Summary: Set during twilight years of the Meiji period, a young woman of a warrior clan encounters a lost mountain wolf in the New Capital, completely changing the fate of the New Era to come. [AU]

Author's Note: There's always a first for things. Bear with me as I try to make good out of this. No, it won't be as long as Salad Days.

Genre: magic-realism/historical-fiction/romance

The Sun Sets From Where It Rose
Book I

Advent of Spring

.

1883.

The city was no stranger to earthquakes and thunderstorms; it was during the spring or summer that they came so often. Today was a day in May, and came in the first downpour of the season. It was six in the morning when it did.

Tachikawa Mimi, of course, knew nothing about the rain, despite the best efforts of the ants, the leaves, and the clouds to warn her about it as she basked in the morning dew around the shrine.

She took refuge near a torii gate, hoping to see their rickshaw runner come around from the boundary. He was nowhere to be found (much to her dismay), and she was forced to spend the rest of the morning under her pink parasol, ruminating over her stealthy act of rebellion towards her austere family.

When her feet got sore, she sat on one of the footsteps of the shrine, watched the ends of her yukata drench in muddy water. She lifted it slightly to prevent from dirtying it any further, then draped herself her trench coat, which she carried with her around – but never wore them – until now. She stared at her reflection on the puddle, examining her own facial features. Her eyes were big and round; her hair, akin to the red pines; and then her eyes were like the color of imported caramel, the ones that were extremely sticky and sweet that they melt instantly, those which mother disapproved of. Her face, the one she's been studying for minutes, was a face unlike the rest, and she believed she rather looked refreshing. And yet, she thought, staring more intensely at her reflection, she could not understand why it's such a bad thing.

She surveyed around the emptied street. She wondered if she should just walk home – home, was at the other side of the city – but as soon as the skies growled in thunder, she instantly changed her mind.

Minutes that passed felt like hours, the rain merciless, her vision betraying her with illusions. The street was so empty that it was like ghost town, and it frightened her that the place would turn completely gray. The gods must have disapproved of her behavior, she believed, enough to trial a young woman like her with a rain shower. She collected herself as she tightened the fit of her coat, while a hand of hers held her parasol up. She covered her head with her arm and closed her eyes, hoping for someone to save her from another public disgrace once the sun shines. She waited longer and more, until she could feel pain. The gutter was starting to hurt her bottom, and the muscles of her arm were strained from holding her parasol for too long. Looking back up, she stood from her spot and decided to go back inside the shrine instead.

She climbed her way up, careful enough not to slip on her wooden slippers. The wind whisked her parasol away, and she, in her yukata and coat, was soon drenched by the time she reached the top. She was greeted by a statue of the guardian, whose eyes made of stone always reminds her of those fables and legends that plagued and fascinated her as a child, the tales were used for her to behave and to be entertained. But no fear overcame her that moment, for there was something else important.

Wasting no time to pay respect to the figure, she hurried to a roofed corner and rested there. She took off her coat and her robe, only wearing a single layer of wet, almost translucent fabric that was glued to her skin. She was all comfortable until she heard ruffling from the bushes.

She hugged her knees in an instant after hearing the sound again, with all the anticipation of meeting the monsters her grandfather had encountered in his life.

A boy? It was indeed, a boy, tucked within the rosebush – and he had such remarkable and exotic features. His golden hair, for instance, bedazzled her in midst of the gray and rain. He was unconscious, and he wore a dark green yukata – and like her, he was soaked as well.

For twenty years in her life she had never seen a boy up close – a boy of her age; for she already belonged to someone else ever since came to this world.

But more importantly, she swore she hadn't seen him here earlier.

"Excuse me, sir," she leaned in, trying to wake him. The boy did not budge. She used her foot to nudge him, and what happened next made her land on her bottoms; fear in her eyes, and violent alertness in his.

He felt dizzy and weak. His body felt hot that he could not feel the rain nor his drenched clothes. The wind, despite its strength, felt barren.

With the bravery she had left, she asked, "Are you all right?"

"Ahh.." the boy lifted his head and sat up, grabbed her by the arm with great strength. "Who are you, miss?"

Surprised by his bold move, she tore away from him, stepped back with fear and excitement. Never, in her life, had she been held close by a boy until now. "I should be the one asking you that, mister,"

"Yamato, " he answered, standing up from the ground to join her, where it was dry and roofed. "Just Yamato."

She blushed. She had to admit, she found his name really attractive. There was just something very strong about it, and it suited him a lot, even if he didn't look like a 'Yamato' in the first place. Not to mention, the name 'Yamato' was only available to upper-class foreigners. "What was your name before the registration?"

"What?"

"I meant real your name. That's your registered name. What's your real name?"

"I told you already, miss." he answered irritably as he tried to feel comfortable with his wet clothes. "It's Yamato."

She pursed her lips, discontented, guessing he might just be that sort of person. "Why are you here with this kind of weather?"

"I was waiting for someone." he answered abruptly. "We were supposed to meet here."

She inched away from him, unconvinced. "Are you telling me you just suddenly fell asleep while waiting for your friend?"

"I guess I passed out," he replied bluntly. A quick glance at her gave him a lasting impression. "You're not pure Japanese, aren't you?" he said out of nowhere.

"Excuse you," she growled, dropping her parasol. This foreigner, just did not know who she is. "Why, I'm the only daughter of the largest samurai clan here,"

The boy moved closer to her face, and it made her as red as her slippers. "Your hair's the color of wood; your eyes like autumn leaves."

She clutched her chest, a little overwhelmed. For a moment she was swept away by his poetry, but shook the strange, new feeling to point out the obvious. "My father married someone from the Occident."

"That's why your eyes are bigger than anyone else's." he said, bobbing his head to the side to see her face.

"Well, you don't look Japanese at all," she returned, looking at him directly. His eyes were as unnaturally big as well (for the normal Japanese person, to say at least), and his hair – his hair definitely stood out. Perhaps even more than hers.

"I am Japanese, though." he replied calmly. "Though I am not from around here."

"I see.." but Mimi was pretty sure not even the natives from North or South have yellow hair. "Are you sure? Mister –"

"Back to you, miss," Yamato cut her off, remembering that she did mention being a part of a clan. That little tidbit was actually more interesting than her heritage. "You said you're from a shizoku?"

"I am," she said matter-of-factly. She sank from her seat, her nonchalant face turning to an irritated one. "I'm.. I'm trying to escape. But I need to get home right now."

The man beside her raised a brow, unable to hide his amusement with a snicker. "You want to escape and yet you seek for home?" And suddenly, her story suddenly became very clear to him. "You sneaking out and going back doesn't count as an effort,"

"It's not that easy," she replied, holding her parasol on a defensive form. "Why don't you try sneaking out from a city that has eyes and ears all over you?"

"But aren't you, miss, an adult?" He was then reminded he was yet to catch her name. He didn't ask for it anymore though, for he thought knowing so would only bring trouble.

"In a few weeks, yes." she replied. Upon remembering her doom, she felt more wretched. "But that doesn't really matter."

Judging from the tone of her voice, she sounded like an embittered fiancée of an arranged marriage. He pried no further, and allowed the absence of words to envelop them. There was only silence and rain for the next minutes. Nothing but being idle and overly-aware of each other.

Yamato was trying his best: it didn't matter who she was – nor did it matter if he even tried to be of her acquaintance – for nothing mattered more than the redemption he is seeking. At least that's what he tried to think of as he was being distracted by her wet and see-through yukata.

But, he thought, she was undeniably pretty and interesting, and it probably wouldn't hurt to fool around with a girl whom he won't be seeing again. He didn't even know her name.

A kiss. A meaningless kiss would be enough.

But Yamato could have been more careful with what he wished for, especially when he felt her tug on the collar of his yukata, his lips suddenly crashing on to hers. It startled him that she was hungrier than he was, but he didn't let himself be overwhelmed and just went on with it as his hands traveled around her.

What probably dumbfounded him the most was that she didn't hold back, nor fight his advantages. Assuming this was her first kiss, she was pretty intense, as she reacted to his moves with the same passion.

It had been two years since he felt the flesh of a young girl against his, and she was just the flavor he needed.

Here they were, two strangers committing a cultural taboo: intimacy without love, only lust and instinct. And Mimi loved every second of it, her rebellious heart impassioned once more. The rain just poured harder, and the gusts of wind blew their hairs and clothes as if they were weightless. Yamato could tell that the gods are displeased, but the harsh environment only threw him down to pin her on the ground and continue their sin.

Their bodies parted just after undoing her yukata, the porcelain flesh of her chest and her thigh damped with sweat and rain; while his body bared his sinews and battle scars.

She couldn't believe what was happening – could not believe that so many of her firsts took place on a sacred site with a stranger. A boy of suspicious descent – a wanderer, a mere passerby, had taken so much from her out of blasphemy.

But there were no regrets, only motivation.

She sat up, covered herself lightly with her coat, for the outermost layer of her yukata was already muddy.

"Who are you, really?" she finally spoke as she pierced through his blue eyes. He immediately looked away, dressed himself back with his own yukata.

"Yamato." he repeated. Knowing he is unable to convince her with just his name, he just added, "I came from the North."

She squinted her eyes, her mind already coming up with twenty-three reasons for his lie (which really isn't, of course). "How?"

"I ran." he replied tersely, but this only made her more fascinated of his story.

"Why?"

"Stop asking questions," he spat, distancing himself away from her. She didn't ask him again, but she suddenly felt withdrawn and aloof.

Perhaps I am too harsh, he thought to himself. Unable to resist her, he grunted out of frustration, and took her by the hand.

"But because you helped me, you can ask me for something," though he was quite uncertain of exactly how she helped him, he offered to do something for her anyway. It's been so long since he talked to a girl, after all. And it wouldn't be so bad to at least get her handkerchief or a farewell token. The fabric of her mud-ridden ribbon would already be enough. "Favors. No questions."

"How about you take me with you?" her eyes nor her lips did not hesitate to be stern; in fact, she was very determined.

He heartily laughed at first, unable to take seriousness of her request, before giving her a cold, "No."

Her face turned to a frown, and he almost regretted in denying her. She looked so pitiable with her wet hair and clothes that he couldn't help but want to kiss her again.

"Please?" she insisted.

She's fucking serious?! "No."

"I'll be your bride!" she boldly offered as she held his cold wrists, although she was unsure if she could actually be a bride to a stranger.

His eyes went rounder. "What?"

"We can have many children as you like." Okay, that might just be too much, she reprimanded herself, a bit embarrassed to have said that. But it only proved how desperate she was.

Is this girl for real?! He wondered, still on the process of taking her seriously. "You are very forward for a woman with a ranking, miss."

"Tachikawa Mimi. Call me Mimi," she replied as her pleading hands gripped his. "Get me out of here."

From there on Yamato had forgotten why he was at Tokyo at the first place, forgot who he was, and what he was supposed to do. There was only Mimi, daughter of the Tachikawa shizoku, a lady renegade at heart. "Where do you want to go?"

"Out."

"Out where?"

"Far from here," she answered, turning to her surroundings as she peeked through the trees that clouded the city. "None of these concreted buildings.. frilly dresses.. the scent of gunpowder.."

He smirked, very much amused of her.

"None of those layers of fabric on you." He saw her resist her smile, and turned her mouth into a frown.

"I just want to be free."

"Yeah.. I'd like that too." He grinned.

She smiled. "So, will you take me?"

"I can't. I can't right now," the mood suddenly changed. He could already tell with her eyes. Since when did he feel obliged to tell the truth? "I need to settle with something first. Come on, I'll get you home for now." He knelt with his back facing her, offering her to climb on him.

Already limp, she did as she was expected to and climbed on his back. She didn't say anything, but he could already feel her spirits subdued. To Yamato, it was the first time he thought he should indulge a girl.

"I'll come back for you tomorrow. At dawn," he couldn't help himself after all. "When the first flower of the morning blossoms."

Mimi resolved to trust his word. A stranger, he was. But maybe he could be someone more. She tightened her embrace around him, smiled on his shoulder and whispered, "Okay. Take me home, then. For now."

"You lead the way."

By the time they left the temple, the guardian residing there had already made ill of their fate.

But Yamato couldn't give a damn what the gods or spirits think of them, of him and her; she was the curse he bore for the rest of his life.