To be angry is to revenge the

faults of others on ourselves.

Alexander Pope

Thunderstruck

Hiei's POV

They were coming.

Rough footfalls echoed against the aqueduct's walls, overpowering the water splashing at our ankles. High-pitched screeches sounded, threatening all measures of bodily harm, though I didn't dare stop. Sweat beaded my brow; I couldn't breathe – the weight at my throat forbid it. Chest burning, I sped down one bend after another, hurrying along a one-way path to nowhere.

Laughter barked against the stone and my steps quickened, nausea welling. Things were different this time. I'd broken the rules, I'd broken all the rules: disobedience, exercising my tongue, raising my hand in anger; I even burned her, my treasure, the bright morning star–

They were coming and it was all my fault.

The hand clutching mine tightened, igniting silent strength. Her breaths rose above mine then, fragile as flakes falling in the night. Still, I took courage in her touch and urged us on, murmuring promises I knew I couldn't keep.

At the next turn, she lost her footing and cried out. I spun and caught her without thinking, mermaid-hair spilling across both arms. A pain-filled whimper reached my ears though she refused to cry:

She wouldn't share her gifts so easily.

Her lips bled a name for my ears alone and I tightened my grip, desperately seeking a place to hide. I'd done something unforgivable, something even the severest of beatings couldn't fix. They were going to separate us; they wanted to take me away–

I couldn't do that to her.

A crevice in the wall caught my eye and I pulled her across the narrow channel, savoring the smell of her hair. I remained mute as she whispered the name again, fighting as I wedged her into the crack. There wasn't room enough for both of us but that was alright:

Everything would be okay, so long as she was with me.

I woke only to become sick on the fox's floor.

The first light of dawn found me crouched on the cold stones, silently heaving what little food remained in my stomach. Satisfied the sensation had passed, I wiped my mouth, disgusted to find my hand trembling.

For once, I was grateful for Kurama's inhibited senses.

Throwing my cloak over the vomit, I allowed my gaze to sweep the room before staring at the prince. Kurama remained lost to the throes of sleep, fingers curled around the coverlet, hair splayed across the pillow like so much blood. Eyes shifting behind closed lids, each breath sounded softly through flared nostrils, marked by the steady rise and fall of his chest. Though a lighter sleeper than most, the fox refused to wake at minor discrepancies in sound, the slightest shift of light–

He wasn't bred for such things.

A tinkling bell reached my ears, soft as a distant bird call. I cleaned the mess in one swipe and balled my cloak in my fist, slipping from the room without a sound. Yusuke continued his incessant snoring as I entered the sitting room, turning away from me in his sleep.

I crept to the door, careful to place myself between the entrance and the Oni prince. Attempts on Yusuke had never been exercised within the castle but with tensions between the two kingdoms rising, anything was possible. Fingers closing around both sword hilts, I crouched, ready to strike–

Until the sickly stench of perfume stopped me.

Biting back a curse, I rose, slowly opening the door. A woman I'd never seen stood beyond the threshold, eyes veiled beneath dark lashes. Muddy hair piled high atop her head, her arms hugged her bosom, mismatched oranges straining beneath ruddy green folds. She stood nearly a head taller than I, bearing every mark of nobility though no earrings dripped from her slender ears. A black bracelet shone in the torchlight as she shifted from one foot to the other, petite bell darkened by age swaying this way and that:

She refused to look at me.

We both knew what the bell meant – a calling card, a secret shared only by women in Schloss Wald – yet still I hesitated. The fox would wake any minute now, mind set on that ridiculous tournament. I was expected to escort him there, to protect him at all costs. I–

The bell chimed again and my stomach roiled, demanding obedience. Panic squeezed my throat, the phantom of a weight from years past. Mind racing, I sought ways to not hear the bell, though aside from covering my ears such a thing was impossible–

My hands were not made for rebellion.

Of course, I refused to allow such such weakness to surface. I knew my place, as she did hers.

She would get what she desired and I would not resist.

Rolling her shoulders back, the woman raised her head, doing her best to project confidence. "Come."

And failed miserably. Her voice wavered, brow creased ever so slightly. Both hands trembled against her skirts, causing the bell to chime once again. A weak woman, the type who always did what she was told only to whine about it later:

Those were always the most violent.

Breathing a silent sigh, I stepped into the hall, closing the door. We did not touch as I followed her down the corridor – that would come later, in the privacy of her chambers. Long nails fidgeting at her thigh, crooked teeth gnawing her lip. Anxiety seeped from her flesh, peppered with embarrassment and sticky excitement:

All promised a busy morning.

Kurama's POV

Unadulterated sunlight encompassed all as we stepped from beneath the castle's shade, each ray promising a warm day. Flowers chattered and soft grass blades crooned, tugging at trouser legs and brushing against exposed flesh. Downy petals pressed the backs of my hands, fresh leaves nudged Kuwabara's hollowed cheeks while patches of moss cushioned Yusuke's toes, adding a spring to his already light step. The land rejoiced at our presence, serenading with a song few could hear–

A direct contrast to my heavy heart.

"Just so you know, this royally sucks."

I glanced back at my cousin, conscious of the vine twining between my fingers. Yusuke walked with his ever-confident air – club slung over one shoulder, free hand resting snugly inside his plaid. Though his eyes remained closed, he never stepped on the lilies tugging the ends of his hair, nor the dahlias fussing over his pants the color of day-old dandelion blooms. No, despite his gusto, Yusuke refused to harm the land in any way.

He'd held that same respect for as long as I could remember.

"U-Urameshi!" Kuwabara hissed, carefully sidestepping a bright patch of petunias.

"No, it's all right." I allowed the ivy to slip away, glancing towards my cousin. We were fast approaching the hill which led to the orchards: this was Yusuke's last chance to speak his mind before the laws of decorum overrode all else. "Please, continue."

The Oni prince scowled, refusing to meet my gaze. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful Uncle did all this for me. It's just–" Here he unsheathed his hand only to scratch a horn, burying eager fingers into his braids – a nervous habit leftover from boyhood. "It's going to be a pain fighting around all this!"

The foliage giggled in response, each note soft as the breeze.

I tilted my head, conscious of the various flora slipping into my sleeves and boots, willing themselves to be of use. Smiling, I willed them into seeds, feeling each help its neighbor weave into the garment. "You don't like it?"

Yusuke shuddered. "No thanks! Give me cold stone any day!"

Kuwabara's brow furrowed as we stepped beneath the shade of lush peach trees. "Wait, are you saying there aren't any plants in Tourin?"

"What? No! Of course there are plants in Tourin, dummy! How else would we eat?" Yusuke shook his head, ornaments cackling. "The difference is our food doesn't talk to us!"

I chuckled as a well-meaning branch jostled his crown, darkening his mood further. "There are many advantages to such a tie with one's land, Yusuke."

"Tch! Like I said, no thanks!"

The knight's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, fighting to catch my cousin's eye. "But why did you say 'cold stone'?"

Yusuke raised a thick brow. "Ever fought in the mountains?"

"Unh-uh." Kuwabara shook his head. "My family's estate is about twenty miles north of here; I've never gone far beyond it."

Yusuke snorted, returning his hand to the folds of his plaid. "You two need to get out more."

Silence fell as we passed through rows of peach and apple trees, each humming in acknowledgment yet refusing to reach for us as the others had. Of course, the date, plum, and fig trees acted after the same manner. The harvest was fast approaching, after all, and every ounce of strength went towards best serving their King.

The nut groves knew no such restraint, however. One after another, they extended the remnants of pecan, almond, and other yields to us, often dropping them in Yusuke's crown as if it were a stout bowl. Kuwabara laughed outright at this and though my cousin grumbled and yelled at the branches, he never raised his fist to them. Not once.

After a squirrel's bounty tumbled past his shoulders, Yusuke glared at me. "Why does this shindig have to be in an orchard, anyway?"

I smiled as a late blossom was placed atop the trees' gifts, calling off their affections with a wave. "You'll see."

Soon enough, we reached the wall marking father's private gardens. The Diviega dwarfed all else. In fact, the ancient trunk appeared to stretch taller at our nearness, branches green and proud in the morning sun. Fragile pods erupted here and there among full leaves, though the tree would not bear fruit for months. Still, the bark sent forth its fragrance, honeyed mint with a pinch of spice–

A call I refused to answer.

Suddenly, Yusuke stopped, leaning against his club and grinning. "Well, well, well, look who finally decided to show up!"

My steps faltered and I blinked, gazing into the shadows cast by the wall. Slowly, a figure materialized – one marked by wild hair and skin caressed by the sun. Hiei stepped into our path without pomp or airs, ever-conscious of the flowers at his feet:

The sight made my breath catch; the smile suddenly died on Yusuke's lips.

Hiei's face resembled an over-ripe date: a medley of reds, purples and browns stretched across his cheekbones, mottled his ears, stained his jaw. Angry crimson streaked down his cheeks and throat, nearly hiding the savage imprints of teeth. Sickly green marked both arms from shoulder to fingertip, swallowed only by the black dragon's coils. One eye remained closed – shut by a still-oozing cut – while the other managed to give the illusion of holding my gaze while doing the exact opposite; a skill perfected from many years of servitude.

Kuwabara dared to speak first, voice sounding far off. "H-Hiei! W . . . What happened to you?"

My companion scoffed, lips puffed and pounding. "Nothing."

Yusuke saved Kuwabara from responding by striding forward, taking Hiei's chin between firm fingers. "If this is your idea of 'nothing', remind me to never drink with you." My cousin mused, turning the shorter man's face this way and that before touching the cut at his eye.

Finally, he smirked. "Bet you're a mean drunk."

Hiei jerked away and Yusuke let him go, stepping back to my side. Kuwabara watched as we shared a knowing look, noting the all-too-familiar bruises marring Hiei's body–

The stench of sex clinging to his skin.

I willed my face into a porcelain mask, all emotion falling from my voice. "Are you well enough to fight?"

A snort and Hiei crossed his arms, though he still refused to look at me. "Of course."

Of course. What other answer could he give?

"Wha– Your Highness, you can't be serious!" I turned to see Kuwabara throw an arm in Hiei's direction, face darkened the shade of a ripe cherry. "You can't expect him to compete like this! If someone attacked Hiei, we've got to–"

"He can and he will." I cataloged the unfamiliar scent wafting from Hiei's hair – jasmine tainted by ginger – before turning cold eyes to the knight. "We have no other choice."

"But–!" Kuwabara ground his jaw, hands curling into fists.

"Gandaran law dictates that in any tournament, a champion must be elected to represent the royal family. The law also states royalty cannot participate in something as trivial as fighting for sport – the risk is too great." I could feel the flora's anger as their seeds trembled inside my garments, a sentiment I shared yet could not show. "Hiei has acted as our champion for years and fought under worse conditions."

Still, Kuwabara shook his head. "It's not right!" He stamped one foot, not daring to look up. I noted the anger churning those cobalt eyes, like the gathering of thunderheads. "It's not right–"

"You sound like an old woman." Hiei quipped, wiping at the cut with the heel of his hand. A flash of pink and he lapped the liquid before pressing his hand to the eye once more, watching the knight all the while. Finally, he spat, red flying as he wiped the remaining saliva on his trousers. "Did you leave your skirts at home?"

"What's wrong with you?" Kuwabara snapped, taking a step forward. Fists raised, knees bent as much as his armor would allow – he looked very much like a bear about to charge. "Can't you see I'm just trying to help–"

"I don't need your help, nor your pity." Hiei shot back, frost hinging every word.

Before the knight could respond, Yusuke rose to his full height and Hiei turned, both staring towards our destination. The sound of raised voices reached my ears, an unmistakable melody curling my lips. "It appears they are starting without us."

"What? No!" Kuwabara started off at a run, helmet banging from its place at his belt.

Yusuke glanced my way brow raised. "He knows they can't actually start until we get there, right?"

"Come on, guys!" The knight called back, gloved hand glinting in the sun. "Urameshi, are all Oni this slow or are you just the exception?"

"I'll take that as a no." He popped his neck before throwing his head back to bear a toothy grin. "Watch yourself, Kuwabara!"Yusuke exclaimed before breaking away from us, braids flying as they raced across the orchard.

I shook my head, fighting a chuckle even as Hiei muttered "Idiots."

We followed at a measured pace, content with watching their demented game of tag. Hiei kept pace at my right rather than falling behind, an unusual breach in etiquette. I couldn't help but be grateful for it granted the opportunity to study his injuries discreetly, namely the cut and imprints along his jugular. A slight limp marked his gait – one the casual observer could easily overlook – and he appeared intent on keeping hip and shoulder movements to the bare minimum. Blood mingled with the exertion of sex, as well as the perspiration of another, one who ate entirely too many tostees.

Then, the welded eye forced itself open and he glared, currant iris proclaiming what his mouth would not:

Stay out of this.

"Whoa . . ."

I couldn't help but smile when we found our companions outside the perimeter of my private gardens. Tiger lilies, petunias and speckled buttercups swayed at the ankles of three men and three women, all proud Gandarans of varying ages. Each wore flowing robes of white – a privilege given only to enchanters – plaited hair spilling down their backs in shades of brown, gold and black. Arms outstretched, their voices rose and fell in conjunction with one another, fingers spread skyward. Sopranos, tenors and smooth baritones fled from parted lips, spewing words few remembered and even less could know.

Stately maple, winsome willow, as well as various nut trees shuddered at those words, bending to the enchanters' will. Ancient wood moaned as the trees bowed to the earth and twisted, performing feats even the best contortionist could only dream of. Each branch freely shook away some bark, leafy batches rising to form a flawless canopy above stouter brethren.

When the song finally died and each alabaster pillar fell from heaven, a nearly perfect circle lay before us, interrupted only by two minuscule patches of grass on either end of the clearing. The stands gleamed proudly under the sun, as though they had been there for ages. Each tree bled together save one, which rose higher than the rest. This particular tree – an almond with pale bark and watchful eyes – had truly outdone itself, somehow forming three ornate thrones with intertwined branches. The middle throne stood tallest and though the other two were unique pieces, all were irrefutably feral, shivering with anticipation.

Kuwabara watched the entire process with mute fascination, mouth agape. Yusuke's smirk grew as he leaned his full weight against his club, fist digging into his side. "Not bad, fox boy – see your magi haven't lost their touch."

Hiei snorted, glancing his way with his good eye. "You expected anything less?"

"'Course not." He grinned, straightening to rummage through his plaid. In short order, he'd withdrawn and lit his pipe, exhaling sweet smoke through flared nostrils. "Just glad Uncle's taking this seriously."

The knight turned to face us, eyes misted with wonder. "How did they do that?"

"Weren't you paying attention? They told the trees to move and they did." Yusuke scoffed, teeth clamped around his pipe stem.

"Yeah, I saw that! But . . . How?"

"It will take too long to explain now." I stepped between the two, watching Oni and Gandaran alike prepare for battle. Swords and shields, maces and clubs; some even wielded thick slingshots and slender daggers, testing each for sharpness, strength, and durability. Only bows and arrows were forbidden due to the proximity of the stands but the Oni had no qualms with this – such shifted the odds in their favor.

Mint hair sprang forth and I shifted my gaze, sorting through the rough bodies milling about. Rui and Karasu resided among the rest of the combatants, the Tengu kneeling before his mistress so she could whisper in his ear. He wore his customary black though a cuirass now covered his chest, collar straining against the too-pale throat. Half-mask glinting in the sun, his lids drooped as he listened, her voice a wine of which he would never tire.

Hiei followed my line of sight yet remained silent, puffed lips pressed together.

"Well, we may as well join 'em." Yusuke sighed, tapping the ashes from his pipe before returning it to a hidden pocket. "The sooner we get there, the less I'll have to hear from Hokushin."

Welcoming cries rose as we made our way towards the arena, the Oni each bearing bright smiles and toothless jabs:

"Lord Yusuke!"

"Hou's it gaun?"

"Hokushin's lookin' fer ye."

Yusuke waved his club dismissively, eyes closed to his countrymen. Several Oni sidled up to their leader, pinching at his clothes and hair.

One in particular grinned, an older ram with thick curling horns and bright green eyes. "Yer a chancer." A slit of mahogany appeared to stare at the man bedecked in purple and ruddy orange, thick brow raised. "Yer gettin' skelped one of these days."

"Aye, aye." Yusuke rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance and placing a hand on the Oni's head much as father had days before. "Awa' an bile yer heid."

The man grunted, giving the prince's foremost horn a slight tug before turning back to his preparations, a chuckle rumbled from his belly.

"Blethers, all of 'em." He threw a scowl at his people, which only made them laugh all the more. Finally, his lips lifted into a smile and he sighed, tightening his hold on the club at his shoulder. "Well, let's find your old man and Hokushin. I wanna get this out of the way as quickly as possible."

Hiei followed two measured paces behind at my left and Kuwabara mimicked him at my right, staring still at the sighing trees. The human's eyes had yet to return to their normal shape. "Your Highness?"

Much as I loathed the title, I dared not correct him now. "Yes?"

"Do y–" He swallowed, gaze tracing the gold threads at my shoulder. "Do you think I could do something like that?"

Hiei scoffed, his voice a whisper of wind as he sidestepped a pile of weaponry. "You really are an idiot."

"I'm serious!" He hissed, thankfully conscious of listening ears and roving eyes. "The prince said only a few can hear the land, remember?" Onyx flecks found me again, pleading, just this side of desperate. "Since I can hear, that means I can learn to talk to it, right?"

One glance and I could tell Yusuke was listening too, though his steady gait argued otherwise.

"In theory, yes." I admitted slowly, choosing each word with care. "Though to date, Gandara has never possessed a human enchanter."

Rather than discourage, however, this news appeared to intrigue him. Kuwabara's steps quickened until only an inch separated us, brow furrowed. "How come?"

"Your race dies too quickly."

"Hey!" He snapped, nearly stumbling as he glared over his shoulder.

"Hiei has a point." I interjected softly, reclaiming his attention. "Simply having the ability to hear is not enough – one must also be able to communicate with and impose his will upon the land. To do so requires intensive study of the body, flora, as well as the language which existed since the world began." A placating smile rose as I saw some of the brightness fade from his eyes. "It is no easy task."

Kuwabara stopped and our procession ground to a halt with him. For a moment, I truly believed I'd broken his spirit. Countless thoughts flitted behind his eyes, emotions I could not hope to name: brow pinched, lips pressed into a tight line; jaw grinding to the steady beat of his heart, the clinking of chain mail.

Finally, he met my gaze. "One year."

I blinked; a grunt of surprise sounded at my back. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'll become Gandara's first human enchanter in a year."

For once, Hiei was speechless, as was I.

Yusuke, however, never appeared at a loss for words. "Yer aff yer heid!" He guffawed, ornaments clacking as he shook his head. "Didn't you hear what fox boy just said? You're–"

"I said I'm gonna do it, didn't I? Once Kazuma Kuwabara commits to something, he always follows through!" Kuwabara's stature did not wilt under my scrutiny; no matter how long I stared, the fire in his eyes refused to die. "All I'm asking for is a chance, your Majesty. That's all I want."

He bore his resolve for all to see. Wearing his heart on his sleeve, face an open book – he'd been this way for as long as I'd known him. Every argument quelled beneath that determination, the unspoken plea–

His petition for trust.

"Very well."

Hiei raised a silent brow even as nonsense syllables spewed from Yusuke's mouth. "Kurama, you can't be–"

"I'm very serious, Yusuke." Kuwabara's expression shifted back to one of stunned wonder and I smiled at him, a true smile. "You have one year to become the crown prince's personal enchanter, Kuwabara. I will help you however I can but the majority of the work will rest upon you." His lips parted, though no sound left them. "Do not fail me."

That single command broke his stupor and he fell to one knee, pressing his forehead to my hand. Despite his steady grip, I felt his tears on my fingers. "Yes, your Highness."

"Well, well, what have we here?"

Father's voice rang through the commotion clear as a bell. Bright-throated tulips and proud gladiolas stems leaped in their beds, fronds reaching for their king. Father stood less than ten meters away, flanked by Yana, Kaito, Asato, and Suzaku. Sightless gaze fixed in my direction, his hand remained extended to Hokushin, though the latter showed no inclination of taking it. Yusuke's personal guard took much the same stance as their Gandaran counterparts around the Hornless Oni, each staring at their selected knight, staves in-hand.

What had happened?

"Father." I conceded with a bow, watching Yusuke dip his head from the corner of my eye. Kuwabara did a swift about-face in the dirt, the metal of his knee guard screeching as he knelt before his king. Though whispering cloth betrayed his bow I knew without looking that Hiei's eyes were open, watching all with well-veiled suspicion.

So, he sensed it as well.

At last, father dropped his hand and turned to face us, smile receding to a ghost of its former glory. "It appears one of Tourin's diviners has brought ill tidings."

Hokushin's grip on his staff tightened, only the subtle creaking of wood giving him away. The other Oni maintained their stances, grimaces hard as stone. I watched father's knights debate reaching for their own weapons, faces smooth willow bark.

Yusuke stepped towards his guardian without giving my people a second glance, all hints of mirth gone . "What's happened?"

Hokushin bowed his head, bare scalp gleaming red. "Two more, Lord Yusuke."

Suddenly, all color washed from Yusuke's face and he swallowed, squeezing both eyes shut. "Where?"

"Just outside the Wake, in the village of Dunbar. They disappeared from within Tourin's borders."

The Wake – the crevice and surrounding territory which served as a border between the two kingdoms. A remnant of the Dragon's War, the Wake formed when Mihtig Estmere – the last of the dragon generals – carved the ground with his own body, shot down by arrows and Oni enchantments. Though the allies won the decisive battle, Mihtig made a point of taking both armies with him, Tourite and Gandaran alike plummeting to their deaths in a gash deep as a mountain. Thus, graced with sloping hills and fertile pastureland, neither Tourin nor Gandara made a move to claim it because the site was viewed as a mass burial ground:

Hence the name, 'The Wake'.

Yusuke took one breath, then another, still hiding behind sheathed lids. "And dad?"

"King Raizen was in his palace at the time: he has not left Áit Shábháilte for several days."

Finally, Yusuke opened his eyes, molten brown lit with burning fury. Lips twisted in an angry scowl, he appeared every bit the savage prince he was. "Your source?"

"Takenada of the Manchura clan." Hokushin ground his jaw once again, voice little more than a growl. "He can be trusted."

Yusuke clucked his tongue, thrusting a hand in his plaid. "I know that!" One thought after another flitted across his face until finally he withdrew his hand and placed it on the older Oni's head, thumb and pinkie resting against either temple. "Tell Takenada to keep his eyes open, to alert us if anything looks even remotely suspicious." He chewed his inner cheek, fang shining. "We gotta stop this while it's still in the Lowlands."

Hokushin closed his eyes, submitting to his prince's command without hesitation. When Yusuke removed his hand, the Oni rose to his full height and nodded to one of his companions, who dismissed himself promptly.

For a time, no one dared speak. Yusuke's fingers curled into fists several times, each instance more pronounced than the last. Momentarily, I feared he would strike the nearest possible target–

The ire curling his lips did nothing to dissuade that sentiment.

Thankfully, father chose then to speak. "It's a fine day, too fine to worry over what we can do nothing about." He smiled then, decisively trimming away the still-lingering tension. "Shall we?"

Almond breathed fresh sighs as I sat at the throne to father's left, knowing bark pulling imaginary wrinkles from my tunic and trousers. How the tree managed this without snagging the cloth was beyond me.

"Welcome, honored friends, esteemed guests!"

Father's voice interrupted the chatter scattered throughout the stands and sidelines, calling all attention to himself. Adorned in fine green, Gandara's king outstretched his arms as if to embrace everyone present, a warm smile adorning his face. He wore no gold or silver, nor did festive bells hang from his belt. No, the only finery father bore were his silken garments, as well as the ancient crown formed from the Diviega.

My father lived by the words of his father, that a true king need not flaunt his kingship with unnecessary finery.

"We thank you for attending the festivities, and offer this as a small token of our appreciation."

Muted murmurs from the Oni, quickly silenced by a glare from my cousin. Forcing myself to relax against stout branches, a softened sigh escaped and I glanced down, noting the barely audible humming of wood. A dark crown sat proudly on the remaining throne, indiscriminate placeholder for the Tourrite prince.

Yusuke stood before his people on their side of the arena, watching father with head held high. Thick red paint arched across his forehead, ran down the bridge of his nose to straddle his chin in so many bloody streams. These lines rode atop a ghastly white sea, blurring every distinguishing feature from his and all other horned heads. In fact, only Yusuke's hair set him apart from his countrymen, wild raven locks confined by countless braids and gaudy ornaments. According to my cousin, the strict roles dictated by society ceased to exist on the battlefield: war did not differentiate between noble and the common man, so why should he?

Sometimes, I envied his simplistic view of the world.

"Unlike Gandara's traditional tournaments, this one was planned with our nephew – the Crown Prince of Tourin – in mind. Therefore, we will abide by the rules of our brethren, the Oni."

Several cheers from Yusuke's people, silenced this time by Hokushin. Armed with only his staff, he stood tall alongside his men, watching father with hard eyes. Though the Hornless were not permitted to participate in the tournament, they alone possessed the privilege of wearing black:

They alone had earned a place beside their prince.

Kuwabara stood out hopelessly among the Gandaran nobles. Aside from being the sole human, he was also the only man wearing full body armor, the rest arrayed in functional leather cuirass and other armaments. To his credit, Kuwabara bore his family's treasures well, uninhibited by the thick steel or the sweltering heat festering his brow.

Hiei mirrored Yusuke's place before the Gandarans – a position he could never hope to occupy, save acting as our champion. Though he could now hold both eyes open, his swollen face drew several glares and quite a few snickers from those at his back. Some even dared curse his presence, the folly of such filth representing the royal house–

The words melded my gut.

Hiei, however, did not react to their comments:

He never did.

"So, without further ado, we offer the proceedings to our nephew."

With this, father lowered his arms and sat down, a graceful motion defying all natural law.

"All right guys, listen up!"

If father's voice was a soothing balm, Yusuke's represented a blaring horn, sounding clear and strong well beyond the orchards. The Oni prince stepped to the center of the arena even as his people beat their chests and Hokushin pinched his nose, brow furrowed to the point I feared lasting damage was imminent. Hiei smirked while Kuwabara grinned outright; they appeared the only ones outside the stands who found humor in my cousin's antics.

"All of you know the rules already, so shut it so everyone else can hear!" The Oni laughed at this, fangs shining even as their prince cast them knowing looks over his shoulder. Yusuke glanced at those in the stands as well as those across the arena, crossing his arms. "From what I remember, tournaments in Gandara are pretty strict: no hitting below the waist, can't aim for vital spots; you have to wear protection and if you lose your weapon, the other guy automatically wins." He raised a painted brow at father. "That sound about right, Uncle?"

Father nodded, face lit in good humor.

Yusuke grinned then, transforming into something utterly impish. "See, we do things differently in Tourin."

The atmosphere suddenly grew cold as those in the stands held their breath, revulsion combining with muted wonder at the creature below. One voice in particular caught my attention and in an instant I found Shizuru seated several feet away. Cheek in hand, she watched Yusuke with a wry smile, plum satin gown pulled taut over her stomach and ample breasts. The foremost strands of hair taken together in two thick braids, she'd pinned both to the base of her skull with sunny silk flowers – gifts I'd given her years ago. Head unadorned, she paid little attention to the lady at her left, uncaring of chastisements on decorum and etiquette.

"Guess I'll start out with what's the same."

I motioned to an attendant and lifted my mouth to his ear. The boy nodded and slipped away a second later, spurred by his mission.

"No strikes to the groin or back of the knee. You can fight with an injured leg, but if your knees shot, you're dead. We also want you to be able to breed." Here a pleased smirk lit Yusuke's face. "What better way to wind down after a fight than a good rut?"

Here several Oni clamored their assent while many Gandarans glared, lips pressed tightly together. Father's smile grew while Hokushin's hand moved from his nose to cover his eyes, mouth marred in a frown.

The rustling of feathers brought my attention to our other guests. Rui and Karasu stood apart from both groups, just under the podium where we sat. Though they continually watched Yusuke, I knew the tengu's ear remained fixed on me–

Rui's smile attested to it.

"So, anywhere besides there is free game. We're not aiming for anyone to die but if you get killed for being stupid, it's your own fault." Yusuke continued, crossing burly arms over his chest. A fresh breeze caught his topmost braids, causing the copper twining to clatter against both horns. "You don't have to wear armor unless you want to, doesn't really help your chances either way."

Here he tipped his head back and tasted the air with a flick of the tongue. A satisfied smirk lit his face and he closed his eyes, the image of a sated specter.

The sound of metal-against-metal – Kuwabara's sword bumping stout plate – shattered the reverie. "Oh yeah, one more thing." Here, he cracked one eye open to peek at the Gandarans before him, a grin curling his lips. "The fight isn't over until one of you gives up or you can't go anymore. Lose your weapon? Sucks to be you."

Yusuke snorted at Kuwabara's bewilderment, his asking Hiei's validation for each rule. "What, you think your enemy'll take a take a time-out if you drop a sword or you're caught with your pants down? That's the one thing I've never understood about Gandara." He shook his head, heedless of Hokushin clearing his throat. "You treat tournaments like a spectator sport when they're the best way to train your kids for battle."

A nearly inaudible rumble in Hokushin's chest and Yusuke started, looking from his guardian to his Uncle. Father lips pulled at his cheeks though he smiled all the same, the scar marring his eyes appearing deeper somehow, more pronounced.

Immediately my cousin's gusto deflated and he rubbed the back of his head, eyes lowered in penitence. "Sorry, Uncle. I meant no disrespect."

"There is no need to apologize." Father waved his hand dismissively, an elegant ripple of cloth and flesh. "You are entitled to your opinions, Lord Yusuke, both as a man and a future King." Here, his brow furrowed even as one side of his mouth lifted – a conspiratory tilt, solely for his nephew. "What you lack is the experience to incorporate them."

Both sides breathed a collective sigh as Yusuke laughed, motioning to Hokushin with his free hand. The bald Oni barked orders in their strange tongue and several rams shuffled toward the treeline while a few lingered still – the Hornless.

"You summoned me, my lord?"

Subtle hyacinth flooded my nose and I smiled, raising my gaze. Shizuru stood just out of reach, honeyed eyes lowered to her clasped hands, though I could tell she watched me. The puffed shoulders of her dress framed her face, drawing attention to features I knew so well: a strong jaw, proud cheekbones; nose carved from the finest marble, lips dyed with rose hips at birth. Nature's finest gift, given to Gandara at no cost–

I never tired of looking upon her.

A nod and I murmured to the bark, allowing it to feed from my fingertips. "Would it please my lady to sit here?" The tree shifted between us, forming a bench of sorts as I extended my hand. "With what is to come, we are in desperate need of something lovely to look upon."

The faintest of blushes colored her cheeks and tension sang from both shoulders, yet her expression did not change. "The choice is both of your lordships, not mine."

Curling my fingers, I glanced to father, who still smiled at the activities below. There were very few things I felt strongly about in this world, yet the first time I saw her, I knew:

She was meant to be mine.

Love is a curious thing. Emotions care nothing for social matters, especially those concerning rank and that which is 'proper'. However, without feelings – or, at the very least, empathy – one cannot be a good King. Though she was not a commoner, in the eyes of society, Shizuru and I existed on separate planes. Besides, my future wife had been chosen the day I was born:

A woman I'd never met.

Shizuru's quick wit and charm held no place here, nor could her education or her family's fame change this arrangement.

While the two should not be mutually exclusive, love and being of high rank rarely coincided.

Father turned to face us then, a warm hum nudging gently from his throat. "Any descendant of Haelend is welcome here." His lips softened and he nodded, the smallest of endorsements. "Please, join us."

Shizuru curtsied before easing onto the bench, ignoring my proffered hand. Father turned his attention back to the gathered guests and I watched her through veiled lids, committing each detail to memory. Her skirts resembled unruly bedclothes as she smoothed them, each fold pooling between her fingers. A dress brimming with dark lace and ribbons, both the color and style suited her, something I imagined she fought her ladies tooth-and-nail over wearing. She would view the garment as too fine, presumptuous, even though it was nearly out-of-fashion. A delicate necklace dipped into her bodice, held in place by her bosom–

Nestled where I most wanted to be.

Clearing my throat, I motioned to the proceedings below before allowing my hand to fall away. "Have you witnessed this ceremony before, Lady Shizuru?"

"Ceremony?" She glanced from Hokushin and his men to Yusuke, who still stood alone in the middle of the arena. Great drums now sat before the former, brought by Oni who had since slipped beneath the orchard's canopy. "No, I can't say that I have."

I smiled as a young ram trotted to my cousin, handing him one of their strange piped instruments before hurrying back to join the others. "You are in for a treat, then."

Before she could question this, Yusuke took a deep breath and, lifting the white reed to his mouth, began to play.

A spirited song filled the air as the instrument's bag filled to bursting, a flurry of notes blending seamlessly in a single breath. Yusuke's eyes remained closed as he played, though his fingers never missed their targets, flying with the accuracy of an expert marksman. Goose flesh rose on the backs of my hands and the flowers clamored in their beds, banshee cries answering his song. They knew without being told what was about to transpire, each pretty throat calling for blood–

Answering a king's call to war.

I hid a smile as a handful of white clouds breached the unblemished sky, small sheep floundering in the ocean's deep. Oni spilled from the trees, beating their chests and roaring at the noontide, snarling less than polite words in their native tongue. They clustered around their prince, anger twisting the lines on their faces, bunching the white paint until they resembled vengeful spirits more than living creatures. Each raised his own question: who dared threaten their homeland, their young, their king? Where was the enemy and how did he want them to die? On and on they went, listing ghastly methods in the most colorful language.

And still Yusuke played.

A single key change and the Oni began to dance. They moved as one in a circle around their lord, each slaying a phantom opponent in battle, raising boisterous cries with each fallen foe. The Oni fought viciously: gouging, tearing limbs, ripping organs from their invisible enemies, deep-throated bellows echoing from red-rimmed mouths at each victory. The paint did them justice–

If not for its presence, it would appear they truly fought specters.

Shizuru watched on with rapt fascination, lips parted in awe. "What are they doing?"

For once, etiquette eluded her in the presence of her peers. I longed to speak to her as I would to a close friend or even a lover, though such a thing was not possible. My mouth went dry at the thought and I purposely looked away from her, from the necklace which shifted with each breath. "This is a centuries-old Oni tradition. They conduct these dances before every battle, whether they be for tournaments or war."

Her brow furrowed and she leaned forward, shifting locks giving the movement away. "But what are they doing?" She pressed, voice barely above a whisper.

I hid a smile with my hand as several wooden flutes joined Yusuke's and he began to dance, shifting from swaying in place to spirited steps and leaps, never missing a note. "As I mentioned, this is a ceremonial dance. While Yusuke's role is normally carried out by the king, he has every right to take on his father's – King Raizen's – duty." Spirited yells from the Oni as my cousin played faster and faster, braids flying like mad birds. "Yusuke represents the king calling his people to war and the rams respond, gathering around their leader as he plays the sacred flute."

She glanced at me then, frowning. "Sacred?"

"The bag holding the air is rumored to have been fashioned from a dragon's lung."

Shizuru's lips parted though no sound escaped. After a moment, she nodded, glancing back toward the Oni. "What of the others?"

"Rams are chosen for battle based on their ferocity, skill, and collective blood-lust. This dance is to state their case to the king, so they may bring glory to their houses." Here an elder reared his great head back and roared, seasoned horns trembling with effort. "Each one has a place in the king's army, yet their positions are chosen by the display here."

She shook her head, disbelief wrinkling her nose. "That doesn't make sense, my lord."

"To us, no; but to them it is as vital as talking to the flowers."

Whatever Shizuru intended to say died on her tongue the moment the music stopped. Every Oni head bowed in submission, ready for their orders.

Eyes still closed, Yusuke relinquished the instrument to the same ram as before. All Gandaran eyes fell on Hokushin as he and the rest of the guard stepped forward, staves held at attention. For a time, all remained silent – even the birds dared not utter a cry.

A strange rumbling in their chests – a crude mixture of grunts and crooning – and the Hornless struck the drums as one.

Each Oni swayed to the beat save Yusuke, unmoving as the mountains who sired him. Somehow, the sound grew louder in the Hornless' chests, and a few began playing an alternating beat, though Hokushin's tempo reigned supreme. Clouds completely shadowed the sun now and more were rolling in, wild white cotton tufts–

Several Hornless whispered a handful of words, a mantra known only to them. The warriors shifted at their command, moving around their prince with exaggerated steps, faces turned skyward.

Then, Hokushin began to sing:

Gealltanas dúinn ár ndílseacht

chun na bhflaitheas.

More crooning from the remaining Hornless and the Oni clenched their fists, raising broad arms. Eyes closed, each appeared lost in his own reverie, apparitions of years past:

Dead men walking.

Gealltanas dúinn ár ndílseacht

chun na bhflaitheas.

A whisper of wind and gray tinted first one cloud, then another, spreading like smoke until all were infected. The smallest clatter of shells heralded Yusuke's movement as he began to sway, head inclined, as though he heard something we could not.

The Hornless joined Hokushin, voices blending into a seamless whole:

Spéir glórmhar sheoladh

riamh báisteach.

Seol do chabhair!

The sky darkened further still, though not even the flowers dared voice what was to come. Kuwabara watched on with wide eyes while Hiei's face remained devoid of emotion, arms crossed over his chest. However, I saw the sigh as he breathed in rapidly cooling air, doubtlessly sensing the same thing as I–

A rumble of thunder brought a smirk to my cousin's lips.

Spéir glórmhar sheoladh

riamh báisteach.

Seol do chabhair!

Suddenly Yusuke stamped the ground and the warriors cried out, mimicking impaling the ground with each drum fall. The Oni prince lashed his head again and again as he danced, a maelstrom somehow contained in one insignificant body. Finally, he raised his gaze to the heavens, fangs bared in challenge at the ever-darkening sky.

Cuimhneamh do gealltanas!

Mhionnaigh tú le mo athair

An chumhacht de toirneach.

Ná forsake do mhac,

Cuimhneamh do gealltanas!

Another clap of sound and the skies burst, showering us with blessing. Rain pelted the ground, clutching our clothes, skin and hair with greedy fingers. Several ladies cried out for their ruined gowns though Shizuru didn't complain, enraptured by the sight before her. A murmured word and the willow tree extended a leafy branch, shielding us from the majority of the downpour. Father reclined still in his chair, unbothered by the water dripping from his nose and the scars at his eyes. Rather, his smile widened as thunder resounded once again, ear attuned to Yusuke's singing.

Ná forsake do mhac,

Cuimhneamh do gealltanas!

A fresh gale swept the clearing, whipping the trees. Clap after clap of thunder sounded and still the Oni continued, lost to the beat of the drums and their wild lust. Paint fled their faces, coursing down stout necks and shoulders with abandon. Purple clouds growled at the ground, ravenous light arching like so many teeth.

Yusuke raised a sure fist and screamed:

Cuimhneamh do gealltanas!

Suddenly, thunder shook the stands and lighting flashed, engulfing him in one ravenous bite.

Shizuru gasped as Yusuke fell, hand flying to her mouth. Kuwabara's shout reached my ears and I found Hiei glaring up at him, one arm forcibly keeping the knight from rushing to the fallen prince. No other Gandarans reacted to my cousin's plight though the Oni cheered, ashes crunching under their feet at the drums' frenzied pace.

After a handful of seconds passed Shizuru glanced at me, face ashen. "Shouldn't . . . shouldn't someone see to him?"

"See to him?"

"Yes! He was–" She shook her head, staring at his still form on the ground. "Just because Prince Yusuke is from Tourrin doesn't mean he's invincible." Teeth clenched, her eyes turned cold as the malicious lullaby crooned once more from the Hornless' chests. "Many have died from far less."

"But you forget what the Oni can do." My smile did not wither beneath her glare, nor did I bite back the chuckle bubbling in my throat. "Look again."

It was a well-known fact that Oni controlled the elements – a pact made with heavens long before the Dragon's War ravaged our land. The skies played to their whims, granting sunny weather or the fiercest storms as they saw fit. Only the Hornless, however, could actively call upon their aide – a practice which took centuries to master. Their ability, combined with the natural strength of the Oni, kept Tourin safe:

Though few outside of Tourrin knew the secret behind this practice.

Shizuru's eyes widened as Yusuke stirred against the charred grass, rising slowly from what should have been his deathbed. A rumble of thunder and the warriors fell before their prince

And still, the Hornless played.

Hair standing on-end, Yusuke raised his blackened right hand, flexing the appendage into a fist once, twice. The third time, blue sparks lit the air, leaping from one fingertip to the other with a dancer's precision. A slow grin spread on his lips, transforming his white, red and gray-smeared face into something utterly devilish.

Another cheer from the Oni and the dance went on.

A/N: Hello and welcome! I was hoping to hold the tournament in one chapter but Yusuke stole the show. Hopefully seeing things from Hiei's perspective – however briefly – helped make up for it.

Thank you Candid Ishida for beta reading!

Again, the language spoken by the Oni is Scottish, though the song sung by Yusuke and the Hornless is Gaelic. The lyrics and translation are below. The dance scene was inspired by Danheim's song Runatal.

Thank you to all new followers, as well as those who favorited this story and left reviews! Your readership is much appreciated.

Scottish:

Hou's it gaun – How are you doing

Yer a chancer – You're pushing your luck

Yer gettin' skelped – You're going to get slapped

Awa' an bile yer heid – Get lost

Blether – Chatter-box

Yer aff yer heid – You're crazy

Gaelic:

Gealltanas dúinn ár ndílseacht

chun na bhflaitheas.

Spéir glórmhar sheoladh

riamh báisteach.

Seol do chabhair!

Cuimhneamh do gealltanas!

Mhionnaigh tú le mo athair

An chumhacht de toirneach.

Ná forsake do mhac,

Cuimhneamh do gealltanas!

English translation:

We pledge our loyalty

to the heavens

Glorious sky ever

sending rain

Please send your help!

Remember your promise!

You swore to my father

The power of thunder.

Don't forsake your son,

Remember your promise!