DISCLAIMER: Still don't own.
Author's note: Longer chapter this time. Also, language and adult content warning. ...Enjoy! :)
Chapter Two
Every morning for the next three days, Yumi Kisaragi waited by the palace gates, hoping to greet her brother the moment he returned home. She strained her eyes towards the Sleeping Dragon, the red many-arched bridge that linked the grounds of the royal estate to the city of Wutai. Beneath the Dragon flowed Da-Chao's mighty river, which wound through the capitol like a silver ribbon—a symbol of the gods' unceasing love and faithfulness.
In her heart, Yumi thanked them again for protecting Haru during the battle at Jien. How fervently she had prayed for his safe return, and any minute now, she thought, she would see him striding towards her on the bridge, sunlight gleaming from his armor. More than herself, Yumi knew how desperately her mother wished to see him, to know that he still belonged to this world. Her family had shed enough tears three years ago; now was the time for them to smile, to laugh. To be together.
But Haru had not returned the first morning, nor the second, nor even the third. It was custom for warriors to arrive home at dawn, with the rising sun at their backs. Only those who had disgraced themselves in battle returned at night. Yumi knew her brother was no coward; he would arrive with the dawn.
Today was the fourth day of Yumi's wait, but again she had been disappointed. Just to be certain, she had remained by the gates until well past noon, yet still her eyes had not been able discern her brother's form. With a sigh, she'd finally turned, making her way back to the Fire Pagoda.
Tomorrow, then, she thought as the pagoda's sweeping entrance came into view.
The two guards at the door nodded to her respectfully as she entered, but the foyer was so crowded with uniformed men that she could barely squeeze through.
"Watch it, girl," a man growled at her when she accidentally elbowed him in the side. He looked to be around forty years old, a rust-colored bandage wrapped around what remained of his left arm.
"Forgive me," Yumi said, bowing her head slightly before she attempted to continue on towards her room.
Quick as a snake, the man's right hand shot out, seizing her by the shoulder and wrenching her around. He brought his face level with her own.
"You little bitch," he breathed, his small black eyes glinting beneath his sagging brow, "turning up your nose at me, are you?"
Shaking her head, Yumi tried to back away from his sour breath. "You're mistaken. I wasn't—"
"I know what you did," he snarled, cutting her off. "I know who you are too. You're Godo's little niece."
Yumi's eyes narrowed.
"If you know who I am, then you must be a complete fool to speak to me in this way."
"A fool?" His sudden bark of laughter drew the eyes of the other men. "Yes, I suppose I am. But I lost my arm defending your precious cunt from the Shinra." The man hauled her closer, his hand slipping from her shoulder to her breast, pinching her roughly through the fabric of her kimono. "I think I deserve some compensation."
Before Yumi could react, a fist flew from the left, slamming into the man's jaw with a sickening crack. He released her, and she staggered back as the man's attacker threw him to the floor and drove a boot into his ribs.
"You disgusting piece of filth," the attacker seethed, sliding his katana beneath the man's quivering jaw. "Lord Godo will hear of this, make no mistake."
Recovered somewhat from her assault, Yumi took a step forward at the sound of her savior's voice.
"Shiro?" she said softly.
The warrior turned, sliding his katana into the sheath tied at his hip. As his brown eyes met her own, the fire in them dwindled.
"Lady Yumi, please allow me to escort you to your quarters."
Yumi nodded, and the two of them advanced towards the great maple staircase at the back of the foyer, the crowd of soldiers parting silently before them. As soon as they rounded the corner of the landing, Yumi threw her arms around Shiro, hugging him fiercely, the steel of his breastplate cool against her burning cheek.
"Gods I've missed you, Shiro," she said tremulously, blinking away her tears. "So much has changed in such a short time."
Shiro patted her hair awkwardly with a gloved hand, his other arm slung across her shoulders. "Don't worry, Yumi. Haru and I will be here for you, just like we always have."
Gently, Yumi withdrew from him, her grey eyes warm as they found his.
"You're a good friend, Shiro—to me and Haru both. Knowing you would be by his side when he went to battle was the only thing that kept me from losing my mind." She smiled slightly. "What I mean to say is that I doubt Haru's survival at Jien and your presence there were mere coincidences. I know how stubborn my brother can be, especially in the face of defeat."
Shiro looked away, his cheeks coloring. "You give me too much credit."
"No," Yumi said seriously, taking his gloved hands in hers. "If anything, I'm sure I give you too little. But I won't argue with you about it. When Haru returns, I'll just ask him directly."
Her friend glanced at her in confusion. "Haru hasn't returned to Wutai?"
"To the city, perhaps. But to the palace, no," Yumi answered in a weary tone. "I can't help but think he's holed up in a bar somewhere, brooding over his drink."
Shiro removed his plated helmet, frowning as he ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair in the same way he always did when he was troubled. "I should go look for him then." He turned to Yumi. "You should be fine now. I'll tell the guards to keep Jho's troops out of the Fire Pagoda…if…well, if that's your command, of course," he faltered, fidgeting with his helmet.
"That is most certainly my command," Yumi replied with a wry smile. "Thank you, Shiro."
As she watched her friend disappear around the corner, Yumi remembered his comment about the soldiers in the foyer being Commander Jho's men, and her smile quickly withered. After his surrender, Lord Godo had called his commanders back to the capitol, offering the highest ranking officers and their families quarter in the Fire Pagoda. Commander Jho had arrived at the palace this morning, his daughter Minnea in tow.
Although Yumi considered the girl a friend, she wasn't particularly thrilled about the prospect of sharing a bedroom with her. But space was scarce, and her uncle would trust her to be a gracious host. The poor man was burdened enough with quarrelsome commanders and the task of surrender itself; Yumi would not add to his troubles by complaining about his guest.
Yumi's chambers were on the second highest floor of the Fire Pagoda. As she passed through the halls of polished wood and climbed the ancient stairs, she braced herself for the encounter with Minnea. When Jho's daughter had arrived this morning, Yumi had been at her vigil by the palace gates and had yet to actually greet the girl who must now be occupying her own rooms. Knowing Minnea, Yumi didn't doubt that she had already made herself quite at home.
The scene that met Yumi's eyes as she slid back the screen door to her bedroom immediately confirmed her suspicions. The furniture had been rearranged, and boxes upon boxes of clothing and jewelry were scattered across the floor. A gauzy dress of fine green silk was flung carelessly over the back of Yumi's favorite chair, three pairs of silver sandals resting on the seat, as if Minnea hadn't been able to decide which pair she liked best.
In the sitting room adjacent to Yumi's bedroom, Minnea's little white dog named Lily had taken up residence. The dog lay upon a bed of red velvet in the center of the room, surrounded by treats and toys. As Yumi entered, Lily paused in her task of shredding a pillow from one of the couches—a pillow that Yumi's own great grandmother had sewn by hand.
"Lily, drop it," Yumi snapped, stalking towards the tiny dog.
Lily clenched the pillow tighter between her jaws, growling as Yumi approached her. When Yumi drew close enough to yank the pillow away, Lily rounded on her, her small sharp teeth piercing the girl's wrist like a set of needles. Yumi bit back a cry of pain, blood welling from the punctures.
"No," she said sharply, popping Lily on the rump with her uninjured hand. "Bad dog!"
Lily yelped from the light slap and ran to the bedroom. As Yumi stood there, wrapping her hair ribbon around her bleeding wrist, she heard a high voice coming from the direction of her bedroom.
"Lily! What's wrong? Why are you so frightened?"
Suppressing her irritation with difficulty, Yumi retraced her steps and found Minnea standing in the threshold of the large bedroom closet, cradling Lily in her arms. Two years older than Yumi, Minnea was tall and shapely, her long honey-colored hair twisted in an elaborate braid that cascaded down her back. Sapphires glittered at her ears and throat, her cream and blue silk kimono clinging provocatively to her curves. Even bluer than her dress, her eyes shone with delight when she finally noticed Yumi standing in the bedroom with her.
"Yumi!" Minnea exclaimed, Lily dropping unceremoniously from her arms as they folded around Yumi in a warm, heavily-perfumed embrace. "It's been too long!" As she drew back, her eyes widened in alarm at the blood-soaked ribbon binding her friend's wrist. "Oh no! Yumi dear, you're hurt! Have you been playing at swords again?"
"No," Yumi replied in a carefully controlled tone, glancing at Lily. "Your dog bit me."
"Lily?" Minnea said, aghast. "That can't be. She's such a gentle puppy—everyone says so. You must have frightened her, that's all."
Before Yumi could reply, Minnea had taken her good wrist and was dragging her towards her own closet. The closet was half the size of her bedroom, with shelves that reached all the way to the ceiling. Though Yumi had never been able to fill half of them herself, Minnea had more than made up the difference, and gowns, shoes, jewels and perfume bottles covered every inch of available space.
"You must tell me what you think of this dress, Yumi," her friend said as she rooted through one of the lower shelves, retrieving a red silk kimono, slashed with orange. "I was thinking of wearing it tomorrow, but it may be too bold…"
"It's fine," Yumi said dismissively. "Minnea—"
"On the other hand, there's this one," Minnea babbled on obliviously, withdrawing a more traditional aquamarine dress with a floral pattern in silver thread. "It's a little boring for my taste, but Father bought it for me only a week ago, and I haven't had the chance to wear it yet." Holding a dress in each hand, she turned at last to Yumi, her sapphire eyes glinting mischievously. "Well, Yumi, which one do you think will catch Sephiroth's eye?"
Yumi blinked. "Sephiroth? The leader of Shinra's SOLDIERs?"
"Yes, yes," Minnea said impatiently, frowning when Yumi still only looked at her in confusion. "You mean you haven't heard the news? Father told me this morning that a delegation from Shinra will be arriving tomorrow to negotiate the terms of surrender with Lord Godo."
"…I see," Yumi responded quietly.
"Father expects General Sephiroth will be among the members of the delegation," Minnea continued dreamily. "They say he stands eight feet tall, with hair and eyes that glow like fire. Can you imagine?"
"Yes, I can imagine," Yumi said, a bit more coldly than she'd intended. "Your 'General Sephiroth' massacred the women and children of Jien. Or have you already forgotten?"
Minnea shook her head sadly.
"What happened at Jien was a terrible tragedy, to be sure. But, Yumi, to think that one man single-handedly set the entire valley aflame…such power is truly terrifying," she said with a shiver, not looking the least bit afraid.
Yumi said nothing in reply, her fingers idly tracing the ribbon around her left wrist, its silken fabric stiff with dried blood.
"Here," Minnea said after a long contemplation, thrusting the aquamarine kimono into Yumi's arms. "I've decided to wear the red one. You can have the other—it suits you!"
Mumbling her thanks, Yumi left the closet, her eyes drawn to the setting sun that blazed through her large bedroom window. The smooth fabric of the dress bunched as her fingers tightened unconsciously.
"Haru," she whispered to no one, "where are you?"
Haru despised this place.
The smell of incense hung heavily in the air, a heady fragrance that burned his nose and smothered his lungs like a velvet cushion. Yet beneath the thick haze of scent he could always detect the acrid stench of sweat and seed. It clung to the gaudy couches, the excessively tasseled pillows, the red silks that draped the lamps and lanterns, casting the room in a dull, sinful glow.
Draining another cup of sake, he grasped the woman before him by the hips, driving into her from behind with a sharp, smooth thrust. She gasped at the sudden intrusion, her muscles fluttering around him, tearing a ragged groan from his lips. Roughly, he angled her hips down so that he could penetrate her more deeply and established a harsh, steady rhythm.
"You're so eager this time, my lord," she panted, looking back at him with sly dark eyes.
"Keep your head down," Haru replied on a breath. "I don't want to see your face."
"I know," the woman murmured sulkily, returning her gaze to the carpeted floor.
Holding her flush against him with one hand, Haru reached for her hair with the other. It was the only thing he liked about her, the only reason he had continued to single her out from the other whores. The long dark strands flowed through his fingers like cool water. Like a thousand tendrils of guilt.
He closed his eyes against the flood of sensation, reveling in the feel of her hair, the tight wet warmth of her sex. Returning both hands to her hips, he increased his pace, pounding into her with abandon, his mind conjuring up images that had never been and would never be, desire and self-disgust building like a storm within him.
With one last thrust, the storm broke, and he rode out the last waves of his bitter release with a jerky rocking of his hips, beads of sweat rolling down his heaving chest. As his cloudy mind began to clear, he withdrew, letting the woman collapse breathlessly to the cushions below.
Still breathing heavily, Haru reclined against one of the plump couches, watching the sun fall through a slit in the heavy velvet curtains. His head ached from too much drink. Sweeping his hair out of his face, he ground the heel of his palm into the space between his eyes, as if he could erase the pain that lay behind them and banish the now-familiar feeling of regret.
It seemed another night would pass before he returned to the palace. When he'd arrived in Wutai two days ago, the sun had long since vanished from the sky, forcing him by custom to wait elsewhere until dawn. Although he'd vowed never to enter Midnight Garden again, as he'd passed by the brothel on his way to an inn, his feet had seemed to turn of their own accord, leading him up the accursed steps and into Loki's bed once more.
"You must be thirsty," she spoke now as she knelt naked at his side, pressing a fresh cup of sake to his lips. As Haru drank, she trailed her fingers down the hard planes of his chest and stomach. "You worked up quite a sweat."
When her hand fell between his legs, Haru grabbed her by the wrist, pushing her back.
"No," he growled, releasing her so abruptly that she crumpled to the floor.
"You're so cruel to me, my lord," she pouted, crawling back to his side a moment later, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Most men are quite happy to let me put my hands wherever I please. And no man besides you has ever found a problem with my face."
Whores, Haru thought angrily as he looked at her. Everything is a game to them.
"There's nothing wrong with your face," Haru answered shortly. "I just don't want to look at it when I fuck you."
In truth, Loki was quite beautiful, with porcelain skin, delicate features and lips as red as blood. The Garden was a pricy establishment, catering to the most wealthy citizens of Wutai. Needless to say, ugly whores had no place here.
Loki laughed. "Oh, Lord Haru, you're too blunt. You'll never have a lover if you don't learn to soften your words." A wicked smile bloomed on her face. "I suppose that's why you keep returning to me."
"No. I keep returning to you because I'm weak," Haru said quietly, his fingertips lightly touching her hair.
"Then I hope you never become strong," Loki purred as she leaned forward, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "You always fuck me like it's your last time. I don't ever want that to end."
Unable to think of a reply, Haru turned his head away, letting Loki climb into his lap. She pushed back his unbound hair and kissed his neck, her smooth thighs spreading open as she lowered herself against him, the tips of her soft breasts grazing his chest. When her lower lips pressed damply against the base of his shaft, Haru's breath caught in his throat.
"Loki…" he protested weakly, shifting.
"Shhh," she soothed, her lips hot on the skin of his shoulder. "Close your eyes, my lord. Just pretend I'm her."
Reluctantly, Haru complied, and she pressed a kiss to each lowered eyelid, guiding his hand between her legs. At the first stroke of his fingers, Loki gave a little cry, bucking against him. Haru pulled her closer at the sound, his fingers weaving through her luxuriant hair as his other hand spread the slick, tender folds of her sex. When the pad of his thumb circled her swollen nub, Loki cried out again.
"Yes, that's it," she moaned, grinding into his palm. "Oh, Lord Haru…"
In his mind, another voice moaned his name, and he stroked her harder, imagining. He could feel her thighs trembling from the strain, her breath coming out in pants as she dug her nails into his arms. As she cried out in her moment of ecstasy, another woman's name tumbled unbidden from Haru's lips, the sound so faint he could not hear it over the beating of his own heart.
He cracked open his eyes as Loki fell against him, the last rays of sunlight revealing glimmers of gold in her otherwise black hair. The wrongness of the color shattered his blissful illusion, agitating him. He shoved her out of his lap.
"Is something wrong, my lord?" she drawled, her sated body sprawled at his side.
"I'm hungry," he said crossly, grasping at the first excuse he could think of to get her out of his sight. "Bring me something to eat."
Sighing, Loki rose slowly to her feet, stretching indolently. She padded over to her bed, shrugging into a red silk robe she'd thrown across the rail. Cinching it closed about her waist, she walked to the screen door, turning back to him as she slid it open.
"Don't think of running away," she teased, glancing suggestively at the lingering hardness between his legs. "You and I have unfinished business."
As she left, Haru breathed deeply, letting his head fall back against the plush arm of the couch. Though he had no love for the gods of Wutai, he prayed that she would not return to drag him back down into the mire of his repulsive lusts.
But a few minutes later he heard the door open and, cursing silently, turned his weary eyes toward the sound. Those same eyes quickly widened when they recognized the person standing in the threshold.
"Shiro?" Haru choked in surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Shiro stepped forward into the room, squinting in the dim reddish light. When he saw that Haru was lying naked on the floor, he abruptly turned, ruffling his hair in a nervous gesture that had always grated on Haru's nerves.
"We're leaving, Haru, sir," Shiro said stiffly. "I've paid your bill, so whenever you're—you know—dressed, I suppose…"
Haru rolled his eyes, locating and pulling on his pants quickly so that Shiro would stop sounding so damned uncomfortable.
"You don't have to call me 'sir' anymore, Shiro," Haru grumbled as he tied back his shoulder-length hair with a bit of string. "The war's over."
"I know," Shiro said apologetically, facing Haru once more. "But I'll always think of you as my commander."
"Gods," Haru sighed, shaking his head. "Sometimes I wonder exactly what it is you've got between your legs."
"Well…" Shiro replied slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I guess you'll just have to catch me in a whorehouse to know for sure."
Haru laughed as he plopped down on Loki's bed. "You know, that one wasn't half bad. Maybe after almost twenty years of friendship, my sense of humor is finally starting to rub off on you."
"Yeah, maybe…" Shiro said, his awkwardness suddenly returning.
Haru sighed again. "Listen, Shiro, I'm not leaving the Garden yet. It's a long way off until dawn."
"Yes…but I was thinking you could stay with me at grandpa's place and return to the palace in the morning," Shiro said with an unusual steadiness of voice, making Haru think this argument of his had been rehearsed. "You need to get cleaned up before you go home to your mother and Yumi."
Haru's stony eyes narrowed, shame and anger lancing through him.
"Don't say my sister's name in this place," he said sharply, Shiro visibly wincing at his tone.
"I'm…I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Haru said quickly with a wave, feeling a twinge of guilt. "And, anyway, you're right, Shiro. I can't go home like this."
After a few minutes of searching, Haru assembled the various pieces of his uniform and was fully dressed once more. Securing his two swords to his hip with a broad green sash, he followed Shiro out of the room. At the entrance to the Garden, Loki stood with her arms crossed, her pale breasts nearly spilling out of the opening in her robe. Shiro tensed as the whore's eyes raked over him appreciatively.
"Such a shame you two couldn't stay longer," she said with a smile. "We could have had a lot of fun together."
Haru bit back a laugh at the horrified expression on Shiro's face. Clapping a hand to his friend's shoulder, Haru steered him out the door and into the night.
"I expect I'll be seeing more of you now, Lord Haru," Loki called after them in a ringing voice. "You've no more battles to distract you!"
Behind Shiro, Haru grimaced, suspecting she was right.
It was late by the time they reached Shiro's grandfather's house, a squat little pagoda perched on a hill not far from the palace grounds. They entered to find the old man fast asleep on a couch, a particularly awful book of Wutanese poetry lying open on the wooden floor. At his feet slept his loyal old hound. The dog raised his head at the sound of footsteps, his bleary chocolate eyes blinking slowly. When he finally perceived that the intruders were not a threat, he lowered his head to the cushion once more and within seconds was snoring.
Making his way over to the couch, Shiro gently shook his grandfather's arm.
"Grandpa, wake up. It's Shiro."
After a few moments, the old man began to stir.
"What time is it?" he grunted.
"Uh…I'm not sure."
"No matter, no matter," the old man replied, yawning as he raised himself up.
When his eyes fell upon Haru, his drooping mustache lifted in a smile.
"Well now, it seems we have a guest. How are you this evening, Master Haru?"
"Well enough," Haru responded politely. "And you, Gorky? It's been a while."
"That it has," Gorky agreed, folding his hands into his voluminous blue sleeves. "As for myself, well, I carry on all right. I'm still training your little cousin, you know. The girl has talent to be sure, but she lacks discipline," he added with a shake of his head.
"She'll learn in time, as I did."
"Perhaps," Gorky said, rising from the couch and walking over to the large brazier in the center of the room. With a silver poker, he prodded at the coals, urging the embers into flame. "Then again, perhaps not. Long ago, when I was Master of Arms under your grandfather, I learned to tell the difference between a true warrior and a man who could swing a sword. Let us hope that Yuffie follows in the footsteps of your late father. Never before and never again have I seen a man so skilled in the art of battle."
"You honor me," Haru said respectfully.
"No," Gorky replied brusquely, brandishing the poker at him. "I honor your father. You, on the other hand, were always so pig-headed. For years I feared you would never master the sword. Now, your sister…there was a student after my own heart. I saw so much of your father in her," he said wistfully.
"You speak of Yumi as if she's dead."
"The habit of an old man," Gorky said tiredly, the firelight playing across the crinkled skin at the corners of his eyes. "Yet you cannot deny that your sister has changed. All the fire in her left this world along with the soul of your honored father. Now only a timid girl remains." He frowned deeply. "A pity indeed."
Uncharacteristically, it was Shiro's voice that broke the awkward silence.
"Grandpa, is the guest room ready? Haru's very…tired."
"Yes, yes, where are my manners? I'll see to the room."
Before he turned to leave, however, Gorky cast a suspicious glance at Haru.
"You look like you could use a bath," the old man remarked. "Where have you two been?"
"Midnight Garden," Shiro admitted reluctantly, averting his eyes.
Haru could have punched him. The last thing he wanted was word of his exploits getting back to his mother and sister.
"A brothel, eh?" Gorky said, chuckling. "Well, as they say, a man must sow his wild oats. I sowed plenty myself, in my day."
"Grandpa, please," Shiro said, his face reddening.
"What? I haven't always been an old man, though it may be hard for you to imagine. Now, get yourselves to the bath house. I won't have you smelling up the place."
With that, Gorky made his exit, and Shiro and Haru headed for the shed-like building that adjoined the pagoda. Inside was a large wooden tub in the shape of a square, steam rising from surface of the water as it welled up from a hot spring below.
Eagerly, Haru stripped off his dirty clothes and slid into the water with a sigh. Shiro was slower about it, careful to keep his eyes on anything but Haru as he entered the tub. Haru didn't understand his shyness these days. When they were children, they'd used to swim naked together practically every day during the hot summer months. How happy he'd been back then.
"So much has changed," he mused aloud.
"That's funny," Shiro replied, bracing his chin on his knuckles. "Yumi said the same thing to me today."
"Yumi…" Haru spoke, as if the thought of her had only now just crossed his mind. "How is she, Shiro?"
"Well…sad, I think. She misses you."
Haru nodded, sluicing water over the back of his neck. "And Uncle? Is he still intent on surrendering to Shinra?"
"Haru," Shiro replied uneasily, clutching at his hair, "it's…done. A delegation from Shinra is arriving tomorrow…Commander Jho says that they plan to set up an embassy in the Pagoda of the Five Mighty Gods."
"An embassy," Haru spat out, his mood darkening rapidly. "You mean a seat of power. They intend to rule Wutai."
"I'm not sure…"
"Oh come on, Shiro, what else could this visit mean?" Haru snapped. "And my uncle is prepared to meekly step aside and let Shinra subjugate his people…"
"…Does he have a choice?" Shiro offered hesitantly. "If he refuses, won't Shinra just…destroy us?"
Haru said nothing, thinking back to the fires of Jien, the countless bodies that had covered the ground. He felt the anger he'd suppressed by drinking and whoring burn within him once more. Had the deaths of so many women and children, so many of his own brave men, only bought the rest of his people a miserable existence under the tyranny of Shinra?
"My uncle has acted like a spineless fool. He would sell us all to Shinra for a parody of peace," Haru said coldly, rising from the tub. "I must make him see reason."
"But, Haru—"
Haru ignored him, wrenching his clothes back over his wet skin in his haste to leave, banging the door open before him. His march to the palace was a blur. In what seemed a second's time, he had ascended to the top of the Fire Pagoda and was throwing back the screen to his uncle's quarters.
He found Lord Godo awake in his study, his head bent over his desk, the candle near his hand burning low in its holder. As Haru drew closer, his uncle raised his eyes from the letter he was writing, and Haru was momentarily shocked by how much the man had seemed to age in a few months' time.
"Haru," Lord Godo greeted him tiredly. "It is good to see you alive and well."
"Is it true that the Shinra are arriving here tomorrow?" Haru demanded, his rage outweighing his distant concern.
"It is," his uncle answered calmly. "Your sister has graciously agreed to receive the delegation at the palace gates."
Whatever tenuous hold Haru had over his temper suddenly snapped, his face flooding scarlet.
"My sister," he repeated venomously. "You would parade her before the eyes of those Shinra bastards like a common slut. Have you no respect for our father's memory? Had he been born a few minutes earlier, the decision to surrender would not have been yours to make."
"Do you think I chose this path gladly, Haru?" his uncle said with some heat, rising from his chair. "I do not enjoy bending my knee to Shinra any more than you do, but I had to swallow my pride and do what was best for my people."
"This is what's best?" Haru seethed. "You've made us their slaves. They'll have us digging their materia mines, building their Mako reactors. They'll abuse our women and children and turn our great cities into slums."
"What would you have done, then, Haru?" his uncle challenged. "If you were lord of Wutai, what choice would you have made?"
"I would have fucking fought," Haru yelled, slamming his fists down on the desk. "Anything but roll over and submit to those goddamned monsters." His eyes burned, his hands still stinging from the impact. "You weren't there, Uncle. You didn't see what they did to Jien. The women were just lying in the road, bloody and mangled…and…gods…the children…"
He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing against the bile rising in his throat.
"No, I was not there," Godo replied after a while, sinking back into his chair. "I did not see. But when I heard what had happened at Jien, I knew that I must surrender. I could not bear the thought of another such tragedy befalling my people. The violence had to end."
"And what of the people of Jien? What of my men?" Haru said fiercely. "Should I be forced to accept that they died for nothing? Will you deny them justice?"
"There is no justice in what you seek, Haru," Lord Godo said wearily, his head bowed as if a great invisible weight was bearing down on his shoulders. "Death brings only more death."
"But the dead must be avenged," Haru insisted. "It is our way."
"No, it is the old way," his uncle said sharply. "Times have changed, Haru, and Wutai must learn to change with them. Your father would have said the same."
"My father is dead," Haru bit out, his eyes glinting like hardened steel. "Who knows what he would have said. But this is what I say: I am Haru Kisaragi, the son of Goro Kisaragi, the descendant of an ancient line reaching back more than twenty generations. I am a man of Wutai, and I will not bow to the Shinra."
"Do not do this, Haru," Lord Godo said quietly. "Do not forsake your people."
"The one who forsakes them is you," Haru declared coldly. "Bow and scrape to the Shinra all you like, be their footstool. And when the legacy of Wutai has been ground into dust and the people who remain cower at every shifting shadow, I pray that you still find satisfaction in your so-called peace."
"Haru, you must try to understand." Lord Godo stood, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Please, my nephew—"
Haru wrenched away, his lip raised in a snarl.
"You are no uncle of mine!"
"…Daddy?"
Haru froze, turning to the door where his little cousin Yuffie stood in her nightgown, looking between him and her father with wide, fearful eyes.
"I…I heard shouting," she stammered.
For a moment, neither man said a word, a tense silence building in the room. Then, just as quickly, Haru remembered his anger and, recovering himself, strode towards the door. When he reached his cousin, he paused, looking down at her. Her brown eyes stared up at him in confusion.
"Yuffie," he spoke, his voice hoarse. "Your father is a coward."
Before either of them could respond, Haru turned his back on them and left. As he descended the stairs of the Fire Pagoda, his mind was strangely blank, a cold hollowness settling in his chest.
The hallways were dark and quiet in the hours before dawn. He moved through them like a ghost, disembodied and detached.
I've disowned my uncle, he thought vaguely.
As he emerged into the foyer, he saw Shiro sitting on a bench near the entrance, cradling his face in his hands. At the sound of footsteps, he looked up, and, seeing that it was Haru, got slowly to his feet. Whatever expression Haru wore made Shiro grimace in dread.
"Sir," he said in a low, anxious voice. "Haru…what have you done?"
As Haru opened his mouth to reply, he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him and slowly turned. A few feet away stood his younger sister, wrapped in a robe of pale silk, her long dark hair tumbling freely down her shoulders. From her frowning face, his own grey eyes stared back at him in question.
"Haru?" she said, her voice falling like a leaf onto the still surface of his mind, leaving ripples of memory in its wake.
Centuries seemed to pass as he gazed at her, until the world around them fell away and only they and the distance between them remained. She was beautiful—more beautiful than he remembered—and the sight of her was too much.
Wretched, he tore his eyes away.
"Let's go, Shiro," he commanded stonily, resuming his course.
Wordlessly, Shiro fell into step behind him, and together they turned their backs on the palace of Wutai.