Sometimes, when lying alone on a patch of grass or gazing at an ocean, Mokou's mind would return to a particular daydream of hers. Not the one about killing Kaguya with a single stab from a fiery lance after a hundred-round duel, or even the one about finding a miracle counter to the Hourai Elixir. This one was about the people of Gensokyo, appearing fully formed and either living on or disappearing into the wind, stretching from the dawn of time to the distant future.
She leaned into the rickety fence separating her from the sea and closed her eyes. Formless, she travelled to a dark plain covered in fine white sand.
The order in which people emerged had crystallised over the years, whether accurate or not. First there were only Suwako and Tewi — appearing together, as Mokou had never learned which one had come first. Both were small and wore plain clothes, as unassuming as dew. Suwako appeared regal in spite of her slightness, the gaze of her large eyes direct and unwavering. Tewi was less self-assured with her limbs marred in dirt, but mischief gleamed ruby-like from beneath her messy fringe.
Then came the Taoists. Mokou had never met them before Gensokyo, and so she imagined them much as they had looked when she had first run into them, with Miko's ear mufflers and all. Yukari's exact age eluded Mokou, but she emerged alongside the quartet, in a purple kimono and with younger eyes.
Then, those two. They were untold years older than Mokou, of course, but Kaguya and Eirin appeared on the plain only moments before Mokou herself: Kaguya a beautiful child growing into a beautiful adult, Eirin eternally the same. In her imagination, Mokou's hair was snowy cobweb from birth, the human child gone even from memory.
Then, the avalanche. Byakuren and her crew... Yuyuko rose up flower-like next to Yukari, already ghostly. The tengu... the Devas... more and more other youkai... almost as many gods... oh, she had forgotten the enma... and Hieda no Are, impossibly identical to Akyuu in spite of the masculine clothing and bearing, soon gone until Hieda no Aya rose to take the vacant place.
Ran Yakumo followed: her Mokou could imagine as just a regular fox, who soon stood up as her tail split into two... Hieda no Aya was replaced by Hieda no Anana, then Amu... more humans emerged, like mayflies in the face of the rarely changing youkai...
Hieda no Ani... Hieda no Aichi... lesser youkai... small gods... fairies... Reisen, already ages old but only then appearing on Earth... the humans Mokou had met in Gensokyo... Hieda no Akyuu...
There. Stop. Look.
The plain was crowded with a constellation of faces. Smiling, frowning, turning to chat and bicker amongst themselves. A motley of colours and voices: soft, violent, matching and clashing alike.
Mokou looked through this crowd and at herself. Hands in the pockets of trousers that had seen better days. Visibly tired. Silent. Burning, always burning.
Surrounded at all sides by people she knew. Standing next to people she trusted. Nearly leaning into the one she loved the most.
And smiling.
And then they dwindled.
Humans vanished first, crumbling into dust and initially replaced by new generations until Mokou couldn't remember the name of a single living human besides the Child of Miare. Lesser youkai faded out, as did lesser gods.
The vision sped up. Even powerful youkai vanished, preceded by nearly all gods. Fairies didn't die, but one by one, they too were gone. The number of people standing on the plain was reduced to twenty, then ten, with no changes to the ranks of those remaining but the ever disappearing and and re-appearing Child of Miare, brief flickers against the dead, static backdrop.
And gone.
The numbers fell again, slow as gentle snowfall. Nine, eight, seven... the world around them grew quieter and dustier as the white sand billowed and settled again... six, five, as the final flowers died out and Yuuka faded with them... the passage of time was so fast it made Mokou a bit sick... four... three, as Yukari opened one final gap and bowed out of the cosmos...
Usually, this was when Mokou opened her eyes. She didn't want to know what followed.
Today was different. Today, she was more acutely aware than usual that she would have to face it all eventually anyway. She might as well try to comprehend it now.
And so, she squeezed her eyes shut and remained in the swiftly passing wasteland, growing infinite around her, Kaguya, and Eirin...
"Mokou?"
Her eyes slammed back open.
Reisen stood next to her in her bulky medicine peddler's gear, ears flattened by her hat, tilting her head. "Is everything all right?"
"Same as always." Mokou straightened herself and tried to shed the fantasy from her thoughts. Its remnants kept clinging more firmly to her by the day. "Are you heading home?"
"I am. Will you come back with me?"
"Sure." It wasn't as though she had any plans.
They walked wordlessly along the cliffside path, taking in the scents of the sea and the blossoming spring. Down in the valley, from where Reisen had just arrived based on the unmistakable jingle coming from her pockets, stood a cosy village shielded by the bones of ancient metal structures, overgrown with greenery. In her mind, Mokou still called it the Human Village.
She narrowed her eyes at the valley, trying to catch sight of its residents. "Get a lot of sales done?"
Reisen smiled. "Nearly all our stock. It's so much easier now that humans use money again."
Mokou could imagine. Not long ago, Reisen would have returned to Eientei with her arms full of vegetables and rice, the packages piled up to her ears.
"Master Eirin thinks we should begin offering inoculations again, but the people are superstitious. They think it's poison." Reisen's smile gained an oddly satisfied edge. "I don't think they'll ever trust me."
"I mean, you're a youkai. Or maybe it's Eirin they don't trust."
Though her smile remained, Reisen said nothing. She had grown quiet over the past few centuries. It was rare to hear her say a harsh word to anyone, even to Tewi, and even soft words were few and far between.
"Are they happy?"
It took Mokou a moment to realise that she herself had asked the question.
Despite its abruptness, Reisen answered almost at once. "Are humans ever happy?"
They walked on.
After a while, Reisen spoke up again. "I think they are. In their own way, at least."
Mokou nodded and sidestepped to avoid stomping a dandelion on her path.
"You could go and see for yourself. I don't think they would attack you." Reisen kept her eyes ahead of her. "They might even welcome you."
Mokou said nothing for the remainder of the trip to Eientei.
Instead, she reached out and placed her hand over where Reisen's fingers were curled around the strap on her pack. Reisen detached two of her fingers and brought them to meet hers.
I should begin by saying that the dissolution of Gensokyo wasn't what any of us had predicted.
For a long time, we used to joke and make casual bets over what kind of a disaster would finally rip the Great Hakurei Barrier to shreds. Our guesses ranged from a cataclysm so devastating not even the youkai sage could put a stop to it to goofy theories about the land being sunk by an endless torrent of banana peels.
In truth, it was a gradual shift, like the passage of time from afternoon to twilight, and so subtle I couldn't pinpoint when it began. Only by pausing and looking backwards could one see what had been lost.
Eventually, the powers that be decided it was time to let go. We watched as Gensokyo merged with the rest of the world, the shift as silent as a sigh in the night.
In the end, I would say that of the few places I've called home, Gensokyo suited me the best. Even so, I often forget it ever existed. That part of my life is so conclusively at an end that even when it casually crosses my mind, it is as if I'm recalling an unusually vivid dream: striking and terrifying while also comforting the way only dreams can be. Still, the memories are only fragments that scatter further into the darkness the more adamantly I try to catch them.
It is only when I cross paths with others who witnessed the final dissolution on that hillside that I'm violently reminded of the air I once breathed, the land I once walked and slept on, the faces of those who once lived alongside me. I remember that there was a time in my life when I was that long forgotten version of myself, who knew the person standing before me. I gaze in her eyes and see recognition of the same shared truth, now long gone.
Perhaps that is appropriate. In the end, that is what Gensokyo was. A collective dream.