Disclaimer: I do not own Ronin Warriors. All rights belong to Sunrise Entertainment, and their respected owners.
Summary: Years after the defeat of the dark warlord, Talpa, Mia Koji finds herself standing at the edge of a precipice that is her life and sees all that she was, is, and has yet to become.
Shadow Play
Mia Koji had her reasons for remaining unmarried.
Looking through her bedroom's sliding glass doors—which overlooked a vast forest on her grandfather's estate—she saw only the snow-white blossoms of the sakura trees. A gentle breeze swayed against their sinuous figures, petals of starry white breaking away from their maternal hold, falling freely against the dizzying wind that teased their glorious descent. A few fell to the ground, while the rest were carried off, some of which joined the river below along the way. Those that become part of the watery, mirrored illusion, however, were Mia's particular favorite, for she had long come to look beyond the river that flowed underneath the tiny bridge her grandfather had built so many years before, as she would so often lean over its rickety old railing and see her reflection align itself with the pale blossoms as they were slowly carried away by the current.
She smiled at their delicate, unassuming beauty, her mind a tangled mess of half-construed memories of her youth and better times. She would not be going out to see them today. She could not. As always, she had too much to do, and the guys were here, as they had been staying with her, on and off, quite often, in the recent months.
Silently shaking her head at their continued visits, she listened to them, knowing well enough that they were gathered together in the kitchen downstairs, and fighting over what television show they would watch next. She silently betted on Ryo winning, since Kento, undoubtedly, would have too much food in his mouth to complain over Ryo watching a race on the European circuit, and not the overly-dramatized wrestling that he so enjoyed. Cye would smile in amusement over their bickering, just as Rowen would undoubtedly try to put an end to it. And Sage…would naturally censure their behavior in a half-muttered breath, before returning to another physics book that left him thoroughly engrossed.
None of them had married, either. Although if Luna had lived, Mia had no doubt that Ryo would have pursued a relationship with the outspoken girl, and would have, perhaps, even married her. The others had the occasional girlfriend, yet few were serious, and were often forgotten after a few days. Except for Rowen, whose current love interest was almost as trying as Talpa himself, as he confessed to Mia, only half an hour ago, how he could ever find it in himself to actually commit himself to a long-term relationship. She almost laughed at his reluctance, as well as the rest of the Ronins' unwillingness to marry.
As for her own love life…
She never admitted it to the others, but she knew that they had been aware of the one-time romance she had shared with Sage. It had lasted only a few months, a bit of a fling, really. Nothing had actually come of it, since their relationship had been anything but physical. She almost cringed at the recollection, since the few kisses they had shared had been awkwardly pleasant at best. Mia inwardly sighed. It wasn't that she didn't find Sage handsome or charming, since he was certainly both, but having a relationship with him that was anything beyond friendship hadn't worked, and both had ended up finding it best to return to the fraternal-like friendship they had shared before delving into something more.
And they hadn't spoken of it since, for it seemed more like a strange dream than anything, and both treated it as such. Sage had acquired several love interests after the fact, and Mia was glad of his quick recovery, although it disappointed her, as she was with the others, when he took none of his relationships seriously. All of them are almost forty, and they have yet to grow up, she thought to herself, and her smile widened at the thought, the pen she held in her hand tapping thoughtfully against her cheek.
Her continued efforts in helping Ryo and the others had certainly occupied much of her time. During the day, she taught a multitude of avid students in a slew of history classes that had spanned three countries, while remaining only a phone call away, should any of them or the former Warlords have need of her technical capabilities, which was becoming less and less since Sage had become as adept as she in researching anything pertaining to the Dynasty and the armors. In fact, most of the Ronins, save for Kento—who really only took an interest in computers if it featured food or women from the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue—now had a common knowledge of searching the Internet, which had become quite useful as technology advanced. It didn't at all surprise her, however, to know that only Sage and Rowen had an iPhone among the group, since the others only carried cell phones, if that. Kento was still reluctant to give up his pager, which the others still gladly gave him grief over.
But then, for as long as Mia had known them, they had always been like that, depending on someone else to do the part in which that did not involve any physical force. And for that, she had been useful to them, and still was, she believed, although her aptitude for online research was becoming outmoded with each passing year. Even Yuli, who was a technical advisor for an electrical company in Tokyo, and was, shockingly, now in his late twenties, matched her in her computer expertise as Sage had.
The boy—no, young man, as she now felt compelled to acknowledge him—was brilliant. She'd even learned a few things from him, when he came over and helped her with her research, or fixed her computer, on the rare occasion when she couldn't. Her smile widened at the thought of him and his many accomplishments; he was respected by many of his colleagues for his patience, kindness, understanding, and intelligence, and Mia allowed herself to feel a hint of pride in taking him in hand all those many years ago, becoming a big sister and mentor for him. Yuli had grown into a fine young man, who now had a family of his own.
Two boys and a kind, beautiful wife.
Mia laughed quietly, and she set down the pen on the letter she was writing. The very image of them together matched that picturesque, ideal family that so many of her friends and colleagues often longed for, yet only a precious few had. Yuli, however, had accomplished such a feat in the span of five years. But then, he has always been talented in that respect, she thought happily, and looked again to the world outside, wishing that she could abandon everything that kept her here, and simply walk among the pale, blossoming splendor of the sakura trees.
She sighed softly at their sublime beauty.
The spring season had always left her astounded by the various shades of color, which seemed to burst onto a living canvas, and lasted for only a short time before fading into the eternal warmth of summer. She'd lived through countless springs in France with her parents, the trees and flowers that engulfed the countryside exquisite in their soft hues of lavender and forget-me-not, yet even their appeal failed to hold a candle to the handful of springs she'd lived through in her father's native Japan.
Her beloved grandfather had swayed her interest in more than just history, after all. During her stay with him, he had convinced her of the beauty her father had chosen to leave, in favor of living in France with her mother. Mia couldn't understand his reasons. Not at first. But love always tends to lead us in different directions than from what we originally intended, she considered silently. Her love for her grandfather and Ronins certainly had for her. But then, she could not deny that the seasons also had a part in her decision to stay in Japan.
It had ultimately become her home, no matter her being half-French.
And she never once regretted staying, not even when being at home with her parents and the allure of the rest of the world constantly beckoned to her. Her grandfather's estate was but a grain of sand, compared to the vast ocean of the world she had come to know and understand. She had seen much of the world, and of the people who lived in it, as her home was but a small speck in a corner of it, and she preferred it that way.
She rarely ventured out into the city anymore—not since she had taken a leave of absence from teaching—and remained holed up writing a vast, comprehensive history of the nine armors, and all of which that surrounded them. She intended to continue her grandfather's work, if not finish it. She had given herself this task, a self-inclined duty to a man she dearly loved and missed. When published, as she well believed it would be, the work would be dedicated to his memory. She had already sent a rough draft to a publisher in Tokyo, and was now waiting for confirmation to send in the final draft if accepted. She had little doubt it would be, since her continued efforts in building around her grandfather's work aided in its importance of its extensive study of the armors and Dynasty's history, as well as its revelation of all of the occurrences in the modern world.
Mia had touched upon everything, figuratively leaving no stone unturned as she emphasized the importance of the armors, and how Talpa's desire to have control of all nine sets should be acknowledged by all with a sense of caution. She spoke of the Ronin Warriors, of Lady Kayura and her Ancient ancestry, and of the Warlords. She stressed the importance of the Ancient and his bloodline, and how such could not be broken, lest Talpa have no one from of that much-needed, ancient line to stand against him.
Overall, she had catalogued everything her grandfather knew and collected, as well as adding her own, personal knowledge and experiences, which had been comprised into a single chapter. It hadn't been an auto-biography by any means, merely a culmination of how those that interacted with the warriors and the armor. She spoke of her time around the Ronins and her observance of their armors, of her many run-ins with the other four armors worn by the Warlords; though out of the four, she spoke mainly on Anubis, and of how his armor, the Armor of Cruelty, had passed to Lady Kayura when he died.
It had been a brief summary, at any rate, since Mia could not bring herself to go too deeply into the unlikely friendship she had shared with the one who had once both terrorized and abducted her, but ultimately became one of the Ronins' greatest allies. She never spoke of the crushing sense of loss she felt when he died—nor of the impact his tragic death inadvertently left upon her, which had remained for many years after. No, the section on Anubis and of his time as a warrior, a humble monk and subordinate of the Ancient, and later tragic hero, had been as impersonal and as impartial as she could write it. Since there are some things best left unknown and unsaid, she considered quietly as she continued to look at the sakura trees.
They hadn't kissed, or shared anything that was of a romantic nature; but she had cared for him, deeply so, and had quietly mourned his loss, as well as her grandfather's, after Talpa's defeat. She hadn't any time to do so until then, although the shock of seeing him die in front of her hadn't truly registered in her mind until she'd returned home and realized how empty the mansion had become without him there. She had gotten used to having Yuli and Anubis around, since it was only the three of them for a time.
She closed her eyes as a barrage of memories overwhelmed her senses.
Her old computer was probably the greatest reminder of him; for even though he was adapt in his capabilities as a warrior, he never truly grasped the concept of having a compendium of all the world's knowledge collected into a single, compact source. Mia smiled at the memory of his bewilderment, since his four-hundred-year-old mind could never fully understand how she could wield such a powerful weapon that left no physical mark on her enemy. Her technological mind had astounded him to no end. Yet he had been grateful for it, she recalled, half-wistfully, the other half tinged with regret.
A single tear escaped from a closed eye before she could stop it. She allowed it to fall, however, refusing to wipe it away as it left a bright, watery trail down her otherwise perfectly composed features. She smiled in spite of it, knowing that not all tears were an evil, for some inspired the most treasured of memories. And she had shed many for those she loved and lost until her eyes were dry and she forced herself to live on for them. Because that is life, and those of us who live should do so for those we've lost, she thought, before shaking her head, knowing that such would be something Anubis, in his vast wisdom, would say.
For even Sage, whose I.Q. was undoubtedly ranked among the highest in the country, never truly expressed the meaning of life so eloquently. Since his definition, Mia thoughtfully mused, is more scientifically based, compared to one of a metaphorical nature. She doubted that he'd written a single poem in his life, simply for the sake of it. But then, with the exception, perhaps of Cye and Rowen, she doubted any of the other guys even read poetry. She'd firmly given up on them reading Shakespeare and Hugo, although Ryo had taken a genuine interest in Orwell and Huxley. They'd even had a few discussions on the authors' works, although Ryo confessed that the endings to their most notable works were truly disappointing. Mia had only laughed at his conclusion, since both knew that not every story had a happy ending.
But then, that was one of the pains that came with the many joys of living, and live she did. She could hardly believe it had been almost twenty-three years since the Ronins, Lady Kayura, and the Warlords put an end to Tulpa's dark reign. Twenty-three years since she became lifelong friends with five young men whom she considered the brothers she never had. Twenty-three years since she was forced to finally grow up and accept all that came with adulthood. Twenty-three years since her life changed in a single, unexpected instance of time.
She hadn't been prepared for any of it.
And yet, she felt compelled to accept it, just as she now compelled herself to finish the letter before her.
She looked down at it, briefly, the slightly swaying cursive script half-obscured underneath a tired hand. She had already written several pages, but was far from being finished. She shook her head. It felt as if she'd been writing for days, and perhaps she had been, since she had mentally composed several unwritten drafts in her mind. She'd even edited most, adding a few thoughts and omitting others until she was satisfied.
But not completely, she considered sadly, and her right hand took up the pen once more. There were a few things left to write, to include, before she gave it to those it was intended for.
She'd barely gotten three sentences written before a knock at the door forced her to stop. "Come in," she said, quickly shuffling the letter below the rest of her papers. She looked up and smiled when she saw Sage enter the room.
"The guys wanted to go into the city for awhile," he said, quietly closing the door behind him, before coming to stand by her side. "They wanted to know if you needed anything. They plan to pick up Yuli on the way back."
Mia frowned at him, that always-pensive expression of his faltering slightly as he spoke. "And what about you? Will you be going with them?" she asked, yet already knowing the answer.
Sage shook his head, a few stray strands of graying blond hair swaying defiantly at the soft motion. "No, I'd intended to stay with you, since I've no interest in going out."
At this, Mia shook her head, as she placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Sage, you need to go with the others and enjoy yourself. You've kept yourself here for the last three-and-a-half months. I don't think I've seen you leave, even once," she remarked, her firm grasp on his arm stressing her point. "I wish you hadn't taken five months off from work, since I know the lab needs you. And don't say that you can do all of your research here, by simply sending it by e-mail. I know you and the others well enough to realize that you have lives outside of this place. All of you have been working too hard lately, always pushing yourselves when you don't have to. Sage, I'm perfectly capable of doing some things on my own. After all, I'm a big girl now, who is no longer afraid of the dark," she added with a smile when he was about to disagree.
"We're just concerned about you," he replied, his free hand hesitantly resting above the one she had on his arm. "I know that you want to stay here, but any of us would be glad to have you stay at one of our places. You shouldn't have to be here by yourself, Mia."
"And I'm not," she returned firmly, yet kindly, her soft-spoken words cloaked in a vague symbolism that Sage, even in his many years of study, could not even begin to interpret. "And besides," she continued softly, "I've seen the way Kento keeps his apartment. I don't think it would be wise to take any of you up on that offer, no matter how well-intentioned it may be." Her expression brightened when she saw a ghost of a smile fall across his lips. She'd made a point. All of them were rather lax in their domestic duties, Sage among them. She'd even cleaned their apartments on several occasions, simply for the sake of saving them from a potential health hazard. Lady Mia of the Mop and Broom, Ryo had once called her. She inwardly smiled, since it was a title that had remained with her to this very day.
Sage, however, nodded his head in silent assent. Standing, he took in the sight of her for a brief moment as those few seconds passed with an unspoken understanding between them. Both knew what the other was thinking: of their short-lived relationship, and of things that might have been, but could never be. Mia took one of his hands into hers, and smiled at him reassuringly. He hesitated, before clasping that small, delicate hand with the one that Mia hadn't claimed. He mouthed a promise to go with the others, if only to check in with her publisher, and then assuring her that he would return with them before nightfall. Mia's smile only widened before falling away completely when he closed the door, her attention returning to the letter she'd hidden.
Casting a quick glance to the clock on her nightstand, she took the pen back in hand, writing furiously with whatever came to mind. She had precious little time to finish. Only a few hours. She wished she had longer, but time, it seemed, was against her, and she refused to allow it a victory. She'd never been late before—not when it came to the important things—and this letter, she knew, was important.
It was, perhaps, the most important thing she'd ever write.
As it's perhaps the last thing I'll ever write, she thought, a little sadly, when she heard the Ronins leave.
They'd already said good-bye to her earlier, since she told them to watch their game and enjoy themselves. She'd gotten tired of their moping around in her room, and of their reluctant good-byes before going into the city, or to work. The lingering sadness had affected both parties, and had become almost too much for everyone involved.
And so, as she so often pretended that nothing was wrong, so had they, since, after all, no one, not even Mia, desired to discuss her dying of cancer. It was a subject they no longer broached, since she and the Ronins no longer wanted it as a part of their lives. Even Yuli, who would visit her whenever he had the chance, never spoke of it with her. He treated her as he always had: with the same, open respect he had had for her since childhood. Everyone who knew and loved her had shown her nothing but that which she so naturally reflected, even when there were silent tears in their eyes.
Mia had done enough crying for them, however.
She'd cried until the tears no longer came, the deep emptiness they left encompassing her like a black miasma until she felt no more, numbed by the pain and the sorrows she suffered.
That, of course, had been her first battle. She'd been teaching in America when she'd discovered she was in the early stages with the dread disease that surged like a river of darkness through her.
Cervical cancer.
A silent assassin.
Or so it had been called.
Either way, it was a disease that few of her gender survived, since it usually wasn't detected until too late. And yet, as if by some stroke of good fortune, hers had been. She'd been admitted to a hospital, at once. Her family and friends had been notified, the university, through its own healthcare system for staff, footing the bill.
Mia had enough to afford the expenses, yet had been grateful for the university's kindness in taking care of everything. She taught a year longer than her contract required in gratitude, while her parents and the Ronins would visit her when they could while she underwent most treatments. They could not always stay, since their lives lay an ocean away, but she had been glad of their company, all the same. Rowen had even brought Yuli once, when the boy was away from school.
But then, no one—not even her parents, who she urged to return home and to their work—could stay for long. As it was then, when all had left and she found herself alone, that the tears would fall, the loneliness and isolation setting in.
It certainly was no secret that she disliked hospitals—no matter all the good they did for people—as she'd come to loathe their existence. She inwardly flinched. The smell of chlorine and disinfectant still burned her nose, the memory of their perpetual odor impelling more unpleasant memories. She had come to hate the cold room that had become a prison, her bed the rack belonging to a torture chamber, for that was what she had called it. Ryo and the others had laughed, believing it a joke, but she had been far from joking, since she failed to tell them of the emotional pain her loneliness had caused.
The nights were the worst, however.
When visiting hours were over, and time drew into the long hours of the night, Mia secretly despaired, the soft humming of the monitors at her bedside the only company she had until the hospital staff would look in on her in the early hours of the morning, checking her vitals. They provided little comfort, no matter their earnest smiles and outward concern for her wellbeing. They were not her friends, nor her family. She had been left to the solitary confinement that her disease created, and she despised it with every part of her being.
Tears fell in muted droves as the darkness encompassed all that she desired to see cast in the soft, vibrant glow of daylight. She had come to embrace those precious hours filled with sunshine and warmth, no longer taking such for granted as the day waned and gave in to its darker half.
For it was during one of these lonely, existential nights—although Mia was far from a self-proclaimed existentialist—that she found her isolation shattered by the soft clanging of a shakujo staff.
A startled gasp, she recalled, had escaped her then, those cobalt eyes widening at the eerily familiar sound. It had been so long since she'd heard it—years, in fact—as its unseen presence resonated with a hauntingly beautiful melody that rendered the rest of her senses silent. She listened to it, noting the pattern in which it chimed until she saw, with startling clarity, the dark outline of a monk cast against the adjacent wall.
She had at first believed it a hallucination, brought on by her medication; but when the shape remained fixed in place, and the staff continued in its solemn composition, she cast the possibility aside. She had then concluded it to be the Ancient, and greatly feared that, by his reappearance, Talpa had once again emerged. The shakujo's soft chiming, however, seemed to absolve her sudden fear as it, if somewhat strangely, comforted her.
"Ancient One?" she called out in a strained, uncertain, half-broken whisper, yet only received silence, that obscured, emotionless face hidden beneath the heavy shape of a monk's hat.
She frowned, shaking her head, a few dark strands of hair swaying slightly at the movement. No, the Ancient would have said something to her, quelled her secret fears by the comforting sound of his voice. No, Mia thought suddenly, fearfully, this was someone else entirely, and she greatly feared the shadow's identity, as his silhouette played darkly against the pale, white tones of the wall.
Black against white.
Night against day.
It was a striking dichotomy.
And one, that Mia barely registered before the shadow shifted from its staid position, the outline of the shakujo following its slow movement. She almost screamed when it slid to the adjoining wall, moving closer to the bed, closer to the sanitized sheets, closer to her. She silently breathed a prayer out of fear as the shadow moved to stand, not five feet away, a slight shaking of its unseen head mimicking the childhood chidings she'd so often received from her father.
She felt herself inwardly quaking with fear until, out of her darkened perception, she discerned the identity of her silent visitor.
"Anubis, is that you? Please, tell me that it is," she whispered, a faint tremor in her soft voice. She looked at the shadow with wide eyes, secretly fearing the answer if he was not.
The shakujo, however, chimed in accord with her words, and she breathed out a sigh of relief.
She frowned at the shadow then. "Well, you didn't have to frighten me half to death," she bit out, irritably. "You could have said something, you know?"
The shadow, however, did not speak; its form painfully silent.
Mia shook her head, but then accepted his silence. If he couldn't speak to her, but simply be with her in spirit, then that was fine.
And it was enough.
Since his presence, however imposing and muted, was better than the loneliness she felt creeping on her.
For in the nights that followed, she hadn't expected any more than that; his presence alone had sustained the nighttime demons that so often left her a sobbing, crying mess. His presence had stilled those silent tears of pain and dread, since it was his presence alone that saw her through each night. She would talk to him, as if he had never died, telling him about the Ronins and Yuli, and how they had continued on after Talpa's defeat. She would tell him of the history classes she taught, and how she had, if in some small measure, gained the interest of some of her students in the subject.
"I don't think they'll pursue a career in it, but you never know," she'd told him once, knowing then as she did now that very few of her students would ever become a history professor, no matter their interest.
I didn't bore them with it, at least, she thought as she looked down at the paper she held. She was finally finished, and she sighed, a verbal afterthought. After several drafts—most of which she'd discarded in the fireplace—she was finally finished, her greatest work complete. Now, it only required an audience.
She yawned then, tired. She was so very tired. She could barely keep her eyes open. For so long, she'd staved off the much-needed hours of sleep, fought against them. She had no wish to close her eyes for even a moment, lest she lose that precious instant in time forever.
As such, her days were devoted to everything that defined the beautiful simplicities of life, her nights his. And he indulged her, his silence compelling her to reveal the short notes she'd mentally written of her life, whereas his had been composed in volumes. Not that he ever spoke of his past, of course. He couldn't. And so, Mia assumed a life and a past for him, spending her daylight hours dwelling in the histories she loved so well, while the subtle inclusion of her silent guardian and former Warlord abated her boredom. His very shadow reminded her of one from a shadow play she'd once seen when she was five: a sedate, lasting figure, which stood against—and lived—beyond the test of time. Just as his enduring presence, gave her life a new meaning, and she reveled in its constant assurance.
She smiled at the thought of him, for a brief moment, before sadness overtook that wistful expression. She hadn't seen him since her return to Japan, hadn't felt his presence, the shakujo remaining disturbingly silent. Sometimes she wondered if it was merely the hallucinations that the cancer medication brought on, but then that could not account for the many hours spent in his company, nor the imprint of happiness he left come morning…
Could it?
Closing her eyes, Mia turned away from the serene sight beyond her. The spring always reminded her of that day at the bridge, since the spring was associated with everything she had come to care for and appreciate and admire within such a short span of time. She dared not call it love. Though it had been such all the same, since she loved many of her friends and family in the many ways she could as a sister, friend, and mentor.
She inwardly sobbed, a soft sigh escaping her.
Here she was, nearing forty, and she'd barely accomplished a thing. She once had plans—marvelous ones that would, perhaps, in some small measure, change the world for the better—that would now never come to light. She'd had a whole life ahead of her, yet she could not find the strength within her now to live it. But how she wanted to, more than anything now.
Notwithstanding her brief, romantic interlude with Sage, she, as with any young, beautiful, intelligent women of her standing, had her share of prospective love interests she could choose from—several, in fact. And she had been attracted to quite a few, as many had been her friends and colleagues over the years. She had often gone out for drinks, enjoyed the occasional date, or laughed over a plate of sushi and red wine. She had never kissed any of them, though a few came close to kissing her, but had stopped at the hollow look in her eyes.
She had never loved any of them.
And that was the tragedy of it. Thought it was perhaps for the best, she sadly considered as she found it within herself to open her eyes and look at the world surrounding her once more. The sight of it almost pained her at times, although she appreciated it, welcomed it, knowing that, even in her fragile state, she could never have enough of that vibrant, brilliant, endless sight that left her head spinning from its dizzying personification of all that was alive and beautiful.
She had tried to live each day with that view, anyhow, since the guys, who would despair in a world without her, could not.
It had taken them some time to contact Kayura and the Warlords, since they had returned to the Dynasty. Months had passed before Ryo managed to gain their attention, hoping that he and the others were not too late.
Sekhmet had immediately come to her side, ready to repel the poison which consumed her body. He studied her prone figure carefully, those hard, discerning dark eyes shifting beyond her pained, hopeful expression, as if looking into the very essence of her being and finding that which caused her anguish. She recalled him placing his hands on her abdomen, his eyes closed in deep concentration. The others had watched in stilted silence as the former Warlord of Venom worked his power to heal on her.
Yet in vain.
Slowly removing his hands from her, the Warlord had bowed his head and whispered his regret to her. He could not cure her, his sympathetic gaze confirming what she knew already. She was too far gone; for if Sekhmet could not save her, then another round of chemo and, probably, radiation would do only less than what he had done. She doubted that even the Jewel of Life could save her.
She closed her eyes, having silently accepted her fate, before composing herself and turning to her friends. Tears had been in their eyes, as their silence reflected their shared knowledge of what Sekhmet had imparted to her, and she grieved for them. They would lose her, and she sorrowed for their eventual loss when that time came.
For that time seemed ever so close now.
Another sigh escaped her, fatigue encompassing each subsequent breath. She looked down at the letter she held—her final farewell—and she found herself fondly reciting each name it beheld in a shallow whisper. She stared at the winding black calligraphy, which remained bereft of any tears, as such would be her last words to them. For Mia would have it no other way. She smiled then, a lasting gesture, the gentle rise and fall of her chest shifting upward, downward. One, two, three.
The sun shone brightly on her serene, smiling face, those lovely cobalt eyes closing for a brief moment...
…Before opening to the warmth which encompassed her face.
She gasped in open wonder, those watery depths, which encompassed the vast ocean of her eyes, widening at the splendor before her. Had the world looked as this before she'd closed her eyes, or had she simply never noticed it? She felt as if she saw it for the first time, everything new and wonderful and perfect, vibrant, and cast in a bright shade of green. She breathed out in an air of contentment. She watched as the shadows danced along the ceilings and walls, and she remained in silent awe of their subtle, perfect beauty.
In a way, she felt renewed by their silent vigor, the dull ache that constantly beset her ebbing away as the world beyond the bedroom's doors called to her, beckoning her; and she, without hesitation, yearned to heed its glorious call.
Cautiously, she shifted to the side of the bed, placing one foot on the floor, and then another. She sat on its edge—if only for a moment—before summoning the strength to stand. She stumbled, but caught herself, her hand delicately grasping a bedpost. She frowned, secretly despising herself for staying in bed for so long. There was so much to do, so much to see, to live for…Staying in bed would only impede that need to accomplish those goals and how she desired to reach them.
Biting the lower half of her lip, she emerged from the room, her uncertain steps growing steadier with confidence. She compelled herself to stand on the balcony, overlooking the sprawling landscape that inevitably changed with the seasons. She loved to see the sun rise and set behind the copse of trees, the clouds and stars a lavish, accompanying force. She loved to feel the wind, in either its spring or winter form. The sensation that it left made her feel alive, complete in a way that she felt only when in its impervious presence.
And yet, it was the sakura trees that acquired her love most of all, their sweet scent engulfing her senses. She expressed her love of them with a half-uttered sigh. How she could die before marveling at their beauty and smelling their pleasant fragrance would have been a tragedy. She shook her head. The Ronins treated her dying as if it was some sort of a Greek tragedy that had yet to be enacted in full. She pitied them for the very consideration, which drew through their minds like a laborious poison.
It's actually worse than Sekhmet's Snake Fang Strike attack, she thought, a little drolly. She almost smiled. At least her humor had not diminished as her health had. That had to account for something, at least. After all, she despised being pessimistic, given her present circumstances.
She nearly returned to bed because of it, yet something prevented her, inevitably holding her back—to look at the world she loved and was so reluctant to leave. Her face saddened at the sight. How long would it be until she died? How many moments like this did she have left? she wondered quietly. Why did she even have to die? She closed her eyes, her head bent forward in forced resignation. It was so unfair.
But when was life—let alone death—ever fair? Many had come and gone, long before their time. How could she forget those who had lost their lives because of the Dynasty, as well as those who had perished in other acts of violence? She was not the only person to suffer; and yet, no matter how many times she told herself that, she still wanted to cry out at the injustice of it.
Returning to bed would be an admission, an unspoken defeat to that which she had long tried to fight. She almost laughed. She had survived so many attempts on her life, that it was almost ironic her own body would betray her. Ironic, and yet true, she quietly yielded to the poison growing inside her, though her eyes betrayed a secret determination, defiance burning deeply in those placid pools of blue.
Without another thought, she looked beyond the balcony, her mind racing with thoughts of the impossible before she found herself on the ground, running—running through the forest, the sakura trees all but a blur in her side vision. All she felt, beyond the exhilaration that had been forced into her lungs and chest, past the dark mass that had held dominion over her for so long, was the feeling—no, need—to run, and the knowledge that whatever had spurred her on was a wonderful drive of inspiration. She barely recognized that she'd jumped off the balcony until she stopped at the top of a hill that overlooked the sunset.
She stood on the very edge of the world, it seemed. And, in a way, she felt, if only for a moment, herself an empress of it. If only for this one, single moment.
It had taken so long for her to grow up, but now the world and everything that she knew and loved was passing by her in a flurry of movement. This sunset was no exception.
Mia squinted against its orange-red beams, the brilliant afterglow a curious mixture of life and death, which would be forever remembered as much for its life as it was for its death. Perhaps a little like my own may be, she quietly thought, watching it set beyond a horizon that had no end.
She watched it until only an inch of it remained, its top cresting against the darkness of the world. Was this how the sun would set in the Dynasty's dark realm? She'd forgotten to ask Kayura if the sun even rose there after Talpa's defeat. Perhaps she would never know. She highly doubted she would see the Lady Warlord any time soon. Not that such mattered, of course; there were a great many things that Mia would never have the pleasure of knowing.
A frown besieged her momentary joy, shadows darkening under the violet hollows of her eyes. She'd had a feeling this would be her last sunset, her final night living among everyone she knew and loved. Who would she be without them?
The very question burned within the core of her thoughts until a slight chiming in the distance pulled away from that abject fear. She turned away from the sunset, her face half-obscured by the shadows of the forthcoming night, whilst the other half was bathed in the last, fading strands of day. She ignored both halves, her eyes drawn instead to the slight swaying of the sakura trees, a dark figure moving silently among them.
Her eyes widened, her limited perception taking its slow, shadowy movements. She almost bolted in the other direction, yet remained where she was, her gaze never leaving the figure that seemed to move toward her. It moves with purpose, like a silent warrior from a shadow play, she thought to herself, waiting until the white cherry blossoms could hide its identity no longer.
It would only be another moment before it reached her, mere fractions of seconds of time she should spend with her friends, yet had chosen to share them with this unknown shadow of a person whose intentions were probably more than what they seemed. Mia readied herself, should she have need to defend herself. She couldn't always depend on the guys and White Blaze, after all.
She smiled at the thought as the figure came within a stone's throw of her, a staff breaking out of the shadows, its golden length a subtle indication of the one who wielded it. Mia drew back a figurative step when her silent companion made his presence known.
Mia looked wildly to the sky, the moon, strangely, positioned in the center of the sky. She shook her head, obvious confusion etched into those knowledgeable eyes. How long had she been standing there? Had she not just watched the sunset only seconds ago? Had time passed so in such an unsteady blur?
A barrage of other, more logical questions came to the forefront her mind until a terse clanging shattered those convoluted conjectures. Mia looked at the shakujo, its imposing gold façade as firm and unyielding as the one who wielded it. She frowned at it, and then cast a look at its bearer. She barely caught her breath as a face, no longer engulfed in shadow, looked at her, those blue-green eyes revived from the memories that so often inspired them.
"Anubis?" Mia questioned with a note of uncertainty, a hand outstretched, yet remaining out of reach of his own. "Is it really you? I'm not hallucinating again, am I?"
He looked at her, that ever-impassive expression lightening a fraction. "I should hope not. Why would you ask that, knowing as you do of my presence?" he questioned, an invocation of a voice most had almost forgotten.
She almost jumped at the very sound of it, as a tidal wave of emotions surged within her. "The medicine I've been given does that. Sometimes I wonder whether I'm awake or dreaming." She smiled then—a full smile—as her hand, if only exerting a moment's hesitation, moved forward and touched the length of his monk's robes. She looked down at the fabric that she held, wondering at the feel of it, for it felt so real to her, and not a shadow of its former self. It feels as real as when I felt him touch me in comfort for the last time. She released the blue and white length of his robe, and looked into the unbidden depths of his eyes.
They betrayed nothing.
Nothing, save for a silent resolution that had been buried deep within the span of the last twenty-three years. He could not say how it happened, or who had initiated the contact shared between them first, since the former Warlord of Cruelty could only look down at the woman he now embraced. Neither spoke, merely held one another, the shakujo growing limp in his hand.
Had she always been this strong? He felt as if she could make him lose his balance. But then, he had never been perfectly balanced with her around, since the first, lingering vestiges of kindness had arisen in him because of her and Yuli. He barely noticed running his free hand through the soft, russet strands of her hair, his thoughts elsewhere.
Had he survived, he would have continued living with her and Yuli, tending to all that needed to be done, helping her in every way he could. He would have taken his second chance and live a normal, mortal life—one in which he would cast aside his former ways, and live a life without fighting and hatred. He closed his eyes and mentally scolded himself. For such was not to be.
And yet…
Had he lived, he would have been there for Ryo, Sekhmet, and the other Warriors and Warlords. He would have been there for Yuli and the others who had suffered losses, unimaginable, in the wake of Tulpa's short reign. Though most of all, he would have been there for Mia. And he had been, in a way. His insubstantial form had always been there for her, offering guidance when she knew not which way to turn. As she had once said, he hadn't spoken to her directly, but she always felt his answer and his encouragement of her all the same.
He could not say when he'd fallen in love with her, could not pinpoint the exact moment, but it had been well after that first night of his return. He hadn't seen her as anything more than a friend or confident before then, hadn't expected it. But he'd fallen for her all the same, when their worlds, so fragile a veil that separated them, seemed to merge in and out beyond the instances of time when they met.
Perhaps it had been her speaking to him, as if he were alive again, or perhaps it had been the fullness of her smile that stirred something so alien and an unknown in him. Being dead did not sever those human emotions he'd felt when alive. For once he understood exactly what he felt, he realized what he had sacrificed in order to save the Lady Kayura, as well as the rest of the world, from an even darker fate than death. But still, he felt a slight stirring of regret that his sacrifice had left him.
As sharing a mortal life with Mia—even if it still ended with her death—would have been worth living, no matter the small amount of time they would have had. It would have been enough, he believed. He sobered at the thought of her dying, the hand which captured her hair stilling. He instantly scolded himself, since such possibilities were only wishful thinking, after all. No, the outcome would have been far worse had he not died. There would have been no life for he and Mia to share, since her life would be forfeit, along with his. Talpa would have shown no mercy to any who had opposed him, as Mia and the rest of the world would fall under the darkness and decay of Talpa's eternal reign.
His death had allowed her to live, to continue on with those who could share her life. And that, he reasoned, had been his one comfort when the delicate silver thread of his own life had been severed, freeing him from the mortal coil that had kept him bound to flesh and bone for centuries.
For in his own, lingering death—one that had been allowed free tenure on Earth by the Ancient—he had been enabled to be there for Mia in hers.
As both he and she would be there for the others, when their time came.
Death was a consolation, if in this alone.
A ghost of a smile lifted the right side of his otherwise emotionless face, and he slightly pulled away from the embrace. He felt Mia's head tilt upward, eyes gazing at him questionably.
"What is it? What's the matter?" she asked, her frown returning.
A tense moment passed between them before he finally spoke: "I never realized how lovely you looked in blue," he said, remarking upon her state of dress.
Mia's frown deepened, bewildered by his odd indication until she looked down at herself. Her eyes widened as she found herself not in the customary pinks and yellows she so often wore, but in a knee-length summer dress composed of a soft, light-blue that matched her eyes. The significance of its color was not lost on her, and she turned to acknowledge the shadowy figure that had so long been in her confidence.
"This is a dream, then," she said, a sad confirmation, yet Anubis did not share in her despair.
Instead, he pulled the shakujo close, its sacred rings clanging ever so softly at the slight movement. Mia felt herself withdraw inwardly at its presence, yet stood where she was; she had no reason to fear anything from the staff or Anubis. And yet, she did wonder how he came into possession of it, considering that the Lady Kayura was the rightful inheritor of the Ancient's staff.
She said nothing to him, however, since he appeared to read her thoughts, those blue-green eyes flickering in indecision until he spoke again, a decision made.
"The physical staff that I carried in the name of the Ancient remains in Lady Kayura's possession," he answered sedately, his eyes briefly falling upon the staff he held. "As for this staff…I carry it within the realm beyond hers, the immaterial twin which cannot exist but here in this realm." He looked at her then. "For as long as evil exists, so shall Talpa, whose influence can reach even in death. It is why I am here, Mia. I remain in this realm for that purpose, as I can see and converse with those dead or—"
"On the verge of it," Mia finished for him, and he nodded. So that was why she could see him, a silent sentinel, whose sole purpose remained secret and unknown to the rest of the world, including the Ronins. It was almost too painful to accept, now knowing that he'd been there for them all along, yet could only watch them in silence as they remained completely ignorant of his presence.
Anubis, as if sensing the direction of her thoughts, continued. "As for your dreams…What are dreams, but the shadows of reality?" he mused with a slight shake of his head. "You can read, taste, breathe, and feel in them, can you not? You can even remember. Dreams merely continue our lives until we awaken to another day."
Mia nodded her head in understanding. "And you've always been on the edge of them," she affirmed, and he returned her gesture of agreement. "But that doesn't explain why I'm still here. Shouldn't I wake up if this is only a dream?" she pressed, half-reluctantly.
He did not miss the dread in her voice, and his hand, once again, came to comfort her, encircling the soft curve of her shoulder. "If this was a dream and nothing more you would," he asserted. "However, I believe that you already know that this a dream from which you will not awaken." His vacant expression fell, revealing true regret. "I am sorry, Mia."
He wasn't surprised when she turned away from him, shrugging his hand from her shoulder. He did not attempt to pull her back, to argue with her. And for that, she was grateful. His confirmation of her death was almost too difficult to bear.
"I lost the battle, then," she said, although it was barely above a whisper, her eyes submerged in unshed tears.
But Anubis shook his head, the shakujo's striking sound chiming in accord with his disagreement. "You fought valiantly," he countered, contradicting her. He ignored her attempt to pull away when he caught her face in his hands, and compelled her to look at him. "You never lost because of your death, as we all must die eventually." He looked deeply into her eyes, that staid look prompting her to believe him. "You refused to allow it to defeat you, knowing what you would leave behind if you did; and you fought bravely, conquering it. You've won, Mia, for you did not give in to it. You wouldn't allow yourself to."
The sincerity in his words surprisingly touched her, this Warlord of Cruelty who represented spring, renewal, and repentance, offering his eternal companionship and more. She then understood why the spring was her favorite time of year, and the tears fell, although they were no longer filled with sadness. She had not given into death, having instead chosen to live each day of her life to the fullest.
The cancer hadn't defeated her; it never had, since she never allowed it. In essence, she had overcome it, as she would continue on, even if her body didn't. "I suppose I didn't," she said, looking into those blue-green eyes—eyes, that vaguely reminded her of those belonging to a jackal—and she smiled. "And I didn't have any special armor, either. But then, I wasn't entirely alone, was I?" she queried, mirthfully. "For after all, I had you to aid me in that battle."
The former Warlord of Cruelty's façade, again, shattered, a smile—a true smile—gracing that once stone face of hatred and severity. The shakujo, which had once been a duty of his to bear in life, and one still in the shadow beyond death, fell, its golden rings descending into a deafening silence.
The night seemed to draw on, the physical world passing on around them. Neither noticed, for time is very different in the realm of the dead, as Mia, who allowed a man she once feared and hated take her into his arms, reveled in, not what lay beyond this spectral world of twilight, but had gained equally in what she had lost; as she knew that she had fallen in love with someone in death. It had only taken her own death to finally realize it, and she laughed before falling into his kiss, her mouth completely enraptured by his own, the kiss of a Warlord monk, who accepted what she gladly gave.
Snow-white petals of sakura blossoms floated in a half-state between, a strong wind carrying their delicate forms to the moon, though not until they passed by Mia, a final farewell, to the one who loved them most of all.
She smiled at their fading presence, briefly watching their departure before she felt Anubis, who also watched their silent ascent and caught one in the midst of its flight, place it in her hand before lifting her into the air, those concealed, strong arms spinning her in a personified expression of happiness, as jolted cries of his name conjoined with that idyllic union that would last beyond the ever-falling sands of time.
…
It was late before the Ronins returned home, to find everything bathed in the silence of something they deeply feared.
For there, residing in the comforting confines of her room, lay Mia, devoid of the life which completed her. It was a sight that left all in tears. White Blaze let out a weary, mournful roar.
"She died before we could say goodbye," said a forlorn Ryo.
Kento bowed his head. "We should've stayed here, with her. Now, it's too late…"
But the Lady Kayura, who had returned with them, shook her head, attempting to absolve their dismay. "She didn't want any of you to see her die." She then moved to Mia's bedside, her slender fingers taking the small stack of letters from underneath those fragile hands. She didn't flinch at their cold touch. "Her farewell to all of you is here," she told them, handing each Ronin a letter designated to him. As the final letter, she handed to a sobbing Yuli. "The longest, I believe she left for you," she whispered gently, and then turned to the three shadows which lingered by the threshold, a slant of light casting itself softly upon each Warlord, who looked on with unspoken grief and respect for the one mortal woman who had helped bring down their former lord.
The Ronins and Yuli read their letters in silence until Kento suddenly burst out in unceremonious laughter.
"She wants me to try to keep my place clean, should a girl I'm interested in offer to come over and cook for me. As if a little mess would hurt anyone!" he exclaimed, and the others, although grieved by tears, shared in his laughter.
"Considering you, that would probably be a health hazard," cut in a very perceptive Cye. "But, if you think that's bad, you should hear what she told me: she wants me to pursue a career in surfing. She says she misses seeing me on the board, the cheeky girl!"
The rest of the Ronins agreed with the suggestion. Cye could win championships, should he desire that kind of occupation.
"You'd think that a given, smart as you are, Cye," remarked a very stern Sage, who wisely kept the contents of Mia's letter to himself. He'd never told the others about the truth depth of his relationship with her, and he probably never would, as the kindness and sisterly affection in her letter was enough to content him in the unrequited love he secretly felt.
Ryo, however, had received quite the opposite. "Well, my letter tells me to watch that temper of mine. What temper is that, I wonder?" he huffed, crossing his arms.
All, including the Warlords, found a sort of mutual amusement at the suggestion. Wildfire was an apt description of the armor bearer who proudly wielded it.
Rowen's expression grew serious, however, as he again scanned the contents of the letter. Sage noticed his sudden change.
"What does she say, Rowen?" he asked quietly, while the others conversed amongst themselves.
But Rowen would not answer him, as Mia's words pained him, reminding him of things he'd left undone. 'You cannot live your life in uncertainty, Rowen. Go, and tell her how you truly feel. You never know; she might feel the same. What do you have to lose, other than this one chance at happiness?' The Ronin Warrior of Strata bowed his head, and he folded the letter before slipping it into his pocket. Mia was right. He had put this off—too long, in fact. He gave the woman across the room a shy, half-smile, which she gave one of her own in return, the gestures, both filled with uncertainty and interest in something more, matching perfectly.
It wasn't a kiss, but it was a start.
Yuli was the last to acknowledge his letter, and he read every word, since it encompassed the time after Talpa's defeat. Everyone listened while he read, reciting Mia's claim of his bravery, and of how proud she was of him—the orphan she claimed a brother she never had yet had always wanted.
By the end of it, all were in tears, the Warlords doing all within their power not to shed any in front of their former adversaries. The Lady Kayura, on the other hand, had enough to shed for them, as she took one of Mia's hands into her own and gently kissed it. "Farewell, sweet maiden. You helped to save us all. May you be happy with the one who stayed with you," she murmured quietly. Ryo came to her side.
"But she died alone," he interjected quietly.
Violet eyes met his, their soft-spoken depths conveying quite the opposite. "She wasn't alone," the Lady Kayura replied, looking at the single sakura blossom that Mia held in her other hand.
The Warlords also caught sight of the fragile blossom, their lady's meaning not lost on them.
"He came for her, didn't he?" Yuli asked, turning to the silent lady, as both knew that he knew as well as she as to whom it was that came for Mia. He looked upon Mia's serene face, a tear falling when Kayura nodded. He allowed it to fall, its diamond shape tracing the curvature of his jawbone. He looked at her pliant form—the one he considered an older sister, and loved more than the parents he'd tragically lost—and he sighed. He thought it strange that Anubis would come—strange, yet right at the same time—since he had also cared a great deal for Mia. After all, Anubis had protected them, cared for them, perhaps even loved them in his own way. Why wouldn't he come for Mia, if he didn't care for her?
Another tear fell, though this time for the fallen Warlord, and Yuli allowed it to follow his tear for Mia.
After all these years, he'd never forgotten the man he once admired, a man whose silent company he missed at times. This man had come for his beloved sister, and he could only hope that they, in turn, would come for him one day, when his time came. He had a feeling that they would, and he smiled in spite of his tears, as he looked upon the confused faces of the Ronins, and felt a sense of inner-peace that he hadn't felt in months. "Anubis came for her," he said in way of confirmation.
The Ronins, however, did not understand, since they found themselves torn by the end of the Lady Kayura's explanation. She spoke of things that they had not known, and could never know, as her knowledge spanned beyond her own realm, and into that which the Ancient presided over.
When she was finished, Kento visibly paled at her admission. "Anubis?" he echoed hollowly. "Why would Anubis come for her? Why not her grandfather?"
Sage glowered at the bearer of the Hardrock. "Because he obviously loved and cared for her as much in life as he now does in death," he answered, though the truth of it grieved his heart. "Love can transcend all boundaries, after all. It is the most powerful force in existence."
The others agreed with this logic, if grudgingly, as Yuli looked at Mia once again, the letter pressed closely to his heart. "And as such, I am glad he came for her," he said, and the Ronins looked at him questionably, a wearied acceptance transforming their boyish features into the shared likeness of one who had seen the face of war and lost his childhood. They knew that which Yuli spoke of was true, and they accepted it. Their sister was gone, and they had grown up, the times they'd spent preserved in only their memories and photo albums.
It was a bittersweet realization, but one they embraced, no matter the thorns which pierced their hearts as they welcomed that concept. They had to. Mia had already. And they, in accordance to her wishes, would do the same. It was the least they could do for her.
It was then decided that they would burn her body, and cast her ashes over the bridge she so loved. The cherry blossoms they had gathered before their return would be their gift to her, as her essence would mix with them and the water that had claimed the one who had come for her.
But for now, they would leave her, that beautiful face, with its lingering smile, remaining until it was only a memory, kept alive by those who loved her best. Her parents would be informed. Friends and colleagues would be notified. Her work—which Sage would make doubly sure was published—would receive a posthumous note, which she'd already prepared. Everyone would know of the passing of this brave and confident woman.
But for now, they would leave her to the quietude of the night.
And so they left the solitary bedroom, moving side by side, two by two, the latter, the Lady Kayura of the Starlight and Rowen of the Strata, following in that long, descending train, their hands clasped in an unspoken promise of something yet to come. They failed to notice the shadows which played against the moonlight, its pale beams casting their midnight hues against the wall. And yet, both sensed their comforting presence, as they heard, if faintly, the soft whispers of those they had loved and lost bleed amongst shadows until their silhouettes faded with the first rays of dawn.
The cherry blossom in Mia's hand remained as vibrant and as beautiful as when she had last held it, as it was cast along with her ashes, and into the river which carried it down a watery path that flowed into the waters of eternity.
…
Author's Note: This story is dedicated to anyone who has ever lost someone. The pain, at times, can be so absolute that it's difficult to go a day without grieving.
I also hadn't intended to post this on Memorial Day; I just thought May 30th was a good day to post. But it fits, I believe, as we should remember those we love and have lost, if not remember them every day we live.
Cervical cancer is also a terrible disease that a cure must be found for. It's one of the leading causes of death in women in this day and age, and should be given more recognition than it unfortunately receives.
I have to also confess that it's been quite awhile since I've written an anime fic. After a decade of almost forgetting about Ronin Warriors, I acquired a newfound interest in the series. How I could have almost forgotten about this series is honestly shameful, since there are not too many shows today that can compare with its storyline. Oh, how I miss the good old days of great animation!
Anubis is also, by far, my favorite character, although Sekhmet is my second favorite of the Warlords. Nevertheless, I simply had to have him play a significant role in the story. I also wanted the romance between Anubis and Mia to be real and tangible, and not some poor attempt at writing something atrocious and fluffy. Anubis. Is. Not. Fluffy.
I also cannot say how many times I listened to Shinedown's 'The Crow and the Butterfly' while writing this, but it was certainly my drive for inspiration!
As for the concept of death, I cannot really recall what happened to people after death in the anime, but I sort of framed it around the ever-inspiring afterlife of the Lifestream from Final Fantasy VII.
There are also allusions to The Lord of the Rings and the 2001 film adaptation of The Time Machine that somehow slipped into this story. The concept of Anubis having a wraith-like shakujostaff derived, in part, from the concept of the wraith blade that Raziel wields in the Soul Reaver games. Some great inspiration, those games have!
A shadow play is a form of art which uses puppets to tell stories through use of light and shadow. If anyone recalls the scene in Bram Stoker's Dracula, where Mina and the Count visit the stalls as various silent pictures and the like are playing, then you'll see a depiction of the war Dracula waged against the Turks in a shadow play. That's the best way I can explain it, since shadow play puppets appear as nothing but shadows against a lightened backdrop, and are usually articulated to show movement. The art form was developed in mainland China, during the Han Dynasty. Shadow plays have thus spread in countries, such as Tawain, India, and even France. I found it fitting that Mia would compare a warrior like Anubis to something she might have seen in France, or during her visits to Japan and China. The story's concept very much derived from this idea. Wikipedia has an interesting section on shadow play. The history I mentioned is also derived from there.
Anyway, I hope that everyone enjoyed this. It's been a real pleasure writing something of this magnitude for a series I've loved since I first encountered it. Please let me know what you think of it! :)
Best wishes,
— Kittie Darkart
June 17th, 2011: I've revised and corrected this story. Hopefully, I've caught all the errors I'd missed when I first posted this. I couldn't believe I'd missed so many. Anyway, I again wish to thank everyone who has read this story and reviewed. I didn't realize that anyone would like it so much! :D Thanks again!