Boiling with frustration at Kurama's stubbornness, Hiei acts rashly and proposes a bet with the red-haired god of life. If Hiei can stop the wedding of Prince Yusuke and Princess Keiko, then Kurama will have to give their relationship a chance.

Kurama thinks that he's got it all tied up. Everyone is counting on the wedding to bring a fifty-year war to a close. There's no way the headstrong god of fire will win.

But he's wrong. Not everybody is happy about the wedding. Even the couple themselves are having second thoughts. What starts out as a simple bet becomes much more complicated as the stakes become clear.

Chapter 1: What Remains of Fire

The air around Kurama was thick, clogged with the fog of death. The sound of it was in his ears, the feel of it on his hands.

The futility of his task was not lost on him. He stepped gingerly around the ruined bodies on the blood-stained grass. They were beyond his help, their souls already in the hands of the death god. Kurama had even seen that dark figure just a few minutes earlier, passing through the battlefield as quiet as a whisper, gathering the souls that Kurama had been too late to save.

A low moan caught his attention. Kurama swerved to his left. A dishevelled man in dirty, torn clothing was trying to lift himself up by his arms. Kurama didn't know which side he had fought for. It really didn't matter to him. He knelt beside the man and put his hand on the man's shoulder. It shook beneath his palm.

The pulse of life within him was weak. Kurama felt his heart sink as he realised that saving this one was beyond his powers as well.

There would be many new souls being sorted for judgement in the death god's realm tonight. Kurama felt a little sorry for the death god. Retrieving the souls was only the beginning of his job, not the end.

Brown eyes the colour of bark sought out Kurama's. Blood dribbled from the man's mouth. He moaned again. Kurama helped him lay on his back in the grass. Much to his regret, he could do little more than offer comfort.

The cause of the man's distress was immediately apparent. A dagger was embedded right up to the hilt in the man's chest. The ornate black hilt of the dagger was wet with blood. What an impractical weapon for this sort of engagement, though Kurama supposed that it had served its purpose well enough.

Kurama put the man's head in his lap and stroked his sweat-soaked hair. The man's eyes were glazed over, clouded in memory.

A dark shadow fell across them and Kurama looked up to meet the violet eyes of the death god. He was a tall figure dressed in black hakama. At his waist hung a sheathed sword. One long-fingered, bony hand rested on the hilt. His face was beautiful, pale skin a flawless mask, but both his hands were bloody. Crimson drops dripped onto the grass, staining it further.

"This one is mine."

Karasu's voice was young though Kurama was well aware that both his voice and appearance were deceptive. Karasu was as immortal as he was.

"I know," Kurama whispered. He felt a tear slide down his cheek, though he gave no outward sign that he noticed.

"Then don't bother with him."

Karasu's voice was harsh, as if he were reprimanding Kurama for not seeing the obvious.

The death god was annoyed with him. Kurama couldn't say that he felt differently. They were essentially directly opposing forces. Meeting halfway was impossible. They would forever be irritants to each other.

But Kurama struggled to maintain a polite composure anyway. Karasu had a job to do, just as he did.

And Kurama was shirking his job right now. He should move on. Leave this one and tend to one he could save. Karasu was right to rebuke him but Kurama's heart was too raw to let him pass this man by. He was drawn to suffering, just as Karasu was drawn to death.

"You're not a soldier."

The man's voice was raspy and hoarse. His eyes struggled to focus on Kurama's face.

Kurama could imagine what he saw. A sun-kissed complexion too perfect to be natural. Emerald eyes as green as the leaves of his flowers that he tended with such care. Ruby-red hair, the colour of which was as deep as the blood staining his hands.

Because his hands were stained, just like Karasu's. Even the god of life couldn't escape the taint of this war.

"No," Kurama whispered.

The man's hands grasped at the hilt of the dagger embedded in his chest. He tried to pull it out but he was too weak. Kurama felt another tear slide down his cheek as the man's hands shook like a tree's spindly branches in the wind.

Karasu watched with infinite patience as the man whispered, "Help me."

The god of death knew that all he had to do was wait. All human souls came to him in time.

"You'll bleed to death much more quickly," Kurama warned the dying man. From above them, Karasu gave a derisive snort. The man gave no sign that he'd heard Karasu. It was likely that he didn't even know Karasu was there.

"Gonna die anyway," the man croaked out. "Better…. get on with it."

He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace to Kurama.

Kurama gripped the slippery hilt of the dagger. He pulled. It slid out easier than he'd expected. He set it down on the grass as crimson blood began to gush out of the wound. It quickly soaked into the man's tattered shirt, staining the brown fabric dark.

As Kurama watched, the blood flow increased, expanding to completely cover the man's shirt. It began to pool on the grass beneath him, spreading out, out and out…

It swept around Karasu's feet, leeching the green from the grass. The stain kept growing and growing. And still, the man bled.

It wasn't possible for a human body to contain that quantity of blood. But this was a dream and dreams weren't rational.

Kurama jolted awake. He took several deep breaths and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the images his dream had left behind. Like smoke after a wildfire, they lingered.

Kurama pushed back the covers of the futon he lay on. Sunlight pressed against the thin paper of the wall of his room, seeking entrance. Kurama ignored it while he tucked the covers of the futon in and left the room. He wasn't quite ready to face the sunlight yet.

The faint fragrance of flowers drifted to his nose, soothing his thoughts. It was the scent of spring, the scent of life. It was familiar and it was his.

His feet padded along bare floorboards. The small home was silent and empty. Kurama was the only presence here and he liked it that way. This was his small piece of serenity and he was badly in need of it.

The bathing room was sheltered from the sunlight by large, leafy green bushes that Kurama had planted there just for that purpose. The water in the stone bath was steaming as it was fed from a natural hot spring. The bath was large enough for several people, though Kurama was the only person who ever used it.

Kurama slipped out of his sleeping yukata. Unblemished tanned skin was revealed as the white cotton came away. Kurama hung the robe on a hook and stepped to the edge of the bathtub. He reached up into his hair and extracted a small brown seed. With the application of a small amount of his energy, the seed grew into a thin, flexible vine. With the ease of practice, Kurama used the vine to secure his long red hair onto the top of his head.

The bath was split into two sections. Kurama's first goal was the smaller of the two sections that was meant for cleaning himself. The water from this section could be drained and refilled from the spring, keeping the other section's water pure of dirt.

He melted into the hot water as he entered the bath. He leaned against the side of the tub and closed his eyes. He kept his eyes closed while he washed himself thoroughly. He felt as though he were cleaning the blood from his dream off himself, though he was already clean.

After washing himself, he moved into the other bath and settled, most of his body submerged in the hot water. He rested his head back on the towel he'd left folded on the edge of the bath and stared up at the ceiling.

It was a riot of leafy, flowering vines. Yellow, blue and pink flowers bloomed, glowing with an inner light that looked magical at night. Kurama had plans to extend the vines to the other rooms in the house but he was still recovering his strength and these particular vines required a moderate amount of energy to keep alive. It was energy that Kurama couldn't spare right now. The other rooms of his home were lit by flowers in pots, which were much easier to maintain, though their light was more limited and not as beautiful as this display.

The sound of birdsong floated into Kurama's ears from beyond the vine screen. He smiled to himself. His garden attracted a large variety of birds who helped seed his flowers.

He was almost asleep when a decidedly not pleasant voice disrupted his peace.

"Kurama!"

Kurama sat up, water sloshing around him. He knew that voice and it made his heart rate quicken. He didn't want this person in his garden around his precious, vulnerable plants.

Hurriedly, he rose from the bath, water spilling down his body like a waterfall as he stepped out. He reached for his towel and slipped it around his waist. There was no time for anything else. His treasured plants were forefront in his mind. He had to get rid of this visitor quickly or they would pay the price.

He strode through the small house, his hair dripping down his back and his feet leaving wet footprints on the floor behind him. His heart beat in his chest like a hummingbird's wings. He could feel the cold hand of fear gripping the back of his neck, its chill spreading through his veins.

"Kurama!"

His visitor's call was blunt and insistent. Kurama stepped out onto his porch. As he moved out into the lush garden, the sunlight assaulted his eyes. Kurama paused, overwhelmed as he squeezed his eyes shut. His plants whispered to him, each one familiar, each one welcome. They were joyful at the warmth of the rising sun. He wished that all he needed to be happy was such a simple thing as the sun.

He opened his eyes and blinked. Spindly vines snuck across the cobbled pathway under his feet to caress his ankles. Kurama took a deep breath and started to walk, making his way to his left along the path. As he rounded the corner of the house, he saw his unwanted guest standing beneath the archway that led into the forest.

Thank the stars he had come no further.

His guest was short. Even his spiked-up black hair ensured that he only came up to Kurama's chin. He was dressed in a drab black cloak and a sword hung at his hip. His eyes were a deep rose-red beneath the white bandana he wore. A white scarf was wrapped around his neck.

Kurama stopped several feet away from the man, his feet rooting themselves firmly on the path. He couldn't bring himself to take another step forward.

The man's aura swirled around him, a faint haze in the air. It was the antithesis of everything Kurama had worked to build. The antithesis of everything he was. He was life. He was birth. He was creation.

But the man before him brought only destruction. If he chose to, he could leave Kurama's home in ashes.

This was the god of fire, Hiei.

"You're wet."

Hiei stared at him with one black eyebrow raised until it was almost touching the bandana as he looked Kurama up and down.

"You interrupted my bath," Kurama said tightly. He kept his hands behind his back, though he desperately wanted to raise them to ward off this little figure. They were shaking badly, however. If he brought them before him, Hiei would see how frightened he was.

"Sorry."

Hiei looked genuinely apologetic, his chin dipping down into his scarf. Then he reached into his cloak's pocket and brought an object out, his fist clutched around it. He took a step closer to Kurama.

Kurama found himself taking a step back as Hiei's aura pressed against him. He could almost feel the skin on his face starting to redden. He could imagine it blistering and peeling. He could smell the ash and blood in the air.

He could even see the corpses, piled up on the massive funeral pyre… Hear the wails of mourning family members…

Kurama's breath rushed out of his lungs as he struggled to maintain his composure. He wasn't there. He wasn't on that battlefield. The war was over. He was home, in the place he'd created for himself. The garden he'd meticulously planned and brought into being. Every plant here had been nursed to full growth by his own energy. Every stone was right where he'd placed it. This was his. His safety. His refuge. His solace.

"here."

Hiei had paused an arm's length away from him on the path, his hand outstretched and palm up. Resting on his small hand was a blue gem the size of a hen's egg. It was smooth as a rose's petals and seemed to glow with an inner light.

But it was not the flickering light of Hiei's fire. Instead, it was a cold, steady glow.

"What is it?" Kurama asked uncertainly.

Hiei had made a habit of showing up unannounced. Each time he had carried something with him. Something small. Something rare. Something beautiful.

If those were the only things Hiei carried with him, Kurama might have felt differently toward him. But Hiei carried something else as well.

Expectations.

Expectations that Kurama could not meet. These gifts Hiei brought were supposedly given freely and with nothing expected in return. But Kurama knew that wasn't true, though Hiei had denied it.

Hiei was in love with Kurama. The truth was simple and obvious. They both knew it, even if Hiei couldn't come straight out and admit it to Kurama's face.

"It's a hyruski," Hiei informed him. His voice was rough but young. His face was tanned from long hours in the sun and his hands were calloused and scarred. Hidden beneath the stifling folds of his worn cloak was a well-toned physique that any man would be proud of.

Hiei was handsome in his own way. If it weren't for the fact that his affinity with fire terrified Kurama, a relationship might actually have blossomed.

"A hyruski?" Kurama asked numbly, his long fingers twisting around each other in agitation. The smell of something burning had reached his nose and he could barely contain his distress. He just wanted Hiei to go.

"It's a gemstone that only forms in the coldest part of the Kottashima islands," Hiei said, a proud note entering his voice. His chin tipped up, eyes meeting Kurama's unflinchingly. "I got it for you."

Hiei waited, hand outstretched, the gem glowing on his palm.

Kottashima was a very inhospitable place. Its people were as hard and cold as the glaciers and icebergs that formed their land. A matriarchal society that spurned men, the island was considered off-limits unless an invitation was offered.

"Did you go to the islands to retrieve this?" Kurama asked, his fear ebbing slightly as incredulity swept in. It would have been very dangerous, even for a god like Hiei. If the women had found him…

There were rumours that those women practiced forgotten rituals. That they had achieved god-like powers. Kurama had no desire to ever set so much as a toe in that snow-blanketed land. Let the ice witches have it.

"I did," Hiei said. His posture was erect, his eyes fixed on Kurama's face.

Hesitantly, Kurama brought one hand out from behind his back. He reached out, fingers brushing the surface of the gem.

"It's cold," he said in surprise, his hand hovering just above the gem. It felt as if the gemstone were coated in a layer of ice.

Hiei snorted. "Of course it is," he said, letting a derisive note enter his voice. "I said it was from Kottashima, didn't I?"

His eyes smouldered as he stared at Kurama.

"Will you just take it already?" he demanded.

Kurama swallowed, but took the gemstone. He held it against his chest, feeling the cold seeping through his bare skin. It washed away the burn of Hiei's fire.

"Thank you," Kurama said. He meant it more today than he had on any other day. Rather unintentionally, he suspected, Hiei had brought him something that made their meeting a little easier for him to cope with.

Hiei gave a curt nod in acknowledgement. Then, much to Kurama's relief, he turned and passed beneath the red archway and into the dark of the forest, his cloak blending in with the trees.

Kurama let out a breath of relief. For today, his ordeal was over. From his previous experience with Hiei, he knew that the fire god wouldn't return until he'd secured another gift. That might take him two days or it might take him two weeks. Either way, Kurama's solitude was assured for at least a day.

But the scent of something burning still lingered in the air. Kurama's nose twitched, offended by the scent. He glanced around himself, searching for the source as his heart rate picked up again.

It wasn't until he glanced down to the path that he saw the source of the acrid smell. The grass that grew between the cobblestones of the path was burning. Smoke curled faintly up from where Hiei had stood moments earlier.

Kurama's knees buckled beneath him. The gemstone fell from his fingers and settled on the path as he shook. He reached out one hand, pressing it over one of the blackening patches of grass. He felt the sting immediately. Sobbing, he sent his energy into the ground, banishing the last traces of Hiei's deadly aura.

When he drew his hand back, the palm was red and blistering. He pressed the hyruski stone against it, hoping that the icy surface of the gemstone would ease the burn.

His eyes travelled back to the archway that Hiei had departed through as he knelt on the path. Why couldn't the little god just leave him be? All he wanted was to be left alone. To rest and recover his strength and wits. To heal from the scars that the war had left behind. Was that too much to ask?

He had never asked for Hiei's attention. He had never wanted Hiei's affection. But the dark fire master returned week after week, intruding on Kurama's peace and solitude. He was an unwelcome reminder of everything Kurama was trying to escape. Everything he wanted to forget.

There was no future for them. Why couldn't Hiei see that?

Author's Note:

This is my Camp NaNoWriMo project so I'll be working on it over the next month. I can't promise regular updates however, as chapters will need to be proofread before I can post them. I've got a plan worked out (for once), so here's hoping I can stick to it. Thanks for reading!