...0~0~0~0...

After the Cataclysm—the great disaster in Khaenri'ah.

Makoto departed from the world in silence, during the war. No one knew, and all that remained was Raiden Ei—her Archon sister, who had always fought in the shadows of the battlefield, seizing territory in the name of Inazuma.

Now, she was forced to take on a noble role: to lead an entire nation.

But in the end, Ei never truly understood the hearts of mortals. She couldn't be the leader her sister had been.

She was cold, sharp—born for war, for blood-soaked battlefields, not for understanding people's hearts.

From the very beginning of her rule, Ei had tried to connect with her people, to avoid disappointing them. But no matter how hard she tried...

She still couldn’t live up to Makoto.

From organizing festivals to issuing new laws, everything she touched felt dry, distant, confusing—and doomed to failure.

She often confided in Yae Miko, perhaps the only friend she could truly speak to.

Until one day, Miko proposed an idea: that Ei might create a puppet—one that would rule in her place, fully aligned with her will.

“Why not create a puppet—one that will follow your every command...”

“And have it rule the nation for you?” Miko said, lips curled in that mischievous smile, eyes gleaming like the fox she was.

“Would that... really be okay?” Ei looked up, genuinely uncertain. Could it work? Would it only lead Inazuma into even more chaos?

Miko merely shrugged.

“How will you know if you don’t try?”

“Besides... you’re not doing such a great job right now, are you?”

Ei fell silent, staring at her friend as the idea took root. The truth was undeniable—she was failing. So... why not try?

And so, after that conversation at Narukami Shrine, Ei began to shut herself away in the Tenshukaku. She ceased managing Inazuma’s affairs, dedicating herself entirely to crafting the perfect puppet.

Outside, the nation descended further into turmoil—power struggles, corruption, food theft, collusion among factions. All of it became commonplace.

But Ei no longer cared. She had severed ties with the outside world, focused solely on a single purpose:

To create a puppet—a flawless one, perfectly loyal to her vision of eternity.

Thousands of failed attempts followed. Each defective creation was discarded, thrown into the shadows of Tenshukaku or destroyed completely.

Sketch after sketch was torn and tossed away in frustration. The air in her workshop grew darker and heavier by the day.

And outside, the skies mirrored her heart—dense, dark clouds forming overhead.

Lightning crackled, illuminating the gloom in brief, blinding flashes.

"BOOM! BOOM!!"

Thunder roared as bolts struck the sea beyond. One after another...

Until the storm blanketed all of Inazuma—and the nearby isles—with its wrath.

Rain fell for the first time in a long while, pouring alongside the lightning as if voicing the god's pain, reflecting Ei’s inner turmoil.

And so, time passed.

Inazuma, now like a prison without doors—easy to enter, nearly impossible to escape.

A year passed. Then two. Then three...

And finally, over a hundred years later...

A single, seemingly perfect creation was completed.

At last, Ei had succeeded. A puppet, wholly obedient to her eternal will, ready to lead the nation in her place.

The first puppet. The flawless one. The culmination of countless failures and rebirths.

Ei felt... joy?

Was this joy?

She wasn’t sure. Something felt strange inside—something unfamiliar, unlike anything she’d ever known.

Could this be what Makoto once described as emotion? As joy?

“One day, when you create something you're truly proud of...”

“You’ll feel it—something light and strange in your chest, like your heart is beating faster. That’s when you’ll know...”

“You’re feeling joy.”

Ei repeated her sister’s words aloud, the memory etched deeply into her mind.

“Makoto... Is this the 'joy' you spoke of...?”

She lifted her gaze to the puppet she had poured everything into—wondering quietly.

Just as she lingered in that unfamiliar emotion, a single tear slowly slid from the puppet’s closed eyes.

Ei froze, stunned.

“...Why... is it crying?” she whispered, staring at the puppet in disbelief.

“Does it... have a heart?”

The words left her lips before she could stop them, her cold eyes fixed on the tear marking the puppet’s pale cheek.

It felt like a betrayal.

A betrayal of everything she had worked so hard to perfect.

A puppet should not weep. A flawless creation should not feel.

She had programmed it meticulously, designed every line of code to eliminate all margin of error.

And yet—here it was.

A tear.

Something was wrong. Something was beyond her calculation.

“Makoto...?”

Her sister’s name—long gone—escaped her lips, as light as air.

Maybe... when she looked at this puppet, it reminded her of Makoto...

Too many memories were returning—memories Ei had long buried away.

...0~0~0~0...