A short moment spent side by side with Kyuzo hints Kambei about the resolute and mysterious past of the red-clad samurai. Two years after the war, Kambei finally meets the red-headed swordsmith who carries Kyuzo's shadow in her wake.

(1) Oh hey look who's literally more than a year late. The horrible truth is that I've had this chapter lying around completed in my folder for months but because I'm not too fond of either the writing or the narration, I procrastinated on proofing it and uploading it.

(2) I don't really think I feel Kambei's character properly so I'm sorry for the... bad everything. OTL There's technically one last part to this story but ahahahahaahaha i'll write it eventually someday.

(3) I post S7 art doodles from time to time on my art tumblr, where you have more chances to witness the fact I'm actually alive.


TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS

.the samuraiko

When the war was over, the people of Kana were happy at last. They had earned it, Kambei thought, and they were the sole winners of the battle. The rice fields were theirs again, so were their hearts, and they were free to live their lives without the threats from giants.

Kambei did not want them to part, but Katsushiro, sword in hand, turned around and promised he would seek to further his understanding of the bushido. Sichiroji went as far as the Firefly Inn, and Kambei could not ask of his old friend to stay a minute longer away from his love. And despite Shichiroji's intent pleading for Kambei to stay at the inn, where there was all to lead a comfortable life, the dark-skinned Samurai only shook his head and said he still felt like walking forth. Well, maybe not forth, but surely around. He'd be in the area, he promised the younger man, and off he went again, this time sword-less and not as Samurai, but just as a wanderer. The thought pleased him, although any pleasing thought condescended into grimmer ones.

Gorobei, so eager and warm. Heihachi, young and imaginative. Kikuchiyo, boastful and yet so loyal. Kyuzo, quiet and admirable. He missed the amazing friendships he had successfully woven with these men, but then again he was used to the feeling of loss.

Kambei thought he had gotten used to seeing people die around him, but he thought as well that he had grown tired, and also frustrated, of letting go. He told himself that this time would be the last, and quietly he swore that his days of great odysseys were over.

.

Kambei met Masamune again two years later during one of Kambei's rare visits to Kougakyo, and he could not say how well things had improved since the fall of the bandit's dynasty and the emperor's rule. He hadn't been around to see or care, and he found himself being pulled to the sort of places where the echo of large and bustling cities was reduced to a murmur on the wind.

He had come back to Kougakyo to meet with Sichiroji, who had wed Yukino and now led a peaceful life administrating the popular Firefly Inn. He and the beautiful inn keeper now had a girl child of two years, although already awaiting another. Kambei found Masamune working late in his workshop, the place still the same cavernous den filled with metallic paraphernalia. The short man was less than surprised to see the dark-skinned man standing alone in his doorway. After a few minutes, they sat together sipping lukewarm tea.

"Masamune?" Kambei asked eventually, resting his cup on the dusty floor. A variety of tools and objects lay scattered around them, and Kambei distracted himself by picking up the pieces of steel and iron and weighting them in his hands, albeit completely disinterested. The old war veteran chewed on his pipe while the dark-skinned Samurai pondered for words, offering Kambei a look that implied he didn't need to feel reserved for discussion.

"I happen to be looking for someone. A woman."

"A woman, eh? What is it that makes you run after women now, Shimada Kambei? Not that it's too late. You want someone to set you up on a blind date?"

Kambei smirked, flexing his fingers. "Actually, she happens to be a connection of someone I know." Even though there was no reason for Kambei to hide it, he couldn't quite voice the strange idea that he was looking for one of Kyuzo's relations. Or acquaintances. Or enemies. "And the only thing I know is that she has red hair, red as autumn's leaves. And perhaps something to do with the making of weapons."

Masamune's eyes stared at him blankly for a long minute, a frown creasing his brow, as if he wasn't too sure what he was supposed to do with the given information. Kambei was certain the veteran would end up shrugging, saying he'd only known one redhead, and that it had been a very loud and annoying one at that. But Masamune's eyes suddenly lit up in a strange way, and he removed the pipe from his mouth, allowing the smoke to waft on his lips. "I've known many red-heads in my life," the old man said, discretely revoking the memory of the machine Samurai he had built, "and also many artisans and sword smiths. But you, Shimada Kambei… you are looking for Omine Tengotori".

The name rung strangely in the little room, like an echo that leaves invisible pulsations running through one's body. The samurai frowned. "I feel like I've heard that name before."

"You might have," Masamune said with a grin, but didn't add anything more. He was staring into space, lost in thoughts.

"Anything you could tell me about this Omine?" Kambei pressed, letting his impatience get the better of him.

"She does indeed have hair as red as autumn's leaves. Very red. In the sunset, almost like fire. I've known her since she was but a little tiny child, standing fiercely beside her father, with whom I fought alongside the war." He sighed.

"If the name Tengotori seems familiar, it's because it's the same famous Tengotori family of sword-smiths. They have been developing and producing some of the best weapons in the country for centuries, and Omine's father, Masaya, was one of the craftsmen to introduce the crafting technique for unbreakable katanas, the perfect weapon against the Nobuseri.

Masaya's wife died shortly after giving both to her last child and little girl, and Masaya was left with two children to bring up in those rough times that you and I remember well. Not to mention that the family tree was reaching an end, with Omine being probably the last of the Tengotoris. I'm pretty sure, but no one ever confirmed it.

I remember in the old days, when Masaya would bring his two children here, and little Omine would fumble with everything, while her brother walked in her trail and made sure she didn't get hurt. They were lovely children, and just like tradition claimed, both Omine and Yuudai were taught how to craft beautiful, strong weapons. I have no doubt Omine was the most talented of the two."

Masamune stopped then, biting on his pipe with slight frustration.

"But, well, fate took a toll. You know how that goes. Just like I did, Masaya and Yuudai went off to the war, leaving Omine behind to look after their shop and home. None of them came back. The poor girl had indeed become the last of them all, and she took it with such a brave face. But the family's name faded a bit from people's minds. Omine refused to sell the shop, or do anything else than keep on smiting and working, upholding her family's memory. For the years that followed, she kept on producing exquisite weapons, the kind you weren't able to find after the decline of Samurai and the rising of the Nobuseri. She came to visit me, some times, but rarely. Truth be told, I didn't know what was going on in her life for the many years that followed the end of the war. I presume she shut herself down in that big house of hers, and kept drilling and working her hands, like a bad habit gone addictive. And well, I, hmmm…"

Masamune stopped talking there, taking the opportunity to fill his lungs with some more smoke.

"She's gone now, Shimada Kambei."

"What do you mean, gone?" Kambei asked, still registering the tale the old man had shared. "Do you mean dead?"

"No, simply that; gone. One day she closed the shop and left, and never came back. Never saw her in town no more. She went off, you see? She came to say goodbye quickly. Her scars looked unusually big, that day."

"Scars."

"The girl had two scars on her face, running across her left cheek and criss-crossing beside her nose. She never told me how she got them, but it must have been a pretty big fight. Such a pretty face, ruined."

And the image of that pretty face was chased as he exhaled smoke once again.

.

When he could take no more the smell the smoke, Kambei excused himself and went to stand outside Masamune's workshop, the lights above flickering with a quiet fizz. Kambei felt a lassitude, an unexplained disappointment, even sadness, at yet another tale of someone who had left, gone, and disappeared without a trace. Left behind another spot of negative space.

"I doubt she has returned," Masamune told him, "but if you feel like taking a long walk, I'll tell you where her shop still stands."

Kambei had thanked and told him that perhaps he would go, since he had all the time in the world anyway.

.

The house was dark and seemed rooted into the earth, overgrown by climbing plants, its windows darks. The front double doors seemed stiff, heavy and imposing upon the steps, and it felt like the very assertion of them never opening again had been sewn into every fibre of the rigid wood, and despite his envy not to do so, Kambei climbed the front steps to rest a hand on the door and pull the handle. Of course, the doors did not budge.

Dark clouds were gathering overhead, casting the tall frame of the ancient house into shadows, and Kambei let out a small chuckle as wind and the smell of thunder arose. He should have known that anything related to Kyuzo would be harder than that to uncover. During the past two years, it had seemed to Kambei that every last trace of Kyuzo's memory was fleeting in every direction the wind blew, escaping discovery at all cost. This house neither told nor whispered him the secrets he sought, and as far as Kambei was concerned, it was just another extension of the dark and deep forest surrounding him. The red-headed girl would have to remain a myth a while longer.

.

He thought then of visiting Sichiroji, and on his way back Kambei found himself on a deserted road of sand and pebbles, sided by quaint meadows growing sandy as the desert approached and the forests retreated behind him. Dusk had come and gone, bathing the sky in pale shades of cotton blue and violet, with a faint streak of gold and red at the horizon where the last glimpses of the setting sun were still visible. The whole was being chased by the dark storm clouds coming from the east, and je knew rain would be upon him soon. Kambei came upon a single village, a small community tucked between the hills and valleys of this region, but avoided going into it. Hands crossed and tucked in the warm folds of his white robes, he walked on as the sky dimmed above his head.

Far, far beyond him, he saw moving human shapes, and heard voices. Villagers returning, he presumed as he kept his slow pace and walked in their direction. They were blocking his path anyway.

As he neared them, the voices became louder, brisker, and sharper. Kambei frowned and uncrossed his arms as he tasted conflict between the three men. The two facing the third shouted something, and in their hands appeared blades. The third, who had his back turned to Kambei, seemed little impressed. When the enemy's blade stroke, the boy was quick to counter-attack.

The fight took merely a few seconds as Katsushiro twisted his way between the two men with a graceful block and swipe of his katana, pulling out one foot to trip the first of the two rascals, and then threatening the cut the other man's neck. The attacker froze as he felt the tip of Katsushiro's blade on his neck, but he tried nevertheless to fiddle his way out. He received a nice twist of the arm and ended on the ground behind his pal as Katsushiro shielded his katana, and finally realized he was being watched.

It took the boy a moment to make out Kambei's face in the dimness, but when he did, all the boyish allure he'd carried two years prior returned like a flood.

"S-Sensei?"

Kambei offered him a few sturdy claps, while the attackers, at the sight of the tall stranger, painfully rose to their feet and made a run for it. Katsushiro's head twisted between them and Kambei, before he renounced on giving chase and simply turned around to face the older man.

"Katsushiro, it's been a while."

He had changed much, and at the same time not really. His green hair was longer, still tied in the same clipped pony tail, and he had not ceased fancying those oversized coats. The only difference was that the one he wore now fit him better. Yet, Katsushiro's face had become sharper and it had lost that boyish roundness. He had grown a few inches as well. Despite his apparent happiness, he quickly regained his composure. By the way he had handled the two other men, it was evident that he'd fought many other battles after leaving Kanna village. He still even had the sword. Kambei couldn't refrain from smiling fondly at the sight of the weapon tied at the boy's waist.

"I see you've been taking good care of it," Kambei said, and Katsushiro straightened, placing a hand on the katana's scabbard.

"Of course I have, Sensei. I, well, it has served me well."

Kambei began walking, and Katsushiro immediately followed.

"What have you been up to, boy?"

"I've been traveling," Katshushiro answered, trying to contain his wide smiles and the note of excitement in his words. "And lending help where it is needed most."

"What of your goal to pursue the Bushido?"

"I've joined a few groups of Samurai from time to time, travelling with them, studying their ways. Ever since the fall of the Nobuseri, more Samurai have begun to appear, Sensei. I've heard they even built a grand dojo somewhere. I-I was… planning on checking it out."

"Do it," Kambei replied, and they fell into content silence as they walked.

"Where are you headed, Sensei?" Katsushiro asked eventually, eying the older man.

"I thought of paying Sichiroji a visit. Feel like accompanying me?" Kambei inquired, and of course Katsushiro accepted.

.

Sichiroji's shout of happiness spiralled as he ran down the inn's set of stairs to catch the two Samurai in a tight embrace, wailing something about his pained heart. At some moment Kambei deduced it was time to save Katshushiro from being choked, and he pulled Sichiroji away by the sleeve.

"So glad to see you two," the blond chuckled, promising everyone sake.

"I've been hearing about you tons, Katsu," Sichiroji added as they all sat on top of the stairs, sipping the warm liquor. Warm colourful lights flashed overheard, and the sound of laughter and music echoed from behind the thin walls of the inn. It was always so crowded, and joyful.

"I listen to my client's blabber, you known," Sichiroji continued. "On multiple occasions I heard them talking about that handsome young warrior going from village to village helping out whoever he can. And I know it's you because they all mention your green hair and that brave face of yours."

Katsushiro blushed, nearly spitting out the sake. "I-I just try to do my best."

"I bet that you could beat Kambei to a pulp," the blond joked, and Katsushiro's sip stuck in his throat. "I-I couldn't possibly," he said through coughs, and after a while he rested his cup and took out his katana. "Sensei-"

"Just call me Kambei, Katsushiro."

"Kambei… I-I've been meaning to return your katana to you-"

Kambei lifted a hand, shaking his head. "I gave it to you, didn't I?"

"Y-yes, but..."

"I don't have use for it anymore. You've been fairing up with it well, boy."

Sichiroji cupped his cheek in his palm. "What have you been doing, old friend? No more battles, no more wars? Have you found yourself a nice little home and settled with a pretty girl?"

"I might do just that," Kambei replied, and Sichiroji chuckled. He couldn't, for the life of his, imagine the older samurai adopting such a passive way of living. Kambei, on the other hand, kept quiet about his recent trips back and forth across the country, searching for a ghost.

It was then that Sichiroji's head perked up and a few moments later they all heard Yukino's voice. "There goes my lovely wife!" he said.

"Geez, at least stay the night!"

Up ahead, descending from another wing of the inn, was Yukino. Swollen-bellied with a second child and beautiful as always, she put her hands on her hips as a second shape appeared, pulling behind a horse.

"I really need to go, Yukino," the other woman said, stepping out from the shadows cast by the angled roof. She turned her back to Yukino and stroked the horse's cheek. Seated on the stairs, Kambei froze, and his eyes widened a fraction.

"At least allow me to braid your hair," Yukino said with a pout, and Omine turned to glance at her.

"I like it this way."

"There was a time when you absolutely loathed having it down. You said it always came in your way."

"Not anymore," the red head answered gently, and she moved to inspect her saddle.

Yukino offered her a sad smile. "You never come around here anymore. It's been nine months since the last time you showed up, and before that it was more than a year!"

Omine shrugged, and Yukino's pout increased. Then she smiled, cocking her head. "You need a man! That would keep you in one place. You'd find one, if only you stayed for a little bit."

Omine stiffened, then rolled her eyes. "They are waiting for me, I need to go back."

"Who exactly? I don't even know what you do anymore. You closed your shop, and ran away."

Omine had already placed her foot in stirrup, murmuring under her breath: "Yes, I guess I did run away."

Meanwhile, Kambei had risen. Katsushiro and Sichiroji watched him descend the steps with confusion and mild-interest, respectively, while Yukino up ahead had grabbed the redhead's hands, trying to bargain for a stay.

"You've been so hectic, you really need to take a break," she cooed sweetly, and Omine's brow furrowed. She was about to say something when her eyes lifted and her parted lips froze, and Kambei stopped a few paces away. He took in the sight of the woman, with her curled locks, as red as autumn's leaves. They fell in a thick waterfall past her breasts, and her eyes were that of a glaring green. Two large scars ran on her right cheek and criss-crossed beside the bridge of her nose, just as Masamune had described.

Yukino turned around, blinked, and Omine took a step to the side. In her eyes there was defiance first, then a spark of recognition, and then defiance again.

"Omine…Tengotori, I presume?" Kambei whispered, and something in the woman shifted.

"Shimada Kambei," she said quietly without a hint of hesitation, as if she had known him all her life.

As they stared each other down, Yukino glanced from one face to the other, before catching the sight of Sichiroji and Katsushiro approaching. With a gesture of the hand a smile, Sichiroji summoned her back to his side.

"Do you two know each other?" He asked cheerfully as he laced his arm around Yukino's waist.

Kambei's eyes went briefly to his friend, then returned to rest on the woman's. Something new had appeared in her gaze. It was something daring, something that dared him to ask what he wanted to know. There was something about those green eyes that was unsettling; in a similar way that Kyuzo's red gaze had been intimidating.

He couldn't say anything, and eventually she spoke in his stead.

"No, we haven't met," she stated. She turned back around, meaning again to climb into the saddle, but this time Kambei stopped her. He couldn't let her just ride away, now, could he?

"You were a friend of Kyuzo's."

She struggled with a buckle before giving up, and he saw the tension ripple through her body, then cause her shoulders to drop an inch. "'Friend'? That's a strange term to use with anything related to Kyuzo."

She turned around, one hand pressed against the saddle. Her green eyes bore into him. "I wasn't a friend. What about you?"

He crossed his arms slowly, feeling the company's pressing gaze in his back. "I don't know," he replied. "You didn't make friends with Kyuzo. You accompanied him in whatever he did."

She looked away, and he saw her fingers tap gently on the horse's neck. He realized then how ridiculous his drive to finding her had been. How ridiculous it was to still feel so immensely curious. But he wanted to know something. He wanted to hear his name pronounced. Anything to prove his memory hadn't died. That he had existed as a different man in other places and among other people.

When she looked back at him, he knew she had given in as well. "We haven't met, but I know you. I know you're the one he went after. I know he joined you and your troupe, and that you fought for whatever cause it was that you believed in. I waited a long time, but eventually I understood he had died. He died with you, didn't he?"

The words came out bitter, but she suppressed any tremor on her lips. "He did." he replied, wondering if he should add that he was sorry.

A smirk appeared on her face. And then there it was, what he'd always wanted to hear. Bittersweet words.

"He would have killed you, if you'd fought."

"Yes," he answered quietly. Somewhere the music from the inn roared louder, bringing with it the echo of voices and fun, carefree times.

She took a step forward, and her hand went to her side. The katana unsheathed with a clear swishing noise, and Omine lifted her chin. "Fight me, then. Fight me the way you would have fought him."

For the first time, both Sichiroji and Katsushiro spoke, the blond with an urgent "Woahhh easy there folk" while Katsushiro stepped forward, crying out. "Sensei!" He eased his way between Kambei and Omine, glaring at the red-head. Kambei smiled, and placed a hand on the young warrior's shoulder.

"Katsushiro, would you mind lending me your sword this once?"

The boy's lips parted, and he glanced again at the woman, but the look on Kambei's face shushed his following protest. "Of… course…?" he answered as he handed him the sword.

"I prefer the inn's courtyards free of battles!" Sichiroji interrupted, frantically waving his hands in a gesture that failed to be appeasing.

"Come on, it will be enjoyable," Kambei said with a smirk, and Sichiroji shook his head fervently.

"Not if your corps ends up as floral decoration, no way"

"Consider it as a favour from you to me."

"Kambei, no w-"

But already he had walked away, Omine following his steps, and Sichiroji face-palmed. "I don't want to spend the night cleaning a mess!" he grumbled, and Yukino patted his shoulder. "At least I got her to stay for a while longer?"

But whatever they said next was lost to Kambei's ears, as he turned around, and there she was. Those green eyes stared at him blankly, a breeze buffeting a curly strand of air across her scarred cheek. She gripped the pommel of her katana more tightly, halting a few meters from him.

He could not, for the life of his, have ever guessed what strange thoughts raced behind that gaze of her. He smiled at her, feeling the weight of the sword in his hands. Two years had passed since he he'd held any kind of weapon, but the soft pommel felt familiar in his palm. The boy had taken good care of the weapon, and the blade gleamed in the warm lights of the inn.

To fight, like he had promised he would. Omine remained still, though, as Kambei looked over her shoulder to gaze at the trio standing away.

"Would you prefer giving up?" she murmured, and Kambei's gaze shifted back to her face.

"I am feeling rather rusty," he answered, carving a circle with a swift flash of the blade.

A ghost of a smirk on her lips. "I wouldn't mind sparing your life."

The tip of his sword fell to the ground, and he watched as it sunk into the soft soil. He hadn't spared in two years, and he knew nothing about his opponent. She could be a brilliant warrior, but she could be equally pathetic. And yet: someone who made swords couldn't possibly be clueless at how to use one. And finally, she had known Kyuzo. That couldn't necessarily be a good thing for him.

"You wouldn't be having fun much, if it was that easy to take me down," Kambei said, and the smirk emerged onto her face. She did not bother wasting another second, and soon her blade was clinging against his, and Kambei's feet began to move.

Her strikes were strong, furious, and fierce. Considerable strength ran through her blows, and it took Kambei by surprise as he felt the pommel of his katana dig in his skin and the force of the hits transfer from his blade and into his arms. He was forced to take a step backwards as he counter-attacked her two fluid strikes, but then he remembered.

And it didn't feel like two years no more.

Naturally, they fell in a dance, of arched swings and strikes, pushing each other in a circle. The red-head fought low, always on the tip of her toes as she delivered a combination of strikes, always managing to circle him, pushing him into invisible corners. She was swift and limber, and her unsettling eyes never left his. The blades between them seemed like a breeze of fresh air, and a narrow smirk pulled onto his lips.

A swift jerk of his wrist and he locked her blade and her hands, sending them aside.

Omine took a step back, her blade cutting an arch through the air. Her chest heaving with each pant, Kambei saw his own reflection in her eyes.

"He trained you," he breathed between two breaths, falling into a new stance. He couldn't deny the adrenaline flowing through his veins, and the joy emanating from it. Omine's brow twitched. "Not quite," she murmured, before charging again.

Yet, he recognized that frantic swiftness in her style. That way she had of never leaving him space to breathe or to regain his composure. She wasn't, though, as precise as the red-clad Samurai had been. Kyuzo's strikes had been sharp and deadly, while the woman used uncanny strength to fuel her blows. Her blows were wide and wild. But she had imagination.

Suddenly, she found an opportunity to get close to him, and her palm pressed squarely against his chest. He saw a flurry of red strands, framing a pair of green eyes. He was momentarily lost in that glare of hers as she looked up to meet his gaze. Lost in the words that flashed through her sight. And then she was swiping a leg under his feet, pushing him backwards. That was that.

He landed on his back, grimacing against the pain that slapped straight through his bones. He heard Katsushiro cry out, the cling of his sword as it landed behind him. Then he saw the gleam of her own sword flashing over his face.

The tip of the weapon sunk into the ground a few centimetres from his face. She was leaning over him, her face coated with a thin layer of sweat. Her red hair fell around his face like a curtain, cutting the world around him as it pooled around his head.

Inhaling slowly, he watched her watch him, lips set in a thin line, a pained emotion crossing her gaze for the first time since their encounter. The scars criss-crossing on her cheek looked even more real with the blood flowing under her skin, and when she spoke, he felt the prickles in his lungs dig deeper.

"He would have killed you, if he'd lived," she whispered, the corner of her lips twitching.

"Yes," Kambei answered slowly, and Omine closed her eyes, growing still.

He thought she would say something else, but after a few heartbeats she pulled away just as quickly, the red curtain parting to bring the good old world back.

She was slow to move away, her eyes lingering on his frame one last time before she turned around silently, passing a hurried Katsushiro.

Kambei remained a few seconds staring up at the starry sky before pulling himself into a sitting position, dropping his hands on his laps. Katsushiro had retrieved the sword and was kneeling beside, his expression one of concern and wonderment. He was quick to throw the retreated woman a murderous glare over his shoulder, though, before handing Kambei his sword. The older man pushed it away, getting to his feet. "It's yours, I told you."

Sichiroji and Yukino were soon by his side as well. "Well, I'm glad that didn't end with anyone's death. Still not too fond the way you have to enjoy your stay here, though."

Kambei offered Shichiroji an apologetic smile before looking past the blond, bearing his gaze into the redhead that had returned to the horse, now efficiently buckling it up. "She allowed me to live," he said, and with that he pushed past his friends.

"Why?" he asked as he crossed his arms, and Omine shrugged. "I'm not him. I don't need your death on my hands at all costs."

"And yet, you are driven by something of your own."

"Perhaps," she answered again, and Kambei smirked. He felt like he'd had a similar conversation once.

She was all ready to go, but before she could finally leap into the saddle, Kambei spoke again.

"Wouldn't you like to go to Kanna village?"

She glanced over her shoulder, her green eyes narrowed to slits. "That place?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

"His grave."

She looked at him again, her shoulder sagging an inch under what was clear exasperation, fatigue and a desire to leave as quickly as possible. But she still seemed to consider the option, her gaze averted towards a mysterious point. It felt like hours to Kambei before she finally turned fully to face him, the scars crisscrossing on her cheeks white against the flush under her skin.

"Is it me who wants closure, or is it you, Shimada Kambei?"