Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin.
He woke in cold sweat. His heart pounding in his ears, a sense of dread was settled over his chest. It took him a moment to recognize Hannya's desperate knocking on the door. It took him only a moment to gather his kodachi, and greet his second in command.
"They changed the date." Aoshi nodded, mentally cursing in his head. How had they missed that?
"We'll care out the plan tonight then." He already knew the moon was high in the sky. "Hopefully, we'll be in time to stop the ritual." They were already rushing through the Aoyia, and silently dashed through the night, across the town to the temple.
It had taken months of carefully laid traps, hidden by the bare shimmer of magic, across the temple. And preventing Misao from getting involved, he would not have her harmed. The moment that they magic was too weak to defend themselves, he would utter the word to trigger them.
"Do we still not know who it is?" Aoshi's words were barely a breath as they passed.
Hannya said nothing. Only running faster.
They would make it in time.
A building head scent of magic filled the air as they entered the temple. A magic that felt familiar to him. He stopped , stunned. It could not be. His feet were frozen to the ground; he could not look away as the blade fell. Blinding blue light filled the air.
He knew this spell.
His feet moved on their own, the light still blinding him. Stepping around the bodies of the dead high mages, his eyes adjusted.
It could not be.
Her hair was spread as dark wings behind her. The garments of gold and blue flattered her feminine figure. The crimson of blood stung against her paleness. He did not need to hear her voice to know its chime, nor for her to open her eyes for him to see their hue.
His heart clenched.
Misao.
How long had he denied her? The laughter that echoed in her step. He was too old for her, too haunted by his past. Yet despite his attempts, she still came to him. Every day, he caught himself wishing that she would linger a moment longer. On restless night, he would find himself pausing at her door. Listening to her slumber within, before shaking himself, and building a wall.
Yet here she was. Dead. Because he would try not to notice her. The blood was dripping from the altar, flooding to pool at his feet. Something within him snapped. He reached for her hand.
Only to hear the barest rasp of her breath. His eyes snapped opened. A plan was already in his mind. He would not let her die.
He gently pulled the blade from her chest. Only to use it to slice his hand, chanting the old magic as he placed his bloody palm over her wound. The connection formed, letting his magic flow into her in search of her sou. He was reward by the slimmest flicker of consciousness tugged at him. Ruthlessly, he bound her soul to his in ties of magic. The excess would heal her wound.
She would not leave him. Ever.
Gathering her healing form up, he glanced back to Hannya. Nodding in approval at the sight of the oil covering the place, he stepped away from the temple. Tossing his order over his shoulder.
"Torch it."
He did not look back.
I think it's complete now.
