This story is a sort of bizzaro rendition of PC 98 era Gensokyo. The early choices will determine Reimu's personality as well as the general tone of the story. A word of warning however, actions have consequences, and character deaths are a very real possibility. I hope you all enjoy the story.


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My name is Reimu Yakumo, 31st Hakurei of Gensokyo, and this is my legacy.

The title of Hakurei is not always passed from parent to child, though that happens often enough. Rather, the current Hakurei selects a child from one of the villages and trains him or her as a successor. The child, no older than 12 at the start of training, is to be taught the history of Gensokyo. He or she learns of the gods, monsters, youkai, and ghosts. They learn of the elements which govern life. Lastly and most importantly, the child is taught about the duty they will inherit when the current Hakurei dies, the duty to protect Gensokyo from harm, both from within and without.

If only I had the chance to learn those things.

I suppose I should start by recounting the circumstances of my birth. I was, like close to half of Gensokyo’s humans, born in the human village east of the Misty Lake. My father was a woodcutter, my mother, a weaver.

Life was quiet. My parents had few close acquaintances. I suppose that is one trait I inherited from them. Well, along with a dislike of pleasantries and small talk.

Rather than continue to bore you with unnecessary details, I’ll simply state that my early years were very unremarkable.
The first notable event in my life occurred shortly after my tenth birthday, toward the end of Godless Month, 629. That the year came to be known as The Burning Year should explain what happened well enough.

Apparently, some fire and water youkai got into a border clash on the edge of the village. Almost half of the village burned down in the confusion. About one in five people in the area survived. I was one of the lucky ones. My parents, not so much.

I suppose that you wonder why I've worded it so dispassionately. More than seventy years have passed since then; of course I’m detached when talking about it.

Maybe a dozen kids survived the ordeal without either of their parents. Some were taken in by relatives, and one or two joined the workforce. That left six of us unclaimed, including me. We just wandered aimlessly, weakly calling out for our parents. What other solace can there be for a child unwanted by the world?

For perhaps a week, we were ignored by the greater part of the village. We received few handouts of food. The fire had burned many of the village’s storehouses, and most of the adults had their own hungry children to feed. They had their excuses sure, but so much for that sense of community most humans pride themselves on.

After our week of subsisting on little more than discarded scraps, someone finally decided to take note of us. I recall that I was shivering in an alleyway, trying to keep out the chill of the coming winter, when one of the other children came to rouse me. It was Jinta, a boy two years my senior and the only one among us strays who managed to maintain a positive outlook. He seemed excited about something, as in more than usual.

“Oi! Reimu! No time for moping around today! Get up and help me gather the others.” He all but shouts in my face.

“Huh? Why are we gathering?” I ask, trying to avoid going prematurely deaf.

“No time! Grab two of the others and meet up in the big square by Hieda House.” He holds up a finger as if he just had a great idea. “Race ya there!” He moves to take off.

I respond by…
[] Playing along. I do need to warm myself up after all…
() But how should I go about searching?
[] agreeing to help, but not to have some stupid race.
() Should I just accompany Jinta or should we split up?
[] demanding he explain further. What the heck is so important?
[] refusing. I’ll have no part in these shenanigans.