Chapter 3: 踊る剣
Chapter Text
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Unedited
She rose with the sun. Listening blissfully to the chorus of the birds and the swishing of the trees. She could see the sea from where she stood and how the touch of the sun's rays turned the water into liquid gold. A deep ache in her heart as a memory whispered in her mind. Though it had become stale overtime she could still taste its bittersweetness.
Her master once woke her to watch the rising sun, teaching her the first of many forms used by a blade.
A blade that protected.
A blade that killed.
Her eyes filled with a distant longing, unfocused on the world around her. Seeing instead the ghosted images of the past long gone. Things that she will never see again.
Pulling her katana from her obi, she gazed at her face's reflection looking back at her from the blade. Her white eye misted with blindness, stared back. Shutting her eyes she listened to the earth. Remembering. Recalling the days of her youth. And to the tune of time, she began to dance.
Dancing to the song of the phoenix.
Phoenix.
Time.
Phoenix.
Time.
An endless cycle that never stops, like the ticking of a clock.
Time never stops, it never looks back, only forwards. And if you blink—even for just a brief second, you've already missed it. The moment has passed you by. It escaped through your fingers and will never come back—it won't come back ever.
People are born every day.
People die everyday.
Souls are reborn everyday only to die again and again.
It's a never ending cycle.
It's a blessing and a curse.
Time is endless, it is limitless. It's a well that never runs dry. And yet each moment is limited, cherished, and worth more than gold. Time has no end...and yet we're all running out of time.
It is a beautiful contradiction.
We cannot die without being born.
Being born as we die, doomed from the start. From the moment life's first breath enters our lung the countdown begins and the clock begins ticking. Marking how far we are from death.
She cut the air, slashing through it as her blade sang and thrummed. Twirling around and spinning with her sword, her movements echoing the call of a wild hurricane. In a single fluid motion, her other hand brought out her wakizashi just as her master once showed her before. Together, her two blades sang a perfect duet.
She cut the wind continuously.
One blade after another.
Pushing and pulling like the tides—like water.
Striking as a cycle.
As soon as motion started it ended and as it ended another started. This, was Dance of the Phoenix, a beautiful, endless and cruel contradiction.
Attack.
Defend.
Attack.
Defend.
A blessing and a curse.
Save.
Destroy.
Save.
Destroy.
It was something that could not be put to words and so it was told and described with blades.
A beautiful contradiction.
Gin stopped, lowering both blades for if she didn't she would most certainly go on forever. This sword-dance wasn't meant to end and so it had no ending. She could dance until she died. She smiled bitterly. Even in death, she would never rejoin her master. She would miss him for he has already become part of the cycle. His next cycle. And she would always be left behind.
She turned to the sea and screamed, cursing at the wind.
She could feel the wind just as she could recall her memories but she could not capture and hold it, just like she would never relive the past.
And so she screamed.
The sound of her sorrows drowning in the howls of the wind. It was a horrible sound. Her throat was raw and her voice was gone. Tears of crystallized suffering leaking from her eyes.
Sorrow stole her voice.
Wordlessly, she picked up her wooden mask and covered her face and tears, hiding them from the world. And in her tears, she hid her loneliness.
She was all alone.
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Sesshomaru observed that his master never spoke. Perhaps he was mute, perhaps not. Either way, he would instead speak with his sword and teach using clever hints and riddles. It was different.
Learning from another was different.
Learning from his master was very different than learning from his father. Even in the silence, Sesshomaru knew his master was there watching his every move, examining his every stance and mentally tracking his every mistake...not that there were many.
He soon learned of a pattern in his teacher's teachings.
On certain days, they would practice various stances and strikes. Repeating them over and over even when he performed them correctly. 'Habits,' his master would spell out in his language, 'habits and nature'. The masked oni was trying to engrave each position in him until they became instinct. The white oni already knew that he could do it correctly. He just wanted to see if he could do it correctly every time by instinct and second nature. On other days his master would abruptly strike at him with the dull side of his sword. Testing his reflexes and gaging his defensive stance to see if his teachings were being applied.
Today was not like any other day.
Like his father told him to, Sesshomaru followed his master diligently. Always obeying, and always listening. Never questioning or protesting even when he burned to. He followed his master despite it seeming that his master had no specific direction to go. (Though even Sesshomaru had limits on his patience.) From dawn until afternoon the pair had been walking without stop. They had also been walking in complete and utter silence.
Sesshomaru remained silent the entire time. Following his master without question, just as his father commanded. It was only when his master began to scale a mountain that he began to silently question. The mountain had millions of stone steps cascading around it, steps that they climbed one by one. Steps that took time. Steps that Sesshomaru knew he wouldn't need if he were to use his demonic power. If he use his powers he'd already be at the top, he considered with a slight scoff.
Yet his master insisted on using the steps.
His brilliant eyes of slitted gold fell onto his teacher's back. He could certainly scale the mountain in mere moments if he wanted to. Could his master do so as well? If so, why waste time climbing the stairs?
His eyes narrowed.
Perhaps his master couldn't do so.
But if his master couldn't even do something as trivial as that then what use was he? Perhaps his master was weaker than he.
His mind reeled.
How could he even tell if his master was competent? What real proof has he shown? All he had were the words of his—-
The words of his father.
His breath hitched slightly.
His father was a great and powerful deity capable of levelling mountains and slaying a hundred demons in a single sweep of a sword. He was fearsome. He was mighty! Inu no Taishō was honourable and strong. For that alone he should have faith in his father's words.
Sesshomaru put his doubts to rest, appeased once more. He would put his faith in his father's words...for now.
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They arrived at the top, meeting a great wooden gate that led to a monastery. Sesshomaru stared at the entire thing in disdain. It was all so...mortal. He shot his master a questioning gaze that contained equal amounts of irritation and displeasure. Gin ignored him and simply backed away from the tall gates. Pausing, then charging straight towards it, kicking off it and propelling herself over the wall. She landed on the other side without a single speck of dirt tarnishing her.
Sesshomaru followed soon after.
They were in a courtyard, one surrounded by the monastery's walls with the actually entrance being a fair distance away. Various barrels lay scattered around the courtyard, sitting innocently and unmoving and they walked to the centre of the court.
It was completely deserted.
Gin unsheathed her sword and began to instruct Sesshomaru to defeat her in a spar, challenging him to do so with his eyes closed. Upon seeing her request the young daiyokai scoffed and unsheathed his own blade. A test such of this one would be no challenge for a great demon like him. At this, her fists tightened around the hilt of her sword. Behind her mask, Gin frowned at the demon's arrogance and happily sought to teach him this lesson. It would do him good. She only hoped that he would learn not to repeat the same mistakes.
Blades clashed and immediately the scent of blood wafted through the air. Slitted eyes of fiery gold widened as a stinging sensation streaked across his cheek along with the metallic tang of blood. His blood. A distinct cut now marked Sesshomaru's face. And although not severe the implications of the wound were astounding. He had been struck. Upon realizing his eyes were open he remembered the purpose of the exercise and shut them tightly.
Sesshomaru actually staggered from the backlash of his master's blow.
The masked Oni, however, remained completely indifferent and unharmed from the attack.
In an instant, the Oni vanished.
Sesshomaru whirled around, following the faint scent of his master and prepared his blade but by the time he had turned, his opponent had already maneuvered around him. He spun once more, blindly striking and missing his target. Instead hitting a wooden barrel and causing its contents to leak onto the stone floor.
Immediately, a nauseating sweet floral scent tickled the daiyokai's nose causing him to visibly recoil in bemusement and disgust.
Perfume.
Each barrel was filled with perfume.
Sesshomaru's head pounded as overwhelming and obnoxious smells flooded his nose and assaulted his senses. Distantly, he could hear the crashing of another barrel breaking, then another, and another. Several other scents each as overpowering and sickening as the last continued to waft around him sending him into a dizzy madness. He refused to open his eyes for it would defeat the purpose of the challenge. But he could no longer smell where his master was. In fact, he could no longer tell the difference between each scent.
Her couldn't see or hear her.
Eventually, the smells overcame him—he who was the proud Sesshomaru...
He blacked out.