I Used to Believe

For people like Toyohime, there will be no happy endings. Toyohime might have cheated death, but the universe always collects its due.

Gensokyo. A clearing in the Forest of Magic.

Toyohime. Covered in cuts and bruises, panting from exhaustion.

She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and took a couple steps backward, letting herself lean upon a nearby tree. In front of her was a scene of absolute carnage — satori limbs and loose teeth, pitch black blood and severed eyes splattered all over the place, turning what was once a scenic view into another ugly reminder of the apocalypse.

There had never been anything in Gensokyo for Toyohime — not anymore. The only thing that lurked around these parts now were these accursed satori monsters, comparatively weak, but almost unlimited in their number… and endlessly persistent. In recent months, the attacks have even grown more frequent, though for what reason, Toyohime could not say. With each engagement, Toyohime would get just a little more weak, just a little more injured, just a little more hopeless.

And yet, she stayed.

As for why, she couldn't tell herself. Toyohime was never an honest person — least of all to herself. So even to her, the reason she stuck around, even after it was made clear that she wasn't — and would never be — welcome was a mystery. She could've been anywhere, doing anything. Now that she was free, life — and everything it had to offer — was open to her. Why then, did she waste away living off of a dead land, dressed in filthy rags, fighting to barely survive? Why was the question. And she never had the answer.

Though she did think about it — her condition. She thought about it a lot. For her, alone as she was, her thoughts were her sole source of companionship. And the only thing that prevented her from going insane, if she hadn't already. She let out a small sigh before pushing herself off of the tree she leaned against. For now, she had enough of thinking. She bandaged everything that needed bandaging, slung everything that needed slinging… and made her way back to the Hakurei Shrine.

Another pointless night of fighting was behind her. Now, all she wanted to do was to find somewhere safe to sleep.

The journey back was uneventful. Like many places in the new world Toyohime had indirectly brought about, it was almost completely devoid of life. Shortly after the Earth had died, many places became inhospitable to even the hardiest of creatures — plants started to shrivel and die, causing organisms of all kinds to go with them. What remained were only those willing to survive off of divine corpse-flesh — certain types of toxic flora, various bacterias and microorganisms, the occasional satori monster, and stray animals mere steps from death. And, of course, the rare human or lunarian traveling between self-sustaining shelters or the occasional pocket of habitable land. Gensokyo did not fit either description.

Toyohime herself didn't need to eat or drink, or even sleep — that was the primary reason she could afford to stay in Gensokyo at all. She was an honest-to-goodness Goddess herself, after all. Maybe the last one in the world. She could've called herself a shining beacon of purity in a dying world, and she certainly would be right in some sense, but it was a hollow position, devoid of meaning or purpose.

She made her way past the Great Hakurei Barrier, long since destroyed, and to the courtyard of the Hakurei Shrine — the final resting place of her father. It was always difficult walking past his skull, bleached white and picked clean of flesh. It wasn't hard because she felt any residual love toward her father, or because seeing the severed head of her father unnerved her particularly, no. It just annoyed her that no one had ever bothered to move the unsightly thing from such a public place. Or at least… that's what she often told herself.

Just this once, compelled by some unfamiliar feeling, Toyohime stopped and looked at the skull of her late father. And it was her father — even after all these years of pent up frustration and hatred, she still thought of him as a father. Maybe a part of Toyohime hoped, even as she ordered his death, that he would come back to her. That he would come back and love her — and everything would go back to normal. Whatever that was. This, of course, was not something she would ever say. Or think, really. But it was something that crept into her thoughts when the nights were long and quiet.

Toyohime placed an open palm on the skull. Dry and cold. Long since dead, partially weathered by the elements, and eaten into by decomposers.

"... What did it mean? Why did you leave?" Toyohime muttered under her breath. There was a part of her that expected an answer against all rationality. As if her father would resurrect on the spot and explain himself to the child he left behind. They were Gods, weren't they? It wasn't completely out of the question, was it? Even so, Toyohime felt ridiculous, talking to a decomposed corpse that offered no answer.

"Did you really hate me that much? Did I mean that little to you?" The skull was silent. Inanimate — as skulls tended to be. Maybe Toyohime really was going insane. She scoffed and shook her head before taking a few steps back. "... Goodnight."

She made her way back into the interior of the Hakurei Shrine, which was in surprisingly good shape, as if someone had been taking care of it for all the years prior to Toyohime's arrival. Whoever they were, though, they were gone. Toyohime settled into a bedroll she laid out on the ground and tried to get some sleep.

Another sleepless night.

She tossed and turned, her eyes shut but her conscious active. She might've been physically tired, but on the inside, her mind raced. It obsessed over the very few interactions she had with her father and worked overtime trying to piece them together in a way that made sense to her. A vague smile, a pat on the head, a stern command, orders given in hushed tones, a conspiracy, a strange facade, and quiet afternoons in the garden — what did it mean? Did it mean anything? What was she to him? She tried desperately to find meaning and closure in a place where there would be none.

"Toyohime?"

Suddenly, Toyohime was paralyzed in place. Her eyes darted toward the doorway of the room she slept in to reveal a shadowy figure. Obscured by the darkness and almost immaterial in its form, it was beyond impossible to reasonably discern who it was. But Toyohime knew beyond doubt that it was her father. Alive. Flesh and blood. Real.

"My… daughter. Come."

The figure floated out of view and for a few moments, everything was quiet and back to normal. Toyohime took a deep breath in, and let it out through grit teeth. She sat up and looked down at her hands. Though they were normal before, they had turned back into their clawed equivalents, as if her body itself knew what had to be done. She got out of her futon and stood up. Stumbling and quivering from a mix of both mental and physical exhaustion, Toyohime propped herself up on the doorframe. When she let go, she left a nasty clawmark.

She followed the path of her father… down the hallway of the Hakurei Shrine, until they were back in the common area, where that same figure stood stock still. It pointed down to a spot in the ground, below the floorboards themselves.

"You…" Toyohime growled. "The hell are you doing here? Did I give you permission to come back into my life? Hah!?"

The figure didn't respond. All it did was stand in place, pointing to the same point in the floor.

"You fucking coward!" Toyohime's jaw tightened. Her claws clenched. Her entire body started to shake and twitch. "Wasn't running away enough for you? You can't even look your own daughter in the eye anymore!?"

No response.

Toyohime stormed up to the shade and seized it by the collar. "I'm. Talking. To. You. Why don't you stop being a shitty dad for once and fucking. Answer ."

One second it was there, the next second it wasn't. Toyohime found her claws not digging into the humanoid form of her father… but empty space. She stumbled backwards in a hurry. All this isolation… all this monotony. She really was going insane, bit by bit. She crumpled to the ground, chest heaving and heart pounding. It was there that she noticed a small icon etched into the floorboards — her family crest. Or rather, the icon of Watatsumi.

Toyohime fished her claws under that marked board and tore it out to reveal a small trapdoor, made from Lunarian alloy and branded with the Watatsumi family crest. Hesitantly, she reached a claw out to hook into the handle of the latch, but it didn't give. Locked.

"Shitty old man…" Toyohime muttered under breath before smashing her claws into the door, cutting straight through it. She tore out the whole thing, lock mechanism and all, before tossing it behind her. Behind it was a dark chasm of a hole, which extended far below the surface of the shrine. The only evidence that it led anywhere was a ladder, which ran all the way down into the darkness. Toyohime took another look behind her… before sliding down the ladder, down into some secretive recess that her own father had constructed.

On the way down , Toyohime had some time to think.

She would've been lying to herself, much more than usual, if she said she wasn't excited. Even just a little bit. Or perhaps… excited was the wrong way to put it. There was plenty of dread down there, too, inside her heart. It was a childish hope to expect Watatsumi to leave anything sentimental down there for her. After all, Toyohime had always been his little political pawn first, daughter second. They never spent much time together, even back in the early days, when Toyohime was first born.

And for the most part, what little time they did spend as father and daughter was mostly for public image. He had to make it look genuine, after all. This was something that Toyohime knew from the second she was born. The first thing said to her as soon as she was able to understand speech was an order — to love him no matter what. Back then, it seemed silly — Toyohime was his daughter, and she would love him no matter what. It seemed to just be a fact of life.

Her love for him back then was genuine, of course. But Toyohime couldn't help but wonder if every moment she spent with her father… was a lie. If the love that Toyohime thought he had for her was just… some construct. Some political gambit. After all, if he really cared at all, wouldn't he come back? Even just to say hello? At the very least to make sure Toyohime hadn't keeled over and died in his absence.

Toyohime's boots gently came into contact with a hard, even material. She turned around to be met with complete pitch blackness. With a sigh, her eyes morphed and changed until they bore two vertical slits — crocodilian eyes. The pupils dilated to the point where she could see perfectly in that dark tunnel. The further she proceeded, the more the walls turned from craggy stone to walls that matched that of the Lunar Capital's Moon Palace, until it was like Toyohime was walking in the halls of her youth. If nothing else, Watatsumi was certainly nostalgic. There was no doubting that.

At the end of that hallway, there was a shoji — a paper sliding door that was highly reminiscent of the Moon Palace's own. There was a gentle blue glow that came through it, as if moonlight were caught and filtered into this room, even as it sat buried underground. Toyohime reached a hand — and it had returned to being a hand — and pushed the door to the side.

Within was a small room… a study, of some sort. Her father's. She recognized it, in a manner of speaking. If she had to guess, Toyohime would've said that this was a replica of a very real room that used to be in the Moon Palace. One that she used to spend some of her childhood in, bothering her father while he worked away at one thing or another. She was too young back then to remember much… but she remembered the smell of dusty old books, some fragments of memories here and there, that creaky old rocking chair in the corner… it was enough to bring her back — even for just a moment — to simpler times. In reality, it was only one or two or three memories that she recalled — but even now, she held onto them with a sort of unnatural protectiveness. Or rather, a longing. An obsession.

There, in the corner, was his desk. It looked a lot shorter than she remembered. She ran a finger along the tabletop… dusty. Dusty and unkempt. No one has been in this room for years. She… supposed that made sense. After all, it was her who killed her father. This would've been the result.

The glimmer of glass catching light in the corner of her eye caught her attention. There, a picture frame shrouded in darkness. A picture frame? Toyohime's heart stopped. She inched forward, reaching her hand out. A part of her expected everything — that she was wrong for doubting her father. He did care about her, loved her even. That Gensokyo was for her, or something along those lines. That, in everything he did, he kept her in his mind. A part of her expected nothing. That, though she had no idea what it could be, nothing good could come from knowing.

She took the framed picture in her hands and pulled it into the light for her to see.

Watatsumi was in the photo. Him, and an unfamiliar woman and child. They're all smiling. Together, wrapped in each other's arms, standing in front of the Hakurei Shrine. Toyohime was nowhere to be seen in that picture.

Toyohime didn't feel right. Not ill, not sad, not melancholic, or sorry. Not devastated, or angry, or completely hysterical. She just felt… wrong. Like she saw something she shouldn't have — learned something that she would've been better off not learning. Remembered something that should've remained lost.

She started to laugh. She really did. Toyohime started to cackle. It was really that funny. And then she stopped laughing. She looked at that picture again. A horned lady dressed in a red and white kimono. What a whore, dressed like that. Toyohime looked at the child. Some snot-nosed kid, smiling away like an idiot. Like he wasn't a part of the single most world-shattering revelation that Toyohime had ever uncovered. Probably a bastard child, if she had to guess. Stupid, and slow, and weak. It was in his defective genes — she could tell. She hoped that the relationship fell through, and he ended up having to grow up without parents.

A drop of liquid fell onto the glass covering of that picture frame. And then another. She couldn't remember the last time she cried. Genuinely cried, that is. This wasn't loud or explosive as Toyohime's bursts of almost performative emotions were. It was quiet. Resigned. Real. She had spent every day secretly hoping that he would come back. She was stupid for thinking so.

Toyohime's grip tightened, causing the glass casing of the frame to crack and then shatter in her hands. Glass shards lodged themselves beneath the scales of her claws, digging into skin and drawing blood. In a slow, dripwise fashion, the table below was dotted with little spots of crimson. Toyohime let out a startled gasp as the glass shards and wooden fragments dug into her. She let go a moment after, letting the crumpled up, partially bloodied picture of her father and his family fall to the table's surface.

Those people that Toyohime had never met in her life; in a manner of speaking, that woman was Toyohime's mother. That child was Toyohime's brother. People that she felt only contempt for… It made her sick to her stomach.

But that wasn't all.

Snuck behind the form of the disgusting picture was a small, yellowed slip of paper, folded up and tucked away. Sniffling and wiping some tears from her eyes, she reached a free hand to open paper. Inside was a letter, written in ink. Her name was written at the top. For a moment, Toyohime closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath in. It felt like someone tossed her heart into a pit, and the rest of her innards lagged behind it. There was an absolute dread in that feeling as she wondered what could've possibly been contained in that letter. She might've forgotten how frightening it was — to not have a plan for every encounter, every scenario. To be unsure of what would come next. She let her breath out and opened her eyes.

To my daughter, Toyohime.

If you're reading this letter, then the worst has come to pass. Most likely, I've long since been dead, and our relationship is in an irreparable state. I understand that you might resent me for what I've done, but please keep reading and listen to what I have to say. You deserve an explanation, and I am obligated to explain myself after being absent for so long.

Back when you and your sister were born, I was a different person. There's no question about how disgusting my behavior was back then — using you and your sister as a mere means was not something that either of you deserved. It's not something that either of you will ever deserve. But that's how I was in the past — power hungry and delusional. And when I obtained the power to see fragments of the future, I became afraid of what you might become. So I left the Lunar Capital.

It's only now, writing this letter, that I realize how wrong I was. I should've stayed with you, and it eats away at me every day that I left.

I came down here to construct a grand project — Gensokyo. At first, I was obsessed with the idea of stopping you: Gensokyo would be a fortress first — able to withstand even Lunarian incursion — and a rehabilitation center tailored for you second. It was disgusting. Looking back on it, I truly engaged in shameful behavior: treating you, only a child at the time, as a threat to be stopped instead of what you really were… my daughter.

But that all changed when I met… I struggle to call her this way, but I suppose she would be your step-mother — the Goddess of what would become the Hakurei Shrine. Gensokyo became more than just a tool or a weapon… it became a home. For me, for her, and for our son. And… for you. I hoped that, one day, you and your sister would come down here to live with us. Then, we could've all been a family.

See — when Lord Tsukuyomi caught wind of the construction of Gensokyo, I was banished in advance. Even if I did want to go back — and I did, at least to get you and your sister out of that stifling place — it was not meant to be. You must understand that the military force of the Lunarians is not something to be easily trifled with. I couldn't do that to the woman I loved and our son — run off to fight, that is. I had a duty to them and to Gensokyo… and there was no guarantee that I would return from such a bold move alive.

So I waited. Waited for you and your return. I had the earnest hope that we would meet again… and that we would be able to make up for lost time. I hoped that we could reconnect, and I could be the father that I failed to be when you were born. But… if you're reading this note, that means I failed. I failed you, and I'm sorry.

I just wish things could be different, but what is past is past. All any of us can do, even us divine beings, is to hope for a brighter future. I'm likely dead, so I'm afraid you'll have to do enough hoping for the both of us.

Toyohime. If you've gotten this far… If you still care… Please heed my words. It's too late for me, but it's not too late for you. Breaking this cycle… it'll be up to you, now. Please love that clone and take care of her. She needs, or rather, will need you more than you know. Please teach her to love, and not to hate. Please be a better parent than I was.

And if you happen to run into anyone of the Hearn bloodline, please be kind to them. I can't possibly imagine how you may be feeling right now, but please respect them, as they are part of our family. If anyone is deserving of your ire, it is me, not them.

I love you,

Watatsumi

Toyohime. Stone faced and cold.

The Hakurei Shrine. Consumed by an inferno that reached into the sky in wavering, licking motions.

After all the tears were shed, all the curses said, all the spirit spent, Toyohime could only bring herself to settle into a silent burn. She left that place, feeling more empty and lost than she did when she entered, and brought back as much kindling as she could. This was a bad place, filled with things that she preferred to be gone. So she lit the fire and watched as it grew from smoldering embers to a roaring fire that consumed and purified everything.

Gensokyo was no home; not to her, and not to anyone else. The words of her father, filled with feel-good sentiments and empty platitudes, seemed hollow and cruel to Toyohime, who had only known the Watatsumi of her memories. The person who wrote the letter was a stranger — someone who bore the name of a dead man. Words wouldn't make Toyohime's life better. They couldn't even make her feel better. When she lived in such a hellish world from the very start, it almost seemed like a joke — that pitiful letter that her supposed father wrote to her.

So she stood there, under the star-studded night sky, and watched it all go up in smoke. It was vaguely therapeutic, perhaps, to see one of her father's crowning achievements be destroyed by her hands. But this wasn't enough for her. She still felt empty and listless — and even as she saw the object of her hatred reduced to ash, her mind still played through the endless loop of her childhood memories. Seeking, but never finding, an answer.

She was wrong from the start. When she first stayed in Gensokyo, she thought she might find something, anything, that would make things make sense. She hoped that by living in the place her father created, she could find some semblance of closure. Now having come to her senses, she realized that the only thing she would be able to find here are the charred and worn bones of the past. And exhuming those bones and putting light to them? It only made Toyohime more confused. More lost.

She looked to the sky. And the looming form of Koishi, now lit up by myriad dying stars of flashing light.

If there was one thing that her late father was right about, it was that she would break the cycle. Toyohime alone could and would fix everything her father destroyed. She would make things right. She alone would save that worthless, discarded child. And if she had to fight the world, no — the universe itself to make it happen, then she would.

If by chance there were an observer who remained in Gensokyo, they would've been able to see a supremely rare sight, rising up into the sky.

A white and violet dragon, rising further and further up into the sky in a coiling and twisting motion.

Off to save her daughter.