That night, as the night before, Sesshoumaru watched her sleep. Perched on a high branch, sufficiently elevated from the wolf stench permeating the campsite below, he studied the profile of her face by the faint light of the moon. It was easier to look at her this way–when the world was silent, and she was silent.

Curled against the horse youkai’s flank, she breathed deeply, evenly. Her soft lips parted slightly, her long dark lashes fluttering delicately above her silvered cheeks. She was dreaming, it seemed, though what a human could possibly dream of he could not begin to know. Mortal lives were so fleeting–a spark in the tinder, ignited and extinguished in the breadth of a moment.

Perhaps it was this–this fierce, consuming brightness that appealed to his kind. Youkai lives were long, possibly limitless. Inured by the centuries, to see a lifetime compressed before their eyes–all the passion, the violence, the loss and the love, played out in a mere handful of years–would be a strange and fascinating sight to behold.

Sesshoumaru’s gaze slid to Kouga, snoring loudly in the midst of his flea-ridden pack. The daiyoukai could see why the wolf was so besotted with the girl. She was stunning and strong, compassionate and courageous. For soft-hearted fools like Kouga and Tsukuyomaru—like the Inu no Taishou, Sesshoumaru’s own father—this was enough to cast aside common sense and tradition. To throw honor and reason to the wind and wed themselves to women who were fundamentally unsuitable, who would give them only half-breed children and heartache in their demise.

To love a human was to discard one’s own immortality, to embrace weakness and welcome death. To love a miko, who would live only that much longer, who would fade out only that much deeper, was to consign oneself even more to the inevitable doom her absence would bring.

Sesshoumaru had never been weak, and he had no intention of dying–now or ever.

Drawing Tessaiga, he laid the bare blade in his palms. Its rusted, pitted surface gleamed dully in the moonlight. A weapon crafted to defend humankind–considering this, he supposed that its decrepit appearance was fitting. And yet beneath that unimpressive surface, such vast power was contained.

The girl had an undeniable connection with this sword. After all, she had been the one to pull Tessaiga from its resting place. He sensed even now that the fang was merely observing her wishes—grudgingly releasing its power to him for the sake of her protection.

His father had considered him unfit to wield this blade—of that, Sesshoumaru was certain. The Inu no Taishou had made clear before his death that Inuyasha was to inherit Tessaiga. Even the bestowing of Tenseiga to his elder son had struck Sesshoumaru as more of a reprimand than a gift.

Long before his father had forsaken his mother and married Izayoi, Sesshoumaru had resented him. He had viewed the Inu no Taishou as lax and undisciplined, reckless—the generosity and good humor others praised him for Sesshoumaru had seen as the effusions of his foolhardy nature. And his father in turn had derided him for his cold arrogance and narrow-mindedness—drolly remarking to anyone who would listen that Sesshoumaru could scarcely see beyond his own snout.

Even now, the recollections rankled him. After his near-death defeat at Inuyasha’s hands, Sesshoumaru had been forced to concede that he was lacking in some way. He had striven to look beyond—at Tenseiga’s urging, he had taken Rin under his protection. Forgoing his pride, he had gone to the miko to restore his arm. He had survived against Mouryoumaru where his brother had failed. He had inherited both of his father’s swords in the end, and he had not fate, not the gods, not even himself to thank for it.

Gazing past Tessaiga, his eyes fell to Kagome once again. Her hand rested beside her fair face, her fingers so small and frail compared to his own. She was as much a mystery to him now as she had ever been—a human paradox, baffling and captivating. And it was only with great difficulty that he tore his eyes away from her at last.

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi