit to even flash a disgusted look in her direction let alone voice her disagreement.

"How dare you mock your own goddess?!" Amaterasu snarled, lowering her head closer to Jingū. The heat emanating from the goddess was slowly getting unbearable. "How dare you take me for some ignorant fool?! Me?! Someone who existed long before your great, great grandparents were naught but fluid and seeds inside their mothers' wombs, before most of humanity learned to smelt tin and copper into bronze or draw iron from the mountains and fashion them into tools and weapons with which to grow more food and hunt great beasts and monsters to extinction! You know nothing! Nothing!"

"H-how can seppuku itself be b-b-bad?" Jingū's limbs were now shaking profusely. It took all of her efforts to avoid blubbering nonsense. "Our ancestors t-taught us that it's honora-"

Jingū gave off a small scream when a massive hand slammed into the ground next to her. The reverberations shoved Jingū into the air, causing her to land on her bottom. Onlookers nearby struggled to stay upright as the ground shook with some failing spectacularly.

"WRONG!" the goddess raged. Jingū crumbled as she shielded her face against the heat and fury. A part of her mind wondered if she'd already died given her heart seemed to stop beating.

Amaterasu quickly stood up and jerked her head toward the rest of the assembly. "Let me tell all of you of the true origin of seppuku and why I despise it!"

"It's clear to me that the Yomese admire Moritama for his selflessness and loyalty toward Father and while he does possess those qualities, committing seppuku to prevent himself from being corrupted was not why he took his own life!"

"He was my father's Prophet and best friend before I was brought into this world! Father didn't go into much detail about what exactly motivated Moritama to kill himself but he did tell me that despite his reassurances, the Prophet still felt he failed his master too harshly to be allowed to live any longer!"

"Shortly after Moritama died, Father enshrined his body and worked to prevent anyone from taking their lives foolishly, eventually deciding to create a ceremony where people who want to take their own lives are shamed to such an extent that others refuse to follow in their footsteps!" Agitated muttering rose from the crowd.

"The white clothing and mat, the kneeling stance and bowed head, even the ceremonial air of the affair, have been meticulously crafted by my father to give the guest of honor an air of cowardice and weakness, making them appear to their peers as a lamb who would rather surrender to death rather than seek to redeem themselves by other means! The coward was expected to die a slow and agonizing death as their peers scorned and mocked them so no one was permitted to put them out of their misery on the pain of death! Even the name and method of 'seppuku' itself was chosen because back then it was the favorite method of slaughtering sheep and other livestock by sadistic oni!"

Taking a deep breath, Amaterasu unleashed all of her frustration and disgust, her anger, and most of all, her disappointment at the sheer ignorance of her followers. "All of your ancestors have been lied to by the Yomese, who despite knowing better chose instead to lie to themselves as well! There's no real honor in seppuku, only shame!"

Daimura's face squinted together as he seemed to fight back tears. Misato and Yumeji chatted vigorously with each other while Shiba buried her face in her hands. Even Amaito, who'd been scowling throughout the speech, trembled despite his expressionless face. Wails and yells arose from the samurai and retainers as they shouted their denial and hatred at the goddess' revelation, some even reaching for their swords. Shocked ashigaru struggled to give their betters a wide berth lest they find themselves scapegoats to their frustrations and anguish. Tenshu trembled violently next to the body of his liege, tears pouring out of his eyes.

A lone moan of despair rose into the air, carrying the weight of stained honor and disrespected traditions. Jingū blinked as she realized it was coming from her own mouth.

"SILENCE!" Amaterasu positively screeched. Though the humans' faces were various shades of red, fear won over fury and anguish, and the gathering was soon placed under the reign of silence once more.

Satisfied, Amaterasu continued, "However, and let me be very clear about this, the shame of seppuku was not only meant to punish those wishing to give up but to encourage them to seek redemption instead! Yes, my father may have been a brutal and merciless Pantokrator but he wasn't wrong about everything! With the death of his beloved Moritama fresh on his mind, he wanted his warriors to redeem themselves of their failures and their shortcomings, and that is a value even my brothers and I cherished!"

Amaterasu extended a finger toward Touma. Oblivious to the attention suddenly drawn to him, Tenshu continued to weep. Ignoring him, the goddess continued, "That man, motivated by his love for Shinigami, decided to engage me in battle when others would've fled or surrendered! Never had I fought a mortal so devoted to a cause and so willing to risk death just to strike a formidable blow upon an enemy he never even experienced fighting! He had quickly formulated a plan to take me down and it would've worked had he'd been more prepared and known of what nasty tricks I have up my sleeves! Given time, he could've even chosen to fight for me, serving me well in the war to come with his intellect and sheer determination! Now he is dead, a great potential squandered in the name of honor!" That last word reeked of venom.

Ignoring the grumbling and murmuring, Amaterasu turned to face the crowd. She saw the anger and the sadness, the despair and bitterness. Here was a people who grew up believing a lie that became a tenet that helped sustain a culture where honor was one of the most precious commodities. It pained her to witness them finding out the hard truth, to see them succumb to anguish and sorrow as they were forced to see the dark side of one of their most cherished traditions. This may even lead them to question the worth of the rest of their beliefs, leading them down the path of chaos and dissolution.

However, this revelation was for the best. How can she, the goddess of the sun, lead these people toward the light of a brighter future when she is content to let them stay in the darkness of lies and misguided beliefs? How can she relax while the humans smile and continue the vile practice, ignorant of its true nature when she is in the best position to end the deception? Most importantly of all, how can she permit any of them to deny themselves the opportunity and the choice to redeem themselves by less wasteful means and still have a vested interest in their future? Yes, the truth will hurt them so, so much but in the end, they will finally be free.

They will be worthy to face the dawn.

"It seems I will have to make my Divine Mandate a bit earlier than planned so here is its first rule: No longer will you or anyone else be permitted to commit suicide, ritualized or otherwise, for the sake of honor or cowardice! Anyone who disobeys will suffer my wrath! Anyone who even aids and abets anyone in this crime will be punished as well! Write this down in your chronicles and annals because I will not accept ignorance as an excuse!"

Anger still existed among the assembled humans with the exception of the stunned and cautious ashigaru, yet a melancholic cowl permeated the scene. Samurai and other high-ranking warriors embraced each other, sharing silent tears as the heavy hand of their new reality fell upon them and even the hatamoto shared a solemn moment of companionable silence even as Yoshi's sobs died down. Daimura himself had collapsed to his knees, his head jerking sporadically with each sniffle as his eyes became moister by the second.

It was at this moment when an exasperated shout ripped everyone present from their somber moods and yanked their attention toward the one responsible.

"Who cares if seppuku had that meaning back then?" the young daimyo shouted, her ocher eyes glinting like embers of a flame. However, her bottom lips trembled randomly. "Our ancestors have given it a much, more honorable meaning, a new meaning, and a purpose more relevant to our noble culture! Should we simply discard it because some distant barbarians used it as a tool of humiliation?!"

A collective gasp rose from the assembly. Pale human faces seemed to war with their emotions as some even backed away. Jingū turned toward her hatamoto, expecting them to at least nod in assertion. She was certain they felt the same about seppuku and disagreed strongly with the goddess. She was certain she had their support.

If that was the case, why were they looking at her as if she'd lost her damned mind?! Why was Misato even shaking her head in... displeasure?! Her lips appeared to be moving and though she was too far away to hear, Jingū could make out the words.

What the hell are you doing, my liege?

The torches flared even more brightly, forcing Jingū to whip around to find Amaterasu glaring down at her. Veins of golden fire peeked through her reddened skin as the air itself became unbearably hot. Her jaws ground against each other.

"You wish to whitewash that lie despite it being revealed as such?" the goddess simply asked. Jingū flinched at the unexpected whisper. So filled with repressed fury, so drenched in the venom of disgust, her tone might as well be just as effective at making Jingū soil herself as if she were yelling. She imagined her father watching her from the afterlife, sighing in despair and resignation at the fact his daughter may have just doomed herself.

"You wish to cling to a misguided belief, not out of some sort of practicality but out of an incessant loyalty to your ancestor's notion of honor?! " Amaterasu continued. "It isn't beneficial for me to fool you all with a blatant lie yet you still dare question my story?! Why do you still believe your ancestors despite all indications that they are wrong?"

Jingū strangled to gulp down her fear as Amaterasu's glare intensified, fidgeting as she struggled against the heat and scrutiny. If only she'd kept her thoughts to herself.

"ANSWER ME!" the goddess thundered.

"Because it's improper to question their wisdom!" Jingū positively squealed. Her eyes began to moisten.

Amaterasu continued to stare hard at Jingū as she clenched her jaws, the sounds of dancing flames the only sources of sound. Then a ghost of a smile formed on the goddess' face as the fiery veins dissipated and the air cooled down slightly. It soon morphed into a grin as her chest jerked as if in the throes of a hiccuping spell. A crackling sound not unlike a fire consuming a forest grew as the goddess threw her head back and positively howled.

"GWUAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Jingū and the rest of the humans watched in nonplussed silence as the goddess tried to rein in the laughing fit, only to fail spectacularly and give off another howl. Her cheeks reddening slightly, Jingū exchanged looks with her hatamoto, receiving only a tired shrug from Misato. It took another three minutes before the goddess finally forced herself back into a modicum of control.

"Is that why you're so intent on defending seppuku despite knowing the truth, because it's 'disrespectful' to your long-deceased predecessors to even disagree?" Amaterasu breathed. "I pity those among you brave enough to question your 'honorable' ceremony's worth..." Every trace of mirth disappeared from Amaterasu's face, replaced by a thoughtful, stern expression.

"Jingū," the goddess suddenly spoke, a hard edge creeping onto her voice. "Remember when, on the eve of the battle earlier today, I was expressing concern about some smallfolk being abused by their betters? You mentioned something to the nature of it being 'common etiquette' to blame the individuals and not the collective enabling them in the first place, right?"

"Yes, I've mentioned something like that, your Divinity," the daimyo muttered. What is she getting at?

"Tell me, what would you think of members of your culture who'd expressed grievances of certain aspects of it they felt is... detrimental, aspects that don't necessarily have anything to do with seppuku?"

Jingū raised an eyebrow. "Well, speaking for my clan, if it's about them suffering abuses at the hands of their betters, all they have to do is report it to me and the offenders will be dealt with should their guilt be established. However, if they merely wish to complain about our society, I would begin wondering whether they're the type of people who either don't want to get along with others or think they have all the answers."

Amaterasu grunted. "So unless they are reporting a crime, those people are just troublemakers and complainers?"

"That's the idea, you Divinity."

Amaterasu turned back to the rest of the audience. "Do any of you agree with this girl?" They voiced and gestured their assent, though a sizable number of them did so half-heartedly.

"So that's why it's common etiquette to blame the individual and not the group, because to bitch about the group's shortcomings is to be labeled a troublemaker!" the goddess responded as she shifted through the faces. "It's common etiquette to defend ancient lies because the ancestors once mistook them as honorable! It's common etiquette to look in the same direction as your peers because to even glance in a different direction automatically identifies you as a deviant who deserves to be ostracized for the crime of thinking for themselves! It's common etiquette to deny yourselves yet another chance at redemption for the sake of honor because it's more respectful to shut up AND DIE. AS. YOUR. ANCESTORS. DEMAND!"

Punctuating each shout with a loud smack into a palm with a fist, Amaterasu gave off an explosive sigh. She then glared at the assembly of stiff, human faces, spending a second longer on each. "I may not be versed in spells that would enable me to read your minds but I can sense your stubbornness and anger, your despair, and your bitter disappointment. Humans are indeed the most obstinate of mortals after all."

Folding her arms across her chest, Amaterasu took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter anyway because the only way it's not going anywhere is if I'm no longer your goddess! If you don't like it, then just abandon me! Don't be shy, all it would take is a majority of you to reject me and I'll leave! I won't even defect to Shinuyama so you can now breathe easier."

"In fact, I'll let you in on what is a god's greatest secret, a secret even my father doesn't want you to know lest it gives you mortals the most power you will ever have over us. Each god, regardless of their origin, is sustained by the collective faith and belief of their followers once the Bond of Belief between them is formed upon accepting their authority over them. It is a tether to the intricate strings of reality's grand tapestry and a lifeline through which their strength flows, further enhanced as more people become their worshippers. Without it, the god simply disappears... forever."

The humans were nonplussed at the information, though some could say they were more surprised at how casually she just revealed what is essentially her greatest weakness. If this goddess desired to rule over them, why would she simply hand over the keys to their freedom?

The goddess' eyes narrowed as her mouth opened slightly, a small breath slipping past her lips. "All you have to do is renounce your faith in me and make sure no one else believes in me anymore and I will be gone for good. Free yourselves of me and my 'silly' Mandate if you hate it so much! Then continue flinging yourselves into yet another bloodbath in the maelstrom of misery and needless slaughter with no end in sight, killing each other over petty ambition and greed just as your ancestors have done! Drain the rotting corpse of Jomon dry with your simplemindedness and stupidity until Shinigami decides to unite the provinces once again or a foreign invader comes along and subjects you all to strange morals that will chafe against your vaulted honor and common etiquette!"

Here it was, the fulcrum on which the fate of Jomon itself turned. The die has been cast and its fate rested on their answer. Many of the samurai and ashigaru shivered at the implication of the goddess' proposal. All they have to do is reject the goddess and they will be able to keep their greatest act of honor as well as other potentially endangered tenets intact just as the ancestors decreed. This entire fiasco would be a barely remembered wrinkle in the fabric of history, a bedtime story to warn children of the flaws of questioning ancient traditions.

Many of the warriors especially those who fought for the late Fujisaka Touma shouted their rejection at this goddess who dared turn them from the path of righteousness. They yelled their hatred of her stupid Mandate and boastfully reaffirmed their faith in Shinigami. A few even directed scathing blasphemies directly at her, naming her every insult they could think of while wishing for her eternal damnation in Hell.

However, the rest of the Dawn Coalition particularly those of the Hideyoshi Clan resigned themselves to sullen silence, most of them resigned to simply glaring at the prisoners of war as their hands tightly gripped their weapons. As much as they cherished what they saw as the honorable ceremony of seppuku, even now they still remembered the dream they held just as vividly as it was first realized at the resounding victory at the Battle of Honshu Plains. Would giving up that dream be worth hanging on to a great honor whose past they felt the goddess understood more than they did? Would turning on the one who can end this endless fighting and struggle for survival actually leave them and their families in a better place?

Could they even dare claim the right to dream again if they proved willing to kill the one standing in front of them, over something that's petty in the grand scheme of things?

Amaterasu gave them a small smile as she turned her attention back to the ones who rejected her. Insults and renouncements quickly died down as the warriors soon realized they'd lost the vote. A small sense of satisfaction filled her heart as the blasphemers quickly kowtowed before her, frantic prayers wafting into her psyche that begged for forgiveness and mercy. Though her father would've demanded she made a grisly example out of such insolent mockers, Amaterasu knew that sometimes the fear of punishment is punishment enough.

"I am exceedingly grateful that most of you wanted me to stay," the goddess finally spoke as she raised her arms in benediction. "After all, I have great designs in mind for all of you. True, some of you may be uncomfortable with how much you and your society will change but I swear by my divine name that it will be worth the trouble in the end."

"What makes you think she won't try to do away with our beloved traditions and honor, and shove her depraved sense of right and wrong down our throats?" Touma's final words drifted unbidden into Jingū's mind and for a moment she wondered if he at the very least sensed what culture-wrecking plans Amaterasu had for Jomon. Though Jingū didn't have the desire to verbally reject the goddess just as the prisoners of war have done, a part of her harbored regret at freeing the goddess from Ama-no-Iwato. She would've done otherwise had she known of Amaterasu's intentions... or would she?

Frankly, Jingū had no clue.

"I beg of you, your Divinity!" Jingū pleaded, her hands clasped together in supplication. She felt the weight of everyone's questioning eyes fall back onto her. "Please don't strip our culture of everything that made it great!"

Amaterasu simply huffed. "I have no intention of forcing upon you an alien culture. I am merely stripping yours of its unsavory bits."

Jingū's face deeply reddened. Does she not understand?! How can she... how can she dare say that when she is mangling our culture, treating it like some article of clothing to have its patterns and decorations torn off and swapped?!

"You are being ridiculous, your Divinity! Please don't strip our people of honor-!"

"Enough Jingū-chan!" Daimura shouted, his eyes practically begging her to stop. He was shivering despite the heat as he struggled to maintain his posture. "It's over! Our ancestors were wrong! We must move on!"

Jingū's heart caught fire as she directed her frustration, her rising fury, at the Chosokabe daimyo. "Shut up, old man! Can't you see what she is do-"

Every torch in the clearing simultaneously erupted, filling the air with sparks and splinters of charred wood.

A sound that can best be described as a typhoon on the eve of summer, intermingled with a woman's scream roared through the air. The night itself was killed by dawn as a blast of heat that threatened to incinerate her washed over her. Jingū screamed as the sky itself burned, parting before a massive blade incandescent as the sun itself. It forced her to her knees like a whipped puppy, blistering her back and filling her nostrils with the stench of charred hair and clothing, its tip hovering just a few meters above her. Everyone shouted as they pushed against each other in a frantic attempt to back away.

Most of all, the prisoners of war howled and wept as they begged and begged. One of them, a samurai who appeared about Kenji's age, bawled his eyes out as he curled up into a fetal position on the ground.

They remembered.

"YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU INSOLENT LITTLE BITCH!" Amaterasu bellowed. The veins of fire have returned, only this time spreading to her arms, particularly the one holding Nightkiller. The little girl seemed to sink into the ground either to avoid the heat of the blade itself or the crushing weight of shame heaped onto her.

"Despite my knowledge, my personal account, and my relationship with the god who'd established seppuku for what it is, you keep insisting and insisting on retaining it!" the goddess raged. "Stubbornness may be a key trait of mortals, especially humans, yet beyond all reason you keep pushing me to see things your way. You dare speak as if you have any right to have the final say! Enough of that, I am your goddess and when I've made my decision, it is final! This discussion is OVER!"

Jingū barely shielded her face from the heat and the light with a hand to look up at the goddess, making the mistake of looking directly into her eyes. There it was, the stare Saburo warned her about. At that moment, Jingū felt like a doll awaiting the tender mercies of a rambunctious girl, a small fragile thing to be shattered and discarded until the sweet embrace of dissolution takes her. She saw the goddess cringing as if locked in an internal struggle over her fate, the mere sight threatening to reduce Jingū to a sobbing and babbling mess.

"I- *cough* I'm sorry, y-your Divinity! I'm sorry!" The young daimyo bawled. "Don't kill me!"

With a flick of her hand, Amaterasu dispelled Nightkiller and darkness tentatively returned to the scene. Afterimages of light similar to those caused by turning away from a bright fire wafted in Jingū's eyes as she lowered her head, tears running down her cheeks and onto the ground.

It is over as Daimura-sama said, Jingū despaired as she felt the tremors of the goddess' movements. Oh ancestors, oh Father, what will happen to all of us? Will I be remembered as the daimyo who murdered the honor of Jomon?

Jingū jumped when something made a small clang as it landed in front of her. Blinking warily, Jingū looked up to find a tanto embedded into the earth within arm's reach. There were splatters of drying blood on the dagger's blade.

Jingū's breath hitched as memories of the final minutes that transpired before Amaterasu's arrival rushed into her mind.

No...

Jingū looked up to see Amaterasu standing over her, a titan of judgment who'd already had the sentence prepared even before the verdict was settled. Her veins of fire have diminished somewhat to a more tranquil fury. "If you are so dedicated to your 'oh so honorable' tradition, it is time to show those assembled here the extent of your loyalty!"

"Wh... what?" was all Jingū could breathe.

"What's the matter, a nekomata has stolen your tongue?! I said it's time to show everyone how much you cherish seppuku! Tonight, it dies with you!"

Folding her arms across her chest, Amaterasu turned toward the rest of the humans, her eyes hovering slightly longer over Misato, Yumeji, and Shiba. All three hatamoto shrank slightly at the goddess' golden gaze though Misato looked as if she was ready to bolt to Jingū's aid, goddess or no.

"We are now gathered here tonight to witness the seppuku of a prepubescent child!" Amaterasu announced, suddenly formal and cold. "However, there will only be a single caveat to this 'honorable' ceremony: it will be done the old-fashioned way! Jingū will slit her belly open and she will languish in sheer agony as her blood and innards spill out of her! She will be expected to slowly bleed to death, using the ample amount of time granted to regret her misplaced fanaticism and insolence!"

Every face paled at the goddess' edict. Sure seppuku is a grisly but honorable affair but it is never to be performed by children, especially in such a brutal manner!

"Not only is Jingū expected to die slowly and shamefully but you are all expected to laugh! You are expected to treat her like the worst scum who had ever graced Jomon! You are to treat her like a worthless human being whose father should've smothered her in her crib to protect his clan from the shame she had brought upon it! Refuse to make your mocking of this... stain upon your collective honor authentic and there will be suffering!"

"But she is still a child, your Divinity!" someone pleaded. It was Daimura.

"If she is old enough to fight in a battle, she is old enough to choose to die!" Amaterasu shouted. "She chose to throw her life away, her future, so let her make way for someone else who is far less wasteful!"

The crowd looked ill, with some looking on the verge of vomiting. Shiba, Amaito, and Yumeji looked torn between horror and outrage and even Misato looked ready to intervene. Daimura wheezed as he looked on the verge of fainting. Jingū quaked as she looked at Amaterasu with pleading eyes. She felt a trickle of warm liquid flow down one of her legs.

"W.. why are you doing this to me, your Divinity?!" she choked out.

"Stop, stop right fucking now!" the goddess suddenly snapped. "Prayers for her salvation and my leniency won't save Jingū, only her choice between tradition and redemption!"

Amaterasu whipped her head toward Jingū, the fury of her eyes etching twin seals of golden fire upon her soul. "Anyone who tries to rescue her or end her suffering prematurely will be burned alive before they get within twenty meters of her! As for you, Jingū, end your life too quickly and I'll see to it that your precious clan fades into obscurity and scorn! I Amaterasu, Empress of the Rising Sun, Bearer of Nightkiller, She Who Graces Battlefields, Bane of Scholars, Enemy of Night, and Harbinger of Dawn, hereby announce the sentence of seppuku to Hideyoshi Jingū, daimyo of the Hideyoshi Clan, and expect it to be carried out without delay and question! Now take your weapon, daughter of Jomon, and make your decision!"

Jingū's hands trembled as her gaze fell back to the tanto. Her heart pounded furiously as she reached for the weapon and yanked it out of the ground. The desire to maintain honor and propriety warred with the fear of agony and death, inching ever closer to victory. Jingū dry-heaved as she picked up the dagger, a metallic smell rose to her nostrils.

Touma-san made it look so easy.

Jingū trembled as she adjusted her grip on the weapon, holding it in a reversed grip as she pointed its tip toward her navel. Her hand shook violently as her abdominal muscles tightened into a worthless wall of flesh and her resolve began to crumble. A tiny whimper escaped her lips as she imagined how cold the blade would feel inside of her or at the idea of hitting something particularly sensitive and worsening her demise. One time, Jingū's slammed her stomach against the corner of a crate while playing and spent the better part of half an hour bowled over, overcome by wheezing and nausea. Surely getting stabbed in the stomach can't be worse, right?

Quite big of you to speak of the honor of seppuku, a dark whisper hissed in Jingū's mind. If you're just a girl playing at war, you might as well scrounge up what little honor you can!

Anger flared inside of her, a small spark that reforged what remained of her resolve, and Jingū moved the tanto away to give it some distance for momentum. Her thoughts drifted to her father, his pain-whacked face morphing into a tender smile as he comforted her in a trembling but strong embrace amid the sickly smell of disease moments before he exhaled his last. She thought of her vassals, warriors, administrators, and servants, who affirmed their oaths of fealty to her clan at her coronation.

She remembered when she burned incense in front of the paintings of her parents, refusing to pray to a god she felt had long since abandoned Jomon as she held a bundle of notes in her hands, notes that contained the incantations and instructions she needed to break the seal on Ama-no-Iwato and free an incarcerated goddess...

Jingū's eyes drifted upward to Amaterasu. Though the goddess' face was a mask of stone, Jingū saw a resigned sadness in her eyes. Here she was, a solemn witness to the death of the very person who'd freed her from eons-long imprisonment and allowed her the opportunity to be a true goddess. She was a goddess who'd inspired confidence in her on that fateful night, who chose her as perhaps the first confidant she ever had in her life. Now she is forced to accept the idea of this young daimyo not standing by her side in the dream she wished to bring to this dark and miserable world.

Dream...

Tentatively, Jingū turned her gaze toward the others. Normally, everyone attending seppuku was expected to gaze upon the guest of honor with resigned pride coupled with sadness. It served as the greatest honor one of a deserving station is entitled to and a reminder of the impermanence of life. There is a reason it is called a good death.

However, no one had it in them to stick with tradition, a stark contrast to Touma's own ceremony. The closest witnesses seemed to cringe as their eyes stayed glued on the tanto. More of them, which surprisingly included most of the prisoners of war, were focused directly on her, their heads shaking slightly when her eyes fell on them. Her retainers, hatamoto, and even her fellow daimyo seemed to plead to her to see reason, with Daimura's hands moving closer to his eyes to shield them from what was to come.

Where mere words failed, Amaterasu's demonstration showed them the ugly truth.

A sharp pang pierced Jingū's heart when her eyes fell on her brave warriors. A few of them cast their eyes to the ground and those who didn't look at her with leaden stares. There was no hint of anger in those eyes, neither were they brimming with grief. The warriors were waiting for her to make the very choice that would condemn her more than even a goddess' fury in a way she now understood.

They were waiting to be betrayed.

Against all notions of propriety and social standards befitting their stations, they chose the dream she and Amaterasu instilled in them. The samurai, those brave warriors conditioned since birth to dedicate their entire lives to fighting for their clan and upholding its traditions according to the codes and expectations of this noble culture, turned their backs on it all just so they could dream of a purpose much grander than the mere brandishing of swords. Even the ashigaru, peasant foot-soldiers who due to their caste weren't even permitted to commit seppuku, held just as much deference toward honor as their betters yet chose instead a future that seemed more inclusive, where people like them could live happier lives without the crushing weight of oppression both from outside and above. For the mere price of the greatest honor they'd ever known, both of these warriors chose to dream.

Jingū was on the precipice of spitting on that dream, all for the sake of honor.

As their daimyo, Jingū in her selfishness was on the verge of failing them spectacularly and that very thought scared her more than earning Amaterasu's wrath, even more so than death itself. With a shout, Jingū threw the tanto to the side, casting her eyes to the ground as the clatter of the weapon gave way to a collective sigh from the audience.

She would not deny them that dream, even at the risk of the ancestors' fury.

"Look at me, Jingū," Amaterasu finally spoke, a serene tenderness in her voice. As the heat died down significantly, Jingū looked up toward the goddess. Though her mask of fury has merely died down to a stern expression, her eyes were the brightest they have ever been.

"It gladdens my heart that you have made the right choice," the goddess continued as the ghost of a smile appeared on her face. The air felt lighter. "Now, your redemption begins."

A part of her held onto that idea like a sailor grasping for a lifeline in the midst of a storm. "How may I redeem myself, your Divinity?" she asked her.

The goddess extended a hand toward the audience, who leaned forward in anticipation. Daimura gasped when he realized the goddess was pointing directly at him. "First, apologize to your elder for disrespecting him and promise you will never do it again."

Jingū turned toward the Chosokabe daimyo who watched her in stunned interest and kowtowed toward him, ignoring the growing stain on her skirt as it clung to her legs. "I apologize for disrespecting you Daimura-sama and I swear on my ancestors that I will not do it again."

The older daimyo swallowed before smiling slightly. "I accept your apology, Jingū-san."

"Good," the goddess responded as she clasped her hands together. "Next, I want you to return to your tent and spend the entire night praying to me this phrase: 'I will honor and respect you, your Divinity'. Do not stop until the sun rises."

Jingū took a deep breath as she straightened up and turned back to Amaterasu. She supposed she deserved that for her obstinate foolishness earlier.

"Finally," the goddess concluded as Jingū turned back to her. "Hold still."

Jingū stood as still as a statue as Amaterasu squatted and extended an index finger toward her face, blocking the entire sky from her view. The daimyo shivered as the digit pressed against her forehead, the sheer force behind it threatening to push her onto her back. The finger suddenly glowed, filling Jingū's vision with light as she became vaguely aware of heat being concentrated at the very center of her forehead.

Heat that immediately flared into intense pain and the sizzle of scorched skin.

The crowd gasped as Jingū unleashed a piercing scream, wrenching herself away from the finger. Her whimpers filling the air, Jingū tentatively touched the affected patch of skin only to quickly remove her hand when the strangely smooth area flared in protest. She frantically looked around for something, anything that could show her reflection, her eyes falling on the tanto she'd discarded.

Feeling the eyes of the goddess and the crowd on her, Jingū stumbled over to the weapon, wiping the blade clean against her kimono. Jingū shivered as she held the blade up to her face, her lips trembling as she stared at what the goddess gave her.

It was a black, glossy symbol that resembled a sun, its six jagged rays turning inwardly toward the thick and tight clockwise spiral that formed its body. It was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand yet seemed to absorb every beam of light that touched it.

"That mark will serve as a reminder to never, ever disrespect me in front of my followers again," Jingū heard the goddess say behind her before she raised her voice. "Let this night serve as a reminder to all of you as well! Write down everything you've witnessed here in your annals, educate your children, and correct your elders! Obey my Mandate and keep it close to your hearts and together we shall march into the dawn of a new age!

As she cast her eyes to the ground amid the dispersing crowd, Jingū felt something brush against her right leg. It was a piece of folded paper, a speck of dried blood on one of its corners. Stabbing the tanto into the ground, Jingū grabbed the paper and opened it, her eyes drooping as she read its contents.

~

”Death brings great changes.”

”The old gives way to the new.”

”May morals endure.”

~

Jingū turned toward the dead daimyo, watching as the faithful Tenshu and other Fujisaka prisoners of war exchanged somber remarks as they wrapped up the body in the white mat and carried it away. She wondered how Touma's spirit would've reacted if he found out about the true nature of the ceremony in which he took his own life. Would he have fought bitterly against the revelation as she did, the both of them forming an unlikely alliance as they railed against what they saw as a deception? Would he have wallowed in despair, sulling the atmosphere of a paradise after death as he came to terms with lies he had been brought up to believe? It was difficult to tell even with how similar Touma is to Jingū.

Either way, whatever honor seppuku supposedly held died with him.

With a weary sigh, Jingū folded the death poem and inserted it into her kimono before standing to her feet. Now her own path of redemption begins, wherever it would lead.

’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

”To retain the right to consider yourself a god, you must command respect from those under your authority,” the Pantokrator of Yomi, Izanagi, spoke as he and his daughter sat cross-legged on a large hill overlooking a great city filled with marble columns and statues, its red terracotta rooves shining like bloodstained leaves. His long black beard and hair, both of which were streaked with strands of gray, billowed in the breeze as he beheld the Ivory Colosseum in the distance, his golden eyes watching the urban cohorts marching lock-stepped down the broad streets with great interest and appreciation, their purple tower shields and regalia of war glistening in the afternoon sun. Teams of sculptors and slaves worked on two massive statues nearby. In six months, the citizens of this wonderful city will gaze upon the carved magnificence of Izanagi and Amaterasu.

“You must tower over them in authority and power like great Ermor itself, brimming in power just as Mount Yomi does in the Far East.”

’I will honor and respect you, your Divinity.’

“You must show them you deserve to rule over them, Amaterasu,” he continued. “Like a parent overseeing their children’s lessons and behavior, you must guide them with a firm but loving hand, for to coddle them is to invite insubordination and weakness.”

‘I will honor and respect you, your Divinity.'

“This sort of authority may be detested by those being ruled over because it restrains them and stifles their own ambitions. It is the nature of subjects to be tempted by their base natures after all and the wisest among them know that a firm hand is required to prevent them from falling to the beast inside. That is why mortals and gods invented laws, morals, and civilization; these things separate us from the primal, simple-minded compulsions of untamed nature."

A pause. "These tools of order and righteousness were invented to protect them from themselves.”

‘I will honor and respect you, your Divinity.’

“Father,” Amaterasu finally spoke, turning toward Izanagi who also turned to her. “Forgive my impertinence for your words brim with wisdom but I doubt everyone would agree with you, particularly the Marverni and Pangaeans.”

Izanagi regarded Amaterasu for a few minutes, deep in thought. Finally, he gave her a small smile. “It is certainly true that some people, particularly those two cultures you’d just mentioned, choose to ‘live in harmony with nature’. They chose to embrace the beast inside rather than contain it and it cost them dearly. The Marverni's savagery resulted in them being brutally subjugated by Ermor just like the Sauromatians before them. Pangaea itself was forced to become Yomi's breadbasket after I made a brutal example out of their forest dragon god. In the end, chaos was contained for the good of all.”

Izanagi glowered, his brow under the weight of a dark memory. “Trust me, I have personally suffered at the hands of those who’d succumbed to the beast within.”

‘I will honor and respect you, your Divinity.’

Amaterasu nodded in understanding. “Thank you for your instruction, Father.”

His smile grew into a grin, Izanagi placed one arm around her and the goddess leaned closer, resting her head against his chest to listen to his thunderous and vigorous heartbeats. She wrapped an arm around his torso. The two of them held each other for what seemed like hours, their enhanced vision scanning the faces of the plebians and even the occasional senator and centurion as they went about their business. Some paused momentarily to gawk at the two deities and pay the proper homage.

‘I will honor and respect you, you Divinity.’

Finally, Amaterasu gently pulled away from Izanagi and decided to change the subject. “It seems plenty of things have happened since we left Yomi.”

Izanagi looked at her with renewed interest. “What do you mean?”

Licking her lips, Amaterasu continued. “Tsukuyomi has really improved his skills at conjuring ghosts and reanimated corpses. He'd also established himself in Shinuyama, taking a kitsune girl as an apprentice and a traveling companion. I think Hitomi is her name."

Izanagi curled his lips into something resembling a scowl. “Tsukuyomi really is a great scholar of the magical arts though I wish he would dedicate himself mostly to physical prowess and other manly pursuits. Even making an oni his servant rather than a puny kitsune would’ve meant something.”

Amaterasu looked slightly dejected. Despite her efforts, her father still disregarded Tsukuyomi’s achievements ever since the moon god decided to rebel against his expectations. Father has been insistent on making sure that she doesn’t end up like her brother, his desire to shape her into his own image taking precedence over even her own comfort.

‘I will honor and respect you, your Divinity.’

"Secondly, I received a message almost an hour ago stating that a secret sect of Skeptics has been found in one of our villages near the Agarthian border. They now await in Yomi for your justice."

Izanagi simply grunted. "Those misotheist mockers and their philosopher friends have been increasing in numbers for centuries ever since I disbanded nearly all of Arcoscephale's military. That nation of devious overthinkers apparently has too much free time on its hands."

A pause. "I will send word to Emperor Antonius to increase the tribute and expand the labor camps in that province. That will keep their young men more preoccupied."

He is doing that again. To this very day, Amaterasu couldn't understand why Father hated Arcoscephale so much. She knew this wasn't the product of some past annoyance, though the stories he told her of his armies being repeatedly repulsed by strange contraptions and siege engines the Arcoscephaleans fashioned during the Ascension War indicated a potential source of great frustration. Still, his hatred of them was so great that when the Ermorian Empire finally conquered Arcoscephale, Father established the day the Kingdom of Philosophy fell as a day of festivities in Yomi. He'd even ordered the Ermorian emperor to strip it of its military save for a nominal force barely sufficient to repel raiders and bandits.

Amaterasu had even asked him about it one day, with almost no success. The best she was able to coax out of him before he loudly rebuked all future inquiries was that Arcoscephale's suffering was payment for a 'debt of blood'.

'I will honor and respect you, your Divinity.'

“Finally, Susanoo finally managed to perfect one of your favorite techniques,” the goddess continued. “You know the one Father; it’s designed to break an enemy’s guard before counterattacking with a rising stroke that splits them from groin to chin in one fluid motion.”

Izanagi’s face soured considerably as he stood up, stretching his limbs. He stretched forth a hand and a vortex of fire materialized in the palm. The flames and smoke dissipated as quickly as they appeared, revealing a massive naginata forged from a reddish metal. Jewels of various sizes and types festooned the part of the haft near the blade.

“It’s time to resume your lessons,” he finally said as he got into a guard position, the Amenonuhoko turned upside down and held above his head, its blade pointing toward Amaterasu's feet.

Standing up, Amaterasu held out her hand. A shaft of sunlight materialized in her palms and exploded into a shower of sparks, revealing Nightkiller in its illustrious glory. She then got into a stance, holding the weapon upright near the right side of her face.

‘I will honor and respect you, your Divinity.’

“Why do you hate Susanoo so much, Father?” she finally asked as Izanagi circled her, a regal yet ferocious predator looking for an opening.

The elder god simply shrugged. “Because he is trash,” he finally said before he attacked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amaterasu awoke with a start, peering around the dimly lit interior of the tent as sunlight bled through the fabric. Her thoughts drifted to Susanoo as a yawn escaped her lips and Amaterasu wondered how he’d fared during her imprisonment inside the Heavenly Cave. He would have to face a cantankerous Izanagi, alone and hated by him. Hopefully, he had the sense to leave while he still could.

‘I… I will honor… and … and r-r-respect you, your D...Divinity.’

The prayer shook Amaterasu out of her musings. A smirk appearing on her face, Amaterasu crawled through her tent’s opening and emerged in a golden dawn. Several samurai and ashigaru tentatively greeted her, keeping at a respectable distance. Despite her heart aching slightly, Amaterasu simply returned the greeting.

Around her, the warriors dismantled tents and palisades as others loaded carts and horses with foodstuffs and supplies. Based on the position of the sun, the goddess could tell that it was almost noon yet that particular prayer continued to enter her psyche along with the others. Confusion and intrigue waltzing in her head, the goddess answered those she deemed worthy and made her way over to Jingū's tent.

Amaterasu eventually arrived at her destination and regarded the two samurai guarding the tent entrance. The two warriors bowed respectfully to her before moving out of the way. Thanking them, Amaterasu got onto her hands and knees and pulled a flap apart, her golden eyes widening at what she saw.

Jingū struggled to remain upright as she sat cross-legged on a small rug, facing toward the side. Her mouth choked out another prayer as her body wobbled from the sheer exhaustion of her punishment. Strings were tied to the shoulders of her kimono and their other ends were tied to bundles of metal objects placed on nearby tables. Whenever she succumbs to exhaustion, the objects would be pulled off the tables and onto the porcelain plates waiting beneath them, waking her up with the resulting racket. The air was permeated with the scent of stale urine.

Jingū yelped when the aforementioned racket jerked her back to the land of the awake. The influx of light from the tent entrance stirred Jingū from her shock and she turned to see the goddess looking directly at her. Groggily, the daimyo unfastened the strings from her kimono and stood up to give Amaterasu a bow. She nearly fell over when she bowed too low.

“I-I have do… done what was r… required of me, you… your Divinity,” she finally managed to say. Amaterasu winced as the daimyo gave herself a fierce smack in the face.

“I noticed,” the goddess said, a wolfish grin appearing on her face. “I remembered only requiring you to pray until the crack of dawn. It’s the middle of the day.”

Despite her exhaustion, a somber expression draped over Jingū's face like a funerary shroud. She then composed herself as best as she could. “I... I have time to think an... and realized the...that given the things I d... done, I wasn't being pun...pu...punished enough.”

Amaterasu raised an eyebrow. "Why'd you think so?"

Jingū's face scrunched together. "My... warriors, they chose not to re... renounce you be... because of the dream I gave them, the dream the... that compelled them to fight... yesterday. Kenji-san even died for that dream!"

Amaterasu vaguely recalled one of Jingū's bodyguards, the jovial man who constantly annoyed his more stoic partner with his antics.

"And... here I am, spitting on they... our dream! I'd even... regretted freeing you from... Ama-no-Iwato... because I was so damn selfish! I shared that dream as well... and I was too narrowminded, too stupid to see that!"

Jingū looked into Amaterasu's eyes, her drooping eyelids struggled to stay open just a crack. "Am I a... a.... horrible person? Of course... I... am..."

With a yawn that would’ve put a troll to shame, Jingū collapsed unceremoniously onto her knees and crumpled forward, her rear end sticking into the air. Soft snores drifted into the air as the daimyo’s breaths ruffled the fibers of the rug, the bemused goddess looking on.

With a private chuckle, Amaterasu reached in to pick up Jingū’s unconscious form and gently deposited her onto her sleeping mat, making sure not to knock over the tent. Pulling the covers over her, Amaterasu watched Jingū for a few minutes, thoughts of her own childhood drifting into her head.

“Whatever you may think of yourself, at least you still draw breath, Jingū. Unlike Touma, you still have a chance to unlock your true potential.” the goddess finally said before extracting herself from the tent and back into the midst of a changed Coalition.

(Author's Note: Quite a long chapter this is and I couldn't agree more! However, I felt this particular scene was too important of a definitive moment in the lives of Jingu and Co. and the fate of Jomon to simply brush over it. Thanks for your understanding and I hope it was worth your while.)