Chapter Text
As the two of them crested the hill, Inuyasha gently grabbed her elbow, her brows furrowed – bent on not continuing the conversation but he wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were bolted on Kaede’s hut. “Fuck,” he hissed, ears twitching with a barely restrained growl.
“What is it?” Kagome wondered, wide-eyed.
“Just great,” he muttered sarcastically, his shoulders sinking as he trudged forward.
When they both brushed under the curtain, her heart sank a fraction – cheeks humming red. She finally realized what he was dreading. Part of her wondered if they had missed an S.O.S., because everyone was nestled in the tiny space. Shippo and Kirara were playing with a dreidel. Miroku and Sango were attempting to tame their kids. Hojo was staring off into space, a forlorn expression plastered his face. But they weren’t what made her throat tighten.
Amongst the chaos was Sesshōmaru seated beside Rin on the far side of the hut. His back leaned against the wall his eyes not on the scroll in the young woman’s hand but on the girl herself. Kagome faltered mid-step. There was something in the curve of his shoulders, the loose sprawl of his limbs, that pulled at her. The pose was familiar, eerily so. It was the same effortless perch Inuyasha often fell into, all feral grace and casual vigilance. She instinctively grabbed the hanyō’s sleeve, every set of eyes stared up at them as the curtain sank to close them inside.
“About time ye both showed up,” Kaede muttered, “I thought I told ye both to be here in the morning.”
Kagome stared at her sandals, horrified.
She heard Inuyasha tick his tongue, “Keh - I don’t remember you saying that” he muttered, skillfully deflecting the accusation. Kagome remained behind his shoulder, unable to look anyone in the eye. He gently collected her arm, guiding them to their usual spot near the left corner. Tessaiga slipped from his belt as he balanced it against the wall. His hands were on her instinctively as he guided her to sit.
Her legs quivered like unstable sticks as she sunk to the ground. Kagome dragged her palm down her hair, making sure the raven strands were in place. Her thighs pressed together, a small tremble rolling down her shoulders as she struggled to ignore the sensation there. Very discretely she twisted, fabric catching her folds as more of him leaked. She blinked, attempting not to squirm. From the corner of her eye, she saw Inuyasha’s jaw clench, his gaze darkening to lust as his nose flared slightly. Heat rose to her cheeks as she finally found the courage to greet the room with her gaze.
A small squeak and a hopping speck pounced onto Inuyasha’s shoulder, “Master Inuyasha,” Myōga hummed, voice far too smug, “I trust your… rest was restorative?”
“Shut up,” Inuyasha growled, “You wanna keep breathing, don’t push me right now.”
“I’ve said nothing,” Myōga backpedaled, his voice tinny as he bounded backward in a flurry of nervous hops, probably weighing the value of his life against the cost of a few ill-timed jokes. He disappeared behind Kirara, wisely choosing silence over sass.
Kaede didn’t miss a beat. Her gaze, sharp as a needle, shifted toward the pair still dusted in the glow of embarrassment. She folded her hands atop the low table, fingers steepled with the deliberate patience of someone preparing to scold. “So, what were ye doing that was so important?” she asked, settling into her seat with a pointed look.
Kagome straightened, summoning the most believable frown she could muster. “I just wasn’t feeling well,” she said with a soft sigh, slipping effortlessly into the lie. “We had a late night. I don’t think we left here until way past midnight.” Her words clung to the air like steam, fragile and vanishing fast. Little white lies never hurt anyone, right?
Akitoki offered her a warm, sympathetic smile, clasping his hands in his lap. “Well, it is good to know you are feeling better, Lady Kagome,” he said sincerely.
A muffled snort of laughter betrayed Shippo from the other side of the room, and Kagome didn’t have to glance over to know his face was twisted into a mischievous grin.
Inuyasha cleared his throat, his voice a rough bark through the awkward quiet. “Yeah, so… anything new? Or are we just here to waste time together?”
Kaede lifted an unimpressed brow, eyes narrowing slightly. “How obligin' of ye to press progress when ye were the one late,” she quipped, her voice sweet with age but sharp.
Inuyasha’s jaw twitched. The old hag always had a way of striking nerves with her tongue. His gaze flicked toward Sesshōmaru. The daiyōkai hadn’t moved, but his golden stare was fixed on him with an unreadable glint, the barest suggestion of a smug tilt at his mouth betraying the satisfaction he found in the hanyō's discomfort.
“Well, it was my fault,” Kagome offered quickly, a weak but earnest smile touching her lips. “I asked him to stay.”
Kaede exhaled slowly, as if the weight of youth's excuses no longer surprised her. “Whatever ye say, child,” she muttered, turning her attention toward Akitoki. “So ye wish to return home then.”
He straightened at her gaze, brushing nonexistent dust from his robes. “Yes... I need to get back to help rebuild the shrine,” he said, voice laced with determined resolve. Then, more quietly, his eyes drifted toward Kagome. “My hope was that I could… that I could travel with you on your way north.”
Inuyasha’s ears flicked, his irritation flaring almost instantly. “Tch. We’re not a damn escort service,” he grumbled, arms folding tight across his chest.
Kagome shot him a glare, elbowing him in the ribs with practiced precision. “Inuyasha,” she hissed beneath her breath, “will you just be humble for one minute? We are already going that direction. It won’t be an issue.”
His hand slid over her thigh, claws flexing just enough to catch the fabric. He leaned down, voice rough and low against the shell of her ear, quiet enough that only she—and maybe a few keen-eared yōkai—could hear. “I already told you how I feel,” he growled, his tone laced with possessive heat.
Kagome met his eyes, her own fierce but pleading. “We have to help,” she whispered, leaning into his quiet fury. “He came to us. Come on, Inuyasha…”
His mouth tightened. A sigh shuddered from his chest as his brow furrowed. His nose brushed gently against her temple in a gesture more instinct than thought. “Ya better not slow us down,” he muttered, eyes darting to Hojo with veiled suspicion.
“I understand, thank you all the same,” he nodded, Kagome could see the anxiety plastered behind the man’s eyes. She felt bad for him, why Inuyasha had to be such a jerk was beyond her.
“You won’t be slowing us down, I’m intending to walk, so the pace will be manageable,” Kagome assured, her voice steady. Inuyasha’s hand tightened just slightly on her thigh — enough for her to notice.
Akitoki flushed, bowing his head. “Thank you, Kagome,” he said softly.
Inuyasha leaned back, claws flexing as he tilted his chin, voice low but carrying. “I had no plans for you to be walking.” There was something about his tone, smug and indolent, that made Kagome pause. Her breath caught. The meaning coiled beneath his words, shameless and buried just deep enough to question.
Across the room, Miroku choked mid-sip. Sake sprayed in a sharp sputter.
“Gods—Miroku!” Sango barked, smacking him hard between the shoulders.
“My apologies,” he wheezed, dabbing at his chin with a sleeve. “Just went down… wrong.”
Inuyasha leaned in, close enough for only her to hear. His breath grazed her ear like heat. “You can barely walk now,” he murmured, voice thick with challenge. “You think that’s gonna be any better by morning?”
Kagome flushed so fast she saw stars. Her nose wrinkled as her teeth sank into her bottom lip. A dozen biting replies vied for space, but one rose to the tip of her tongue with effortless precision. Her brow arched. “You had all day with me,” she taunted in a whisper, “You think all night will make a difference?”
She saw the faint pull of his cheeks, a twitch at the corners of his mouth. He was biting them—either to rein himself in or keep from grinning. A shadow settled behind his eyes, dark and heady, like someone who’d just been dared to finish what he started.
Kaede didn’t look up from the scroll she’d been rolling between her fingers. “If ye are quite finished,” she said, her voice dry, “there’s still strategy to discuss.”
Kagome straightened. Inuyasha merely grunted, his hand sliding away, but not without one final, deliberate flex.
“It’s clear I need to speak with Kōga,” Inuyasha uttered. “Assuming he’s finally over Kagome, we need him to be willing to call in his pack when that bastard shows up again.”
Shippo muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “good luck with her smellin’ like that,” but Kaede kept the conversation moving.
“The wolves should be the least concern,” Kaede said, “I’m sure Kōga will be more than willing to come to our aid. The owls on the other hand, you must gain their trust. Kagome, ye will likely be of great value to them. Ye know of a world they have never seen. That could come of use.”
Miroku leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “So, what exactly are we asking of them?”
Kaede exhaled slowly through her nose. “Knowledge. Relics. Perhaps armor— They’ve endured in silence for centuries, guarding truths few ever glimpse. What they possess may be what tips the scales in our favor.”
She paused, then added, “And if ye’re fortunate… perhaps even their counsel in battle. They are no warriors, not by nature—but their strategy is sharp. Sometimes wisdom cuts deeper than any blade.”
Kagome adjusted the hem of her sleeve absently, her mind already picking at threads. “Well.. they won’t be swayed by flattery,” she said, voice low but certain. “Not unless there’s purpose in it. Everything they do has weight.”
“So do ye have a plan?” Kaede wondered.
“My intent is to be honest,” Kagome said with a small shrug. “Whatever they wish to know, I’ll tell them.” Her gaze softened as she continued, that familiar spark kindling behind her eyes, one even Inuyasha had begun to look for. “From what I’ve read, their intellect is unparalleled. They don’t just collect knowledge, they embody it.” A quiet smile curved her lips. “Frankly, I’d welcome the chance to speak with them if it means earning even a glimpse of what they guard. The depth of their insight… it’s the kind of thing you could lose yourself in. It’s almost unfathomable.”
Kaede’s head tilted, the parchment roll still in her lap. “Ye read about them in ye’re time?”
“Absolutely,” Kagome said, brightening. “They were one of the clans I always wished I could’ve met.”
“You admire them,” Sesshōmaru spoke, his voice low and unreadable.
Kagome’s gaze snapped to the daiyōkai. He hadn’t moved, yet something in his stillness shifted. His eyes, gold and sharp, lingered on her with a kind of calculating attention. As if he were parsing her down the middle, weighing her words for something deeper than intent.
“Strange,” he added, cool and composed. “To speak with such reverence for beings you’ve never encountered.”
Kagome felt the jolt in her chest before she masked it. Sesshōmaru speaking was rare enough. Addressing her directly? Unheard of. And yet, she didn’t shrink from it. She pressed down the flicker of anxiety in her stomach and forced her spine to straighten.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she countered. “They know more in a single talon than most of us could hope to gather in a lifetime. Knowledge isn’t just something they pursue, it’s their vocation. Their entire existence is devoted to understanding, preserving, cataloging the world. That kind of purpose…” Her voice softened, not with uncertainty, but something close to awe. “…that’s something I respect.”
It was infinitesimal, but Sesshōmaru’s head tipped ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing in a way that could have been thoughtfulness, or warning. “Fascinating,” he said, voice low, smooth like a drop of water rolling across silk. “That you hold such value in knowledge often acquired through intrusion.”
Kagome blinked, the shift in tone catching her off guard. It was deliberate and cold in a way that reminded her exactly who was speaking. Sesshōmaru didn’t look away.
“What they know, they do not always earn,” he intoned. “The parliament are not scholars. They are collectors. Their wisdom is vast, yes… but much of it extracted, not entrusted.” His voice was quiet, the gravity of his words unsettling yet undeniable. “You may speak as you wish,” he continued, gaze still locked on her, “but do not mistake their pursuit for understanding as humility. To them, knowledge is not a gift. It is a resource.”
The words rooted in her chest like a stone sinking into deep water. A thread of unease wound through her. The shimmer of awe she’d carried about them dulled, tempered by a sudden awareness she hadn’t fully considered.
Watchers. Thieves. They had always stood, in her mind, as paragons of intellect, custodians of forgotten truths. But his voice, quiet and deliberate, had cracked that image like glass. She had admired their relentless pursuit of knowledge. But she hadn’t paused to question what that pursuit demanded or devoured in return.
Sesshōmaru’s gaze slid to Inuyasha, impassive and sharp as ever. “She bears every trait they covet. She is not of this time, nor of this world. She has immense spiritual power, is unbound by tradition, and tethered to you — a creature they deem aberrant.”
Inuyasha’s ears flicked sharply. “Watch your mouth.”
Kagome’s breath caught. The implications of his words threaded too neatly with her deepest, unspoken fears: That her difference wasn’t just unusual… it was valuable. That to them, she would not be seen as an emissary, but a curiosity.
“Let’s take it back a step,” Miroku interjected, his voice careful, a measured weight in the tense quiet. “What you are telling us though is that we need to be vigilant during our stead—”
“If you don’t even trust them, then what the hell is the point of us going there to ask for help in the first place?” Inuyasha snapped, his sharp gaze digging into his brother.
Sesshōmaru did not flinch beneath Inuyasha’s glare. The elder brother regarded his younger sibling with that same cool indifference he’d honed for decades, but there was something else flickering beneath it now, a level of softness.
“I do not trust them,” Sesshōmaru said evenly, “but war is not won through trust. It is won through leverage and a common goal.”
Inuyasha’s jaw tightened, the muscle in his cheek jumping. “Leverage,” he muttered, almost like it was poison on his tongue. “And what—Kagome’s supposed to be that?”
Sesshōmaru’s gaze drifted back to her, inscrutable. “They will see her as such, should you fail to consider their nature. It is why I told you last night, she should not go.”
The air in the hut tightened. Pulled taut like a thread that might snap if anyone so much as breathed wrong. Kagome lowered her gaze. Her cheeks were flushed with a heat she hated, one of unease. She stared hard at her palms, fingers fidgeting along the lifelines like she could trace her way out of the moment.
“Last time I checked,” Inuyasha fumed, voice low and biting, “I don’t take orders from you.”
Sesshōmaru didn’t so much as blink. “No,” he said calmly, evenly. A beat passed. And then, with that infuriating calm of his: “But you rarely think past instinct. That much has not changed.”
The silence in the hut sharpened like a blade. Even the kids stopped moving. The twins, mid-squabble over a toy moments ago, were frozen like little statues, eyes flicking from one brother to the other. Kirara had gone stiff, tail twitching in a slow rhythm.
Miroku was mid-sip and didn’t finish it, cup hovering near his lips. Sango’s head tilted ever so slightly; an eyebrow raised like she was watching a game she didn’t ask to be part of. Shippo had let the dreidel spin until it fell with a faint tap to the floor. Even Rin had gone still beside Sesshōmaru, eyes shifting toward Inuyasha as if tracking where the next verbal swing might land.
“You know what,” Inuyasha growled, his hand sliding toward the scabbard of Tessaiga, “it’s the first damn day and you’ve already worn out your welcome.”
Before Inuyasha’s fingers could even brush the onyx sheath, Kaede’s hand struck the floorboards with a firm thump, her palm slapping down beside the scroll with more force than her aged bones should have allowed.
“That’s enough.”
There was a beat in the silence. “I’ve let ye speak. All of ye,” Kaede said, gaze moving slowly from Sesshōmaru to Inuyasha, sharp as a blade freshly honed. “But I’ll not have this hut become a battlefield for pride. Ye want to fight, do it outside, where the trees won’t mind listening to fools throw away good sense.”
Inuyasha’s lip curled, but his hand slid away from his sword. Sesshōmaru’s gaze didn’t waver, but the tension in his shoulders eased by a fraction.
“Ye speak of war,” Kaede continued, rising slowly to her feet, joints crackling like firewood. “Of threats and councils and ancient beasts. Yet here ye are, snarling like dogs over a bone. We face an enemy that strikes without warning and hides in silence. And still, ye let pride and old wounds steer the course. Ye forget what’s at stake.”
“I don’t care about who is right. I care that ye are wrong to let this fear and fury run the conversation. This storm gathering on the horizon is darker than any we’ve seen. And if ye mean to face it, ye’d best start thinkin’ together instead of tearin’ each other apart like dogs over scraps.” No one dared to challenge her.
“Now,” she muttered, returning to her seat, smoothing the parchment beneath her palm, “perhaps we can speak with the seriousness this deserves.”
Miroku cleared his throat after a beat with a nod, “Well-spoken Lady Kaede… I believe both sides have raised valid concerns. That said…” He turned his gaze toward Kagome, his tone gentler, “I’d like to hear your thoughts. What do you believe, Kagome? Because the choice is yours to make.”
Kagome lifted her head, blinking as though surfacing from deep thought. Her hands folded neatly in her lap, fingers threading. “I suppose it depends on whether we believe my presence could genuinely shift the outcome of the meeting,” she said carefully. “Because if I go and they decide I’m more valuable than the cause we’re bringing to their door…” Her voice trailed; the weight of the implication thick in the air. “Then I risk becoming a distraction.”
“At the end of the day,” Inuyasha muttered, his arms crossing slowly over his chest, “we’re walking in there to bring them a warning.” His gaze flicked briefly to Kagome, then lingered on Sesshōmaru, the tension in his jaw sharpening. “If Getsutsume can’t see past his own agenda or whatever vision of balance he’s chasing, to recognize what’s coming for all of us… then that’s on him.”
“What if they argue that she should be fed to him?” Sesshōmaru challenged, his voice never wavering, ice emanating from his tone.
A wash of trepidation crawled down Kagome’s spine, her shoulders rigid as her breath caught. The ground beneath the conversation shifted so fast. Inuyasha bristled beside her, ears twitching, the cords of his neck pulling taut.
“ What? ” Inuyasha glowered, a chill flooding swiftly back into the space between them.
“Ankoku wouldn’t tear open a gate to hell if you’d hand her over,” the daiyōkai continued, indifferent. “Quite opposite, he’d return to his slumber and peace would continue. That is what they will argue.”
The silence that followed pulsed, like a pressure drop before a storm. Kagome felt the weight of it crawl up her spine.
When Inuyasha spoke, his voice was a volatile rumble. “You think giving Kagome over buys us peace?” he seethed, eyes sharp and unreadable. “That’s not peace. That’s a leash.”
He turned to Sesshōmaru fully, a hand bracing the Tessaiga. “That thing is a parasite in this realm. We’ve let him persist—trespassing with impunity for centuries.” His jaw flexed. “But now, we have a chance to end it.”
His tone simmered, a low growl beneath the quiet edge of rage. “He’s mocked us with every soul he’s taken. And we’ve been complicit.” His gaze never wavered. “We were meant to hold dominion over this world. If that’s still true—then it’s time we honored what that role demands.”
Kagome gazed up at him, watching the fire behind his golden eyes. The silence that followed his words was weighted, thick with something unspoken but deeply understood. It was infinitesimal but she watched Sesshōmaru’s eyes widen a fraction before they narrowed.
Inuyasha was still angry; it clung to him, visible in the tension across his shoulders, the set of his jaw, the way his hand curled around the sheath of his sword. But it wasn’t the raw, rash anger she had once known. This was something steadier. It moved through him with intention, restrained impulse—like he had finally learned how to carry it without letting it consume him. A lump caught in her throat, her cheeks blushing in the slightest.
“And now,” Sesshōmaru said quietly, with a slight narrowing of his eyes, “you have your argument.”
Inuyasha blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone.
“They will test you,” Sesshōmaru muttered, his elbow resting indolently on his knee. “Probe your reasoning. Measure your convictions. Make it clear to Getsutsume: this is not merely about balance, but timing. That creature has evaded us for over a millennium—never by strength, but by strategy and our complacency. If that does not enrage them… then they are already lost.”
Kagome sat there…trying to catch up. Had Sesshōmaru really just done that? She blinked, eyes still on him even as he leaned back like it was nothing. He knew exactly what to say to draw that fire out of Inuyasha. To take the heat and moral fury brewing inside him and aim it. He hadn’t stopped Inuyasha’s anger, he’d sharpened it. Focused it. Sesshōmaru hadn’t simply argued his case. He’d orchestrated it
And the strangest part of all? He had done it for them.
She caught Inuyasha out of the corner of her eye. His jaw was still tight, but the tension in his shoulders had shifted. It wasn’t that same restless fury anymore. It had turned inward, tempered, like something in him had finally begun to settle.
“Well,” Miroku finally said, clearing his throat, “I suppose that’s our angle then.”
“Classic us,” Shippo muttered around a yawn, flopping onto his back with his arms behind his head. “Just stroll into some ancient clan’s home and tell ‘em they’ve been doing it wrong for centuries.”
A smile pulled at Kagome’s cheeks from the kit’s comment. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how easily he said it, like this kind of chaos had become their version of normal. The impossible plans, the mismatched team, the underdog odds, they’d done it all before.
“I mean… he’s not wrong,” Sango added, stretching her arms over her head with a low groan. “We’ve never exactly been known for our diplomacy.”
Inuyasha stayed quiet, unusually so. When Kagome glanced at him, his gaze was cast downward, brows furrowed in deep thought. Like he was still walking through the conversation in his head. She didn’t press. That kind of quiet usually meant he was taking things seriously. Sesshōmaru, meanwhile, had resumed his stillness like he’d never spoken at all. His expression unreadable, his golden gaze trained on the young woman at his side.
“Well, at least ye came to an agreement,” Kaede said at last, rising with a grunt and brushing her hands on her robes. “Now the lot of ye—I’ve got stew, but one of these days ye must replenish my produce. Ye eat like wolves.”
There was a low chuckle from Miroku. “A fair trade for saving the world, wouldn’t you say?”
Kaede didn’t even blink. “Save the world all ye like. Doesn’t mean I’ll suffer another week without onions.”
Steam lifted off the stew and the room loosened. Shippo and the kids ate like little monsters. Miroku edged his bowl in for seconds and caught a laser glare from Kaede that sent him back. Akitoki stood to help, nearly tripped on Kirara, and was gently steered into staying put. Rin said something low to Sesshōmaru—just enough to make the corner of his mouth think about moving.
Inuyasha stayed quiet beside Kagome, shoulders finally settling. His hand rested on her thigh until their fingers found each other and laced. Spoons knocked, kids giggled, the fire popped. For a little while the talk was small, the danger felt far off, and it felt like the moment before a journey with full bellies, shared air, and the steady comfort of not facing it alone.
The road called early the next morning, winding them steadily north until the trees thinned and the ridgelines grew jagged in the distance. By evening, twilight had begun its slow descent over the mountains. The highest peaks clung to a last thread of molten gold while the lower ridges melted into deepening blue. A crisp breeze filtered down, carrying the scent of pine needles and damp stone. The river below held what little light remained—a silver ribbon winding through the darkening land. Wisps of mist curled along its edges, and across the valley floor, thatched rooftops peeked through terraced rice paddies. Chimney smoke rose in thin, steady trails, fading into the still sky from the quiet village just beyond. Crickets replaced the cicadas, and swallows gave way to bats darting like shadows through the dim.
Kagome stretched with a soft yawn, her arms reaching toward the sky. “We actually made it before dark,” she murmured, a smile tugging at her lips. “We’ll even have time to eat before everything shuts down.” She bumped her shoulder lightly into Inuyasha’s, teasing.
He grunted, but his arm found her waist all the same, fingers curling against the fabric. He dipped low, nose brushing the crown of her head with a quiet, rumbling exhale. “Could’ve made it sooner if you’d walked faster,” he muttered. A playful scoff left her as she nudged him.
“Feels like old times,” Sango murmured, her voice touched with a wistful softness, as though the air itself had reminded her. A breeze caught a lock of hair at her temple, and Kirara bounded up to her shoulder in a flicker of pale firelight and warm fur, nestling with a quiet purr beneath her chin. She tilted her head, lips curling into a sly smile as her gaze slid toward her husband. “I wonder if Miroku’s still got the charm,” she mused, arching a brow with knowing mischief.
Miroku placed a hand over his chest with theatrical offense, staggering a half-step as though she’d struck him. “My beloved Sango,” he gasped, as though betrayed. “How little faith you have in me. If I’ve retained nothing else in this life, surely it’s the divine ability to secure both a hot meal and a roof before nightfall.”
“I’m not sure whether to be impressed… or concerned,” Akitoki remarked dryly from the rear of the group, adjusting the long strap of his pack across one shoulder. His attempt at levity came with a nervous smile.
Shippō leapt nimbly from the ground onto Akitoki’s shoulder, tail flicking with amused exaggeration. “Trust me, he’s not wrong. Spend enough time with these guys and you’ll start to wonder where the line between clever and questionable went.”
“That’s pretty accurate,” Kagome chimed in, spinning within Inuyasha’s loose grip to shoot the kitsune an astute smile. She walked backward for a few steps, balancing with the ease of habit.
Inuyasha gave a quiet sound of amusement before tightening his hold and effortlessly plucking her clean off the ground. A surprised squeak bubbled from her lips as her feet swept upward, the toes of her sandals skimming the road. Her hands found his shoulders instinctively, laughter bubbling as she twisted to look down at him, his smirk subtle but unmistakable.
“You were dragging your heels anyway,” Inuyasha muttered, the usual gravel in his voice rounded at the edges by adoration. The arm curled around Kagome’s waist flexed slightly, fingers pressing with quiet avidity.
“Not fair,” she huffed in return, folding her arms atop his shoulder in mock offense. Her pout was dramatic, but her eyes glimmered with amusement. She barely had time to react before his hand slipped lower, and with a sharp squeak, she wriggled in his grasp, heels kicking softly in protest.
“Inuyasha!” she hissed, though her tone was far more scandalized than upset.
“Keep it kid-safe, friends,” Miroku chimed with a knowing grin, the smooth cadence of his voice betraying how utterly unsurprised he was.
“That’s asking above and beyond Inuyasha’s capabilities,” Shippō added with a smirk, tail flicking as he perched on Akitoki’s shoulder like a tiny, sarcastic scout.
Kagome gave up the fight with a theatrical sigh, slumping against her hanyō porter and resting her chin atop her forearms. Her eyes fluttered closed for a breath, caught somewhere between playful exhaustion and peace.
At the rear of the group, Akitoki let out a low, steady breath as he shifted the weight of his pack for what felt like the hundredth time. The strap dug uncomfortably into his shoulder, but he didn’t complain. Instead, his gaze drifted ahead, drawn to the effortless way Kagome rested in Inuyasha’s arms, her laughter spilling like warm wind over the trail. The hanyō’s touch was casual and confident. Hojo’s mouth tightened, just barely, the corner of his expression flickering with something harsher than envy. A level of resentment slid behind his eyes.
“You alright?” came a voice at his ear, light but perceptive.
Startled slightly, Akitoki blinked and turned his head, Shippō’s tail was swaying with the rhythm of their walk. His green eyes sharp despite the teasing tone, and they didn’t miss much.
“Of course,” Akitoki replied with a polite smile, “Just a long day of walking, that’s all.”
Shippō tilted his head but didn’t push. “Fair,” he said simply. “You get used to it… eventually.” He stretched, yawning like a cat, then nestled in closer to Akitoki’s neck, small claws resting just lightly against the fabric of his collar. The motion was companionable, even kind. They walked in silence for a moment, the hush of the coming night folding gently around them.
The path had leveled now, snaking down into the edge of the valley where rice paddies shimmered faintly beneath the waning sun. In the distance, the first lights of the village glimmered faintly—warm amber glows behind paper walls. But no voices echoed, no children played, and doors were closed as the travelers finally neared. There was a tension woven through the air.
Akitoki’s eyes swept the narrow streets ahead, brows drawing together slightly. “Strange,” he murmured. “They’ve seen us coming for a while now… yet no one’s out to greet us.”
Inuyasha’s ears twitched as his eyes narrowed on the darkened silhouettes of homes ahead, their thatched rooftops leaning in the falling dusk. He set Kagome down gently, and she smoothed her hakama, her gaze trailing the empty street. The village was quiet. Too quiet. Their footsteps echoed faintly as they passed between the first houses, and every door they passed was drawn shut, the slatted wood catching the last sliver of light. Paper windows glowed faintly, shapes flickering briefly behind them.
Kagome’s gaze drifted upward, drawn to the sky where the sun had just vanished behind the last ridgeline. The horizon still clung to its afterglow, smoldering in deep ochres and bruised violets. It cast long shadows over the valley. The air had grown cooler, heavier somehow, the hush of evening settling across the land.
Before another step could be taken, a voice cracked through the quiet, “Stay where you are.”
The group halted as one, the suddenness of the command pinning them to the path. Eyes turned toward the source as a figure stepped from the narrow alley between two houses. He moved cautiously. He was probably middle-aged, with a slight build and a tension coiled in his shoulders. His haori, clean and carefully tied, but bore the creases of long days. In his hand, a iron lantern glowed softly, its light trembling with each gust of wind. It cast warm hues across his face, highlighting the weary lines etched deep around his eyes and mouth, lines formed by age and too many sleepless nights.
He squinted against the fading light, brow furrowed as he took in their shapes and weapons. “Who are you?” he asked, voice rough but steady. “What business brings you here at this hour?”
A moment passed before Miroku stepped forward with a familiar grace. His hands lifted in a slow, open gesture, his staff quiet against his shoulder. “Peace, friend,” he said smoothly with graced humility. “We are travelers, nothing more.”
The man’s lantern wavered as his eyes scanned the group—lingering, uncertain. His gaze slid over the monk’s calm posture and the warrior woman at his side, then paused on Inuyasha’s ears, half-hidden beneath silvery bangs. His frown deepened when he caught sight the miko and of Shippō perched comfortably on Akitoki’s shoulder, tail flicking with casual ease.
“A strange company you keep,” the headman said slowly, suspicion tightening the lines around his mouth. “Yōkai… walking side by side with humans?”
Inuyasha shifted slightly, weight settling in his heel, the dim light catching in his eyes—just enough to sharpen the outline of his silhouette.
“They’re not a danger,” Miroku said smoothly, stepping forward again before the tension could swell. His tone carried a practiced gentleness. “They are our companions by choice. They’ve saved lives more than they’ve ever threatened them.” The man said nothing at first, his eyes flicking between the silent hanyō and the kitsune, who offered a deliberately harmless smile. Kirara gave a soft, chiming mewl from Sango’s shoulder.
“I see,” he said finally, voice low. “Intentions or not, caution’s the only thing keeping this village alive these days.”
“Understandable,” Miroku said, dipping his head in a gesture of deference. He let a respectful pause linger before lifting his gaze again. “Still, I can’t help but ask… why is the village so silent? The sun has only just set, and yet the streets are abandoned. It feels less like the end of the day and more like the beginning of a curfew.”
The headman’s mouth tightened, his jaw working as though the words were caught between pride and fear. After a long moment, he exhaled—a slow, weary sound that seemed to drag years behind it. His eyes drifted to the mist gathering along the river’s edge. “We don’t leave our homes after nightfall,” he said at last, voice low and worn. “Too many have disappeared after dark.”
Kagome stepped forward, the crease in her brow deepening with concern. “This isn’t the first time we’ve come across something like this,” she said gently, her tone both calm and sincere. “If you’ll allow it… we’d like to help.” She flashed a reassuring, but earnest smile. “We have a decent track record when it comes to handling troublesome yōkai.”
The headman studied her for a moment longer, eyes lingering on the sincerity in her voice, the steadiness in her stance. Then he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Come,” he said simply. “My home isn’t far.”
He turned without another word, the dim lantern swinging gently in his hand as he led them down a narrow side path. The hush of the village followed like a shadow, every shuttered window and barred door a silent testament to something unspoken. No dogs barked. No voices drifted from hearth-lit rooms. Only the faint whisper of their footsteps on packed earth and the soft rustle of the wind through rice stalks filled the evening air.