He had been dormant for so long – lost in his own world, in the confines of his body. Kohaku felt no urge to leave his sanctuary. The world outside he remembered was cold and bleak, holding only blood, pain and suffering for him.

This new world was gray, featureless landscapes stretching out as far as the eye could see, covered with mist. It was a gloomy place but it suited Kohaku just fine: no blood, no screaming, no pain. Just peace.

Sometimes (just to liven up the tranquil days), she would come to him, the beautiful girl with long brown hair and eyes. She always smiled but never spoke – he had tried to get her to talk, with no success. These days, he contented himself with his favorite pastime: look at her and try to remember where he had seen her before.

He never asked her name – what was the point, seeing as he had no name of his own to share with her? "We can be nameless together," he said happily and she smiled. Kohaku was certain her smile had widened a fraction: she was a good friend. (She never judged.)

When Kohaku was in a good mood, he would make up all sorts of wild stories about her: he was a prince, she his princess, trapped by a demon waiting for him to rescue her; she was his betrothed, lost to him by magic and treachery; once, even they were comrades and lovers, battling evil demons side by side. (He wished they were true.)

It made him happy, making up all the memories to fill the bleak days.

Occasionally, he felt the prickle in his soul, a call of some sort. He ignored it; it was undoubtedly from the real world, wanting him to rejoin it.

Why bother? I'm happy here. I'm not dead – but I want to be.

Kohaku told her about the summons; she smiled in return. She smiled only for him.

One fine day, he felt himself lighter than usual; he told her so. She smiled back – and vanished before his eyes. Before Kohaku could react, he felt the tugging in his soul, pulling him away from his world.

As he fell, the image of the girl was being pulled from his mind. Vainly, desperately, he fought to hold on to it but at last it slipped through his fingers. Kohaku made a plea to whoever was there.

Please – let me see her again!

Kohaku tried to move but winced as pain shot through his muscles. That's the last straw – I am never letting Ane-ue take me out for some special training again.

The boy tried to follow up with that thought but it felt like water, slipping through his helpless fingers.

Who's Ane-ue? What training? More importantly, who am I?

Soon, he could not even recall the original thought. His brain felt strangely light.

Where am I?

"Kohaku?"

A voice calling. Who was this Kohaku? The boy's eyes snapped open to investigate and found a pair of eyes hovering over him. A girl was leaning over his prone body.

"H – hello," he croaked in an unused voice. "Where am I?"

She smiled, tears of joy in her eyes – and Kohaku felt a bolt of pain sear through his skull. He knew her from somewhere but he just could not place her. "Kohaku – you're awake!" Brown hair obscured his vision; she had flung her arms around his neck, hot tears soaking the blanket. His eyes widened – why was this strange girl hugging him? Did they know each other?

"Oh," she murmured inaudibly, pulling away from him, leaving the lingering scent of jasmine. The girl wiped her face with the heel of her hand, struggling to compose herself. "I'm sorry. I was so worried…"

"Um." Kohaku opened his mouth to say something but stopped. "Where is this?"

"Kaede-sama's hut. You're safe now. Naraku's dead." The girl put out her hand to brush the hair from his eyes and he blushed. She had nice hands; soft and smooth, the touch comforting. The calloused tips of her fingers gave her an earthy beauty.

"I see. Thank you for saving me."

A mewing, and then a ball of cream fur attacked him, nuzzling his face, tails whirling excitedly.

"What – ?"

The girl laughed and gently pried his attacker off: he saw a beautiful cat with vivid red eyes. "Kirara, stop it. You're scaring him."

"Is that her name?"

He put out his hand and stroked the soft fur: Kirara purred and arched her back. Something told him it was more than an ordinary cat but his heart told him he could trust it.

"She's our companion."

He frowned in confusion. "Our?"

Something flickered in those lovely brown eyes. "You – don't remember me?"

Kohaku shook his head – was he supposed to? – the best he could without driving any more needles into his brain.

"This is the first time we've met, ma'am," he said as politely as he could. Behind her head, he saw the cat slip out the door.

"I see." The warmth had dissipated from her voice and she looked away. Kohaku felt instantly guilty; he must have upset her somehow. For some reason, hurting her hurt him as well.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

The girl looked back at him, offering him a smile, but it was a pale shadow of the one before. Now that the boy's head was not hurting as much as earlier, he could see more of her. She was pretty – no, beautiful, he thought. I know her – I've seen her before.

He wanted to ask her more but a niggling thought at the back of his mind surfaced. "Just now – you said Kohaku. Is that my name?"

"You don't remember anything at all?"

"No. The last thing I remember was… blood. Screams." Shivers shook the boy's spine. "Then nothing."

"Do you remember your family? Your friends?"

"No, nothing." Thinking hurt his brain; he sent a silent plea to her, begging her not to continue her inquisition.

She shifted. "… I see. Rest now, you've been sleeping for the better part of a week and you're not fully recovered yet."

"My name," he pressed her, "is my name Kohaku?"

"Yes."

"Kohaku," he murmured. "What is your name? Will you tell me more?"

The girl bowed her head, rising to her feet. "I am Sango. We will talk more later."

The boy watched her leave, pushing aside the bamboo curtain of the hut. Sango… The name triggered flashes here and there from his broken memory: fighting, a demon cat, her tears…

He had known Sango before the accident which had robbed him of his memories. Her face was one intimately familiar to him.

Miroku was waiting for her outside. His face took on a sober cast upon seeing the expression on Sango's own. The monk limped over to her, using his shakujou as a crutch; the wounds he had received in the final battle were acting up again.

"What happened?" he asked quietly the moment she drew close to him.

"He's awake… but his memory's totally gone," she answered in the faintest whisper. "He doesn't even remember his own name."

"Sango." Miroku brought up his hand, staying the bitter tears of disappointment before they had a chance to fall. The slayer leaned into his warmth.

"Give him time. I'm sure he will recover and then it will be as though he never left."

"I hope so, Houshi-sama. I've waited so long for this day…" Her voice caught in her throat and she did not trust herself to say any more.

He understood, merely opening his arms and wrapping her in them. Sango clung to him as though he was the rock in the middle of a storm, her shoulders quivering with emotion. Miroku rubbed his hands up and down her back, familiar with his usual role as her source of solace.

"You must be tired," he said softly after what seemed like an ample interlude. "You've been worrying yourself sick over Kohaku – now he's awake, you can sleep properly."

"Y – yes," she replied, withdrawing slightly from him. Sango did not bother to hide her anxiety from him; sometimes she felt as though this man knew her better than she knew herself. "You should get some sleep too, Houshi-sama – you've been watching over Kohaku as well."

"I had to," he admonished her gently, "otherwise you wouldn't even leave his side to eat."

Sango smiled wanly – damn him for always knowing how to cheer her up – and released him.

"Kagome and Inuyasha are at Kaede-dono's hut with Shippou and Kirara, let's join them."

She walked with him, both slightly unsteady from their battle wounds. Kohaku's hut was not very far from the old miko's, a gift from the villagers for saving the village on numerous occasions (it seemed they had overcome their initial distrust of Inuyasha). Light streamed from the windows and the gaps between the door hanging and the wall, making the hut warm and welcoming. Miroku held the curtain for Sango to pass through first before entering himself.

The others were seated around the low hearth; Kagome and Inuyasha arguing as usual, Shippou taking Kagome's side and getting pounded for his pains, Kirara and Kaede watching them with a detached, mildly amused air.

Everything halted when Miroku and Sango entered.

"Sango-chan!" Kagome hopped to her feet and seized her friend's hand, pulling her to the vacant seat beside her. "Kohaku-kun's awake?"

The older girl smiled a little, thrown off by her enthusiasm; after two years of traveling together, Kagome never failed to surprise her.

"Yes, but he's gone back to sleep." Sango wanted to tell them he had absolutely no memories but stopped, catching sight of the sea of smiling faces (minus Inuyasha's). Miroku sensed her hesitation, his hand finding hers and squeezing.

The girl from the future clapped her hands excitedly, beaming from ear to ear. "That's great! Oh, I can't believe I wasn't there to see it…"

The hanyou snorted, clearly not one for such naked joy. "Keh, finally. It's been long enough."

Once the fuss had died down somewhat, Kagome handed Sango and Miroku steaming bowls of ramen.

The slayer was finishing up the last of her noodles when she felt a small but insistent tugging at her sleeve.

"Shippou-chan?"

The little kitsune was looking up at her with an oddly grave expression on his face; her motherly instincts awakened, Sango was instantly alert.

"Sango… are you happy Kohaku's awake?"

The question unsettled her and she looked around the hut; the others, including Miroku, seemed to be deeply engrossed in conversation and oblivious to the pair of them.

Sango forced a smile to her face; it seemed to be getting harder and harder the more times she did it.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Your smile." He looked solemnly at her. "It's the same smile Kagome told me I had after Hiten and Manten killed my Pa."

She crinkled her eyes, picking Shippou up and settling him in her lap. "Silly Shippou-chan," Sango said. "Of course I'm happy. I'm just still a little tired and worried." She had underestimated her little companion's astute emotional sensitivity.

The young fox demon smiled, apparently satisfied with her explanation. "Okay," he answered, clinging on to her kimono in a childish hug. Sango let him stay there; it was not often he came to her, preferring to go to Kagome instead. The girl from the future was currently ensconced in Inuyasha's arms.

Goodness, he's so warm and soft – no wonder Kagome-chan always wants to hold him in her lap. Looking down at the light brown hair, she could not help but to imagine holding her own future child like this.

"He must have been exhausted," commented Miroku, materializing at her elbow, smiling down at the sleeping Shippou.

"I guess," she said, stroking the kitsune's hair.

The monk must have been thinking among the same lines as she was: the warm expression took on a fatherly air. He settled for ruffling Shippou's hair before moving over to the other side of the fire to confer with Kaede.

Inuyasha and Kagome suddenly rose to go.

Before Sango could leave, Kaede beckoned her over, a solemn expression on her face. Miroku was equally grim.

"Kaede-sama?"

The elderly miko regarded her. "Have ye told Kohaku anything yet?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, apart from his name and mine."

"Good, good." Kaede patted her hand. "The houshi-dono and I both think ye should be sparing with bringing the lad up to date with what has been going on for the past three years."

"You don't mean – "

"Aye," she said. "Ye should not tell him everything immediately."

"But – "

Miroku had moved forward, clasping her hands in his. "Sango, Kaede-sama's right," he said softly. "We don't know how much of his memory Naraku's destroyed, plus… the last three years haven't been very… pleasant."

They were all silent, recalling the long-ago incident in which they had thought Kohaku freed from Naraku's control, minus his memories… only to be terribly disappointed.

The slayer nodded reluctantly. "I… understand."

"We should take it slowly from here on," concluded the elderly miko, prodding at the embers in the hearth with a poker.

"Maybe he will regain his memories on his own with time."

Kohaku was bored. He had slept for a while after Sango had left and upon waking up, found that she had yet to return.

The boy yawned and sat up, stretching long-unused limbs. They were not wasted; rather, they were covered with lean muscle without an ounce of excess flesh. Kohaku tested his legs: although somewhat unsteady, they bore his weight well. He was rather surprised to find marks of old wounds crisscrossing his arms and legs. Had he been a warrior? Not likely – a samurai was a veteran at thirty. He had gone through more battles than a samurai could hope to.

Come to think of it, Kohaku could not remember what he looked like, whether he was young or old. One hand came up and brushed shoulder-length hair, lank and unkempt. The other ran over his face, tracing the curves and dips of his skin; hollowed, gaunt cheeks.

He scowled: Sango had not even the decency to tell him any more about himself. Kohaku tottered over to the door of the hut and pushed aside the door hanging.

"Ah!"

Bright sunlight blinded him for a brief instant. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get them accustomed to the outside. He was in a village. Other identical huts were scattered here and there along rough semblances of roads.

Kohaku squinted up at the sky. Early afternoon – no doubt the villagers were out in the fields. The boy blinked suddenly and the thought slipped away.

That's funny – I thought of something and it was gone. He felt uneasy having nothing in his head: nothing but Sango's face and the memory of the conversation they had earlier.

He moved his feet, letting them take him out of the village. Green trees soon lined the road and he smiled for the first time since waking up, inhaling the fresh cool air.

A bubbling, rushing noise perked him up. Water… a nearby stream. He walked through the grass and found it soon enough. Kohaku knelt, scooping water between cupped hands and washing his face. The refreshing coolness cheered him and he drank a little.

When he had finished, he followed the stream down to a small pool and bent down, waiting for the water to settle. An image of a young boy appeared: for the briefest of instants, he was laughing. Kohaku shook his head; he must have been hallucinating. He knew he was frowning.

The image rippled slightly to show the same boy. No, not quite – the cheeks of the image were hollow, the face gaunt. The eyes were the most forbidding of all: they were empty, a man's eyes. A man who had killed and watched others being killed. Kohaku's mouth fell open slightly: the incongruous image of a boy with eyes so much older. He was a young man trapped in an aged man's body.

"Is that me?" The reflection lifted a hand to its face.

The man – boy no longer: there was no innocence in those eyes – abruptly plunged his hand into the water, disrupting the image.

Kohaku was distraught: the cold frankness of the eyes which had seen too much haunted his mind. Heart beating frantically, he scrambled back from the water's edge, away from that withered spectre.

A mew jolted him out of his thoughts. A cat – Kirara, he remembered – had appeared at the side of the clearing. She bounded right into his lap, her paws kneading his stomach.

"Kirara?" He rubbed her ears. "What're you doing here?"

"She was worried about you: so was Sango. You shouldn't wander off like that."

A smooth masculine voice. Unfamiliar. Kohaku looked up into warm violet eyes belonging to a tall handsome man dressed in the robes of a houshi, carrying a shakujou in one hand.

"I'm glad we found you quickly, Kohaku," said the man. "I sensed some demons around this area earlier and I hoped to reach you before they did."

"Who are you? How do you know my name?"

He sat down cross-legged with some difficulty: Kohaku noticed his leg and arm were bandaged when his robes rode up as he lowered himself to the ground.

"I apologize. My name is Miroku and I'm a traveling monk."

"I see."

Kohaku looked the man up and down with a careful eye; he looked somewhat familiar. Those intelligent violet eyes drew his attention. The man bore the scrutiny with good grace before he pushed himself to his feet. The young man hastened to help him up.

"Thank you," said Miroku gratefully. "My wounds haven't recovered fully yet, as you see."

"You were injured in battle?"

His lip twitched. "You could say that, yes." The hand holding his shakujou shifted up the polished staff.

"We should be going back before Sango worries herself sick."

"Yes, Houshi-sama."

Kohaku offered his arm to the older man as they made their way back up, a kind offer which Miroku graciously declined.

"No offence, Kohaku, but it makes me feel old before my time," he smiled. "Foolish pride, I know."

They laughed together. Kohaku felt almost happy, with the sun warm on his face, a new friend who might supply his missing memories, a place he could call home.

"Kohaku!"

Sango was there, along with her friends; the miko in strange clothing, the hanyou, the kitsune and the elderly miko. She was running to him.

Kohaku stiffened, half-expecting her to fling her arms around him. But she stopped herself a scant heartbeat away, changing the gesture to a loose grip on his shoulders, as though she was afraid of breaking him.

"Where were you? I was worried sick! You can't just wander off alone like that – "

The boy held his tongue, willing himself not to snap at Sango, focusing on the hanyou in the background. The man was saying something to the young miko; from the stiffness of her back, it must have been something rude. The others seemed torn between defusing the situation between them and calming Sango down.

"Sango," interrupted the monk wearily. "Kohaku's back, nothing happened. Just leave it."

"I don't care! What if youkai had attacked you? If not for Houshi-sama – "

"I'm not an invalid!" Kohaku burst out violently. "Like you said, I've been bedridden for a week. I just wanted some fresh air."

Sango opened her mouth to argue, shocked at his sudden outburst. Before she could, Miroku stepped forward and took her wrist, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

"Just leave it," he repeated into her ear.

She tightened her jaw resolutely, swallowing the rest of her argument with difficulty. "There's some soup if you're hungry," she addressed Kohaku in a calmer tone.

"I'm not hungry," he replied, equally as stubborn.

"Sango, you don't have to force Kohaku to eat if he doesn't want to; he's old enough to decide for himself."

"But – "

"It's okay," mumbled the young man, making them both turn to stare at him. "I'll eat it." He padded away into the kitchen in search of the pot and utensils. All the pent-up anger had left Kohaku; all he wanted now was just to be alone.

Sango watched him leave, the colour gradually draining from her lower lip as she bit it. The monk slid his hand down, his fingers entwining with hers; he knew the warning signs well.

"What's wrong?" he asked – tell me what's bothering you.

"Kohaku – he never lashed out like that before," she told him, a faint glistening of her eye revealing how close she was to tears. "Never."

"What if he's not the same Kohaku? What if he's… changed?"

Miroku pressed his lips together into a stark white line: he had the same guilty suspicions ever since Kohaku had woken up and unfortunately, he was now unable to dismiss them. He had hoped everything could be put behind them.

"Of course he's still your brother." He drew her closer with his free arm, his hand rubbing her back comfortingly, communicating his support wordlessly. "Remember, Kohaku spent nearly two years with his mind under Naraku's control; give him time. He still hasn't got back his memories as well, it's no wonder he's angry and confused."

He felt her relax against his body and smiled.

"You're right," Sango said decisively, the old confidence back in her voice. She pulled back from him, smiling up into Miroku's eyes. "Thank you, Miroku."

The slayer turned to go after Kohaku, leaving Miroku there. Once he was sure she had gone, the smile dropped from his face.

As much as he hated to admit it, Sango had a point there. He knew Kohaku to be a kind, sweet-natured, gentle boy from her stories of their childhood together: that outburst had been both impatient and short-tempered. It seemed more suited to Inuyasha than Sango's little brother.

He spent the rest of the evening out on the veranda; the sun set long before he finally went in. Sango was preparing her bed as Miroku entered the hut. She greeted him with a shy smile.

"Sango?"

"Mmm?" She was smoothing out the futon, engrossed with the voluminous fabric.

He rubbed the fine sprinkling of stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "I was thinking we should move back to your village soon; you said you wanted to rebuild it."

Sango dropped the pillow she was holding and slowly wheeled around. "Miroku…?"

Miroku smiled warmly. "There's nothing holding you back now: you and Kohaku can finally return home. It might be good for him to go back, the place might help trigger his memories."

He was expecting her to agree excitedly, start making plans, maybe even hug him gratefully: instead, Sango bit her lip, a pensive look on her face.

"It seems… a little sudden."

"Don't you want to go home?"

She tugged on the corner of the futon just so. "I do. It's just that – it's a little overwhelming. Not only for me, but for Kohaku as well. I… I just want him to be happy again, to see him smile the way he used to."

The young monk scooted over, placing his hand over hers. "I can't say whether it's the right thing to do either, but… I do think it's the best option we have now. Trust me," he added, catching the look on her face, "what could go wrong?"

The slayer stared hard into the middle distance before finally nodding. "We'll go in the morning." She did not look at him again after that, crawling underneath the futon and lying on her side, her back to him.

Miroku followed her movements with his eyes, a deep disappointment in them. Kohaku's condition was affecting his Sango adversely as well, not to mention his relationship with her. She rarely let him touch her – both lecherous in nature and otherwise – and she was always lost in thought.

There and then, he resolved to handle the situation – if there really was one – by himself, without letting Sango know. She had suffered enough for her brother's sake already.