Saki Karai - Obedient Daughter - 1993-2019
The marker stood like any other in the cemetery, covered with snow under the grey sky. He leaned back against the stone, watching the thick clouds roll together, barely feeling the winter wind.
"Y'know," he murmured, "I didn't really think I'd outlive you."
She didn't respond-they hadn't spoken in years, and now they never would.
"You were human," he said. "You had a huge company and a whole clan. How could I fight that?"
On the far side of the cemetery, down the hill, he saw a single black car rolling slowly along the lane. Far away to be mere dots to him. A safe distance. Like her, now. Safely away.
"You almost took my hand off with that last swipe," he said, flexing the three fingers of that hand, turning it over to show the thick scar across the wrist. "You have no idea how many stitches it took to keep it from falling off. Mutagenic healing's good for something, huh?"
The sun was sinking down into the horizon, pale white as it spread thin rays against the clouds.
"Perk of being a mutant, I guess." He glanced over his shoulder at the dark marble stone. "And you were just human."
He stayed there another few minutes, remembering the way her hair had fallen against her face, the haughty tilt of her head, proud even when he finally won their last fight.
He hadn't cried, then. And it was snow on his face now.
His hands were growing numb.
"I was going to stay longer," he said, turning to kneel on the grave instead. "But there are some drawbacks of being a turtle, too."
He set the incense sticks in the snow and lit them. Thin trails of wispy smoke blew away across the air.
He could have offered a prayer, even though he knew she hadn't believed in anything but her own strength. She hadn't put faith in anything else. Not in Buddhism or any religion. Not in her clan. Certainly not in him.
He understood. He'd once had faith in friends, family. Now, after years and too much said and unsaid, his only faith was in his sword. And his faith had been repayed, so deep into her heart that it had burst through her back.
They were the only ones who'd understood each other. Professional killers. Would she have felt as lost when she had no one left to kill? When all of her enemies lay silent as his own did?
She would have liked the snow. He left it covering her gravestone. And he walked away without a look back.
The wind blew aside the incense soon after.