#;reboot

       =Airi.=

        The voice, simultaneously a soft growl and sonorous baritone, jerked the woman from the depths of unconsciousness. With a jolt she bolted awake, still reeling from the vision, only to squint when mismatched hues were lanced with bright sunlight. Blinking, the not-dream evaporating like morning mist from behind her eyelids, the first thing her adjusted eyes met was the pale gaze of a massive shiisaa. It was not, however, the great beast looming over her prone form, but rather a second, unfamiliar presence close by that caused her to spring into a defensive crouch. Reflexively her hand scrambled for her kodachi, jumping slightly when she felt not one, but two handles.

        “Stay your blade, Master Chousaki! I, Konnosuke, am an ally!”

         Coupled with her disorientation, Airi’s hand froze at the new voice, finger having just curled around a familiar grip. As vertigo finally cleared, her vision focused upon a small fox -- a kit at best -- whose face was painted white and crimson and azure. Like a kabuki. A fragment clicked back into place in her muddled mind as she scrutinized the creature.

        "...You’re one of Lady Inari’s myoubu.”

         "Yes! My brothers and I are tasked with aiding you in both this citadel and on field. My apologies, Master Chousaki, but you don’t appear to be changed."

         "...Wasn't time for it."

         Now that she knew she had never been in any immediate danger, her spatial awareness steadily expanded even as she shrugged off her coat. Context placed the current room as her own; the sunlit furnishings were sparse, but she recognized some as the belongings she’d sent ahead. As she changed, the saniwa questioned her new aide on the citadel’s logistics. She had been briefed on the functions to expect, but it was broad strokes at best. Konnosuke readily provided answers, but before she’d exhausted her queries, the door slid open to allow another kitsune in, this time soot grey in colour.

         "Konnosuke, is-- ah, Master! You’re awake! The shrine is ready for use, but... where is your touken danshi?"

         Another unwittingly uncomfortable reminder of the circumstances surrounding her arrival. Sky darkening by a too-swift eclipse. Glass shattering, steel screeching, heart racing as she fled desperately for the torii-shaped portal even as the ground buckled beneath her feet-- Seeing his master’s grimace, the darker vulpine bowed his head and simply suggested to call forth the tsukumogami before proceeding to the shrine. A grim nod from the woman, her heterochromatic eyes sliding down to the two katana that lay beside her futon. Her personal kodachi was silent, its steel far too young to be self-aware. The uchigatana beside it, however... when she had first come into contact, its voice had been muffled from centuries of sleep. The time spent in her presence while she’d been unconscious had stirred it, and now it rested in almost sullen anticipation, as if saying, “Get on with it.” She smirked dryly at it.

         "Alright, let's get this done, then." Stepping into a more open area of the room, Airi drew the blade from its scabbard, momentarily admiring the exquisite craftsmanship and balance. "Thy spirit is known to me. Awake and breathe my onmyoudo. Arise, take form, and speak thy name."

         Kotodama was tricky business, given that all words held power. Learning to temper emotion and draw with intent had been one of her greatest challenges. But that was neither here nor there, the thought brushed aside as the sword shivered lightly in her hands and began to glow, motes of light falling like pale petals. As she took a step back, she relinquished her hold on its hilt, no longer required to keep it aloft.

         Of flowers, the sakura; of men, the bushi.

         Airi allowed herself a sardonic smile. In the time of the samurai, one's sword was considered their soul. How fitting was it, then, that the tsukumogami of a katana would manifest in the image of the ephemeral perfection? The light had pooled onto the tatami, solidifying into a distinctly humanoid shape, the pink glow fading to reveal a kneeling man before her, one hand clasped around the hilt of his steel form. He cut an odd figure, a well-worn cloak draped over his body, deep-set hood obscuring part of his face in undyed cloth and shadow. Sunlight glinted off the medallion resting against his chest, throwing stark contrast into the mountain relief carved upon it.

         "I am Yamanbagiri Kunihiro." Ivory lids slid open to reveal piercing blue eyes, which darkened into a scowl as the tsukumogami regarded her. "...What's with the look? Does the fact that I'm a duplicate bother you?”

         "On the contrary," came her cool retort, returning his glare with a level gaze. "I hadn’t quite expected to be entrusted with such a storied blade so early on. Though... thinking on it now, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Master Kousuke was never one to skive on quality, especially given our circumstances..." She shook her head, as if to dislodge the memory of her teacher’s quiet smile from the forefront of her mind. "But I digress. My name is Chousaki Airi, a saniwa."

         At this, Yamanbagiri's eyes narrowed into frosty slits. "A saniwa, huh...?”

         "I apologize if my status upsets you, but unfortunately I cannot change who I am.” This time she had to consciously swallow any rising animosity in her own heart, her ability to keep her tone even made difficult by the unjustifiable amount of venom in the sword’s voice. “I am a child of the twenty-third century, one of but a handful of people dedicated to preserving the true history of the world from those who would change it for personal gain. To that end, I seek the cooperation of swords to help battle against whatever forces they may dispatch. I hold the power to give an inanimate object's spirit corporeal form, as I have done you. A... creator of wielders, to an extent."

         If the blond had anything to say to that, she gave him no time to, silencing him with hardened hues as she continued, "I have no illusions as to what my mission entails. My foe will not hesitate to cut me and my allies down, and I must be equally ruthless. History left to run its course unadulterated will be dooming countless of lives to grisly and untimely deaths. It will be a lonely, harsh, bloody existence, but I will walk this path all the same. Now, knowing the strength of my resolve, Yamanbagiri Kunihiro, wilt thou giveth thine blade to mine cause?"

         For a moment, the kotodama melted any ice in his features, but he quickly composed himself. Airi watched the sword ruminate on the information she'd disclosed, patiently waiting for his answer. It was obvious this spirit held some degree of disdain for saniwa, which would very likely colour his decision significantly. But she was not here to convince him; she was here to command him. The ideal being the former, of course, but as things stood... At length, Yamanbagiri lifted his gaze back to her.

         "Just tell me one thing. Why are you doing this? What's in it for you?"

         Her hesitation lasted only as long as it took to gather her thoughts. "Because even if the history I know is imperfect, the choices that led to it still have as much meaning as any other choice. Good or bad, pleasant or painful, favourable or unfavourable, if history and our pasts could be changed so arbitrarily, then there would be no meaning to the life we are given. We would be no better than scripted pawns, with no sense of dignity or responsibility."

         The woman heard the spirit blow a soft snort through his nose, but the man lifted his blade flat up toward her, head bowed in deference. "Very well. For better or for worse, I, Yamanbagiri Kunihiro, pledge myself to your service... Master." Quieter, to himself, she caught, "Let's see if you'll be any different..."

         Accord forged, Airi returned him his scabbard before beckoning him to follow her and the two myoubu out to the shine. The late morning sun filtered in to cast bands of light upon the dark varnished wood, dust motes from the recently opened screens dancing in the golden beams. Yamanbagiri seemed to sense the divine energy that permeated the space, for he ground to a halt at the threshold, lips set in a thin, uneasy line. His saniwa, having no such reservations, glanced back at him with a small nod of approval.

         “Very good. Relax, just wait there and watch if you’d like. I’ll be done shortly; Lord Omoikane is an... efficient god.”

         So saying, she stepped into the center of the room, seating herself into a meditative stance. It did not take long; within moments, the world around her, then a few moments more her own breath and heartbeat, had dimmed into a low blur. Another presence pressed into her mind, an aurora of gold and lime and azure.

         =Ah, Futsunushi’s vessel. I was wondering when you would show.=

         My apologies, Lord Omoikane. There were--

         =Complications, I know. You were always Kousuke’s odd duck. Better late than never, I suppose. Let us begin.=

         Receiving the gift of another god was an unusual sensation, the swirl of colour seeming to seep into her from every pore of her body, leaving her skin tingling like it would in the latent static of an oncoming thunderstorm. She felt the energy congregate on her forehead, prompting a momentary bemused thought of how fitting that the blessing of the god of knowledge would settle within the third eye chakra. The thought was cut short almost instantly by a faint vibration, like harmonizing tuning forks, and the technicolour faded. She felt rather than heard the disruption immediately after, a rending of time that rippled violently through her like a shockwave. Numbers and characters raced past her mind’s eye, dizzying in conjunction with a flood of images too quick for her to study. She came back to herself abruptly, senses aflame as if she’d surfaced from being submerged. Dimly beyond great gulps of air and ears ringing with the sound of a man’s defiant roar Airi heard a sharp intake of breath and the loosening of a katana from its sheath. Yamanbagiri’s agitated honey gold barely managed to puncture through the miasma of crimson-laced deep purple that swam before her eyes, lingering even after the gift had stilled.

          “Hakodate.”

          The word left her breathless lips even as it rang down the hall, Konnosuke pattering into view moments later. His darker look-alike stopped arguing with the blond touken danshi at his presence, eager to hear details of this announcement.

          “Konnosuke! I take it this means the synchronization with the council room was a success.”

          “Konnosuke.” Rising shakily to her feet, Airi briskly brushed her streaked bangs out of her face to wipe the last beads of sweat on her brow. “The time dial. Take us there, we’re going to Hakodate, May 1869. Yamanbagiri, your first directive: find and subdue the History Rerograde Army, and protect the flow of history.”

         “That was fast,” the tsukumogami quipped as he waited for her to snatch up her kodachi and fasten it to her hip. “Don’t you spiritual types usually need hours of meditation?”

          “Like I said,” she replied, shooting him a dry smirk. “Lord Omoikane is an efficient god.”