Kagome was gone. The spot where she had stood, where her scent still lingered in the air, now bore only the grisly remains of a slaughtered boar demon. Blood pooled from its severed neck, staining the ground dark, and the cacophony of snarls and cries from the ongoing battle raged around him. It was a scene drenched in carnage, yet it felt absurdly, impossibly still.

Sesshoumaru stood frozen, Bakusaiga limp at his side, his breathing shallow and uneven. It seemed truly preposterous that she was actually gone. The jewel had taken what was his, ripping her from his grasp as if their bond had meant nothing. He scoffed at the very notion, rejecting it entirely. She couldn't be gone—she had merely stepped away, her form just out of reach. She would return as she always did, with that determined fire in her eyes and a witty remark on her lips.

Yet, the hollow pit in his chest told him otherwise. It was an ache so profound it felt as though it had always been there, a gnawing void expanding with every second she remained absent. He tried to reason with himself, to ignore the pain and focus on the remnants of her scent that still clung to the air.

She was here, he told himself. He could still feel her presence, like a whisper in the wind. He lifted his head and inhaled deeply, chasing the traces of her as if he could summon her back with sheer willpower. The faint notes of her scent mixed with the acrid stench of blood and death. But even as he reached for it, it began to slip away, dissipating like mist in the morning sun.

"No," he murmured under his breath, his voice a low growl. His claws flexed, his nails biting into his palms. His golden eyes darted to the space where she had been, searching for some trace of her. A footprint, a thread from her clothing—anything that could convince him that this was all a cruel trick. He crouched low, his claws brushing the dirt, his gaze narrowing as he searched for any sign she had been there. But there was nothing.

She is not gone, he thought fiercely. This is merely an illusion—a test. The jewel couldn't have truly taken her. She was his mate, his other half, bound to him by a connection that even time couldn't sever.

And yet, the undeniable truth whispered back: it had.

Sesshoumaru rose to his feet, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His gaze swept over the battlefield, his vision blurring at the edges. The demons that remained didn't matter. The shattered barrier didn't matter. None of it mattered without her.

The hollow ache in Sesshoumaru's chest twisted into something dark and unrelenting. The rational part of his mind—the part tethered to her—was eclipsed by a rising tide of fury. His beast surged forward roaring to the surface, no longer bound by the chains of reason that Kagome had once kept so firmly in place.

The demons still prowling the clearing were not enough to sate his rage. Their mere presence, their audacity to live in the aftermath of her disappearance, was an insult he would not tolerate. Sesshoumaru's claws flexed, as he turned his burning crimson gaze to the nearest cluster of demons.

Then he moved.

The battlefield became a storm of violence, Sesshoumaru tearing through the remaining demons with terrifying precision. His strikes were swift, his blade and claws reducing enemies to nothing more than smoldering ash and shredded flesh. His movements were feral, devoid of the calculated grace that once defined him. Now, he was a tempest of unchecked wrath, his beast howling for vengeance against an enemy that no longer existed.

"Sesshoumaru!" Inuyasha's voice cut through the chaos as he dodged a stray whip of poison that scorched the earth near his feet. "What the hell are you doing?! We're on your side!"

But Sesshoumaru didn't hear him. To his beast, there was no distinction between friend and foe—only the overwhelming need to destroy, to silence the agony that echoed in his soul.

Miroku grabbed Sango and pulled her back as a wave of energy exploded from Sesshoumaru, sending shards of bark and debris flying. "We can't get near him," the monk warned. "He's completely lost himself."

Inuyasha growled low, his teeth bared as he gripped Tessaiga tightly. "Damn it, Sesshoumaru! Snap out of it!" But even as he yelled, he didn't dare step closer.

The carnage was relentless. Sesshoumaru's beast tore through the remaining demons until there were none left to oppose him. The clearing was drenched in blood, the air thick with the acrid stench of death. And yet, he didn't stop. His claws flexed, his breathing ragged as his glowing red eyes scanned the devastation, searching for another target.

When the last enemy had fallen, Sesshoumaru stood alone in the clearing. His silver hair matted with gore, his armor cracked and smeared with viscera. Mokomoko hung limp at his side, stained dark from the slaughter.

Inuyasha hesitated, his gaze flicking to Sango and Miroku before taking a cautious step forward. "Sesshoumaru…" he called, his voice uncharacteristically softer now, tinged with an emotion he never allowed himself to express towards his brother—concern.

When Sesshoumaru didn't move, Inuyasha approached further. He reached out a hand and placed it on his brother's shoulder.

That was a mistake.

With a snarl that echoed through the clearing, Sesshoumaru lashed out. His claws barely missed Inuyasha's throat, the force of the swipe sending the half-demon stumbling backward. Inuyasha raised Tessaiga instinctively, his golden eyes wide with shock as Sesshoumaru turned to face him fully.

The sight was chilling.

Sesshoumaru's eyes were completely red, glowing like hellfire. The jagged markings on his face had darkened, their sharp angles distorted into something feral and terrifying. His lips pulled back in a sneer, revealing fangs stained with blood. He looked more beast than man.

"Sesshoumaru," Inuyasha growled, his voice low as he tightened his grip on his sword. "Get ahold of yourself."

But Sesshoumaru didn't respond. His crimson gaze swept over the group—his allies, his family—and saw only threats. Only obstacles between himself and Kagome. His claws flexed, and his body coiled like a spring, ready to attack.

But just as he moved to strike, Tenseiga flared at his side.

A brilliant blue light erupted from the blade, enveloping Sesshoumaru in a radiant aura that shimmered like the surface of a placid lake. The sudden surge of energy brought him to a standstill, his body frozen mid-motion. The brilliance of the light was blinding, and the group shielded their eyes as the energy pulsed outward in gentle waves, carrying a soothing warmth that contrasted sharply with the chaos that had surrounded them moments before.

Sesshoumaru roared, his beast thrashing against the unseen force holding him back. The light wasn't just binding him—it was calming him, restraining the feral impulses that had overtaken him. Invisible chains wrapped around him, tightening until his legs buckled, forcing the great demon lord to his knees.

The snarl in his throat turned into a guttural growl of frustration as he fought against the restraint, but Tenseiga's light only grew brighter, pulsing rhythmically like a heartbeat. Each pulse seemed to seep into him, dulling the edges of his rage, pulling him back inch by agonizing inch from the abyss.

Inuyasha lowered Tessaiga slightly, his wide eyes fixed on his brother. "What the hell…" he muttered.

Miroku took a cautious step forward, his staff clinking softly. "It's Tenseiga. It's protecting him… and us."

Sesshoumaru's growls grew weaker, his shoulders trembling under the weight of the energy binding him. The markings on his face began to smooth, their edges softening as the red in his eyes flickered. For a moment, crimson and gold swirled together, his two selves warring for dominance.

Then, with one final pulse, the light from Tenseiga engulfed him entirely. The group watched as the energy seemed to seep into his very being, like water soaking into dry earth. Sesshoumaru's breathing slowed, the tension in his body easing as his beast was forced to retreat.

When the light faded, Sesshoumaru remained kneeling, his hands braced against the blood-soaked earth. His soiled silver hair spilled over his shoulders and his chest heaved as he struggled to steady himself. The crimson in his eyes had receded entirely, leaving behind gold that burned with exhaustion and shame.

For a long moment, no one moved. The clearing was silent, the echoes of battle replaced by the soft rustle of the wind through the trees. Inuyasha lowered Tessaiga fully as he cautiously approached his brother.

"You alright?" he asked.

Sesshoumaru didn't respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the ground, his claws digging into the dirt. Finally, he lifted his head, his golden eyes meeting Inuyasha's. There was no pride or arrogance in his expression—only pain.

"No."

Tenseiga, now quiet at his side, gleamed faintly, a silent reminder of the bond it had with its former master and the duty it had fulfilled.

Time passed, but the internal wounds Sesshoumaru carried never healed. They festered, deepening with every sunrise and sunset that passed without Kagome by his side. His once-unshakable composure began to crack, his golden eyes dimming with an emptiness he could neither ignore nor escape.

When the slayer gave birth to her and Inuyasha's pup, Sesshoumaru was there. He stood at the threshold of their modest hut, casting a shadow over the intimate moment. The child, swaddled in soft fabric, was passed from one beaming parent to the other, its tiny hands reaching out to grasp the world. Sesshoumaru observed silently as the infant opened its honey-colored eyes and let out a soft coo.

For a fleeting moment, the sight stirred something within him—a fragile spark of what might have been joy. But it was smothered almost immediately by his grief. His mind drifted to thoughts of Kagome. What would their pup have looked like? Would it inherit her radiant blue eyes, or his striking gold? Would it have silver hair shimming like moonlight, or the dark raven waves of its mother? Claws or delicate human fingernails? A crescent moon adorning its brow, or a smooth, unmarked forehead?

The questions plagued his mind, each one a painful reminder of what he had lost. Passing the infant back to Inuyasha, Sesshoumaru turned away without a word. Outside, the crisp air greeted him, but even its cool embrace did little to ease his mind. The sounds of laughter and coos from inside the hut reached his ears, but he tuned them out. Each joyous sound was a dagger to his already battered soul. Without so much as a glance back, Sesshoumaru leapt into the sky, his destination clear—West.

Upon his return to the village, its borders having expanded into a small city teeming with both humans and demons, Sesshoumaru found himself at Rin's wedding. The event was vibrant and lively, a celebration that perfectly reflected the love and unity the couple shared. Rin, his once wide-eyed ward, was now a grown woman, her joy radiating like sunlight.

She was to marry Kohaku, the slayer boy who had matured into a capable and honorable man. Sesshoumaru had always known the bond between them would deepen, but it hadn't been until Kohaku traveled to the West to formally ask for Rin's hand that the reality truly settled in. The young man had stood tall and proud, his determination evident even as he faced the Western Lord's unnerving gaze. Sesshoumaru had respected the courage it took and granted his blessing, knowing Kohaku would do everything in his power to protect Rin.

Now, seated near the edge of the village, Sesshoumaru observed the festivities from afar. Rin, wearing the red and gold uchikake kimono he had gifted her, glowed with happiness. She was a vision, no longer the gapped-tooth child who had fearlessly followed him into the unknown, but a confident woman embarking on a new chapter of her life. The way she looked at Kohaku, her eyes full of trust and love, reminded Sesshoumaru of Kagome—and it made his chest tighten.

Nearby, Inuyasha stood with his mate, Sango, and their daughter, Takemi. The young girl darted around the gathering, her laughter ringing out as she chased Shippo, who had grown into a lanky teenager with a mischievous streak. Miroku was, predictably, entertaining a group of young women with tales of his exploits, though he paused long enough to scoop Takemi up when she ran too close to the guests.

Sesshoumaru watched it all unfold, the mingling of two worlds—human and demon—blending seamlessly in a way he never thought possible. But even as he sat there, his golden gaze tracking the people he had come to care for, a sense of detachment settled over him. This was not his world, not anymore. Rin no longer looked to him for guidance or protection; those roles now belonged to Kohaku.

As the ceremony concluded and the newlyweds sipped from a shared sake cup, Sesshoumaru rose. He slipped through the crowd, pausing only to glance back once. Rin's laughter echoed through the air as Kohaku kissed her forehead. For the briefest moment, pride warmed his heart, but it was quickly replaced by the familiar ache of loss.

It was raining on the day Rin died.

The skies wept as if mourning the passing of one so gentle, the soft patter of raindrops blending with the muffled sobs of her four grown children. They stood before her freshly covered grave, heads bowed beneath the shelter of umbrellas. Beside her lay Kohaku who had passed five years earlier.

The children lingered for a while, whispering final farewells and murmured prayers. One by one, they touched the grave marker, a gesture of love and gratitude for the parents who had given them so much. Then, as the rain thickened, they turned away, disappearing into the misty horizon.

When they were gone the cemetery fell silent. Only the sound of the rain remained, its rhythmic drumming filling the emptiness. From the shadows of the trees another figure emerged, his silver hair catching the dim light even in the gloom. Sesshoumaru stepped forward until he stood before the two gravestones.

His golden eyes swept over the inscriptions etched deeply into the stone. Rin's name was accompanied by a simple epitaph: Beloved wife, devoted mother, cherished friend. It was fitting, he supposed, for someone who had brought light into so many lives. Beside hers, Kohaku's grave bore a similar sentiment: Loyal husband, fearless warrior, steadfast protector.

Sesshoumaru stood there for what felt like an eternity, unmoving as the rain soaked through his haori, the weight of his mokomoko dragging heavily against the damp earth. Time had always been a strange thing to him—fleeting for mortals, endless for those like him. And yet, here it was, reminding him of its inevitability.

Rin had made her choice to marry Kohaku. It was a choice Sesshoumaru had supported, though it had been difficult to accept at first. He wanted her happiness, and she had found it. Her life had been full: a husband who adored her, children who loved her, and the simple joys of a family she had always dreamed of.

But mortality had finally claimed her, as it claimed all humans. She had lived a long life, longer than most, but it still wasn't enough—not for him. Sesshoumaru's clawed hands flexed at his sides, his empty expression betraying nothing of the sorrow within.

He knelt slowly and reached out to touch the grave marker. His claws grazed the stone, a soft sigh escaping him as memories of her laughter, her stubbornness, her unwavering belief in him.

A droplet slid down his cheek—not rain, but something far more rare. He didn't bother to wipe it away.

Straightening to his full height, Sesshoumaru left as quietly as he arrived. At the base of Rin's grave lay a bouquet of wildflowers. They were the same kind she had picked as a child—bright daisies, cheerful dandelions, and soft clovers woven together with care. A tribute to the girl who had once run barefoot through fields, her laughter echoing in his ears long after she was gone.

As trade between nations flourished and foreigners arrived on Japanese soil, war was an inevitable consequence. Over the centuries, Sesshoumaru became both defender and protector, his private sanctuary transforming into a haven for those displaced by conflict. His once-quiet oasis now bustled with life. Inuyasha, his mate, and their pups had taken refuge there, and Shippo had joined them shortly after. Even Kouga, with what remained of his pack, had sought safety within Sesshoumaru's borders.

Kouga had been humbled by the loss of his mate, Ayame, during their desperate escape from the mountains they once called home. Though his pups had survived, the emptiness in his heart was a constant companion. When he finally approached Sesshoumaru to offer his condolences, his usual confidence was absent. He admitted he'd been wrong—when he first heard Kagome had disappeared, he'd felt relief, believing she had escaped Sesshoumaru's control. But Inuyasha's harsh words had shattered that illusion. "Kagome loves Sesshoumaru," Inuyasha had snapped. "She'd choose him over and over again, you idiot."

Kouga's apology had been met with silence. Sesshoumaru gave no reaction. Over the years, his words had grown rare, and when he did communicate, it was often through JSL with Shippo.

One crisp autumn day, while Sesshoumaru inspected his lands and accounted for the displaced families he had recently rehomed, his gaze landed on Shippo. The fox sat beneath the ancient tree his great-grandfather had planted, cradling something in his hands. Sesshoumaru's keen eyes recognized the object instantly: one of Kagome's books.

The sight stopped him in his tracks. The edges were frayed, the cover faded and cracked. It looked ready to crumble under the slightest pressure.

Shippo, sensing the heavy gaze on him, glanced up to see the demon lord approaching. Green eyes, now proportionate to his mature face, blinked in confusion. He had grown into a tall and capable young man, but under Sesshoumaru's intense scrutiny, he suddenly felt like a kit again.

"Lord Sesshoumaru?" Shippo's voice was questioning as his head tilted to the side.

Sesshoumaru's gaze never wavered from the book. His hands signed. "Where did you get that?"

Shippo blinked, then glanced at the book in his lap. "This?" he asked, holding it up carefully, as though afraid it might fall apart. "One of Rin's daughters left it to me. Her family had held onto Kagome's belongings. They thought I'd appreciate them once Rin passed."

Sesshoumaru knelt, his eyes locked on the worn object. "May I?" he signed.

Shippo nodded and extended the book toward him. Sesshoumaru accepted it with care, his claws barely grazing the fragile spine. As he opened the cover, the faint scent of her lingered, mingling with the dry scent of aged paper.

His sharp gaze fell on the handwritten inscription inside. Kagome's familiar scrawl marked the page: "Kagome Higurashi." Beside her name was a date.

Sesshoumaru's entire world narrowed to that single moment. His eyes zeroed in on the year written in Kagome's hand. The realization struck him like lightning—this was her future. The year she would return to.

For the first time in centuries, a flicker of hope blossomed in his chest. The hollow ache that had consumed him was momentarily replaced by something tangible: a purpose.

World War II unleashed a level of devastation that altered Japan forever. Cities were reduced to rubble, lives shattered in an instant. Over centuries their numbers had dwindled, their power no longer holding dominion over the world as it once had. By the time mankind's weapons reached their zenith in the atomic bomb, the balance had shifted irreversibly. The destruction was catastrophic for humans, but for demons, it was almost apocalyptic.

The first explosion claimed thousands of mortal lives in an instant, and with them, countless demons who had integrated into the human world. Those who survived the initial blast succumbed to the unseen poison left in its wake—radiation, a force no spell or barrier could repel.

For those few who endured, there was one refuge left: Sesshoumaru's hidden realm.

Over time it became a haven for his pack, then a refuge for demons seeking safety from humanity's encroachment. Now, it had grown into a concealed city deep within the mountains.

Though modest in size compared to the sprawling human cities beyond its borders, the demon enclave was thriving in its own way. Sesshoumaru's leadership ensured its survival, his meticulous nature and unparalleled strength keeping it safe from the prying eyes of the outside world. Protective wards, reinforced by layers of magic, kept the city hidden from technology and human soldiers alike.

But the changes to his realm were not without a cost. Sesshoumaru had once ruled with little concern for the world beyond his lands, content to focus solely on his own survival and the eventual reunion with his mate. Now, he found himself shouldering the burden of an entire species' survival. He became a guide for those who had nowhere else to turn.

Despite the loss and devastation that had brought them together, Sesshoumaru found a strange purpose in his role. It was a distraction, yes, but one that carried a glimmer of meaning in a world that seemed bent on erasing his kind.

By the twentieth century, Shippo and other fox demons had perfected the art of crafting illusions and glamours, allowing demons to once again walk among mortals. It was a bittersweet achievement for Sesshoumaru. Watching the families who had spent lifetimes behind the safety of his barrier step out into the world was satisfying. He had given them freedom, a chance to reclaim the lives they had been forced to abandon. But as the world outside his walls evolved, Sesshoumaru found himself feeling increasingly isolated.

When Inuyasha and his family relocated to Seoul it left Sesshoumaru questioning his purpose once again. Centuries of duty and protection had been his escape without Kagome, and now that emptiness was back. That was until a private detective he had hired long ago brought him news that made his heart clench: Mr. Higurashi, Kagome's father, had died in a car accident.

Sesshoumaru observed from the shadows as the family mourned. At the funeral, he saw a young Kagome, no more than four years old, clinging to her mother's leg. Mrs. Higurashi, pale and weary, tried her best to comfort her daughter while cradling an infant Souta in her other arm. The sight was a punch to Sesshoumaru's gut. The breadwinner of the family was gone, leaving them teetering on the brink of financial ruin.

The insurance payout barely covered the funeral expenses and a few months of necessities. When Sesshoumaru learned of the family's struggles, he acted swiftly but discreetly. Through anonymous donations, Mrs. Higurashi was able to manage the shrine's upkeep and move her aging father-in-law into their home.

Sesshoumaru's quiet intervention didn't stop there. When Kagome broke her leg after falling from a jungle gym, the hospital informed the family that a sponsor had stepped in to cover the medical expenses. Later, when young Souta contracted meningitis, a "good Samaritan" ensured his treatment was paid for in full, even covering the cost of hearing aids when it left lasting damage to his hearing.

Year after year, Sesshoumaru's hand continued to guide them from the shadows. Souta's special education classes and after-school JSL programs were all covered under the ambiguous "Tsuki Trust." The shrine received periodic grants for restoration, and Kagome and Souta never wanted for books, supplies, or opportunities. Sesshoumaru ensured that the family could remain afloat in a world that often seemed eager to pull them under.

But when Kagome began her journeys through the well, Sesshoumaru found himself in uncharted territory. Watching from the shadows as she pieced together her destiny was no longer an option—his past self had entered the picture. Sesshoumaru withdrew entirely, leaving Japan to visit Inuyasha in Seoul, a self-imposed exile to avoid the temptation of interfering.

Despite the distance, he never severed his ties completely. Shippo remained his eyes and ears in Tokyo, keeping him informed. When Shippo mentioned a second instance of his past self's presence in Kagome's life, Sesshoumaru knew the moment of reckoning was drawing closer. His longing only grew with the knowledge that one day, she would return through the well for good until the jewel forced her back.

Arriving at the Higurashi shrine after his past self's departure with Kagome, Sesshoumaru ascended the familiar steps. He reached the main house, raising his hand and knocking on the door, and was met with an unexpected sight.

Mrs. Higurashi opened the door, her warm smile lighting up her face as if she had been expecting him all along.

"Welcome back."

It was an early Sunday morning when Sesshoumaru decided to pay the Higurashi family a visit. The sky was painted in soft pastels, the quiet hum of Tokyo's awakening cityscape a distant murmur beyond the shrine grounds. He carried a canvas bag filled with fresh produce and artisanal goods from a farmers market he had passed on the way—an unspoken gesture of appreciation despite Mrs. Higurashi's constant insistence that gifts weren't necessary. But Sesshoumaru had never liked arriving empty-handed, and ever since he had reappeared in the Higurashi family's life, it was as though a missing piece of himself had been restored.

A small smile graced his lips as he ascended the shrine's stone steps, already anticipating the inevitable moment when the matriarch would insist—once again—that he call her Mom. Oddly enough, the idea was beginning to grow on him. He was, after all, mated to her daughter, and perhaps—

Sesshoumaru's thoughts froze mid-step.

A wave of magic washed over him, crashing through his senses like a tidal force. A chill coiled around his spine, sinking deep into his bones. Then—like a lightning strike to his soul—a bond he had believed severed, lifeless, gone… awoke.

The sudden onslaught of emotion was unbearable. Pain, anguish, hope—too much hope—rushed through him all at once, leaving him breathless. His heartbeat thundered in his chest. His grip slackened, and the canvas bag slipped from his fingers, spilling oranges and apples down the shrine steps.

He barely registered it.

Because the only thing in his mind, in his entire existence, was her.

"Kagome."

The name left his lips as more than a whisper, more than a call—it was a plea, a long-awaited answer to a prayer that had gone unanswered for five hundred years. His feet moved before he could think, his body propelled forward by instinct, by longing, by the undeniable truth that she was here.

The well house door loomed before him, but he didn't need to see to know what was inside. He felt her. Felt the distress in her aura, heard the ragged breaths and panicked cries spilling from her lips, the disbelief woven between her frantic sobs.

His glamour dropped without thought, his true form emerging as golden eyes burned with life.

Another choked cry from within had Sesshoumaru sliding the doors open.

There she was.

His Kagome.

Not an illusion. Not a dream. Not a memory twisted by longing.

She laid half over the rim of the well, the same woman who had slipped through his fingers, the same woman whose absence had carved a hollow void in his soul. Her blue eyes, wide and glistening with tears, locked onto his, and in an instant, time collapsed between them.

Her breath hitched. And then she moved.

She ran to him, her arms outstretched, her legs weak from exhaustion and grief. Her steps faltered, and before she could fall, he was already there, catching her, wrapping her in his embrace.

The moment she collided with him, a shudder wracked through her body, her fingers fisting into his shirt as if he might disappear this time. Her entire frame trembled, the scent of damp earth and decay clinging to her skin, but beneath it was her. His mate. His heart.

Sesshoumaru held her tighter, his own breath unsteady, his hand threading into her tangled hair.

For five hundred years, he had dreamed of this moment.

And now, she was finally home.