Enlighten

They had known something was wrong the moment Kirara had returned to them. The little cat had mewed and yowled with pathetic sadness for the past day; none of them had been able to convince it to take them back to where it had come from, which had left them all with a terrible sense of forboding.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

The thought of Sango being out there, somewhere, without even Kirara to help her made him literally sick with worry. His stomach churned and churned, refusing to still ever since she had left.

The wind whipped through his hair, and the sun was bright and cheery, mocking his internal strife. He rode Kirara with Shippo and Kagome, and the fact that it was the young miko and not his beloved taijiya felt like a particularly cruel reminder of the situation. Inuyasha scouted below them, leaping to and fro and sniffing desperately for any signs of Sango, though they all knew it was probably futile. Only Kirara knew where she had taken Sango, and Kirara wasn't about to show them.

And so, Miroku was left to his dire thoughts…

'She is doing this for me… She is going to throw her life away for me'

It seemed like a particularly cruel twist of fate; it was like a blade in his heart. He wanted desperately to be angry at her…

Who was she to decide to throw away her life for him? Who said he wanted her to? He didn't want her to. He would much rather die knowing she was safe than to live after she was gone. To live knowing that his life had been bought with her blood…

'Damnit!' he thought angrily, but the seething anger quickly drained from him.

He knew, realistically, that she had made the same decision he would have in her position. He knew that she must have had the same thoughts he did now – that she had faced the possibility of his death, and had chosen to combat it in the only way he knew how…

But that didn't stop him from wanting to shake her, scream at her, slap her, anything to retrospectively convince her not to do this…

And yet there was nothing he could do now. Nothing; absolutely nothing. For the second time in his life, he could do nothing but stand helplessly back as someone he loved was taken from him by Naraku. The first had been his father, whose death had given him his curse; and now, his love, who with her death hoped to take it away…

Abruptly, Inuyasha froze, his nose in midair as his sniffed frantically. "Naraku!" he shouted excitedly. "The air is filled with his stench – it's distant – but I think I can follow it!"

"Then do it!" he heard Kagome, Shippo, and himself shout in near unison. The hanyou was prompt to comply, and soon they were zipping through the forest after him. Miroku was so intent on looking for any signs of Sango that he didn't notice the odd sensation in his right hand…

"I smell her!" Inuyasha shouted suddenly. "I smell –" He paused, his brow furrowing as he sniffed the breeze frantically, as if something was near…

That was all the monk needed.

"Down, Kirara!" he shouted at the firecat. A mixture of apprehension, fear, and excitement battled for supremacy in his heart – from the way Inuyasha was frantically sniffing about, she had to be nearby…

Kirara slammed into the ground; Miroku, who had already been in the process of dismounting, went rolling roughly across the forest floor. As soon as he had come to a half, he heard something rustling through the brush just beyond him…

Miroku loosened the rosary beads from his wind tunnel – and it was then that he suddenly noticed that something wasn't quite right…

"What the hell?" Inuyasha shouted from ahead, bounding back towards them. "We don't have time for your crap!"

Miroku ignored him; instead, he stared, fixated at his hand. Slowly, and very carefully, he pulled the rosary off…

And nothing happened.

The Wind Tunnel was gone.

Naraku was dead.

The one thing he had set about to accomplish in his lifetime was over. The enemy who had cut short his father and grandfather's lives had been destroyed. He was free. He had been granted his life.

So why did he feel like emptying the contents of his stomach across the forest floor?

Abruptly, Inuyasha started sniffing the air like crazy; the gentle rustling in the brush started up again, and then, a calm voice spoke from the shadows…

"Indeed, Naraku is dead."

The priestess Kikyo materialized from the darkness like a creature of shadows herself. Miroku felt himself tensing at the calm priestess's sudden appearance before him.

Kikyo had always been a wildcard, an oddity, an incomprehensible and unreadable player in this game for the jewel. From the very moment she had been brought back from the dead and proceeded to kill the woman who had brought her back, Kikyo had been a mystery. None of them could imagine what she was thinking when one moment she showed up just at precisely the right moment to save them, and in the next aided Naraku.

One thing wasn't a mystery, however: whenever undead miko was around, things always seemed to go to hell.

The priestess looked with icy calm from one member of their party to the next until finally, she fixated upon him. Miroku gulped and took an involuntary step back from her calculating gaze…

Inuyasha was sniffing wildly; suddenly, the hanyou started to growl. "Why the hell do I smell Sango's blood on you, Kikyo?"

The blood drained from his face; the miko, still staring intently at him, curled her lips in a way akin to a grim smile.

"Because she bleeds, Inuyasha," she replied calmly, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Inuyasha growled again; Kagome made a little cry of horror; Shippo whimpered. And Miroku –

Miroku couldn't stop himself.

He had never been a violent man. Nay; Miroku was a good monk. He had studied the timeless art of meditation, and he had learned the art of zen and patience. When given a choice, he would much rather smooth talk his way through a situation than use any sort of physical force. He detested violence.

But the cool, almost smug way in which she had spoken that – it filled him with rage in a way that he could never have comprehended before that moment. And so, in one breath he was several steps away from the cold woman –

And in the next he had grabbed her hakori within both his fists. The priestess looked down calmly at his restraining hands, and the faint flicker of amusement in her eyes only served to fuel his fire.

"What the hell do you mean? Where the hell is she? Tell me!" He shook her roughly for emphasis.

"I mean exactly what I say: she bleeds. The stared her own death in the face without flinching; she gave me the chance I needed, and she never faltered even until the very end."

He didn't know how to interpret her: Kikyo was as cold as the clay which she was composed of. And yet…

And yet he could have sworn he heard something behind the words. Though as ever she wore her wicked mask of cool detachment there was something very real flickering behind it. It was in her eyes, and it was in her voice.

Kikyo was proud of Sango.

He couldn't hold it back; he tried fiercely to, but he couldn't. First it was only one tear, but then others followed, and soon he felt the hot wetness burning his cheeks…

Miroku released the priestess as if she were poison; he took a stumbling step back from her, putting up one hand as if to ward off any further words. He was unable to accept what she was saying – he was unwilling to accept.

He couldn't take anymore.

But she continued. "Even when she thought all was lost, she fought. Even when she knew all was lost, she fought. That was what Naraku never could have guessed, never could have understood: he could not break her, no matter what he did."

"No," Miroku moaned, trying to block the cruel words, the cruel images, the cruel realization – but Kikyo drove on, her eyes boring into him…

"A warriors spirit. A spirit so strong that she would challenge destiny. A spirit so strong that ever will she fight it."

'Ever… will…?'

She undoubtedly recognized the glint of hope in his eyes; though her face remained stoic, her eyes seemed to smile sadly. "She fights even death."

"I believe she lingers for you, monk. I see something in her eyes that I once shared in my own." There was a serene melancholy to the insight, but she didn't continue. Instead, she extended a single finger and pointed towards the distance.

She didn't say anything; she didn't need to.

Everything after that was a blur.

No: it's not finished yet. And, well… I have two possible endings in mind. Which one I go with will depend on what my reviewers want. How soon I get up more depends on how soon I get some more reviews! So, review, review… And, feel free to email me at in addition to reviewing, if you feel particularly moved to beg me. I would love to hear from you!

Thank you so much to Amalie and Darkwind-warrior – I was feeling really burned out and your reviews meant a lot to me!