The only thing that gave Kagome any true sense of satisfaction was seeing Yahiko.

When the maids were finished with her, she went directly to him. In one of the courtyards that served as a training ground, she found him sparring with his peers. He was a robust, healthy boy. As her adopted son, he had everything he could want or need. He’d put on weight and was growing like a weed, thriving and cheerful with his tousled dark hair and ruddy round cheeks.

It felt good and right to her, to have a son again. Years had passed since Shippou had left to follow his own path. While Kagome was at peace with this, she couldn’t help but wonder how differently things might have been, if she’d had him to look after when the horrible truth about Sesshoumaru had come to light. In a world where so much seemed tenuous and fleeting, caring for a child kept her grounded in a very real and present way.

Kept her, even in her worst and most cynical of moods, from flying apart at the seams.

Kagome remembered the day, not long after her marriage, when she’d paid Yahiko’s so-called relatives a visit and informed them that she would be taking the boy off their hands. Mayuri had been a dear friend to her, and she would provide for him, since she had no children of her own. The greedy family of shopkeepers had been more than happy to be rid of him, she knew—though they’d wailed and entreated her that they didn’t know how they’d be able to go on without their ‘precious boy’.

A pouch of gold in their grasping hands, and their tune had changed to one of oily, simpering acceptance. That had been the end of it. Yahiko had been hers.

Koshirou had been elated. Though to Kagome’s disappointment, his health had taken a downturn shortly thereafter, which none of her remedies could seem to curb. With his only son reclaimed, was he finally giving up the ghost?

Kagome tried not to resent him for it, but the truth was, he’d left her and Yahiko in a predicament. Saddled with a regency she’d never wanted, Kagome worried what would happen if Koshirou’s time ran out before Yahiko was ready to inherit. If hers did…

Nine years, that old wise-woman had said.

Kagome was burning through them at a clip she could feel. The friction of each passing minute dragged at her bones. She had to act smartly—and swiftly. Yahiko, too.

Pushing her dread aside, she called out to him from the top of the steps, “Yahiko-kun!”

The sparring in the courtyard ceased. The group of boys stilled in their huffing, laughing, and thwacking. Letting his own practice sword drop, Yahiko looked toward her, his cheerful expression sobering in an instant.

Taking the sword from his hand, his sensei nudged him. “Go to your mother, boy.”

Yahiko frowned as he turned away, muttering something that made his sensei send him on with a smack. Rubbing sulkily at his shoulder, Yahiko trudged up the steps. A little apart from her on the veranda, he stood, not quite meeting her gaze.

Kagome knelt down. “How are your lessons going?” she asked him, smoothing his mussed bangs from his brow.

“Fine,” he mumbled.

“Seems like you’re doing really well. Those other boys have been training for longer than you have, but no one would guess it.” She paused, smiling still. “All your instructors have nothing but good things to say about you.”

The boy continued to frown aside. Kagome’s smile slipped a little.

“Yahiko, look at me,” she said gently, tipping his face toward her with a finger to the chin. “Are you happy here?”

In a sudden panic, his gaze seized hers. “Please,” he said in a trembling voice, “don’t send me away!”

Kagome felt pained. This poor kid, she thought, what a rough start he’s had. Repressing a sigh, she shook her head.

“No one’s sending you away,” she spoke, clear and firm. “This is your home now.”

The boy relaxed. Kagome’s hand slid from his chin to his cheek. For a while, she studied his youthful face. As he grew older, those lines would sharpen like his father’s, but for now, Mayuri’s beauty shone through its soft shape. But his eyes were the most captivating, because they were hers exactly—rich and brown and inexorably deep. Looking into them, Kagome felt as though she were sinking, drowning in memory.

Beneath her touch, Yahiko began to squirm. “…Can I go back now?”

With a jolt, Kagome returned to the present. Guiltily, reluctantly, her hand trailed away.

Nodding to him, she said, “I’m proud of you, Yahiko; I just want you to know that. Your father is as well.”

Halfway down the steps, Yahiko paused, glancing back. There was something hard in that glance which seemed to pierce straight through her.

“Otou-san is dead,” he said. “Okaa-san too.”

Gutted, Kagome watched after him, as he slipped down the stairs and back out onto the training grounds.

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi