Just a short look at what goes through Rachel's mind in the moments before she dies.

The usual copyright BS. I don't own Animorphs and I ain't makin any money off this.

~The Last Ronin~

Unless I grip the sword, I cannot protect you. While gripping the sword, I cannot embrace you.

- Japanese Proverb

The adrenaline; that must be the reason. I loved the rush combat gave me. The thrill of testing my skills against another's. Knowing that if they were even a fraction stronger, faster, better, I would die. As a gymnast I sucked at the balance beam. But as a warrior, I walked that even thinner line between life and death like I'd been born for it.

My life had been ordinary, plain, boring. People said I was beautiful, said I was smart. I didn't care. Those were unimportant, irrelevant, didn't matter. Like me.

I was lost. Trying to find something that I didn't fully realize I was missing. Part of me was trying to fit into my own skin, to mold my life to what others thought. But that would have been too easy. I wanted more.

Then came the war. And Oh! I was finally alive! I was finally home in a way I'd never thought possible. The war was my drug. Each battle my next fix. And I wanted more. More, more, more.

'Warrior Princess' the others, my allies, called me. I was too proud to admit how much I liked that name. My enemies, however, had a much different name for me. A much simpler one.

'Death'.

The others said I was fearless, reckless. The truth, as I eventually discovered, was considerably more sinister. The war had changed me; unlocked a darkness, an evil, I'd never realized was in me. I loved battle, and I hated myself for loving it.

It took a long time for me to realize why I was the first to charge into the fray. Why I was so reckless. An offhanded comment by one of the others is what did it.

"What are you? Suicidal?"

Of course not! There was no way I could be. I mean, I loved my life. But my blood had turned to ice. That's exactly what I was. The truth I would admit to no one, least of all myself, was I was terrified of what the war had turned me into. I wanted to go back to the way I had been, to the old me I'd called home. However, I couldn't remember the way.

I wanted to die.

I'm not sure when that began to change. Maybe it all started when I met him. but for the first time since I realized I'd been trying to kill myself, I no longer feared the darkness inside of me. Instead I embraced it, shaped it into something I could use: a sword embodying all the strength I could draw upon. And I needed that strength.

I needed that strength because I had to win. I had to win because I now had something worth fighting for. Something beyond my next fix. Something infinitely more addictive.

No longer did I yearn for death. I wanted to live to see his rare smile; the one that seemed to say that no matter how bad things were, everything was going to be okay. More than that though, I wanted to be the reason for that smile.

We had been friends: both trapped by what the war had made us. But I was a blind fool. It took thinking he was dead for me to realize that my feelings for him were no longer those of friendship; hadn't been for a long time.

Still I didn't act on those newly discovered feelings. We had a war to fight. It wasn't a good time to get distracted by such emotions. After the war maybe, but certainly not now.

I tried to hold onto that thought: it wasn't the time. As the war dragged on, however, that idea seemed more and more absurd. When would it be the time?

My heart had to stop beating before I abandoned such notions. He allowed himself to be captured in order to discredit our enemy's new weapon; a weapon that would have spelled our doom. We weren't supposed to leave him in their hands long but complications arose. The longer it took us to reach him though, the more I began to panic. What if we were too late? What if I lost him?

Impossible. He would be fine. My heart would restart the moment I saw his face.

We weren't too late...to save his body. His mind, however, had nearly been shattered. I was just happy he was alive. The rest I could deal with. I didn't care if his capture had changed him. It had only reaffirmed my feelings and I quickly showed him exactly what he meant to me. I needed him to know that I would always be there for him, no matter what.

He knew. He felt the same. He even told me how he felt. I never did. I don't know why. Maybe because the two of us never really needed words. A poor excuse I know.

x-x-x-x-x

Always I was a fool. Never realizing what I had until I thought I'd lost it. Now it was too late.

I should have told my cousin to piss off when he gave me this mission. Should have told him to take care of his own vendetta. I don't want to die, it's not just myself I'm living for.

The person more precious to me than my own life is crying, watching me from miles away. We both know what's coming. I try to hide the terror I feel, try to bury it down deep like I've done countless times before. But I know he isn't fooled. He knows me better than I do. Only he saw beyond the darkness.

I watch his tears, my heart breaking to know they're for me, to know that they're merely the first of many that I'll never see. I turned my darkness into a weapon to protect him, to protect a future in which we could be together. Without it, we never would have made it this far. But in taking up that sword, I forsook a future beyond this battle. What can I do? How can I make this easier for him? Is that even possible.

No. Probably not. I watch his tears, realization finally hitting me, knocking the breath from my lungs: I'm going to die. In those tears I see everything I never knew I wanted and now will never have.

I want to go on dates to the movies; holding hands and kissing, out for ice cream afterwards like any other teenage boy and girl.

I want to go to collage with him; spend late nights eating pizza and ramen while cramming for exams.

I want to marry him; to be able to prove beyond any doubt that I will spend the rest of my life him: through better and worse and all that.

I want to start a family with him; to know what it's like to carry his child.

I want to grow old with him and eventually die with him, surrounded by our family.

All of this I try to convey into one last look; in the last words I say to him. So much more I want to say, to... But I'm out of time and these three words will have to do.

"I love you," I say. The first time. The last. The only.

I let go of the sword, but it's too late. A single tear slips down my cheek and I am no more.