Author's note: So very tired. You should see the bags under my eyes, it's priceless. I've been working hard on this chapter, and the last two parts of it took me a whole 4 hour to squish out of my brain. It's in those times that I wish I still had my old chair, but it's too big for this tiny room in which I'm forced to live until I finally get enough money to get myself an nice apartment. I want to thank here all of my reviewers (who were only 6 when I last checked). Thank you very much. I must say that I'm quite pleased with the response I'm getting from this. 6 reviews was the number I had gotten after 3 chapters of the last one. I'm a really excited, though I may sound sarcastic, but that's only because my head is heavy with fatigue. So, I wish to explain a few things. Here I'm exploring a side of Battousai that not many had seen, the soft, though passionate, and very cold Battousai. I had to look very often in my manga to grasp the essence of the character. He is very hard to deal with. He threaten life when he is angered, but very sweet and companionate in other times. Also, I realise, although a bit late, that Kenshin did not smile when he was in Battousai mode as you like to call it. But he did soften when he was with Tomoe (no, she won't be there, at least I don't think she will, and if she is, she's already dead). I believe that Kaoru has this power with people, this thing in her that makes them forget that they are supposed to be sad. And yes, I see her as an energetic woman not to be taken by surprise. In all, a kind hearted fighter, facing pain with optimism. That is all, you can read now.

Warning: I'd say that there is some fluff… or WAFF, cause I'm not sure which of the two apply to it. Still have some difficulties telling which one is which. There is violence, though I don't think it justifies a raise of rating, so it's still rated PG-13, but just in case, I want to warn you that that part is not recommended four young children. Actually, this whole story deals with lots of things that children would not understand. Anyway.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I still don't have any rights on Rurouni Kenshin and its characters. Too bad… he, he.

Within Soul

By Evil Karyta

Chapter One

As Memory may be paradise from which we cannot be driven, it may also be a hell from which we cannot escape.

- John Lancaster Spalding

"I've heard that since you came, you didn't show yourself very often," said Katsura.

"You didn't ask me to come to blend into your troops. I was asked to be shadow, I am shadow," answered Kenshin in a very calm voice.

  The black haired man smiled. Indeed, he did what he was asked, made himself as silent as the wind. He was perfect to be what he had recruited him for. However, and that was the reason of this meeting, was he mentally prepared for the horror he would have to bare? The red head seemed very young, not older than 16, very delicate and tiny in structure.  Nevertheless, Katsura had seen his power, knew that the built of one man did not gave away the strength of his techniques, and Kenshin was the best example of hidden power that he had ever seen. Still, he was mysterious, silent and, most of the time, smiling. A very secretive smile, as if he kept something hidden deep within him. He may be looking youthful, but this appearance had nothing to do with his maturity. No, Himura Kenshin had been the best acquisition Ishin Shishi had in ages.

  The small samurai sat in front of the head lead of the patriots, sipping tea and waiting for the questions he knew he had been sent for to answer. He felt like an exposed portrait that no one could understand and kept watching in hope to finally make sense out of the lines that were displayed in strange colors and forms, but to no avail. Himura was mystery, shadow and silence. In every way, the perfect assassin, as if he had been created to kill. Moreover, in some sick way, it in was part the truth of his sad life, although hidden to everyone. Thinking this, Kenshin bent his head, looking at the reflection of his purple eyes in the liquid swirling inside his cup. A strange color, no one ever really saw someone with such intriguing eyes, or hairs that accompanied so well the rain of the blood when a sword would cut life in two, dividing the flesh with its deadly blade.

  The small man closed his eyes, uttering a quiet sigh, the air escaping his parted lips. A soft wind penetrated the small room through a window left ajar, circling the men, lifting a few papers that had been neglect on the floor covered of tatamis. Before him, was a low table where the teakettle and the cups had been left for them to refill if they wished to. He did not like it, being serve and taken care. Kenshin had always been self-efficient, lone in a world where he should not even be. This was his reality, a life full of self-reproaches and murders, and he could try with all his might, but he would always stay the same…

"You understand why you were taken, don't you?" Katsura interrupted his trails of thinking.

"Yes," he said looking up.

"And you are strong enough to deal with it?"

"If in exchange of my bloody blade and the sacrifice of lives I can help to establish a new era and give something back for all I had to taken…" his eyes were speaking as much as his words.

  The lead of Choshou's patriots looked at the red head, eyes understanding. He may look young, his new hittokiri, but he had faced much and his techniques were much needed in a time where people tended to lose faith. Kogoro nodded his head, a silent sign for Kenshin's dismissal. Himura got to his feet, leaving his half-empty cup on the table; he bowed in respect and left the room, closing the shoji doors behind him. The man left alone stared at the door and shook his head, so many sacrifices for the build of a new era, so many wars to create peace, so many deaths for the prosperity of the future. A voice from behind him broke his train of thoughts.

"Why did you take someone this young for your new shadow killer? If you need so desperately new assassins, why don't you do it yourself?"

"One must not give too much importance to the appearance Shinsaku. I'd like to do it myself, but I'm the leader of the patriots," explained the man.

"I see, so you want to stay the 'clean' head of those who want to change things… Whatever happens, never again should you draw your sword," Takasugi Shinsaku's words were full of sarcasm.

"Yes, today is the death anniversary of Kogoro Katsura, the sword's expert."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  Kenshin was walking down the quiet corridors of the inn, quite slowly compared to his usual pace. He rarely ever came out of his room since he had established home in this disguised base for the Ishin Shishi. Being secluded and silent by nature, he did not enjoyed the company of the other samurais, either too loud or asking too much questions for his own taste. The only person he saw, and it was rarely, was this young and lively girl, Kaoru Kamiya. Yet, their exchange always ended in a rude manner, most likely with her shouting a few insults before she exited the room, stumping loudly, fuming about something he said or she did. As he had first thought of her, she was a spirited young woman, full of life and determination. However, the reason why she was here, in Kyoto, working hard and still almost failing in all the chores she was given was out of his comprehension.

  Thinking this, he passed before an open door leading to the gardens of the inn. He would have passed without giving it much attention if not for the noises of a highly frustrated voice, mumbling curses after curses, and the loud splashes of water. Curious, he passed his head through the opening and saw a woman kneeled in front of a basin of soapy water, her cheery yellow kimono, conflicting with the very upset mood that she emanated, soaked and water was being spatter around her in big pearly and shining drops. A very amusing picture for the quite observer who now had a hard time to contain his laughter.

  Kamiya Kaoru, the energetic young 'servant' was doing laundry, and from the frustrated look on her face, it was far from her favourite pass time. She was beating the living breath out of a poor innocent hakama, muttering under her breath in a very rude manner, accusing the piece of clothing of all the deeds of the world. As if such allegations would render the chore less painful to her and faster dealt with. If only she had some qualities as a cook, she would not be here, swearing and sweating over a stupid warrior's pants!

"Argh! Damn it! Why can't they do it themselves! Their grown up men for all I know! Can't they wash their own goddamn clothes?"

  Her outburst resonated through the entire garden, scaring the few birds that were hidden in the branches of the tall trees surrounding the square of grass and plants. She sighed in exasperation, splashing some more water around her. Her face was wet and red in irritation, returning to her task with as much vigour as she could utter from her small frame. Behind her, Kenshin could no longer hold the fits of hilarity that had over taken his body, quaking his shoulder and now bursting through his mouth in fine, sincere laughter. His life, until now, had always been one of seriousness and false smiles, but for some strange reason, this one tiny girl could steer through him a joy that he had never experienced before. And as much as he thought it wrong for him to enjoy it, he could not help feeling good.

  So caught up in his mirth he never saw the venomous glare Kaoru sent him, nor did he saw the very wet and heavy hakama that had been threw at him. With a big, wet and splat sound, it hit his face; silencing him right away and making him take a few steps backward, almost completely loosing his balance. The water oozed from the damp clothe and drenched his face, hair and gi. The poor man fought hard to get the offending white pants away from his face for it had tightly tangled itself around his head like the vice grip of an eagle's claw, only less painful. This sight of the prone samurai, wet from head to waist, debating himself with a mere hakama made the young woman laugh. She had turned the tables around and from the laughed at, she became the laugher.

  The shear joy exhaling from her sang in clear and, in some way, cute glee. When he finally got rid of his inert attacker, the wet swordsman saw soaking Kaoru, her right arm parallel to the ground, her fine finger pointing at him, eyes half close, her left arm holding her stomach to prevent the ach that always came when one would laugh too hard. In other occasion, he would have stare angrily at her and threaten her life, no one dared to make fun of him, but to see the joy that lit her blue eyes completely took this option out of his mind. He simply tossed it back at her, watching the girl as she took it back and return to her washing duty.

  Kenshin could still see her shoulders wavering; last remain of the moment of merriment that they shared. Unfortunately, it was soon all over and she was back into punishing the hakama for being there for her to wash. The red head chuckled, shaking his head, flaming red locks flying about him in his movement. He slowly walked toward her, peering over her shoulder so he could see just how harshly she was treating the annoying piece of clothing.

"I didn't know that you also made laundry. Remind me not to ask you to wash my clothes…" he teased.

"Humph," she grunted. "I'm not doing it so you can have fun watching me!"

"I never said that, that I did not."

"No, but you were thinking it."

  So, she could read minds too. He bent over her shoulder some more, so he could see more clearly, what lay within the washing basin. Between the bubbles and the waves her movement created, he could make out the silhouette of a few more hakama, some gi and kimonos and two or three yakutas. This was quite a large amount of clothes to wash and in a way, he could understand her frustration.

"If you don't like it, why don't you ask someone else to do it?"

  He could see the faint blush appear on her pale face as if she was ashamed of something. Stopping her fight with the pants, she passed the back of her forearm over her forehead, cleaning the sweat away from it and leaving a line of water in replacement. It shown in the bright light of the sun, making her skin glitter quite prettily. He ignored the feelings that sprang from his stomach and looked away, waiting for her answer.

"I… I'm not much of a housekeeper… I'm a bit clumsy and… a very poor cook… it seems that cleaning those clothes and shopping is all those ladies would let me do," the embarrassment was clearly herd in her voice, "that… and the room service."

  Kenshin eyed her back as she returned to her task with less fervour that before. Her last statement seemed to have taken away all of her energy, or maybe it was the humiliation that she felt into admitting her flaws that took it way. After a few moments, she changed from the hakama and turned her attention to a gi, which, to her desperation, was stained in many places with food and, on other spots, blood. She growled when she realised that those blots would not go if she did not put more force into her scrubbing. Therefore, she started again, rubbing the clothe with almost insane determination, splattering water around, even splashing Kenshin a few times in the face.

"You know, Kaoru-dono, if you keep torturing this gi as you do, you'll soon make a hole in it, that you will," he uttered mischievously.

"Quit making fun of me already!" she yelled turning her head in his direction to realise that he was much closer than she first assumed.

"I'm not!"

"Tell that to someone else!" exclaimed the girl pushing him away from her.

"Hey!" he had almost lost his balance, almost.

"Serves you right for making fun of me!"

"I was not, that I wasn't," he said trying as much as he could to defend himself from her outburst.

"I don't what you to tell me how to do my things! I'm not beside you when you do whatever they asked you too, telling you how to handle your damn sword, so don't tell me how to do laundry! Besides, I'm pretty damn sure you don't even know how to wash your clothes…" the last sentence was whisper but he had heard.

"So, I don't know how to wash?"

  She froze, he had heard, and the tone of his voice was far from reassuring. It sounded almost as if he had been defied. That, she thought, was ought to be no good sign for her. He crouched down beside her, to her right, and took the gi out of her hands. She did not dare to move, eyes glued to his precise movement, as if he had done it all of his life. She watched as the stains disappeared from the pale green fabric faster than she would have done it. Unconsciously, her blue eyes had drifted from his hands to his face. He looked as if lost in a deep concentration, his soft violet eyes following the quick movement of his hands as they washed, very expertly, the clothes.

  She studied his features. In all their short encounters through the two weeks that had passed, she never took the time to actually look at him. If someone had asked her what Himura Kenshin looked like, she would have give the impression of being quite dumbfound and would have uttered a quick explanation of his purple eyes and red hair, but nothing more. Those two features had been the more poignant of his appearance. Now that she looked more closely, she could see that he was more than pretty eyes and strange hair colour. His face was finely cut, almost feminine but very masculine in all its beauty. It would have been perfect it if were not of that long scar that stretched from his left cheekbones to the middle of his cheek.

"How did it happen?" she asked not able to resist her curiosity.

"How what did happen, Kaoru-dono?" he said not quite understanding yet, his eyes still fix on his task.

"That scar?" she pointed his cheek.

  His left hand rose to his face and his dripping fingers touched the mark. His expression darkened, his eyes clouded, and he seemed to be lost in thoughts for some time. Dark purple eyes stared blankly into the soapy water, loosing sight of the reality as memories resurfaced. Suddenly, he shook his head, surly dismissing a thought that had come to him and resumed his cleaning, turning a smiling face toward her.

"It's a long story that I'm sure you wouldn't what to hear, Kaoru-dono, that I am."

  She stared at him mutely, only the chirping of the birds cut through the silence, having returned once the girl's eruption had ended and taking back their place in the trees. His reaction had surprised her, the look of hurt and lost that had crossed his features for a split second was far from all the expression she had imagined he would have. For all she knew of Kenshin, he was always polite and smiling, very gentle and, mostly with her, very friendly. Of course, he never came out of his room unless he needed to, not appreciating the way the other samurais spent their nights and enjoying the quiet seclusion of his room. Nevertheless, it did not explain this peculiar reaction.

"So you see, this is how you clean without damaging the fabric," he told her giving her a yakuta so she could practice what he had taught her.

  That done, he returned to his feet and turned to leave. Kaoru was left there, flabbergast, staring at the nightwear he gave her. She turned her head in his direction, only to see his retreating back as he passed the open doors and was back in the inn. The blue gi and red hair were gone, just as he usually did everything, gently and in silence. The girl slowly returned her attention to the basin, but her mind was far away from her washing task. It was concentrated on those weird feelings, as if pass and present was colliding, a feeling of lost and safety, completely in opposition but coupling as if it were the most natural of things to do.

  In the wooden washbasin, her dark and waving reflection stared at her. Blue eyes almost dark, so much like they were those long months ago, when her life turned around in a insane turn of event. Everything in that water mirror seemed to take her back to that miserable moment of her life. It was dark and un-grasping just as was the air and events of that fateful night, when blood had rained around her hidden form. The last gift of a man she would always greave. Kaoru felt her heart beat quicken, a clear sign of the rush of unwelcome memories that had plagued her through the night and were now claming a life in the day.

  Frustrated, she slapped her right hand on the smooth surface of the water, destroying the vision before it was even born. The droplets flew around her in a shining drizzle, the reminder gone, but still the feeling left. With more force than she intended to, she griped the clean clothing; gis, hakamas and yakutas, put them in a basket and walked with determination to drying rope. Surely, if she worked hard, the last of the memory and feelings would subside and leave her alone, at least until dawn would come and with it, the shadow of a past she only wished she could forget.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  The streets of Kyoto were in quiet darkness, the sun has finally surrendered the sky to a pale moon, hidden at certain moments with an ashen cloud as it passed over it, blown with the wind. Two men walked in silence, they could be patrolling or returning to their home. No one really cared. The rays of the lady of the night played with the shadows of the objects discarded on the road by some careless owners. No one really cared. It was night, and people were sleeping, lost in their own egoist world, taking care of what they loved and treasured, forgetting about the others and wishing war would not spread to their doors.

  Maybe the smaller figure was escorted by the taller one to safety. No one really cared. They were just passing by, hushed and careful, knowing that danger always loomed where you less expected it. In the bars of the city, there was a rumour, murmured between swordsmen, which said that soon, blood would rain over the street of Kyoto, for a better future, for a new era. Maybe those two men were the downfall of this revolution. No one really cared. They were too preoccupied with their selfish existence to see that war was already looming at their home, and that blood was already pouring down in the darken streets.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"We should have moved faster. I have a bad feeling about this," said the tall.

"You're being paranoid," hushed the second.

"Tell me that again when we'll be safely returned, drinking sake."

"Don't you have faith in my skills?" murmured the small.

"It's not you're skills that I worry about, it's theirs."

  The shorter one only shook his head. He was being over confidant. Maybe it was because he had already killed many and did not get any bad injuries. Some would say that he had been lucky, he chose to believe it was strength. They turned a corner; soon they would reach the place they wished to be, where there was a somewhat of pretence of security. The taller raised his head and his eyes caught the sight of an overcast figure, that of a man and the fearful glow of a katana's sheath. The tall stopped dead in his track, fear covering his face, an ugly mask of horror, hateful to those who despised cowardice in all it's subtle dressings. His companion stared at him, curious and than looked up to see just what had startled him.

"You are Yamaku Shiwasuka of Edo."

"What's the meaning of all of this?" asked the smaller man taking a protective step forward, unconsciously answering the stranger's question.

"It is not personal, but understands that I must kill you."

  The voice was cold, almost devoid of life. The voice death would have, and he was death. The cloud that had veiled the moon was now disappearing, giving freedom to the soft and gloomy light, revealing the man. An old dark blue gi, a hakama torn at the bottom showing just how much battles he had been through, a katana and an aikuchi at his waist. Flaming red hair tied in a high ponytail the way all samurai did and deadly, freezing amber eyes, staring at the pair, emotionless and frightening by their silent coldness, the eyes of an assassin.

  They had never heard of him, but they knew he had been sent for them, to destroy what they had work so hard to archive. Without further words of explanation, Kenshin sprang into action and crossed steal with the smaller man. In a matter of second, the red head had taken the upper hand of the battle, and soon, his opponent hit the dirt in a bloody bundle, dead. The tall man got out of his stupor and reached for his sword, but it was already too late. Himura was on him in an instant, shoving his katana through the helpless man's stomach. The agonising man uttered a struggled cry, his mouth filling rapidly with a hot, metallic tasting liquid. His own blood.

  He felt backward, a hand to the opened gash spilling his life out as if it was meant to flow that way. The red liquid reflecting passively the soft silvery glow of the moon as his breath and heart bet grew in intensity. The amber eyes were on him, cold, ruthless, accusing, scary. Such a pathetic way to die, surrounded by darkness and fright. Hair like the flames of hell, was he a spawn of the devil? A pale face staring at him with burning eyes. It was painful to watch. So bright and deadly. Why was there no one to come to his rescue? How he wished he had listen to his wife and stayed home that day. Kenshin was watching the man die slowly and painfully. He should make it less excruciating, should put his agony to an end. However, there was a light in those dieing eyes, the shimmer of a soul.

  The mere sight of it awoke his hunger. Kenshin's eyes widen as if stroked by a vision, a truth revealed to him. The fading man, slowly losing his life and his consciousness, ready to leave his body for a better world, or maybe worst, yet still clogging to life in a stubborn way, the last cry of a soul, which had not yet finished its task, stared at the samurai. What were those swirling and impassive amber seeing? The pale figure descended toward him, a bloody hand reached for his collar and he was lift off the ground. The bright eyes, flaring in shades of flaming embers, stared at the pale eyes of the dieing. Was it hunger? No, it was a strange sort of crave that burst through those almost inexpressive orbs of gold.

  Kenshin was fighting it. This crave, this hunger, he thought he would get rid of it for some more time, but his body had been awaken to it as soon as they saw the glitter of a living soul. It hurt, it hurt so much. As if the vengeful blade of those victims, to whom he had claimed their lives and existence, pierced his whole body. And he could not deny it, if he did, he was sure death would take him. He had thought he could let it overwhelm him and let his mind finally surrender into oblivion, to expel his crimes and pay for so many deaths and shattered souls. Now that he was confronted to it yet again, he could not hold back, the need was too strong, and the light of this soul was too appealing for him to simply look away.

  It tore through them, the shear power of it, as the soul that once was the other became the propriety of the taker. There was a bright light, or maybe it was just their imagination, maybe it was darkness that had enclosed them, ripping a soul from one body to quietly settle into another. It fed Kenshin's life, it gave him power, it filled the hole that had been their since he was born to this world and it created yet another memory of someone's life been crushed, completely destroyed by his blind hunger and selfish will to live.

  With a sickening thud, the lifeless body hit the ground once again, blood splashing around just like Kaoru had made the water fly around her earlier that day. Disgusting comparison when you think that the innocent girl was doing laundry and he was killing shamelessly. With a last look at the pathetic sight he had created he whispered a subdued;

"I'm sorry…" his voice low and soft, Kenshin turned on his heels and start to walk toward the inn.

  But for someone like him, one can't be left alone to their grieving. As he moved in the direction of the end of the road, he was met with laughter from a dark corner of the alley. It was cruel, it was accusing. He hated it, and he recognized it, although he wished he never met the owner of this hateful laugh. The moon light illuminated the pale and thin face of a tall man with long black hair styled the samurai way. A cruel snarl on his face, he weighed him up, eyes speaking louder than his mirthless chuckles.

"Let me be," was all Himura said as he passed him up.

"Why would I? Because you're bearing the pain of yet two more deaths? I'm not like that."

"Just shut up and be gone."

  Saitou uttered, once more, the displeasing chortle, irritating in all its vindictive intention. This sent a shiver of anger through the red head samurai. He turned his head and dejected a hateful stare of cold gold, a hand on the hilt of his sword. But he was blatantly ignored as the offending man took a cigarette out of his pocket, trusted it between his lips and lit it up. The smoke hovered in the air, carried by the gentle wind of early autumn to be lost in the atmosphere. It seemed to Kenshin that the bluish smoke was mocking him, free to go wherever it wished, never bond to one thing, not needing much more than a spark of fire to exist and than vanish into emptiness in a split second. Somehow, he wished he were smoke in the wind.

"I knew it would not take long before you choose another one. The last one was not very strong and it lacked the quality to get you going," explained Hajime.

  Kenshin remained quiet, wishing him gone and dead with each passing instants. But, of course, Saitou would not compiled to this simple request of an already submerged with guilt little man that only wanted to attain an simple existence and give something back without being constantly reminded of his inhuman nature. The truth was, life just love to torture him, toy with his mind and bring him always closer to insanity. Had they a right to live? They who were born without souls, who should have died before birth, who had never been desired nor been loved? Neither of them could answer, but only Kenshin still thought he had no place in this life.

"You know, you shouldn't be so ashamed of yourself. In this world, nothing lasts forever, even souls. Do you think that those to whom you drew your life were still somehow existing? They all disappear within you as you draw the energy of their soul so you can still live, it would be the same if they had lived…"

  The small man was not listening anymore. He had heard the same lecture more than he wished he had. He had frozen on his way to retreat, his eyes having caught the bloody mess and the empty, colorless eyes of the man from who he had fed his life. It was a horrific sight coming straight up from hell to doom him into constant nightmares. Golden eyes, flicking slowly toward soft violet stared emptily at it. The repulsive picture of death and misery. He should not look at it, it only added to his guilt more than he could bear. In addition, Saitou was keeping his insane monologue, torturing his mind and hurting him more than a sword could in a deadly fight.

  With an almost desperate move of anger, he leaped at the tall man, katana drawn and menacing at Saitou Hajime's throat. The deadly steal glittered in the moon light, and for once, the tall man had shut up without Kenshin's asking. They both were glaring at each other; amber met another shade of yellow, almost like those of a wolf. Hatred was burning in those four orbs of fire. The wolf's cigarette hit the dirt, burning red ashes bouncing and rolling on the matted earth.

"You better stop this madness and get the hell away from me if you don't wish to die the pathetic way human does," threatened the red head.

"Battousai," he started taking the blade between the index and thumb if his right hand pushing it away from his neck, "It is not yet our time to fight. Soon, Kyoto will have new partisans with whom, I'm sure of it, you'll have to fight. It's only then that you'll get your chance," he smirked. "For now I'll take my leave."

  Battousai… Yes, Saitou had been the one who had first called him that, referring to his fast killing technique. Now, he was sure of it, Kyoto will know of that name, and it would become the name of the Ishin Shishin's hittokiri.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  He needed a bath. Kenshin felt tired, almost drained even though he was feeling all the energy coursing through his body. He only wanted to fall on his futon and give away into his sea of nightmares or, if he was lucky, the darkness his sleep would sometimes give him. Even if it felt so appealing to simply turn to his room and rest, he desperately needed the cleaning. He was covered in red, sticky blood. He would have to wash his clothes too. Out of nowhere, a thought came to him, Kaoru should not see him like this, and she should not wash his clothing either. He would have to wait for the next night to do it if he did not want her to see it. Blinking his heavy eyelids, he wondered just why and, most importantly, how this thought occurred to him. With a light sigh, he shoved the thought away, dismissing it for later, now he only wanted a bath.

  Turning a corner, he came to the opened door of the bathing aria. Steam came out of it in hot waves of evaporated water, hitting his face, beckoning him to get in and relax into the hot and comforting water. He passed through the shoji and froze, soft violet eyes wide upon his discovery. In the middle of the bathroom, kneeling in front of a steaming basin was Kamiya Kaoru, still dressed in her cheery yellow long sleeved kimono. Having heard him, she turned her head, her long black hair, restrained in a ponytail not unlike his own, flying around her in long strings of silk. Sapphire blue met gentle amethyst, an indulgent smile

crossed her features, somehow understanding his wariness and not engaging any verbal argument, for now.

  The young woman got to her feet, leaving behind her a freshly cleaned yakuta, the one he had handed her this afternoon when he had taught her how to wash clothes. He did not move when she passed by him, neither did he flinch when she stopped behind him, their back almost touching. She turned her face over her shoulder, looking at him sideway.

"Clean yourself, you smell."

  The shoji was close and silence took over. Only their breathing could be heard from each side of the paper walls. That, and the faint beating of her heart, soft and relaxed. Slowly, feeling as if he was been watched, he peeled his clothes off, bloody gi and hakama pooling around his ankles on the wooden floor. For some odd reason, a blush had appeared on his face. However, he did not lose his grace as he walked to the bath, putting his sword down near it, ready to get into the appealing comfort of the hot water that seemed to have been prepared for him. Just as he was about to put a foot into it, Kaoru's soft voice came to him through the closed door.

"Is it really the right way to bring the new era? To dissipate so many lives only for a better future? Is it really the right way to built peace by piling so many corps and creating such awful memories for us to remember and be pain over the years, long after the war would end? Is the only way to bring us peace is to cause each other pain? Do you believe that Kogoro-san's right when he says that the new era will be built over the bodies of your loved one and our guilt?" their was a heaving pang of pain and lost in her voice. "Tell me Kenshin, is death the only way to archive our goal?"

  He would have answered, but he was muted by all the sorrow and pain he had heard in this young voice. It was the same words he had once said, when he thought he was normal, when he was sure nothing was wrong with him. It was the same questions, asking why he should take one life so his could go one, or the life of other could keep going. Wondering if he had the right to judge those who should die when so many should have lived. It was the same, and in a way, it was very different. His purple eyes looked at the shojis, only to see what he had thought, after asking him her questions, she had took her leave. And there he was, left with the heavy burden of a being that had, in a moment of weariness, disposed of her questionings that, surely, had kept her from sleep. Some of it now lay on his already very charged shoulders.

  Behind all those questions, he had heard her call for understanding, her plea for him to understand that he was not the only one plagued with memories that brought them to the senseless hell of fear of repetition. Fate had a sick way to reiterate the event of a painful past into a future one would had thought bright. His right hand rose to his head, unbinding his hair, letting the flaming mane cascade in long, light strands down to his back as he stepped into the water.

"Who are we to decide how peace should be attained. Humanity never lived through complete peace, and to keep this somewhat make believe of serenity, lives had to be sacrificed. I too, wish there would be another way… but I already took so much… If only death would not be my daily routine. If only they would think like you, Kaoru-dono," he whispered sinking into the hot liquid.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

To be continued… … …

a/n: On the bottom note, I only what to solicit you're contribution into review matter. Because, you see, I have this strange crave for critic and feedback. Strange thing, huh? Oh, and must I remind you not to tell me how poor my grammar and how confusing some of my choice of words can be? I'm quite feed up with it… Not that a joke about is unwelcome, but a constant reminder of my lake of knowledge in your writing's rules is as bad as not at all. As grandma use to say, too much is just as not enough. So please, forget that part on your review and just talk about the important thing, like the flaw in the story, or maybe something I did wrong with some of the character that I borrow from our dear Watsuki-sama. Thanks and now please, click the review button, you know I want it. And the more review I get, the faster I write. ^-^