Kyoto (c. 1875)
Out of all the things that could wake someone up from sleep, Inuyasha, more often than not, woke up to the feel of his daughter's grubby little hands pulling his ears.
This morning was no different. The touch started as a tickle, and his ears twitched repeatedly, even in sleep. Then, the hands became bolder, until they pulled on his fuzzy ears — hard, and he jolted awake, his blurry eyes staring into the eyes of his daughter, as golden as his own.
"Otō-san, wake up," Keiko said, her rosy lips stretched nearly from ear to ear, revealing a row of straight white teeth and a pair of tiny fangs. "I'm hungry."
Yawning, Inuyasha stretched his arms over his head, and then, he smiled at his daughter. "Already, scamp? No chance of letting your poor father sleep in a little?"
When Keiko's grin widened, Inuyasha chuckled, tweaked the girl's fuzzy ears atop her head, and mussed the her mop of multicoloured hair. Strands of black and silver mixed together — half him, and half Kikyō.
The girl inched closer to Kikyō's sleeping face to plant a kiss on her mother's cheek. Inuyasha chuckled. "Pup, let your mother sleep a little longer. She had to stay at the hospital till late last night helping a woman giving birth to a baby. Come with me. Let me get you something to eat."
Inuyasha swung his legs off the sleeping mat and stood up. He could not resist ruffling her hair again as he passed her, but she was already darting ahead of him and out of the sleeping area. Inuyasha followed, yawning as he rubbed his eyes with one hand.
The rays of the rising sun slowly crept across the neighbourhood, casting a golden light on the streets outside. Early morning activities filled the air, from the chorus of birds chirping to the sounds of carts and rickshaws racing by. As people slowly began to emerge from their homes, the lattice screens acted as a filter, allowing just enough noise into the house to fill it with life.
In the cooking area in the back, Inuyasha prepared a simple meal of white rice and dried shirasu — the tiny whitebait fish, and heated up the soup left over from last night's dinner.
Their food ready, Keiko sat down on a cushion beside him, her little legs tucked neatly beneath her. She blew on the spoonful of soup Inuyasha handed her before taking a careful sip. He watched her for a moment, a sense of warmth filling him. When Kikyō first proposed that they begin a family, he had been concerned about the dangers that came with being a part-yōkai family in a world that was not always friendly to the demonkind.
But now, seeing the smile on his daughter's face, he knew there was nothing he would not do to protect her and any other children they might have.
After breakfast, Inuyasha helped Keiko into her clothes so they could get to school on time. The girl had taken it upon herself to choose her outfit every morning, and today she selected a pink kimono with a cherry blossom pattern, and its matching navy blue hakama.
"Otō-san," Keiko spoke as she slipped her arms into the kimono. "Can you tell me a story?"
Inuyasha grinned as he tied the belt of her hakama, happy to oblige his daughter. "A story, huh? Alright, which story do you want this morning, pup?"
Keiko thought for a moment, her eyes landing briefly on her father's legendary sword that hung on the wall. "The one about the time the inu daiyōkai Sesshōmaru travelled to the underworld and almost lost his ward, Rin."
A soft chuckle escaped Inuyasha's lips. Perhaps because of the similarities in age, Keiko was especially enchanted by tales of Rin's adventures with the yōkai lord and the rest of his entourage. "You love that one, huh? Makes me wonder what your uncle would think if he knew I've been telling you stories about him on a daily basis."
Those golden eyes rounded and lit up. "Are we going to meet him one day?"
A sedate smile appeared on Inuyasha's lips as he gently bopped Keiko's nose. "One day," he said, suppressing his sadness whenever he thought of his brother.
He hoped so, too — one day.
Keiko stared hopefully at him. "But, for now, you'll tell me the story?"
He laughed. "Fine, but that's a long one. I'll tell you on our walk to school. Come on, or we'd be late."
They strolled along the canal, their footsteps tapping a steady beat on the dirt path. Inuyasha's hand held onto Keiko's small one. The water was calm, the reflection of the surrounding blossoming trees and homes rippled by the occasional splash of a fish or a playful breeze.
As they walked, Inuyasha told the story of Sesshōmaru, Rin, and Kohaku's journey to the underworld, his daughter listening intently, her golden eyes brimming with excitement and wonder.
Her excitement dimmed when they passed a school — a human school, where they saw a group of students standing at the entrance. They stopped, Keiko staring at the children gathering in front of the gates — their glossy black hair gleaming under the morning sun.
"Otō-san, why can't I go to that school?"
Inuyasha followed the direction of Keiko's finger, his mind already scrambling to find words to explain to his daughter.
It had been five years since the Assimilation Act was signed. The newly united Empire of Japan guaranteed better equality for the demonkind, promising access to education, healthcare, jobs, and better standards of living to those with yōkai blood. The entire nation had just gotten back up on its feet since the latest measles epidemic. Vaccines, invented and produced by some yōkai surgeon, were made available for everyone, and for some time, the future looked bright for peaceful coexistence.
But, not all was pretty.
Mixed-blood children like Keiko were not accepted at the national public schools. They were segregated — sent to special schools, which were rumoured to be of less quality, run by teachers who were not always eager to teach students of yōkai blood. Inuyasha and Keiko, and others of yōkai blood, were not permitted to enter the temples or any religious grounds. Even Kikyō, because she had married someone with yōkai heritage, could no longer work at temples or shrines.
They had kept their eyes on the ground and shuffled forward, trying to keep their heads down and remain unnoticed. They had been attempting for years to make a place in this world for themselves and their little family, but society seemed determined to push them away at every turn. While they had heard rumours that yōkai leaders in the capital were promising a future of equality, nothing ever seemed to come of it, and he wondered how long they would have to wait before anything changed.
Inuyasha sighed and knelt down beside Keiko, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's because you're a special girl, Keiko," he began, trying to choose his words carefully. "That school is for human children, and you're part-yōkai. The people in charge of the schools think it's better if you and other children like you go to a different school, one where they can teach you about your yōkai heritage and help you learn how to control your powers."
Keiko frowned, not completely understanding. "But I want to learn with the human children. I want to play with them, and I don't want to be different," she protested, her bottom lip beginning to quiver. Inuyasha's heart clenched at the sight of his daughter's disappointment.
"I know, Keiko, and I know it's not fair," Inuyasha said gently, pulling her into a tight embrace. "But we have to work with what we have, at least for now, and keep moving forward. One day, things will be different, and you'll be able to go to any school you want."
He had no idea if such a world would ever arrive, but he had heard some people saying the yōkai leaders were working on obtaining equal rights, and like others in his position, he could only put his trust in the new government.
When wearing glamour, Inuyasha easily blended in with his fellow humans. But, Keiko, with highlights of silver as pale as moonbeams in her hair and too young to be able to apply glamour, could not escape her yōkai heritage.
Some humans ignored her, but most glared at her with distaste, preferring to cross the street than pass her by. Such treatments were easier to cope with when Keiko was a baby, but she was now a little girl and an exceedingly smart one. Inuyasha was under no delusion — Keiko certainly did not inherit her intelligence from him. She got that from her mother.
Even as a young girl, she was aware of the hatred directed towards her — an amalgam of yokai and human heritage; the former causing so much disdain and disgust that some could not bring themselves to look at her. Even worse were those who would whisper their cruel remarks with a false air of innocence when they thought she did not hear.
Keiko tore her eyes away from the human children, teeth biting her bottom lip into one thin, disappointed line. She clenched her fist around her cloth carrier that contained her books for the day and strode forward, Inuyasha's eyes on her back.
As he watched his daughter, head down, a pain pierced his heart. He remembered scuffing through the streets alone as a child — the feeling of being invisible to everyone, the hurt of never being invited to join a game.
Now, Keiko was going through the same thing.
As he followed his daughter, Inuyasha wondered what Kagome would do, what Kagome would say. He had been thinking a lot about his friend lately. There was still a little less than two hundred years before they would be reunited, but he looked forward to seeing her again. He missed her, and her strange, futuristic wisdom and optimism that seemed bottomless.
Sighing heavily, Inuyasha pondered what Kagome would do when she met Keiko. Would she be able to offer his daughter the same hope and guidance that she had offered him during his darkest days?
That evening, Kikyō came home late again from the hospital, but not before Keiko fell asleep. Inuyasha busied himself with cleaning the kitchen while his wife sang their daughter to sleep. He soaked a rag in warm water and began to scrub a pot, smiling to himself as Kikyō's soft, melodic voice filled their simple but happy home with a familiar lullaby.
Later that night, after their simple dinner of millet, grilled fish, and pickled vegetables, Inuyasha prepared their bed while Kikyō sat in front of her mirror, brushing her hair. Since she had ceased her work as a priestess, she had made it part of her pre-bedtime ritual to comb her long raven hair from root to tip, keeping it lustrous and glossy.
"The doctors at the hospital have started to sterilize women of yōkai blood without their knowledge," Kikyō said, her hand stopping for a moment before it continued running the lacquered comb through her hair.
Inuyasha's hands stilled on the futon, his heart dropping with a heavy feeling.
"What?" he asked, turning to stare at her.
Kikyō sighed, the hand that held the comb quaking a little. "I overheard some of the other nurses talking about it," she said, her voice filled with weariness. "They think it's for the greater good, to prevent mixed-blood children from being born and causing more problems for our society."
Inuyasha's grip on the quilt tightened until his knuckles turned white. The surge of anger and trepidation in his chest was difficult to contain. They were only a couple of decades away from the twentieth century, yet such a horrible practice still occurred — practiced by those whose profession was meant to protect their patients. This was not the peaceful coexistence he had hoped they would have reached by this point.
"I hope you're not forced into helping them do something like that," Inuyasha commented quietly as he smoothed the quilt over their futon.
Kikyō pursed her lips and shook her head. "Thankfully, they're not the doctors I work with. But who knows how long it'll be before everyone at the hospital is forced to cooperate."
Inuyasha idly played with one loose thread on their quilt. Something had been simmering in his mind, something he had been planning to discuss with his wife.
"Kikyō, I've been thinking." He paused to gather his thoughts and prepare his arguments. "I think… we should move back… to Musashi, or at least Edo."
Immediately, she stiffened. He understood Kikyō had felt uncomfortable remaining in Musashi after the jewel had revived her, deeply believing everyone in his life — his friends and comrades — were in favour of him taking Kagome as his wife. But, a couple of centuries had passed. Ancient history should not prevent them from returning to a place he strongly believed would be a better environment for their small family.
Turning to look at him over her shoulder, her eyes scanned his face with concern. "Why? Did something happen to Keiko?"
"No, no, nothing like that," Inuyasha reassured her quickly, holding up his hands. "It's just—" He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I'm tired, Kikyō. Tired of feeling like we don't belong in this place. Tired of watching Keiko being treated differently. And I know it's not going to get better anytime soon."
Kikyō nodded slowly, understanding the pain and frustration in his voice. "I know how hard it is for you, Inuyasha. And I feel it too. But... moving back to Musashi or Edo won't solve the problem, will it? We will still be a part-yōkai family, and yōkai discriminations exist everywhere."
She scooted on her knees, turning around to face him fully. "And... what about our jobs? It will be difficult to uproot our lives and begin anew."
He shrugged. "We can always start all over again. We've done it before, we can do it again. We'll find a new home, maybe start a business, and build a life for ourselves — and for Keiko."
His wife's silence was heavy inside their home. He ventured further, "We need people around us, Kikyō. Around our daughter. We have no one in Kyoto — no friends, no allies, no family…"
He did not know why Kyoto's residents were especially harsh to those of demon blood. Was it because of its strong, traditional values, reminiscent of its status as the old capital of the nation? Was it because of its landlocked location — farther away from ports that connected their country with the outsiders?
"The emperor has reopened the borders of trade with the Westerners," Inuyasha said. "They say, in Edo or Yokohama, there are foreigners as tall as two men stacked on top of each other, and with skin as pale as the moon and hair the colour of straw. Maybe, in that kind of place, Keiko's hair or skin won't look so different. Then, maybe, she can fit in for once."
When his wife did not speak, he scratched his head. "I know I'm sounding like I'm grasping at straws here, but I think... a change is needed, Kikyō."
"Do we even know anyone in Edo?" she asked.
Inuyasha wet his lower lip, fingers flexing on the cotton bedding as he contemplated his answer. Then, with his eyes on her, he cautiously said, "Sesshōmaru is in Edo." He paused, trying to gauge Kikyō's stony expression. "He and his mother, and a few other daiyōkai have pioneered the assimilation movements and are negotiating with the human government for better rights for us."
Kikyō's fingers clenched on her lap as she struggled with her thoughts. "But your brother hasn't always been an advocate for humankind. How will he view his half-niece, a girl more human than yōkai?"
Slowly, Inuyasha nodded. The subject of his past, of Musashi, Edo, Sesshōmaru or Kagome, had always been a bit of a touchy subject in their marriage. But, for their daughter, he would push on.
"I have... heard a rumour that makes me think he might've... changed."
"A rumour?"
"Words have it he adopted one of Rin's grandchildren as his own. A hanyō boy around Keiko's age. I thought... maybe they could grow up together. Maybe then, she could finally have a friend."
Kikyō's eyes were unfocused, her gaze distant as she continued running the brush through her long black hair. She placed the brush back on the table and settled in under the quilt beside him. Inuyasha circled his arm around her waist and drew her close, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder, but he said nothing.
"Perhaps you're right," she finally murmured. "Perhaps moving to Edo is the solution. There's bound to be a hospital or a doctor's clinic in the capital that needs a nurse."
Inuyasha inhaled deeply, feeling the tightness in his heart and stomach slowly dissipate. His hold on her waist strengthened, offering an unseen comfort.
"It will be a wonderful future for all three of us, Kikyō. I can feel it."
The next morning, Inuyasha walked with Keiko to school again. Sunlight flickered through the cypress trees and sparkled off the surface of the canal like a thousand tiny stars. As they passed by, they saw the same group of children dressed in colourful clothing, gathering in front of the entrance of the same human school.
Keiko stopped and watched them, her eyes half-lidded and expressionless, though she did not utter a word.
But, when they arrived at her school, she refused to go inside. She clung to him like a frightened animal, tears suddenly streaming down her cheeks. "I don't want to go," she whimpered between sobs. "I don't like it!"
"Hey, hey—" Inuyasha cupped her cheeks, trying to see his daughter's eyes beyond her tear-stained fingers. "What brought this on, huh? Did something happen at school?"
Keiko shook her head, but she did not stop weeping. The pain in her voice was palpable, and at first, he did not know what to say. He could not bear to see her so sad. He crouched down so that he was at eye level with her and gently wiped away her tears.
"I know it's hard," Inuyasha said, pulling his daughter into a tight embrace. "But let me tell you a secret. Your mother and I have been talking about us moving to Edo, where your uncle Sesshōmaru lives. He has a hanyō boy you can play with. You'd like that, won't you?"
She stopped crying, finally lowering her hands to look back at him. "Edo? Really?" she sniffed, her knuckles rubbing her eyes, wiping away her tears.
Inuyasha smiled and nodded. "Yeah. We're moving to Edo. So, hang in there just a little longer, pup. As soon as school's over today, Otō-san will pick you up, and we'll go home together, alright?"
Finally, Keiko smiled, eyes lighting up again with excitement.
"Good girl." Inuyasha bopped her nose and rose to his feet.
They waved goodbye, and as he watched Keiko run up to the school gates, Inuyasha felt a weight lift off his chest. Now, with the real possibility of moving to Edo and the promise of Keiko finally having a family, a friend, and a better future, he felt like he could breathe a little easier.
He headed to work with a spring in his step. When they moved to Kyoto, not many places would employ a person of yōkai blood, but he managed to get a job as part of a construction crew building merchant houses along one of the biggest commercial roads in the city. He was quick and agile, and unlike many humans, he was not afraid of heights.
That day, the work was especially gruelling, and Inuyasha worked harder than usual to distract himself from his own thoughts. But no matter how hard he tried, his mind kept coming back to his wife and daughter, to the future that awaited them in Edo.
His thoughts were shattered by the sound of distant shouting. It grew louder, a violent cacophony of screams and crashes echoing through the air. The heavy footsteps of many reverberated through the ground beneath him, shaking the scaffold he was climbing. A familiar voice carried on the wind, calling out his name in desperation.
"Inuyasha-san!" One of his neighbours came running to the construction site. "Inuyasha-san! Your daughter's school— HURRY!"
The use of glamour was strictly enforced in public, but when Inuyasha saw the panic in the man's face, his instinct kicked in — he released his glamour and transformed into his hanyō form, complete with shining golden eyes, silver hair, claws, and fangs. He jumped off the scaffold, uncaring of the height or the danger and landed on the ground below.
Inuyasha squinted against the bright afternoon sun. He could make out thick, oily columns of smoke climbing into the sky in the direction of Keiko's school. He felt a painful tugging sensation in his chest as he began to run faster than ever before.
Hang on, Keiko! Otō-san will come for you!
In his hanyō form, Inuyasha raced down the streets, the crowd gasping and parting around him like water. As he reached the school, the sight that greeted him made his blood run cold. The building was in flames, and the air was thick with smoke. Screams and cries for help echoed in the chaos. Inuyasha's heart hammered in his chest, his senses on high alert as he pushed through the crowd, trying to find his daughter.
He thought he could hear her voice amidst the cacophony, calling out for him in terror. Inuyasha's heart gave a painful twist at the sound of her cries. He had to get to her, to save her. He could see the flames burning through the windows, a bright and deadly inferno that threatened to consume everything in its path. The building was now a charred, twisted frame, collapsing in on itself. Time seemed to slow as he pushed his legs harder, willing himself to go faster.
No bells were tolled to notify the hikeshi — the fire brigade, and when Inuyasha got closer, he understood why. It was yōki flame, impossible to be vanquished by water or sand or earth. Once it raged, it could only diminish once it had engulfed everything in its path.
He got close enough that the heat singed his skin, and made sweat bead along his hairline and nape to trickle down his back. A throng of people watched the building burn. The screams and cries of the parents resounded through the streets, but no one did anything to stop the flames — no one could.
But, even if he could not douse the flame, with his fire-rat robe, he could save Keiko and other children who might be trapped inside the building. He would brave the fire and scour the area for anyone he could carry out of the inferno. If he hurried, he could make it in time. He could—
Inuyasha felt a sharp twinge around his neck as he was yanked backward. Immediately, his yōki vanished. He reached up with both hands to feel the cold steel weight of the chain wrapped tightly around him. The metal bit into his flesh as he panicky clawed at it, trying to break it apart and free himself from its grip. But his efforts were futile, as the chain only tightened further, slowly cutting off his airway.
With the yōki suppression chain around his neck, they brought him down. The ground was rough and uneven beneath him, rocks scraping away at his skin. he could hear the roar of flames as a pack of humans hauled him further and further from the burning building.
"No— you don't understand," he rasped against the chokehold that held him back. "Release me—"
Inuyasha thrashed, but the chain disrupted the flow of his yōki, and his strength was rapidly waning. His outstretched hand wavered before his eyes. The other flailed at his neck, still trying to break the metal link. He swung his fist, aiming to wake himself with his own punch, but his hand was so weak, it might as well be a baby's pats on his cheek.
Keiko. Wait for me… Otō-san will always protect you…
His vision went dark.
Inuyasha slowly drifted back to consciousness, hearing a faint whisper of his name repeated over and over again. He opened his eyes, still hazy, and saw Kikyō's face above him, illuminated by the light of the dying sun.
"Inuyasha."
"Kikyō." He sat up and grimaced, face twisting into a pained mask when his temple pounded fiercely. He found himself on the ground on the side of the road. "What happened? Where is Keiko? Am I late to pick her up?"
"Inuyasha."
Kikyō's voice was strained, as if her throat was cinched tight and a lump was stuck in it. He lifted his gaze to her, and he saw the anguish drenching her face, tears rolling down her cheeks.
He forced himself to rise. His whole body trembled as he took his first steps toward what was left of the school building. The searing heat from the yōki flames had long faded, but the acrid scent of smoke lingered in the air. He stumbled forward, eyes fixed on the breeze-whipped ashes and debris. Spectators stood to both sides, silently watching him pass without notice or reverence.
"Keiko..."
Inuyasha's voice broke as he uttered his daughter's name, an overwhelming sense of dread consuming him. He couldn't see anything but rubble and blackened walls; the school that once stood tall was reduced to a pile of ash and debris. The remains were eerily quiet, the only sound the faint crackling of charred woods.
Nothing remained.
Inuyasha collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't believe it. It was as if his entire world had come crashing down around him. His precious daughter, who he loved more than anything in the world, was gone. Snatched away from him in an instant, leaving him with nothing but emptiness and pain.
He couldn't breathe. His chest felt tight, constricting his lungs. He let out a strangled cry, grasping at handfuls of ash and dirt as if they could bring her back to him somehow.
Kikyō knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, her tears soaking his robe, but Inuyasha barely registered her presence. His mind was consumed with grief and regret, replaying every moment leading up to the fire and imagining what he could have done differently.
He despised everyone — the demon who burned down the school with his daughter inside it, and the humans who took from him the only chance he had of snatching her out of the fire. But, most of all, he despised himself for not being strong or fast enough to save her.
For days, he felt nothing but the sickening guilt and the abhorrent loathing for everyone, for himself, for this world who had taken the life of his innocent daughter along with thirty other yōkai children at the school, and their teachers.
Every night, he wandered through the darkness like a wounded animal, his anguished cries ringing out for Keiko until his throat was raw. He trudged to school ruins, wading through piles of cinders and coals in the desperate hope of catching even a glimpse of her. Kikyō found him every time. Kikyō, who had to prop him up when he could no longer stand. Kikyō, who dragged him home as though he were an empty husk, cleaned him, and helped him get into bed.
The sleep that he so desperately yearned for brought him no solace. Instead, the taunting visions lingered in his mind — orange flames devouring his school building and everyone inside it. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard the hacking coughs of children and Keiko's desperate cries for help. He wished to escape these torturous nightmares, but the darkness only promised more despair.
He cried in his sleep and woke up sobbing. Upon cracking his eyes open, he saw Kikyō hovering above him, her own eyes red-rimmed with fatigue and worry.
"I had the most terrible dream," he told her, wiping the remnants of tears with the back of his hand. "Is Keiko awake already? She can't be late for school — what time is it?"
Kikyō's lips trembled as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Inuyasha... she's gone," she whispered, reminding him of the terrible truth with a broken voice.
Inuyasha shot up, his eyes wild with fear and confusion. "What do you mean gone? Where did she go?" he demanded, his voice hoarse and raw.
"She's gone, Inuyasha," Kikyō repeated, her voice shaking with grief. "They burned... the school..."
Inuyasha's eyes widened in shock, and the colour drained from his face. He felt as if a weight was crushing him, making it difficult to breathe. He reached up blindly to scratch at his head, flinching as his claws pulled through his long white hair. "No... no, this can't be happening," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I promised her we'd move to Edo together. I promise her—"
Suddenly, flashes of the past flooded his mind like a violent wave. He recalled the sound of her laughter, the smell of freshly steamed rice and the briny whitebaits in the morning as if they were still present in the room. Then, he recalled the chaos, the heat of the inferno, the acrid scent of flaming cinders and ashes and flesh – all branded into his brain with such sharp clarity that it felt like someone had stabbed him with a burning knife.
Inuyasha folded himself into two. His heart shattered into a million pieces as the reality of the situation hit him. Keiko was gone forever. He clutched his chest, gasping for breath as the tears flowed down his face, leaving hot trails on his skin. Kikyō held him as he wept, her own tears mingling with his.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, but Inuyasha's grief did not lessen. He could not bear the weight of his own guilt. If he had allowed Keiko to skip school, she would have been alive, but he did not. He still cried himself to sleep every night, his sobs echoing throughout his household. Kikyō did everything she could to help him heal, but, grieving from the loss of a daughter herself, not even her love and care could vanquish the sorrow and hatred that consumed him.
He wallowed in depression, wandering around every day in search of Keiko, unable to hold down a job. Kikyō took on the responsibility of chasing him, and caring for him, so much that eventually, she too was let go from her own job. With no source of income, their landlord insisted upon his rent, and they were forced out onto the streets, seeking refuge in wooded areas and caves like it was the feudal era again.
Every night, Inuyasha would wander through the woods, calling out his daughter's name. His voice was muffled by the leaves of the trees, and only crickets chirped in response. He kept searching, but Keiko never came home.
Every night, Kikyō scoured the woods to look for him. When she found him — dirty, slumped against a tree or stumbling through the mud — she scooped him up into her arms and helped him back to their makeshift camp. Every night, she laid down his broken form on the straw pallet — dirtied by mud, exhausted and mad with grief.
Every night, she sobbed, "Inuyasha, please. I can't do this... not without you."
And one last night, as Inuyasha slept fitfully, he did not even realize Kikyō did not sleep a wink. At dawn, he awoke suddenly as if startled by a dream. His first thought was of Keiko. Where was his daughter? Something in his dream had made him weep, for his cheeks were wet with tears.
"I had the most terrible dream," he told Kikyō. Sobbing, he held onto her arms. "Tell me it was just a dream."
The sunlight dappled through the trees, casting streaks of gold and illuminating Kikyō's face. Tears pooled in her eyes, yet she smiled ruefully at Inuyasha. Her voice was barely above a whisper, "Yes, Inuyasha. It was only a dream."
Then, she slipped a yōki-suppression bracelet around his wrist.
For the first time since Keiko's death, he felt a strange and unfamiliar calm. His head was finally silent; no more of the demonic snarling of his inner turmoil. For the first time since Keiko's death, he felt something that resembled peace. The yōki suppression beads held his demon nature back, but it also dulled his senses, and with them, his pain.
And — it felt good not to hear the enraged howling in his ears.
Days passed. Eventually, he did realize Keiko's death was not a dream, but the pain that would have debilitated him was held at bay. Things began to get better. Slowly, they rejoined society. After months of healing, they were finally ready to move on - first Osaka, then Nagoya, Shizuoka, Kawagoe, Tokyo, and finally Chiba prefecture. Everywhere they went, they rebuilt their lives slowly and carefully, hoping that the memories of Kyōto would eventually fade away.
It never did, not completely. The thought of having children again terrified them both, but nature took its course. Several decades after Keiko's death, Kikyō was pregnant again.
The birth of their first son, Ichiro, changed everything. They began to worry again. Holding the newborn in his arms, Inuyasha felt a flicker of happiness ignite inside him — something he had thought long gone, forever. But, as he looked into his son's golden eyes, he felt the fear tainting the happiness he had lost after Keiko's death.
"Can we protect our children?" Kikyō asked as she lay in bed, her face pale, still exhausted and in pain from her recent labour.
Inuyasha could not answer, and he watched quietly as Kikyō slipped the yōki-suppression bracelet around the newborn's hand, his own emotions deeply suppressed by the beads encircling his wrist. He watched as Ichiro's golden eyes and tufts of silver hair turned black. The baby cooed, protesting slightly, but unaware of what his parents had done to him.
"But—" Inuyasha argued weakly. "What about his lifespan? Will the beads shorten it?"
Kikyō's eyes swam with tears, and her chin wobbled as she gazed at Ichirō. "Better to have a shortened life than no life at all," she replied, her voice shaking.
Now, decades later, inside the comfort of their home in Chiba, still reeling from Sesshōmaru and Kagome's visit to dinner, Inuyasha realized: crippled from Keiko's death, he had relied on Kikyō to protect their children, and she had stepped in to do what she thought was best for their family.
Inuyasha took Kikyō's hands in his grasp and pulled her to sit beside him on their bed's edge.
"Others may look and see a villain, Kikyō, and only I know the truth," he told her. "What you did for me that morning in the woods was kindness. You gave me reprieve when my heart was breaking from Keiko's death. But, now, we have to think about Ichirō, Kenjiro, and Saburo and do what is best for them."
The suppression beads kept them in a bubble, like an invisible forcefield that separated them from the world outside. Life carried on, but he and his family remained in a standstill as though trapped in time.
And, inside the bubble, he and Kikyō had forgotten their old hope that the world could get better, that they did not have to fight or survive alone.
He cupped her cheek, wiping away a stray teardrop with his thumb. "You've had to be strong on your own all those years. Now, it's my turn. Let me be strong for us."
Her face twisted with fear and anguish. "Inuyasha. There is no guarantee. And now, we have three children. What if we couldn't—"
"The world is changing," Inuyasha said, hand shifting to caress her face. "We were betrayed before, and we shied away from society. But, maybe, it's time to trust in the world again."
Soft footsteps interrupted their conversation, and they both turned to see their three sons standing in the doorway, concern and surprise etched on their faces.
"Mom? Da—" Ichirō paused as he squinted. "Dad? Is that you?"
None of his children had ever seen his true form, and now all three stood by the door, their mouths falling open as they gaped at him. Kikyō looked at Inuyasha and, like an electric current, a poignant moment of understanding passed between them.
When he gave her a small nod, she turned and told them, "Your father has something to tell all of you."
"Come." Inuyasha opened his arms and embraced all three of his children, the youngest climbing onto his lap. Three pairs of hands touched his silver hair, marvelling at its colour and texture.
Then, he was struck by that moment of clarity. With his senses unfettered by the yōki suppression beads, everything felt so crisp and clear. He drank in every detail of his children: their small, trusting bodies pressed close against him, their unique scent of soap and innocence, each wonder-filled expression that they exchanged between themselves. The details of the moment overwhelmed him as he experienced them all for the first time.
And the surge of love that suffused his chest, as though a floodgate of emotions had been opened, brought tears to his eyes. His vision blurred, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. He held all three of his children close to his chest, kissed each of their foreheads, and smiled at them.
"I will tell you a story about a girl," he said. "Your sister."
Their eyes widened. "Our sister?" said Ichirō.
Inuyasha nodded. "Her name… is Keiko. She was born a couple of hundred years before you were."
Haltingly, Kenjiro asked, "Where is she now?"
Inuyasha's chest still hurt when he thought about Keiko, and he drew another deep and shuddering breath. "She had to leave us, but she's in a better place now."
His children clung to him, their tiny hands clutching his shirt as they buried their faces in his chest. He cradled them protectively with one arm and felt a surge of love wash over him.
"I'm scared," little Saburo said, rubbing his tearful eyes.
"I am scared too," Inuyasha told them, his voice breaking a little. "But we will do this together."
With his arms, he pulled them closer. His eyes met Kikyō's over their children's heads, and together, they told them the story of Keiko.