Breaking through the skein of clouds, Sesshoumaru alighted on the broad stone steps of the skyborn palace. As he ascended to the sweeping veranda, a small crowd lingered near the moonstone gate, the recent parade of humans through it having clearly caused a stir. At his thunderous approach, the loiterers dispersed and departed. Striding toward the sentries who remained, Sesshoumaru drew to a stop as the captain of the guard stepped out to meet him.

“Ryouken,” Sesshoumaru said without preamble. “I have need of you.”

“My lord,” his cousin greeted in turn, inclining his head as he adjusted the naginata resting against the broad tapered plate of his pauldron. Glinting blue eyes slanted toward Sesshoumaru’s burden. “Might that be young Inuyasha?”

Dragging the unconscious body down from his shoulder, Sesshoumaru let his half-brother slump to the ground. “It is he.”

Ryouken chuckled, low and growling. “A strange morning this has been. First humans and now half-breeds.” The toe of his boot nudged Inuyasha in the ribs. “I did not think I would live to see the day you permitted this one to trespass here.”

Ignoring the remark, Sesshoumaru crouched down to relieve Inuyasha of his sword. As he slid Tessaiga through the sash at his hip, a dark gleam caught his eye. Frowning, he lifted his brother’s stiff outer haori to find the Jewel of Four Souls resting beneath.

In his preoccupation, Sesshoumaru had nearly forgotten about the Shikon no Tama. Considering it and Inuyasha a moment longer, he closed his claws around the glittering orb and slipped it discreetly into his sleeve.

“Keep watch over him,” the Lord of the Western Lands ordered the captain as he stood. “Restrain him if you must. I am not certain how violent he may become when he awakes.” At his cousin’s dubious glance, Sesshoumaru’s gaze hardened in warning. “Do not understimate him, Ryouken.” Stepping past, the demon lord surveyed the mist-veiled lands of his inheritance. “He is, after all, my father’s son.”

“…Understood, my lord.”

Closing his eyes briefly, Sesshoumaru took to the sky once more.

Scenting the trail of Kagome’s blood, he flew toward the far reaches of the palace, to a tower that lay apart from the rest. Secluded, the lone castle building stood perched upon a flowering, forested ridge—once the sanctuary of his great grandmother, who had disdained the one she had been captured from abroad to mate.

A beautiful yet solemn place. Pushing its unpleasant history to the back of his mind, Sesshoumaru braced himself for what lay ahead.

As expected, his mother had acted with swift discretion in removing Kagome here, away from prying eyes and undue attention. Landing at the edge of the gardens, Sesshoumaru made his way toward the torii arch, where Jakken rushed forward to meet him.

“Milady wishes to see you at once,” the imp relayed with an anxious bow.

“I will see her shortly,” Sesshoumaru said as he continued on, the imp deflating in his wake.

“Y-yes, milord…”

The screened doors of the castle slid open before him, the cloying stench of iron and herbs assaulting his senses. But as he entered the room at the end of the hall, it was the sight of her which he found most difficult to bear.

A white sheet covered Kagome’s body up to the neck, for which Sesshoumaru was grateful. Her ruined face alone was more than enough for him to look upon at present. Washed of blood and grime, her torn, busted features were a fresh tragedy to witness, the salve that glistened above her sunken right eye sickening in its oily sheen.

Only her hair remained lovely and intact. Cleansed and dried, it spilled behind her in a dark glossy fall, sifting like threads of silk through the small ivory comb the taijiya was pulling through it again and again. From the blank stare in her eyes and the wooden, repetitive motion of her hand, Sesshoumaru suspected that Sango had been doing this for some time.

Shifting his gaze, he saw the small neko youkai curled tightly near the side of the bed, the fringe of her tawny fur just brushing the sheet. Half hidden by her tail, her open red eyes were directed away, as were the monk’s. Seated seiza nearby, his head was bowed, his attention riveted upon the upturned palms of his hands.

“Has she stirred at all,” Sesshoumaru asked, “since you arrived?”

For a while there was silence, save for the more even, yet still reedy, rasping of her breath. Just as Sesshoumaru began to wonder if Miroku was in a trance, glazed violet eyes lifted slowly toward him.

“She has not.”

Nodding, Sesshoumaru spared what remained of Kagome one last heavy glance before turning and leaving the room.

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi