The room was silent when Inuyasha finished telling the story. The air was charged with emotion, thick with unspoken words. Anyone could see the torment in Inuyasha's eyes and the pain etched in the lines of his face. Kagome's heart twisted in her chest, wishing she could take the burden away from him.

"The Kyōto fire of 1875," Sesshōmaru finally said, a faint tremor in his voice. "is one of the darkest events in our history since the Assimilation Act was signed."

At her confused expression, he explained, "Within days, the same group lit fires throughout the country — Edo, Kyōto, Osaka, Nagoya, Sapporo, Fukuoka, Kawasaki, Kobe, and Saitama."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sesshōmaru asked, looking at Inuyasha now. "If I'd known, I could've — I might've—" His voice trailed into silence as he clenched his fists so hard, his bones cracked with the force.

Inuyasha stared at Sesshōmaru, a helpless look on his face. "What would I have said?" His chuckle was an empty sound. "What would I have done? Grab a handful of ashes and go to Edo, hold it out to you and ask you to use Tenseiga? Sesshōmaru, by the time the yōki flame finished burning, nothing of her remained. She became one with the ashes of the building, and everyone else who died that day."

Sesshōmaru's eyes fell to the ground for a moment before meeting Inuyasha's once again. "I see." He nodded, even though he did not look convinced, as though he needed time to come to some kind of resolution with himself. "I am sorry for your loss, brother. And for not being there when you needed me."

Inuyasha wiped his face and shook his head. "You couldn't have known. And I didn't blame you then, nor do I blame you now."

He paused for a moment before continuing, "When Kikyō got pregnant again, she became convinced a peaceful coexistence is impossible, and that there is no place in this world for a child in between two worlds. She has long accepted there is no way for a hanyō to become a full yōkai, but with the help of yōki suppression aids, a hanyō could become a full human. Or, at least, very close to it. She became convinced it was the best chance our children had at survival."

Keiko's story painted a vivid picture of Kikyō's struggles, and Kagome began to sympathize with the woman. It was as though a veil had been lifted, allowing Kagome to better understand Kikyō's behaviour. Despite the terrible things she insisted upon Inuyasha and the children, Kagome could now see why Kikyo felt she had no choice but to act as she did.

"That's why she believed the bracelets were necessary," Kagome murmured.

Inuyasha nodded. "And I couldn't convince her otherwise. I couldn't convince myself that I had the power to protect my family. So, she'd taken it upon herself to shield them in the only way she could—"

His voice was reduced to a whisper, then nothing at all. He sat motionless with his fingers pressed to his lips, eyes fixed on the geometric pattern of the rug. Tears began to well in his eyes. His knuckles were white as he wiped his face, and he took a few seconds to compose himself. "It's all my fault. I take full responsibility," he said, and a warble of grief was heavy in his voice.

He looked aged beyond his years, and the weight of guilt seemed to hang in the air around him. "If I'd been stronger after Keiko's death, if I'd convinced Kikyō that our children could be safe here, she wouldn't have been so obsessed with these yōki-suppression beads. And our children wouldn't be—" He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence as emotion overpowered him.

Through her bond with Sesshōmaru, Kagome felt the tension emanating from her mate. Sesshōmaru's jaw was clenched, and every muscle in his body seemed to be wound like a tightly coiled spring. Kagome could see the glint of anger in his eyes, directed not against Inuyasha or Kikyō, but pointed inward at his own ignorance, at himself for not preventing the tragedy.

Also through their bond, Kagome reached out to him, offering comfort and support. She knew that, despite all appearances, Sesshōmaru still cared about Inuyasha, and especially his nephews, and he was deeply affected by his brother's pain.

As she sent him a calming wave of love and understanding, Sesshōmaru's tense muscles slowly relaxed, and he took a deep breath before speaking. "Do not look back at what has been done. Look ahead and think of what we can do for your children. Together."

At this, Inuyasha looked up, and though Kagome could see the guilt still etched on his face, there was something that wasn't there before: hope.

"Inuyasha," Kagome said, her tone gentle. "There is help. Sesshōmaru and I are here to help you. We hope you and Kikyō will consider letting the children take off their bracelets. There will be even more help to get them to recover as much yōki as possible."

"Is that… really possible?"

Kagome glanced at Sesshōmaru, who nodded at her. She looked back at Inuyasha and gave him her most reassuring smile. "We know someone who might be able to help. Prince Shinsui, the medical director, is the best physician you can ask for. If we could get him to be involved in the children's rehabilitation, we know he will do his best to help the children recover as much as they can."

When Inuyasha looked as though he did not know what to say, Kagome leaned forward to take his hand, tears pricking her eyes. "Please, Inuyasha. We weren't able to be there for you that day. Now, let us help you."

Inuyasha's face revealed a multitude of emotions: Pain, confusion, and anger, all shifting in rapid succession. The muscles in his jaw clenched, and his hands trembled as he rose from the couch and took long strides toward the window. Kagome and Sesshōmaru looked at each other uneasily but stayed silent, allowing Inuyasha his moment alone to process his thoughts.

It must feel odd to be offered help after so many decades of struggling by themselves, keeping their little family together inside a bubble and everyone else at a distance. But Kagome hoped this could be a new start for them, and for the children.

After a long, silent moment, Inuyasha turned to them, his eyes hard and resolute. "Okay. Okay, we'll do it. I'll talk to Kikyō."

Kagome let out a sigh of relief, and even Sesshōmaru's tense face softened. Her heart swelled with happiness for Inuyasha's trust and willingness to accept their help. She stood up and walked over to him and, gingerly, placed a hand on his shoulder. He tensed at first, and as though his body remembered their friendship before, it relaxed under her touch.

"Thank you, Inuyasha," she said. "For trusting us. We will do everything we can to help. Let this be a new beginning for all of us."

Inuyasha nodded, his eyes flickering with the hint of hope she had missed seeing. She knew it would not be an easy road ahead, but she was grateful that he had agreed to take the first step toward healing.

"Ah... also, Sesshōmaru." Inuyasha turned to look at his brother. "Kikyō and I had a long talk with the kids after you left. Kikyō agreed to let them take off their bracelets and to let learn more about their yōkai heritage, especially Ichiro."

He paused, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden, if the flush along his cheekbones was anything to judge by. "Since I've been so out of the whole history thing, I was wondering, if maybe later on, Ichiro can come over to stay for the weekend, and you can teach him what he wants to know. I think Kenjiro and Saburo might be too young for a sleepover, but I promised Ichiro I'd ask."

For a moment, Sesshōmaru was speechless. He opened his mouth, but no words emerged. He had been kept away from his nephew's life — let alone education — for so long that the request came utterly out of left field.

Inuyasha cleared his throat, looking down at his feet. "I know it's a lot to ask, and we haven't been—" He cleared his throat again. "We haven't been very welcoming to your efforts. I understand if you don't want to do it. But Ichiro is really curious, and now that we're taking off his bracelet, I don't want him to grow up not knowing where he comes from. Still, if you don't want to, I can try to find someone else—"

Sesshōmaru's calm, albeit slightly hoarse voice cut in, "Inuyasha. I would be honoured. Ichirō, Kenjiro, and Saburo are welcome to visit this house and stay anytime you and Kikyō see fit."

Inuyasha's blush deepened, but he nodded. The road had scarcely begun, but Kagome sensed a new closeness between them, a bond strengthened by the shared experience of loss and grief. Inuyasha might have been a tightly coiled spring before, but now he seemed more relaxed, more open to the possibility that things could be different for him and his family.

When he asked about the magnolia tree he had seen on his way, Kagome decided to show it to him. Sesshōmaru, though invited to tag along, decided to let them catch up without his interference.

And so, two old friends took a stroll in the garden. There were some winter peony bushes and clusters of daffodils that graced their landscape with lovely pink hues and jolly jonquils, but most of the plants were still asleep. The everlasting magnolia tree, as could be seen even from afar, was in full bloom.

As they strolled side by side, Kagome said, "You know, we're not the only ones who are worried about you. Shippō tried to find you too. He said he went to your house in Kyoto, but no one answered."

"We were in terrible shape back then," Inuyasha admitted. "I remember Shippō's voice calling at the door, but I—" His voice trailed into silence.

He had been too lost in the pain of losing Keiko to see anyone. It was something Kagome could relate with. After the miscarriage, she had holed herself up in her new apartment, alone and too drained to move an inch after her struggles — not only with the recovery from the physical distress but also from the separation from that man. As crucial as it had been, it was also a drastic change, and her mind shut down for the next few days to make sense of everything she'd been through.

Kagome reached out to clasp Inuyasha's hand. "Just explain to him," she said, her voice gentle. "Shippō will understand."

He swallowed and nodded. "I hope so," he murmured. "I want to reconcile, and I hope he'd forgive me."

She could not help but smile when she saw how nervous he was. "I'll speak to him as well. I'll help explain."

Inuyasha nodded gratefully. Finally, they stopped under the magnolia tree, its blossoms everlasting. Pale pink petals floated down to land at their feet, covering the ground in a blanket of velvety smooth flowers.

"Sesshōmaru told me about what happened to you," Inuyasha said quietly. "Your ex-boyfriend—" His face contorted with rage and grief. "Kagome. I can't believe I was around when you went through all that, and I didn't do anything about it. I should've killed him for what he's done."

"Sesshōmaru wants to and, no doubt, he'd succeed if ever I gave him the green light."

Inuyasha spun to look at her. "But you don't want to?"

Kagome glanced back at her friend before focusing her eyes on the magnolia tree — her personal symbol of peace, quietly watching their pink petals swaying gently in the wind.

"I've thought about it," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But vengeance won't bring me the closure I need. It won't heal the wounds he's left me with. It certainly won't bring back the baby I lost. It's only by moving forward that I can truly find peace."

Inuyasha scoffed bitterly. "You're a stronger person than I am, you always have been," he said. "I don't know if I could ever find it in me to forgive."

Kagome squeezed his hand. "We each cope and move on in different ways. Your closure will look different than mine. I remember all the time and joy he'd taken away from me. Sometimes, my mind raced with anger and hatred for the amount of pain he caused me. That's why I know: the best revenge would be to fully move on and live as if his life or death meant nothing to me." She finally met Inuyasha's gaze. "Because that's what he is to me: nothing."

Inuyasha's eyes flickered with understanding, and he slowly nodded. "It's not my style, and I bet it's not Sesshōmaru's either, but I can respect your idea of the ultimate revenge." He was quiet for a moment before anguished returned to his face. "And your family—" Hands in his pants pockets, he choked out the words. "Gods, Kagome. I've been so terrible to you, I'm surprised you still agreed to see me again."

Kagome smiled and shook her head. "I was hurt, and I did miss you. I did wish you were still in my life. I didn't understand why before, but now I know. You've been through so much, Inuyasha. You and Kikyō, and the children. You didn't have the capacity to take on more."

Inuyasha's eyes were suddenly bright and glassy, and he lowered his head as though to hide the sight. His eyes landed on the tiny gravestone hidden amidst the pink petals, installed just last week. "So— is this where your girl sleeps?"

Kagome nodded and gazed softly at the stone. "The memory of her, at least," she said. "I wasn't able to preserve her remains. But, for me, this is where she rests. This is where I come whenever I want to see her or talk to her."

Inuyasha bent one of his knees and lowered himself to the ground. "You're alright now, little one," he spoke gently, his fingers brushing through the mound of pink petals to rearrange them evenly on the ground. "Here ya go. A pretty pink blanket for you."

Kagome gazed at Inuyasha's bent head as he continued to rearrange the pink petals. It felt surreal to have Inuyasha here — their lives forever changed, so far removed from the days of hunting Naraku and the jewel shards in the feudal era. But, as she looked up at the tree and felt the gentle night breeze caressing her cheeks, she knew they were getting another chance at reconciliation, at being a family.

"Is there a grave? For Keiko?" She asked, desperately wishing there was a place where Inuyasha and Kikyō could focus their grief, but from the empty look on his face, she knew it was more wishful thinking on her part.

Then, Inuyasha's reply gave her hope that he was mending, albeit slowly. "We don't have a grave for her. But in our hearts, she lives on."

Kagome's eyes widened. Slowly, a smile appeared on her lips as she took in Inuyasha's resolute face.

Perhaps, just perhaps, peace was possible — for all of them.

Even after Inuyasha left, Kagome stayed outside for a long time, standing in front of the magnolia tree and staring at the slowly falling petals. Sesshōmaru placed a hand on the window jamb, his eyes fixated on the figure of his wife and mate as she looked lost in thoughts, her eyes following the movements of the fluttering blooms.

Inuyasha's visit had shaken them both to the core, the echoes of his pain filling their home and their chests long after he left. The silence was uneasy, the air felt heavy. As Sesshōmaru rubbed his forehead, he wondered how to begin making peace with the new knowledge of what had transpired in his brother's life.

Minutes passed, and when Kagome gave no indication that she'd soon come inside the house, Sesshōmaru grabbed a wool throw from the sofa and went to her. His footsteps were silent as he crossed the backyard to drape the blanket around her shoulders, lips twitching into a small smile when she turned to give him a grateful look. Stepping back, he was careful to give her the space he felt she needed but made his presence known in case she wanted comfort and companionship.

She clutched the blanket around her body, her eyes were once again fixated on the magnolia tree. Months after the tree was planted, it still flourished. Even when other plants were still asleep, waiting for the spring to arrive, the magnolia tree kept their garden looking alive.

"Are you alright?" She turned and asked him, her soft brown eyes full of concern for him even amidst her own inner turmoil. "It was a tragedy. For everyone. You as well."

He tried to smile, but a bitter sneer was all he could manage. "We failed that day. I would always remember how we failed so many people — my brother included. And my niece."

"Sesshōmaru," Kagome spoke softly, her gentle hand on his arm. "You didn't burn down the schools. It's not your fault. You didn't know."

Sesshōmaru's eyes met Kagome's, and he knew she could see his torment in them. "But I should have known," he said through a clenched jaw. "I should have made it my business to know. I should have looked for them sooner. I should have looked for them right after, just in the off chance that they were affected."

Kagome stepped closer to cup his cheek and shook her head. "It's not fair to blame yourself. No one knew what would happen. Nobody could have predicted someone would be so evil to target a bunch of schools that housed mostly children."

"It was our job to anticipate such response to the Assimilation initiatives," he told her. "We should've known better."

What he wanted to say was: 'I should've known better.' He was one of the yōkai leaders of the Assimilation movements — he had responsibilities. Even if the mastermind of the coordinated attack had been captured and punished accordingly, the damage had been done. They could never recover the victims of the attacks.

The salty scent of Kagome's tears overrode the delicate fragrance of the magnolia flowers, and it brought him back to the here and now. He watched Kagome as she pressed a palm against the rough bark, head falling forward to touch her forehead onto the tree trunk. Something inside him cracked when she sobbed, and her words next surprised him.

"What is the point of getting pregnant? What is the point of having children? Am I supposed to birth them into the world and have them killed or burned alive?"

The anguish in her voice was tangible, and it slice through him. Unlike Kagome and Inuyasha, he did not know the pain of losing a child. Rin had died peacefully as an old woman after living a long, fulfilling life, surrounded by her children and numerous grandchildren.

Sesshōmaru moved quickly, wrapping his arms around Kagome as she wept on his chest. Steeling himself, he held her tightly, wishing he could take away her pain, her fear, her sorrow. He did not have the answers to her questions, not even for himself, but he knew that he would do whatever it took to protect his family.

She sobbed, "Humans or yōkai, they are all the same, both sides killing innocents for their own satisfaction and agenda. What guarantee is there that our child, or any child, could find a safe place in this world where everything is so uncertain? There's no guarantee—"

"There is," Sesshōmaru interjected gently. "There is a guarantee. We will protect them with all our strength, no matter what happens. While there is breath in this body, I will protect you, and our children, and you will do the same. That is the guarantee."

Then, she raised her head to lock gazes with him, and inside those eyes glittering with tears, he saw her biggest fear. Her voice quavered as she spoke, "But... these hands... can they protect anyone? Am I strong enough to protect anyone?"

He was once again struck by how generous she had always been with support for others and yet reserved none for herself. She had comforted him during his own bout of regret and remorse for what had happened to Keiko but kept herself in anguish. The answer to her question was so very simple to him that he was able to respond without an ounce of hesitation. He enveloped both her hands in his and brought them to his lips. "Yes, you are," he told her, his words a promise. "And you will. You'll see."

She chuckled and wiped her tears, the corners of her lips turning upward in a small smile. He knew the self-doubt was still nearby, but for that moment, he had given her hope.

"You are no longer alone. You are not alone in your fears," he told her. "We will love and protect our children — together. If your hands tremble, I will be there to steady them, just as you will steady mine when I falter."

She buried her face in his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You've always been my strength, Sesshōmaru."

"And so have you, Kagome." He kissed the top of her head tenderly. "Before and now, more than you'd ever know. And you'd be my strength in the future too."

She lifted her head to meet his eyes, her own clouded with confusion. "Before? What do you mean, Sesshōmaru? Before — when?"

Sesshōmaru took a step back, his gaze lingering on her face. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, anticipation heavy in the air. He held his breath for a moment, debating whether he should tell her the truth that he had kept from her for so long.

And in doing so, perhaps he could give her back the strength she had given him centuries before when the goal for human and yōkai coexistence had seemed so impossible.