Dokugakuji surveyed his surroundings warily. Kougaiji – or Kou, as he was allowed to call his lord – had sent him to scout the land after they had received intelligence reports that one of the Sanzos had traveled to Japan years ago on a diplomatic mission to spread Buddhism. He had never returned.

"As though a scripture that powerful could still be here after all this time," grumbled the tall youkai, unmuzzling his dragon mount and letting it fly away to fend for itself; it would be a while before he would need it again. His lord had stressed the importance of the scripture and Dokugakuji would rather die than return home empty-handed. The temporal barrier had not been easy to bypass; it had taken a lot of Kougaiji's power to allow Dokugakuji to transcend time and space. His lord had given him clear instructions before he had left.

"Dokugakuji, gather as much information as you can about the scripture and the Sanzo but do not draw attention to yourself."

In his hand lay a power limiter, disguised as a small earring.

"My research tells me that youkai of that land are different from us; it's best if you disguise yourself as a human. Come back to the spot where you arrived in two months' time and I will bring you back."

He knelt. "Yes, my lord."

Dokugakuji grimaced: he had neglected to tell Kou he had never pierced his ear before. "Damn." He reached up, taking the base of one pointed ear and snapped the limiter in. A muffled curse and he wiped away the drop of blood, feeling his body beginning to change.

The ears were now small and rounded, his claws shrunk to fingernails, the shagged fur of his body gone. He could never get used to being a human; he felt weak and unprotected, his sword only accessible in his youkai form. The disguised youkai cast a contemptuous glare at the human sword that hung at his hip. The weak blade – katana, the primitive humans called it – looked as though it would hardly hold up in a fight. Too bad Kougaiji had not let him bring the guns, for fear he would stand out too much.

Something made his hair stand on end; reacting on instinct, Dokugakuji leapt sideways as an arrow narrowly missed his neck, burying itself in a sturdy tree trunk. The arrow was not the thing which surprised him – it was the Sengoku Jidai in Japan, after all – but the spiritual power imbued which stung him was.

"Who's there?" he called.

A woman dressed strangely – in priestess robes, he remembered from his studies – stepped from behind her cover, a bow in one hand. Dark eyes narrowed in suspicion locked onto his.

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I am merely a lost samurai, separated from my lord during an ambush. I mean you no harm."

"You lie." She nocked another arrow, aimed straight for his heart. "I can sense something strange from you. You are no human."

His eyes widened in surprise. Damn – the primitive people were a lot smarter than he had anticipated. In one fluid move, he drew his sword and charged.

She loosened another arrow; this one grazed his arm, the pain of purification searing his body. Suppressing a growl of pain, he swung.

The metal blade cut into skin – and a cracking noise was heard.

He withdrew the blade: the priestess was not bleeding, even though a shallow gash showed through her torn clothes.

"What manner of magic is this?" he wondered aloud; he knew of no such spells that would allow one to hold blood within their body, no matter the nature of injury received.

A thin smile crossed her face.

"The vilest kind, which makes life out of ash and prolongs the misery of existence."

Dokugakuji had to laugh. The priestess narrowed her eyes and shot off another arrow, narrowly missing his face by a whisker. The laughter stopped abruptly.

"I will not miss this time," she warned, her bow pointed at him.

"Forgive me," he said. "I was not laughing at you, but at the truth of your words."

"What would a samurai know of life, if you truly are what you claim to be?" she retorted. "All your kind know is honour and death. Unless you are not truly a samurai."

He tossed the katana contemptuously aside; it lay almost hidden in the tall grass. "You're right. I'm not a samurai." Deep brown eyes regarded her, a touch of amusement in them. "Neither am I human."

Screw Kou and the mission. This woman knew the secrets of existence most were either too afraid of to say aloud or were ignorant of. She looked like she knew what it was like to have seen hell and come back to tell the tale.

He removed the power limiter from his ear, wincing as the scab of dried blood relinquished its hold. His ears elongated; he remembered in the nick of time to open his mouth so his fangs would not puncture his lip.

Her eyes widened.

"Scared?" he asked teasingly. "Don't worry – I'm just a youkai. Unlike popular belief, we don't really enjoy eating humans."

She was not human, he was sure of that; perhaps a shikigami of a powerful sorceror. The intriguing thing was she seemed to possess her own free will.

"I have seen youkai before," she snapped; she returned her arrow to her quiver nonetheless. There was something about his arrogance that had apparently touched a nerve inside, breaking her cool composure as easily as one broke a dried twig. "Just not ones like you."

Dokugakuji fingered the intricate birthmark. "This? All youkai are born with one: it marks our race."

"Fascinating." The priestess drew closer, her cold scrutiny fixed on him.

"I'm not some animal youkai, one of those mangy animals who gained their powers just by living a damned long time," he said carelessly.

She halted, still a good distance from him but close enough to let him see her face clearly. The human woman was beautiful, in a cold and haughty way. Dokugakuji swallowed hard: she reminded him of his mother.

"I have heard of a race of youkai like that. They were said to live only in the mainland…"

"Yes. I was sent here on a mission for my lord – not an easy task, a barrier separates the mainland from this island."

They fell silent. He knelt to pick up his discarded sword and sheathed it. "I guess my disguise is as good as worthless."

For the first time in their encounter, a faint smile decorated her face. "What is that you used – a device to conceal your youki? Fascinating. Youkai here rely on shape-shifting to trick humans. Or they simply take what they desire with brute force." A tinge of bitterness laced the last sentence.

"A power limiter. They hide our youki." Dokugakuji snapped the limiter back into his ear, feeling the rush of his form shrinking, the energy draining from his body. "Well, I've wasted enough of your time, priestess," he said, dusting his clothes off. "I should be leaving."

"Wait."

He turned, wearing a quizzical expression on his face. The priestess had taken a step forward, another inscrutable look in her eyes.

"Yes?"

"What is your name?"

He knew it could only end badly, yet he threw all caution to the wind. Screw it all. "… I am Dokugakuji."

"Kikyou. If the kamis will it, we shall meet again."

As silently as she had appeared, she turned and disappeared into the woods. He was left alone, as though the entire conversation had never took place.

"Damn it…" He clutched his stomach, feeling the warm wet slipperiness of his own guts in his hand.

How had he known which side to take? Cursed civil wars – a man could not even walk around without being accosted by rebels.

They closed in like vultures, eager for the coming death. How he hated to disappoint them.

"Heh heh heh…"

The attackers blanched, obviously not used to anything but pleas and cries coming from their victims. "As though this would kill me."

Dokugakuji plunged into them with his sword in a reckless attack, feeling their own weapons opening him up a little more. It worked, though – they all fell, dead before they hit the ground.

He wiped a string of bloody phlegm from the corner of his mouth then checked for any spectators. If he had any hope of surviving his wounds, he would have to revert to his youkai form. The last thing he needed was panicky villagers cutting the strange youkai to pieces.

The man staggered into the woods, finding a suitable clearing to lie down in, pulling out his power limiter as he flopped to the grass. Unconsciousness claimed him swiftly.

Cool water wet his parched lips. How long had it been since he had a drink? Dokugakuji lapped at it greedily.

"Slow down, or you will choke."

He recognized that voice: sharp and remote as ice. "Kikyou."

She offered him a serene look as she wrung out a washcloth and placed it on his forehead. "Dokugakuji."

"Why are you – I am youkai. You are a human priestess."

"It is my duty as a priestess to help those wounded."

He laughed harshly – and promptly winced as his stomach wound twinged. "And protect humans from youkai. I had expected you to purify me while I was unconscious: rid the world of another filthy youkai."

Kikyou chose not to answer, leaving his bedside and busying herself with some herbal remedy. Dokugakuji watched her for a few moments.

"You needn't bother with that," he called. "I should be fully healed by tomorrow."

She ignored him, removing his bandages and plastering the strong-smelling paste on the open wound; he grunted in pain.

"Leave it on," she instructed him. "I will be back tomorrow to rebandage that."

Dokugakuji followed her with his eyes as she vanished yet again – such a mysterious woman, he mused. Her earlier words had captivated him; he could hardly wait for their next duel of words.

"Some time ago, you told me existence is a misery."

Not a faintest hint of expression crossed her face. "I do not recall that incident."

"Yes, you do." He leaned forward over the crackling camp fire, his loose kimono hanging dangerously close to the flames. "The first time we met."

Kikyou said nothing; Dokugakuji was not surprised. His new traveling companion was not a pleasant, chatty person.

"I would have agreed six years ago," he commented, leaning back again. Veiled eyes watched him closely. "Six years ago, I died and was resurrected. I was nothing, less than nothing and my lord raised me from the dead. He gave me a reason for living. My life is his."

Kikyou said nothing. A flicker of her cold stare was the only indication she was listening.

"I too died and was resurrected."

Dokugakuji's head snapped up. "You too?"

"Yes – but I truly died and went to hell." She held up her fingers and plunged them into the fire. His eyes widened.

"No – don't!"

The priestess drew back her hand, showing him the unmarked skin. "My body is clay, my soul tied to this pathetic piece of pottery in a mockery of life."

He shook his head. "Still, there was no need for such dramatics." His heart still pounded in his chest madly: this mad, fascinating, beautiful woman was driving him to insanity. She smiled thinly.

"I was foolish: I died because I fell in love with a hanyou. Our enemy used it against us and mortally wounded me while wearing the hanyou's form: before I died, I sealed the real hanyou to a tree for fifty years."

A shadow fell over Dokugakuji's eyes and he looked away. She noticed and stared at him, a question in her eyes.

"My half-brother is hanyou." Large hands clenched and unclenched in his lap; the story's telling never grew easier even with time. "We shared the same father. My mother was full youkai: she hated my father's human wench with a passion, doubly so when Gojyo came to live with us."

"She used to cry whenever she looked at him because she saw her lover and his human woman in my brother's face. I loved them both and tried to keep them apart, but she used to beat him. But one day, my mother had enough. She tried to kill Gojyo but I killed her first. I killed my own mother to save my half-brother."

"What happened after that?" asked Kikyou softly: the memory was evidently still a difficult one for him.

"I ran. I don't remember where I went or how long it took, but I eventually found myself at Lord Kougaiji's castle. He took me in, gave me my name and a new purpose in my life."

Images, tainted with blood, filled his mind. Gojyo the little boy he had tried to protect in every way he could: he remembered the nights spent sleepless in his mother's bed, guilt-ridden over descending to such depravity. But the next day, his little brother's smile made him think it was worth it.

Kikyou stared into the flames in silence; unmoving.

"This brother," she said abruptly. Dokugakuji gave a start. "What is he like?"

The youkai grinned. "Cocky. Arrogant. He thinks he can do anything, like all little brothers."

Kikyou looked carefully at him; there was something in her eyes that could have been emotion. "Inuyasha – my former lover – is the same."

The amusement in his face faded away instantly. "I'm sorry."

She acknowledged his apology with a slight inclination of her head; the cool mask slid back into place.

"Good night, Dokugakuji." Kikyou was gone, disappeared into the twisting wood.

"Good night," he muttered.

They stood together on the lip of a hill, the wind billowing his kimono and whipping her long ponytail. It was almost cliché enough to make the youkai want to laugh.

In the distance Dokugakuji could glimpse a band of travelers. They looked ordinary enough – he discerned nothing of interest to them.

For the life of him, he could not understand what about the party which had riveted Kikyou's attention so. He wanted to break the oppressive silence but held his tongue; the youkai sensed his human companion was about to share a painful part of her soul with him.

"... Let's go."

He blinked in confusion; she was already walking away, her head held high. Dokugakuji glanced back at the travelers and saw one, a tall man in red, had silver dog ears perched on a mane of equally silvery hair.

Without questioning, he knew.

"What are you looking for?"

Dokugakuji blinked in mild surprise: he had been expecting another evening of silence from his taciturn companion.

"Looking for?"

"The reason you came to this world." She was watching him warily like an eagle watched the rabbit. "Do you seek the Shikon jewel?"

"What's that?" he asked, curiosity piqued. The faint stirrings of emotion in Kikyou's eyes died away; she settled back wearing an air of haughty indifference like a cloak.

"Nothing."

He let the poor excuse slip; Dokugakuji was in no mood for playing games for information. Goodness knew he spent enough time doing that daily in his search for the scriptures. Still the youkai saw no harm in telling her.

"I am looking for the holy scriptures said to contain the power to create Heaven and Earth; one of the five was believed to have been lost here in Japan, brought over by a monk who died here."

Reflections of the firelight flickered in her eyes. "I have heard of no holy scriptures like that you describe."

"Surely as a priestess you know the legends and myths of this land?" he pressed.

If he had been expecting her to cooperate with minimal prodding, he was deeply disappointed. Evidently relieved this strange youkai did not want the same jewel which had blighted her life, Kikyou appeared to have a great weight lifted from her shoulders.

"I have heard nothing of holy scriptures," she said in a tone which indicated – as far as she was concerned – that the conversation was over.

It had been an exhausting night's work; the band of monks he had accosted had sensed him for who he really was and attacked. Kikyou, surprisingly, had helped him, shooting an arrow into their midst and saving his life. The monks had backed off then but not before accusing her of being a youkai-lover.

Dokugakuji had seen the impenetrable mask crack a fraction when the words left the head monk's lips; hurt was carved deep in the stone features.

He watched passively as she knelt before him, winding a bandage around his left thigh. "I'm fine," said the youkai gently. "It'll heal by tomorrow morning."

"The wound is deep, infection may set in," was all she said, but nevertheless she let go. The miko kept her head down throughout. Dokugakuji was concerned; she had not made eye contact with him since the encounter.

As she rose to leave, he impulsively reached out and grabbed her wrist. He could not help but to notice the way she flinched as thought she was afraid to be touched.

"Let go of me."

The skin underneath his fingers was soft and pliable although he could feel the hardness beneath it. "Not until you tell me what's wrong."

Dokugakuji waited patiently: eventually she raised her head. Though her eyes were elsewhere, he saw the hard, flinty stare he remembered from the first time they had met. "Nothing is wrong."

The emotionless words stirred his anger."Why are you always so hostile?" he demanded. "I'm your friend."

She smiled. "I have never had a friend, not since I died."

"Perhaps it's time you trusted someone again."

Without waiting for an answer, he let go and limped off into the woods, leaving behind the crackling fire.

Two whole months in the strange and barbaric land and all he had to show for his efforts was a tattered scroll recording the visit of a Sanzo over three hundred years ago. The prehistoric kanji was near impossible to decipher; it had taken Dokugakuji a few hours of holding a monk at sword-point before the man would agree to rewrite the document in modern script.

He felt the rising excitement die away as he scanned the parchment; the Sanzo had returned safely back to the mainland, head and scripture intact. Kougaiji was no nearer to saving his mother; the entire trip had been in vain.

Somehow he doubted so.

The mission was complete; all he had left to do was to track down his dragon and leave. As he journeyed through the land, he found himself meandering, idling past tranquil woods and quiet rivers. Places he and Kikyou set up camp when they traveled together.

Dokugakuji cursed himself for being such a sentimental fool; it was already bad enough that he could not look twice at crimson wildflowers.

At night, when he stared deep into the heart of the flames, all he saw and felt was icy coldness.

It was time to go home. The newly recaptured dragon lay docile at his feet, muzzled and patient. The faded scroll and its translation was packed in his bag (along with a few trinkets and souvenirs for Yaone and Lirin). At the last minute, Dokugakuji had brought along the katana – just for memory's sake.

He was going to miss the rugged, green beauty of the land.

As the youkai waited for the swell of temporal energy to build up, he walked over to the edge of a cliff and stood there. The wind picked up; his kimono swirled around his ankles and ruffled the tips of his pointed ears.

"You are leaving."

Really, he should have known; Dokugakuji jumped a little at the familiar voice.

"Kikyou," he replied dumbly. "How did you know where I was?"

Her long bound hair wafted in the breeze; she smiled, this time with genuine emotion. "As I said two months ago, we would meet again if the kamis willed it."

He stepped forward to meet her, looking into the haughty, imperious features he had grown used to seeing everywhere.

The tall youkai wanted to say something eloquent, something he could leave her with but the words stuck and jumbled in his mouth. Eventually, he found his voice:

"Do you believe in happily ever after?"

She arched an elegant eyebrow – she was clearly expecting something more eloquent – but nevertheless answered: "It depends what you mean by happy."

Dokugakuji laughed softly; she was close, much too close. Boldly he reached for her hand; Kikyou closed the gap between their fingers. The long tips were loosely entwined; her skin was soft under his roughened hand. The youkai crossed the final breach: his free arm wrapped around her waist and she brought her head to rest on his shoulder.

"I wish you could come with me," he confessed into her ear.

Kikyou shook her head slowly; there was no need for words. Both he and she knew there was too much past weighing heavily on them.

The dragon whined somewhere in the background – the gateway was growing in dimension – and Dokugakuji felt the pulse of power.

She felt his body stiffening and pulled away – despite his reluctance to let her go – and slid her hand out of his.

"Farewell, Dokugakuji," she said; her voice gentle as he had never heard before and filled with emotion. "If the kamis will it, we shall meet again someday."

He leaned forward, his lips grazing hers lightly. She tasted not of the clay or death she claimed to be; Kikyou reminded him of life and love. The small boy with crimson hair and eyes, running and laughing under the sun and gathering flowers to take home to their mother. This time, the haughty-eyed beauty in his mind's eye was smiling.

Dokugakuji harnessed the dragon and poised himself on the edge of the gateway. As he vanished in, he craned his neck for one last glimpse of her; the priestess was standing as he had left her, one hand raised in farewell, her once-flinty eyes soft with hope.

"Is something wrong, Doku?"

The older youkai lifts his head; Kougaiji had walked into the room, his usual stern mask tinged with a hint of worry. The prince has good reason to be concerned: Dokugakuji has not been himself since he returned from the mission more than a week ago.

"Nothing's wrong." He stretches like a cat and grins. "I'm just a little tired, that's all."

"You know you can talk to me. I'm your friend."

The freezing of his subordinate's face (in all but name) tells the youkai prince he has said the wrong thing. Before Kougaiji can say anything, Dokugakuji smiles and nods.

"I know, Kou. I know."

He has to be satisfied with that cryptic answer; Dokugakuji is gone, leaving the room in long strides.

He has left something on the stone bench he was sitting on; Kougaiji picks it up to examine it closely. An arrow made in the old style, fletched with white stiffly-cut feathers and nicely balanced with a clean iron head. Residual spiritual power burns his fingers as he touches it but not badly enough to wound.

The young prince wonders at the significance of the priestess' arrow.