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Chapter Text

The smithing room was one of Saniwa Fujiwara's favorite places in the citadel to visit.

Not because he felt any unusual connection to it – not the way the training hall where his swords sparred with each other brought up a nostalgic feel, with its walls lined with boken and the sounds of clashing wood and excited shouts – but because this was where his friends, his children, his.... brothers? Companions? Disciples?... were brought to life. Surrounded by the cartoon-like, simple-minded shapes of all of his shikigami, hustling and bustling and preparing steel and coal and flames for use, he felt oddly at peace. Soon enough, one of his Touken Danshi would be ready to be born.

“Ah! Master, there you are,” a voice said from behind him, and he turned, only to see the familiar black-haired form of his first sword, one elegant hand resting on a hip, red eyes set in an amused-but-resigned look above the barest hint of a smile and beneath a black brow that was raised expectantly towards it's owner's owner. “I suppose I should have guessed I'd find you here, shouldn't I?”

“Ahahah,” he chuckled, raising his hand and pushing his bangs back behind one ear. “I couldn't sleep, so I thought I would have the shiki get to work on a new companion for you all.”

“Master,” scolded Kashuu Kiyomitsu, the sword in question, with a sigh, “if you don't rest, you won't be able to properly wield us, even if you manifest Mikazuki itself.”

There was a strange disquiet in Kashuu's voice at the mention of that name, and he turned towards the sword with a small frown. Then, making sure to smile brightly, he reached out and put a hand on Kashuu's shoulder.

“Of course, you're right,” he said with a small smile. “And this one is no Mikazuki... simply an uchigatana, like yourself. A fairly common one, by the shiki's estimation, if I'm right.” He glanced down at one of the small creatures, and it nodded, reaching up to pat him on the knee before returning to its duty. He chuckled with a smile, a smile that was echoed by Kashuu.

“Well, you've manifested enough of us uchigatana that I'm certain you don't need to oversee the entire process, Master,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Why don't you return to your rooms? I can come find you when the sword is ready to be imbued. It is what I'm here for.”

He smiled at the sword, putting his hand on Kashuu's shoulder. “Of course,” he said with a nod. “You have the best advice, as usual. What would I ever do without you?”

For a moment, Kashuu's expression wavered, and then his red eyes glanced off to the side, a defiant expression forming on his face. “Of course,” he said, a little too casually. “I might be difficult to use properly, but I'm still an excellent blade.” He shrugged just a little, then gave a teasing smirk at his master. “Make sure to take care of me and shower me with affection, you hear? I expect to be properly appreciated.”

Fujiwara laughed, reaching out to pat the sword on the head, ignoring the slightly miffed expression he was given as he ruffled the dark hair beneath his fingers.

“I'll get you some dango to show my gratitude,” he said with a smile, and Kashuu smiled back, shaking his head with a small sigh.

“Of course, Master,” he said, but despite the sigh, there was a note of genuine affection in his voice.

It was always difficult to sleep, with an uchigatana being forged in the smithy. For some reason, there was an anxiety – a feeling like a set was incomplete, somehow. He knew that of all the swords he could possibly manifest, all the Touken Danshi he was capable of bringing to life, he had only brought a small fraction of the possible total into being, but for some reason, he felt that knowledge most keenly while a katana was being forged and tempered.

Still, he knew that if he didn't at least try to rest, Kashuu would be upset with him, and so he pulled the luxurious blankets of the Saniwa's comfortable bed over himself and closed his eyes, trying to relax into slumber.

His chest hurt. It hurt, and he couldn't breathe – there were the sounds of battle, all around him, and roars as though the world was ablaze, and for some reason his lungs simply refused to pull the air in. He coughed, trying to clear them, feeling a weakness in his knees that sent him to the floor, as his surroundings became hazy and indistinct; what had been an attempt to clear his throat became a sudden, spasmodic fit of coughing that he couldn't stop, sending him forward, the salty, metallic, acrid taste of blood mixed with phlegm staining his tongue. The hand he'd brought to his mouth was red – brilliantly, vibrantly red, like paint or finely-dyed cloth. His other hand gripped the hilt of a familiar sword.

Someone was behind him. He realized it, just barely in time to bring the blade up to block their strike. The tsuba was strangely familiar – golden, shaped into the stylized shape of a flower. The ito was black as night, and the blade's tip was oddly truncated, as though it had snapped off from the force of an ill-aimed blow.

It's too bad that a break like that would be so hard to repair, he thought to himself. This really is such a beautiful sword.

The pain in his chest was overwhelming, though, and he felt his body give in to the pressure of the other man's blade. Voices were surrounding him, the battle engulfing him, but he could no longer understand what was happening. His lungs burning, another coughing spasm threatening to overtake him, he could feel his vision going black, no matter how much he struggled against the darkness...

He sat straight up in bed, one hand clutching his chest, the other grabbing futilely for the hilt of a sword he had never carried. It clutched only bedsheets, silk and linen, and he forced himself to breathe, never more grateful than at that moment for the feeling of sweet air filling his lungs before departing. His forehead and arms were damp with sweat; the night air felt cool, even chilly cold, against his skin, and slowly, slowly, he calmed his frantically-beating heart.

“Just a nightmare,” he murmured aloud to himself, glancing around the room. A single, specific gesture of his hand would tell the AI which managed the citadel to bring up the lights, but he didn't need light to know its contents. Boxes, a desk, a computer, stacks of reports, the familiar shapes picked themselves out of the gloom as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he pushed out of the bed, leaving the covers a crumpled heap behind him, and made his way towards the window. He threw it open to the wind and the moonlight and took a deep breath of the fresh scent, blowing in off the citadel's fields and the just-blooming buds of the cherry tree outside.

The sound of footsteps and a hesitant rapping on his door snapped the Saniwa from his reverie, causing him to turn towards the door.

“...yes?” he called out. “Come... come in.” He forced his breathing to calm, forced a small smile onto his face, before the door slid open. A small figure huddled in the doorway, clutching a sleepy kitten, another such creature clinging to the figure's head. His small, forced smile became larger, more genuine.

“M-Master,” the small figure said, stepping into the room as he beckoned him forward. “I... I heard... that is to say... please forgive the interruption...” The figure was a small boy, with freckles, messy blonde hair, and a nervous expression in his pale, golden eyes; another sword, this one a small tantou originally forged by the Awataguchi clan. He'd gotten used to them moving around, strolling in and out of his daily life. They weren't just tools to be used, anymore – they were his friends, his companions... his children.

And some of them, like this one, really were children, in a sense. He walked over to the small boy and knelt in front of him, gently removing the kitten from atop his head before it could fall.

“What's the matter, Gokotai?” he asked gently. “Come on, you can tell me.”

“I...” He paused, his hands holding his kitten nervously in front of his chest, as though he were worried about what his master might say. “I was going to get some, some water for, for the tigers, and... I thought... I thought I heard you c-crying, Master,” he admitted. “I... I wanted to know if you were okay.” He ducked his face behind his hair and his kitten, his one visible eye staring pleadingly up at the sage he served. “That's... okay, right...?”

Gently, Fujiwara reached out and patted the young Touken Danshi on the head, tenderly stroking his hair.

“Yes, it is,” he said, softly. “Thank you for checking on me – I'm sorry that I worried you.” He smiled fondly at Gokotai. “I had a nightmare, that's all. It happens, sometimes.”

The boy nodded, hesitantly at first, and then again, more strongly. “I sometimes have nightmares, too, Master,” he confessed, like he was confessing a secret. “But... but, the... the tigers help...” He held up the kitten in his arms towards the sage, giving a hesitant smile. “D-do you want to keep one for tonight...?” he asked. “I... they l-like you, and... and since I have f-five, I'll be fine if you keep one. And... and I know you'll take care of him.”

The saniwa smiled down at Gokotai, “I.... have a better idea.”

An hour or so later, Kashuu quietly slid open the door to his Master's chambers. The new sword was ready to be brought to life, or so the shiki said, and he had promised to wake the sage, no matter his personal feelings on the matter. As he glanced into the room, though, he allowed himself a rare, honest, sincere smile.

On the bed lay the sage, gently holding a sleeping sword-child. The forms of five white tiger kittens curled up protectively around the two. Even more quietly than he'd opened it, Kashuu, still smiling, slid the door closed.

Fujiwara hadn't been able to scold Kashuu for not disturbing him, not with the best sleep he'd gotten in weeks under his belt. His nightmares had been becoming much more frequent lately – the more swords he brought to life, the greater the uneasy, something-is-missing feeling became, and the more often he had dreams of bloody battles and suffocation. It hadn't just been the most recent one, though that had been the most vivid of his dreams, but a series of them, spread out over time.

It didn't help that the uchigatana that had been forged in the smithy was a lifeless duplicate. Copies of swords he'd already manifested were more like the shiki, dolls with very little personality, best used as spares or with their blades melted down and reforged in the fires of magic and time in hopes of finding another treasure. It always made him uneasy, watching their soulless eyes – technically all of his swords were tsukumogami, simply objects with spirits, will, and self-awareness, but the odd duplicates that manifested seemed more like youkai than their first-manifested cousins. And it still hurt every time he had to have one reforged, even if their magic was better spent being rebuilt or imbuing their more-spirited brothers. They still felt alive to him, and the one time he'd manifested a duplicate of Kashuu, he'd melted it down almost before it could open its eyes, and spent the next three days locked in his room, consumed by sick, nauseous guilt and unable to get a moment of sleep without nightmares of his faithful attendant's horrified, accusing expression. Only a visit from the real Kashuu and a few choice, acerbic words had pulled him out of his funk.

The tiny hint of worry on Kashuu's face as he walked out of the smithy told him that his discomfort – and the dark turn of his memories – was more visible than he wanted it to be, so he made himself put on a smile. His faithful sword deserved better than to worry over things he couldn't change.

“Another duplicate,” he said lightly, giving a sigh and a shrug, and Kashuu nodded his understanding. “Ah, well. I had the shiki prepare it space in storage and begin work on another. It's too early to tell its shape, but they say it ought to be a bit more likely to be an original.”

“Glad to hear it,” Kashuu said with a nod. “So, what are our objectives today, Master?”

Fujiwara paused, thinking to himself for a moment, before nodding. “At the moment, there's no pending threat from the History Retrograde Army. Have all the chores been divvied out?”

Kashuu nodded. “I went with yesterday's organization, since I didn't want to bother you.”

Fujiwara chuckled, giving a sly glance in Kashuu's direction. “And because I had you sparring with Horikawa-kun instead of working in the fields...?” he teased.

The sword had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, Master, I simply feel as though I am better put to use training my natural skills than doing farm work that I'm painfully ill-suited for,” he said, taking a moment to inspect his painstakingly-painted nails and compose himself. “And training with Horikawa-san is an excellent opportunity, especially since he is the only wakizashi you've currently brought to life, and had the pleasure of being used in training with my former master, as well...”

Fujiwara smiled at Kashuu, shaking his head a little. “No worries, Kashuu. You did well.”

“Thank you, Master,” he said, though he seemed mildly more subdued, still.

“Alright, well, go ahead and get on with it, then. I don't need you mothering over me every minute of the day. I have some paperwork to do for the Citadel myself, so I'll bbe in my study if you need something.”

“Of course. You know where to find me if you need me, too, Master.”

Fujiwara's smile grew a little bigger as he replied. “Of course, yourself, Kashuu. Take care, and have fun.”

He reached out to give Kashuu a farewell pat on the shoulder, the sort of everyday reassurance he made sure to give – just an ordinary reminder that he cared. The moment his hand touched the fabric of Kashuu's kimono, though, he felt...

It wasn't quite something he could describe. For a moment, it was as though he were in two places at once; his mind felt fuzzy, and a lightheaded, faint sensation came over him. It wasn't exactly the first time he'd felt something like that, admittedly – he'd been prone to fainting spells as a child – but this was different. For a moment, the sound of battle roared in his ears, and the feeling of a sword gripped between his hands replaced Kashuu's warm shoulder. An uchigatana, with black ito, a golden, flower-shaped tsuba, and a blade that was stained red with blood.

He jerked reflexively away from the noise, only to find himself standing once again in the smithy, Kashuu looking at him with a strange, worried expression.

“Maaster...?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

Was that one of Kashuu's memories?, he thought to himself with a small frown. He shook his head. “It's nothing,” he said out loud, replacing his frown with a smile he hoped that Kashuu couldn't see through. “I think I was more affected by my nightmare than I originally thought... I might rest a while. The fatigue might be getting to me.”

“Mmm,” Kashuu agreed with a nod. “I think that's a good idea, Master. I'll send one of the tantou up with some tea later, once I'm done sparring.”

“You're always so thoughtful,” he replied. “Thank you.”

He turned to head back towards his rooms, putting a hand to his forehead with a frown. One of Kashuu's memories... it could have been. But his vision had been from the point of view of the swordsman, not the sword – and the sword had been the blade from his dream. Maybe a vision of something to come? But it had felt like the past, and he hadn't recognized the battle as a battlefield he'd sent his Touken Danshi to.

A mystery, then, he decided as he stepped into his study and closed the door. Very well. He would find out the answer soon enough, he supposed.

Visions, for Fujiwara, often meant someone was trying to change the past. Though the vision he'd had earlier hadn't felt that way, it was never a long time that he went without the sense that the History Retrograde Army was on the move. Sometimes he received warnings from outside contacts first, but this wasn't one of those times; the vision hit hard, unexpectedly, and with the force and subtlety of a cement truck.

Five minutes of vivid hallucinating and the twisting pain of history's strained strands burning in his chest later, he climbed off the floor, wiping the sweat from his brow and a fleck of blood from the corner of his mouth. The vision had been strong – their forces were greater in number and power than he'd ever felt before. He pulled a tassel that connected to the ceiling next to him, balancing against his desk, and heard the chime ring its way throughout the citadel. A few minutes more passed quietly as he caught his breath – then Kashuu threw open the door to his quarters and hurried to his side.

“Master, are you alright?!” he asked, taking Fujiwara's weight onto his shoulders, and the sage smiled up at the sword and nodded.

“I'll be fine. The vision was strong this time – a large assault force is gathering in the past. They're throwing subtlety out the window, this time, and I'm afraid that speed is of the essence. Kashuu, there's no one else I trust more to lead this assault; can you do this for me, and accept the role of Captain?”

“Of course, Master,” he said with a nod. “Who should I take?”

He thought for a moment through his collection of swords, weighing the strengths and weaknesses of each one. “Take Imanotsurugi, Sayo Samonji, Souza Samonji, Hachisuka Koutetsu, and Mutsunokami Yoshiyuki. You'll need all the strength you can get to stop them.”

Kashuu nodded. “Yes, Master. I'll do my best for you.” Reluctantly, he let go of the faltering sage; Fujiwara, though still a bit weak on his feet, stood, reaching out to grip Kashuu by the shoulders.

“I know,” he said with a nod. “You've never failed me before, Kashuu – I know you won't fail me this time, either.”

With no more than a single hesitant look back towards his master, Kashuu turned and strode out the door, letting it slide shut behind him.

Chapter Text

His attendants and the various swords gathered around the citadel had insisted that Fujiwara get rest and relax after the strain of his vision. Thus, he'd had others keeping watch on the shiki for when they were fiished with the new sword; Heshikiri Hasebe, his rarest uchigatana to date, had threatened to sit on him if he tried to leave his room, and he tended to believe the overly-worried man. A sword which had once belonged to Oda Nobunaga was not the person he was going to assume was in the habit of making idle threats.

A cup of tea in one hand, a book in the other, and one of Gokotai's tigers on his lap, therefore, were his only company when the door to his room was thrown violently open with a loud CRASH. He looked up, startled, dropping the book as he reached (once again – it seemed this was happening more frequently too) for a nonexistent sword and grasped only bedsheets. Still, the face that was staring back at him from the doorway was not the face of an attacker; eager, vibrant blue eyes stared out from a deceptively young-looking face, framed by black hair.

“Master!” exclaimed Horikawa Kunihiro. “Master, the new sword... it's Kane-san!”

Fujiwara felt a smile cross his face; Horikawa often talked about the uchigatana he'd partnered with during the end of his life as a fighting sword. The happy grin that seemed ready to split the wakizashi's face in two, that made his eyes sparkle with delight, warmed Fujiwara's heart. He set the teacup aside on his nightstand, neatly slid a bookmark into place inside the book, and gently shifted the sleeping tiger so he could stand.

“Kane-san, hm?” he asked Horikawa, who nodded, still grinning from ear to ear. “That's the other sword which belonged to Hijikata-sama, correct?”

“That's right!” he said, motioning for Fujiwara to follow. “His full name is...”

“...Izuminokami Kanesada!” exclaimed the tall, black-haired Touken Danshi who stood in the smithing room. His hair fell to his waist, held out of his face with red silk ties; his eyes were as blue as Horikawa's, and he wore a distinctly familiar blue-and-white haori like a true member of the Shinsengumi might have centuries before. “I'm a cool and strong sword who's been pretty popular lately. You're the new master, right?”

Kanesada's – or should I call him Izuminokami?, Fujiwara thought to himself – smile was much fiercer than Horikawa's, and he stood with a brash posture that oozed confidence and strength. He opened his mouth to reply to his new sword, but before he could manage, Horikawa stepped forward and threw his arms around Kanesada.

“Kane-san!” he exclaimed. “I'm so glad you're here!”

“....Horikawa...?” he asked, sounding more than a little startled,blinking in surprise... before his own grin widened to match. “Hahah! Horikawa, it's great to see you again. You got here before me, huh?”

“Well, you clearly take after Hijikata-san,” Horikawa teased. “Always liking to make an entrance.”

“And you're an early riser like the old man you secretly are, huh?” Kanesada teased back, putting the smaller (and younger-looking) sword in a friendly headlock and ruffling his hair. Horikawa's face turned red and he batted ineffectually at Kanesada's arm.

“I- I'm not... Kane-sannnnn.....!”

The two bantered back and forth for a moment as Fujiwara hid a chuckle behind his hand. It was easy to tell that these two had been partners for as long as they had in their previous existence, and it was always nice to see his swords interacting with each other, growing the bonds they'd made as swords and bringing each other into the family. And in a way, it was also more than that. There was something about how Kanesada and Horikawa treated each other that felt achingly familiar, that both highlighted and relieved the sense of loss, of incompleteness, of missing something, that he felt every time he forged a katana.

After a moment, though, they were both smiling at him, clearly expecting him to return to being part of the conversation, so he smiled back.

“Welcome to the Citadel, Kanesada-san,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “It's so good to have you here.”

He wandered leisurely along behind the pair, listening with only half an ear to their enthusiastic chatter. Kanesada was boisterous, loud, and good-natured, the perfect foil to Horikawa's much less exuberant cheer. The smaller sword gave his partner a thorough summary of life at the citadel along with his tour, going into small aspects of everyday life and the purpose of each room and its use as he showed them off to Kanesada, exuding pride over his master and his home that made Fujiwara just a tad embarrassed.

“...and this is where we leave to go do missions,” he was finishing, waving towards the device at the center of the courtyard. “It's not always combat. We help Master Fujiwara with all sorts of things – gathering resources, going on shopping trips... though shopping trips use the front gate,” he said, giving a sheepish little laugh. “This is an artifact imbued with Master's magic that lets us travel space and time. It's exciting, in a lot of ways... going back, seeing all the different eras of history. There's familiar battlefields, but also new ones from before our time, or that we were never present at. Protecting the history that led us to where we are today...it's an amazing feeling. I can't wait to fight alongside you, Kane-san!”

“Mmm,” Kanesada agreed with a grin, working his shoulder, loosening his limbs. “It'll be interesting, getting used to the new status quo. I hope we get to train together... the only downside of having the same master is that we never got to test each other's strength, right, Horikawa?”

Horikawa's sheepish laugh, hesitant smile, and verbal protests that he could never stand a chance against Kanesada didn't fool Fujiwara into missing the sudden, eager tenseness in his shoulders – for all that he looked and acted like the younger, more innocent brother, showing off to the elder sibling he hadn't seen in a long time, Fujiwara knew better than to trust that appearance. Horikawa was as gentle a soul as could exist within the body of a sword, but the smaller, younger-looking form that being a wakizashi gave him changed not a single thing about the fact that Horikawa was the older of Hijikata's weapons... and, if Kashuu were to believed, the oldest weapon that belonged to any of the Shinsengumi's elite. A fight between him and his former partner would be a sparring match that Fujiwara would definitely not wish to miss.

He was distracted from the idea, though, by the sudden feeling of a pull on his power, a loud noise, and the chrono-device in the center of the courtyard beginning to glow. A sudden flash momentarily blinded him, and then the three of them were no longer alone in the courtyard.

“Ah!” Horikawa exclaimed. “It looks like the expedition's back! Onii-san!” He waved excitedly at the group of swords now standing in the courtyard, four tantou clustered around a taller, white-cloaked uchigatana whose head jerked up in surprise as he heard Horikawa's shout. He dropped his head just as quickly, pulling his hood down further on his face with a small tug, as though he wanted to shrink away within its depths.

“A-ah.... K-Kunihiro-san...” he mumbled. “Please don't call me that...”

“Maaaaaa-sterrrrr!” called one of the small tantou, galloping forward to tug on Fujiwara's robe. “Yamanbagiri-san is really good at this! Look at all of the things we were able to bring back! Fruit, and grain for the horses, and plants to make medicine... even a lot of koban and reagents to make tokens with!”

He smiled, kneeling down to pat the small boy on the head. “You all must have done very well, Akita-kun. I'm very proud of you.”

The tantou child giggled shyly, pale blue eyes beaming with happiness behind curly pink bangs. “Do you think Yagen-nii-san will like the plants we brought back, Master?”

“I'm sure of it,” he said with a smile. “Why don't you and Midare-chan go show him while Maeda-kun and Aizen-kun put the rest in the storeroom? I want to talk to Yamanbagiri-san for a few minutes.”

“Okay, Master! We'll be back real soon!” called Akita, grabbing his brother Midare by the hand and dragging him off towards the infirmary and repair room.

Kanesada chuckled with a grin. “Lively kid,” he commented to Horikawa, who smiled.

“All of Master's tantou appear as children. It's partially because of their small size, but mostly because of their innocence... since most of them were never used for combat, after all.” He glanced over at the closed gate, as though thinking about something, but didn't say anything else, despite the worried frown he leveled at the strange device.

Horikawa cleared his throat. “A-anyway...! Kane-san, this is my brother, Yamanbagiri Horikawa! Onii-san! This is Kane-san, the one I've been telling you about!” Horikawa walked oer to the white-cloaked uchigatana, taking him by the arm and pulling him (reluctantly) along to where Fujiwara and Kanesada were standing. “Master said he wanted to speak with you as well, nii-san!”

“....don't call me that...” mumbled Yamanbagiri again, tugging self-conscously at his hood once more. “I'm just a copy. I'm not actually your brother....”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Kanesada with a grin. “Yamanbagiri, huh? Well, I can't wait to see you in battle! And of course we'll have to spar together! One of Horikawa's brothers and an uchigatana, too? I'm gonna like it here at this citadel!” He wrapped an arm around Yamanbagiri's shoulder.

“....don't expect me to live up to the original,” he mumbled, ducking his head. “I... I don't know how much I've been actually tested, compared to a famous original like you, Kanesada-san... but, but I'll try.” He ducked out from Kanesada's grip with surprising dexterity and moved closer to Fujiwara. “M-master,” he said, glancing up at the sage, blue eyes and blonde hair peeking out at last from under the enveloping hood, “did I not perform to your satisfaction...? I did as well as I could... I wouldn't have been able to do it without the tantou's help, though.”

Fujiwara gave a small smile, patting Yamanbagiri on the head, a gesture which caused the sword to drop his gaze again, his cheeks tinged red beneath the hood.

“Nonsense,” he said, firmly but gently. “You did an excellent job, just as well as I could expect from any other sword here.” He tilted his head for a moment, trying to get a glimpse under the hood. “I think I'll pair you up with Horikawa-san and Kanesada-san, actually, until Kanesada-san gets his bearings. I can't think of anyone other than Kashuu who I'd trust with that job.” He gently pulled Yamanbagiri's hood back – not all the way down, just enough so that he could see his eyes – and gave him a warm smile. “Remember,” he said, even more gently, “I didn't manifest the original Yamanbagiri; I manifested you. I think that that happened for a reason... I hope you come to see it that way, too.”

“Ah.. w-well... that is....” Yamanbagiri ducked his head, not quite fast enough to hide the bright red flush that crossed his face. “Ah, Kanesada-san... you want to see more of the citadel... right...?”

He turned away and started off, not really even waiting for the taller, energetic Touken Danshi to follow – not that he needed to, as Kanesada threw an arm around him and began excitedly asking him every question he could think of about the citadel and what it was like to be a sword warrior. Horikawa watched them go with a small smile before glancing over at Fujiwara, approval in his eyes.

“That was kind of you,” he said softly.

“It was true,” Fujiwara replied with a smile of his own. “Now, go on. Isn't it your job to make sure your Kane-san doesn't overwhelm your brother....?”

“Hai, hai,” replied the wakizashi with a smile, and darted off after Kanesada's retreating voice.

When Fujiwara was worried, he spent time in the smithy. The whole citadel knew that, or they should; he sat and listened to the forge and felt the energy of the shiki moving around him with their single-minded purpose and waited for new swords to be born. They were his children, in a way – not just the tantou with their small bodies and innocent faces, but all of them, even the uchigatana with their powerful arms and the strength of centuries of battle forged into their bodies and minds and blood, were like precious sons to him. He was far too young to have children of his own, and he knew that, but it still felt that way. Sometimes he thought back to the day he'd first arrived at the citadel, wondering how things had changed, at what moment the Touken Danshi had stopped being strange spirits and started being his family.

He could sit and watch the shiki for hours. The way a sword formed from heat and steel and sweat and hard work drew his eyes and heart. If he were still worried about Kashuu – about the fact that he was late back from the mission, about the fact that he hadn't reported in, about the fact that that was so utterly unlike him – it didn't matter, because he could live in the sound of the ringing hammers and the sizzling of steel. A wakizashi was taking shape here, his second so far. He'd figured out the perfect ratio of ingredients to magic after a long day of studying the ancient texts and had trusted the rest to his shiki. Hopefully, it wasn't a duplicate Horikawa – but he could sense that this one was new. Still, wakizashi weren't what he wanted. His hands itched to hold the beautiful black-and-gold hilt of the uchigatana from his dream.

He laid his head back. Closed his eyes.

Sometimes, when he napped in the smithy, as he drifted off to sleep, the ringing of the forge hammers started to sound like the clashing of blades...

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound was soft and gentle, almost not loud enough to be heard over the noise of the smithy, though the sword he was forging had long since been put into the oven to temper. It blended with the sounds in the dream he was having – at least, until the knocking sounded again. His eyes blinked open, only to find the shape of a Touken Danshi standing over him, a worried expression on his face. Pale blue-green hair framed the worried, golden eyes staring down at him, and Fujiwara pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“Hitofuri-san,” he said, blinking away the vestiges of sleep. He couldn't have been out for very long – wakizashi didn't take long to forge.

“Master,” the man – Ichigo Hitofuri, Fujiwara's first-manifested tachi – said with a respectful nod. “I'd hoped I'd find you here...” He gave a soft chuckle, offering a hand to help Fujiwara to his feet. “My little brothers... they were worried about you. And Hasebe-san is.... well.”

Fujiwara chuckled back, shaking his head. “Hasebe-san should know where to find me if the tantou are looking. Is everyone okay...?”

Ichigo Hitofuri, the only tachi forged by the Awataguchi school, which had made most – though not all – of the tantou that he had manifested. All of the tantou looked up to him as a big brother, and he'd seemed to adopt that role with the rest of the citadel as well, his master included, somewhat to Fujiwara's chagrin. The man's soft voice and kind smile rivaled Horikawa's, though whether that had something to do with contrasting the loud and brash nature of his former master, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, or with his own personality and soul was a mystery. Whatever the cause, the effect was an unfailingly polite and genteel man, one who did everything with courtesy and quiet respect.

“They're alright,” Hitofuri replied. “Gokotai-kun told them that you had been having nightmares recently, and Hasebe-san was worried because he ordered you to stay in bed.” He smiled again with another gentle laugh. “Of course, then he became worried because he had given you an order and became obsessed with making certain you were found so he could apologize....”

Fujiwara let out a long and forceful sigh.

“I was planning on resting here until the new wakizashi was done... and perhaps attempting to forge another uchigatana as well. But, I should probably go see if I can't smooth Hasebe-san's feathers... In the meanwhile, Gokotai-kun said I had been having nightmares...?”

Inwardly, he wanted to sigh again. The tantou probably wanted to make sure he was taken care of, but he'd been trying to keep word of his trouble sleeping from reaching the rest of the citadel, especially the swords most prone to worrying, like Hasebe. No need to bother them if it could be helped, after all – they had enough to worry about, being his army, his weapons of war. They had human thoughts and feelings and lives, and they deserved the little peace they received.

“Don't worry,” was Hitofuri's reply. “Hasebe-san will be alright once he's calmed down, and the others can probably help that a bit better than even you can, at the moment. What he needs is a distraction, I think, and the little ones are good at that.” He smiled. “I was hoping you'd be willing to talk to me about it, though. I know you aren't the type to bother the children if you can help it. I might only be a sword, but...”

Fujiwara sighed and shook his head. “They're not nightmares so much as visions, I think,” he confessed, turning his attention to the shiki. “The problem is that I'm not sure what they're visions of, other than a battle. They're.... disturbing. And I've been starting to have them during the day, as well, though I'm not sure why.”

“Is it the Retrograde Army?” Hitofuri asked, finding a seat.

“No, I don't think so.” Fujiwara frowned, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “Those visions feel as though something is going wrong. This vision doesn't feel that way... or.” He sighed. “Maybe it is just a nightmare after all – or so I would think, if it hadn't invaded my waking world. I just don't want anyone to worry... it's not a harmful vision, just... a disturbing one.”

“What's happening in your vision?” Hitofuri asked, curiously. “If it's a vision of the past, someone here might have some answers. Battles and battlefields are something we've all seen quite a lot of, after all.”

“I can't really tell very much,” Fujiwara replied. “There's a battle going on. I'm fighting.... and then I collapse and can't breathe. Everything is on fire, as well, I think... smoke or something, maybe...? I can clearly remember the sword I'm holding, but I'll admit I don't recognize it.”

“Hmm,” Hitofuri said to himself, thinking. “It's not much to go on. Flames...”

“I know fire holds unpleasant memories for you and the tantou,” he apologized. “I didn't mean to worry you.”

“It's honestly alright,” the sword replied, putting a hand on Fujiwara's shoulder. “I'd suggest speaking to Horikawa about it, if you have the chance. He's very knowledgeable, even about history before his time. And he knows every sword in the citadel, so if the blade you're having memories of is one of us, he would know.” He smiled. “We all know you don't pay so much attention to our blades, for all that that's what we're supposed to be...”

Fujiwara flushed, slightly embarrassed at the teasing note in Hitofuri's voice. “Yes, well...” He coughed, and Hitofuri chuckled.

“It doesn't bother us, Master,” he said, dropping his hand as he turned to where the shiki were hard at work, cleaning the smithy, making themselves useful. “Actually... to some of us, I think, it means a lot, that you see us as people first, and blades second. Though it might not be my place to say so – I can't read minds or use magic, so I wouldn't know exactly what the others are thinking...”

“No, you're very insightful,” Fujiwara replied, quickly. “You shouldn't sell yourself so short. I couldn't have taken care of the tantou half as well as I have without your help.” He gave a sly smile. “Perhaps it comes from being an older brother to so many yourself...? And when Kashuu isn't around, you keep me in line and make sure I take care of myself. I'm happy for your support.”

It felt a little strange, as he reached up and tentatively gave Hitofuri a pat on the head, like he would with the children or with Kashuu. He was such an old and well-respected sword, an older brother type, but he laughed and glanced away like any of the smaller swords would, and Fujiwara felt a small, warm flutter of pride in his heart. It almost made up for the stab of worry that had overcome him when he'd thought about Kashuu a moment before.

It's not like him to be late.

“I'm happy to be fitting in around here,” Hitofuri said, seemingly blissfully unaware of his master's distress. Then again, he might not be as unaware as he seemed, considering the shrewd look he leveled at Fujiwara for a moment. “...Master,” he said softly, “is it... alright if I ask you a personal question?”

“A personal question?” Fujiwara replied, curiously. “What sort of personal question...?” It wasn't exactly usual for the swords to be curious about him. Their history, their stories.... those, he spoke with them about when and if they were ready to share, but he'd always considered himself the least interesting person in the citadel, so Hitofuri's request put him more than a little off-balance.

“Well... I don't want to seem ungrateful,” he started, “but... it's crossed the minds of a lot of the little ones that none of us know why you chose to wield us, or opposed the History Retrograde Army... and I'll admit to being curious as well.”

“Oh, I see.” Fujiwara smiled. “I'll admit I never considered that you all might even want to know... though I suppose that sounds silly of me. Of course you'd want to know the reason behind your mission. If you'll let me instruct the shiki to start another sword, we can go somewhere more comfortable and talk about it.”

Hitofuri nodded.

It wasn't much longer after that that they found themselves resting comfortably in one of the citadel gardens, overlooking the courtyard below where the gate was located. Fujiwara had brewed tea for the both of them – it seemed wrong, somehow, to let the Danshi do everything for him, after all.

“Where to begin,” he mused, glancing up at the cherry tree that rose over the citadel like a protective blanket. “Why did I decide to become a sage, to fight the Retrograde Army, and to become a master of tsukumogami...”

He stared up at the sky for a moment, his thoughts pulling him far away.

“To be honest, I can't really say for sure,” he began. “I mean.... I became a sage because I've always been frail. Magic was the only path open to me, for all that I'd wanted to become a martial artist. I loved jidaigeki drama and that sort of thing... maybe that's why I decided to be a tsukumogami master instead of some other path. I had this book as a child... it was a samurai manga. Something about the main characters called out to me... calm and collected people who would do anything for their friends except stain their own honor... but every child dreams of those things, right?” He chuckled and smiled, and Hitofuri nodded.

“Anyway.... when the History Retrograde Army and the Revisionists came onto the stage... opposing them seemed like the right thing to do. I never really cared much for history, at least, the wheres and whens and hows, before then, but I'd always had a romantic notion about Japan's past.”

He paused, his eyes becoming distant.

“They... wanted me to join them, you know. They're sword-sages themselves, though of a different variety – but you knew that. You've fought their..... monsters.”

Hitofuri nodded, grimly. “Yes. They're... strange, those swords. And so many of them are copies of us, we've found, after they've been purified.”

Fujiwara nodded back. “Yes. One of my master's other apprentices is with them, actually. He could never summon a sword with a true spirit, like I can. Possessing the dead, using copies of legendary weapons.... it has his prints all over it, I fear.” He sighed. “But, in the end, that's not the reason I decided to fight. It wasn't because I had a personal stake in the matter, it wasn't for revenge, or to fight my rival, or any of those sorts of reasons. In the end, it was because... I love the world we live in. I love our future and I love our past. Trying to change the events of the past to make the future you want... I can't agree with that kind of ideology. The people of the past lived and died by their ideals... it seems wrong to interfere, somehow, for better or for worse. So I decided that with my talents, I would fight them, and so my master gave me this citadel, and I set to work forging my first sword. And here we are.” He stared into the distance for another long moment, before dropping his gaze back to his tea with a sigh. “I couldn't fight myself, and even if I were capable, sending a human to the past would be dangerous, if not impossible. So I trust you to fight in my stead.”

Hitofuri's expression slowly changed into a smile. “It's good for all of us to know we have a Master we can count on, who trusts us and has so much faith in us. It's... it's important to us. We swords were originally forged to be used... it's important to have a master who uses us well.”

“Kashuu says the same thing,” he replied with a grin. “In a different way – I'm hard to handle, so I hope you treat me well – but it's the same thing.” He paused. “You know, I have to wond-”

His stomach lurched; his heart pounded almost out of his chest. He felt the spiritual power inside of him being sucked into the Gate, but the ritual was wrong somehow. He jolted out of his chair, only to find that his legs were having a hard time supporting him – Hitofuri moved to catch him as his balance staggered. Still, he couldn't allow his frail body, his weakness, to hold him back, and he rushed towards the courtyard, Hitofuri anxiously dogging his heels. The gate was opening, but it wasn't the normal blinding flash and release of swords in a triumphant return; instead, the opening rent the air, a huge, black wound in the sky with edges that flickered with green and purple light that looked as wrong as it felt.

A tall man, long, purple hair slick with red, his normally-shining golden garments torn, tattered, tarnished, was the first to emerge, physically carrying a small, blue-haired boy, clutching a tantou to his chest that was equally bloodstained. A second boy, silver-haired, red-eyed, equally tattered, was clinging to the leg of a much taller man, one with wild black hair, also tattered and bloodstained, his other arm slung over the shoulder of a fifth figure whose traditional kimono would likely never be the same.

Horror and a churning, sickened feeling mixed painfully in the pit of Fujiwara's stomach – five of his battle unit's six members had returned, looking half-dead, and the sixth-

He couldn't breathe as he waited for a moment that dragged on and on, until the portal disgorged its final prize. He still couldn't breathe, though, couldn't heave the expected sigh of relief, because Kashuu Kiyomitsu didn't walk or even stumble out of the hole in the world, but fell, limply, into his master's arms. A gaping, bloody wound stained his battle finery with crimson, but before Fujiwara could fully appreciate the messy injury, his eyes locked on a sight that made his heart almost stop beating.

Clutched in Kashuu's too-pale hand, the blade of the sword that was a Danshi's true self was cracked almost in half.