The Dawnspire broke through the mist in front of them, once a distant marker of the very edge of the realm; it became defunct at the dawn of infinity. All of this was only a part of the Will, driving blindly ever forward, both good and evil, organized chaos in the endless depths and heights and distances of this infinity confined only by the perceptions of the collective minds that made up the Consciousness.

The Dawnspire was infinitely tall, yet somehow smaller and contained in the gray vastness in which it existed. It glowed a warm red and gave warmth to the bodies of the arriving dead, who had known nothing but heart-stilling cold since their passage from the world of mortality.

To Kenshin, he understood he had left the world of mortality for the world of immortality. He would not pass on to faceless enlightenment, but would continue his penance for eternity, by his own choice. He would serve those he had slain.

Hikari half listened to his thoughts. Her energy was gone, and she looked positively dry and listless. The journey had not only been long, but the effort she had expended to ensure that he would die in the arms of his wife had drained her. She longed for the rest that could restore her, but she had promised him. Even when he had asked her to go and rest, she had refused until she no longer had the strength to make it on her own. Her breath was slow and jagged, and tore at his heart to hear it. She couldn't die, he knew that. But she could be put into such a deep sleep that she slept through enough lifetimes to seem as dead.

Hikari hated the penitent man. Guilt was not something she had ever really understood, not being a creature that did things to generate it. Regret, she had decided, was different from guilt. The guilty should be punished. The regretful do not get such release, only passing under the willow boughs of their own judgment. The guilty do things they should not do. The regretful do things they wish they had not. May be not.

But penitence was a foe of hers. It contested her territory, turned the feelings of regret and guilt into a harsh judge that swallowed her right to punish or reward. Man thinks to judge himself, and cannot separate Justice from Revenge. Man seeks restoration of the status quo even as it's very passing brings change. Certainly a man who steals can pay back what is stolen. But does that return things back to the way they were? Does a woman who is raped ever remember the life she had before, or does she pull her clothes tightly around her and stare at men in fear for what they are thinking? Even if her family is compensated for the loss? What does that restore? The man who commits adultery can renounce the breaking of his vows to his wife, beg her forgiveness, compensate her for the loss. But will she ever trust him again? No. Because it has changed. Change is the great inevitable truth that man cannot and will not see.

Man believes it is his right to have what he has always had, and to acquire more. Man does not think of loss as part of his rights, and therefore any loss is an affront to Justice. Be it property or person, man has the right to acquire, but is affronted by the inevitable change of loss.

The severity of his self inflicted punishment weighed down on Kenshin even as the actual memories of the events that had led him to this state were sloughing away. He had born his guilt for so long it had become a part of him, and would become a part of his eternal self. She almost shook her head in distaste.

The pair crossed the threshold into the tower, the warm rosy light suffused everything, causing Kenshin to blink away tears at the stripping of the coldness of death from him.

And older man who sat lazily on a dais not really paying attention to much of anything suddenly hopped down to floor level and ran over to Hikari, "Cairys!"

Hikari grinned at him, "Hi Pete," She leaned against a wall for support, and in the light, it was obvious just how beaten down she was. Her presence alone seemed to radiate the power of a higher purpose. She usually stood tall and straight, and everything was always neatly in place and clean. Here, she looked like a traveler who had seen neither food nor rest for months. She looked almost emaciated with her cheeks sunken in and dark hollows forming around her eyes.

Kenshin almost felt guilty, but then concerned. He offered his shoulder to her, and she complied, draping an arm over each of them as the old man led them to the dais. He settled them both down on soft pillows and rushed off to find something to feed them. He came back with a steaming cup of what smelled like chicken broth and handed it to her, "You're an idiot, you know that?" he said to her.

She took the cup and Kenshin felt her gratitude toward the old man, "Yes, Peter. I know," infinite patience rang in the voice that despite her appearance sounded as clear as a crack of lightning.

"Why?"

"I didn't want to go home just yet," she answered, "Have to take care of my charge, you know," she tipped her head at Kenshin.

Peter scrutinized him, "I remember."

Hikari leaned against Kenshin and offered him the cup of broth. It wasn't just chicken broth, it smelled divine, saffron and garlic and wine were mixed in. The smell was warm and inviting. He took the cup from her, "It smells wonderful."

Hikari grinned, the few moments of rest already showing their benefit, "I told you. We only eat things that taste good."

Peter smiled a little and shook his head, "Firrin's been worried sick over you. He's been stomping around here figuring you would show up. I guess he was right."

Hikari sat up, resting her hand on Kenshin's knee. She looked better, just tired, "Where I am concerned, Firrin usually stomps."

"I suppose that wouldn't be the case if you weren't such a troublemaker," the voice changed and came from above and behind Peter where Firrin now stood, his arms crossed, shining in his golden skin, hair, and gaze. He looked down at his daughter/lover in disapproval, a bitterness tinged his voice.

Peter stood up and moved out of the way, shaking his head at Hikari. Kenshin could hear his thoughts clearly. He didn't want to be involved in this.

Hikari's jaw set suddenly and the chill in her voice countered her father/lover's perfectly, "I suppose I wouldn't be such a troublemaker if I had not been made with the free will it takes to do my job. Perhaps Truth would like a little more control over me?"

Hikari got to her feet even as Firrin straightened. Kenshin rose with her, feeling protective of Hikari, despite the fact that she was stronger than he was. He wasn't a Kami yet, but his sword had come with him.

Firrin looked at the cause of the discord between himself and his child-love. "You I think I have had quite enough of." He felt the hatred that had aged over time toward him. Firrin blamed him for the rift that had grown between himself and Hikari. Firrin loved Hikari and had never felt so betrayed as when he knew that she would have killed both father and brother to protect this mortal.

Firrin looked back at Hikari, "Come on home now. Let him cross the bridge and let's be done with all of this. Let us pass some time in each other's arms and try to heal the wounds."

Hikari shook her head, "Firrin. I love you. I always will. But you had to expect me to grow up sometime. I'm not coming home right now. I'm going to see the Ancestors. When I do come home, you will not treat this man with the contempt you have been. No matter what his decision is, I will brook no more of this. I can't. I didn't choose him over you. I chose his right to live his life over a wound I knew would heal in just moments. You had given your consent, you said I would have an opportunity. I took the one presented. Maybe it's not what you wanted, but it is what was right and just to do. We must pay for our wrongs, just as men should. Stealing anyone's mortality is a sin of all of us, and we are all responsible."

Firrin's lips thinned and tightened as she spoke, "You punish the many to find salvation for the one."

"No," Hikari said, "The sin of one of us is the sin of us all. The guilt of a crime committed by one of us belongs to all of us. We should have protected him better. We should have made sure that Farral couldn't take a still-living soul from its body. We should have maintained the balance of our family line. We failed Firrin. And our failure ruined this man. I have lived to correct the mistakes, Firrin. What have you lived for?"

Firrin knew that arguing with Justice was just a bad idea. Her words inspired armies, and she always seemed to sound right, even if she wasn't. He shook his head, "I know only truth, Cairys. You can tell me what you will, and it rings of truth. But there is more than one truth at stake here. More than one view. You can't see that, and you won't. Justice is set on the path of righteousness, and does not diverge."

The last sentence was a part of her codex. The bits and pieces of a sort of code that each Kami had that defined their position. They were almost like rules, or proverbs. Each one was usually cryptic and wise and defined some aspect of the ideal each Kami embodied. Calling on another Kami's codex was common, a reminder that all of them were servants.

Hikari answered, "Truth brings suffering, for it's grace is that of a tree, falling in the forest and crushing all that is beneath it." She invoked his codex, and not one of the most flattering sections of it.

Firrin shook his head, "I just wish…"

"You just wish that things would go back to the way they were," she finished for him, "Change is inevitable, Firrin. That is the greatest truth of all. Now let me go, and you and I can fight more when I return."

Kenshin sputtered at her words, sounding as if a battle between the two would be a privilege. Firrin shrugged and stood aside, passing another glare at Kenshin as the two walked past him.

There was a balcony there that gazed over a misty gray landscape. Hikari sat on the rail, her health returning.

Kenshin stopped in front of her and took her hands up in his, "Well? Now what?"

Hikari looked at him, the shivering green gaze pierced his own violet one. Her eyes were narrowed and calculating. And he realized that he loved her, all of her, except those unfeeling eyes.

"You have a choice to make," she answered.

"What choice?" he asked in return, choosing instead to look at her hands rather than subject himself to those eyes.

"You do realize you can still choose to go on. You can leave me here and all of this and go onto the bridge to find enlightenment," She answered, turning to look to her left where the ghostly form of a massive bridge spanned the grayness.

"What is the difference, really?" Kenshin asked.

"The difference between being god, and serving it," she answered.