"The thirst that from the soul doth rise…"

"To Celia"

Ben Jonson

The cock crows on the third day. Rolling up his sleeves, Jaken studies the rooster's movements, determined to bring their cat-and-mouse game to an end. Aiming the side of the staff with the old man's head, he releases a stream of fire at the bird's offending beak, almost setting the armory in flames.

With a final crow, more ear-splitting than usual, the bird slips underneath one of the other storehouses. Jaken curses, slamming the staff on the ground. Both of its heads hiss miserably.

As the sun continues rising over the Western Lands, he pauses to take it in, sucking in a belly full of air. Massaging his neck, he reflects on the redesign, renovation and expansion of the castle complex. Water shoots from the fountain, the jewel of the grand courtyard, and he grins.

The fruits of his labor make up for the demon chicken, if only a tiny bit. But no amount of impudent fowls can distract him from the day's true meaning.

The image of Kaijinbo, frothy-mouthed and with way too many teeth appears in his mind. Jaken pushes it away, currying support for Sesshomaru from his deepest depths. The time has come for Sesshomaru to claim his new sword and increase his strength.

More than that, Jaken expects to see an improvement in Sesshomaru's mood. On one hand he can count the words Sesshomaru's spoken since they returned from the demon merchants district.

As if conjured by a mere thought, Sesshomaru appears and Jaken nearly flies out of his skin. At least the feeling of his life being shortened every time he interacts with him remains intact.

"Greetings, Master! An auspicious day indeed. Your sword awaits."

Silence.

"Did you hear me, er, Lord Sesshomaru?"

More silence.

Until Sesshomaru sighs. Not a word, but Jaken accepts it as progress.

The repairs to the castle rooftops, tiled with the crest of the Dog Demon tribe, near completion. He flies up to get a closer look at the main roof over his bedroom, leaving Jaken to craft new ways to get more out of him than a sigh.

Every tile is etched cleanly, not a line or curve of the crest out of place. Soon he'll sleep without a draft and begin welcoming guests. His mother agrees to come only on the condition that the castle is in no shape or form similar to the one she shared with Toga.

Eighty-eight other homes, barracks, and storehouses surround the castle on a hill. He felt lighter with less, with resigning himself to a wandering life, but it wasn't real.

Many demons have bent the knee for his protection, a number of them bold enough to offer their lives and counsel in his direct service.

Everything is progressing far better than he'd hoped and yet, when he closes his eyes, nearly relieved of second-guessing himself, her disgust is what he sees.

And now the day has come to take hold of the sword that sent her away as fast as her legs could walk.

He comes down to the courtyard and turns towards the fountain, sparkling in the dawning light. The Great Dog Demon Sesshomaru of the Western Lands is inscribed at the base. Jaken searches his face for the barest approval and Sesshomaru nods.

"The grounds don't appear to need any immediate attention," Sesshomaru stops to survey all of Jaken's work, "so I entrust the retrieval of the sword to you."

Jaken's heart drops into his bowels, then travels all the way up to rest in his throat, pulsing like a frog.

"You," he croaks, shaking like a leaf on a tree, "want m-me to get it?"

He's wished for Sesshomaru to speak for days, but all he feels now is regret. His brain scrambles at the thought of being alone with Kaijinbo.

"That's not a problem, is it?" Sesshomaru continues inspecting the fountain, loath to admit that he had once not cared about it.

Jaken prays, knowing good and well God doesn't hear him. With all of the power and influence Sesshomaru's amassing, he can't afford to have weakness around him. Knowing this doesn't make Jaken's knees knock any less.

"No, milord." He slinks away. "I shall go at once." With an iron grip, he holds the staff, imagining that Kaijinbo is no more than a chicken.

Sesshomaru watches him depart. He closes his eyes to the melody of the trickling water, and sees her again. In an instant, her wariness had softened at his confession, the animosity between them evaporating like morning dew. Try as he might, he can only hold that image for a moment. Her lip twisting as she backed away from him is a more potent memory.

As soon as Jaken comes back with that sword, he's cutting something. It doesn't matter who or what.


Men of wealth and power have everything except shame. In Kagewaki's case, Kikyo breathes easier because of it. He parades her around the palace like a man who's already won the war. For his station, he should exercise less trust in people he's only recently met, but Kikyo doesn't complain.

She greets everyone with her best smile, crafted to perfection after confirming how easily it topples the men in Kagewaki's inner circle. Only Hitoshi is immune. His eyes narrow each time he sees her, fueled by pure instinct. His presence looms like a shadow behind her and Kagewaki, who's told him that he prays every night for his narrowed eyes, hoping they don't get stuck that way.

Hitoshi's wariness aside, she could hear a pin drop at any moment despite the number of people living on the palace grounds. Only when Kagewaki enters a room is the solemnity cast out.

Even after three days, he tours her around the property, too vast to cover in a reasonable time. They enter the northern gardens, teeming with a variety of flowers and herbs that scent the air with peach and vanilla. Kagewaki stops to rest on a stone bench, patting the empty space for Kikyo to join him.

A dusky breeze travels through the area, carrying in the night. He sighs. The contented curve of his lips hasn't wavered once.

"Is it silly to say that I am relieved you're here?" he asks, eyes closed and head tilted back to luxuriate in the evening. "My staff seems to listen to me more with you by my side."

"I hadn't noticed," Kikyo teases him, earning one of his star-bright smiles.

Right on time, the stars in the sky begin to come into view and the clouds part, revealing the whitest moon she's ever seen encircled by a soft halo.

"The very heavens have blessed your arrival, Lady Kikyo." Kagewaki points at the halo, tracing it with his fingers. "I hope you are pleased with your time here despite the circumstances."

As pleasant as the experience has been, Kikyo remains on guard. This is the closest Kagewaki's come to mentioning his plan to challenge Sesshomaru since he first began introducing her. Thinking of Sesshomaru unearths the disappointment she's been pushing away the last three days.

Though it sounded as if it pained him to admit she isn't utterly repugnant, something deep within her transformed as they both noticed the chasm between them shrinking.

No one that mattered in her old life has been easy to talk to since her revival. As much as she sees the love in Kaede's eyes, the pity is more pronounced. Inuyasha's heart no longer calls to hers. Her memory has dulled to simply the former protector of the shikon jewel. But conversing with Sesshomaru includes none of the pity or obsession with the jewel.

"You have no right to judge my actions." His parting words ring in her ears, diluting her surroundings.

Kikyo starts to fret over a loose thread on her sleeve, chastising herself for summoning anything towards him, let alone disappointment.

Does power mean that much to you? She asks a question that she knows won't reach him.

"Lady Kikyo?" Kagewaki calls her name, shaking her gently by her shoulders. Lady Kikyo!"

Kikyo goes as pale as the moon. Kagewaki's voice had drifted too far out in the sea of her thoughts. Coming back to the present, she tries to push Sesshomaru out of her mind, but the anchor holds.

"My apologies," she says, realizing she's hardly heard a word Kagewaki's said. She stands abruptly. Any attempt to stave off a war is fruitless with her mind on the wrong thing. Heading towards the garden's exit, she turns back to Kagewaki, concern blossoming on his face. "I'm afraid the time has gotten away from us. I should retire for the night."

So in a hurry to get away, she doesn't notice passing by Hitoshi who's watched them the entire time.


Jaken takes his time in the demon merchants district. Kaijinbo's shack sits in the distance, the aura surrounding it repelling everyone in the vicinity. No one seems to look its way. He wonders if it's only visible to those foolish enough to deal with the disgraced swordsmith. Cringing at the realization that he's technically called Sesshomaru a fool, spit shoots out of his mouth as he corrects himself.

"Brave," he nods. "Yes, Lord Sesshomaru has to be brave to consort with such a–" He remembers Kaijinbo's teeth crowding his mouth, his sunken cheeks, the bumps on his head like trapped horns beneath his skin. "–a demon! Well, we're all demons, but he's the kind born right out of the netherworld!"

His legs begin to shake again. The people near him stare, trying to figure out who he's talking to.

"Get a hold of yourself!" he thinks. "I can do this."

One step. If he takes several hundred more, he'll be there.

Another step.

"Oh, the things I do for Lord Sesshomaru."

And with that, he runs, full-on sprints until he's outside of Kajinbo's blanket-for- a-door. There isn't any sound except his own voice in his head. Not even the wind dares to blow.

"This is ridiculous!" he shouts to no one.

He holds the staff between his legs and pushes up his sleeves. Taking a deep breath, he bursts into the shack.

"Kaijinbo! Three days have passed. I have come for Lord Sesshomaru's sword!"

The inside of the shack is frigid compared to the summer day outside. Jaken looks around, the feeling of leaving and never returning growing every second. The only area leading to another room is drenched in darkness. Readying the staff, he approaches the doorless room. When he gets to the threshold, he hears heavy breathing at his back. All he sees is a red aura when he turns around before the room itself appears to fall.

"No," he breathes, "I've fallen. I've been cut down."

Above him, Kaijinbo swings his blood off of the sword that's stolen his life.

"Lord Sesshomaru's sword." Jaken's vision blurs and blackens, in and out for seconds that feel like many tiny eternities. "I've failed, milord."


Kikyo slides the door to her room shut, breaking a nail from the force. It snags to the quick. Blood pools at the sidewall like a newly formed ruby. After finally getting Kagewaki alone, she forfeited the advantage thinking about Sesshomaru. She chastises herself, popping her middle finger into her mouth.

Sitting down at her desk, she reviews what she already knows. The grudge between the East and the West dates back to Kagewaki's ancestors who weren't keen on Sesshomaru's father and his rapid rise in power. Kikyo smiles bitterly at the realization of history repeating itself. It's no different than the reemergence of the shikon jewel.

Coaxing Kagewaki into pacificity would seem easier if the prejudice that humans and demons have against each other wasn't all-or-nothing. She frowns, remembering that she only recently dispatched a soul eater from devouring the people of her village. Why would anyone who has survived the violence of demons sympathize with them?

She glances at her bow and arrows, head swimming with contradictions. The kindness of Kaito and his tribe. Inuyasha's mission to eliminate demons who abuse the power of the jewel.

Sesshomaru saving her life.

"Is there no end to this conflict?" she asks herself. "Will the flame of hatred between humans and demons forever burn?"

"Quite the conundrum." Hitoshi steps into the room from the adjoined bathing area.

Kikyo rises so quickly, the chair she was sitting in flies back, startling him.

"I am the one who should be alarmed." She extends two fingers. In an instant, she could encapsulate him in a blaze that would make him prefer the depths of hell. And he would deserve it for the audacity he's exercised simply because he is a man.

She's tired of smiling, tired of being so damn holy all the time. It's why she's here preventing a war that she shouldn't even be alive to think about. What is it about the way she lived that made Urasue so comfortable disturbing her grave? Hitoshi holds up his arms, surrendering. His mustache gives away his trembling but Kikyo holds her position.

"I had decided to overlook your annoying suspicion of me but I take it you will not let me be." She moves closer to him, a rage starting to boil inside her, the concept of peace becoming more and more elusive.

Hitoshi manages to straighten his spine, trying to match her determination. Thinking of Kagewaki, he takes a deep breath.

"There was a priestess named Kikyo who died fifty years ago. You cannot be her," he says, eyes fixated on Kikyo's fingers positioned to end him.

"And why can't I? Too frightening of a thought for you?" Kikyo scoffs. He and his people are poised for annihilation and all he can concern himself with is verifying history.

His skin loses its pinkness, jaw slackening. Is eternal life her gift or her curse? For twenty-three years it's been his duty to protect Kagewaki, to guide him along the tightrope of his responsibilities, but all of his efforts to contain Kagewaki's enduring sense of freedom have been like trying to capture lightning in a bottle.

"What are your intentions with the young master?" Hitoshi doesn't dare blink, doesn't dare breathe too deeply lest he welcome the end of his life.

Kikyo rolls her eyes, relaxes her posture, and then bucks at him for good measure. He leaps back like a cricket. For the very first time since she's felt her soul in the living world, Kikyo laughs past the point of control. She doubles over, chuckling at this little man who couldn't pose a threat to her if he wanted to. Hitoshi frowns, face reddening.

"Are you quite finished?" All of the color returns to his face.

"Hitoshi, thank you for letting me enjoy a little humor at your expense." Eventually, Kikyo straightens up, wiping tears from her eyes. "You needn't fear my intentions. I simply wish to advise my Lord down the path of peace. Bloodshed would only cause more sadness."

It's nice to be intimidating, to feel that her presence isn't one to take lightly, but she's had her fill of everyone's improbable fears.

Hitoshi deflates, tension evaporating from his pores. As much as he wants to find fault with her solely on the basis of her curious existence, he can't. All he sees is the priestess his mother once deified. Knowing it's truly Kikyo and not the machinations of some terrible demonic force eases his mind to a degree. He nods, going to leave.

"But I warn you," Kikyo adds, light draining from her eyes, "if you ever confront me in such a manner again, you will wish that you hadn't."

"My lady," he says, bowing deeply from the conviction of his actions rather than any lingering fear of her, "please accept my sincere apologies and thanks for your service here. Though I am opposed to this war, I pray that with you, it results in as little pain as possible."

He exits her room quickly, leaving Kikyo smiling at the good fortune of his revelation. With Hitoshi's suspicions laid to rest and learning he's also against a war, she shakes away her lingering thoughts of Sesshomaru. If she is to prevent any further sorrow, her energy is better spent doing what she came to do.


The night wind grows worrisome. Sesshomaru's hair blows against his face roughly enough to sting. He journeys to the castle's main kitchen and fires up the hearth. Satisfied by the crackling heat, he notices the last sands of an hourglass falling. Another hour has passed since Jaken left, all of the day long gone.

He scrapes a claw against the stone table where he sits, then turns the hourglass over again. The sand chimes gently against the glass. Bumbling though Jaken often is, one of the things Sesshomaru has grown accustomed to is his consistency. It doesn't make sense that he hasn't returned.

"Delicious." Myoga smacks his lips, pulling away from Sesshomaru's neck. "Lord Sesshomaru, I must say, your blood tastes absolutely exclusive. Top tier."

Quick as a snake, Sesshomaru pinches Myoga between two of his fingers and holds him to his face.

"Your boldness confounds me, Myoga. I am not often confounded."

Myoga likens his body to a grape; his innards, the seed. Tessaiga could be offered to Sesshomaru on a silver platter, and he would decline it if he could finally send Myoga to his eternal rest. Myoga wriggles between his fingers as best as he can. His eyes bulge and his words catch in his throat. Sesshomaru sighs, suddenly repulsed by his bloated face and the idea of his tiny body imploding in his hand.

When he releases him, Myoga floats down onto the table, sucking in the longest breaths he's ever taken. The hourglass might be a better weapon than his fingers, but Sesshomaru saves the idea for another time.

"Speak before I really do kill you." Sesshomaru rests his head in the palm of his hand, thoughts drifting back to Jaken.

It takes all of the effort in Myoga's half-deflated body not to curse Sesshomaru to his face, but he reaches deep, and then even deeper than that, to find the barely visible part of himself that cares about him.

Myoga steadies himself against the smooth, almost slippery wood, clearing his bruised throat.

"It's Lord Inuyasha, sir." Myoga cowers, anticipating another attack. Sesshomaru rolls his eyes but turns his head a little to listen, and Myoga continues. "There was an incident. I fear his demonic blood is becoming toxic to him, unable to control."

Sesshomaru turns to Myoga fully, considering the information he's just received.

"And what could that possibly have to do with me?" he finally says. Myoga reels back, a mournful expression sullying his face.

"Nothing, I suppose."

Perhaps Toga should have considered the effects his philandering would have on the half-breed consequence of his actions. Sesshomaru rises, refusing to waste another minute of his time and leaves Myoga wondering what he had intended to accomplish in the first place.

The moon is almost blinding when Sesshomaru peers at it. It would be nice to enjoy an evening in the West in a nearly completed castle, but something or other is always calling him away. The magic catches around his feet, mingling with the air and rustling the surrounding leaves into a cyclone. He lifts off in the direction of the demon merchants district.

Myoga watches the winds carry him away. It's nearly impossible to tell Sesshomaru's heart is as black as pitch with his appearance so close to a shooting star's when he flies.


More demons are gathered in the district at night than they had been during the day, and Sesshomaru wonders what anyone could possibly need to buy at so late an hour. He had hoped never to return to this place to avoid the woman bleeding back into his awareness. He looks down at the spot where she'd backed away from him, offended by his very existence.

If it wouldn't kill him, he'd open his skull and remove the part of his brain that holds any recollection of her and her disappointment. Scoffing at the darkness of his own wayward thoughts, he breaches the barrier just outside of Kaijinbo's shack. He doesn't sense anyone, hasn't sensed Jaken in the area since he arrived.

The frigid air inside of the shack seeps out, gathering around his ankles. When he enters, the only thing he registers is death's abiding essence. Tenseiga pulses at his side, synchronized. It rattles violently, impatient to be relieved of its sheath. Sesshomaru places his hand on the end of the hilt, tapping it.

"What is it?" he whispers.

Tenseiga answers with more frenetic shaking, guiding him deeper into the shack. At the back of the room, he sees Jaken, drawn cleanly in two.

"Well, this explains what kept you," he says to Jaken's corpse.

He goes to unsheathe Tenseiga, feeling a flurry in his stomach. Without this power to raise the dead, Jaken would be lost, the rest of his days forfeited for a sword. Sesshomaru's face screws up at the realization that the sword is becoming more trouble than it's worth but the magnitude of his mission looms larger than these inconveniences.

He waves Tenseiga over Jaken's body, turning the emissaries of the underworld to mist. Jaken awakens from his face-down position with a gasp of air. He examines his surroundings, figuring the least Hell could do is not look like the place where he was killed.

"You've got to be kidding me! I'm to spend the rest of eternity in this dilapidated hole in the wall?" He turns back to the other half of his body. "Oh, this is Hell."

"Jaken!" Sesshomaru sheathes Tenseiga. "Get up."

The sound of Sesshomaru's voice turns hell to heaven. Jaken scoots around on the palms of his hands to look at Sesshomaru. He knows Kaijinbo cut him down, sees the evidence of his severed body, but the breath in his lungs contradicts his grim reality.

"Lord Sesshomaru!" Jaken's eyes brighten, his new life taking a firmer hold of him with every second. "You used Tenseiga to revive me?"

A thousand alternatives run in Sesshomaru's mind. If Jaken's body had not been spared, Tenseiga could not have saved him. On the list of those he'd like to kill, Kaijinbo's name rises to the top.

"Pardon me, milord," Jaken says, interrupting Sesshomaru's homicidal reverie, "but, um, my body—" he cries into one of his sleeves— "you ought to have left me for dead, sorry case that I am!"

"Jaken, pull yourself together." Sesshomaru cuts through his blubbering, giving him a determined look.

Jaken wipes his nose and face with his sleeve and looks at the other half of his body, a clean cut and not a drop of blood to be found. Upon closer inspection, he notices the faintest curls of light emanating from his lower half. The light pulls towards his top half.

Jaken slides closer to the light curls until they're bone-straight and locked onto his top half. As he gets even closer, a tingling coolness overwhelms him. Sesshomaru watches both halves of his body calling to each other.

"Tenseiga is a sword of healing." He hears his mother's voice when Tenseiga starts to beat like a heart at his hip.

The light mending Jaken together brightens, transforming the dark and desolate shack. After a while, it subsides, and Jaken stands up, whole again. Tenseiga rests, returning to its usual state as a dull blade.

The cool sensation fades away and Jaken feels the warmth and flow of his blood once more. If Sesshomaru's enemies knew the true power of Tenseiga, everything they've built could come crumbling down around them.

Sesshomaru exits the shack, now focused on retrieving what he is owed. Jaken skitters after him only to be blown off his feet by a mighty wind. A woman drops from the sky in front of them. The wind stops when she lands and the air grows still enough to hear the buzzing of a single fly.

Her eyes are like pools of blood. The night gives them an eerie glow. Jaken refuses to lose the life that's only just been returned to him so he digs his fingers in the back of Sesshomaru's calf, and presses firmly behind him. The woman flicks one of her beaded earrings and the sound of a death knell rings out.

"Your sword seeks Inuyasha. Retrieve it if you can," she says, eyeing Sesshomaru like something to devour.

Sesshomaru watches her closely, timing the release of his poison whip. Before he draws it, she plucks a feather from her hair and sets off into the darkness of night.

"Naraku," he growls, making Jaken clutch him tighter. "She reeked of him."

Naraku wouldn't breadcrumb him down the path to his sword for nothing, but he decides to deal with whatever the reason is when it comes.

More puzzling is that yet another weapon he covets draws closer to Inuyasha than to him. Sesshomaru watches the clouds the wind-woman drifted away on, wishing to ask his father what it all means, but only children are prone to such things. Recalling the location of the village Inuyasha frequents, he sets a course to claim the sword and find Kaijinbo in the process.

Jaken nuzzles his fur, more quiet than he's ever been. Tenseiga had erased everything except his memory of dying.

Sesshomaru slows down as it occurs to him that the village is also home to the priestess. If she is there to witness him with the sword, her disapproval of him will only deepen.

It's impossible for him to count how many times he's been in the air like this. It's as mindless to him as walking, but this is the only time he's felt as if he could fall down.