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"The Guiding Light"
Chapter 2: Seiryuu Prelude
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He awoke early, as always.

There was comfort in routine, comfort in knowing that he was in control of his life and his destiny, even if it began with something as mundane as waking up in the morning. Routine: the savior of the stupid and the damned.

Routine drove him from the warmth of his bed, guided him to the wash basin on the bureau that was just beginning to grow warm and golden with sunlight. For a moment, he stood there before the bowl, shirtless and shivering and bleary-eyed, and stared down at his reflection in the water. As a rule, he tried to avoid mirrors, tried to avoid being distracted by views of his own image, but now he stared down at himself in an almost helpless kind of fascination. Breath trickled from his lips, sent the image wavering lightly from side to side, but he barely noticed.

Tangles of hair, rich and yellow as the sun, swept down over his bare shoulders, whispered against flesh that had been irrevocably scarred, and yet bore no mark. The skin itself was smooth and deceptively-soft, drawn together into a long, triangular jaw, then into a slim neck that spoke of elegance and refinement, but bore, also, the muscle and sheer strength of a warrior. And, then, there were the eyes. Gods. He remembered, all too clearly, a time when those eyes had been as blue and bright as the autumn sky. Thy'd been filled with such innocence, then; wide and bright and unendurably naive. Now, though, they were cold and pale and empty--the blue had darkened into night, and there would be no dawn.

Had he truly changed so much?

He came back to himself with those words, remembered that there were things he needed to deal with today, things that needed to be settled and mended; strange alliances that needed to be forged. With Yui-sama missing, there would be no chance of calling Seiryuu, no chance of winning this silent war against Konan, Hokkan, Sailo. Until she was found, he would always be the weak little boy who wept for the loss of his mother, would always be helpless and wide-eyed and afraid.

Drawing in a deep breath of stale air, Nakago swept the blond tangles over his shoulders, closed his eyes, and plunged his face into the water. The reflection shattered beneath him, and the soft child's voice within his mind was finally silent.

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"Nakago-sama." A light knock on his chamber door; a soft, mewing voice trickling through the wood.

Dabbing the last remnants of moisture from his cheeks with a towel, the shogun strode across the sparsely-decorated room, stretched a hand to the door. The knob twisted in his fingers, then, and he tugged it towards him.

"Hai," he said tonelessly.

Tomo bowed his head slightly, sending a wash of feathers fluttering down over his shoulders. The headress shifted backwards as he rose, then, and the blond shogun couldn't help but notice that the younger man's face, usually immaculately-painted with blends of primary colors, was startlingly-bare.

"Nakago-sama," Tomo repeated formally. His eyes were slits, strangely dark in the absence of their usual black background. "The messenger arrived a few minutes ago from the border. Emperor Seishuku Saihitei, the Suzaku shichiseishi Hotohori, has sent word that they await our presence at the imperial palace of Konan." He broke from formal speech, then, and gazed out at the taller man with dark, shrewd eyes. "How can we be certain that this isn't some kind of ruse to lure us into their grasp? If they are the ones who took the Seiryuu no Miko--"

"Then, they have no need of us," Nakago said in a low voice. "Besides." His lips bent into a thin smile. "I think you overestimate them. I doubt they would be cunning enough to think of a ruse of this magnitude, much less carry it out. Have the horses been readied?"

Tomo bowed his head. "Hai."

"Good. Send word to the others."

The man hesitated, slender, nailed fingers tangling together in front of him.

Nakago frowned, said nothing, and waited. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, his patience was rewarded.

"Nakago-sama," Tomo said, eyes cast at the ground, "I caught a glimpse of his chi, early this morning during my meditations."

The blond shogun drew in a startled breath, eyes widening only just noticeably...and, then, he exhaled, nodded slightly. "Just as well," he said. "Where is he?"

"I'm not certain. But...if you wish, Nakago-sama, I can find out."

"Very well. Do so."

His words were calm, as smooth and emotionless as ever, but inside, something bright and unfamiliar had taken hold of his heart. Was it...hope? So. Amiboshi, despite his brother's instincts and his own attempts at locating him, was alive. Which meant, of course--the breath seemed to catch in his lungs--that, once Yui-sama was returned to them, they could summon Seiryuu, defeat the other countries...make him into a god.

He closed his eyes, fully aware of Tomo's gaze but choosing to ignore it, and let himself relish in the possibilities for a moment. At last. Revenge. Revenge, on the sky that had betrayed him... The words were sweet on his tongue, warm as a soothing hand in his mind. Revenge. And, sweet, sweet justice.

When he opened his eyes several moments later, Tomo had gone. Just as well, he supposed.

The taste of victory still warm as blood on his lips, Nakago took a long step back into his room, closed the door, and moved to the bureau. He saw, as he bent towards the drawers, that he was smiling.

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AN: Yes, yes, I know. I've professed, on more than one occasion, to feeling less than fondly towards this fic. But, eh, I was pecking through my fics today, and it looked so lonely here with its measly two chapters... Anyway, I'm going to give it another try. And, if it fails, well, at least I tried, ne? And, if it doesn't...well, more power to me. -_-;;; Hm. I think I need caffeine. Yes. Definitely. *flits off*