The story of how Kyuzo got his twin katanas, his red coat and also earned a friend. Featuring Kyuzo, an OC, a pup hound named Mushi, some people from Kougakyo and some Nobuseris too.

(1)Note! I apologize for any setting mistakes and if there are some elements in the story that are incoherent when it comes to the setting or descriptions. I don't fully grasp the Samurai 7 universe so I filled in the lacks with imagination!

(2)Note! The story starts 3 years prior to the actual story.

Disclaimer: Samurai 7 belongs to Akira Kurosawa.

Soundtrack! When it comes to writing, music is muse. The story is divided in multiple parts that each have their soundtrack. Samurai – Samurai 7 OST is to 'unfulfilled desire'. Kirara's theme – Samurai 7 OST is to 'a ticket out'. Set fire to the rain by Adele is obviously to 'rain on fire'. The Meadow by Alexandre Desplat is to 'flourish'. Niji Musubi (Tying Rainbow) by Rin is to 'the red bird'. You are invited to listen to those songs while reading.

Edit 04/11/13: Separated the story into individual chapters to make it easier to read. :)

RED BIRD

.rain on fire

He had been right about the world thinking he was dead; when he entered the merchant city of Kougakyo and made his way back to the Magistrate's residence, he was earned handfuls of stares as he crossed hall ways and rooms, his steps thudding lightly on the shiny floors.

He could hear whispers swelling behind his back, both at the sight of his sudden appearance and new attire, but a well directed bleak stare succeeded to shut up most of mouths, and he continued on his ways to find Ayamaro.

He found the Magistrate concentrating upon a tedious task; the one to grab his son's attention long enough to hammer knowledge in his head. But the pampered blue-haired boy was untameable and was currently fancying whining other than studies.

"Ahhhh no father how about we do this another time? I have some lovely girls waiting for me, and I'm sure they'll be able to teach me the same things in a much more interesting way," Kyuzo heard Ukyo say as he stood silently behind the screen. He could picture with no trouble Ayamaro's abraded expression at his son's carefreeness, and if Tessai was in the room too, Kyuzo did not doubt he was currently biting harder on his pipe. He saw Ukyo's shadow approach the door.

"I'll be on my way now," Ukyo said, and Kyuzo saw the boy's figure approaching the screen. But he was quicker to slide it open and when he did, Ukyo's face froze with momentary horror and the boy let out a strangled scream of surprise, backing away before falling behind.

Kyuzo stared down with no apparent expression crossing his face. He heard his name and looked up to see Ayamaro rising from his desk and Tessai jumping to his feet.

"Kyuzo. So you're back. We thought you were dead," Tessai said, and Kyuzo redirected his cold gaze towards the other man without a word. The two of them exchanged stares before Ayamaro made his way to the red-coated blond.

"Kyuzo, we know what happened, but…"

"It didn't go as planned. I apologize for my absence. I have returned."

Ukyo was finally rising to his feet, scoffing before summoning Tessai and walking out of the room. The man followed his master out, according one last glance at Kyuzo before he too was gone. The screen slid close and Kyuzo joined into the silence.

Ayamaro sighed. "There are times when I think my son is fit for absolutely nothing," he said, and Kyuzo offered no comment to encourage the statement. "But well, you're back now. Where have you been?"

Kyuzo did not utter word. He was well determined on keeping the location of his whereabouts of the previous days a secret, including the fact he had nearly not escaped with his life. Ayamaro was nevertheless used to his silences, and with a nervous blink didn't question him further. "The Nobuseri fled, and we haven't heard of them ever since, so we'll just leave it be for now. The Emperor is responsible for them anyway, and hopefully they are done messing around."

Highly improbable, Kyuzo thought.

And slowly, the windmill restarted churning. His days as the magistrate's body guard resumed, and he felt the old routine gnaw back at him and take over his senses. Kyuzo slowly forgot what it felt like sitting in Omine's garden, listening to the clinging sounds of her work, what it felt like having Mushi yap at his feet and plead for some attention.

He forgot the feeling of ease those days had wired in his heart, although he did not forget her green calm gaze, and that smile when he agreed to take her swords. No, that he could never forget, and at night, when he had the opportunity to slip away, he'd reach Kougakyo's highest observation point and sit down, unsheathing one of the twin katanas and watching the moon's reflection trace the line of its mune.

In those times he'd wonder what Omine was doing. Probably working late on her latest katana, finishing up the one she had started when he had arrived in her life. Or maybe she was sitting on the stairs of her garden with Mushi lounging beside. He'd imagine her red hair, blowing in the wind, and her green eyes following the curve of the blooming white roses that grew by her work shop.

He had never accorded another woman so many thoughts. He had always considered them as something fleeting and as a from time to time surveying craving, but he was almost thinking of the red-headed girl as if she was another man. She did not inspire desire, envy or jealousy. She was not tendered eyed and glimmering, brightly-clad and suave. In fact she was glaring audacity and she'd have done better being born as a man.

What an odd woman, he kept telling himself, although he couldn't quite perceive her acquaintance as unsatisfactory. In fact, the more he thought about her, the more he sowed respect and admiration into her memory, something he rarely did when it came to the people he met daily and worked with.

Such as for the lousy toad-faced Hyogo.

He, too, had been lost to dismay when he had spotted Kyuzo back by Ayamaro's side just as emotionless and cold as he'd ever been, as if the two weeks he had spent supposedly dead were nothing but a forgotten causality. He said nothing while in the Magistrate's company, but as soon as he found an occasion to corner Kyuzo he let out his usual bag of sarcasm.

"In my opinion, you were much better off dead," he said one day when they were the only two persons alone in a hallway. Upon those words he poked Kyuzo in the back with his koshirae, and the fair-haired Samurai stopped in his tracks, although he didn't turn around. He could feel Hyogo's smirk widening.

"No one knows where you've been, but I have a little idea. It wouldn't be that curious for you to have been plotting with the Nobuseri, no?"

Kyuzo narrowed his eyes, hearing Hogyo approaching.

"After all, you're the only one who hasn't been found dead or wounded after the failed attack. And here you are, back and all dressed up and even newly equipped."

He didn't need his eyes to see Hogyo lifting his hand to take hold of one of his katana's pommel, but he was a fool even trying. Kyuzo spun on his heels like the wind, unsheathing his twin katanas within half a second and locking them in a criss cross an inch away from Hogyo's neck.

Hogyo flinched, his gaze instantly pooling with hatred. "I always knew you were a trait-"

"I didn't expect you to be such a dreamer," Kyuzo said, before sheathing his katanas back into his back and walking away.

When a month had sipped and he was certain the roses on her bush had finished blooming, he went back. It was one of his days of respite, he left early in the gray morning, crossing the desert surrounding Kougakyo three times faster than a normal person would and thrusting himself into the forest until he found sight of the little path that led to the work shop.

Even when so close, he didn't know what he'd tell her. She hadn't asked him to come back. But there was not much for him to do in the merchant city when he was deemed not needed for the day. On the way there he couldn't stop thinking about what he'd tell her.

The katanas work great.

I came to see how you've been doing.

Kougakio is mournfully dull today.

Hello.

Or maybe words would not be needed, and she'd make him enter with only a nod. But the more he approached the more his senses sharpened.

Something wasn't right, and he could feel it. A strange and heavy aroma in the air. He couldn't hear the rustling in the trees or the faraway yapping of Mushi. He narrowed his eyes and stopped short, parting his lips to inhale. It smelled strongly like oil. The stench vitalized him, sending his lungs steaming. He was already guessing. His feet started moving.

Oil was not needed in the confection of swords, and there was no way Omine's house would reek so much of a material she didn't use. Kyuzo broke into a run, the forest whittling itself away as he emerged from the cover of the trees, climbing the front stairs and halting in front of the double doors.

They were slightly ajar, sweet morning light tracing a line through the gap. Kyuzo slowly slid the doors open.

Weapons that had their place on the walls and ceiling lay on the floor, scattered, some bloodied. Mushi's body lay further in the middle of the room. His head had been chopped off and tossed aside, now resting in a large pool of blood. The dog's eyes were blank and his tongue hung out of his muzzle.

As Kyuzo stepped in, he unsheathed his katanas. The smell of blood was strong, and the silence was like a barrier of briar thorns. His grip tightened on the pommels as he took another step in, feeling his breath hiss through his lips and spread into the wicked silence. His jaws clenched as he passed beside Mushi's beheaded body, and then one word.

"Omine."

He got no response, and then he bolted for the hallway. He ran up and down the house within less than a minute, calling her name, looking for a trace of her shadow, the sound of her footsteps, all this while his eyes grew slightly larger and the beating of his heart welled up into a sprint.

The house was empty. So was the garden. The horse had been chased away.

Kyuzo came back into the shop, his eyes trailing over the scattered weapons. He could guess most of the stash had been taken away, while some had been used to fight back.

"I've been hearing them roaming around for quite some time."

"The Emperor is responsible for them anyway, and hopefully they are done messing around."

He sheathed his katanas. And then he was out, thundering the ground as he leaped out and back into the forest, his eyes on the sky.

.

.

It was trying to impress her. She could guess as much as it swung its over-sized sword around while the two men held her arms tied in her back.

Men who had geared their hearts into a battery, wired their veins and oiled their blood; taller than any building, their voices louder than thunder. Alright, she was impressed. Impressed by how puerile they were, boasting of their strength and power. She could not see how any man could trade his flesh body for an anchorless metallic cage such as the one that hovered over her head.

"Are you listening, woman?"

Omine blinked. "I apologize, I wasn't. May you repeat?"

She could feel electricity coursing through the air, and as she studied their sharp features, she wondered where their eyes were. She felt miniscule, like a life sized paper doll, and even if her heart was beating against her rib cage like a hammer she did not falter in her calm and guarded demeanour. She couldn't, and it wouldn't help her case anyway. Another oily gust stirred her face and she cringed.

"You might as well cooperate."

"You killed my dog, why should I?"

"If you had followed us calmly the pup would still be alive."

"He wouldn't, and it's you who barged into my house." Like a hurricane.

Omine wasn't completely defenceless. Her father had taught her how to wield the swords, and when one of the men who flew those smaller bins had crashed in she had been quick to fling knifes and lances at him. But, well, she was clearly out of practice when it came to fighting machines. Served her right.

"I remember your father," the ronin said, and that was enough for her to narrow her eyes in attention. The machine's laugh was like a rumbling motor, and she tried not to shiver in displease. "When I was once a weak little human. It was before the Great War, and he was the best swordsman around. I was surprised when I found out you ran the place now."

She didn't say anything and lowered her gaze. The stench of oil was churning her stomach and she was starting to feel sick. "Right. Lovely. What do you want?"

"Metal that even a Samurai's sword cannot pierce."

A sigh.

She remembered that day, many years ago before the War, when she was still a child. Her brother was a head taller, and to the contrary of her he wasn't terrified by the Nobuseri. He stood tall and straight as he wrapped his arms around her and assisted her in her eavesdropping.

That night their father and countless other swordsmen from Kougakyo had gathered in his house, to discuss of the futile attempts at creating weapons that could destroy the breathing machines. Blades that did not break, crumble, shatter or turn to dust when they encountered the solid carapace of a Nobuseri.

Running rumours advanced the idea of a way to create indestructible katanas, so that the Nobuseri could be destroyed, and peace put back to harvest. The men were doubtful, suspicious but hungry for hope, and Omine's father had just received a bundle of scrolls, supposedly explaining how to create those highly-aspiring blades.

Before he had set to war, he had instructed her how to create them, too. And then the war ended, and he was gone, and she was alone, and the days had rolled on one after the other, until today.

"I don't know how to create metal that even a samurai's sword cannot pierce. And I don't understand why you even bother; samurais don't exist anymore." A lovely lie, and for the first time in the evening she thought of the quiet blond samurai that did, in fact, exist.

The machine above her rumbled with gall, and the two men behind he berated her by twisting her hands around. She bit down her lip, managing to drown a cry.

"It's just a matter of time before they resurface. Now, shine up to your father's name and think about it."

She frowned in exasperation. "I told you I don't know. It's not a crime. Just go ask someone else."

"You're the last one the list."

"Is that why you've been sending out minions to Kougakyo? To search for swordsmen who could help you in your valiant quest to become even more powerful? Why did they say? I bet none of them knew, and if they didn't, than why should I? Just accept the fact what you're searching for is unavailable."

It 'laughed' again. "They refused to help, so they perished. But I knew your father well. If he'd still be alive, he'd already have acc-"

She cut its words short with a yell, her anger reaching heights. "Don't you dare assume what my father would do! Or say you knew him well! You're just a rusted pile of junk weaved together by probably nothing else than clay!"

Her words were still ringing when she buried her elbow in the first man's stomach, before whirling around and digging her knee into the other's. They both backed away and that was enough time for Omine to kneel and slip one of her tied hands into her boot, take out a long knife and cut the cords. She swirled around, ready to jump off the platform she had been brought to, when one of the men caught hold of her arm and delivered a strong slap across her face.

She shut her eyes, her mind swirling with the impact, and then her wrist was crushed and the blade was pulled out of her fingers. Then a line of pain traced her left cheek and she cried out in pain.

Her face met the floor, and weight was put on her back as her arms were reconquered. Her cheek was on fire but her voice had not been extinguished. "How many times will I have to tell you I don't know! Roll up more layers, mix different types of metals, I don't have a clue! I don't even know how you've been built, give me a break!" Her last words came out a high, strangled angry cry, and she wiggled on the ground, kicking and hissing.

During all this time the Nobuseri watched idly at her attempt to flee, but now he was lifting his sword overheard, and Omine followed its shadow with eyes growing wider. The column of a blade shot down and she closed her eyes.

Hurricane, again, in her ears. The ground under her body trembled, shook and creaked, and smoke filled her lungs. Shards scrapped her face and neck, and she rolled up on herself as best as she could, her body falling into a trembling shiver. When she dared to open her eyes again she saw the large sword dislodging itself from the platform, leaving behind a huge gap, like a mile-long crevice, not so far from where she lay.

"We'll get you everything you'll need. That you like it or not, the choice has been made for you."

She spat on the floor.

.

.

It was the same airship, lone in the sky, moving further away. A harvesting forest. Kyuzo could see the damage it had been inflicted a month earlier, and little had been done to patch it back together.

He wondered what the rest of the Nobuseri employed by the Emperor thought about this stolen ship, requisitioned by a group of rebellious metallic canes who thought themselves witty enough to get away with this.

He was observing the blinking shape of the ship from a tall tree, the foliage around him whispering as he kept his balance on the branch, his expression an implacable mask. His hand ran down the pommel of the lower katana, and his fingers itched to grip it and pull it out. He narrowed his eyes and the wind blew in his back.

The sun was setting down, but there was no orange and pink sky to greet the end of the day. The sky had darkened to even greyer velvet, and the air ship was folding itself in the monochromatic tones of the world's ceiling, and he was well determined to make his way into it and crush it inside out.

Whatever those Nobuseri wanted, she could not give it to them. She was not a warrior. She had not been involved in the war. She did not take delight in life or death. She was one of those who set the stepping stones for a man, and allowed him to trace his path with his blade. And when a man did not believe in himself, she believed in them, for them.

Kyuzo unsheathed his twin swords, stretching his arms on both sides of his body. He stood, straight as a column, as the rumbling sound of an engine grew closer, and when the mechanic iron bin shot out of the trees he leaped.

The katanas entered from the top and slid into the machine with a clean cut, and the bin heaved under his weight as he landed before crashing to the ground. He did not hear any strangled cry, but when he opened the top and threw the man out he found out he had been killed instantly. And the controls itself had not been damaged in the least. Perfect.

Getting up to the ship was easy enough, even too easy, and he was able to abandon the machine in a lone empty platform. He unsheathed his katanas and broke into a new run, his fingers tightening around the pommel and a fire igniting in his chest. His red coat wavered around his feet as he ran, and when he saw the first soldier he stroke, with a leap, high up in the air. He decided to be merciless. Blood, such insignificant thing, but so precious.

He swallowed their cries and exclamations of surprise with his strokes, the air inexistent as his blades became the new oxygen, giving wondrous birth to collapsing bodies and exploding machines. He let anyone who met his path bleed himself dry.

But it wasn't a real battle. He could not feel the passion, and the adrenaline did not burn the way it did when a sword met proper recognition, proper opponent. Kyuzo was just barrelling his way through the storm, a blazing figure in the swirl, driven by a debt. And when the real Nobuseri, the tall and large creatures of metal and wired came up, turning around to spot his approach, then did he smile a clamouring smirk that bled onto his lips as he gnashed chasms in those languid oily atrocities. But it wasn't an enjoying smile.

He stopped when the bitterness had turned to ice, and when the whirling sound was gone. He looked down at his weapons, gleaming with blood, but their blade still intact, curved, strong and shimmering. It did indeed cut through anything. He kept on moving though, through the dark pathways of the airship, until he could hear the rumbling voice of another of those iron-headed Nobuseri.

"Great. Just great. You've cut her up too much."

Kyuzo ended up in open space, a platform in the middle of an abyss, and in the middle of that, one man standing aside, the other holding up an arm which led to a bloodied figure, half crumbled on the floor. He thought he could see her red hair, but there was so much red, he did not know where it started or where it ended. He stepped back into the shadows.

The man who was holding her arm offered an anxious apologetic smile, and the Nobuseri roared in disapproval. Many curses would surely have insured if it wasn't for one of the soldiers in the iron bins who flew in to declare a samurai had made his way into the airship.

"…a samurai?"

The rain pouring through his mind was set on fire. Kyuzo leaped, knees bent, and landed on the top of the Nobuseri's weapon. He flicked his katanas down as he dashed up the sword and towards the Nobuseri, digging his blade into what was presumably his chest before tearing it up with one clean blow.

The place echoed with the thunder and blasts as Kyuzo tore through the Nobuseri, and he could not ignore that feeling of flight as he rose higher up, twisting and leaving flaming debris in his wake. The destroyed Nobuseri was tipping backwards now, and Kyuzo landed on his head, pushing him downward into the abyss bellow before leaping away and lending on the platform. He didn't stay to watch the mechanical creature disappear, and instead turned to the two men who had no yet fled. His katanas clicked in his hand and he glanced up. They did not have time to flee and their blood joined Omine's on the floor.

He crouched beside her, and his stomach twisted.

All the right half of her face was a mask of blood, sipping down her neck. He lifted her head up, and slipped a hand under her back to pull her up against his knee, but his hand was soon entirely covered in blood too, and when her back left the ground a river of blood dripped, and he turned her around.

Her back had been mutilated, her shirt torn by the countless of slashes that criss-crossed and ran along her back, from the neck to her waist, and all he could see was blood, blood and blood. His jaws clenched so tightly blood was soon in his mouth too, and he lifted up the woman in his arms.

He could hear her breathing, a faint nursed sound, and as he rose and ignored the oncoming soldiers, he hoped for it too stir just a bit longer.

His arms were too full for him to rake his katanas into anyone else, and so he left the ship in a rush, leaping down the iron bins and slipping down the debris he had tilled behind, before losing himself in his run. And he ran through the forest and into the desert until his surroundings were a blur, holding on tightly to the body in his arms, and only concentrating on his steps, always larger, quicker. He came to ignore his own rough breathing and the twisting pain in his stomach. He was in a hurry.

He entered the Magistrate's residence leaving blood behind his steps and scaring away the staff, but he kept running, even dodging aside Hogyo who can come up with a 'what the..!' until he found Ayamaro himself, deep into a conference with a few of his advisors. Everyone turned out to look, and Ukyo let out a shrill cry at the sight of all the blood, although Kyuzo ignored him and stood still, his face a tight mask. When no one said anything he walked up to Ayamaro.

"I have a favour to ask," he was surprised how steady his raspy voice came out.

He kneeled down, and the Magistrate gazed at him with a highly consternated face, although he waited for his body guard to speak.

"Save her. Please."

When the healers had taken her out of his arms he watched all the blood on his hand and hands before realizing he owed explanations. He didn't give them.

"Those Nobuseris are still out there. I dealt with a little part of them, but the ship is still flying."

"You went after them alone?" Tessai asked.

Kyuzo didn't answer, and instead looked at the Magistrate. Ayamaro had taken out a fan and seemed sick white. "Yes, well. We'll inform the Emperor about that. You stay here, Kyuzo."

He didn't, and as soon as he was able to slip out he returned to the sword shop. He spent a few hours burying Mushi in the garden and cleaning up the mess, rearranging the scattered weapons back in their place although the display looked meagre compared to its previous state. When he was done he closed the front doors tight and returned to Kougakyo.

He did not know when and how quickly the Emperor took care of the remains of the rebellious Nobuseri, but he did not care and not inquire.

She had been taken in by the best healers of Kougakyo, and was assured to survive. Although scared for life. She had been unresponsive till now, and even when he sat beside her during those long hours of the night she refused to open her eyes.

She'd have to live with those scars all her life. Kyuzo wasn't certain how far they extended, and how many she had, but by the amount of gauze and bandages that covered her face and back he knew they would not simply fade to pale lines, and that they would be large marks on her pale skin, that would move when she breathed and scotch passerbys' eyes. They'd hurt when humidity would daunt, and curve on her face if she ever smiled again, and she had lost that rare beauty to her heart-shaped face and freckled complexion. When the sky bathed itself mercury blue and the room was dark, he'd sometimes reach for her hand and hold on to it, quietly, without a frown or pout or smile on his face. Always so inexpressive on the outside, because the sad smile was inside.

One night she finally opened her eyes. A scouring lump of bitter anxiety formed in his throat when she slowly turned to look at him, and he wished for those green eyes to look at him the way they had always done, with that quiet understanding. But he saw only vivid, burning pain, and he squeezed her hand tighter.

"We're even now."

The days of his woeful silence continued as Omine healed inside the Magistrate's residence behind closed doors and groping curiosity. Kyuzo harboured himself to his job even more dutifully, perhaps to make up for his latest carelessness and distraction, and no one dared to say anything. Even Hyogo did not dare to bother, now knowing well that the most quiet ones are always the most dangerous, and even if it often seemed tempting to disturb the half frozen statue that the blond samurai had resumed to be.

After weeks Omine spoke to him the first time, expressing her wish to go back home. That night he covered her with a cloak and brought her back.

They did not speak during the entire trip and when they had reached the house he stopped a few paces away from the stairs. She continued on walking, trying her best to keep her posture straight and her steps steady, and when she was about to open the doors he pronounced her name.

"Omine."

She stopped, and turned just slightly toward him. He could see the tip of the scars on her face shining in the moonlight.

"Goodbye, Kyuzo. See you later. Maybe never."

She entered and closed the doors behind her.