Kagome. She turned the name over and over in her mind, like a mantra, a prayer or a song—but no amount of repetition unlocked the memories buried within her. She'd hoped for something, some flash of a mother's face or a father's hands scooping her up—but only the cold smiles of those who had imprisoned her beckoned in the dark of her mind.
As the news continued to broadcast her face and discuss the youkai she'd murdered, she sat curled up, knees to her chest, on the end of the sofa she'd claimed earlier that evening. She watched her picture scroll across the screen again, followed by a photo of what looked to be a crime scene with a body blurred out and pixelated. Even though she knew the truth, bile turned in her stomach at the sight. Who would believe her innocent when faced with such bald evidence? But then, what innocence could she even claim anyway?
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than Sesshoumaru stood and took the remote out of her slack hands to shut the television off. "Do not let this concern you, Miko. I assure you; nothing will come of it."
She wetted her lips and stared studiously at the black television screen, unable to contain the shame welling up inside of her. "How could nothing come of it?" she asked, "The truth isn't far off, is it?"
"Keh! That wasn't you! Anyone woulda done what you did if they'd been in your position," Inuyasha muttered, pacing across the room. "It's not like there was anything else you coulda done!"
But wasn't there? How many times had she resisted, only to be beaten into submission? How often had she begged her body to endure, until they lost control and beat her into something even worse than submission?
"Well at least we will soon discover who leads that sect of loyalist," Fuiasu said as her phone started to ring. "Whoever submitted her name and photo will lead us right to them—assuming the information is verified, of course. Take care of this will you, boys? The Vice President is calling me."
Kagome watched her go, numb down to her toes. "I should turn myself in," she said after a moment, and though she'd whispered the declaration, both males stopped and looked at her with narrowed golden eyes. "I did kill youkai. More than a dozen. I deserve whatever happens to me."
Inuyasha started to speak, but Sesshoumaru held up a hand and stopped him. "You will do no such thing," he said quietly. "You are no more responsible for your actions than a dog who has been forced to fight for its life. You were beaten and starved into compliance, Miko. How many times did they beat you to unconsciousness before your body reacted out of a need to survive?"
"But—"
"There are no buts," he interrupted. Tossing the remote to the seat beside her, he summoned his yōki, smothering the room with it, and watched as her face blanched. "You can't even summon your reiki at will to repel my yōki in this moment. Only a fool would lay the blame for your actions at your feet. Do you understand, Miko?"
Resistance did not occur to Kagome in the slightest. She wilted under the indomitable weight of his yōki, her own reiki asleep in the well of power buried deep inside of her. Nodding meekly, she averted her eyes and folded even further into herself against the sofa.
Only after her timid nod did he relent, withdrawing the weight of his yōki like the ebb of a wave. "The fool who released your information has merely revealed a clue to his own identity. Once the truth about your situation is known, no harm will come to you." His voice, firm but quieter now, left no room for doubt. Still, Kagome's heart pounded against her ribs, caught between the hope his words offered and the terror that nothing could undo what had been done.
Sesshoumaru rolled his shoulders as his phone buzzed in his pocket, a sound far too mundane for the heaviness that still hung in the air. He tossed it to Inuyasha without a glance, sinking down in front of her, the space between them narrowing to a few heartbeats. "You trust me, do you not?"
The question pierced the silence like a bell, its simplicity ringing louder than anything else in the room. Kagome hesitated, her throat tightening. Her fingers fidgeted in her lap, and she nodded once—jerky, unsure.
"If you feel you must make restitution for what you were forced to do," he began, his voice low and even, "then this one will find a way to make it possible. But not like this, Miko. Not by throwing yourself into the hands of those who would see you as a monster for surviving. To let them tear you apart for something you never chose…it's unthinkable. A travesty." His voice softened further, thick with conviction. Slowly, deliberately, he extended his hand toward her, palm up. "You've trusted this one this far. Can you not continue that trust on this matter?"
Kagome stared at his hand—rough, strong, scarred by countless battles. Her mind flickered with memories: that same hand resting gently atop her head when she'd curled beneath her bed during the storm, his voice calm and certain as the thunder shook the walls. The warmth of his fingers guiding her through the cold, empty aisles when they went shopping for clothes she didn't feel like she deserved. The hand that had reached into the frozen nightmare of that abandoned compound, pulling her from the darkness when she thought she'd never see daylight again. Every memory pulled at her, the weight of each one pressing against the guilt she carried like a chain around her chest.
"I…" Her voice wavered, but as she looked into his eyes—eyes that had always seen her as more than the broken thing she felt herself to be—something loosened inside her. "I can."
Trembling, she reached out and laid her hand in his, the roughness of his skin grounding her in the present. His fingers closed around hers, not in possession, but in steady reassurance. A warmth spread through her, so foreign yet so welcome, a lifeline in the storm of her mind.
o.O.o
Samukawa Gedatsu lounged back in his chair with the languid arrogance of a man well-aware of his station and the obsequiousness due to him because of it. He dabbed neatly at the barely-there sheen of sweat beading along his temple, as if such a gesture were below him, before folding the cloth with meticulous precision and slipping it back into the breast pocket of his buff-colored suit. With an almost indolent elegance, he crossed one leg over the over, smoothing the crease of his trousers. "It's an honor to meet you, Madam President," his purred, his voice oozing politeness just a touch too thick. "Though I must admit, the necessity of an armed escort for such an exchange feels rather…excessive."
Fuiasu, at ease in her office ten floors above Sesshoumaru's, smiled serenely. "I assure you they are entirely for my own protection. After all, you have a penchant for smearing reputations. Think of them as witnesses." She barely shifted in her seat behind the cedar desk, her posture regal but relaxed, as if the very air around her bent to her will.
He chuckled, a low, oily sound as he withdrew the handkerchief a second time and dabbed once more at his brow. "Naturally you'll have cameras to record our conversation."
"Naturally," she echoed, her voice measured, as though humoring a child. She flicked her gaze every so briefly to the camera in question, her smile deepening.
He leaned forward slightly and widened his smile—but it never quite reached his eyes. "I assume you have a pressing matter to discuss, Madam President, for you to summon me to such an unexpected meeting."
Fuiasu remained utterly still for a heartbeat, her fingers coming together in a deliberate, unhurried motion, forming a steeple that rested gracefully on the desk between them. "I'm sure you're aware of the recent news broadcast of one Higurashi Kagome?"
"Of course. What an unfortunate situation to befall our beautiful city." His voice oozed with false sympathy. "I don't doubt our dedicated police force will make quick work of her capture."
"Undoubtedly." Her eyes flicked briefly to one of the guards, who, with a single step forward, silently presented the file in his hands to Gedatsu. "It's interesting," she continued, her tone as smooth and cool as silk, "My source at the news station claims you were the one who leaked her information—information that only someone who participated in her kidnapping and imprisonment could have known."
His smiled wavered for just an instant, a flash of uncertainty taking its place, before he masked it with another grin and deliberately ignored the guard and file. "Whatever the miko has said, it is surely a lie. There is substantial evidence to prove her involvement in those crimes."
Fuiasu didn't blink. Her expression remained placid, though her gaze sharpened, cutting through the veneer of his charm. "I don't believe I told you she was a miko, Samukawa."
A muscle ticked in his jaw and he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm sure-
She lifted a single, perfectly manicured finger, halting his words with a cool, commanding presence. "This one is already aware, given your position as a representative of the Diviner's, of your opinions regarding youkai. Your efforts as the Minister of Education in the human Parliament, spreading the notion that youkai do not exist, has also not escaped our notice."
Leaning forward with deliberate grace, she took the file from the guard and laid it down gently in front of him. Even hundreds of pages thick, it didn't make a sound as she slid it across the desk to him—as silent as the threat in the words she left unsaid. "Do not believe that because you have relegated youkai to stories and myth, that we are not without our fangs and claws. We wear glamours in human society, Samukawa, but beneath them lays a power that can easily put an end to the world you've grown accustomed to."
He tracked her hands as she reached with one to the other and removed a thinly spun gold ring from her pinky finger. Another trickle of sweat dribbled down his temple.
"Your species continues to exist because we deemed you more useful alive than dead, Samukawa. Do not forget that." The magic washed over her, bleeding the color from her hair and eyes until the brilliant silver and gold of her natural coloring shown through. Her ears twitched as his heart sped up and his scent flooded with the divine prey scent of terror she had not indulged in in generations. "I clawed my way out of my mother's womb generations before you and your ancestors took their first breath, human. Do not think us docile creatures tamed by your foolish portrayal of history."
Color mottled his otherwise pale features as he gripped the arms of his chair. "If you believe yourself so superior then why have you deemed it worth your while to meet with me? Surely a meeting with the human president would be more valuable to reach your ends!"
Fuiasu smiled serenly, all fangs. "Did you know I stood at my mates side as the four great youkai Lords of the time signed the first Covenant with the first Miko and Monks to change factions, 500 years ago, Samukawa-san?" Leaning forward, she reached out to the file and flipped it open with one perfectly manicured claw as she rested her chin in her other hand. "Each law is perfectly frozen in this one's memory, and how they have changed over the centuries. This file contains a charge of every crime against the covenant that you have committed. This one merely thought you might appreciate an opportunity to refute these charges to me before I summon you to the High Court."
"This is preposterous!" he snapped, grabbed for the file—but was restrained by the same guard who had offered it to him in the first place.
Ignoring him, she continued to flip through pages. "One such crime might be excused through ignorance, despite your position and awareness of youkai—but this many violations, Samukawa-san, is simply…unacceptable."
He finally burst from his chair, ripped free of the guard, and swept the massive file off the desk. "You arrogant-"
"Do sit down, Samukawa-san," she said, and with a negligent wave of her hand, another of the guards stepped forward and set a hand on his shoulder, forcing him back into his seat. "As this one said, you have a chance to defend yourself. I will of course still submit these charges to the High Court, but perhaps I could be persuaded to wait, given the correct information, long enough to give you time to get your affairs in order."
He gritted his teeth and leaned back in his chair. "What do you want?"
o.O.o
Kagome stared up at the massive set of stairs between her and her family home, twisting her fingers together in front of her as she imagined all the things that might await her at the top. What if blood still stained the stones? What if no one had given her parents a proper burial? What if the shrine hadn't really been rebuilt? What if she went up those stairs and the Diviners were waiting for her?
Sesshoumaru stood behind her, his towering presence a warm barrier at her back, the only reason she hadn't turned back a half dozen times on the way here. Her heart pounded against her ribs, slow and steady, but loud enough to her ears she wondered that it didn't beat a staccato on its way out of her.
When Sesshoumaru had brought her the file with information about her life three days ago, she hadn't been able to bring herself to read through it—but she'd wanted to know, too. He hadn't forced her to look at it, but when he'd offered to read it to her she hadn't been able to refuse. Even if everything inside of her quivered at the thought of hearing what she had survived—and what her parents had not, she needed to know. Knowledge represented the last flickering light of hope that she might recover even the smallest memory.
Yet as he spoke, none of the horrors he recounted reached past the dark of her own lived experience. He might as well have been describing someone else entirely. Her memories floated out of grasp, as vague and wispy as smoke on a breeze. Her connection to the past had failed that completely, so when he'd offered to bring her to the shrine, she'd jumped at the chance to find another connection, to find anything that might stretch past the darkness that filled her past.
Now, standing at the base of the stairs, all that she couldn't remember picked at the back of her mind like the teeth of a comb raking through knots, teasing at memories just out of grasp.
"It stands empty. Twice a month, someone comes in and cleans or makes repairs as needed." His voice cut through the silence. She nodded once and kept her eyes on those stairs. How many were there? When was the last time someone had counted? Could she even make it up them? Just traversing the stairs at the estate sometimes winded her.
"Are you afraid, Miko?"
She shook her head once and tucked her hands into the pockets of the puffy green coat he'd bought her. "No. Yes. I don't know."
He stepped up to her side and followed her gaze to the steps and the waiting tori far above them. "We do not have to go if you do not wish to."
Loosing a long, trembling breath, she finally raised her gaze to meet his. "I can't remember, so I'm not scared," she whispered, her voice barely a thread in the stillness between them, "But what if, when I see everything, the memories come racing back? And what if remembering is worse than not remembering?"
"Your memories are yours to face when you choose. If today is not that day, then we will wait until you are ready." He flicked a gaze to the top of the stairs and the waiting tori, before stepping closer to her. "Your choices are your own, Miko. If you wish to leave, you need only say so."
Kagome bit her lip as his words settled around her—as warm as the hand he always held out to her. "Five minutes," she blurted, and burst past him up the steps before she could change her mind or turn around. Her muscles burned and ached after the first few steps, and only halfway up her lungs ran out of air.
"You are in great need of a personal trainer to rebuild your muscles," he observed dryly as he followed behind her at a more sedate pace, and held out his arm for her to take if she wished it.
On the top step, a wave of magic washed over them like a splash of cold water. She gasped and fell back a step. Only her weak grasp of Sesshoumaru's arm kept her from toppling backwards in shock. "What was that," she huffed out on a lung full of air.
"That was the shrine welcoming you home," murmured a voice from the doorway of the house. His words dripped with as much astonishment as hers had.
No sooner had the claim left the stranger's mouth than Kagome found herself with her nose pressed against Sesshoumaru's back after he'd shoved her towards his back. She tried to poke her head out around his arm, but he only pushed her behind him again. "What—"
"Who are you?" barked her protector, one hand already leveling a gun at the intruder with steadfast, deadily aim.
The main raised his hands up to show he held no weapon, but did not back away from the gun or the snarling youkai. "I'm the caretaker of the Shrine. I'd appreciate it if you put that away. My kids are just inside and not quite through with their obsession with guns."
Sesshoumaru did not budge except to push Kagome back behind him again. "Your name."
"Miroku," he said carefully. "I'm Higurashi Miroku. And that must be Kagome behind you. I hadn't believed the news when I saw the broadcast earlier this week, but when we got the notification that someone had come sniffing around yesterday, we came to check just to be sure. My father was your uncle. I'm her cousin."
o.O.o
Kagome stared around the living room, soaking in every drop of undecorated room with wide eyes. A chabudai table sat in the center of the room, low and square and worn—but well taken care of. To the front of it an old cedar cabinet held an even older television set. Tatami screens stood partially open on the opposing wall, giving her a view of the dining room and part of the kitchen. Behind them an empty bookshelf leaned against the wall next to a window. The walls showed various outlines where picture frames had clearly hung. An ornate, open-faced cabinet sat in a small alcove in the last remaining corner, empty.
Even bare and devoid of personal touch, something about the place felt warm and safe to her. Safe in the way she'd only experienced before at Sesshoumaru's side and in his home. He sat next to her, his shoulders tense and square, as stiff as the stone guardians on hulking on each side of the tori over the shrine steps. Since Miroku's arrival he had hardly taken more than a step or two away from her. "Did you know I had a cousin?" she whispered, leaning towards him so her words didn't travel.
For several seconds he didn't answer. Only the stern set of his narrowed brows, stark and black with the glamour, indicated he'd heard. "That information was not in the file the researchers put together earlier this week," he admitted finally, terse. "You will tread carefully, Kagome. If I sense any disturbance, we will leave immediately. I do not trust such coincidences as this."
As she nodded, a lovely, heavily pregnant woman with brown hair stepped into the room, followed by Miroku. He carried an old wooden tea tray, the corners scuffed by use, but clean and serviceable. "This is my wife, Sango," he said as he set the tray down and turned to help ease her into a chair.
"It's nice to meet you," Kagome murmured, bowing awkwardly from her place on a cushion on the opposite side of the table.
"You too. This must all be so overwhelming for you, coming back here after…everything." She flushed prettily and shifted in her seat. "Of course, that's probably the last thing you want to talk about."
"I don't really remember anything before they took me." Her words, barely above a whisper, came out tremulous and uncertain, a shameful admission. She ran her thumb over the lip of her cup and looked down when she felt a sharp edge—a small chip on the rim in the shape of a shallow vee. Had this tea set belonged to her mother? Had she played make-believe and held tea parties with dolls and stuffed animals? With the absence of memories to fill it, her heart thumped with the same hollowness of a drum. "I thought coming here might stir something up, but it's all just…blank."
His gaze flicking between her and her silent companion, he said "You were quite young when the attack happened." He shifted to reach for her hand, but looked to think better of it with another wary glance beside her and took his wife's instead, running his thumb over her knuckles. "I'm not surprised it's difficult to recall…even the good things."
Following his gaze, she found Sesshoumaru as impassive as ever—but where others might see his silence and coldness as indifference, she saw something deeper. Beneath the stoic exterior was a quiet resolve to wait for her to be ready, to wait for her to lead as she needed—to make the choices she needed. His silent strength made it easier for her to finally ask, "Were there good things?"
Miroku's faced softened at her question. "Of course. You were very loved, Kagome."
"There are photo albums and home videos," Sango added, voice thick with emotion, as she leaned forward to pick up her cup. "After everything happened, Miroku's guardian became caretaker of the Shrine and salvaged as much as he could. It's been in storage since then, waiting for the day you'd be found." Her eyes water and she laughed nervously, passing her cup to her husband as she scrubbed at them with her sleeve. "Hormones, sorry."
"Your parents also…" Kagome dropped her eyes to the table and swallowed, unable to finish the sentence. That it hadn't just been her made it heavier, made it more real.
"Yes. The same night." He watched her quietly, his expression gentle, though shadows danced in his eyes. "I was on my way home from a school trip that night. I might have faced the same fate as you if not for my father's friend. He intercepted me on the way home." Letting go of Sango's hand, he scrubbed his own across his face and sighed, as if the friction against his cheeks might erase the pain he couldn't hide at discussing the subject. "He became my guardian that night. When I came of age, he began my training—and we started searching for you. We've been looking for you for a very long time, Kagome."
"News reports at the time said the whole family had been killed. How did you discover the truth?" demanded Sesshoumaru, breaking into the conversation for the first time with the cold, clipped question.
Miroku raised his hands in defense. "We were to have a celebration for Kagome's birthday that night. My guardian was on the way here when the first police car arrived. He immediately left to meet me, as my parents had always instructed him to should something happen to them." He lowered his hands again and reached for his cup, but stopped and fisted them on top of the table instead as if afraid he might break the fragile cup. "That he came to me that night instead of to you as haunted me for a very long time, Kagome. We've been hunting the diviner's for a very long time, looking for you."
She flinched at the name, her fingers tightening around the cup until her knuckles whitened. A chill swept down her spine. "How do you know about the Diviners?" The words left her in a rush, her voice taut with barely contained fear. It felt as though they could appear at any moment, summoned from the shadows by the mere mention of their name.
"Because my guardian is a youkai." Miroku smiled calmly at them, as if he had not just announced the impossible existence of a mythical creature. He might as well have been commenting on the weather. "I am well versed in both human and youkai politics. I'm afraid I recognized you for what you are, Sesshoumaru-sama, the moment you stepped through the barrier with Kagome."
o.O.o
Word Count – 4275
a/n – thank you guys again for waiting so long between chapters! I appreciate your loyalty! I hope you enjoyed this one and the little bits of information we discovered about what really happened that night. More to come in the following chapter. As always, please read and review! Don't forget to check out my insta ( shewritesexcerpts) to see updates, deleted content, and sneak peaks for chapters.
