Raiden Ei

Ei, the Raiden Shogun, the electro arhon, Baal or just Beelzebul is a vision of power. Her long violet hair is intricately braided, adorned on one side with an ōgi-bira kanzashi—a fan-shaped ornament once worn by her twin sister, Makoto. The accessory blooms with pale violet balloon flowers, echoed elsewhere in her ensemble. She wears a sheer, dark purple bodysuit beneath a strikingly short lavender kimono. The bodysuit’s sleeves extend fully down her arms, looping into golden rings at her middle fingers, leaving her palms and hand tops partly veiled.

The kimono’s fabric is decorated with tomoe, floral, and wave motifs in shades of purple and gold, fastened by a crimson obi tied in a bow at her back. Thigh-high stockings in deep purple climb her legs, their tops marked with small diamond-shaped cutouts, and she steps gracefully in high-heeled sandals. Her right ankle is adorned with the same balloon-like flowers, tying the ensemble together. A red ribbon accents her neck over a bodysuit collar that covers her shoulders but leaves a daring cutout over her chest and upper back. Three symbols of Electro are embedded in her outfit: a black pauldron on her left shoulder, a tasseled ornament at the front of her obi, and a fan-shaped charm at the bow behind her.

The Raiden Shogun is thunder made flesh, the sovereign deity of Inazuma, cloaked in awe and fear. Known formally as Her Excellency, the Almighty Narukami Ogosho, she once promised her people a flawless and everlasting stillness—an eternity unmarred by time or change.

This eternity, however, comes at a price.

In truth, the Shogun is not one being, but two: Ei, the god behind the throne, and the puppet she forged—the Shogun—an automaton programmed to enforce her vision while she retreats into meditation within the Plane of Euthymia. The Shogun acts with cold precision, devoid of emotion, desire, or doubt. She is a blade with no handle—perfect, unyielding, and, at times, disturbingly hollow. She speaks without contractions, acts without hesitation, and sees herself merely as Ei’s instrument.

Yet Ei herself is more complex. Stoic, but not without warmth, she feels the weight of her immortality. While once indifferent to anything outside her ideal of eternity, the appearance of the Traveler, and the company of Yae Miko, stirred long-buried feelings in her. Her affection for sweets and love of martial arts mark the contrast between her and the Shogun. Ei is not immune to grief; the centuries have claimed her loved ones, and with each loss, her grip on permanence tightened.

But even gods are not beyond growth. When confronted with the consequences of her imposed stasis—most notably the tragic Vision Hunt Decree, manipulated into existence by mortal hands—Ei begins to see that eternity is not absence, but endurance. She shows remorse, reevaluates her ideals, and opens herself, however slightly, to change and the ambitions of mortals.

Physically, the Raiden Shogun commands presence. She is statuesque, with pale skin and striking violet eyes rimmed with electric light. Her long, dark purple hair fades into a luminous lavender at the ends, glowing with the charge of her Elemental powers. A beauty mark rests below her right eye—a human touch on a near-divine visage.

Lightning obeys her call. And yet beneath the storm is a woman who once believed stillness could preserve love—and who now learns that love must sometimes move, or die.

Since the first heartbeat of humanity, people have gazed upon the world with awe—thunder and tide, flame and wind, mystery and motion. From this awe sprang reason, belief, and the endless drive to understand. In Inazuma, that reverence is inseparable from one name: the Raiden Shogun.

From cradle songs to battlefield cries, the name of the Shogun echoes through every corner of Inazuma. Children hear of a god who struck down her divine peers. Wanderers cross landscapes scarred by her lightning. Soldiers fight and fall with her glory on their lips. The people labor in peace, cradled in the illusion of eternity.

But myths simplify. Myths erase.

The truth is called Raiden Ei—a warrior first, a god second, and a woman last. She has seen the toll time exacts from progress: beloved friends turned enemies, joy swallowed by history, ideals drowned in blood. For Ei, every step forward the world takes seems to demand a sacrifice.

She sought to defy that cost.

Where there is progress, there must be lost So she sought a counterweight, a still point against the tide. Eternity. A perfect, immutable Inazuma, untouched by decay or erosion. A dream carved in lightning.

But dreams need more than resolve—they demand architecture. The mortal shell was flawed, impermanent. So she reached into forbidden arts and created a puppet: flawless, tireless, eternal. A mirror that would never age. When the puppet asked, Do you regret forsaking your form? Your existence is my answer. Thus, she surrendered her body and mind to the Plane of Euthymia, binding herself to her blade—an eternal meditation while the puppet ruled in her image.

Before she was a god, Ei was a samurai. In the shadow of her sister, the former Archon Raiden Makoto, Ei knew war, strategy, and duty. But she also knew laughter beneath sakura trees, clumsy karuta matches, and the warmth of friendships long lost to the centuries. She was a terrible player, wooden and stiff, until the day she finally won—and for a moment, her godlike poise cracked, replaced by unrestrained joy.

It is that moment she still remembers: friends’ laughter, the scent of cherry blossoms, the sweetness of handmade cakes—simple pleasures she can no longer afford. The tree still stands, but no one sits beneath it now. And she, the architect of stillness, longs for time to stop there forever.

Ei remembers well how Makoto loved Inazuma—not as a realm to rule, but as a living story. She cherished the scent of grilled unagi wafting from street stalls, the rustle of leaves in sacred groves, the laughter woven into village tales. She loved to speak of these things to Ei, often with a smile so gentle it could cut through any storm.

They both understood erosion—how time wears away all things—but where Ei braced against it, Makoto embraced the moment.

“It is because this scene is fleeting that we must savor it,” Makoto once said, watching the sun dip behind Mt. Yougou.

Ei could only offer a wry smile in return. She, the kagemusha—the shadow warrior meant to imitate—was, in spirit, more rigid and old-fashioned than the true Raiden Shogun. Perhaps, she mused, she ought to learn to be more like her sister: grounded, joyful, present.

But time, as ever, had other plans.

It passed too swiftly. The blade that once belonged to Makoto now lay in Ei’s hands—bequeathed not with ceremony, but with the silence of loss. On that day, the kagemusha became the Raiden Shogun. And on that day, Ei finally understood what erosion felt like.

It was not abstract anymore.

The cherry blossoms still bloomed, yes. But one day, they too would fall. Even steel would rust. Even gods would fade.

So she made a vow—not of hope, but of stillness. Inazuma would not be allowed to crumble as all things did. Not on her watch. Not again