Recon - A/K

Kiyo:


The days flowed together in endless time. She ate when she ate, she slept when she slept and bathed when it rained. Her hair, an endless mat of once glorious curls remained uncombed until the leaves and dirt no longer had an end. Her feet were wrapped and unwrapped as it grew cool or warm. Her clothing changed as she came across new ones. There were gentle words, stones thrown or down-turned eyes.  Sometimes her body was too thin, sometimes it grew heavy but never, not once did she care.

The world had been robbed of it's colour, it's life, and she drifted through it in desperate loneliness. What pretty hair you have, a unique colour. What lovely eyes, they glow like amethyst. Such lovely, pale skin, where are you from? Meaningless, utterly meaningless, words with no connections because the colour had been robbed from her.

Today was a day for words like this. There had been whispers, or perhaps conversations of a man how knew the cure to blood and it's illness. He was the next in a long trail of such hints and she groped after them like a woman starved. She wanted to be fixed, she wanted to live again, and she would do anything to make that possible. Anything, they whispered, was her dignity. On days such as these when they brought her in from the streets, washed her and combed the earth from her hair, and dressed her in clothes that were not her own, they whispered harshly that she gave up too much. They said she did not understand, they said that the whispers were lies, they said she would never leave but always those whispers were wrong. They did not know her, they did not know the part of her that cared was dead.

That night was a pattern,  a dance like the one's she'd been taught as a girl. Gracious words, manners, compliments, don't chatter to yourself or listen to them, ask about, maybe, where the scret could be. Of course there was a price, always a price, and one paid with numb dissatisfaction. They would try to hook her, it never worked, and after they would let her rest and think.

And think, and think, and think, and think, and think, and think, and think, and think, and think, and think, and think, and think, and think, and think, and think, and think, and think, until her mind collected, scattered, rearranged, until their words, the manners, the night would became the same except for the smell and tenor. She would sing, a little hopelessly, and feel clear for an hour, no more.

She was, Kiyo was clear. The night was cold and the bed she laid in had the cheap feeling richness so unlike the beds she'd slept in as a child. All around her was the smell of cheapness, perfume, sweat and unwashed fabric. Golds and reds, she guessed, because the poor who wished to feel rich always adopted such gaudy colours. It all clung to her, as if to accuse her of taking part in it all, and yet she was blessedly clean compared to other days. But she had it, the next thread of information that would draw her along to the next clue. Immortality and it's healing powers; she would see again. They thought she would fall to them, never.

"Idiots," she observed primly, loving they considered her harmless. Perhaps she was, usually was, but when the layers pulled back she was something else.

The night was cool, and it occurred to her she wasn't dressed, but stretched out half beneath the cheap blankets she didn't care. What dignity did she have, a harlot for a dream.

"Lady, I'm sore."


Aion:


The winds carried Kiyo’s melancholy across the vastness of the world.  Few stopped to listen to the somber cries, less cared enough to fathom at the origin of the misery.  Only one had internalized the melody and began a journey.

The crescent moon hung in the starry black of night watching the sleepy world slumber beneath it.  A lone figure rode a pale horse slowly to an unknown destination.  No one was usually awake to watch the phantom when he crossed through the dormant hamlets of the land.  He ventured across various rivers, traveled through elegant forests and rode across the arid deserts of the world before the sights regained their familiarity.  It had all retained their vibrant colors he had once witnessed in his youth; he discovered that he now appreciated their reappearance more so than he had ever suspicioned it possible.  He smiled.

Seconds became minutes.  Minutes became days.  Days became months.  Months became years.  Years became decades.  Time, which so many took for granted, time which so many had so much of and so many had so little of, had given the lone wanderer an angelic blessing.  The malevolence that had surrounded him since his youthful feats of barbarism that had become infamy had finally faded from living memory.  Time had brought peace only because he had faded from living memory.  The figure spurred the pale horse on as he arrived at the scene that once had seen vitriol and carnage reach its apogee.  They would despise him if they could remember; they would never remember a face devoid of his formerly characteristic inhumanity.

His horse halted, refusing to go on upon reaching a small inn.  He got out of the saddle and patted the horse with a fond kindness before it walked away from him never to be seen again.  The wind had carried that mournful song from this place.  Once again he smiled, a face no human had ever seen.  The phantom walked silently towards the door before taking the door handle and gently rapping it.  He waited for a small eternity before a tired and confused face answered him groggily.  The man had tried explaining the lack of vacancies but was stopped by a single utterance, “Kiyo…”.  The innkeeper led him upstairs towards the room that the former Raikage slept in.  The wandered thanked the man profoundly before he stood before the door.

Decades of mistrust and jealousy had subsided.  He felt foolish only just now coming to ask for her pardon but the truth had been that he hadn’t come earlier because he himself had not finished healing.  It had never been her fault that he had felt horrific rage, nor was she responsible for neither the death of Mizuki nor the sense of betrayal he had felt when Lord Michishirube had designated her as his heiress.  So long she had suffered his scrutiny and berating despite her patience and kindness towards him.   That little girl he had first met in the Kagetsu garden had suffered for having known him only because she had known him.  He struggled to move his white hand towards the door.  The wandered forcibly summoned the courage that had served him in those dark moments of the war decades ago when he had been surrounded and had almost been guaranteed to die.  He knocked lightly.

”Kitsune-chan, it’s Harinezumi-kun.”


Kiyo:


The nebulous voice cut through gentle numbness, a light turned on in the dark room of her mind. Her eyes fluttered open, though she did not think she had slept, but there was still only darkness. Such a voice had never come without the image of the man and it was a sword among the thousand tiny reminding pins that came each day. Seeing was believing and she could not see.

"Come."

With care, hand over hand, she pushed herself to sitting. The bed gave way under hands, like a perilous sea, and she swayed uncertainly. She drew herself up, straight backed, to prove she was still the tiny empress beneath the stink of cheap and the sounds. As an afterthought she drew the blanket up around herself, a shield between the ghost that haunted her this night and herself. In the future she would find what she sought, a way to eternal youth and, she though, of healing her damaged eyesight. Then the fine lines of age would be smoothed out and she would be returned to the prime of mid twenties, bound to a single image until her death. At that moment, with  that future still a haze to be, she had aged. Fine lines at her mouth and eyes, thinner, transparent skin along her hands and threads of silver picked out if one looked.

"I am hallucinating," she decided, considering the imprint of a familiar and yet unfamiliar shape her own voice gave. There was a bubble of joy in her chest and for one cruel moment she thought she dreamed up kindness in his voice. Kindness had always been so fleeting between them, so rare, and she had hoarded those moments jealously because they were so unlike him. The real Aion, the real Aiko, was not a kind man and he did not hold her in such esteem that he would visit the shambles of her, unless.

Kiyo's face fell, "Have you come to gloat?" Her voice wavered, faltered then built back up, a glimpse of all her sorrow, "I don't want to hear it." Her glare was two feet off it's mark, and her hands shook, "you've won, you always won, leave me alone phantom of love."


Aion:


”No Kitsune-chan, that’s not why I’m here,” he softly whispered into the darkness as he opened the door to the forever regal Kiyo of Kagetsu.

A white specter moved into the room of a sleepy cottage on the outskirts of forever.  Time meant little here in this sacred place, in this sacred space which living memory still endured within the increasingly fragile mind of the red-haired, purple eyed doll.  The world had nearly effaced the memory of a once ruthlessly sadistic warrior born in Kumogakure; the only living witness was the woman he had, without a second’s thought, wounded the most with his vitriolic repudiation and childish venom.  He was accompanied by the twin scents of damp earth and asphodels, not blood like the many times they had found themselves in.  He hoped that her sight was not complete gone so that she could look into his red eyes and witness not vengeance but an old emotion he had almost forgotten and perhaps she could still remember seeing in them.

He walked into that room feeling the sorrow that permeated from Kiyo.  The place was dreary with neglect, a reflection of the inner despair that she had sunken to in her helplessness.   The wanderer moved to her side on that lonely bed bringing his milky white face close to her hopefully poorly functioning and not outright defunct eyes.  They were still that hue of purple he enjoyed.  The albino wasn't sure if he had ever told her this.  His porcelain hand caressed her gentle face finding it just as beautiful as the day they had first met, lines notwithstanding.  Again he smiled authentically despite his previous self, albeit unaware if she could witness his new found characteristic he imagined would seem so alien to one who could remember only the sardonic grins.

”You and I both knew this day would eventually come Kitsune-chan.  We could only guess at the circumstances we’d find ourselves in and only conjecture on the crucible, but we still knew how inevitable this meeting was,” he melodically soothed into her ear as he stroked her fading red hair.  He wondered if he imagined the scent of citrus still on her.  Perhaps, but it still suited her.  With somberness, he halted his loving gestures and looked out to the various stars out the lone window awaiting her revulsion to his volte-face.

After he had burned every bridge he had ever crossed to get away from her, spurning every emotional plea she had ever made to him, the white being would hold no grudge if she shrieked, yelled, slapped, clawed, bit, rejected, or even ignored his almost certainly unwelcome intrusion decades after their last meeting.  He did not come with excuses nor to be forgiven, he was here to apologize for his crimes.  Aion would accept the conclusion of his many atrocities with a reserved understanding no matter how bitter the ashes tasted in his mouth.  It was not his peace he sought, but hers.  It was the only gift he imagined he could ever grace her with.


Kiyo:


The world of colour and light had faded away years before. In a matter of months her eyes had deteriorated from their healthy state until mere weeks after his abandonment she had lost everything. Parents dead, sister alienated and not a friend or enemy left to her it had been easy to slip into the hazy world of half living that had carried her away from her beloved village. Her responsibility had always been to them, she had been groomed from birth to watch over them and yet her strength had faltered and she never looked back.

Perhaps he would be disappointed to know that his emotions fell on blanked eyes, or perhaps he would be relieved. The smell of him pricked at her senses, the shape of him was right and the voice was correct but everything was off. It confused her, this not-Aion that entered her room, who touched her face, and smiled through his words. "Then you are a fake, my prickly friend, as the only Harinezumi-kun I know delights in gloating," she answered, bemused. Blindly she touched his own face, searching for the telltale signs of scorn and anger. Frustratingly, nothing. Her eyes twitched, strained a moment but there was still nothing, not even a spark in the darkness. With a disgusted snort for herself she pulled back, finding no comfort in touching him.

But the touch on her hair brought her back to safety, of a large hand touching her curls and telling her how lovely they were. Just like mothers, always like mothers, and she glowed at the thought. Was just hair still like hers? Kaou had died so early, gathered less years then Kiyo felt now. "I never guessed, I always knew. Didn't you? Too much like her, never like him. She who threw herself from the tower from the pain of it. I hated her for leaving me but now I understand her strength and I love her for it. It's the one strength she failed to pass along." It was her turn for scornful little smiles, to quietly hate his being there and how right he was. This meeting, it felt preordained, as if it had been carved into her bones. Briefly, she hoped, "maybe you've come to kill me?"

He'd stopped focusing on her, she could tell, "It's cool, so it must be night, isn't it rude to wake a lady?" turning to search blindly in the darkness for what he gazed at. Nothing, again and always, but he other senses showed no more, "Your manners are poor like his, so I will grant you the benefit of the doubt. You are Harinezumi, for now, because few left alive would know to call me Kitsune. I've been given other, less flattering, names now. The mighty fall hard."More self pity, loathing.

Then, sharply, "Why are you here, Aiko?"


Aiko:


He watched her in silence as she verbally shredded him, a more deserving attack would never be known.  How unorthodox to be on the receiving end of a berating, an irony not lost upon the opaque wanderer.  She had spurned his consolation.  A rather predictable reaction; a completely understandable sequence of events.  Aion released a short sigh before he stood up from the rickety bed in order to walk towards the window.  He had detected her confusion, her attempts to decipher the masquerade she assumed he now wore in yet another gambit for the pure sake of maliciousness.  Harinezumi?  Aion?  Aiko?  Each carried a specific stain of sin born by the albino in an orgy of violence.  The ridiculousness of youth continues to haunt even long after maturity sets in.  The wanderer watched the stars before he responded to her inquisition with patience.

”I heard a melancholy melody carried by the winds.  From the very first note, it was hauntingly nostalgic, twisting my insides into knows and forcibly uplifting any repression I had long ago grown accustomed to.  I was on the verge of hysteria until I came upon an epiphany onto why the song bothered me so.  It was the tone, the familiar voice that sang it Kitsune-chan.  It was a subtle perversion of everything I had known to be of absolute truth but do you want to know the most interesting thing about it?  It horrified me because I never could have hypothesized that you would ever reach such a nadir.  I heard your loneliness and only then did I realize that my atonement would continue in perpetuity.  My bones are damned and my soul is doomed to wander for the atrocities I have committed to you,” he responded as he continued to stare into black void above.  ”I didn’t come to extinguish your life Kiyo, I’ve already played my sadistic role long enough.”


Kiyo:


Behind him she rose, taking advantage of his adverted gaze to shuffle along the familiar yet unfamiliar floor and search out clothing. A sleeping yukata found her hands first, she guessed by its cut and the light feel of the cotton, and she slipped it on the save them both from an awkward future. Someone had combed her hair that day she remembered, and it was a strange sensation to care if it was in order.

"I thought I was the one with keen ears," she sighed, picking her way over his words with her muddled mind. Somehow it seemed right that he had heard the song and come, maybe he was right that the meeting had been pre-ordained in it's way. She felt she could detect when he lied, if he was he and yet she knew he must be. No one could imitate this presence or could make her feel like a small child again. She wanted to ball up her fists and hit him with a flurry of tiny blows and she grew tired. "So you felt sorry for me and came to keep me company because of that? Did you think,maybe, I didn't want to see you, that I preferred to keep you as a phantom of the past? Maybe I enjoy this loneliness, certainly its the first thing I've ever chosen for myself. What would you, named for love with no other expectations, understand."

Despite the harsh words she came to stand at his side and hold his hand with warmth that so contrasted her outburst. She couldn't see the sky though, she she contented herself with listening to the night and it;s little bursts of clarity. She could hear his heartbeat, and Kiyo realized that he had left before her powers had strengthened enough. This was a first, where firsts were rare between them.

"I know the how you came to be here, but you have not answered the why. I cannot fathom that you would be driven by such delicate emotions as sympathy and regret to find me here, there must be something more." she spoke aloud, brows creasing in that telltale way, "Please, be plain."


Aion:


The white wanderer held Kiyo’s freezing hand firmly as they allowed the moment to coalesce into memory.  He had been surprised but pleased at her betrayal of words now they stood close; the subtle acceleration of his heart would definitely betray the calm demeanor that he sported, that much the Nanjirou knew.  Aion turned to observe her face once again only to finally notice her private tragedy, her blind violet eyes.   Those halcyon days were over; she could never look into his crimson eyes again.  Kiyo’s choice words continued to tear the scabs off of their living past as she struggled to accept the possibility that perhaps he might have been honest with her.

”You’re going to have to make a leap a faith at the very notion that perhaps, that just maybe the infamous Dawnbringer has not spoken a single lie when he whispered in your ear that he’s here for you and only for you and only if you wish for him to remain here.  If you want to be alone then simply say so my Kitsune-chan, I won’t object nor harbor any ill will for your request.   I only desired to extend the possibility of company and…” he trailed off, unable to continue the words he had spent many long nights crafting studiously.

How does one simply apologize?  The albino wanderer had never before had to justify himself with any level of humility or sincerity, not just to Kiyo, but to anyone.  He had delighted in a life of troglodytic carnage, answering to no one for his malevolently sordid bloodlusts and excessive body counts; he’d been applauded at Waterfall for his inhumanity.  He had been tempted once, and only once.  Kiyo had confronted his insubordination; it was also the last time they had spoken before he had defected from the Village Built on Clouds.  Still, even upon his return to his homeland and ascendancy to the Draconic throne, he had asked no one for penance for his disloyalty and no one had the leverage to have demanded such a just request.  Aion wondered for a second if he had apologized then if there would have been an albatross at all; the price of such wisdom, the inability to travel upwards through the stream of time.  Aion could afford no more equivocality.

”I… I’m… I’ve come to expurgate myself and place myself at your mercy,” he finally finished.

There would be no more delay. Â There would be no more excuses for the unpaid tribulations he had directly invoked to the daughter of his beloved Lord. Â Aion placed him at the behest of her whims. Â An angelic being held the future of his soul in the palm of her hands; he had grown too mature to protest.


Kiyo:


Nothing, no sarcasm, no anger, just the flutter of his heartbeat and nothing of the Aion she remembered. He was he and yet he was not, somehow he had evolved beyond the petty squabbling that had become a comfortable shield against all the unspoken emotions. It made her angry that he left her behind again, maturing into this odd man.

"Perhaps," she ventured, filling the silence. The small, darkest part of her shivered, rolled the thought over and decided it could not be. Aion was Aion, he did not change, just as Kiyo was Kiyo and she could not change. He was tricking her, he had to be tricking her. The alignment of all that she knew depended on his sarcasm, his anger and his sabotage of her life. If there was no Aion, there was no Kiyo. Didn't he know what this was doing to her? Did he care that his warm care was poisoning her? "Difficult," she laughed, unable to find the right words, "Forgive me if I stay on guard for the ambush but if you want, you may stay. I admit, grudgingly, that it makes me nostalgic to have you near."

Nothing was said of the awkward way he trailed away. It struck her that she had never heard him apologize to anyone, not even her father. Not in simple words at least, and never within earshot. Though, there had never been much

"Your hate has always been a comfortable mantel to wear, why are you stealing it from me during these cold and barren days?" she wondered aloud, face creasing with pain. At least he had always cared enough to hate her, which was more than she could claim of anyone else. His hate had outlasted her parents love, the regard of a village, the friendships she'd built over her youth and now that too would be gone. Somehow it left her feeling empty and without cause. Why live if no one cared? Caustically she gave in, "At your convenience m'lord, let us rearrange the world as I've ever known it.  I will act as your ever so willing angel of mercy, let us cleanse you of your troubles, my opposite."

Her hand tightened then clenched, her nails biting into the skin of his hand to leave moon shaped little marks. The little dark side was satisfied with this. How could he have thought they should be a pair.


Aion:


”Then allow me to warm you my dear not with kind words and gentle caresses but in the lukewarm gore of your body,” a familiar harsh tone evoked.

The albino warrior fluidly pulled Kiyo closer before clutching her tender throat with his free hand. Â He slammed her into the nearby wall with his brute strength. Â The serene aura had been violently extinguished by a hot wave of anger. Â His heart beat madly with this orgiastic paroxysm as he began to tighten his lethal grip. Â She had been abused thoroughly, she would not respond to the mature being he had wished could reconcile with the closest person he had ever known. Â Aion would entertain her with the nightmarish visage that she had grown up in those early days with, the ghoul she seemed to adamant of meeting once again. Â The familiar manic grin had reappeared as had that flicker of acerbic loathing.

”Allow me to so eloquently verbalize my point now that you’ve finished.  I have never been denied anything that I have wanted for a single, good reason.  I have never been in the mood to be denied, a point I make obvious with a sword, and even now I will not allow you to even pretend for a second that you will do so to me.  I became powerful because I wanted to do so.  I survived Waterfall because I wanted to do so.  I even took the Raikageship after your stupid father squandered it with you and you handed it to that stinking coward.  I am Aion and you will sate me even if you have to carve my name into yourself for my amusement,” he spat at her with the purest of vitriol.  She would certainly have struggled to breathe by this point in his tightening clench.  More than twenty years ago he had threatened to exterminate her highness, no…  He had promised to do so if she would impede him.  She had gambled, and she had lost.

As suddenly as his volte-face appeared, it ended.  The white wandered dropped the red-haired woman onto the floor before he began walking away from her pitiful self.  He had lived long ignoring the dark cravings maturity had long ago vanquished with age.  She might have asked, which had saddened him, but he was angry for his apostasy, even if he had wanted to prove a point.  He had indulged in her whims to his detriment.  Aion spoke clearly after she recovered slightly, ”No my beloved, I don’t need to be cleansed.  You better than anyone else should know how easily I can ignore moral quandaries.  I couldn’t stand still while you suffered but it seems you’re too busy wishing for a buried eidolon to reemerge for no other reason than familiarity.  Work out your own salvation, with fear… and trembling.”

The albino hurled the door closed upon his exit.


Kiyo:


A deep sadness washed over her as he finally snapped. The dark thing inside her heart purred, as if the hand around her neck was a lovers caress. She had hoped he had changed, that he could withstand the carefully calculated insults that would send her old friend over the edge. She wanted him to tighten his grip, to end her fragile existence in the gore he promised so eloquently. She wanted him to let her go, he held not only her voice but her eyes and source of power, couldn't he see how terrified she was? Let him break it, let him damage her voice beyond all repair, another reason to sink into self pity. He should draw it out, make her suffer, make her hate him until the emotion overflowed and that was all that remained. Why had she hoped, for one moment, that he wanted to apologize.

It always came back to him and what he wanted. Everything he had came as a result of hard work and sacrifice. Not her, never her, everything dropped into her lap and life like a well timed gift. There had never been any satisfaction in that, no glow of a job well done. There was always more to do, always more demands; she was the Raikage's daughter and heir, she had to be perfect. She wanted none of what he fought to have, and only now was living a life without the golden spoon. "Always," she agreed, going limp before her dropped her.

A disappointingly quiet end where she wanted to hear the crunch of cartilage.

"You never did understand," she rasped, picking herself from the floor. The echo of his footsteps felt hallow, and she felt a tug to follow. No, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Evil dream, awful dream. She should sleep instead, dream of the world where everything had gone right and she had been strong enough to say what needed to be said. "Beloved, hm?" For one instant she wondered what life could have been like if her father had lived and had his way. An interesting thought, one she would not linger on.

"Evil dreams."


Aion:



She laughed derisively at the dejected albino as he left the inn with his one again characteristic fury. Â She had told him clearly that she would wait patiently for his failure only because she loved him so. Â Aion fumed at the insulting notion as she embraced him like his mother might have. Â  She attempted to soothe the seething wanderer with kindnesses he had once embraced and now scornfully despised. Â All he could do was to reject her with the wave of his pallid hand.

”Dear Aiko, are you ready to surrender yet?” she asked with her honey sweetened voice that danced around him.

His crimson eyes refused to acknowledge her further as he stood in mist scolding himself for the childishness, the lapse in judgment that concluded the attempt reconciliation in the most unfavorable of ways.  Still he refused to accept the futility as she stroked his silver hair whispering on about the beauty of communion.  ”No,” was the response he could muster as he sulked in the evanescent night.  He contemplated Kiyo’s final words throughout the little time he was allotted until dawn broke the tranquility of his misery.  What had disturbed him the most was his willingness to return to his sordid past when it had annihilated so much.

”Suit yourself my beloved.  It’ll only make your submission so much more gratifying.  Perhaps next time you should avoid justifying her suspicions with such a reactionary response, not that she’ll be willing to forget again,” the voice instructed him as it faded away.

He relived it all again in his slumber. Â Aion dreamt  the day he had returned from the Waterfall campaign damaged physically and spiritually. Â Kiyo had tried to explain her actions and even tried to apologize for her reticence beforehand. Â It was then he had decided to despise her with all of his fractured spirit. Â The old man had sought to counsel him hoping even then to reverse the course he must have predicted. Â Kiyo had tried to mend the increasing rift between the both to no avail. Â The milky white shinobi, embittered by his warped reality, had dedicated the few moments they shared from then on to tearing down the youthful chases, the fond hilarities of their tribulations, and certainly that particular flutter he had always been unable to suppress when he looked into her purple eyes. Â Evil dreams indeed.

Night fell on the world before his red eyes could focus clearly upon the lonely cottage she resided in.  He stood waiting far enough that even her acute hearing couldn’t discern his existence.  Aion only still had a poor grasp on what she had meant, unable to unravel the puzzle so utterly alien to the likes of him.  Perhaps she had been right to mock him.  After all, wasn’t she trying to protect him from the crushing burden of reality?  How could he even hope to fix his sins with kind words?  That had been his folly.  The albino traveled with his precious time away from the sleepy hamlet and into the town proper.  The shops had all closed down for the night and the only remnants of life were the few elders on a veranda smoking and joking about their rose-tinted nostalgia.  He waited until they feel asleep before he found the particular store he had in mind.  The white wanderer wrapped the hand that nearly crushed Kiyo’s wind pipe before using it to break a window.  A dog barked but no one had been alert enough to ascertain why.  He opened the door and immediately began searching among the goods until he reached the display.  Despite himself, he smiled once again as he lifted the prize carefully and returned to the inn.  Aion knocked on the inn’s door and was received once again by the peculiar man.  He handed a small package and pointed towards her window before he gave a curt bow and walked away.  All now he could do was hope.

---

As dawn broke once again the peculiar man had decided against waiting for the residing traveler to awaken. Â Unfortunately he had to ride into town on business and could not be present for her emergence, if she emerged. Â He opened her door as silently as a layman could and tiptoed to her table leaving the package the strange man had delegated him to deliver. Â He completed his job and rushed away with as little noise as possible.


Spoiler: A pair of women's glasses.


Kiyo:


Carefully she rose the pair of glasses to the air, turning them over in her hands as she hummed softly so she might 'see' them. She was small again, handing over all her savings to buy a precious gift for the most important woman in her life. Papa had forgotten and this time she refused to resort to cut paper and macaroni. Kage daughter she might be, but Michi did not spoil his daughter in monetary means. The concept of working for one's money was an important lesson in any child no matter their birth.

The shop keeper had held them aside for her after she'd first seen them two weeks before. Anticipation that his wares would be seen worn by the Raikage's wife gained her a deal and the promise of wrapping. She really had worked hard, climbing the wall during the evening study time to sneak into the city and complete odd jobs. She'd even gone out of her way not to be recognized, they had paid her as fairly as anyone else might be. A minute later, prize in hand, he had attacked her and in the fight the gift had been smashed, along with a sizable part of the district. There had been too much shame in her to ever ask for the money to replace them.

She felt warmth, regret, then great loss as her fingers traced the little note with it's raised letters. She wondered if they were the same colour she had chosen, the deep green that surely would have gone with her mother's red hair. She imagined Kaou placing them on her nose, smiling in that sweet way she always did when pleased with her daughter then taking her for dinner. There would be none of the stern frowns and forced smiles as she presented yet another paste and paper birthday gift, saddened by the great destruction her and Aiko had visited upon a small district of the city. They would have sung together, her father would have sat with them without the strain of disappointment.

Carefully Kiyo set down the glassed on the little table her room had, stark except for the packaging. What did it mean? There were so few people who could ever know of the tragic end to a well meant gift, and only one meant alive. She brought her hand up to circle her neck, touching the tender bruises on her neck from the night before. What did it mean? He had never snapped like that before, even in the rockiest moments of their youth. Respect for her father he said and yet she had always hoped some spark of regard had existed unextinguished. Why had things changed? What did this mean? Was he apologizing, declaring a beginning or reminding her of the start of what had been a descent into endless hate. It seemed, sometimes, she had been born hating him and he her.

That evening, before the sun had fully set she went out into the plot of land that served as a sad little garden for this place. She would never go back, she would never visit her mothers sad little grave and leave the precious gift meant for a past unrealized, so she buried it there in the garden. It gave her some satisfaction, and she knew somehow the sentiment would be known. A top it she planted a little seedling that, with chakra and love sprouted and grew between her fingers until it was a handsome apple tree of six feet carpeting the ground with blossoms.

At it's base she left a Bokkan and a single yen, because her shadowed mind considered that proper, and she moved on from that place. Maybe she forgot, or maybe she hoped to avoid him, but next he would find her sleeping in a cave with twigs in her hair and ash on her face. Curled in warm blankets she'd stolen from the Inn, she'd move from sleep to mumbling wakefulness without rest.


Aion:



The small child could only manage to retreat in the barrage as the boisterous man casually punished his every carelessness with a fat blue bruise. Â His breathing became labored, his bokken cracked with every parry still unable counter. Â His crimson eyes moved wildly in desperation until he imagined, no he saw a chance. Â In pure hysteria he charged the man moving his bokken with a furious single strike. Â It failed. Â His master only baited him with the opportunity hoping his pupil could avoid rash impromptu maneuvers. Â Aiko flew into the air after he was struck being followed by smashed wood he had once wielded.

”Sloppy but you’re improving,” his master spoke with a warm voice.  Aiko’s master walked over and helped the sniveling nine year old up to his feet.  Aiko was in shock at his broken bokken and couldn’t decide whether to cry or bawl.  The large man patted him reassuringly to deter the child’s tears.  ”Now now.  I wouldn’t have broken it if I didn’t plan on getting you a better one.”

He disappeared shortly before returning with a new bokken specifically created for the albino.  It was meticulously crafted with Kumogakure’s finest trees bound together with Kagetsu ceremonial colors.  Aiko graciously accepted it with a deep bow and fought his sadness off successfully.

”Aiko, always remember that the sword is a tool, not an extension of yourself.  They’ll be those who’d argue otherwise but swords only reflect the worst, not the best of us.  They can only ever be used to injure, not protect.  Never let it control you because you control it.  Never cry at a sword’s destruction sadden you because the day will come when you should hope to see the last one be melted into slag.  I pray you see that day.”

A vampire awoke at the evening’s conclusion.  He rose from his slumber and instinctively began walking to that inn before he had consciously remembered why.  Kiyo was there.  His steps hesitated for just a second before he willed himself forward, unwilling to surrender his duty, no… his redemption.  The crescent moon was out that night as he approached the inn.  He knocked at the door.  For the third yet final time curious man opened the door only to inform him that Kiyo had left that day, to where he did not know and apologized to the white wanderer before he bade a farewell.  Crushed, Aion stood still unsure of what to do.

It took an hour before he wandered into that small garden that reminded him, just like her, of those early days.  It lacked the careful maintenance and unlike the Kagetsu labor, it was mostly for utility’s sake except for a single tree.  Aion’s wrinkled his brow in small confusion as he approached the oddity.  He was never the most perceptive of people but even found it difficult to believe his memory could be so poor that he could have missed a six foot tree.  He approached it to examine it until he nearly tripped over that memento.

He had no doubt that it was her that left that single yen and bokken; he hoped that he had reached her.  Aion recited a small prayer to his Kagetsu lord as picked the blade up and pocketed the yen.   In remembrance to those nostalgic days he began practicing the forms he had been drilled on for so long.  He mocked battle the Kagetsu lord who bested him every single time they had dueled.  Aion swung swiftly, his lord dodged.  His opponent swung low hoping to destabilize his footing but Aion had learned well and blocked the attack before he aimed a strong kick at the man’s gut.  He was sweating before the bout was over.  He still hoped.

Aion followed the somber melody that still haunted him.  She had moved, not healed.  He traveled most of the night tracing Kiyo’s footsteps.  What he discovered would have appalled his master.  The milky white Nanjirou tracked her to lone cave at a hillside.  She slept soundly on the dirt; even as detached as he had grown, he couldn’t fight the revulsion that had been instilled in him for those few years.  Still he could not step forward and wake her.  Aion crossed a line when he placed a hand on her, he had defied his master and his own word.  Ashamedly he drew back but only after he left a new pair of gifts.

Spoiler: His swords (Kinda important)


Kiyo:



Kiyo awoke with the impression she had not been alone, ribbons of sunlight stretching from the entrance of her little domain. She attacked at them mercilessly, cutting their path short to save her eyes and head the pain they brought. She had closed the entrance, she was certain she had closed that entrance, she had used her ninjutsu and buried herself deep underneath, she remembered, or maybe not. Had she closed the entrance or had she left one to watch the stars? How many times had she watched the stars, how many times had she closed the cave. Was this the same cave or another cave? What was the difference, someone had been in her cave and she did not like it. Like a kiss received during sleep, she could not be certain it was true or if her dream muddled mind wished it. No, she would never wish for his company again! Never!

Cold steal on her arm, the familiar shape she'd seen so many times during girlhood she thought she could still see it if she pressed at her memories. Those memories were fleeting, involving the pale faced boy that had so ruled her younger years. Bastard.

These swords, these ever important swords, their names had been on her lips their last meeting, hadn't they? 'Give me your swords, Aiko?" Something like that, maybe a little more eloquent, in the way she thought she should speak. Give her the swords, a small punishment, and he could stay. Hadn't he known what a small, meaningless gesture it would have been just to stay? Then, him gone, gone completely, and everything went dark. Everything went terribly wrong.

"Bastard," she called aloud, as if her could hear. Why now, why when the blades in her hands were meaningless? Why dredge up such a sour memory? He couldn't belong to her anymore, she barely belonged to herself anymore, so why would he give her these now? Why not then, why couldn't it have been then?

"Bastard!"

He would bow, the first sign of obedience in their life, and smile in that ironic way he always had. He would value their village and value her too much to leave then, his swords would be a small, temporary, price to pay. She would wear them awhile, a sign to the people she could maintain control of even then most volatile of their members. He would make her life hell, working around her at every step and yet always maintaining that carefully groomed appearance. One day he would steal the swords back, and she would let him in exchange for a proper, private conversation. Everything would be mended and she could return to enjoy their squabbling bred from a lifetime together.


Aion:



Aion returned to the cave long after Kiyo had awoken and abandoned her temporary abode.  The results of his twin gifts were evident.  She had taken his twin blades but had also disappeared along with them.  He had wanted to display his sincerity of his approach, to correct his previous most injurious of insults with this symbolic gesture and only to receive once again no sign that she understood.  He sat in that cave pondering his next course of action.  The white wanderer could only track her for so long before he was forced to realistically examine his chances of reconciliation and return to the mocking woman’s side.  He raised himself up from the dirt floor brushing the debris off of his white coat and began to walk out before a glimmer caught his eye.  Aion walked over to a nearby corner and stooped to retrieve a small headband with Kumogakure’s standard and a battered book called: “The Fox and the Hedgehog by Kagetsu Kiyo.”

The Fox was one day playing in the garden, planting all sorts of seeds.  She had hoped that they would grow into healthy vegetables and fruits so that she could share with all of her friends.  She worked hard to weed and worked hard to water and worked hard to make sure no bugs ate them before they were ready.  One day though, the hedgehog as grouchy as ever came sniffing at the garden.  He furled his nose before asking the fox, "Why are you growing vegetables?”

He journeyed northwards into the untamed wilderness once again following the signs under the moonlight’s grace left by a woman in distress.  Aion walked for hours until he stumbled onto a particularly tragic sight, one so nostalgic to the exile.  He began examining the body that had not long before been a thief working to pry his blades from Kiyo, examining the cuts and evisceration so sloppily employed but effectively accomplished.  The albino gritted his teeth in an instance of choler.  He recognized the clean slice far too well for it to be a coincidence; the characteristic slices of Haruspex and Austere.  Cursing himself for his inability to watch Kiyo throughout the day, he dragged the man into the nearby field and constructed a cairn on his body.  Aion did not know his name and could not offer a single prayer; not that Raiden would deem him worthy of attention.

The Fox almost didn’t understand the question.  She just couldn’t think of what other reasons why she would work so hard if not for her friends to enjoy the vegetables.  She tried to explain but was shocked to find that the hedgehog already began angrily digging at the vegetables and taking bites.

”I don’t think they taste really good,” he managed to speak as he munched on zucchinis, carrots, lettuces and much, much more.

The sojourner arrived at the forest he had deduced she had moved into.  His cowardice the previous night had created another victim for his twin blades.  It had not mattered why she had killed him nor what he had done, Aion only knew that if he had spoken to her, perhaps her fury would have been appropriated a more appropriate target, or at the very least kept away from the foolish man that had angered the former Raikage.

He walked serenely through the forest that reminded him of his former home, the woods that surrounded Kumogakure.  Memories of chirping birds, running squirrels and the lively cheering of children had been their soundscape.  Aion and Kiyo had played with Mizuki on the few days they had not been at each other’s throats decimating yet another store’s merchandise or generally assuring they would receive no paycheck for their services rendered.  A couple more hours faded into history before he finally had reached the peaceful glade that embraced Kiyo tenderly, as if it had known her need.  Aion removed his coat and moved in silently through the trees.  He covered her, assuring she had enough protection from the cold before he returned to the ground.   Then he stood to watch her until she woke, and if not, disappeared at dawn’s early light.

The Fox was angry at the Hedgehog.  She worked too hard and not only did he not thank her but he made fun of her while doing so.  She calmed down for a second breathing in and out.

Before she threw the hedgehog in a hole and buried him from the neck down.


Kiyo:


The first drops of freezing spring rain woke her from her hazed dreams. The smell of damp earth and leaves met her awareness, reminding her of her ill choosen place to slumber and a recnt meeting. She blinked, feeling the sticky remnants of sleep in her eyes, and wondered at the time of day.Had she slept long or short, would there be fresh bread to eat or the end of stew. There would be nothing if she did not get up and walk, and soon she would be drenched through. Cold rain had a nasty habit of making one ill.

She drew up and with care and brushed the errant locks of hair away that tickled at her nose and mouth. On second though she drew her entire mass of red hair back and painfully began to separated it. One braid, she decided, as leaves and soil shook free, a long braid like she had worn as a chuunin and jounin. If old memories insisted on dogging her so, she would continue to give them something to think on. She'd begun braiding it after he'd teased her hair, always bushy and impossibly to placate in her youth, looked like the tail of a fox.

As if thinking about him made her awareness stretch, Kiyo knew suddenly that she was not alone. Her breath hitched and her fingers paused in their work. The clarity should have warned her, her thoughts were not stumbling forwards and backwards over themselves like usual. The gibbering mad woman had fled again, and she wondered at that. What about him made that everything smooth out, like the wind taken from the lake or the touch of iron to fabric. Was he removing or adding something important? Another breath and she continued on, tension between her shoulders. She became aware that while her head was way the dampness of the rain had not breached her clothing. She was curiously warm but the shift of a shoulder explained that. His coat, she could tell by the scent of it.

"Harunezumi,. I suppose you think you're clever hiding from a blind woman," she chastised, in a quite voice, hoping with pleasure that he would have to lean in to hear her. She flung her finished braid over one shoulder, its shape crude and the hair tangled, wet. It was the rain, she realized, that had allowed for her to be aware of him at all. The soft static of the rain was disrupted by his man shaped from with did not echo the same as tree or rock. If she every wished to fight, which was not very often, she would do so in heavy rain and fog. There were certain advantages to this.

"You're going to catch a cold, then blame me for it. I'd rather you did not," she shrugged her small frame from the jacket and held it out towards him. The cold was biting, a reminder that winter had not been so long agao. She forgot in her exuberance of spring, the birth of a new year after so much stifling snow. She absolutely hated winter. "Go on, before I have to bury you again, Harunezumi."


Aion:


The white wanderer watched her rise an hour before dawn from her sleep and clumsily attempt to prepare herself, a remnant of her more orderly days.  She didn’t notice his white coat adorning her, she did notice the sound of rain striking his person as she questioned him without once turning to face him.

”Many people attended my pre-mature burial Kitsune-Chan, but not a single one that had known me personally.  Only those who had exposure to my reign as Raikage appeared, mourning the death of their dedicated leader that by his own agency changed the inner workings of Kumogakure to, what I’ve heard some say, its latest Golden Age,” a voice answered from behind.  Aion stood in the darkness seemingly impervious to the frosty chill winds that assaulted him throughout the dying night.  He didn’t bother smiling at Kiyo, she could neither see it nor did he feel the urge to with his latest, morose of an observation.  ”Do you have any idea what it’s like to hear word of your own funeral?   What about to hear that no friend or family came to your side to make peace before you were forever laid in the Earth’s cold embrace?  I do.  It would be an embittering story if I honestly thought anyone would pay my words enough consideration to empathize or maybe if I weren’t sharp enough to fully comprehend my role in accomplishing that little task.  No Kitsune-chan, I don’t need my coat, not as much as you do, and you are, once again, not obligated to make an appearance the next time an albino hedgehog dies.”

He ignored her effort to return his coat as he drew his vest close to protect himself from the cold.  It had been a particularly insightful experience to the notions of his alienation.  Certainly they had claimed to love him and respect him, to emulate and maybe even surpass his legacy in his honor.  He was an open challenge to Kumogakure, a symbol that through merit even the most unfortunate of children could surpass their limitations and become some of the fiercest warriors to ever walk the Earth and the most beloved of leaders.  Aion died alone that rumored day far from fan or friend.  A fake corpse lay under a solitary hill rarely visited as a barren tree stood in eternal watch.  Ah!  The gift of a misrepresented life and the limits of reality to enforce it.  Aion became saturated in the rain, doing little to avoid it as he continued to look behind to her intermittently to assure she was still there listening to his self-earned story.

”Of course, my refusal would only carry weight if I had still swords Kitsune-chan to express my commands.  I wouldn’t be able to fight you off if you truly were to attempt to bend me to your will as expected from a Raikage to a petulant rogue reluctant to recognize her authority,” he also added, referring specifically to the transferred ownership she had already utilized against human flesh.


Kiyo


With stiff back and absolute composure, Kiyo listened to his tirade. Something like that must have weighed heavily on his mind for it to be let loose so easily. Perhaps she had stumbled across some choice turn of phrase that, after decades, would finally prove the essential way to unlock the feelings of this stubborn man. When they yelled, screamed, stomped feet or tossed toads t one another the true issues were never addressed and yet here he was, sharing. Curious that, it made her skin crawl and she could not name why. She turned her head, to give the illusion of polite listening while her mind wandered down that thread of thought.

Her face fell as she realized. "You've grown," she observed quietly, troubled by this as she had been back in her shabby room nights before. The idea that he, Aion, could outgrow her stuck a sword right through her heart. If he grew past her, grew past all their dancing around one another, what would they have left? In forgiving him she let him free and then she would be alone again. He had no right to that, he had no right to evolve into the better person. The monster inside her rolled, snarled, and she found herself losing her temper, "Are you done whining like an adolescent girl?" She snapped waspishly, narrowing her eyes and glaring inches off their mark, "Because I'm quite sick of hearing from the man who abandoned me on so many levels I can't even begin to express to you how little I care."

She could have gone into great detail about how he had left her in one of the most difficult stages of her Kageship and practically doomed her to fail. She could have told him how she had been left friend and enemiless.  There was the excruciating month it had taken her to fall into the black void of madness, the deep despair that came with knowing that no one even hated her enough to wish her as dead as she wished herself. hen there were sparks of memory, knowing that no one had ever tried to follow her, the painful empty stomach, knowledge that she had killed for food, the inability to grasp at reality. Then had come the obsession, the need to fix that which had led her down a dark path. Do many degrading things done just to be herself again, she wished to never remember them again. All that, and he was sniveling about how no friend had attended his fake funeral? She'd probably been sleeping in a ditch or alley, Raiden strike him, so he could stuff it.

With a snap of her wrist and fluid twist she unraveled his coat and drew it around herself. She drew herself up very deliberately, assuming the pose her mother had taught her well then simply shook her head in meaningful disappointment. With grace she stooped to pick up the blades then stopped and gave that some thought. His last words had stung, a reminder of the mistake she had made and all the mistakes her had made afterwards. Then, more sharply she remembered a haze of killing a man with these swords. "Take them back," She said softly, fixing him with a remorseful frown, "I never wanted to control you, Aiko-chan, it was something else. You don't understand."

She turned and picked her way through the trees while humming a melancholy tune to mark her path, "Come along, you're here so you may as well keep me company." She called back after a moment, unwilling to tell him how afraid she was her mind would go again as soon as he left her, "I don't want to walk all day in the rain."


Aion:


So they walked in unison down that dark, soaked path that smelled so vividly of damp earth and growth underneath the moon’s twilight.  The white wanderer remained silent to her vicious retort, still unable to completely convince himself to the legitimacy of his particular claim.  So he did what was now becoming the typical response of a man haunted by the shadows of his past misdeeds.  Aion gave a curt bow and shot a sly smile in the direction of the woman that had ceased to appreciate the visual.  That proud figure erected upwards in full magnificence, the man who walked with tamed fury rippling under every muscle in his body, the being whose silent footsteps reverberated with the intensity of tumultuous fury of lightning, the shinobi that even his submission continued to demonstrate the wild rebellion that had defined his servitude, whether genuine repentance or elaborate façade, spurned the return of his blades with a wave of his alabaster hand.

”I’m still ignorant to the vast complexities that have defined our… friendship… since those early days, but I’ve grown fond of the weightlessness around my hips when I walk and the absence of steel in my hands,” he spoke as they walked together in unison.

He didn’t reach for her hand this time as he responded to her second request.  Much to her chagrin, he would not make adolescent efforts in reconciliation, the juvenile tendency to confuse love with hate and to erase the turbulent past with half-hearted acceptance of complex machinations that had defined them for many a frozen moon.  Aion grew drenched with the falling rain, his silver waist-length hair heavy as they walked without a single word.  Again he had no words for her admonishment, his most devious of sins committed in spite of the pledge that he had made to her father in what had been revealed soon to have been her finals days.  How could he be angry at her for her reaction?  She would bleed if he would cut her… no; she had bled when he had cut her.  Time may have stayed his hands from lashing with the slice of the blade but she still sported the scars he had inflicted, unable to abolish their interactions that through no fault of their own had thoroughly been intertwined with any fond memories of the past.  No gesture would comfort those wounds he could not comprehend now or especially then when his aggression had been the shield to his vile hetoimasia.  Had it been a saddened ghost or his own conscience that drove him?  Even he was unsure anymore.

”Have I ever told you about the day that doomed us?” he asked as he broke the silence.

A younger albino entered the elaborately decorated study of the Raikage.  The walls were lined with volumes of antiquarian lore, fantastically stroked paintings, and the traditional earth ware from the genesis of Kumogakure onwards, all working on the erudite mystique of Lord of Lightning.  He walked to the ancient mahogany desk that the Lord Kagetsu currently employed timidly after having been summoned from his post by dawn’s early light.  The boisterous man appeared more aged than usual.  The ongoing hostilities between Kumogakure and Waterfall had promised nights without rest and days without peace.  The albino shinobi stood straight before he saluted his Lord without the soon to be characteristic derision of his later years.  ”Lieutenant Kagetsu Aiko reporting sir,”he introduced himself formally to the man that had long ago adopted the pallid orphan.

The man before him gave a gentle smile as he rubbed his own temples.  He raised himself while offering the seat before him to his pupil.  At ease Lieutenant,” he ordered before he sat himself down again.  The Kagetsu Lord continued hastily scribbling on the bureaucratic nightmare of paperwork before him before he gave his undivided attention to white warrior.  ”I called you here for a reason Aiko.  There’s been rumors floating about that I feel obligated to explain to you.”

Aiko could only barely manage to stifle the rush of excitement that struck him in that second.  Despite the Kagetsu claim of never stooping to gossip, he had spied many a member in heated whispers over the official selection of Michi’s heir.  Aiko had repeatedly been the favored selection over Kiyo’s candidacy based on the nature of his Taijutsu proficiency, always a Kagetsu pleaser.    He feigned ignorance with a puzzled stare before he answered, ”I’m not exactly sure what you mean sir.  It’s common knowledge by now that Waterfall has attacked our entrenchments.”

The boisterous man chuckled to himself at the completely hollow attempts of obfuscation as he lit a cigar.  ”Now now, I may be sequestered here but that doesn't mean I've become a fool Aiko.  I meant the rumors regarding the announcement of my successor,” he continued as he puffed away at his cigar.  ”That’s why I called you here because I want you to know before I make my announcement publicly at the gala tomorrow.  I want to know I have your full support when I announce that I've selected Kiyo to succeed me in the office of Raikage.”

Those had not been the words he had been preparing for.  In a quick sentence a sense of achievement into a vacuity of sense.  He shook as the Kagetsu Lord continued elucidating, words that he could no longer comprehend in his increasingly firm grip of fury.  His heart beat madly in his chest and he didn't remember when exactly he stood up and hurled that desk aside.  He wasn't sure when he grabbed his mentor by his shirt or when exactly he pressed him against the wall in blind loathing.  ”How can you pick that sniveling brat.  Since day one I've proven I could defeat her.  I humored your request to train her because we both knew she was doomed to fail by her own merit.  The fact that you even dare to designate that frail, pathetic girl is an abomination,” he spit venomously his hand clutched the Raikage's throat.

Time slurred the events into a sludge of reality.  Aiko didn't remember the doors bursting nor when the five ANBU pulled him away from the Raikage, holding him down barely as he struggled to charge the man.  Aiko wriggled away from their prying grasps before drawing his sword.  The ANBU swarmed him in tactical formation as he began parrying their assaults before a clear booming voice returned reasoning to the tempest of a man, before his blade found blood.

”Aiko!  Control yourself before we put you down,” he ordered as he responded as he unsheathed his own blade.

The milky-white Nanjirou dropped his blade while he struggled to maintain his apotheosis.  He wanted him dead.  He wanted those ANBU dead.  He wanted to burn Celeste and slay anyone foolish enough to show their face in his mania.  Aiko dropped to the floor presenting his neck as he continued his nearly futile efforts at self-control.  The large man walked to him, placing the flat of the blade upon his neck before ordering the ANBU squad away.

”I didn't ask for you to be happy about this, only to respect my decision,” the man scolded towards the crumpled Kagetsu albino.  ” Kiyo would have never reacted as poorly as you did, that’s why I selected her.  I do not doubt your abilities but you are still rash and brazen.  You lack the maturity, the compassion, the love that a Raikage needs to serve his people.  These are not weaknesses; these are the only reasons why I have the strength to allow you to leave this room unmaimed and return to your post.  This is why tomorrow you’ll appear elegantly and applaud my decision when everyone else remains flabbergasted.  This is why I’ll never breathe a word of this to anyone.  I had hoped that you could understand my decision but now I demand you obey my order if you respect your life.  Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

Aiko wiped the bitter tears as he sheathed Shingontachikawa.  He walked towards the door in shame before he turned back to see the face that had always smiled at him, now contorted with disappointment.  Against all better judgment he spoke one last time, ”I apologize for my transgression sir.  I wish to seek penance.  I implore you to assign me to Major Kenji’s command.”

Until his dying breath, Aiko would never be able to remember if it had been anger or fear in those eyes when the Lord Kagetsu simply answered, ”Of course.”


Kiyo:


There was probably some deep meaning in his willingness to give up his blades now, but she refused to analyze it too closely. The bitter self hissed of his abandonment, of gestures made too late and she was too weak to consider it further. However, she was surrounded by the scent of him as she was shrouded in his coat, and Kiyo found herself enjoying it.

With the practiced ease of a well born lady she wrapped her own thin arm around his larger, muscled one. She could not tell who set the pace, only that it did not bother her or make her feel "I can think of many," she answered softly, closing her eyes against the moisture of the day, "There were many changes I never understood and not just between us." With a bitter sigh she leaned on his shoulder, enjoying the contact despite their subject matter. Company was company, bitter or not, and she had been without real company in so long.

Dressed beautifully, for it was her sixteenth birthday and a grand milestone to be allowed to celebrate, Kiyo had strained to find a happier day. There had been a great deal of stress in planning and arranging this party, an undertaking that was mostly her own as it's own right of passage. There were self set deadlines, emotional quandaries and matters to be set right that night and nothing would stand in her way.

The first hitch had been the way her avoided her. At first she had thought it to be coincidence, there were many people all moving about in groups and flurries that it was quite simple to find one's self across the room and away from target in an instance. However, as time passed she began to recognize a pattern in his movements, one that spoke loudly of evasion. Of course her mind made up excuses for him, they were as much friends and teammates as rivals and enemies that day and the biggest decision had been on that matter. Mizuki eventually came to her side and with a gentle pat settled all her worries.

None had been more surprised to find herself heir to her father than Kagetsu Kiyo. She knew, as he knew, she was unsuited to the physical hardships of the position, that she would never outstrip Aion or many others of their generation in power and power was the measuring stick of worthiness. She could not be the one man mountain that her father was and through power alone keep the enemies of the village in check. They were at war and yet the difficulties of it were no more than a few empty homes and the somber frowns of the knowing, her father saw to that, and so it would have been logical to choose someone whose strength would continue to keep the confidence of the people.

Like Aiko.

The pang of guilt was not enough to smother the overwhelming pride she felt in herself and the love she felt for her father as she was pulled in front of the crowd of guests and made to deliver a short, uninspired speech of gratitude to her father. He complimented her boldly, some of which was outright lies but had her blushing warmly regardless. Everyone pressed forward to congratulate her, as if to win some small favour in the far future.

Through it all she could feel the barely contained rage of the other half of her soul and it was she now that avoided looking to him. Under his gaze she would surely crumble.

Ever conscious of the sharp ears of her mother's family, it was not until later behind closed doors that she could finally ask, "Papa, why not Aiko? Everyone was so certain you would choose him. Even I know he is the better choice." Her only response was a sad smile, the hardened gaze of the unmasked Anbu guarding him, no explanation.

"I will apologize to him tomorrow if you wont tell me. Maybe we can come to some kind of agreement," she decided aloud, kissing her father on each cheek and returning to her party. He was her teammate after all and important to her.

But the next day he was gone and Mizuki was soon to follow him. She was thrown into work and training, spending every moment with her father or helping the mednin heal those fortunate enough to return injured. At first it was just a trickle of haunted eyed young men and women and sometimes she heard word from them of her lost friends. Soon there were as many coming home as leaving and she was given greater allowances to give orders. Her world narrowed to the map laden with little troops that pushed forward and backwards each day. It was by her hand the little stone Mizuki was removed forever from the map and she wept bitterly for it.

Years later he returned, injured like the rest, and her world shifted again as she gave over every moment to see Kumogakure's new hero healed. When he awoke, all hope was lost.

'It's probably for the best I don't know," Kiyo whispered to herself, brows creased with the strain of those memories, "I placed myself into a position of weakness in your regards, and I regret it bitterly. I should not have listened to Mizuki or Rikou, I should not have been the weak kneed child that I was. In wishing for your regard in those later years I fear I managed the opposite of my goal. We made comfortable rivals and I should have saved my smiles for the rare time I achieved victory. Maybe then your complete rejection would have been easier to stomach and I could have continued to use your harshness as a means of strength. I did, in a way, but not as fully as I could have. But then, perhaps your leaving would have destroyed me further then it has, as I might have relied too much on your antagonism to fuel my life." She stopped, squeezed his arm then sighed.

"I hate you," she whispered tenderly against the hiss of the rain, "It's overpowering."


Aion:


He could only smile half-hardheartedly at her declaration.

”You endured my sordid caprices for significantly longer than anyone could have reasonably been expected to, even beyond your potent patience.  If all you can manage now is to tell me how you much hate me despite all my hostilities and insubordinations throughout my tenure in your service then I must count myself as fortunate yet again for your strength.  Not that I would dare to belittle your well deserved revulsion,” thus spake the opaque spirit as they walked down a lonely path in haunted woods.

The white ghost halted his procession when they arrived at a cleared glade deep within the forest.  The droplets of rain soaked their exposed bodies as gray clouds stained the night air with its own melancholic glory.  The pale face of death watched her aged countenance analytically.  Aion moved aside her drenched hair before he came close to her, touching her forehead with his own.  His grip became firm, his heart began beating audibly in his white chest.

”You could have never gained my approval Kitsune-chan.  Your leadership could have been prodigal, it could have been mythic in its grandiosity, legendary in execution and utterly flawless to the point of establishing utopia and I would have never approved of you at the time.  You couldn't have been more patient nor could you have been a better person for me.  My rage's visibility was most obvious in your presence because you were a reminder, an unmerited role, of your father, of me, of what I thought should have been and what I thought was.  What you endured was an immaturity rooted in the burning passion of youth that I was too rash and brazen to temper with cool serenity beyond my years then.  The only way you could have won me over, earned my love, or even temper me to manageable animosity was to force me into maturity, to heal a wound that you even today know only little about,” he rambled heatedly as he forced himself to face Kiyo, the unfortunate focus of adolescent emotion.  Time had ultimately proven the sage lesson of his lord correct.  He had desired what could never be his because he could not understand then what was so obvious now.  ”You did what you could my darling.  That's all your father ever wanted you to do and what he knew others were too weak to accomplish.  You were strong and the fact you tried is a feat I have only in retrospect witnessed with awe.”

The Dawnbringer pressed her against his body with a sharp pull.  His arms squeezed her close to him as he laboriously exhaled.  He felt alive for the first time in two decades as he lay exposed to his own sins.  Kiyo would hate him and Aion would endure the retribution because he wanted to; he would reap what he had sown.  She would scold him, scald him, berate him or thrash him.  Maybe she'd cut, bruise or hurt him.  He'd endure it because she did.  He was alive. Yet...

”Show me your hate if it'll soothe you.  Do onto me what you've secretly dreamed when I left.  Hurt me like you wish you could whenever anyone mentioned my name.  Don't stop until you've been sated.  Don't stop if I scream or if I beg or even if I crumple up at your feet.  I want you to show me your hatred that I worked so hard to earn once upon a time.  Let there be blood on my part for once,” he whispered to her, refusing her space, provoking her distaste into action.

Never, he'd ruined it all.

In the cave she left that book, worn with age and well read. She wrapped it in the faded fabric of an old Kumogakurian headband with rest on it's edges and scratches in it's steel. It was shaped to match the smaller head of a genin, a curious memento for an odd woman to carry.

She left the cave, squinting blindly in the sunlight that would surely burn her skin that day. She wept as she walked, snarling viciously at anyone she passed on the roads. Once, driven by lust of the twin swords she cradled and the weakness she gleamed with, a man tried to steal from her. He died, and she wept for herself instead of the past. He had been alive, and now he laid dead and she knew it was her fault.

That night she added leaves to her hair as she slept in a glade of trees, the pilfered blankets still with her. Her body curled like Gwenevere around the swords which she each kissed each before she slept. Evil dreams again, ones that made her feel and her conviction wander, ones filled with dead eyes.