Note that this chapter takes place Before (thus breaking the alternating Before/After convention used to date).

Chapter 16

Before

On a night nearly two months after Hiei had found Nozumi again, he returned to the apartment only to find it vacant. The window dark. No movement within.

It was early enough he'd hoped they might scrounge dinner together. In Nozumi's absence, he wandered to the bathhouse and lost himself in the warm waters. This had been his longest venture yet, a little over a week, and he ached for softness of their bed and the smooth leather of her scales. The baths were busy, other demons coming and going, and he hunkered in the depths, letting his heat warm the currents eddying around him. Only once his fingers had thoroughly pruned did he emerge, raise his core temperature until the water steamed from his skin, and tug on his dirty travel clothes.

He returned to the streets. Dusk had gathered in full, bringing with it the biting chill of early winter.

Nozumi's window remained dark.

Hiei loitered, unsure his next move. The window might be unlocked. If it weren't, the key resting against his collarbone would let him through the main entrance. But without Nozumi, it wouldn't be their apartment. It would just be hers.

A gaggle of riotous young demons jostled past him, stinking of fish after a day spent at the docks. Nose crinkled in disgust, he turned heel.

His legs carried him to the inn where he'd stayed for over a month, back when he'd first come to Lakefront. With a wordless nod to the proprietor, he reclaimed the back corner booth that had been his nightly haunt, and a barmaid swept by to confirm his order of shochu and udon, not even bothering to list other options. He sank into the leather seat and whiled away the hours. Downed three glasses of shochu. Ordered a second bowl of udon.

At his throat, the key felt like ice, alien and unfamiliar, immune to his ever-present heat.

It was nearly midnight when he departed, leaving a pile of coin beside his empty glasses.

He returned again to the apartment. The windowpanes were black as pitch.

Perhaps he kept missing her. Perhaps she'd been out to eat when he'd first arrived, off at the baths when he swung by a second time, asleep now.

Only one way to be certain.

The window opened without protest, no lock holding it shut, but inside, the apartment was cold and empty, the blankets upon the bed smooth and flat. His boots thudded dully against the floorboards when he landed, the window thunking shut behind him.

Nozumi wasn't home.

Mounting tension grew in his chest, wrapping insidious fingers around his heart and prying apart his ribs. He forced it away, ignoring the niggling fear that something had happened to her, and fumbled through the motions. His clothes (all dirty) went in the hamper. His bag found its nook beside the dresser. Palming his whetstone, he soaked it in the washroom, then unsheathed his katana and settled in the armchair, providing his blade the care he'd neglected in the nine days he'd been gone.

After a time, he ran out of distractions and stumbled to bed, exhaustion heavy in his bones.

He slept—but there was no peace in it. No rest.

Come morning, Hiei was a caged beast, the apartment's walls shrinking ever closer, chafing at his skin. Yet he couldn't leave. Not until he saw her again. Not until he was sure she was safe.

For a time, he stood watch at the window, attention locked on the street below, watching for her messy bun, her constellation of freckles, her powder blue shirt. None made an appearance. Eventually, the coiled pressure in his chest begged for release, and he took to motion. He practiced his sword forms. He stretched. When neither could hold his focus any longer, he paced. For hours. Nine paces from the window to the door. Six paces from the dresser to the bed. A prison, growing smaller with each beat of his heart.

And then, not long after the sun passed its zenith, a key jangled in the lock.

Hiei stilled.

The door swung inward, Nozumi appearing on the threshold. Her gaze was down, focused on her key. A bag (larger than her usual satchel) hung from her shoulder, and she wore a thick jacket over her shirt and sash. But she was whole, unharmed.

Safe.

She was safe.

The tension knotted in his chest dissipated. (The vacuum left in its place was nearly worse.)

Nozumi bent to unlace her heavy boots, and when she straightened, she startled, eyes widening at the sight of him. She gasped, sagging against the doorframe as she lifted a hand to her chest, talons pressed over her heart. "Hiei."

He wet his lips. Looked away.

The door clicked shut. She stepped closer. "You came back last night?"

Obviously.

But she hadn't.

Where had she been? This was her home. She was supposed to be here, and she hadn't been. So where had she gone?

He couldn't bring himself to ask.

"I'm not staying," he said instead.

Something flickered in her eyes, an emotion that struck him as painfully similar to the sense of betrayal brewing within him. It was gone as quick as it had come, tucked carefully away. "I should've left a note," she said, "but I wasn't sure when you'd be back. You'd already been gone so long."

He had been. Longer than he'd meant to be. Casing the manor in the northern mountains had captivated him. Three nights ago, he'd even managed to slip within its guarded gates unnoticed. He hadn't planned to be trapped come sunrise, but once he was, he'd been forced to hunker in the depths of a cellar until the bustling halls quieted once more. It had delayed him longer than he'd intended.

He admitted none of that.

The fear he'd felt the night before, the anxiety that had coiled in his muscles all morning—it all felt like a mockery now. A cruel joke. She was fine. He'd fretted for hours, but here she was. Hale and healthy.

In the face of his silence, she squirmed. "When do you leave?"

"Now."

The hurt returned to her eyes, undeniable now. "Don't. Please, Hiei. Stay." She reached for him, but he evaded her, scooping his empty pack from the floor and securing his katana at his hip. "Let me explain."

He didn't.

Four strides brought him to the window. A leap landed him in the street below. He didn't look back as he set out for the city's edge, hands shoved into the depths of his pockets. When he reached the outskirts, he broke into a sprint, unrelenting and brutal, bolting into the wilderness.

Only hours later, as he made camp in the branches of an ancient tree, did Hiei realize he'd forgotten his oath. Gritting his teeth, he rocked his head back against the trunk, the bark catching at his hair. He murmured the promise to the stars, meaning it, even then, even if she couldn't hear it.

"No demons with a death wish."

Hiei had no spare clothes. No food.

Still, he lasted two days in the wilderness beyond Lakefront before he returned. He had no purpose, no target for a heist, but he needed the space, the rustle of the leaves, the cold water of a stream. When he ventured back to the city, he timed his arrival with precision, reaching the boarding house at the same time as Nozumi. Her schedule (when she kept to it) was predictable. It had become part of their ebb and flow—a constant he'd taken for granted.

He watched from the alley as she let herself in. Once he was sure she must've reached her room, he followed, springing to the window.

She was half-undressed when he cleared the sill, her sash strewn across the bed, her shirt over her head.

He crossed to her and seized the shirt, tossing it aside. Their eyes met, her gaze uncertain, his ablaze. He snaked an arm around her waist, drawing her against him, and threaded a hand through the hair loose at the nape of her neck, then kissed her fiercely, the desperation of two weeks apart fueling his every movement.

They tumbled into the bed. His name was on her lips, whispered in his ear, gasped against his throat. He answered her without fail.

But he didn't explain himself—and he didn't ask her to either.

She'd disappeared, and he didn't know why. He couldn't bear to ask why. It had been a year since their first night together, and in all that time, she'd not divulged her secrets. Her apprenticeship he'd learned of from Asahi. Her home in the berry blue building he'd gleaned from the caravan's leader. The origins of her opal (ever present, now that he'd seen it once) remained unknown.

Wherever she'd gone… He didn't need to know. He'd made it this far without knowing. If she didn't want to tell him, so be it.

But he needed her, deep in his bones, in the depths of the flame that was his soul—and she needed him, too. She made that clear with the clutch of her fingers, the press of her lips, the way she wrapped around him.

He had his secrets. She could have hers.

(So long as he had her.)

As winter swallowed Lakefront, her absences grew more frequent. Not enough to be common, but hardly rare either. There was no pattern he could discern. Sometimes, he'd stay three nights, and she'd be present for every one. Other times, he'd return to an empty apartment. When it happened, he wouldn't stay (wouldn't even go inside). Instead, he'd buy a room at his favored inn, eat udon in his corner booth, and drink shochu until his vision swam.

Her disappearances enraged him, boiling his blood in his veins. On his worst nights, he missed the Brotherhood. At least they were consistent. Ever present. Amongst them, he'd known what he'd get. A good fight. A game of cards. The chance of death. With the Brotherhood, he'd never been lonely.

Not like he was in Lakefront without Nozumi.

When she was home, they never spoke of it, but when she was gone, he imagined everything he might ask her. Where she went. Who she was with. Where she'd gotten that cursed opal. Why she doted over it like such a precious commodity.

Mostly, he missed her. (And the home he thought he'd found.)

On nights in the inn, he fell asleep clutching the cord around his neck. His Hiruseki stone. The key. The stone was smooth as a pearl against his palm, its surface flawless. In contrast, the key was biting. Its teeth dug into his flesh.

He told himself it was the stone that mattered.

(Sometimes, he even believed it.)

The first inklings of spring took slow root in Lakefront. Hiei's latest travels had taken him south, where the world had already begun to wake from its slumber, leaves budding in the forests, ice thawing in the riverbeds, and when he returned to the city, his pack stuffed with fresh spoils, its streets remained gray and dreary, snow still piled in alleys. He trudged through the muck, telling himself Nozumi would be home—dreading that she wouldn't be.

His last three visits, he'd found her waiting for him, curled in her armchair, the opal in one hand and a book or her atlas in the other. Each time, relief had bloomed within him, burning away the churning unease that grew any time he journeyed back to Lakefront.

A drizzle began as he turned onto her street, the rain quickly melting the lingering snow to messy slush. Nonetheless, her beloved food cart remained open. He joined the queue (far smaller than it had been in the fall) and exchanged a handful of coins for a mix of their favorite savory rolls, plus a sweet bun each. With dinner in hand, he drew his cloak around him, shielding the canvas bag beneath the water-resistant cloth.

One block further south, the boarding house waited.

Nozumi's window was dark.

The rain picked up, the wind lashing the downpour through the streets at an angle.

Clutching the bag to his chest, he leapt to the sill. With his free hand, he grasped the frame. Tugged.

It didn't budge.

He could've screamed. He could've burned the whole building to the ground, until it was nothing but smoking cinders. He could've razed Lakefront in its entirety.

Numb, he dropped back to the street.

For a moment, he stood still. The city had gone quiet, its sane inhabitants hunkered inside as the storm reached new heights. Lightning forked in the distance, and a rolling clap of thunder followed a breath later, echoing off the buildings. Even his cloak wouldn't withstand the deluge if he headed for the inn. He'd be soaked to the bone.

He reached for the key at his throat. The cord was too tight to be lifted over his head, and the clasp remained broken. He'd never gotten it fixed.

With a snarl, he jerked on the leather. It snapped.

The key settled in his palm.

Another streak of lightning fissured on the horizon before he managed motion, but eventually, he lurched toward the door. Let himself in. Traipsed up the stairs. Unlocked her apartment. Trapped himself within.

Then he waited.

Seven nights.

He spent seven nights alone in that apartment.

During the day, he roamed Lakefront as he had months ago, pilfering pockets, nicking trinkets and treasures. It brought him no joy, not compared to what he'd accomplished in the villages and towns beyond Lakefront. He'd begun to earn a name for himself. A reputation. His efforts inside Lakefront were no more than a footnote on a long ledger of far grander crimes. But he needed the distraction—anything to claw back the emotions writhing within him.

Seething rage.

Chilling fear.

Vast loneliness.

Niggling uncertainty.

The worry was the worst. That she'd left Lakefront for good. That she might be hurt. That he might never know what happened to her. He'd thought, when she'd disappeared from the crossroads inn, that he knew what it was to lose her, but he'd still had Asahi and Sueko then. If Nozumi had been hurt, they'd have told him. (Asahi, at least, would've told him.)

Now, there was no one.

Only Hiei and her empty room.

On the fourth night, he went through every drawer, ever nook, every inch of her closet. Under the bed. The depths of the hamper. The gap at the back of the armchair's cushion. Beneath the mattress. Anywhere she might have hidden a secret, he hunted. What he found told him nothing he didn't already know.

She possessed more powder blue shirts than could possibly be necessary. Not to mention the spare sashes nestled beside them. Her atlas she kept at the bedside. The opal was nowhere to be found. Amongst her underclothes, she'd hidden the note he'd written in his early days in Lakefront. No demons with a death wish.

There was no hint of where she'd gone, other than that the travel bag he'd grown used to was missing. Same with her sturdiest pair of boots. Wherever she was, it had been intentional. She'd planned for the trip.

He couldn't stand it, couldn't live like this any longer. He refused.

In all his life, he'd never pined, never fretted. He wouldn't start now.

Which meant the secrets had to stop. He needed to know where she went—why she went. (And why she didn't tell him.)

But he'd run out of time.

After months of painstaking planning, he was ready to rob the manor. He had a plan, and that plan had a timetable, a brief window in which the manor's lord would travel north to Gandara's capital. Hiei couldn't wait for Nozumi any longer. Not now.

When he returned, he would demand answers. If she wanted to keep what was between them, she'd tell him. That would be that. He swore it.

On his seventh morning alone, he packed his things, sharpened his katana, and pulled his handwritten note from her drawer. He left the promise on her bedside table, pinned beneath the corner of the atlas.

As always, he meant it. With every stitch of his unwavering will, he meant it.

The manor hunkered between the ridges of the mountain range, nestled at the base of a narrow valley. The cliffs and crags of the ridge rose like shattered ribs from the earth, punctuating the dense forest, forming an effective deterrence against large, organized forces hoping to besiege the stronghold. Some powerful beast had long ago leveled the immediate terrain beneath the mansion, and a massive stone wall ringed the bedrock's unnatural curves.

A cadre of armed guards patrolled the region. The first line of defense haunted the woods like shades, hidden in nearly invisible observation towers carved into the broadest trees. It had taken weeks to pick his way close enough to study the interior wall, but over time, Hiei memorized a path, until he could slip from one blindspot to the next without even breaking a sweat.

The wall was next. A dozen mercenaries manned its parapet. He'd required four visits before he found a point of weakness in their watch. Their shift change was sloppy, occurring all at once, rather than staggered. It created a window (however brief) in which he could leap from the tallest pine in the forest and land on the roof of the northernmost tower.

After his first successful infiltration, right before Nozumi's first disappearance, he'd managed two more break-ins. His knowledge was far from perfect, but it was enough. He'd managed to sketch a rudimentary map—a route to the vault at the manor's center.

With ease, Hiei wove his way to the pine, slipping past the watchmen, then darted through its branches, up, up, up, so high he half-thought he might reach out and touch the stars. There, he waited. Patient. Still as stone. The moon crept higher overhead.

An hour after midnight, the watch turned over.

In the heartbeats after the closest guard descended the stairs, Hiei leapt. His fingers caught the spire at the tower's pinnacle for only a moment, just long enough to neutralize the momentum of his jump, then he slid down the shingles. In moments, he landed upon the parapet.

He had thirty seconds until the next guard would emerge.

Slim margins.

Not slim enough.

Grinning wickedly, he slunk to the parapet's edge, vaulted over the wall, and plummeted straight to the ground below. The impact rattled through his bones, jolting through him despite the perfect bend of his knees upon landing. A careful flare of his energy (so tightly controlled it wouldn't be felt even ten feet away) kept him standing, reinforcing his muscles against the collision.

Then he was moving, darting into the shadows.

There were four exterior entrances to the property's vast cellars, one along each of the cardinal leylines, and it was the work of moments to pick the lock to the northern door and slip into the dimly lit interior. Once inside, Hiei allowed himself one slow, steadying breath, rubbing absently at his knees, before he moved onward, descending into the depths.

Evenly spaced lanterns hung overhead, lighting the cellars just enough to guide him forward. A brief set of stairs terminated in a vast network of shelves, housing cask after cask of fine wine, barrels of foodstuffs, boxes of weapons. Everything a remote, private demon lord might desire across the course of an endless lifetime. There were no treasures (those were stored in the vault), but Hiei's searches had turned up damn near anything else he could imagine.

None of it mattered.

He had eyes only for the riches at the mansion's center.

If the rumors he'd hoarded for months were true, a bagful of the wealth in this place would fund a century of frivolity. He could buy his own manor (or better yet, the crossroads inn) and bring Nozumi with him. They wouldn't need Lakefront or the Brotherhood or her apprenticeship. Anything she desired would be at his fingertips.

They could be free. Together.

The cellars were unguarded, allowing him to move quickly. So late in the night, there was no risk of being discovered. The servants had all long since tucked in.

At the sprawling basement's center, steps led upward. They'd let out in the depths of the kitchens, and the three minutes ahead were the most dangerous of the evening—the stretch he'd practiced only once.

As he eased open the door, he gripped the hilt of his katana, the heat of his demon energy pooling in his fingertips. Anyone he encountered now would have to die. There was no alternative. He had to escape this place with his own life.

He wasn't allowed to have a death wish.

The kitchens were brighter than the cellar, but still blessedly empty. He darted around counters, heading for the rear exit. In the hall beyond, he hooked a right, then an immediate left. Fifty paces ahead, the gargantuan door of the vault loomed, its metal face glinting in the torchlight. Hiei sprinted to it, the heady rush of adrenaline fueling him onward.

He had no time to fiddle with a lock, nor the expertise to pick one so sophisticated. Instead, he slammed his palms against the metal mechanism and sent his heat surging forth, urging it to melt under his onslaught.

It didn't.

Some form of protective barrier held his energy at bay.

With a snarl, he renewed his assault, pouring crackling heat into the keyhole. One heartbeat bled into three, then five. Just as he was about to halt, searching for a different means of shattering the lock, it softened in his clutch. Only a smidgeon, but enough.

A prideful grin tugged at his lips, potent satisfaction roaring to life—

An alarm ripped through the night.

It blared from everywhere and nowhere, emanating from the melting mechanism clutched between his fingers, reverberating through the door, screeching down the halls.

At once, Hiei released the lock. He stumbled back a step, drew his katana, whirled to flee—but already he felt the guards closing in. Their energy signatures flickered along his awareness, pouring down from the wall, careening in through the forest.

Hiei hurtled down the hallway, heading not for the kitchen, but for a distant window. He couldn't escape how he'd come. It'd be too slow. He needed a more direct exit.

His speed was his strongest weapon, his foremost tool. He leaned into it, sprinting as fast as he ever had. The floor blurred underfoot, stone broken up by the occasional rug. The end of the hall drew closer.

With a leap, he threw himself through the window. The glass panes shattered, pouring to the sodden earth outside. It crunched beneath his boots as he landed, never breaking stride. A shard slashed his forearm. Another embedded itself in his shin. He ignored both wounds.

Onward.

There was only onward.

Shouts echoed through the courtyard. Two watchmen lunged for him, blades drawn. He hurtled past them, streaking up the stairs they'd just descended. They gave chase.

Beyond the wall, he sensed a power signature stronger than the others. (Stronger than his.) A cold sweat broke across his flesh.

Nevertheless, he raced on.

At the top of the steps, he crossed the parapet in what felt like a single stride, leaping atop the far balustrade. His pursuers were mere feet behind him, and Hiei had only a moment to calculate the jump before he sprung from the wall.

He careened into an oak, botching his landing. Branches snapped. They slowed his descent but couldn't stop it, and he plummeted to the forest floor. At the last second, he managed to curl tight, arms protecting his head. The shock of the landing knocked the breath from his lungs, and the world nearly went black, but he fought the darkness back, snarling as he lurched to his feet.

He swayed for a moment, trying to place himself.

South.

He'd run south.

Which meant a steep rock face waited ahead, the valley's exit somewhere off to the west. Too much demon energy blazed against his awareness, hemming him in to his right. He couldn't flee that way. He had to continue forward.

Onward.

With a shove off the oak's trunk, he staggered into a run once more. Between the trees, the darkness was nearly absolute, and he had to trust instinct to guide him, to place his feet safely, to keep from twisting an ankle or shattering a knee. The steep incline burned in his muscles, but he raced to put distance between himself and the manor. If he got far enough, perhaps his pursuers would fall back, returning to protect their objective.

It wasn't an entirely foolish hope.

In fact, all but one did.

But the demon that remained was the one whose power dwarfed Hiei's—dwarfed any he'd ever felt so close up—and whomever it belonged to was closing in.

The mountain fought against him, tree roots and loose shale seeking to send him tumbling with every step. Twice, he kept himself upright only with a lucky grab of a branch. But he wouldn't slow. He couldn't.

(No demons with a death wish.)

Then, with no warning at all, the incline stopped. Ceased to exist.

He'd reached the summit.

Heaving for air, his lungs aflame, Hiei windmilled his arms. He managed to keep his footing. Ahead, a brutal descent plunged into the next valley. There'd be no running down a cliff that steep.

His hesitation consumed what little lead he'd held on to. At his back, boots crunched through fallen leaves.

Ice like that of his Koorime ancestors flooded Hiei's veins.

He drew his katana, whirling to face the mercenary. The man was a brute, twofold taller than Hiei. Energy billowed off his body in eddying waves, warping the air between them. His eyes were cold. Unfeeling. Black pits from which there'd be no escape. The faintest hint of a sneer quirked his lips as he lofted his broadsword and lunged.

Hiei parried. Struck back. Evaded. Struck again.

But his foe was stronger. Faster, too.

He drove Hiei backward with blow after blow, until at last their blades locked. The demon's superior strength gave him the edge, and Hiei's feet slipped in the gravel. He skidded back. One foot. Two. Five. Until he ran out of runway.

The ground fell away beneath him.

Hiei lurched, his back foot swinging into open space.

With a roar, victory gleaming in those black eyes, the guard swung his broadsword, aiming for Hiei's chest. He missed, the blade singing as it whooshed past Hiei's face, but at the last moment, it made contact, not with Hiei's flesh—but with the cord swinging from his neck.

The worn leather gave like softened butter.

As Hiei plummeted, his Hiruseki stone did too, flashing a brilliant blue in the moonlight as it dropped into the depths far, far below. Something in Hiei's chest shattered, rage and grief and unending despair ripping from his throat in a guttural cry.

Instinct sent his arm swinging forward, thrusting his katana into the cliff. Power unlike any he'd ever felt surged through him, fueled by the churning anguish lighting him on fire. Kicking off the bluff, he tore his katana free and hurtled upward. He struck in a blur of steel, plunging his sword into the mercenary's gut and splitting him clean in two. The demon dropped to the ground, his body skidding through the shale. The corpse picked up speed as it plunged down the incline before it was lost to the darkness.

Numb, as if watching himself from a distance, Hiei turned back to the cliff.

He stood at its edge, staring down. Hundreds of meters below, moonlight shone off a fast flowing river, its current ripping through the valley as it thundered south to Lakefront.

Distantly, he thought he should feel relief. He was alive. He'd kept his oath.

But he felt nothing.

Only a gaping, irreparable emptiness.

He sank to his knees and pressed a hand to his throat, checking again and again, but the leather cord was absent, never to return—and with it, his Hiruseki stone, swept away in the rapids. Gone. Irretrievable. At long, long last—torn from him for good.