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Father of the Son - Chapter 18: Fall of Leaves

Twenty-Five Years Since Daizen’s Death

The leaves started to turn, though they still clung firmly to their branches. The woods around the estate were a patchwork of greens and reds, like someone had spilled coloured ink.

The clash of steel rang through the courtyard.

Steel clashed again as Tōga parried Sesshōmaru’s strike, then deftly broke his son’s stance—almost toppling him to the ground. Sesshōmaru gritted his teeth as he regained his balance, breathing hard.

‘Again.’ Tōga’s voice was a quiet instruction. He wasn’t even remotely out of breath. His son had improved his sword fighting, certainly, but he still had a long way to go before he could catch up to the great general.

Sesshōmaru’s eyes narrowed and his grip tightened around the sword hilt. He attacked again, lunging for Tōga. Tōga dodged the strike and came up behind his son, tapping him lightly on the shoulder with the flat of his blade.

‘Your footwork has improved,’ Tōga said with a slight smile. ‘Now you just need to teach it where to go. Your thoughts are still catching up to your feet.’

Sesshōmaru pushed a strand of hair off his face. He looked irritated. Tōga grinned in response. ‘Again. Try to think ahead of your move this time.’

Sesshōmaru assumed a lower stance. He took deep breaths, readying himself to strike. Tōga could already tell where he was aiming. He thought of letting his son land a blow, but then he would never grasp that tactics were mightier than raw power.

Sesshōmaru sprang forward, blade coming at Tōga quickly. He sidestepped, hooked his sword against Sesshōmaru’s and sent both son and blade flying in opposite directions. Sesshōmaru managed to stay upright, ready to return to stance even without a sword. But Tōga had already walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder with his blade again.

‘... And that’s three.’ He smirked.

Sesshōmaru let out a groan of frustration. They’d agreed that, when one of them managed to strike three blows to their opponent, the training would be done for the day. Sesshōmaru had, once again, lost. He retrieved his sword, scowling.

He looked down at the blade in his hand. It was nicked and dented from sparring, but had never seen actual battle. Then again, neither had Sesshōmaru. He looked at his father crossly.

‘When will I receive a sword of my own?’

‘You already have a sword…’

Sesshōmaru clicked his tongue impatiently. ‘No, I mean a real one. Like Sō’unga…’

Tōga’s expression darkened. Sō’unga was a cursed sword, never meant to be wielded by anyone. Tōga only used it to keep it out of the hands of others that would be overtaken by its bloodthirst. ‘Trust me, you don’t want a sword like that—’

‘I just want a proper sword. One with a name! ’

Tōga sighed deeply. Sesshōmaru’s rising ambition was alarming, something he hoped to temper before it was too late. He weighed his next words carefully.

‘I didn’t earn mine by asking.’

The flicker of hurt in Sesshōmaru’s eyes made Tōga realise his words had landed poorly. He’d meant to say that Sesshōmaru would eventually get there. It took Tōga years before he could master a sword like Sō’unga—a sword he took from another demon. Tōga tried to remember if he had been this eager once…

The breeze blew leaves across the courtyard. One snagged in Sesshōmaru’s silver hair. Tōga went to remove it, but Sesshōmaru ducked away from his hand.

‘Don’t.’

Tōga let his hand drop. Sesshōmaru gave him a stiff, formal bow.

‘Thank you for the training, father.’

Tōga watched his son turn on his heel and walk away. An uneasy weight he couldn’t shake settled in his chest. He wasn’t sure what—only that the moment had gone awry.

* * *

Thirty Years Since Daizen’s Death

The sun was still warm, but the wind had chilled. Rust-coloured leaves blew elegantly across the courtyard, drifting over the ground with a sound like falling rain. The serenity of the garden, slowly shifting its colours to crimsons and yellows, belied the turmoil going on inside the main building.

Only hours ago, Tōga had stumbled in through the gates, propped up by one of his lieutenants. A human warrior had nicked his shoulder with a lance—barely a scratch—but the wound kept bleeding profusely. A healer on the field determined the lance had been poisoned and Tōga had been rushed off the battlefield immediately.

He now lay in his chambers, panting through the throbbing pain that shot through his arm and chest. His skin was ashen, his lips had gone almost grey. Beads of sweat covered his body like dew, rolling off onto the futon every so often. One of the healers concluded that the poison was taijiya made—likely the same kind that had killed Daizen.

‘It’s lucky it was just a scratch…’ the healer murmured on his way out.

Lucky… The arrow that felled Daizen had been laced with the same poison. A mere scratch nearly killed Tōga. Daizen, on the other hand, had been pierced deeply—he was impressed at how well the boar had lasted against the poison’s effects, all things considered.

Perhaps it was only proper that he die the same way his friend had. Tōga closed his eyes, almost waiting for Daizen to come greet him.

‘I’m catching up, old hog…’ he gasped into the empty room.

At that moment, a nasal voice spoke near his ear, far too loudly. ‘Milord… Great heavens, milord! Is it true…? You’ve been wounded by taijiya poison?’

Tōga half opened his eyes to glance at Myōga standing by his pillow. ‘What else does it look like?’

The flea yōkai scratched the back of his bald head awkwardly. ‘Uhm, you know, milord… I could suck out the poison for you.’

‘Don’t be an idiot…’

But Myōga had already stuck his proboscis into Tōga’s shoulder, swelling to twice his normal size. Thrice his size. Then he turned a sickly green.

He pulled away from Tōga, tottering back weakly. ‘Um—I’m so sorry, milord. I don’t think I can take any more…’

‘I told you not to do it, you old codger,’ Tōga mumbled weakly.

Myōga’s eyes spun rapidly before the flea keeled over and fainted. Tōga exhaled, half-laughter, half-exasperation.

He was about to drift back into feverish dreams when the door slid open. If he was going to die, couldn’t he be left to do it in peace?

By the whisper of silks over the floor and the poise of the soft footsteps, he knew it was Inukimi. Tōga kept his eyes closed, breathing in her jasmine scent as she approached.

‘You’re getting reckless to the point of carelessness, Husband.’ Her voice was as even as if she spoke of the weather.

Tōga smirked weakly. ‘You came to gloat?’

‘I came to forbid you from dying.’

Tōga laughed—a painful rasp that rapidly turned into a cough. ‘I’m the general. I should give the orders…’

A damp cloth was pressed to Tōga’s forehead. His eyes fluttered open in shock as the cold water sent shivers through his whole body. He blinked, surprised to see Inukimi gently pressing the cool cloth to his skin. She wasn’t the type to stay by someone’s sick-bed.

‘I refuse to lose you to a human blade.’

Her voice was quiet, almost as if she spoke to herself. ‘So you will get through this, whether ordered to or not. Do you understand me?’

Tōga gasped through gritted teeth as another wave of fever overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes. ‘I do…’

Tōga wasn’t sure how much time had passed—only that the light kept changing. Daylight, dusk, night, dawn—all blended together behind his burning eyelids. The sun was much lower on the horizon when he opened his eyes again. His bedding was damp with sweat and he felt clammy and hot all at once. He almost hoped the poison would claim him soon, just to stop the relentless swell and crash of agony. ‘Damned poison… You never said just how much it hurt, Daizen,’ he said ruefully to whatever ghosts might linger on the ceiling.

The door opened quietly. Tōga tried to sit up, but his body failed him completely. He couldn’t even raise his head.

His visitor’s self-assured steps faltered as they approached Tōga’s futon. He tried to sit up again.

‘S–Sesshōmaru…’ Tōga’s voice cracked slightly from the effort of lifting his head off his pillow. ‘Did your mother send you?’

He plopped back onto the bedding immediately, unable to keep his head up.

‘No. Mother said you might die… I had to see if it was true.’

Tōga tried to force a smile, but even that hurt. He forced his voice between pained wheezes. ‘You should believe her. She’s rarely wrong…’

‘Don’t die,’ Sesshōmaru said sternly. Tōga wondered if Inukimi had asked him to repeat her commands. ‘It would be irritating.’

Tōga sighed. Sesshōmaru’s bedside manner was as gentle as his mother’s. She had shaped their son into a blade so sharp, it was concerning.

Sesshōmaru knelt next to Tōga. ‘If you died, I’d have to start taking advice from the flea… And I’d rather not.’

He placed something next to Tōga—close enough for him to reach if he lifted his fingers. A wakizashi. The one he’d taught Sesshōmaru to polish, years ago.

When Sesshōmaru spoke again, it was barely louder than the rustling of the leaves outside. ‘Father... is there anything I can do?’

Sesshōmaru’s expression flickered with worry.

‘Don’t be an arrogant fool like me, my son…’ Tōga said through pained breaths. Sesshōmaru blinked. He knit his brow, not quite understanding.

Tōga wanted to elaborate, but he felt his throat closing. The effort of speaking was making him dizzy. He felt he was on the verge of passing out.

Sesshōmaru waited to see if he would say more, but Tōga merely closed his eyes. He thought he could hear Daizen’s laughter somewhere in the distance. He didn’t want to join him while his son was still in the room. Could the old boar not wait?

The door slid open again. Inukimi stepped in.

Sesshōmaru hesitated a moment. He looked back at his father, forgetting to hide the concern on his face entirely, then back at his mother. She gave him a curt nod. He got to his feet and left without another word.

Inukimi sat where Sesshōmaru had been only moments ago. She had brought a bucket of water with her and more cloths. She soaked one up and wrung it before patting it against Tōga’s feverish forehead.

‘You’re not allowed to die,’ she said coldly.

Tōga coughed. With effort, he found his voice. ‘I know… you already said…’

‘I will never forgive you if you do.’

He tried to chuckle, but instead choked on his own breath. He wished the damned fever would just take him already.

He fell into a fitful sleep with Inukimi kneeling by his bedside.

When he awoke, late the following afternoon, his fever had broken. He could breathe again. His skin felt less clammy. And yet, Inukimi was still pressing cold compresses to his forehead.

‘... How long have you been there?’ he asked hoarsely, unsure if this was the second or third time he’d awoken to her touch.

‘All morning and all afternoon,’ she said, removing the compress and wringing out a fresh cloth. ‘And all of last night, too. And the night before that.’

She spoke as though she hadn’t done anything of note. Tōga’s brow furrowed.

‘Did you sleep at all?’

Inukimi paused. She held the wet cloth limply, as though she had suddenly forgotten how to squeeze the water out. She didn’t look at him.

‘No,’ she finally admitted. ‘Your fever wouldn’t break. Someone had to watch you.’

Tōga smiled slightly—tired but sincere. ‘... Thank you. For staying.’

‘I didn’t stay for you,’ Inukimi said, turning to him. Now that he looked at her properly, Tōga could see the dark circles blooming under her eyes. ‘I stayed to ensure I wouldn't need to find a new mate.’

Tōga suppressed a smile. Inukimi’s ability to pretend she felt nothing was impressive.

‘You really should work on your bedside manner,’ Tōga said with a thin chuckle.

Inukimi placed the fresh compress against his forehead, more clumsily than she had while he was feverish. She sat back and turned away from him. Her fingers gripped the edge of the water pail tightly, almost for support.

‘... You really scared me.’ Her voice was barely a whisper.

Tōga’s jaw fell open. He stuttered for a moment. ‘What? Did you say—?’

Inukimi stood quickly, avoiding his gaze. Pretending nothing unusual had slipped her lips.

‘I’m tired,’ she said flatly, picking up the water and compresses from the floor. She walked out of the room. Not turning back once.

On a cushion in the room, Myōga—back to his usual size—came to. He wiped sweat from his brow. ‘Phew… That was a close one.’

He turned to Tōga. ‘Did I suck out enough poison to save the Western Lands?’

‘You managed to stall my funeral,’ Tōga said with a grin. ‘That’s something.’

* * *

Forty Years Since Daizen’s Death

The mountain was ablaze with scarlet and gold leaves. The air around Tōga’s estate was thick with the scent of dry foliage as the wind rattled the trees, stripping away at their autumn finery.

The scent of blood cut through it. Sharp and unmistakable.

Inukimi stood still as stone by the gate of the estate, wind tugging at her silver hair. She watched the road, waiting for her husband and son. She welcomed them with a nod and near-smile.

‘So. Your first battle.’ She looked over Sesshōmaru, assessing her son. He stood tall, uninjured, but sleeves dripping crimson. His hair was streaked with blood. His face caked in it.

Sesshōmaru set his jaw, a smile tugging lightly at his lips. ‘I cut them down before they could move,’ he said, only just shy of boasting. ‘Those nekomata yōkai didn’t even have the time to show their claws.’

‘Efficiency is commendable.’ There was a spark of pride in Inukimi’s gaze. She brushed a bloodied strand of hair from his face. ‘But how was your technique?’

Both she and Sesshōmaru turned to Tōga. Unlike Sesshōmaru, his armour was spotless. But his eyes were dark with something unspoken—watching his son fight and kill had hollowed something inside him.

He looked at their expectant faces and hesitated. Sesshōmaru had shown extraordinary skill on the battlefield—precise, but incredibly brutal. His bloodlust unsettled Tōga. If he hadn’t been there, would anything have stopped Sesshōmaru from chasing the “ultimate conquest” he once wished for?

‘His technique was clean. But his aggression…’ He gave Sessōmaru a troubled look. ‘He’s yet to learn that power without care leads to ruin.’

He moved past Sesshōmaru and gave him a pat on the shoulder. ‘Always beware of killing more than you need to. Death can’t be undone.’

He remembered how many needless deaths he had caused when he had sought vengeance for Daizen. It had fixed nothing. Only left bodies—and nightmares. He didn’t want his son to fall into that same pattern.

Inukimi’s brows drew together—subtle, but unmistakable. She might as well have screamed her disapproval at Tōga.

Sesshōmaru’s smile faded. His jaw tightened. His fists clenched until the knuckles went white. ‘What would it take for me to make you proud?’ he demanded.

Tōga couldn’t meet his eye. He knew his son had hoped for praise, but he couldn’t give it in good conscience.

‘Discernment, Sesshōmaru,’ he said quietly. ‘You never even asked why we were after those yōkai.’

The annoyance in Sesshōmaru’s eyes almost burned a hole through him.

Inukimi turned to him—head slightly tilted, her gaze sharp. ‘You never questioned your own ruthlessness,’ she said, voice like frost. ‘So spare him your wounded conscience.’

Tōga said nothing. He knew she was thinking of how he had scoured the Naritada clan from the face of the earth. And how he had felt justified at the time—arrogant fool that he was.

He let out a breath and turned his back to them, walking towards the main building.

Behind him, the silence was broken only by the flutter of Sesshōmaru’s bloodied sleeves.

I’m sorry, my son.

* * *

Fifty Years Since Daizen’s Death

The day Sessōmaru came of age was crisp and blustery, the air thick with the scent of damp, decaying leaves. The trees around the estate were now fully crimson, their leaves falling steadily with each gust of wind.

Though dead leaves piled at the foot of the trees, the courtyard remained pristine—not a pebble out of place, not a leaf to be seen. It had been cleared specially for this day.

Many had come for Sesshōmaru’s coming of age ceremony. Tōga’s vassals and allies surrounded the courtyard—a living wall of solemn onlookers. Inukimi sat on a dais, to Tōga’s left. The seat to his right was reserved for his heir, now stepping into his birthright and taking the first steps to becoming the next Lord of the Western Lands.

But neither Sesshōmaru nor Tōga were seated.

Both stood in the courtyard, facing each other. Tōga wore full armour over stiff black robes. Sesshōmaru wore new armour—gifted to him that morning and gleaming with lacquer—over a kimono patterned in autumn reds. He had removed his pelt for the occasion—Inukimi held it in her lap.

‘We’re lucky for the weather. It rained when I fought my father on my fiftieth year,’ Tōga said with a smile. Sesshōmaru did not return it.

Tōga’s smile faded, replaced by the same grave expression he wore during war councils. ‘Strike me once and earn your place.’

Sesshōmaru bowed stiffly in formal ritual. Tōga did the same.

‘I’m ready.’ Sesshōmaru’s voice was steady and determined.

Swords were drawn.

Father and son circled each other, sizing one another up. Tōga held his blade lightly, his grip relaxed. Sesshōmaru watched him like a hawk, waiting for a moment to strike. He had been honed for this very moment. His back was straight, shoulders tense.

Despite the wind and the murmuring onlookers, all Tōga could hear was his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. He was more worried about Sesshōmaru’s performance than his own. His son had become a magnificent swordsman, but his tactics still fell short.

Sesshōmaru moved—fast. Almost too fast. Tōga barely had time to react. He parried. Once. Twice.

Sesshōmaru feinted—sharp and sudden.

Tōga pivoted to shift his stance—Sesshōmaru slipped around it and struck.

A gasp rose from the crowd as droplets of blood splattered against the courtyard wall. Everything—even the wind—had gone still.

Tōga wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. He barely registered the sting—only stared at the thin smear of blood glistening on his hand. He looked up at Sesshōmaru.

He didn’t move. Only his eyes narrowed—his glare cutting straight through Tōga.

Sesshōmaru flicked what little blood there was off his blade and sheathed it. Tōga followed suit. They bowed to each other and the audience applauded. Some of it was genuine, but much of it was polite and stilted.

Sesshōmaru had come of age. According to tradition.

A servant handed Tōga a cloth to staunch the bleeding from his cheek. He took it gladly, eyes still on his son. He smiled. ‘Well done. You finally bested me.’

‘You let me win.’ Sesshōmaru’s lip curled in quiet disdain.

Tōga wasn’t sure what to say. He had meant to let Sesshōmaru win—but not to bleed. Not that far. He’d meant it as a gift—something to nudge his son forward. But Sesshōmaru hadn’t needed it. He’d feinted well and caught him by surprise. Or perhaps Tōga had held back too much?

‘Sesshōmaru…’ Tōga spoke softly. ‘Today is your moment.’

‘Tch.’ Sesshōmaru hissed through his teeth in derision. ‘Then why did you let me win?’

He stared daggers at Tōga. His glare remained on his father as he handed his ritual sword to a servant.

Then, he turned away and joined his mother on the dais, taking his place without looking back.

Tōga watched Inukimi help Sesshōmaru don his pelt once more. He still wasn’t sure if he had let his son win—or if he’d simply failed to keep up.

* * *

Sixty Years Since Daizen’s Death

Rust-coloured leaves fluttered on the wind. They brushed over the wilted blooms of red spider lilies in the garden, as if mocking them for fading on their stems. Tōga followed the leaves absentmindedly, clutching a book under his arm. The breeze tugged at his long hair as he went.

He turned towards the courtyard. Sesshōmaru was sparring with someone again, blades ringing through the afternoon air. Still unsatisfied by his coming-of-age victory, he seemed to be trying to make up for it with ferocity.

Tōga had meant well, but been misguided. He took in a breath, but before he could let it out, a deep sigh sounded next to him.

He looked around in surprise. Inoko sat on the edge of the veranda, her wistful gaze fixed on Sesshōmaru. She had her knees drawn to her chest and rested her chin atop them. Her brown hair was tousled about her in wild knots by the wind—but she made no move to fix it, as if she hadn’t noticed.

‘That is an alarmingly deep sigh, Inoko.’ Tōga gave her a small smile, his voice gentle.

Like his son, she had come of age—now a magnificent boar daiyōkai. One Tōga knew Daizen would be proud of.

She turned her green eyes to him, almost tearing them away from Sesshōmaru.

‘Lord Tōga!’ Inoko smiled at him. It was the same kind of smile Daizen had had—that same dimpling of the cheeks and curl of the lip. ‘Please don’t mind me… Am I in your way?’

‘Not at all.’ Tōga leaned against the veranda next to her, eyebrows slightly raised. ‘Though I can’t pretend I didn’t hear that sigh.’

Inoko turned her gaze to her feet, looking forlorn. Tōga waited for her to speak.

‘Lord Tōga… Do you—do you think Sesshōmaru could ever love someone like me?’

Tōga’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t expected such candor. But then, she was Daizen’s daughter—bluntness ran in her blood. Tōga missed how easy it had been to talk to Daizen, but he pushed it aside. He pondered Inoko’s words for a moment.

‘I don’t think he knows how.’ Tōga sighed deeply. ‘His heart is hidden, even to himself, I think.’

He paused to watch Sesshōmaru pivot around his opponent.

‘But I’m certain he can feel love—given time.’

At least, I hope he can… Tōga shook that thought from his mind. He didn’t want to speak his fears aloud to Inoko.

‘I see,’ Inoko said quietly. She curled her fingers into the fabric of her kimono, then released them.

In the courtyard, the sparring match came to an end—Sesshōmaru had disarmed his opponent. He held him there, blade to his throat, then turned away in silence. Sesshōmaru sheathed his weapon as he walked away.

* * *

Seventy Years Since Daizen’s Death

The air was fragrant with the last sweetness of fading osmanthus blooms as Tōga made his way through the woods to Daizen’s tomb. Crisp, papery leaves littered the ground in the meadow where the cairn stood. Some were picked up by the wind and caught in the cracks of the heavy stones.

Tōga had brought Daizen’s favourite sake. He needed to clear his thoughts about Inoko’s decision to marry—and what better way to do so than by drinking with his old friend?

However, someone was already there. A woman cloaked in a green kimono, with long curly hair, bathed in sunlight.

‘Inoko…’

Tōga shouldn’t have been surprised to see her there. It was her father’s grave after all. But the last time he’d seen her there, she had been a small child. Now, she stood, fully grown, where her father lay. And it sent a sharp pang of guilt through him. He had always done his best to avoid meeting her here.

Inoko turned to Tōga, noticing his shadow stretching towards her in the late afternoon sun. She held a bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums in her hands—an offering to her father.

‘It’s good to see you here, Lord Tōga,’ she said with a bright smile. ‘I was just telling my father the good news.’

‘The… good news?’

Inoko smiled wryly. They had been over this before. ‘My marriage to Shinrui, of course.’

Tōga’s hand tightened on the bottle of sake. He swallowed hard, trying to measure his next words with care. ‘Inoko… he’s a lesser demon from the lowlands. Your life will be far from here. Are you quite sure—?’

‘Lord Tōga, we’ve had this discussion before. Yes, absolutely I’m certain. Shinrui makes me laugh—he makes the world feel lighter.’

‘But…’ Tōga grasped for the right words. Shinrui wasn’t a daiyōkai—he wasn’t even one of his vassals! Inoko would be leaving Tōga’s court entirely. Far away and out of sight. ‘I made a promise to your father…’

Inoko laid the flowers on Daizen’s tomb. Then, gently, she took Tōga’s hand in hers—meeting his gaze with unwavering sincerity.

‘Lord Tōga, you have kept your promise.’ She smiled with Daizen’s smile again. Tōga found his throat closing with emotion. ‘You’ve protected me. Given me every chance. I’ll always be grateful for that. But my life—my future—isn’t yours to decide.’

He knew she was right. She wasn’t a child—not anymore. Daizen would have wanted him to let her go. But if she left… she would take that familiar smile with her. And that stung more than he could ever have expected.

His hand held onto hers tightly. ‘I’m worried that…’ His voice faltered.

‘You’ve done enough, Lord Tōga. Rest easy. I’m happy. And I know my father would be proud of you. But please, this is my choice. You have to let me go.’

Tōga sighed deeply. There was a long silence shaken only by the flutter of leaves.

Finally, Tōga spoke.

‘I’d be honoured to host your wedding celebrations at my court—if you’d allow it.’ He finally returned her smile. ‘You will be deeply missed.’

Inoko gave him a beaming smile, though the tears at the corners of her eyes didn’t escape him. Tōga blinked hard, struggling to hold back his own.

‘Your father would be so proud,’ he said hoarsely, pulling Inoko into a brief hug as the wind rustled the meadow around them.

* * *

Seventy-Five Years Since Daizen’s Death

Shrivelled leaves scuttled over the paved courtyard like they were fleeing an incoming disaster. The sky was heavy with dark clouds as a rainstorm threatened to break out. All the inhabitants of the estate were indoors, sheltering from the churlish weather.

Tōga was poring over a map for an upcoming battle, when a servant came barging in fast enough to knock a shoji screen off its rail. It fell slowly and landed awkwardly against a post. The servant flinched.

Tōga looked up, his gaze just short of infuriation. Interruption was the last thing he needed. ‘What?’ he snapped at the intrusion.

The servant swallowed hard. ‘My lord… it’s Lady Getsukai.’

Tōga sighed and let his eyes return to the map. He had more important things to think of than correspondence from his mother-in-law. ‘What about her?’

‘She’s at the north gate.’

Tōga stood up so fast he nearly tripped over the hem of his hakama. His mother-in-law, here? Why? What could she possibly want of them now? He almost bolted to the courtyard.

When he arrived, he found Inukimi and Sessōmaru already there. Neither of them said anything, but Inukimi’s shallow breaths didn’t escape Tōga. She was anxious.

Lady Getsukai swept into the courtyard as if she owned it. She wore blue robes with an excess of furs, some at her shoulder, others at her sleeves and hem. Her pallid skin had long lost many of its markings—only the crescent moon on her forehead remained. Her hair, carefully pinned up with delicate kanzashi carved from bone, had long lost their silver luster and were now an austere, dull grey. Her eyes, on the other hand, were dangerously sharp.

Her footsteps echoed across the courtyard as she walked, two stoic attendants dressed in formal blacks trailing in her shadow. A crow on the roof ceased its rasping caw at her approach, as if even the animal recognised the formidable presence in their midst.

Tōga, Inukimi and Sesshōmaru bowed respectfully at Lady Getsukai’s approach. She did not return it. After a moment, Tōga stood again, earning himself a twitch of Lady Getsukai’s brow.

‘Lady Getsukai,’ he said, forcing his most diplomatic smile. ‘We didn’t expect—’

‘Naturally,’ Lady Getsukai said dismissively. This was the first time since Tōga’s marriage that Lady Getsukai had graced his halls. Yet she acted as if he should always be prepared for her to appear whenever it pleased her. He said nothing, but his fists tightened as he struggled to maintain an affable expression.

Lady Getsukai changed her focus to Sesshōmaru. She looked him up and down, as if appraising a work of art. She made a contemptible little sound under her breath but said nothing.

‘Mother—’ Inukimi began, but Lady Getsukai held up a withered hand to silence her.

‘I’m on my way south to visit your sister,’ she said coolly. ‘She has given birth to twins. I will be staying the night and continue my journey tomorrow.’

Tōga felt the temperature drop as his chest filled with dread. Just having tea with the woman was bad enough… but an entire evening? Judging by the tension in Inukimi’s spine, she was just as shocked as he was.

If Tōga was filled with dread, the servants were in a downright panic as they scrambled to fix up a room for Lady Getsukai and her attendants. Tōga thought it best to stay out of their way.

They reconvened in a reception room overlooking the garden. Inukimi had changed into a more formal kimono—exquisite but unadorned mulberry silk—so had Tōga and Sesshōmaru. Lady Getsukai, on the other hand, had shed most of her furs, keeping only one around her shoulders and a simple robe, almost as plain as her attendants standing in the shadowy corners of the room.

Inukimi served her tea. Lady Getsukai’s eyes followed her every move, her mouth drawn thin.

When Inukimi had finished preparing the tea, she presented it to her mother with a formal bow. Lady Getsukai scoffed. ‘Stop trying to impress. It’s beneath you, Inukimi. I didn’t raise you to be so domestic.’

Inukimi said nothing. Her expression remained perfect, as if carved of marble. But Tōga caught the faintest tremble in her fingers. He bit his lip hard to avoid an outburst in her defense.

Lady Getsukai picked up her tea and took a sip. She made no comment. Then—

‘Stand up, boy,’ she commanded Sesshōmaru. His eyes flicked to his mother. She gave him the slightest of nods.

‘You need your mother’s nod to move? I see she taught you dependence well.’

Sesshōmaru rose gracefully. His features were cold and unmoved, but his glare told Lady Getsukai what she needed to know. She let out a disappointed sigh.

‘You take after your mother… even her need for validation.’ Sesshōmaru’s claws tightened in his sleeves. He set his jaw and fixed his gaze on the wall above his grandmother. She didn’t take her eyes off him. ‘Though I suppose it’s better than needless sentimentality.’

Her eyes briefly shifted to Tōga as she spoke. Tōga closed his eyes and prayed for patience. He set his jaw and forced an affable smile. ‘So, Kuremi gave birth to twins?’ he asked, trying to change the subject. ‘Happy news, indeed.’

‘Yes, to the Lightning Clan of the South. A clan well worthy of their name.’ Once again, she gave Tōga a pointed look. ‘They show real promise, I’m told. They deserve a visit, unlike some.’

Tōga heard Inukimi’s breath catch—ever so slightly—next to him. When he glanced at her, her expression remained unchanged. Though, as his gaze lingered, he could make out the briefest flicker of hurt in her eyes.

‘Excuse me,’ Sesshōmaru said, bowing once to his grandmother and leaving the room. He didn’t wait for permission. Tōga understood. He wanted out of this room just as badly—and he hadn’t been targeted by Lady Getsukai’s judgement yet.

‘Hm,’ Lady Getsukai watched as Sesshōmaru left. ‘He does show some promise. I know you can achieve results if you put your mind to it, Inukimi. But the needless coddling and holding in his infancy—it stunted his potential. Kuremi would never make that mistake.’

Inukimi gave a stiff nod. She stared at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. Tōga couldn’t remember a time he’d seen her this wounded. He was seething.

‘Inukimi has been nothing but dutiful and attentive.’ He tried not to shout, but his voice was still loud. ‘She’s—’

‘Oh, of that I’m sure,’ Lady Getsukai said with quiet disdain. ‘She used to be so sharp before she met you. I honed her into something flawless—’ Lady Getsukai turned her icy glare onto Tōga. Her voice never rose, almost as if to mock his anger. ‘—And you’ve dulled her edges.’

Finally, Lady Getsukai got to her feet, leaving her tea to get cold. She came up next to Inukimi, who remained perfectly seated. A statue of stone. Lady Getsukai hooked a finger under her chin and forced her to look up. ‘You were my finest work,’ she said quietly. ‘I mourn what you’ve become. At least your sister won’t shame me.’

She gestured for her attendants who fell into step behind her as she swept from the room. From the hallway, Tōga heard her call: ‘I’ll leave in the morning. No need for a formal sendoff.’

Tōga and Inukimi were left alone. He was standing next to her protectively. He hadn’t even noticed he’d gotten to his feet. He looked down at Inukimi. Now that her mother was gone from the room, she clutched the edges of her sleeves tightly, as if they could offer her comfort. Otherwise, she was perfectly still.

Tōga knelt beside her. ‘She should never have said those things,’ he said gently.

‘She has always said such things.’ Inukimi’s normally composed voice suddenly sounded… fragile. Tōga wasn’t sure how to react.

‘She’s wrong about you.’ His voice dropped softer still. ‘Your care for Sesshōmaru was never a mistake.’

He reached for one of the hands she kept clasped around her sleeve.

Inukimi jumped to her feet as if struck by lightning. She took a step away from him. ‘Don’t…’ she said, her voice so brittle it hurt. ‘Don’t offer me sympathy. She taught me not to need it.’

She turned away and left the room, her posture as straight and unyielding as her mother’s had been only moments ago. Tōga was left to stare out into the dying garden. Alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So... this was a chonky chapter. Apologies. The vignettes turned out longer than expected (and I set them all in autumn because my brain is silly like that). However, I think they illustrate the family dynamics quite well.

I hope you enjoyed it! You can read the most up-to-date chapters on AO3 under the same title. (https://archiveofourown.org/works/65313088/)

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