Characters are not mine, I would appreciate comments though.
A sequel to Of paper cranes and promises.

Of Hatred and Running Streams

He paused as he heard a something that sounded like a gurgle in the man's mouth as he drove his own sword into his throat. He smiled as blood splattered on his face. He sheathed his bloodless sword and turned around to leave.

He heard it. It was like a whimper trying to be suppressed. He moved near the adjoining door. He slid the door open and it revealed a little boy of about five, his face was streaked with tears and he had his fist in his mouth. Biting down to suppress any sound he might make. He studied the boy for a moment and found it humorous when piss started to trickle down his hakama. He poised his sword , a quick flash of silver and the boy was lying on the floor. His thin white throat forever stained with a crescent shaped wound the color of roses.

He stepped out in to the cold winter evening and looked back. Something was bothering him. But he did not know what. Did he leave something inside? No. Did he forget something? No. What was it? What did he forget?

/Something about the boy./

He moved back into the house. Silently and slowly, he knew this was suicide. Once you've done what you came for you leave. Otherwise it could get risky. But the nagging sensation did not leave him. He had to see the body one last time.

The boy was definitely the son of the official. The fine clothes and uncallused hands told him of this truth. There wasn't enough time to get him away from the house so they just hid him. This was most probably what happened. This sudden turn of events was not bad, far from it. This way none would be left to avenge the murder he has just committed. Or, to be more precise, the suicide he forced them to commit.

What was troubling him? A boy without a father, he had seen to many of these, created too many of these to feel regret now. Not that this one would be alive to be one. What was it then?

/A promise?/ He furrowed his head trying to think. /A promise I made./

***
He heard it. A soft dull thud. Wood against wood. He was at it again. He smiled and sat up. He wouldn't get much sleep even if he tried, so what was the use.

Every night it was the same. She would come towards him. Her smile still etched in his subconscious, her long black hair billowing in the imaginary breeze and her blue eyes that could, would forever, penetrate into his soul, eyes that were never denied passage. She would see what he was, all his dreams, all his hopes, all his sins and all that could have been. And again she would smile as she falls in to his arm and become enveloped in them almost perfectly. As if she was made to fit into his embrace. She would look up into his eyes. Her eyes of deep, so very deep, blue and he would loose himself in it. And she would move closer to him, till he could smell her scent of sunlight and open fields. Her lips would move up opposite his, till he could almost feel their softness. Then always, always he would waken before they touched. Always. A love unconsummated.

He smiled what was the use? He got up and proceeded towards the training hall. He opened the door stepping inside before closing it behind him. He turned to face he who had awakened him with his unearthly hour for practice. He was stunned for a moment. He was always taken aback at how uncanny the resemblance his laughing eyes had to hers, how it was like looking into her own.

"Couldn't this have waited till the morning Nakiwara?" he smiled as the name rolled from his tongue, he had given him that name. /Each smile he has now was bought by each tear Misao had shed. She had wept enough for both of them, perhaps this child will not know what it means to cry./

"If I will ever get this right it will not be through sleeping all the time."

He nodded his consent as he watched his young pupil continue with his stances. He smiled, he was so like her. Even in his stubbornness. The boy had started his learning early; he had chosen his weapon even before he could wield it. Perhaps it was his blood calling him to take up the katana. Whatever it was ever since the three-year-old Nakiwara held the katana of his great grandfather he would not let it go. And now four years later he had almost mastered the basics to perfection. He had a natural skill that made teaching him easy and his in-born stubbornness was somewhat of a blessing. Soon he would be ready to take up a real sword.

"Sensei! Am I doing this right?" he asked bringing Aoshi from his thoughts.

"Your grip is too tight, loosen it a little." He ordered. Perhaps tomorrow he would let him practice with the katana; it was about time he got used to the weight and the balance that a real sword has.

"Enough! Get some rest you have done well." He said rubbing his eyes. The boy nodded and bowed before his master. He left him there to tidy up he knew Nakiwara would not disobey his orders. He entered his room and sat awhile thinking about the past, as was his wont. He had nothing but memories now, and for him that was enough, it was almost dawn when he decided to curl up and sleep, falling deeper into the embrace of that one dream.

***
It was almost dawn now and he stared at the blood drying on his sword. He should wipe it he knew, but it did not matter.

His mind shifted to seven years ago, of a woman's beautiful blue eyes staring into his own. Of a soft hand enclosed in his. Of a sweet voice echoing in his head. /A man who will not kill./ She whispered those words as if it were that easy to achieve. And as he looked into those ocean-blue eyes he almost believed it was.

Now he had betrayed her. All these years he had been an assassin never had he stained his sword with another's blood until now. He closed his eyes willing for the darkness to leave his soul. But it would never leave his black soul, it fed on his frozen heart and cruel smile. Never would it leave him.

Seven years since he made his own son fatherless. Seven years since he buried his wife beneath the soil. Seven years since he buried himself deep within his black soul.

***
The Aoiya bustled with the excitement the customers seemed to bring. Ever since the tragedy that took their Misao, none would think that laughter would return but when her son started to grow horns it seemed as if they got more than what they bargained for. His practical jokes kept everyone on guard. He was worse than Misao and Okina combined. And although it was not said, one could plainly see that his mischievous ways helped them cope with the loss of his mother.

He wove in and out of the kitchen and the sitting room, barely missing the two exasperated waitresses that kept throwing reproachful glances in his direction.

"Nakiwara! Watch where you are going!" Omasu frowned while trying to balance the plates on her tray. He stuck his tongue out at her and ran towards the door before she could react. She smiled. /Ahhh! Naki-chan never change./

He was picking the best salmon Kuro had asked him to get while balancing the tub of tofu he had on his head. Having completed his task he began to wobble his way toward the Aoiya.

He almost laughed out loud seeing the boy do his shaky dance. He took the tofu off his head seconds before the boy fell to the ground.

"Ah sensei! I can manage."

"I don't think so. Come on Kuro needs these." He smiled to the boy. As they walked home the child began to talk about trivial things and Aoshi tried to listen unabashedly showing his amusement at what he was saying. He was fond of the boy, ever since his father left him in his arms he had felt a certain affection. And a need to protect him, he had failed to protect his mother so now he would do everything not to fail him.

"Hey Aoshi-sama, do you remember when we used to float paper boats on the river?" he nodded the memory filling his head.

"Why did we stop doing that?" he asked.

/Why indeed?/ Aoshi looked at the boy. "I thought you grew tired of those?"

"Why would I get tired of beating you in boat racing? Besides swimming afterwards is always fun! We can still catch trout and I would still catch more than you!" he laughed, getting cocky.
Aoshi smiled, this was their little secret.

"But of course now I will have to keep my underwear on. I mean it's not right that you see me butt-naked before you." He stated his head burrowing in confusion.

Aoshi suppressed a laugh. /Child I have seen you naked more than you have,/ he thought. His mind raced to a time, years ago when he held an infant in his arms. His hand, so used to wielding a sword was even more adept at bathing a child. And bathe him he did for Nakiwara would not let anyone touch him during this sacred ritual, none but Aoshi. Never had he thought that those scarred hands of his would hold something so delicate. But he had once before.

"Perhaps Nakiwara, when time permits us." /It seems I have too little of that left./ He thought. /Already you are growing so fast before my eyes, just as she did. But I will not leave you Nakiwara, but I beg you do not leave me as she did. Do not leave me./

"Ok! I'll show you, I may never be better than you in sword fighting but I will beat you in boat racing, this I promise you Aoshi-sama!" he laughed.

They entered the kitchen and placing the items on the counter Nakiwara waited for instructions.

"Peel the potatoes." Shiro ordered over his shoulder. He looked at the sack of potatoes on the tabletop, unsure. "Come on Naki-chan, I've shown you how."

"Yeah but it's not like I got it! Besides that's woman's work!" He frowned. He sighed, sat himself down and began his job. Aoshi looked at the frowned look on the boy's face, stopping momentarily whenever he accidentally cuts himself.

"How do you suppose you will become a skilled swordsman if you can't even peel a potato," he muttered sitting down beside him. Kuro and Shiro jumped at the man's voice.

"Okashira! I did not notice you!" Shiro exclaimed. Aoshi waved his hand urging them to not take notice of him and continue with what they were doing.

"It's like wielding a sword, you have to be gentle and smooth in your movements." He demonstrated this to the boy and helped him with his chore.

Shiro and Kuro threw a knowing look towards each other. The boy had finished what his mother had started years ago, he had brought Aoshi out of his shell. A feat only Misao had once accomplished. And although he would never admit it the boy was dearer to him than as if he were his own child.

Aoshi looked at the child beside him. /This looks perfect. He looks perfect./ And as he saw the child suck at another wound, he felt a certain pride. The pride of a father. /Perhaps you would not know what it means to cry. I will not let you./

"Aoshi." Okina called him and by the look on his old face Aoshi knew it was serious.

"What is it?" but the old man did not answer he just led Aoshi to the training hall. He saw a man sitting alone on the floor a sword before him. His long hair fell to his waist and his tattered clothes bore the sign of a wanderer. A smile was across his handsome face.

***
He did not know why he came back to Kyoto. Everything reminded him of her. And knowing the child, his child, whom he had not set eyes on for almost seven years was somewhere inside made missing her unbearable. Being in the place where she once breathed sent unwanted memories into his head and he closed his eyes. /I was happy here once. She made me happy./

"It's been a long time Shinomori." He greeted him.

"Seta." He nodded.

"I have come to finish what I have started." He nodded in answer. "Of course you know this is the last hour of your life."

"I have long been prepared for this."

"As have I." And with that the younger man stood up and tied his hair back as Okina handed Aoshi his kodachis.
Soujiro drew his sword and took his stance and Aoshi braced himself for a fight he knew he was going to lose. His skill would not match Soujiro's and time was on the younger man's side.

Aoshi drew his twin swords, glimmering in their joy as he held them once more. /Never did I think I would hold you again. I promised myself I would never wield you again. But for now, just this one time, I must feel you in my hands to protect Nakiwara's happiness, and to make Soujiro see the truth he has long since ignored./

A whistling sound and Aoshi felt a searing pain in his right thigh. /Damn, I did not even see that coming!/ Soujiro took another stance, Aoshi looked at him with unbroken concentration, willing the pain to disappear. He saw Soujiro move to his side and barely made out his point of contact. /Shit!/ He cursed underneath his breath as he barely dodged his opponent's thrust, the blade grazing his forehead. Soujiro took another stance. This time Aoshi heard a very distinct sound that had told him their steels had kissed. He matched him, each move he countered, every attack was faced with another equaling its strength. Aoshi collected his thoughts and formed his next move in his mind. He would lead with his right and as Soujiro blocks his thrust he would turn and catch him on his blind side, giving him an opening. He took a breath and took his stance. He executed it perfectly and was rewarded by the feel of his steel devouring the soft flesh it has long abstained from.

He was out of breath, the move took more out of him than he had intended. The sheer speed he had to utilize was well beyond his capacity and it was pretty obvious that Soujiro did more in his seven-year absence than mere wandering. /The Seta I first met by Shishio's side was already very skilled, when we met once more, his technique was so varied it was hard to observe a pattern and now it seems as if his speed and ability have improved even more, if that is possible at Seta's level. He would surpass Himura now, Aoshi thought, even Battousai./

"Tell me again Seta. Why is this battle taking place?" he asked feeling the blood trickle down his forehead.

"You don't know?" he laughed. "Forgive me, I was not aware of your ignorance. It is a debt you have not yet pad."

"Forgive me but I do not recall taking anything from you."

"Oh but you did." A look of hatred passing across his face. "She was my only salvation Shinomori, and you took her away from me."

"You are blind Seta." Aoshi smiled.

"And why is that eh? Enlighten me." /He smiled,/ Soujiro thought. /All her life she tried to make him smile. And I never could understand this, for why did she forever chase his one smile when I have always smiled for her?/

"You use her memory as an excuse to free the hatred that is found in your soul. You tell yourself that you had been wronged and thus have the right to be angry and hurt. You mask the pain that eats you within with the blood you spill." Soujiro let out a cold unfeeling smile. "Misao loved you, yet you desecrate this love by using her name as a justification of the sins you commit. She was your salvation. But I did not take her away from you, you turned your back on her." Soujiro's eyes widened at what he said. The memory of the child he had killed crept into his mind. He had betrayed her. He had turned his back on her. /Damn you Shinomori,/ he spat out. The truth tasted bitter, but not as bitter as witnessing her die in his arms, not as bitter as losing the only one that completed him, not as bitter as seeing his one happiness being denied him.

"Heh perhaps, perhaps." He smiled even wider and took his stance.

***
He felt the pain sear up his finger as another cut was added to his collection. /Owwww! Stupid potatoes! I should be practicing with my katana. Stupid house chores.../ his thoughts were cut short when he heard the clashing of swords. /Alright! Aoshi-sama is in a fight! Perhaps now I'll be able to see him really fight!/ He had always resented the way Aoshi shielded him from everything. Everything! He dropped his knife and ran out the kitchen.

"Oi Naki-chan!" Shiro called after him. But the child was halfway to the training hall by then.

He slid the door just a crack and peeked inside, knowing full well that he was going to be scolded. He saw Aoshi first, his kodachis were in his hands and he was getting into a stance, his eyes were fixed on something across the room. He was breathing heavily but from his position, Nakiwara could not see the blood that had began to flow. He shifted his position to look at his opponent. He had never seen him before. He looked like he couldn't of had been older than Kuro. His long hair was tied at the top of his head and his clothes bore the signs of a wanderer. He held his sword effortlessly and a displaced smile played upon his lips.

And, for some reason Nakiwara felt afraid.

***
Aoshi closed his eyes. The sting in his thigh was only surpassed by the pain of the gaping wound in his abdomen. By the burning he felt on his back, he knew that Soujiro's nihontu had connected and the blood blurring his vision made his position dangerous. /What now Seta? Is this what you wanted? /

His left waist hurt with the wound he had received and the blood trickled from the cut on his cheek and slid into his mouth. He tasted the sweetness of his own blood and smiled. /What now Shinomori? Is this how you want to die?/

Soujiro took his stance.

Aoshi braced himself for the onslaught.

***
It was over, he knew it before it even began. Perhaps this is how it was truly supposed to end. In truth he had hoped to be killed by Soujiro, the death of Misao left a burden on his shoulders that not even the child could help him lighten. It was the burden of being alive. And of feeling the coldness of the night seep into your soul, of happiness never meant to be shared, of the loneliness eating you from within. It was his burden and if death would set him free then he welcomed it

Sweet death, dark and endlessly beautiful, and perhaps she would greet him with a lover's kiss. A kiss fully consummated.

And then he thought of the boy peeling potatoes in the other room. Did he not say he would not leave him? /Forgive me Nakiwara, I could not keep my promise. Let me loose myself in her embrace at last. Please. He sighed; I am weak, so weak./

"Yaahrg!" Soujiro let out a battle cry and charged at him, his pain blinding him and his hatred feeding his rage that escaped him in a desperate cry and a deluge of blood. But it still was not enough. Not enough for the pain to subside, not enough to fill the void. Nothing would ever be enough, he needed her, this was his one solitary truth.

Aoshi found himself fluttering to the floor, being embraced by its wooden hands and cradled in its hardness.

"Sensei!" Nakiwara came rushing towards the fallen Aoshi but Okina held him back. "Let me go! Aoshi-sama" His eyes widened at the presence of the boy, his son. He broke free of the elder man's grip and ran to his master's body, burying his face in his chest and washing his wounds with his tears.

"Please sensei get up." He whispered. "Please Aoshi-sama, what of the boat races we were to have? What of the boat races you promised?" he cried pounding on the still chest. He took up one of Aoshi's swords and took a stance before the stranger.

"I must avenge my master's honor! Even if I die." He said boldly, his eyes filling with tears. Soujiro looked at the sword in the boy's trembling hands. /Must we be forever separated by a sword?/

"Tell me boy what is your name?" he asked coming closer to the child.

"S...Seta Nakiwara." He stuttered.

"Tell me who is your father?"

"Seta Soujiro."

"What do you know of him?"

"What has this got to do with it? We must fight!" he asked shifting the unfamiliar sword in his hands.

"Do not be in such a hurry to die! Answer my question." He ordered calmly.

"Only that he was a great warrior and that he died with honor protecting my mother that he loved dearly." He stated proudly.

"And what of your mother?"

"That she was well loved and that she was Oniwabanshuu."

"Did you know that your mother had beautiful eyes like the ocean at midnight? Much like yours." The confusion on the boy's face made Soujiro laugh. "Why did you feed him such lies Shinomori?" he asked looking at the man who's weak but steady breath he had heard again seconds ago.

"I did not tell him lies." He muttered quietly.

"Sensei!" Nakiwara ran to his side a smile of relief verging on his lips.

"So you shield him from the harsh truth. A weakling child is of no use."

"I told him the truth, of a man who loved a woman so much he died for her. You killed that man, you said so yourself."

"So I have."

"I wanted him to hear the truth from you, you owe him that much." He looked at Aoshi as he painfully opened his eyes. "Know your son Soujiro, you owe Misao that much." The boy looked up at him.

"Sensei..." the boy's eyes were pleading for an answer from his master's expressionless face.

"For Misao..." and he closed his eyes for the last time.

"Sensei!"

"Hush child this is how he wanted it to be." Okina said bowing his head.

/That was the first time he had ever called me by my first name./ Soujiro thought humor welling up inside him.

The boy looked at the floor, tears threatening to fall once more. He was confused. /Was this the man that killed my father? Sensei said so himself. Was he the one that took my parents from me? Was he the one? And now he has taken Aoshi-sama as well. What have I done to receive such punishment? What have I done to this man for him to hate me so? This man has taken my fathers from me, everything I ever had he has taken from me. Everything./ And he felt his smile forever leave his lips.

Soujiro looked at Aoshi's body and a slow movement caught this eye. She moved towards Aoshi, her hair like a procession trailing behind. She knelt beside him now, caressing his face and kissing the top of his forehead. Aoshi stood up holding her hand in his and drawing her deep inside his embrace. She turned around and looked at Soujiro and extended her hand to him her face revealing a smile.

/Ahhh!/ He let out a slow labored sigh. For one moment he let all his longing float to the surface. For one moment he made the world cease existing. For one moment he forgot who he was and let the man, he tried so desperately to kill escape from his prison deep inside of him. For one moment he let himself revel in the happiness he felt and he let one solitary smile escape his lips. A real smile. For one moment, only a moment.

She was as he remembered her. Her eyes still as blue as the first time he saw them. Her smile still as beautiful as he had engraved in his heart. Her smell still fills his nostrils with memories long since forgotten. He wanted to take her hand, to hold her in his arms like he wanted to that night seven-years ago. His desire left him weak and he cursed himself for it. And deep down inside, before he could stop it, it broke through his wall, voicing the torment he had to endure. /Please, please don't leave me again./

And then he closed his eyes, his moment ending.

He looked at the boy then, turned and walked away.

***
Shinomori Aoshi. That was all it said. He bowed his head and offered up a prayer to the deafened wind. His tears had long since refused to fall.

Okina glanced sadly at the boy. /He has changed, Soujiro forced him to change. Ever since that night, he has aged. His eyes have grown old. A boy forced to be a man. Sorry angel, I could not protect your son from himself. I could not protect him from the blood that flows in his veins and the curse that has found itself in his bosom./ He looked painfully at the child once more. /Nothing I can say can console him. He feels he has lost everything./

The boy looked at the stone that bore the last remnant of the man he loved more than anything in his life, just as his mother did. And as he got up off his knees, /I vow to the heavens above and the to the sun that bears silent witness to my grief, I will avenge you sensei, his blood shall water the earth that cradles you now./

***
Okina felt it, he looked at the solitary tree that was enthroned upon the hill overlooking the grave, a faint glimmer of blue caught his eye. The stern look on the boy's face implied that he had not noticed the lone figure that offered his own prayers to the gods he had long since stopped believing in.

***
Nakiwara ran towards the kitchen, busy with the evening's preparations, the others took no notice of him. Okina drew the boy to one side.

"There is someone waiting for you outside." He nodded and walked towards the kitchen. Sliding the door ajar to pass through. Outside leaning on the wall was the man who murdered his sensei. He could feel the hatred burning inside of him and he wanted to feel the cold steel of his master's sword against his palm once more.

Soujiro noticed the boy's clenched fists and smiled. "Walk with me boy." And with that he began to walk towards the street. He stopped and looked behind him, the boy not moving from his position, fists clenched to the point of drawing blood. The boy looked up at him and began to walk toward his direction.

/I will suffer this now, and I will find the strength I need to kill this man, this I swear./

They had walked around Kyoto for quite some time, in silence, neither cared to speak. They neared the Aoiya and it was quite evident that he was bringing back the boy. The faint din emanating from the brightly-lit restaurant only made the sadness that enveloped them both even more evident.

/What the hell is wrong with him? He just took me out for a stroll?/

"Answer me this boy, what has made you happy?" he asked his face serious.
Nakiwara thought for a moment, thinking if he should answer him truthfully.

"Happy?" he stopped, thinking how absurd his question seemed to be. But the looked into his eyes with a hatred not mirrored in them. /This is my enemy. Why should I even answer his question?/ He looked away in defeat. He would suffer this now. "My parents left me even before I could recognize their faces, but it did not matter. I had Aoshi-sama. My parents loved each other very much and died to fight for my happiness. Knowing this provides me the will to go on living and the pride to carry on my father's name and my mother's memory." Soujiro nodded and left the boy at the Aoiya's entrance.

Nakiwara entered the crowded Aoiya and went directly to the room he shared with Kuro and Shiro, finding himself tired. Okina threw a knowing glance at the boy and patted his head in consolation.

/The pride to carry on his father's name, ha! A name I did not even bequeath. You named him well Shinomori and I thank you for this./ He stopped.

/He has his mother's eyes. Oh god Misao he is so beautiful! He has so much of you inside of him. Will I ever be free from your blue eyes?/ He asked looking deep into the raven sky, watching the fireflies in their elfin dance. And he sighed; he didn't want to be free from those eyes.

Every day for a year he came, fetching him from the Aoiya, wandering around the retiring Kyoto, basking in the saffron legacy the dying sun graced them with, asking him a different question, before leaving him alone, in the darkness.

One night as they went about their nightly ritual, Nakiwara had long grown accustomed to his strange companion. He would pass the day feverishly practicing what Aoshi had taught him, and when the sunset announced his presence, he would step out into the world with the man he had already begun to hate. And as he walked amid the great city, he nursed this hatred that filled his dreams with nightmares and his heart with an emptiness that seemed to invade the little happiness he had.

He wondered why this monster had not asked another of his irrelevant questions as they stopped at the Aoiya.

"I have one last question child...a request actually." He looked at him after a long silence. "I will wait for you on the bridge bordering Kyoto in the south tomorrow morning. I am asking you to come with me." His mouth dropped open in disbelief. "I am offering you this one chance to kill me." And with that he left.

He spent half the night sitting up in his room. Trying to decide what to do. The soft melody the crickets spun on their legs seemed to make his decision even harder. He was so confused. Only eight years old and he was forced to make such a choice. He knew this would determine the life he must lead. Nothing is sadder than a child forced to abandon his laughter and become the man they needed him to be.

To abandon the only home and family that loved him and leave with the man he so despised. He looked at Aoshi's kodachis that he had placed in his drawers. He stood up knowing what he had to do.

Okina looked at the shadowy figure he saw melting into the bleakness of the night. /It has begun. The circle of hatred that will consume him. Angel save him from this, save them both from this./ He pleaded to the silent stars.

The dawn came slowly, tormenting his already pained soul. He had been standing on the bridge, listening to the secrets the passing river whispered since the previous night. His numb hands never loosening the grip it had on his great grandfather's valiant sword.

If the night was cold he did not feel it, for all he could feel was the furious beating of his heart as the sun began to announce his presence.

He stood beside him. He almost jumped at his sudden presence. Soujiro looked down at the boy, he had hoped that the child would come to his senses and just stay with the Oniwabanshuu. He was almost certain that this would destroy his son. But he could do nothing, just as this boy could not prevent himself from falling further into the bottomless pit of despair he found himself teetering at the edge of. He was his son and his heritage was a curse.

***
The thin paper walls could not conceal the muffled cries and yearning for a mother the boy never knew. It was sad to see him grow up never seeing her smile. Never hearing her voice. Never feeling her touch. How could you console a child who lost his mother? How could you sing the lullaby meant only for him? A face unrecognized. A love unknown.

He could not get used to his closeness. For seven years he had lived alone. Coming into human contact only when his employers required his services and when he actually gave it. And now the constant presence unnerved him.

When he left him in Aoshi's arms he thought that would be the end of it. That he would never set eyes on he that was the temple of their union. He was all he had of her now, and this made him resent the boy even more. Not because he was the reason she left him, but rather because he longed to hold him in his arms and kiss his forehead and tell him how much he loved his mother and how much he was willing to love him now. But he shook his head he had surrendered his right to claim the boy for his own the moment he turned his back on the him that day on his mother's grave. And he had surrendered the right to love him when he had betrayed his mother and broken his promise by killing that child.

/I did not complete my ten-year journey. I did not find who I truly was. She made me leave my searching; she made me forget what I had needed to find. Perhaps if she didn't come into my life and if I had become that man, perhaps I could love you, perhaps I would not have betrayed her, perhaps I would not be this monster./

He could hear the breathing of the child in the other room. His dream had stopped. Perhaps in it he had found the mother he calls out for. He envied the boy, not even in his dreams had he caught a glimmer of her smile. He was even denied the pleasure of seeing her in his mind. Of reliving the memories he still had. He closed his eyes, pleading for the longing to vacate the throne it had in his heart.

***
Five years had passed.

He was chopping firewood. A chore he did everyday when his sensei was away. He winced at this, he would not allow himself to call him that. 'He' would be sufficient. He had left him alone once again. Sometimes it would be days other times weeks. It was never certain how long he would be gone. Sometimes he would starve because his benefactor would not return promptly.

But he had learned to survive. And he was grateful for this if for nothing else.

He looked up at the sky. /Has it been five years? Have I been here that long? When will this hell end? When will I be able to avenge those that have meant so much to me? /He knew this man had killed his father and sensei and that he was a monster with no heart. But sometimes when he was not on his guard, he would catch glimpses of a man who used to laugh and who once knew what it was to love.

A sudden rustle of dry leaves and his hand automatically sent one of the logs flying in that direction. A mist of wood shavings rose up as the intruder reacted to the warm welcome Nakiwara gave him.

"Too slow." Was all he said as he sheathed his sword.

He was tired and he his body ached from the long journey. He was glad he was home. He told the boy to take his sword and go into the woods. He told him to be on his guard at all times because if he gave him the chance, he would kill him without hesitation. A fact the boy knew well.

***
He contemplated his son. The boy was unusually skilled and he absorbs all Soujiro teaches him as if nothing would quell the thirst he had inside. Soujiro smiled at this. He knew what that burning felt like.

Almost three hours had passed before Soujiro decided to go after his pseudo pupil. He found him quite easily, the impatient child had begun to cook his kill. Soujiro shook his head. /Stupid./

His ears shot up. A burning pain hit him squarely on the shoulders./ Shit! Where is my sword!/ He almost yelled out loud. /Don't panic Nakiwara or you are done for./ He grasped his katana getting into a stance as he faced his opponent.

His shoulder was already bleeding and his arms were still sore from shopping the wood all afternoon. He looked into the older man's eyes and saw something fierce flicker in them. He swallowed hard. /Shit! /

Soujiro left him lying on the earth. His body quickly losing blood from the eighteen slashes he had received from his sensei's sword.

/No tears? Good./ He smiled to himself. The boy got a hit in. He noticed touching the blood found on his neck. /Only one but almost fatal./

He went to the river to start washing his wound. He looked at himself at the river's immaculate surface that turned a cloudy crimson when he dipped his bloodied hand in it. He began to scoop up water to wash away the blood seeping from his wounded neck. He cringed at the sudden coldness of the water that masked the sting that indicated that the boy was adept at using his sword.

He looked at his reflection as he began to tie his disheveled hair. But his hands stopped in the middle of his second knot as something caught his eye. On his neck, barely visible, was a remnant of a scar he had acquired almost fifteen years ago.

He touched his fingers to the little brown circles found on his neck. His eyes clouded by the distant memory of long ago. Of an autumn evening, of a warm fire and cold blue eyes, of a spirited girl, a hitokiri and the howling of wolves.

When he was finally released from his reverie and he had returned, there was no sign of the boy.
Nakiwara staggered towards the little hut, his vision blurry. His body screamed in agony but his mind had turned deaf to their pleas, all he heard was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the hatred that it seemed to whisper to the world.

Soujiro knew without even checking that the boy was in his room asleep. His wounds already attended to. He did not know how long he sat by the river staring at the scar found on his neck. His memories leaving him paralyzed. He stepped into his room, not bothering to change out of his dirty kimono. He collapsed on the wooden floor, his head spinning. Then something familiar suddenly crept into his heart, slowly like the dawn banishing the beautiful night. Something he had not felt for such a long time. It left him weak and vulnerable. Eating at his strength and leaving him...empty. It was a feeling that was very familiar. It was despair.

He dreamt of a field of flowers. The warm spring sun illuminated an ocean of colors before him. And he heard it. A laugh.

He looked up at blue eyes filled with understanding. /Am I dreaming?/ He asked himself as he found his head resting on his wife's lap. /Then please don't let this end./ He whispered softly as he fell asleep to the gentle brushing of his wife's hand on his hair. Comforting him, taking away his pain, healing his wounds with her love.

/Across whatever time and distance it is beloved I send you my love./

***
Three years had passed.
He took his stance as he faced his only pupil. Today was the day that decided the boy's fate. He smiled at this. /Barely sixteen almost a man./ He thought. The boy had learned everything he had to teach. And he learned them well.

"This is the moment you have been waiting for. The last eight years of your life falls on this." He smiled.

"For my master's honor and my parent's memories, the skies will rain with your blood." He stated his eyes firm.

For a moment he reconsidered facing him. Not because he was afraid of him because he was debating on whether he still wanted to kill him. But the memory of that night when he had struck down Aoshi and the memory of his mother crying out for a husband that had been killed by this...monster always brought the hatred he kept within burning to the surface. Filling him with a fire that would only be sated when this man's blood would flow like a river. And what of that man he had once caught a glimpse of? A man that would testify that the one in front of him was more than the monster he believed him to be. What then of that man?

/A monster then? Is that what you have become? Did I make you that? Some father I am./ He scoffed. /This is not how it was supposed to end. You should have been a farmer, a blacksmith, a scholar anything but what you are now./

He braced himself for the boy's attack. It all came to this. Nothing else mattered but this moment. Misao, save him. Was all he said before his sword glinted a beautiful silver.

***
He plunged his sword deep into the other man's chest. /I did it. I really did it./

/He did it. He really did it. I did not falter. I did not make a wrong move. He really did it./ And Soujiro closed his eyes. There was no pain there was no guilt. It was simply done.

Nakiwara's rejoicing was suddenly interrupted when to his surprise this demon that had filled his whole world with hatred held the back of his head and pressed his lips close to his ear. In a voice almost pleading.

"Perhaps you will forgive me." And he collapsed, and for the first time in his life Seta Soujiro was complete and then his eternal smile went limp. He lied. He did find who he truly was. He was the man who lived to see his wife smile. He was the man who held her in his arms and rested his hand on his still unborn child. This was who he was and now he knew.

Nakiwara looked down at him, puzzled at his last request. He saw Soujiro's own blood surrounding him, blood he had spilled. And as he flicked his sword free of Soujiro's red stain, one thought continually ached at his mind, culminating the chaos that filled his heart, where had his hatred gone?

It had happened the hatred had come full circle. It started with his father, drowning in his self-told lies. And it had ended with him. His promise fulfilled, his hatred abated. Had it? Was it even there?

He rose from his knees, his prayers still hung heavily in the air. There was nothing written on his grave. He did not even know his name.

~end~

Author's notes:
The title (here I am with my titles) means of the hatred that was very evidently stated and running streams is Nakiwara's life and how this hatred made him alter it's course. Not to mention that the two very significant moments in the fic occurred beside a running body of water. Anyway 1 last to go, please continue reading, it is very short.
Guessing who said the across whatever... thing? Guess no more! It was Misao saying that to Soujiro. Now comes the bigger question... whom did Misao truly love? Ok I leave that to you to find out.
So what happens to poor Nakiwara? Does he become the hitokiri his father was? Will he return to the Oniwabanshuu and become the okashira? Will he ever know the truth? And which truth would it be?
I've killed most of the original characters so what's the point of a last part right? I just don't like leavings things unfinished.
Wait for the conclusion. ;P