The first time Himura Kenshin heard of the kami named Yato was at a road-side inn that he'd stopped at on his way to joining the Imperialists. He was doing some work in exchange for being able to stay in the stables for the night when he overheard the owner say something about the kami that would grant any wish as long as you paid...no matter what.
Kenshin himself wasn't sure if he believed that kami could do things like that. He wasn't even completely sure Kami existed, although Shishou had insisted that some kami out there was looking out for him after everything he'd been through. Still, the owner insisted that this 'Yato-sama' would go so far as to even kill people if someone so wished. All they had to do was offer 5 mon.
At that, the person he was speaking to—a neighbor if Kenshin had heard correctly—said that kami like that weren't worth giving wishes to. They brought calamity and fear and anyone who bowed to such a being would only regret it in the future.
After that, they turned their talk to other things. Kenshin, too, returned to his work. He slept in relative safety and warmth that night without giving another thought to the conversation.
The next day, Kenshin got his first real taste of the corruption running rampant in the Shogunte's system. He had just bid the inn owner farewell when a group of young, brash men with topknots and katanas strapped to their side barged into the inn, wrecking just about everything in their path all while demanding the owner's finest sake. Due to the time of day and their rudeness, the owner refused.
This, of course, did not go over well with the Samurai, who proceeded to tear the entire place apart.
Kenshin had originally left Shishou to fight for the people of the land. That had led to the Imperialist ideal. He'd also reasoned that they would actually accept him—a child that had nothing to offer but a loyal sword—more easily. He hadn't understood why the people had risen up against the supposedly weak rulers of the land. All he knew was that they had made some unpopular decisions that he fundamentally disagreed with.
It hadn't been personal then, but watching the men destroy the inn owner's life in response to their own folly struck a chord with him. He stepped onto the floor, eyes narrowed in concentration. It would take all of his skill to slay men like these.
And then he realized what he'd thought.
Slay.
He'd never killed anyone before! He faltered for a moment. He didn't want to cross that bridge, not after what Shishou had said. But if he didn't do something...
The decision was taken from him when one of the men spotted him and approached.
"Who are you?" he asked with a sneer after noting Kenshin's stance. "Some runt from some backwater clan that barely has any nobility at all? Ha! What's the matter? Do you think you could go against us?"
"He looks like a rurouni," another one laughed.
"A rurouni?" a third cut in. "I doubt he's even that. Look at his clothing! Peasant grade at best."
"Then I guess we'll have to kill him and anyone who's associated with him," the obvious leader said as he pulled out his sword. He stood slightly taller than the others and his clothing seemed to be of finer quality as well, but other than that he wasn't particularly memorable. Actually, all Kenshin really remembered was the smooth way he drew his sword that spoke of long hours of practice. The others followed suit with varying degrees of skill and confidence.
Kenshin swallowed harshly and stepped back into his fighting stance, hilt in hand and ready to draw. The men just laughed. He didn't know if he could do this. His Shishou's words rang through his head over and over again, as if he stood right behind Kenshin, arms folded and frowning down at his 'baka deshi'.
Just before the men charged him, he heard the innkeeper from off to the side.
"Please, Yato-sama, give him the strength he needs to kill these men!"
Kenshin swallowed again. His hand shook on his hilt and the Samurai noticed.
"Are you even sure he's worth it, Kikuchi-sama?" one of the men laughed. "He's so scared."
"Even brats like him can grow up to be a problem," the leader—Kikuchi apparently—replied. Kenshin wondered why they hadn't charged yet. Probably their way of intimidation and torture. He refused to let it get to him (at least anymore than it already had), continuing to stare them down.
"Alright, boys! Let's teach this brat a lesson!" And they finally charged forward, swords drawn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something fly into the air from the innkeeper's fingers. Why had he tossed a coin? Kenshin ignored it, gritting his teeth as instinct kicked in. His sword flashed out, thankfully not cutting anyone but knocking several attacks aside. Then he had to duck and roll away from the rest of them and brought his sword up to catch another attack. He parried and moved again, frown deepening all the while. His style was a one-shot style. Yes, he was good at swordplay, but he wasn't used to this and he certainly wasn't used to contending with so many at once.
Still he fought them, doing his best to at least allow the innkeeper to leave.
Then one managed to slip past his guard and he had to jump to the side, feeling it cut through his shikusho and into his skin. It was just a scratch, really, but it showed who would win. His jaw tightened even further and he felt his teeth grind. Why was he having such a hard time with this? He'd thought he could take them! He should be able to take them! So why...?
"You'll never beat anyone like that," a cold voice suddenly said, causing the samurai to look around. Then one of them fell to the ground, and Kenshin could already see the blood splattered across the floor and nearby tables. The other men, just as confused as Kenshin felt it seemed, backed up in fear.
It didn't take long for them to spot a man Kenshin had never seen before standing next to where the innkeeper crouched, hand held out as if just catching something. The coin, perhaps? When had he come in?
"Who are you?" one of the men demanded. The newcomer ignored him, eyes focused on Kenshin, who had to gasp. He had the deepest eyes Kenshin had ever seen, and even more surprising, they were blue; not like a flower or even the sky but like the ocean. Somehow Kenshin felt that if he kept looking he might lose his soul to those eyes, but he didn't want to admit that the gaze scared him. Otherwise the man looked unremarkable, if thin and wiry.
"Aren't you planning on joining the war?" The newcomer asked Kenshin who jumped in surprise. "With resolve like that, you should just go home. You'll do no one any good the way you are now."
Kenshin felt his chest tighten at the man's tone and he glanced down at the sword in his hand. The words struck him like a punch to the gut. How did this man know about Kenshin? How did he seem to know what to say to cut right to the heart of the matter? And yet somehow the red-head felt he shouldn't be surprised, even if he couldn't figure out why.
"Must be his friend," Kikuchi spoke up suddenly. "Kill him too!" They charged forward again, but the man kept his eyes on Kenshin.
"Well?" he asked.
The red-head felt sick—sick at this man who knew too much, sick at these brawlers who simply wanted to exercise (abuse) their limited authority, but mostly sick at himself. Why had he left his shishou? Just to go running home with his tail between his legs at the first sign of trouble? To die here without even getting the chance to make a difference? To lose to these unworthy men?
He felt his resolve harden and the world seemed to move in slow motion as he sheathed his sword. Really, this shouldn't be difficult. Trained as they may be, they still had so many openings to exploit. Kenshin had avoided taking advantage of them before because almost all of them would end with a fatality. But that was life, wasn't it? And that was war too. If he couldn't stand and fight here, then he had no business even trying to help.
He felt a sort of calm come over him and his hand shot out in the practiced movement at the nearest person—Kikuchi. Almost before he'd realized, it was over. He could practically feel the man's shock behind him. He must have realized something was wrong, but it would still take a few moments for the knowledge of his own imminent death to kick in. Kenshin didn't waste any movement, but continued forward, ducking swings, rolling in between the attackers and using every opening they gave him.
The entire fight (no, slaughter) had lasted maybe a minute. At the end, he stood near the door and realized none of his attackers remained standing. He glanced down at his sword and frowned. He'd have to clean it before he sheathed it again. For a moment he wondered how he would take care of that in a battle. Would he have to carry something around to wipe it down with in between every fight? Probably. The quickest way to ruin a blade was to—
He turned around and subconsciously his hand opened, dropping the sword on the ground as he surveyed his handiwork. Red. Red everywhere. A dark, deep red that grew in puddles under the bodies on the floor and lay in splatters on the tables and chairs. And it smelled. How had he not noticed that metallic taste on the air? The sickness that churned in his stomach suddenly returned, swelling rapidly and he had to rush outside the door, vomiting the contents of his stomach onto the ground next to the worn pathway leading up to the inn. His knees shook and he wanted to collapse. His hands felt dirty and he realized he had the red splatters on his own clothes too.
He'd killed those men. He'd taken their lives—something that could never be returned. How old had they been? His age? Maybe a few years older? They hadn't been soldiers, they had been young and stupid but now they wouldn't ever have a chance to grow out of that. He'd robbed them of that.
Kenshin kept gagging, although nothing seemed to want to come up anymore.
Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. The vomiting ceased and he took a deep breath. His body still felt weak, and his hands still shook, but the presence on his shoulder grounded him and he concentrated on it.
Finally, he turned to the presence by his side and his eyes widened. It was the man from before.
"Better," was all he said. Then he tossed what looked like two coins into the air, caught them and moved them to the bag on his waist.
"Wait," Kenshin said, ignoring how his voice sounded raw and harsh. "Who are you?"
The man turned around and raised an eyebrow in amusement. It seemed strange on the otherwise stoic face. "Who am I?" he repeated.
Kenshin took a closer look. He noticed the strange man's clothes. While plain, they did seem higher quality, and he looked so flawless, with smooth skin that would make any woman jealous. Even though he would not stand out in a crowd, he seemed a little too healthy and a little too perfect, almost ethereal...like a...
"Kami," he whispered.
The man smiled wryly and it all came together in Kenshin's head.
"Y-yato-sama?" he asked tentatively. So kami really did exist and they really did grant wishes? Somehow, this felt huge to Kenshin. And he'd intervened because of the innkeeper? That made sense, he supposed. The inn owner's words from earlier suddenly ran through his mind. Give him the strength he needs to kill these men.
A bubble of hope began to form in his gut. "So that was your strength in there?" He could blame all of that on the kami? It hadn't been him actually killing? He hoped not.
Yato-sama's smile vanished, replaced by an expression of annoyance. He was so expressive—such a change from the stone face he'd had when Kenshin had seen him inside the inn. "No. You did that on your own."
The bubble popped and Kenshin's sick feeling returned. "But, the innkeeper—"
"You always had the physical strength to kill them. You just needed the resolve."
But he hadn't wanted to kill them... And yet, he had. They'd deserved it, hadn't they? He wasn't sure, and if he wasn't sure than he shouldn't have killed them, right? The argument continued inside his head, not helping him in the slightest, and he had a feeling he wouldn't find a solution any time soon. Would this be how he felt when he fought for the Imperialists? He didn't much care for that thought.
"You look like you might need me again soon," the kami pointed out. Then he shook his head and turned to walk off. "Call on me again, then, if you remember."
That last line did not sit well with Kenshin.
"What do you mean?" he asked, forcing himself to sound firmer than he felt.
Yato-sama paused and glanced at him over his shoulder for a moment, studying Kenshin. Then he seemed to shrug as if to say 'why not?'
"Most people don't remember their interactions with kami. The innkeeper will only remember you and the dead men. I'll fade from your memory as soon as I leave and you'll only have a vague impression that I helped out." He grunted in frustration. Apparently he didn't much care for the idea of not being remembered about as much as Kenshin didn't care for the idea of forgetting. Oh, he wanted to forget what he'd done...but that would go against everything Shishou had taught him. Honor the dead, right?
He flashed back to a forest floor, littered with the bodies of the dead—slave, merchant and bandit alike. He alone stood in the midst of them, the sole survivor. He'd buried their dead with honor they probably didn't deserve and he remembered to this day the face of every single person he'd dug a grave for. He even still prayed for their souls sometimes.
No, forgetting would dishonor their memories and would hinder him from being able to draw on that resolve again. If that happened...would he go crawling back to Shishou's mountain?
That thought pushed him over the edge.
"I don't want to forget," he blurted.
The kami didn't look impressed. "Sorry, kid, unless you have the sight—which you don't—there's nothing we can do."
Kenshin blinked at him for a few moments before he thrust his hand into the pouch he carried inside his shikusho.
"You can grant any wish, right?"
Yato-sama frowned and didn't answer. Kenshin continued anyway.
"Grant me the sight," he said and held a 5 mon piece out. It was one of the few he had left. Yato-sama frowned.
"Are you sure you want it? There are monsters out there—spiritual monsters that will show you no mercy."
Kenshin blinked at him for several seconds. "Is there any kind of shield against them?"
Yato-sama's frown deepened. "I suppose I could cast a shield on you...or make it temporary. You'd only be able to see when you truly wished to." He glanced at the coin in Kenshin's hand, "but it would cost another 5 mon."
The boy didn't even hesitate. He undid the string purse and dumped it's contents onto his palm, then he held it out. A total of 6 coins—all 1 to 5 mon pieces—lay on his dirty hand glinting in the sunlight.
The kami glanced at them and then up at Kenshin. "When you find your resolve, you don't lose it easily, do you."
The red-head didn't answer. He wanted to shift under the cool blue gaze, look down and focus on the worn dirt outside the inn, and yet part of him didn't dare look away. The kami in the stories he'd heard had a bad habit of disappearing whenever a human took their eyes off of them. So he forced himself to stand as firm as he could, hand held out.
Finally Yato-sama sighed. "Very well." He grabbed the money on Kenshin's hand. "Don't say I didn't warn you, kid."
With that, he reached a hand out and placed them over Kenshin's eye. He said something in a language that Kenshin couldn't understand. When he took his hand away, nothing seemed different. Except for...what was that floating over at the edge of the path a few meters away? It was small and it...glowed? It suddenly hit Kenshin as to just what he may have done. Now he could see an entire world that many others couldn't. He gulped and looked back at the kami.
"It's activated now," Yato-sama said matter-of-factly. "Your eyes will change color whenever you activate it too, so be aware. You need to be calm to deactivate it. Don't use it all the time or you'll attract the monsters, got it?"
The boy ran through the instructions in his mind and nodded. Then he bowed. "Thank you, Yato-sama," he said, unsure if he should be relieved or worried at this new turn of events.
"Yeah, yeah. Call on me again sometime, K? It was fun."
When Kenshin looked up again, he stood alone. For several seconds, he stood there, just staring at the place Yato-sama had been. Then he took a deep breath and turned back to the inn. He may as well help them clean up.
xXx
The innkeeper's wife had offered him new clothing in thanks for what he'd done. They also offered him a rather large bag of food that should hold him over until he reached the temporary recruitment gathering nearby. According to them, he was lucky. The Imperialists couldn't hold the gatherings often for fear of being found out and eliminated.
Kenshin helped them bury the dead away from the inn and deep in the forest. Then he helped them wipe up the blood stains and try to disguise them. If anyone came after the group and realized what had happened, they might destroy the inn as well, so they took as many precautions as they could, destroying all evidence as best they could. Then they burned any clothes with blood on them and saw Kenshin off.
Funny, even though he'd washed himself thoroughly and wore new clothes, he could swear he could still smell their blood...
xXx
AN: The idea wouldn't leave me alone, ok?
Looking for a beta if you're interested. This shouldn't be too long.