October 3rd, 1133, Mount Kurama, Midnight
I was a young tengu back then, though I had already borne the title of King of the Tengus, bestowed upon me by our generous lord Izanagi just three years prior.
It was a tremendous honour, one that weighed heavily on my young shoulders. My duty was the protection of Mount Kurama, the sacred northern home of our race, and from there, I was to guide and assist all yokai and Shinto-following humans in the years to come.
It was a cold, rainswept night. I was in my study, a small, austere room overlooking the mist-shrouded valleys, reviewing reports from my vassals after a taxing meeting with the human Emperor of the time—an era when the high society of humanity still maintained strong, open ties with our supernatural world.
The only sounds were the sputter of a single candle powered by fox fire and the relentless drumming of rain on the roof.
It happened without warning. One moment I was hunched over a parchment, noting down my thoughts. The next, a presence of such overwhelming, divine magnitude filled the room that the very air seemed to solidify.
I looked up, my heart hammering against my ribs. There had been no flash of light, no peal of thunder. He was simply… there.
Izanagi-no-Mikoto stood in my doorway.
I was frozen in shock for a moment before instinct took over. I scrambled from my seat and dropped to my knees, pressing my forehead to the woven tatami mat. "My Lord!"
"Sojobo, my faithful servant," he spoke. His voice was still the embodiment of authority, the foundation upon which our world was built. But beneath that strength, I heard it—a faint, unmistakable thread of… worry. A deep, cosmic anxiety. I told myself I was tired, that my senses were deceiving me. But I was not wrong.
Lord Izanagi knew his end was near.
"Rise, Sojobo," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for delay. "We have no time for formalities. What is about to be spoken here must remain within these walls. You must be my witness."
"Of course, my Lord," I said, rising quickly, my mind reeling. My feelings were a tumultuous mix of immense honour and fierce pride. I was to be my god's confidant! I did not yet understand the terrible, centuries-long burden I was being asked to carry.
"Soon," Izanagi stated, his gaze distant, as if looking upon a future only he could see, "the Christian God, Yahweh, will come here. He and I are to have a discussion of the utmost importance."
I blinked, certain I had misheard. "My Lord," I began, my voice trembling with the sheer impudence of my question, "pardon my ignorance. Have you decided that Japan should end its isolationism? Are we to support the Heaven faction in the war of the Christian pantheon?"
I awaited a reprimand, shame burning within me for daring to question him. But Izanagi was not angered. A sad, weary smile touched his lips.
"No, Sojobo. That is precisely why we will meet here, on Mount Kurama. This will be… an informal meeting, if you will. A discussion between two old powers, not a diplomatic summit. However, do not mistake its nature. The fate of the world itself hinges on the knowledge Yahweh and I must exchange."
I could only nod, my throat tight. Why me? Why did he need a witness? The questions screamed in my mind, but I dared not voice them again. Now, with the clarity of hindsight, I understand. He chose me not just as a witness, but as a vessel. A messenger to carry his final words into a future he would not live to see.
I took my place in the corner of the room, making myself as small and silent as possible. When Yahweh arrived, his appearance was not what I had expected from the stories of the fierce, jealous god of the foreigners. He was not surrounded by blinding light or angelic hosts.
He was a man of modest stature, dressed in simple, elegant robes of a foreign cut. He looked older than Izanagi, his face etched with the cares of a creation that had spiraled far beyond his initial design. But the two of them, in that quiet room, did not seem like rival deities.
They seemed like two weary kings, meeting at the end of an age.
They spoke of a prophecy. They used a single, specific term, over and over: Messiah. This was not a term for a Japanese hero. It was not a title for a future Christian saint. This Messiah was universal—a savior for the Japanese as much as for the Christians, for all of creation.
The Prophecy of the Messiah. This was their focus.
And they spoke of this coming with a heartbreaking certainty—the certainty that neither of them would live to see it. They knew they were both fated to die before his arrival. This Messiah would come in the world's darkest hour, when existence itself would be threatened.
He would arrive during an "age of apparent peace," an "age of lies and false selves," an "age of shadows," a time when war would have become routine, savage, and utterly devoid of reason—fought not for politics, economy, or faith, but driven purely by hatred, anger, and sadism.
When Yahweh departed as quietly as he had arrived, I was left speechless, my mind struggling to comprehend the scale of what I had heard. Izanagi turned to me one last time.
"When the time comes, you will know it, Sojobo," he said, his voice heavy with a finality that chilled me to my bone. "I entrust you with this secret."
I watched my god, my creator, leave my study for the last time. It was only centuries later, watching the world slowly tear itself apart in quiet, insidious ways, that I began to understand what the "age of shadows," truly looked like.
April 2nd, 2012, Urakyoto, Evening
Sojobo fell silent. The tale was finished. The weight of his words, of the divine secret he had carried for nearly nine centuries, hung in the air of the council chamber, thick and suffocating.
The failed strike, the Yomist threat, the refusals of the other lords—all of it was now suddenly cast in a new, terrifying light.
Yasaka was the first to find her voice and speak, though it was softer than before, tempered by awe and dread.
"Great Sojobo," she began, her fan now completely still in her lap. "What… what makes you believe that now, this era, is the age Lord Izanagi prophesied?"
The ancient tengu met her gaze, his red face solemn.
"The signs are all around us, Lady Yasaka. The sudden, inexplicable rise of a fanatical rogue faction pledging allegiance to awakened Izanami. The denial and disunity of the yokai leaders, their pride blinding them to a common threat. The countless proxy wars and skirmishes flaring up across the globe—not grand, declared wars, but countless small, brutal conflicts between supernatural factions and within them. Think of the clash last month between our own forces and the devils of the Glasya-Labolas House. They were not rogues; they were a official devil peerage. Lives were lost on both sides over a petty border dispute, and yet the world did not end. It was simply… another Tuesday. This normalization of conflict, this descent into meaningless violence… these are the very symptoms described by the Creator. We are lulling ourselves into oblivion, believing we are at peace when we are standing on the precipice."
A heavy silence followed his explanation. The mood in the room had shifted from frustrated to genuinely fearful.
The Okuri-inu yokai was the next to speak, his earlier frustration now channeled into a grim determination. He slammed a clenched fist against his thigh. "Even if the Great Izanagi himself declared it, we cannot simply sit here and do nothing! We cannot just wait for some prophesied Messiah to arrive at an unknown time to save us! We must act!"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the council. Despair was not in their nature; they were warriors and leaders.
Sojobo raised a calming hand. "I never suggested inaction. That is precisely why I have broken my centuries of silence. Waiting is not an option. This is why I formally suggest, Lady Yasaka, that we redouble our efforts. We must restart our policy of federalism with renewed vigor. We must reach out, not just to the other yokai factions, but to all powers in Japan—the devils, the fallen angels, whoever will listen. We must make them see the storm that is coming. Only through unity, true and lasting unity, can we hope to weather what is to come and prosper."
His proposal was not new. During her long reign, Yasaka, with Sojobo as her staunchest ally, had repeatedly attempted to unite the fractious yokai factions into a cohesive federation. The results had always been disappointing.
The kami themselves were divided: Susano'o, protector of Kyushu and Takemikazuchi of Tohoku were fiercely opposed, valuing their independence above all else.
Meanwhile, Inari of Shikoku and Tenjin of Chubu had seen the wisdom in a united front. The path Sojobo advocated was long, difficult, and littered with the wreckage of past failures.
But now, illuminated by the light of an ancient prophecy, it seemed less like a political goal and more like the only possible path to survival.