The Last Thing

That was the thing about humans.

So frail, their lives were brief and fleeting. They slipped passed the Mibu and then were gone. Another age, another dynasty, gone in the lost sands of time, and all they could do was watch. Behind the shadow of the sacred mountain, they existed, enlightened exalted beings that watched through the veil of time at the tiny figures below. So easy to crush, should the whim cause it. So easy to mock, to disdain at the futile wars and power struggles. Fate was preordained for them.

For over four hundred years he had walked the earth, and Muramasa still could not fully comprehend the fragility of their existence.

How fast five years had gone, and yet he still felt as if he could cup those moments in his hands against the sheer expanse of time he had existed. Except, now, no more would be made. He would have to cradle those treasured few he did have.

She was gone.

He had felt it, of course. His heart had been bound to hers far deeper then any link his Satori could make. Even now it was clenched, squeezed and painful, a deep hollow cavern tearing its way across his soul.

Through the pouring rain and darkness, he had reached out for Mahiro's hand, feeling her surprise and shock flicker on the surface of her mind. Eyes wide as they met his, and he heard the thread of worry as he told her 'hurry.'

'But brother, what is it?'

And he could not reply, for the lump of balled anguish was rising painfully in his throat and he had to run, against time and hope that the claws in his heart were wrong. Mud slapped against his thighs as he sped home.

Through the dark of night, the cherry blossom tree gleamed, luminous with it's pale white bark slicked wet and leaves heavy with rain. He had crested the hill, their hill, the soft glow of the heath that normally burned was no where to be seen in their humble home. No such thing to welcome them home. Not tonight.

Except bodies.

His legs, as if made of wood, slowed haltingly his frantic pace of before. A numbness grew, and he could not feel his lips nor limbs. He blinked and only felt the rain. Tried to swallow, and only gagged. Behind him, Mahiro panted as she approached, feet slapping the water clogged track.

Her step came up beside him, voice almost breathless as she peered through the sheets of rain.

'What's-'

He heard the breath catch in her throat, the small cry of surprise that halted. Surprise, fear, and the awful, painful realization and dread sped in rapid fire across the young girl's brain, he saw it, felt it, and was like a dagger in the gut.

'Mayumi!'

And she was gone, running to the inevitable, through the rain and down the track, to the place they called home and he was left there, a statue made of flesh. Sky bleeding rain down his skin. All he could do was stare.

He had known, yes he had felt it. It was what he had dreaded, for five years this fear and guilt he had shoved aside to the corner of his mind. Ignored it, though he had known that it was inevitable. He had been happy, and that was a precious thing in his life of late. He had told himself that if they did find him, he would be there to protect them, to protect her. He was strong, despite his sickness, so he had thought.

Complacent.

He had grown complacent in his happiness, he realized. It had been so easy. To smile, to laugh in the light, to hold his wife in his arms and not worry about the future. Kyo would find him here, yes, in all good time, to learn what he had promised to teach. Until then, he would abide he, with a human woman and her sister, and all would be well and it would always be so. They would grow old together. Such were the hopeful lies he had told himself.

Lost and unsure he himself had stumbled onto them, and they had saved him, and now, through the unforgiving rain, he looks upon the bodies of the minions he had been unable to save her from.

The rain falls, traces down his skin as her fingertips have done so many times before. Already the blood of slain Mibu soldiers has been washed away, sinking deep into the earth.

Blood, her blood was on his hands now. He had brought this to her, killed her, murderer. If he had left then she would not be dead, would still be alive and breathing. Muramasa chokes, the painful numbness cloaking all of his sense. He feels and yet he cannot. He is dead but still alive, broken but still whole.

A lurching shadow and uneven footsteps, and the horror and guilt across his mind tells Muramasa all he needs to know. All too much, but he keeps searching, looking with unseeing eyes any way. He doesn't want to let go of her yet. She was still breathing but just a moment before.

Images flicker across Kyo's mind, and he drinks them in.

Rain-yes, umbrella, a smile and offer-a kindness that surprises him, disbelief but slow understanding as to why-

'Besides, he said we'd grow old together…'

-night-masked soldiers and a fight in the rain-realization and frantic pace, slam open the sliding door and-there-

The image burned onto his student's brain sears onto his own even as Kyo staggers up before him and drops to his knees.

Wide eyes, soft brown that he has gazed into so many times and knows so well, full of fear and desperation and-and hope. She holds out the sword-Tenro with shaking hands. The dagger in his gut twists painfully, stabbing again and again at his insides.

'Kyo-san,' Her soft voice, so sad and afraid and so brave, claws at his heart, his throat 'Take it…p-please…'

And the memory blood spurts out of her mouth and her thin frame crumples in a spray of blood-

Kyo groans out loud, and Muramasa withdraws, a shattered heart of splinters. She is gone, unquestionable proof and the pain in her eyes replays itself over and over again. He has been branded, the last sight of his beloved's life, the brutal hole of her death.

His student has relived it, the failure that was not his, for him, and it pains them both. It reeks of failure, on both sides, and really, he does not know who to blame. He distantly watches as his student clutches his head, bitter and wordless, rising to stand to meet crimson eyes with his own dead ones.

There are shadows under those eyes now, but Kyo has always had some cross to bear.

'I'll kill him.' The young man's voice rasps painfully, hollowly, and only Muramasa knows how much feeling lies under that deadly gaze 'I swear it.'

And he can do little but nod. Acceptance. It is the truth, after all. Silence stretches out between them, and there is nothing that can be said to alleviate the pain of either side. Too much is irreversible, and they are both outcastes, and now, they are both alone. The silence conveys how much they both understand this.

'You came for the Mizuchi.' He says finally.

It is not a question, but a fact, a right. Kyo does not nod, does not move. Does not need to. He does not move to hand over Tenro, and Muramasa agrees, for it is his sword now. By blood.

Rain falls, and Muramasa's empty soul weeps with it. So frail, and now, the happiness he had known has gone forever. Slipped through his fingers like the never ceasing droplets. He cups his hands, watching the water for a moment, seeing it fall away to the earth below.

It comes as a dull yet painful realization that he has no life left now. All that is ahead is the wait for death. The only meaning now is to finish what he started so many years ago, and even with this, he knows that he has long, lonely years stretched out before him before it is done.

Resigned to this fate, he lets his hands fall to his sides. Quietly, he looks back to the lined face of his last, fated student.

'Then you will receive it.'

Authors note: I said a little while ago I was going to do a one shot on Muramasa at Mayumi's death. It finally just spurted itself out of me. Muramasa always seemed to me such a tragic character, and he got such little attention in the manga! His marrige to Mayumi is one that is often overlooked, so I thought I'd give it some attention.

Anyway, I hope you guys like it!