Chapter Text
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Sethos has been preparing for this day all his life — though that wasn't really a long time, he had just turned five.
His grandfather had assigned him a task the very moment he came into life: becoming the new vessel of Hermanubis's power. He didn't really know who Hermanubis was or why he needed a vessel, but if it made his grandfather and the people of the Temple happy, then he was willing to do it. Also, he wasn't alone in this.
That morning they dressed him and who he learned to call his brother in a white vest, gave them masks to hide their faces and led them to two different rooms.
He remembers the last time he looked at Cyno before the ceremony — like Sethos he was excited, maybe a little anxious, but there was something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
When Cyno noticed him staring his eyes softened for a moment, as if he had just remembered something very important. That's right. I'm not alone.
He smiled at the younger child, maybe a bit too wide and maybe a bit too forced, but by the time Sethos smiled back he had already pulled him mask down.
The walk to his own room was silent — the priestess accompanying him wasn't of many words, and his grandfather following behind them seemed too lost in his own head. The only sound in the hallway was the one of their footsteps.
Oh, he missed Cyno already.
They stopped in front of his door. The priestess let go if his hand, mumbling a string of prayers under her breath, and he turned to look at his grandfather hoping to find some encouragement in him — but his face was stoic and his eyes were cold. Sethos's smile quickly dropped.
He faced the room, the fragment shining in the centre. He took one big breath and pulled down his mask, stepping inside.
He couldn't see anything with the mask on — he heard the sound of the door closing behind him, the few rays of light disappearing from his view, leaving only a faint purple glow in front of him.
He approached the fragment slowly, carefully, as if it was a desert scarab that could escape at any moment. He and Cyno loved going hunting for scarabs.
Will they still have time to do that or is being a vessel a full-time job? Sethos never thought of that. He knew becoming a vessel was an important role, but he never wondered what that implied. He still wanted to play outside and hear his grandfather's stories and stay up at night watching the stars and — will he still be able to do that?
He stopped in his tracks. He felt the fragment glowing a few inches for him. He was supposed to reach out, to grab it, to let Hermanubis accept his body as a new home — but maybe he didn't want that to happen anymore.
No, he couldn't stop now. He made a promise — well, his grandpa did — to the people of the Temple. He said he would bring their God back to life. And you can't break a promise.
He held out his hand, hovering just above the shard — and with the other one, he reached for his mask. He pushed it up, squinting his eyes when the light reached him.
"The mask is to hide your weaknesses," his grandpa had said, "to make Hermanubis think you're the perfect vessel — fearless and strong."
Sethos didn't feel fearless or strong or perfect. If Hermanubis was gonna stay with him his whole life, he didn't want to lie to him.
His face glowed with purple light, electricity buzzling right below his palm, but before he could touch it the fragment started floating by itself.
Sethos instinctively pulled his hand back to his chest and the fragment followed, stopping in front of his heart — then eveything became black. The last thing he remembers is a voice, deep and solemn, speaking in an unfamiliar language.
Hermanubis had accepted him.
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Kunikuzushi was born with a purpose.
After the disaster, the gods were left to deal with the grief that came with the loss of their companions.
On the throne of Inazuma, a new shogun ascended: Raiden Ei, still grieving her late sister, was now expected to rule over the crumbs of a nation.
Ei knew something broke in her that day — she put one teacup on the table instead of two, braided her hair herself, didn't ask for permission to wear that one hairpin that didn't belong to her.
She decided she couldn't fix Inazuma before she fixed herself.
To occupy her spot for the time being, the shogun decided to build a doll. But not just any doll. She constructed the body of a young boy, made him to look like the familiar she had lost, and then marked him with the symbol of eternity.
She didn't bother naming the thing. She merely saw it as a tool, a new vessel for the power of the gnosis, not something that needed a name. As time passed, however, the puppet decided to name itself — Kunikuzushi, the name it chose. If it had heard it in the streets or read it in a book, she would never know.
Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, and Ei found herself getting weirdly attached to the puppet. Once, she even caught herself calling it a "he" — Kunikuzushi seemed very happy about that. Maybe she had underestimated the creature she brought to life.
"Kunikuzushi?"
On a moonlight night, the puppet came home carrying something in his hands. "What were you doing outside in the dark?" The shogun asked.
The boy — puppet, not boy — moved his hand to reveal a small finch, one of its wings held still with a what looked like a dango stick.
"Evening, mother." He said with a smile. That's another habit he had taken up from the humans — he started calling her "mother". Ei didn't understand what comfort he found in that word, but it didn't harm anyone, so she let him have it. "This bird got scared by the fireworks of the festival and it fell off its nest."
Ei looked at the finch nuzzled up in his hands. It felt wrong, seeing an helpless animal sleeping in the hold of what she was building to be an heartless machine. "Have you been looking for me?"
Ei looked away, too afraid to see something familiar in his eyes. "No. You can go rest if you wish to."
The puppet's lips curled up in a smile, and with a nod of his head he headed to the door.
"Kuni?" She called out in a whisper. The boy stopped in at the doorway, turning to look at her with a childish smile on his face, a few loose hairs flowing out of his bun. "Yes, mother?"
Ei clenched her fingers around the cup, that word making her jolt yet again.
"Goodnight."
"Oh... goodnight!"
Only after the door closed behind him, did she allow herself to indulge in the thoughts that have been plaguing her — that boy was just like Makoto.