Far to the east, beyond the vast mountains and endless rivers, lay Hinokuni[1]. Unlike the other nations, where faith was placed upon towering temples of stone, the people of this land saw their gods in nature itself. The whispering winds carried their prayers, the flowing rivers reflected their hopes, and the towering mountains stood as silent witnesses to their faith.
But as time passed, they desired something greater—stories to explain the origins of the world, to give their gods names and form. And so, the scholars and priests of Hinokuni gathered in sacred halls, writing upon scrolls the tales that would shape their gods.
In the great shrine of Izanagi-no-Miya, the most revered priests gathered before the sacred flame. The head priest, an elder named Hoshimori, stood before the gathered faithful, his voice calm yet powerful.
"Long ago, before the mountains stood high and the rivers carved their paths, there was only endless chaos. From this void, two great beings arose—Izangi and Izanami, the divine creators of our world."
The people listened in awe as he continued, weaving the story into existence.
"With a heavenly spear, they stirred the oceans, and from the drops that fell, the islands of our homeland were formed. They walked upon the first land, and with great joy, they gave birth to the gods who would watch over this world."
A young monk, no older than sixteen, whispered in wonder, "Then our world… was truly born by the will of the gods?"
Hoshimori nodded, but his gaze darkened.
"Yet not all was peace," he continued. "For when Izanami gave birth to fire, she was burned and perished, descending into Yomi, the land of the dead. In his grief, Izanagi sought her, but upon seeing her decayed form, he fled. And so, in his sorrow and rage, he purified himself in the sacred river. From this act of purification, three great deities were born."
The priests raised their voices in unison, chanting the names that would forever be revered:
"Amaterasu, the radiant goddess of the sun!"
"Tsukuyomi, the solemn god of the moon!"
"Susanoo, the tempestuous god of storms!"
At that moment, far beyond the shrine, in the highest peak of Mt. Takamagahara, a presence stirred.
A woman stood within a golden radiance, her form wrapped in the brilliance of the sun itself. She blinked, her mind filled with knowledge she had not learned but simply knew.
"Amaterasu…" she whispered, her voice both confused and certain.
Beside her, a figure emerged in the cool glow of the moon. His silver eyes reflected the stars, yet his expression was unreadable.
"Tsukuyomi…" he said, as if tasting the name for the first time.
And then, a third presence. Wild, untamed—winds swirled around him as he stretched his arms and let out a hearty laugh.
"Hah! Finally, I am born!" he roared. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked upon his newfound siblings. "I am Susanoo, lord of the storms! The people call my name, and so I exist!"
Amaterasu turned her gaze toward the lands below, where thousands of people knelt in prayer beneath the rising sun.
"We… exist because they believe," she murmured.
Tsukuyomi nodded solemnly. "Their faith gives us purpose."
Susanoo, however, smirked. "Then let them believe more! Let them tell grander stories! If they wish for us to be mighty, then we shall be!"
The gods had knowledge of their existence, but they did not know the truth—they had not existed before faith. The people, through their devotion and stories, had shaped them.
But the gods did not question it. The stories were truth to them, because they had no other truth to hold on to.
As centuries passed, the priests continued to expand upon their myths.
They spoke of Amaterasu's sacred mirror, which housed her divine light.
They wrote of Susanoo's battle against the eight-headed serpent Orochi, where he claimed the Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, the sacred blade.
They recounted Tsukuyomi's eternal separation from Amaterasu, a story that explained why day and night never met.
And with every story, the gods grew stronger.
One day, in the Imperial Court, a young prince named Hirotaka knelt before the emperor, his face filled with doubt.
"Your Majesty," he said hesitantly, "the priests speak of the gods, but how do we know they are truly watching over us?"
Gasps filled the chamber. To question the gods was dangerous, if not blasphemous.
The emperor, an aged man who bore the title of Amaterasu's descendant, studied the prince. Then, with a knowing smile, he answered:
"Look upon the sunrise each morning, and tell me that Amaterasu does not shine upon us."
Hirotaka frowned. "But the sun rose long before we spoke her name, did it not?"
The emperor's smile did not fade. "Perhaps. But would you rather live believing in gods who protect you, or in a world where no gods exist at all?"
The prince fell silent, understanding the unspoken truth—faith itself was power.
High above, unseen by the gods or mortals, the Architect watched.
He stood upon a formless plane, observing the rise of the Kami, just as he had watched the birth of the gods in the west and north.
"So this is the path they choose," he mused.
He saw Amaterasu ruling over the heavens, basking in the prayers of her people. He saw Tsukuyomi keeping his distance, cold and distant like the moon itself. He saw Susanoo stirring storms, reveling in chaos as much as he was adored for his strength.
He closed his eyes and spoke words that none could hear.
"Faith gives them life, but it is also a chain."
"One day, a time will come when faith is tested."
"And when that day arrives…"
"Let us see which gods remain."
With that, he turned away, his presence fading into the unseen realms.
The people of Hinokuni continued to pray. The gods continued to exist.
For now.
As time passed, the people of Hinokuni built even greater shrines dedicated to the Kami. Atop the sacred mountain, Takamagahara, a grand temple of shining gold and crimson wood was erected in Amaterasu's name. Its towering gates stood as a testament to the sun goddess, reflecting her radiance with every sunrise.
Priests and pilgrims alike gathered before it, offering their prayers and reciting ancient hymns:
"Amaterasu-ōmikami, light of the heavens, we bow before your warmth!"
"Guide our people, bless our harvest, shine upon us forever!"
Within the shrine, golden lanterns burned without end, representing the eternal sun. The emperor himself came to kneel before the sacred mirror, a divine relic said to house the goddess's spirit.
Meanwhile, the shrine of Susanoo, built near the raging seas of the eastern coast, stood in contrast to his sister's temple. It was made of dark stone, weathered by storms and wind, and its priests were warriors rather than scholars. They called upon their god not with hymns, but with the clash of steel and the roar of the ocean.
"Susanoo-no-Mikoto! May your storms grant us strength!"
"Let your fury temper our swords, let your might strike down our enemies!"
Unlike Amaterasu, who basked in serene prayers, Susanoo reveled in the cries of warriors, in the songs of sailors braving the tempest. His temple became a place of trials, where only the strong dared to tread.
At night, when the winds howled through the cliffs, the people whispered of the rivalry between the two siblings.
"The sun and storm are forever at odds," they said.
"But without storms, would the people not seek the warmth of the sun? And without the sun, would they not be lost in the endless night?"
And so, their stories wove deeper into the world, making the gods more than mere names—they became forces of nature, inseparable from the world itself.
Tsukuyomi, however, remained distant. The people spoke of him in hushed tones, for his presence was an enigma. While the sun and storm roared across the land, the moon was silent. His temple, built deep within the mountains, was not a place of grand processions, but of quiet meditation.
The monks who dwelled there did not sing his praises but sought wisdom in his darkness.
"The moon does not call for worship," they murmured.
"He watches from afar, guiding without words."
Many feared him, believing his cold nature to be distant and uncaring. Others revered him, seeing in his quiet presence a wisdom beyond mortal understanding. But one truth remained: unlike his siblings, Tsukuyomi did not seek devotion.
And yet, the more they pondered his mystery, the stronger his presence became.
As the gods observed their people, a quiet unease grew among them. They knew not why they existed, only that they did. Their names had power, yet their origins were shrouded in the stories told by mortals.
Amaterasu stood at the highest peak of Takamagahara, watching the people below. She did not understand why their prayers strengthened her, why their faith shaped her form. She simply accepted it.
But somewhere deep inside, a question lingered.
"If they were to forget my name… would I cease to be?"
She did not dare to speak it aloud. Neither did Tsukuyomi, nor Susanoo.
For if the gods were only as strong as the faith given to them—what would happen when that faith wavered?
Would they, too, fade into nothing?
Far beyond their realm, the Architect stood once more, unseen and unheard.
"The gods of the east are born," he murmured. "As were those of the west and north before them."
He observed their fear, their uncertainty—these beings who were divine yet so fragile.
"For now, they are worshiped. For now, they thrive."
"But what will happen when the world no longer needs them?"
The Architect turned away, vanishing once more.
For the gods, for now, ignorance was a mercy.
[1] (日ノ国, "Land of the Sun")