Special shout-out to akitokihojo for looking over this fic for me and getting it back on track for my writing muse. Such a saint and an absolute blessing to this fandom. Go check them out!
Tomorrow's Destiny
Chapter 3
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"How can I think of myself and what I want, when there's so much more at stake?"
The thundering roar of the falls blocked out almost all senses as Miroku slowly regained consciousness. Water battered against his skin as he sat cross-legged beneath it in his white yukata, hands folded before him as he awakened from meditation. He could tell that he had been deep in the recesses of his mind, as it took far longer than usual to return to reality.
I wonder how late it's gotten, he mused, sighing deeply.
Climbing to his feet, he carefully stepped over the slick stones and exited the falls. Violet eyes drew to the sun hanging at midday, causing him to question how long exactly he had spent meditating that morning. He honestly couldn't recall when he had begun, time having been lost to him.
"Master Miroku!"
Turning, he found his old friend waving at him from the river bank. "Hachi! Good to see you!" he greeted the racoon demon as he waded through the river.
"As you," he replied, bowing at the waist. "Mushin sent me to fetch for you."
"Oh?" he raised his brows. "What could he want?"
"Beats me." The pair began heading back toward the temple. "He was too busy drinking to explain."
"Why does that not surprise me?"
After he had changed into his normal attire and had gathered his staff, Miroku sought out the old drunkard. The falls were not far from the temple, so the trek back didn't take long. He climbed the stairs and, as expected, found his guardian lounging in the main doorway, a bottle of half-empty sake beside him.
"Miroku, my boy," he greeted, a red flush to his cheeks. "Welcome back."
"Hachi said you wanted to see me," he replied, ignoring the pleasantries.
Mushin nodded with a smile. "Hm… yes, I did. There is someone here who wishes to speak with you."
Puzzled, Miroku turned his gaze toward the other end of the room, noticing a person he'd failed to upon entering.
The man sat quietly, his jingasa pulled low to shield his eyes. Miroku was sure he had met the man before, but couldn't quite put his finger on when or where, or even who he was, so he stepped closer to the silent visitor.
"Who are you?" he asked, perplexed, curling his hand tighter around his golden staff.
The man grinned, tilting his jingasa back. His eyes, which used to be deep violet had now faded to jaded mauve, studied Miroku closely. "What? You don't recognize your own father?"
Miroku's lips parted slightly with an expression of surprise. He hadn't seen his father since he was a boy, as the elder monk traveled the countryside slaying demons and helping those who were less fortunate - or so the old man proclaimed. It wasn't much of a shock that Miroku wouldn't immediately recognize him after all these years. "Father," he murmured, his shoulders relaxing at the familiarity. "It's been a long time."
He hummed his agreement. "Agreed. Far too long. I apologize for leaving you with my dear friend, but seeking out demons is no life for a young boy."
Although he had never admitted it aloud, Miroku has felt a deep sense of betrayal all those years ago when his father had left. His mother had passed only a few moon cycles prior to his departure, leaving Miroku feeling abandoned. It had not been the smoothest childhood.
"Why have you returned?" He had attempted to keep his voice calm, but there was a biting tone to it, one that did not go undetected by the elder monk.
His father frowned, and then gestured for Miroku to sit before him, which he obliged. "Please," he said. "I know I have made many mistakes as a father, and I promise to spend the rest of my days making it up to you, but I fear there are other matters to attend to."
Miroku's interest piqued, taking a mental note of the way his father rubbed his chest, almost as if by second nature - once a strange tic that had now become a habit. "And what matters are those?"
Turning to pour himself some sake, the elder monk sat quietly for a few minutes before diving into the reason behind his visit. "During my many travels, I fought a great many of demons. Unfortunately, this old body can no longer keep up with them. My knees have become weak, and my heart aches beneath my chest. Going into battle now would surely spell my death."
His hand tightened into a fist. Although Miroku did not appreciate his father's absence all those years, he didn't want his father to die. "So…" he mused, studying his father's posture. "Why not stand aside and let others fight in your place?"
He smiled. "Well, I'm glad you have become perceptive during my absence, as that is exactly what I intend to do." Miroku suddenly had a sinking feeling why his father had come back. "I would like you to take my place, son."
"I see." Miroku pinched his brows together. "In all your travels, did you not find a more suitable apprentice?"
With a hoarse chuckle, his father shook his head. "My son is the only man I trust to fulfill this request. And someday, when you have children of your own, they too will step into the family business. After all, there will be no shortage of demons to vanquish."
Traveling the countryside to slay demons had always been a goal of Miroku's, more so on the happenstance he would someday run into his father, but Mushin was beginning to age, and he had feared the old drunk would die alone. It had been the only thing that kept him rooted to the temple and surrounding grounds. But now that his father had returned, those fears could be repressed for the time being. He had yet to forgive his father for abandoning him all those years ago, but he understood his father's mission, and would like to honor the role his father wished him to inherit.
"I shall leave first thing in the morning," he promised.
"Good." His father took off his jingasa, revealing a head full of dark hair sprinkled with grey. "But for this evening, I wish us to drink and be merry. There is so much we need to catch up on."
And as the afternoon was taken over by the darkening skies of twilight, Miroku made peace with the man who was practically a stranger to him. There was still so much he wished to understand, and questions he wanted answers to, but after a few rounds of sake, Miroku knew it would still be a long while before he received them. For now, he would mentally prepare himself for an indeterminate adventure.
It had been a full moon cycle since Miroku had begun traveling the countryside, slaying each demon he came across. All of his training he had received from Mushin paid off, and the other traveling monks he encountered were eager to assist his spiritual abilities to grow. For the first time in his life, Miroku felt strong, useful - much of which he had lacked during his childhood. He supposed a dead mother and an absentee father had partial blame with that.
However, there were still some tasks he couldn't quite yet will himself to complete. Like killing a small demon child who was no threat to anyone. He supposed fox demons, with their trickery and joking behavior, couldn't really hold up to the savage demon race he had sworn to destroy.
But even stranger still… the small fox demon he had allowed to live was following him. Miroku had known his presence only a few steps down the road after he had met the kit, but he was almost sure the fox demon thought he was being stealthy. After several days of this, Miroku finally stopped and turned to face the tree the fox demon was cowering on.
"How long do you plan to keep this up?" he inquired with an amused smile. "Surely you have family you need to return to."
The fox demon slowly stepped out of his hiding spot, green eyes flashing with anger. "How'd you know I was here?"
"I could sense your demonic aura the moment you followed after me." He folded his hands into the sleeves of his robes. "Perhaps instead of stalking me you could at least tell me your name."
He puffed out his cheeks in annoyance. "Why should I tell a lowly human such as you what my name is?"
Miroku shrugged. "Suit yourself. You are free to accompany me, as long as you stay out of my way." With a final glance, he turned back toward the path he had been traveling down.
"How come no one's coming to rescue ME? I've still got my whole life ahead of me!"
As if by muscle memory and instinct, Miroku swung out his staff in the fox demon's direction. The fox kit looked perplexed upon the branch of a tree, green eyes wide as he stared at the curious nature of the monk. They stood still for several moments, before Miroku finally returned his staff to his side. He had no idea what had provoked him to move in such a way, almost as if he was attempting to save the fox from falling out of the tree. His mind began to tick, his ears ringing with a voice he had long forgotten, and yet still felt so familiar.
He studied the young demon a moment longer, and then, "My name is Miroku."
The fox demon swallowed thickly, a look of apprehension on his face. "Sh-Shippou," he squeaked out, and Miroku could tell that what had just transpired did not go unnoticed by the kit. It had left them both baffled, but he was quick to hide how baffling it had been.
"Pleasure to meet you," Miroku murmured, before once more turning forward and continuing to the next village.
The episode had left him wary, and he tried to ignore the fear and worry that had left him paralyzed. Miroku tried to recall the brief vision that had caused him to react in such a way, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. He shook his head. Perhaps it was time to find a village in which to rest.
There were only a few times in his life in which Miroku felt himself cornered. He had slain many demons, even as a young protege under Mushin's careful guidance. Each time, he had left with his life, his body only injured by superficial wounds that would heal within days. He had never really known the fear of death, as he had never encountered such an alarming emotion before. But now, as his wounds bled profusely beneath him, he had come to be terrified of the idea of no longer existing. Murmured prayers to Buddha fell from his lips, bargaining to keep his life as long as he continued to follow the faith.
"Come on, Miroku," he heard Shippou say from beside them as they walked toward the towering wooden walls in the distance. Shippou's voice sounded so far away, and the trail in front of them had a dizzying appearance.
Miroku grunted, holding his hand over his shoulder, deep red blood a stark contrast to his pale skin, as he leaned heavily into his staff. "I do believe… my time is near," he murmured to the fox kit.
Shippou's eyes filled with uncertainty and a touch of fear. Although he had no obligation to the monk before him, he had grown rather attached. Not for the first time in his life did Shippou wish he was stronger. Perhaps then he could carry Miroku to the village in the distance rather than helplessly encouraging him on.
"Don't say that," the fox kit begged, pulling on Miroku's cloth in urgency. "We're almost there."
He gave a grim smile, knowing the chances of his survival - even if he made it to the village - were very slim. He had lost far too much blood and the wound was deep. Not to mention, he was sure one of the demons he had slain had been poisonous. With his body already fighting off the toxin, how could it fight off the blood loss, as well?
And yet, he didn't have the heart to be truthful to the small fox kit, who had already lost his mother; Miroku had learned this during their time together. He couldn't take away that inkling of optimism that he was going to be just fine.
"Okay," he agreed with a small nod, sweat dripping down his temple.
Satisfied, although wary of his response, Shippou urged him ahead.
The sun had nearly set by the time Miroku and Shippou had reached the village with the large wooden walls. They didn't even have a chance to announce themselves before guards posted along the top of the wall shouted out to them. Miroku didn't even hear Shippou's response before he lost consciousness.
When Miroku finally began to stir, his violet eyes fell on the inside of a house. He sat up slowly, wincing at the movement, and instinctively reaching for his wounded left shoulder. He miraculously found it bandaged and felt no trace of the nausea or dizziness his injuries had gifted him. Besides a few aches and pains, he felt relatively well.
The bamboo door swung open, and Shippou greeted him with a toothy grin. "Oh, you're awake!"
"Shippou," he murmured, attempting to recall where they were and how they had gotten there.
Noticing the monk's perplexed expression, Shippou sat down beside him with a fresh cup of water. Miroku drank greedily, his thirst nearly unbearable. Once he had finished, Shippou began to explain what had happened after Miroku had succumbed to his injuries.
"We're in the demon slayer village," he started, an unease to his tone that was easily detected.
"I've only heard of them in legends," Miroku mused. Considering he and Shippou were still alive meant that the village inhabitants must be kind. After all, Shippou was a demon who, by species alone, should be slain, and Miroku had come as a companion - a sympathizer was what most would label him as.
Shippou crossed his arms. "After I had explained the situation with all those demons we fought, they decided to help. They brought you into this house and gave you medical attention."
"I see. They must have advanced healing properties to do this." He gestured to his wound and mentioned the poison he was sure to have ingested.
Shrugging, the fox kit explained. "From what I gather, the demon slayers are masters of poison, so I'm not surprised they had some antidotes on hand."
He couldn't argue that logic. Even still… "Who is it that treated me?"
"One of the women of the village."
Miroku raised a brow. So… a woman had taken time to dress his wounds and care for him. She must be a beauty. He attempted to hide his lecherous smile. "I'd like to meet this fair maiden and thank her properly for saving my life."
Shippou narrowed his eyes, already picking up on his flirtatious tone. "Yeah, right," he grumbled, before scampering out of the house and doing just as he was asked.
Once he was gone, Miroku winced at the pain still throbbing. He was not one to show weakness in the face of others, not even to Mushin or Hachi. Pain always made him feel crippled and he despised the fact that he had been so easily beaten. Yes, there had been a great number of demons that he had been up against, and he did manage to kill quite a few of them. However, he hated to admit the fact that if Shippou hadn't used his illusionary magic so they could make their escape, Miroku would have been long dead.
He glanced down at the rosary beads wound around his right hand, a gift passed down from his grandfather to his father, and then to him. It was supposed to be infused with the ability to protect, and he silently thanked the heavens above for their unwavering guidance.
The bamboo cover was pushed aside once more, revealing a young woman no older than he. Her dark hair brushed against her lower back, and kind eyes studied him closely. "How are you feeling?" she asked, kneeling beside him and placing a cool hand to his forehead. "No fever. Seems as if the antidote worked."
"So, you're the one who dressed my wounds," Miroku said as she pulled her hand away. "Tell me, did you beg to be the one, as my body is irresistible?"
A hot blush came to her cheeks. "E-Excuse me? Are you sure you're a monk and not some imposter?"
He held up a hand in surrender. "Please, forgive me. It's not often I am graced with the presence of such a beautiful woman."
She narrowed her eyes, her expression filled with doubt. "You can save the compliments. As soon as you're able, you will be leaving, and never speak of this village to anyone."
All playful banter dissipated as he honed in on her last words. "Is this village a secret or something?"
A wealth of distrust in her eyes, she murmured, "Or something."
He smiled. "You have my word."
She moved to stand. "Stay put, you still need your rest. I'll send Shippou to bring you some stew. By sunrise, you should be fit to travel."
He nodded, not daring to disagree at the fire in her eyes. Although he had been terrified of death, he had a feeling her wrath may be worse. "As you wish. Although, I would love to know the name of the woman who saved my life."
The woman paused, and then glanced over her shoulder. "Sango. My name is Sango."
"Sango." He loved the sound of her name as it rolled off his tongue. "I am in your debt."
"You owe me nothing," she replied, before disappearing into the light of day.
Sure enough, once the dawn crested over the horizon, Sango had come to fetch for Miroku. "How are you feeling?" she asked, more-so out of obligation rather than actual concern, he was sure.
"Much better. You did a wonderful job." Her blush did not go unnoticed. "However, before we take our leave, I would appreciate speaking to the village headman, if I may."
Sango studied him, before agreeing. "My father has been eager to speak to you, as well."
Father? Miroku swallowed nervously, not having the best track record when it came to fathers of beautiful women. He was thankful his intentions this time were pure. "Lead the way."
After dressing and collecting his staff, Miroku followed the demon slayer to the large house at the edge of the village. He ignored the strange looks he received from other villagers and the whispered gossip spoken behind covered hands. Shippou had taken his now-normal place upon his good shoulder, and Miroku could feel the slight shiver of the kit's anxiety. He murmured a quick word of assurance, which seemed to calm Shippou slightly.
"I see you're doing very well," the headman greeted as he met them in front of his home. "I'm glad our healing abilities have not gone to waste."
"Yes, all thanks to your daughter, I'm feeling much better." He bowed politely at the waist, before the headman ushered him inside, Sango following close behind.
He held up a jar of sake, which Miroku politely obliged. "So, monk, may I ask what business you have near our village."
The monk took a sip, feeling the burn down his throat, before calculating his response. "The injuries I sustained…"
"Were from demons," the headman finished. "The young fox demon accompanying you explained."
Miroku nodded. "I see. Well, then you are aware that I was unable to finish them off. I'm sure they've moved on to slaughter other villages."
"Indeed. It was a concern for us as well. Our scouts have been trailing the demons for some time now. Unfortunately, it's been many moons since we last heard from them, and I fear our comrades' deaths."
Next to her father, Sango clenched her hands into fists on her lap. Her gaze was hard, worry creasing her brows, and Miroku could tell the concern for her allies greatly bothered her. He turned his focus back to the headman. "Sir, I know it is a great task to ask of you, but perhaps you would allow a few of your people to accompany me? I plan to pursue these demons, as more lives could be lost if they are not slain."
The headman pulled his lips into a hard line. "I appreciate your resolve, but I don't believe sparing some of my best fighters-"
"I'll go."
Both men turned to stare at Sango, who had spoken up and glared at them intensely.
"Sango-" her father began.
"Let me go and investigate. At the very least, we offer our comrades the dignity of bringing them home."
"I don't mean to interject, but a woman can't possibly assist in battle," Miroku said, concerned. "A battlefield is no place for a beautiful woman such as you."
Before he could say anymore, Sango had lunged to her feet and crossed the short distance between them, a blade settled against his throat in a threatening manner. "Do you question a woman's abilities, believing them to be far inferior to a man's?"
The headman smiled at the exchange, ignoring Miroku's perplexed expression. "My daughter is one of the best fighters in the village," he explained. "That's quite enough, Sango."
She waited another moment before removing the blade from Miroku's neck. He rubbed it, attempting to ignore the panic that had risen in his chest. "Well, then…" he said, clearing his throat. "I apologize for my assumptions. I meant no offense."
And quite frankly, I'm not yet ready to die…
Sango's father turned to her, a silent exchange passing between them before he finally relented with a sigh. "I wish you wouldn't go, but I suppose there is no stopping you. At least take Hirakotsu and Kirara. They will prove to be very useful should you come across these demons the monk speaks of."
"Thank you, Father." She bowed low at the waist. "I will not disappoint you."
As she left to gather her supplies, Miroku finished pleasantries with the headman before exiting the main house. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Shippou finally spoke. Miroku didn't blame him, as the exchange was rather… intense.
"No, I'm not," he said honestly. "But it doesn't appear as if we have a choice in the matter."
They strolled through the village, Shippou's gaze fixated on the groups of children playing in the street, while Miroku took special interest in the community itself. He hadn't had the privilege earlier - between healing from his injuries and then meeting with the headman - and found that although the village didn't appear different from others he had encountered along his travels, it still had components that set it aside from any other regular village. The roles of men and women remained (hard labor left to the men, while women cared for the homes and children), but demon-slaying weapons and training grounds spoke of a disciplined people.
When he came across Sango, she was speaking to a young boy. His dark hair and kind eyes were too familiar for him to be anything but related to her. She was whispering words of reassurance, even as the boy pleaded with her not to leave.
"Don't worry," Miroku said to the boy as he approached. "I'll be there to protect her."
The young boy gave a wavering smile. "I think she'll be the one doing the protecting."
Sango smiled down at him before turning her attention to Miroku. "This is my younger brother, Kohaku. He's a bit of a worry wart sometimes."
"Am not," he grumbled in return.
Miroku chuckled at the siblings' exchange. Although they shared looks, they had vastly different personalities. While Sango was headstrong and apparently refused to back down from a challenge, Kohaku seemed more reserved and timid.
"Be good for father," she chastised gently as she ruffled Kohaku's hair affectionately. "I'm sure I will be home in no time at all."
His wary gaze spoke of doubt, but he smiled all the same. "Be careful, Sister."
As they finished their farewells, Sango collected her things, including a large weapon strapped on her back which resembled a boomerang, and a small feline who perched upon her shoulder. Miroku had only heard legends of the demon slayer village, but as far as he knew, no one had ever stepped foot inside. Their fortified walls and guarded gate proved that entrance to the village was near impossible.
Which made him question: why all the secrecy, and what had they to gain from saving his life?
A deep sigh passed Miroku's lips as he took refuge on a river bank, the last of the sunlight slipping behind the water's horizon. He folded his legs beneath him as his fingers toyed with the blades of grass beside him. Miroku took pleasure in the cool air filling his lungs. It had been a long while since he had been gifted a moment of peace and he relished it. Their travels had taken them much farther than they had anticipated, and as the distance grew between Sango and her village, so did the strain on their group.
The demon slayer had not been an easy comrade to spend his days with. No matter how Miroku attempted to make pleasantries with the woman, Sango had always shut him down with a snide remark or a cool glare. He couldn't fathom what he had done to incite her animosity toward his character, but he did what he could to keep her anger pacified. Even Shippou seemed to keep his distance from the slayer, instead befriending her feline, Kirara, and challenging Miroku's abilities during their long treks between battles.
Miroku supposed Sango's cold demeanor may have something to do with her upbringing, but since leaving her village, he hadn't even seen her crack a smile. She was constantly on edge, her shoulders tense, her jaw tight. He wondered if she had ever allowed herself to savor the artistry of life outside of those wooden walls.
So lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear the slayer approach until she was already sitting beside him. Miroku raised his brows in surprise. Although there remained still a great distance between them, she had made it clear very early on that she had no desire for his company. To her, their comradeship was a simple means to an end.
He peered over his shoulder, noting the kit and feline were sound asleep, curled up near the fire, and then turned his gaze back to her. Sango still wore a stony expression - brows drawn tight, dark eyes fixated on the soft ripples of the water caused by the gentle breeze in the air - and her arms encased her knees like a sheath of protection. He had become used to her standoffish behavior, but his inability to give up made him a glutton for punishment.
"Couldn't sleep?" he inquired carefully, already preparing for her sharp retort.
Instead, he received a surprisingly pleasant response of, "No."
It had been one simple word, but her tone of voice divulged a far deeper response. Sango's voice didn't carry her usual tenor of contempt. Instead it was soft and delightful to the ears. So… against his better judgement, Miroku braved the tense air between them. "Is something on your mind?"
Dark eyes slid toward him, a rare hint of curiosity glimmering just beneath her guarded gaze. Sango stared at him for a few moments before her attention slid to the beads wrapped around his wrist. "Is there a reason why you wear those?"
Her question caught Miroku off-guard. She had never spoken a kind word to him before, let alone shown interest in him, so his delayed response was awkward. "My grandfather." He cleared his throat as he pulled his sleeve to allow the beads to glint in the moonlight. "They were passed down through my family, blessed to protect the person who wears them."
Sango pursed her lips and nodded curtly before averting her gaze again. After their short exchange, however, her demeanor shifted. Her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly and the air around her became more comfortable and friendly.
Feeling bold, Miroku pressed on. "Your weapon… Hiraikotsu? What is it made of?"
The slayer clenched and unclenched her jaw before slowly replying with, "Purified demon bones."
"I see. No wonder it's so strong."
Sango cocked her head, lips upturning ever so slightly in a smirk. "Perhaps it is not the weapon but the wielder who is strong."
Miroku smiled easily, the tension he had felt in her presence beginning to melt away. He wasn't sure what had transpired that made Sango so open that evening, or why she had bothered to seek his company, but he was grateful for it. Although they had journeyed together for a long time, it had been very lonely, and he was appreciative of the simple conversation.
"That indeed," he replied with admiration in his tone.
Even with the darkening sky of twilight, her blush did not go unnoticed. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "You said those beads were passed down through your family. Does that mean your father is a monk as well?"
"Yes, he is. I saw him briefly before I began my travels. He had finally returned for the first time since I was a boy."
"A boy?" she echoed, her brows shooting up in surprise, the first shameless emotion he had seen cross her features. "Why was he gone for so long?"
Miroku shrugged and explained to her how his grandfather had died purifying demons, and his father had vowed to do the same. It was only by luck his father had been able to return home alive, and thus Miroku had shouldered the mantle his family had carried.
Sango watched him carefully as he spoke, and as his story unfolded, he watched her relax. The tense wrinkle of her forehead became smooth, her arms unwound themselves from her knees, and gone was the guarded expression she wore like a shield.
"I see," she murmured. "So you've never really known either of your parents."
"No, but I like to believe Mushin raised me well - even if he is an old drunk."
Sango laughed then - a completely unadulterated laugh - and Miroku thought he would fall over from sheer amazement. This woman who had only earlier that day been surly and quick-tempered now resembled a completely different person. Her laughter lit up her eyes and her entire body glowed with a giddiness he couldn't remember enjoying.
"She laughs," he said, not bothering to hide his enjoyment.
Her mirth quickly soured and she sent a cool glare his way, which he had become quite accustomed to. "Is that a problem?"
Miroku shook his head, not bothering to even watch his tongue. "Not at all. I've simply never seen you so carefree before. It's a delightful change."
Sango scrunched up her nose as she blushed. "I suppose it's a learned behavior. I haven't ever been away from the village for this long before," she acknowledged quietly. "Forgive me. I mustn't be very good company."
Suddenly, Miroku felt a throbbing ache in his hand where the beads intertwined and he glanced down, clenching and unclenching his fist. An image then crossed his mind - of a woman crumpled over in pain, blood pooling beneath her, a vengeful cry - and he found his breath knocked from his chest.
"Miroku?" Sango's voice broke through the fog in his mind and suddenly the pain was gone. Breathing quickly, he looked up at her concerned expression, not sure exactly what had transpired just a moment ago. Her brown eyes watched him carefully, her body turned toward him with apprehension, as she spoke again. "Are you all right?"
"I'm… I'm fine." He smiled. "I'm glad you're here."
A final battle cry erupted across the clearing as blood splattered on the early morning grass. The demonic energy that had practically suffocated them dissipated, and Miroku finally fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He liked to think he had above average speed and stamina, but compared to Sango's capabilities, he had much to improve.
She limped over to him on the other side of the battlefield, her slayer outfit splattered with demon guts as Kirara transformed back into her smaller state. The first time Miroku had witnessed the cat transformed, he nearly had a heart attack. It had taken them almost two moon cycles to track down the demons, crossing a vast array of lands, and he had learned very quickly just how capable Sango was when it came to fighting.
"You all right?" she asked as she kneeled beside him, eyes quickly glancing over him for any potential injuries.
He nodded, granting her a smile. "Thanks to you."
She blushed under his praise while averting her gaze. "It was a team effort."
Miroku had to admit, it had been hard for her to open up at first, but as their journey continued on, she had begun to give him some semblance of trust. He even learned why their village had been kept such a secret for so long - to avoid hoards of demons coming to take revenge for those that had been slaughtered by the slayers - and had given his word to keep its location safe. And as their trust grew, so did their fighting ability side-by-side. They battled in such perfect succession, it was like they were creating a beautiful dance together.
Shippou wandered out from the edge of the treeline. His abilities had not yet grown enough to assist them much, but he had managed to take out three of the demons by himself. "Is it over?"
"Yes, it's over," Sango assured. "For now, anyways. There will always be other demons to slay, but at least today we were victorious."
"I do believe it is time to rest for a while," Miroku said as he stood, holding out a hand to assist Sango to a standing, as well. She obliged and rose beside him, their hands lingering just a brief moment before she pulled away. "Why don't we head to the nearest village and see if they have a room available for the night."
Sango pursed her lips and surveyed their surroundings, attempting to pinpoint their location. "I believe there's a village not far from here, but it's not exactly… traditional."
"What do you mean?" Shippou asked from his place upon Miroku's shoulder.
The slayer folded her arms across her chest. "It's been a rumor among my people that there is a village that is considered a sanctuary for half-demons."
Miroku furrowed his brows. "Why would there be a sanctuary?"
"No idea. But we may as well see if the rumors are true." She stepped behind the tree line to change out of her slayer's outfit.
Shippou and Miroku exchanged a glance. Half-demons were very rare, considering the hatred between humans and demons. Miroku couldn't say he had ever heard of one actually existing outside of hearsay, let alone seen one for himself, but he couldn't deny that he was intrigued.
Once Sango had finished changing, they began their trek toward the mysterious village, even as the demonic aura grew stronger as they neared.