Chapter 3: Ayuru

Nakago walked away from them, not caring about the angry glares that bored into the back of his head. He did not really have any idea where he was, but he guessed that he was somewhere east of Sairo.

After several hours, he came to another clearing. It was already getting dark and he decided to stop for the night. It would also give him time to decide what to do next.

He built a small fire, using some of the dry twigs he found on the ground and the pieces of flint he'd picked up a little way back. The wood crackled as it caught fire and he stared absently into the flames, thinking.

He had actually accomplished what he had originally set out to do…that vow he had made, all those years ago: He had taken revenge on the emperor who had caused his misery. What else did he have left to do, except wait for death?

And then, there was Tenkou. He had not heard that particular name for a very long time. It brought back memories that he would rather forget. The Hin had worshipped Tenkou, and the deity had allowed them to die. Betrayed by not one god, but by two… Seiryuu and Tenkou. They could both destroy this world and everything in it, as well as the next world, for all he cared. He was tired. Tired of being bitter, of being angry…tired of everything.

"Is that what 'Kaasan would have wanted?" a voice asked, out of the darkness.

The next instant, Nakago was on his feet, with the sword drawn. He pointed it into the darkness, in the direction where the voice had come from.

"Who are you? Show yourself."

"You know me, Nakago," a boy, no more than eleven years old, stepped into the circle of light cast by the fire, "You've known me for a very long time." The flickering light reflected off the boy's golden hair and sky blue eyes.

Nakago stared at the boy…and slowly lowered his sword. The boy smiled. "I knew you would remember."

"How…why are you here?" He wondered if he had gone stark, raving mad. That would mean that he was currently talking to a hallucination, where in fact there was no one there at all. If that was the case, perhaps he could find an imaginary cliff to throw himself off of…

"You have to help the Suzaku no Miko. They can't do this without you." the apparition answered.

Nakago said nothing for a long moment, he did not have to.

"What happened to all those dreams? Those dreams of being the hero, of saving the day and doing great things so people can be happy?" the boy asked, almost desperately. "You used to have them…"

"Things changed…those dreams died when 'kaasan did," he said emotionlessly. He had learnt to lock away his feelings years ago. Perhaps he had succeeded in doing so a little too well, because there was no pain accompanying the statement…no sense of loss. Just…nothing.

The boy looked at him sadly, large eyes as blue as the summer sky, "No…They didn't die…You just chose to play a different part. You chose to be the bad guy."

"I did what I had to do to survive, to take revenge."

"Revenge?" The boy said the word as if it was foreign to him, "What about the Suzaku no Miko and her seishi? You knew what you were doing to them was wrong! You knew! Every step of the way!" he accused.

"I had no choice. It was my duty as a Seiryuu shichi seishi to stop them." Nakago asserted flatly, although he did not refute the accusation. He had known, at the time…he'd just chosen to ignore what was left of his battered conscience.

"There is always a choice!" the boy glared at him angrily, "You could have been friends."

Nakago laughed, a harsh and bitter sound, "Friends? I don't need friends. I don't need –"

"–anyone?" the boy finished for him. "So much hate…" he whispered, tears glittering in his blue eyes, "When did I become you? Tell me! When? If growing up means turning into you, then…then I don't ever want to grow up!" The tears trickled down his face, "I don't want to be you…"

His older counterpart closed his eyes, as if in pain. I'm…sorry.

They stood there, facing each other across the clearing, separated by the distance of time and space. An innocent little boy, and the cold, hard and cynical man he would became.

One cried, tears of sorrow for innocence lost. He cried for both of them.

The other stood in silence, unable to do the same because he'd forgotten how…

The boy wiped at his tears. Neither of them had moved for a long time.

"It isn't too late," he said softly. He took a step closer, even as he began to fade away.

"Not too late?" his older self repeated, not quite sure what the boy meant.

The boy smiled guilelessly. It was a smile of someone untainted by hate or pain or thoughts of revenge. It was heartbreaking in its simplicity.

A smile of a child…

"To fulfill a dream…to really make a difference."