Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There are different kinds of meetings and separations. First meetings and meeting again. Parting and shattering. Each instance tangles you up with those you encounter. As a sword, his name is hardly ever separate from the human who forged him, or the ones who possessed him. He is also a collection of the blades he has met. If there is one thing his age has given him, it’s the chance to walk through the lives of many others.

Arriving at the citadel has been a reunion as a much a beginning. Mikazuki’s recollections span over too many years to keep them all straight, but the order doesn’t matter as much as the presences there. New faces and old faces all give him an opportunity to add to his collection of memories.

While he hadn’t met many of the younger ones in his steel form, he’s happy to allow them to tie their treasures to his fingers and sword. He will hold onto whatever they wish to entrust to him.

Mikazuki has always been useful for carrying decoration, and these swords have truly fascinating trinkets to share. Everything from Houchou’s candy wrappers, to Yamanbagiri’s ribbon of tattered cloth. They hold just as much value as any human ever assigned to Mikazuki’s body.

A few swords have borrowed a longer stretch of his life. They’ve left surprises inside him that rattle around the same place where he keeps Sanjou’s signature.

Some mornings he’ll go to stretch and a smile that isn’t his own will wrap around his wrist. He’ll step onto the battlefield and feel a friend’s determination settle into his spine. His body preserves these little signs, keeping them safe from time.

Today he is enjoying the company of one of his old companions. He may or may not have made a request to Aruji to have the sparring schedule changed.

His weapon collides with a wooden wakizashi. The counter-strike knows him well. It shoots up his arms until he can’t help but smile. The force of impact curls into his shoulders, tugging him forward to meet the next blow.

It’s funny how he hadn’t experienced much of this part of being a sword until he gained a human body. Battle was not the purpose most had in mind for him. Sore muscles and broken skin teach him more about what some of his companions have endured for centuries.

It’s a wonderful opportunity, for multiple reasons.

Honebami happens to be one of those reasons.

When Mikazuki had learned that Honebami lost his memories, he committed himself to getting to know Honebami all over again. He wants to memorize how Honebami smiles today, and learn what his laughter will sound like tomorrow. He wants to feel the weight of his burdens and see the height of him overcoming.

What better way to get to know each again than with a good match?

Winning or losing are fairly insignificant parts of a match, but the exchange that goes into that ending… That’s the memorable part, isn’t it? Different faces behind carefully planned movements. Attacks phasing in and out until the last blow is revealed. Losing is not really a loss if he gets to learn something worthwhile.

He can’t count how long they’ve been at this training match. Somewhere between forty minutes and four hundred years, he would guess. Zeros are tricky little ink blotches. They smudge easily too. More than one of his battle reports have had accidental thumb prints on the corners.

“You take this quite seriously.” He swipes at the side of Honebami’s neck, but only catches the edge of his jacket’s collar.

Honebami ducks, circling in towards his left. “Should I not?”

“You are welcome to take me as seriously or as lightly as you’d like.” A quick thrust narrowly misses his waist. They’re getting to closer to catching each other.

“You’re the one who asked to fight.” Honebami’s breath remains level. His arm slides past Mikazuki’s as he draws back.

“So I did! And I’m having an excellent time.” Part of him wants to wrap himself around Honebami to see if these bodies still mirror the closeness they once shared. Instead, he approaches in smaller increments. Honebami is in control of how quickly they become reacquainted. Mikazuki is always willing to adjust his pace.

Honebami doesn’t give him a verbal response, but the next parry is as much of an answer as he expected. If he had to guess, he would say Honebami is enjoying himself too. Battle gives Honebami a direction, a goal. He finds a clarity that he rarely can get his hands on. Instead of being so far away from himself and everyone else, Honebami is right here.

He darts after Mikazuki and they twirl around each other. Blades and bodies. Collisions and air. Their dance is a delightful thing to see mirrored in Honebami’s eyes. His movements speak with a familiarity he doesn’t realize he has. It’s all in the way he reads each of Mikazuki’s attacks and puts together a reply. Each time they connect, Honebami plucks pieces of himself from Mikazuki.

That’s what Mikazuki is after. Seeing Honebami relish in his life and his capabilities. No matter what happens to Honebami’s yesterday, he deserves to be at peace with himself.

Mikazuki blocks another strike, lunging forward with a counter of his own.

The harder he swings at Honebami, the closer he comes to earning the smile that he would love to see.

From his observations, Honebami Toushirou is still Honebami Toushirou. All his little idiosyncrasies create bridges between then and now. Whatever Honebami has lost hasn’t taken anything from the core of his being. He is still complete. Even if he doesn’t see it yet.

“Are you getting tired?” Words that once echoed in the halls of the Ashikaga ring in Mikazuki’s chest. The context is different, but he laughs anyway.

Nostalgia only makes him more thankful for this moment.

“Ahahaha! I know I’m old, but please, I can continue.” It’s best to keep the cobwebs out of him anyway.

His ribs are shelves for volumes signed by himself and others. Humans and swords. He has witnessed the repetition of disastrous mistakes, and the loss of impossibly precious things. But he has kinder stories too. Maybe Honebami would like a painting of their old home? Or perhaps a few lines of strategic rambling? If it would make him laugh, then Mikazuki would gladly rustle through his bones.

Honebami does grace him with a tiny smile, followed by a vicious slash. “I wasn’t asking because of your age.”

“Ah, very considerate!” Mikazuki smiles back.

If anything, Honebami asks because he has seen what it looks like when Ichigo aches, or when Midare is dizzy from exhaustion. He watches others carefully. His memory of each sign of pain or distress is immaculate. Mikazuki hadn’t thought the lingering fatigue from his most recent mission would be noticeable. Repairs are a wonder, but human bodies still begrudge a lack of rest.

They step back from each other. The clouds shift overhead, dragging a shadow between them. It’s a line they’re both eager to cross.

For all their anticipation, they are also patient. Honebami is not that much younger than Mikazuki when compared to swords like Izuminokami. They wait until a leaf hits the ground between them before they charge forward.

Honebami side steps Mikazuki’s thrust, while Mikazuki leans away from Honebami’s swing. If he knows Honebami… Yes, first the right, then rotating back to gather force- Mikazuki catches the Honebami’s bokken with his own. The wakizashi hits with the force of a naginata. Honebami’s technique still has the reach of a spear. It’s a challenge to stay out of Honebami’s grasp when Mikazuki is eager to get close to him.

If he lets Honebami bruise him, he could connect those dots and read the message marked into his skin. After everything ash has tried to erase, there are still answers buried under the rubble. He can see pieces of them peek through each time Honebami moves.

Mikazuki might just get his wish if he isn’t careful. Their strikes draw closer and closer together until they are encircled by the sounds of attacks. It’s a feeling that swords are used to. Noise gets swept into a single flow. A ribbon that doesn’t get cut until someone goes silent.

Mikazuki studies Honebami’s footwork. He can trace each footstep from the Ashikaga, to the Toyotomi, to the Tokugawa, to here. It should be his advantage, but Honebami is still capable of surprising him. Every time he catches sight of victory, Honebami knocks it out of his fingers. It’s a pleasant opportunity to reach for the skills he rarely got to use in his previous life. He never used to have muscles, but his body remembers the purpose the of a sword.

Certain things never seem to change.

Learning from each other’s sword is a tradition in its own right. Each time they’ve met again, Honebami has offered his blade as a vessel of history. Swords live too long to recount every detail of each year spent apart, but battles can convey the most pivotal moments. When they had reunited among the Toyotomi family, Honebami let Mikazuki read every life he had taken and every place he had been. Even if Mikazuki was kept for display, Honebami always indulged him. Honebami had carried pieces of the world to him when Mikazuki couldn’t follow.

No matter how many times Honebami has changed hands, he is a warrior’s blade through and through. Mikazuki wonders if the others would be surprised if they knew how much of his knowledge of certain battles comes from Honebami’s first-hand tastes of blood and bone. In return, Mikazuki would tell all of the old tales he knows while Honebami listened intently. They had passed hours and days and years that way.

They exchange another round of blows. The dust kicks up as they brace against each other’s strength.

Mikazuki remembers learning about Honebami’s return to the Ōtomo after Taga Bungo no Kami fell in battle with Honebami in hand. It wasn’t mourning, but they had led each other through the stages of life and loss. Mikazuki had offered Honebami a warm place to land. Night after night alone in your scabbard gets terribly cold.

A whoosh of air rushes past his face along with the edge of Honebami’s bokken. The flash of motion flickers across his vision like the flames he can feel under Honebami’s skin. Mikazuki is still listening. No matter what Honebami has to say, he will always listen. Not even the crackling blaze can drown out Honebami’s voice.

His next move is a strike at Honebami’s hip. Honebami blocks, then twists free of Mikazuki’s attack.

Victory was never his goal, but he can hardly let Honebami win without properly challenging his skill. Tea would be just as pleasant of a way to get reacquainted, but he knows Honebami is loudest when he doesn’t have to speak. This wakizashi isn’t the same as his fellow Sanjou swords. His stories aren’t sitting right under his tongue, ready to be told in laughter or recollections.

He chases after an opening. Honebami watches the tip of his bokken but he doesn’t move. Mikazuki connects, the tip of his bokken kissing ribs. Honebami leans into the impact, touching his bokken to the side of Mikazaki’s neck. They freeze with their weapons creating bridges between them. From this distance, he can see Honebami’s breath puffing into the chilled air.

Mikazuki should have seen this move coming from the moment Honebami placed his left foot. It’s not the first time Honebami has used it, but the last time Mikazuki saw it had been so long ago.

“Now that was a surprising trick!” Mikazuki steps back first. He presses his thumb to the side of his neck. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Honebami lowers his weapon. “You didn’t hit hard.”

“Is that so? You should tell Tsurumaru that. He complained for an hour or so after our last match.”

Compared to Honebami, Tsurumaru is far more animated in his victories or losses. Tsurumaru tends to hop around when he’s shaking off a loss. It’s quite the impression of a dancing crane. It’s no surprise. Tsurumaru has always been one to try to bring some laughter to their fights. That sword knows too much about joy gone silent in death.

His playful comparison doesn’t catch Honebami’s attention. Rather, Honebami is fixated on Mikazuki himself.

He stands still, closing his eyes for a beat. Honebami can look over every fold and shadow that makes up Mikazuki. In the past he was especially good at playing hide and seek with the moon. He could find it even on the cloudiest evenings. Now, Mikazuki wonders how deeply Honebami can break the surface, even without his past.

Honebami tilts his head, tapping the tip of his bokken against his shoe. His tone is flat. “You slowed down right before you connected. Why?”

Perhaps Honebami’s fingertips aren’t quite as charred as his brothers think they are. He grabs onto a piece of Mikazuki that has long since been obscured by dust. His grip is impressive. Mikazuki can feel the tug in every centimeter of himself.

“Mmm, did I? I didn’t notice.” His mind doesn’t always tell him everything his body is up to. He would much rather listen to Honebami anyway.

“Do you...” Honebami shakes his head. “Nevermind. Thank you for the match.”

“My intention wasn’t to doubt your ability.” Mikazuki flexes his fingers. “My apologies if I offended you.”

“It’s ok. That wasn’t it.” Honebami pauses. “I was-”

“Honebami!” Namazuo yells from across the courtyard. “Yagen is home!”

Whatever Honebami was going to say evaporates into a sigh. Maybe Ishikirimaru could see the ghost of those words, but that capability is beyond Mikazuki. It isn’t troubling. This is all a part of living. You learn to wait for others without impatience. You can’t rush a mind or body that doesn’t belong to you without breaking it first. Careless haste has broken more than one good blade.

Mikazuki steps aside as Namazuo nearly barrels into Honebami. “Can I assume Yagen successfully completed his training?”

“Yeah! He looks so cool!” Namazuo dangles off of Honebami’s shoulder. “Come on! Ichi-nii and the others are waiting.”

“I didn’t realize it was that late.” Honebami shrugs Namazuo off his shoulder, but allows him to grab his hand instead.

Walking behind the two of them, Mikazaki chuckles to himself. Certain groups of swords treat the labels of brothers and family differently. They wear their bonds in various shades of closeness. Some speak with a type of fondness they create just for each other. There’s a kinship he shares with the other Sanjou swords, but the Awataguchi swords are endearingly close. Each new arrival at their citadel is immediately folded into the mix. Ichigo wears the badge of big brother more proudly than any of the finery he inherited from his previous master.

Once they arrive at the front gate, it’s a challenge to hear anything over all the questions and congratulations being flung at Yagen.

Mikazuki hangs back to observe the reunion. Each sword that leaves for this type of training confronts the dangerous parts of themselves. They meet the people who helped make them what they are. It would be easy to lose every part of yourself among your memories. Corruption is good at masquerading as a homecoming. Falling is easier than standing up.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if there were casualties during kiwame training, but he is grateful that each tantou has returned.

As for Yagen… Human nature is an endless cycle, but it still manages to confound. Each one of Nobunaga’s swords remember a different side of a changing face. Maybe Yagen will never know what he could’ve found if he peeled back that man’s skin… But he stands as though he has found something better.

All the Awataguchi swords have their own way of welcoming Yagen home. Mikazuki watches Honebami in particular. He’s quieter than the rest of the bunch, waiting for each brother to have their turn. Some of the others have mentioned that Honebami is aloof. They’re not entirely wrong, but they also don’t know what to look for. They don’t know how to spot the subtle changes in Honebami’s features. They don’t always see the way his love for his brothers survived the fire even if his memories of them didn’t.

Mikazuki refuses to take Honebami’s presence for granted. Part of that appreciation is learning.

He learns new things about Honebami every day. He has learned that Honebami has enough patience to sift through every plant in their gardens to find the herbs Yagen needs. He has watched Honebami take blankets from the repair room and warm them by the forge for the swords returning from battle. He has seen Honebami reach out for others, only to draw back as if he’s nursing a sore wound.

Mikazuki smiles at the pride and warmth all over Honebami when he looks at Yagen’s new form.

“You’re home safe.” Honebami slips around the tantou, placing a hand on Yagen’s shoulder. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks! Nobunaga really was just a man after all.” Yagen slings an arm around Akita. “From now on, I want focus on the things the current me can do.”

Mikazuki can appreciate that sentiment. He had changed hands from family to family as his masters passed on. Certain details separate one from the next, but ultimately, they were all products of their time. If Yagen lets history hold onto Nobunaga, then he’ll be freer stepping forward.

Ichigo pats his brother’s back. “We’re proud of you, Yagen. You’ve already accomplished so much.”

“Yeah we are! But what else did you see?” Midare scoots his way to the front. “Where did you go?”

“Can I at least sit down first?” The tiredness in Yagen’s voice is the productive kind. It’s the type that follows on the heels of hard earned discoveries and growing pains.

“You must be exhausted, right?” Maeda smiles. “We planned dinner and everything for you.”

Akita tugs Yagen’s sleeve. “Aruji also has a present for you!”

“Really?” Yagen sighs, but he can’t keep his smile hidden. “You’re all making a huge fuss.”

“Because it’s a big deal.” Hirano spreads his arms, trying to gesture to just how big.

The sweetness brings Mikazuki back to the days he spent waiting for others to return. Each time one of his fellow swords came back, they brought home sights and sounds. Mikazuki’s masters had been stingy about letting him see the places his companions were taken. His perceived value had been a blindfold they tried to keep over his eyes. They had feared that even the sight of battle or fire could break him. A silly notion, but he endeared it. There is a different kind of strength that comes from waiting.

Ichigo calls him from his thoughts. “Mikazuki, would you like to join us?”

“I didn’t want to intrude on your family bonding!” He barely gets the last word of his jest out before Maeda and Hirano pull him over. Their hands are small, but he doesn’t mind being led.

Yagen laughs. “There’s nothing to intrude on. Most of them are just nosey about my trip anyway.”

“You’re so rude! We were worried about you.” Midare scuffs dust at Yagen.

“Well now, what good is a journey if you don’t bring any stories back?” Mikazuki leans in to study Yagen’s face. “You do look particularly enlightened.”

“Are you making fun me, old man?” At least his humor isn’t lost on Yagen. His wry grin shows of a flash of what he found.

“Certainly not! I’ll be eagerly awaiting your wisdom.” It doesn’t matter how many lifetimes worth of knowledge Mikazuki has, there is always more to discover. The moment you stop seeking growth is the moment you begin to rust.

All the tantou have returned from kiwame training with something new to share. Mikazuki has genuinely looked forward to catching a glimpse of each tale they cart home. Age is heaviest when you stop learning. Growth helps to sooth some of the aches from watching poor choices beat time into a stagnant loop. It would all get disheartening if not for the flashes of something genuine. Those moments sprout through the suffering, stretching towards a new course.

“I don’t know what kind of wisdom you’re looking for, but somehow I doubt I have it.” Yagen glances at Ichigo, Namazuo, and Honebami.

Mikazuki shakes his head.

It’s not what Yagen is thinking. The things that Yagen is thinking of aren’t Mikazuki’s to return. He has no desire to shape others into the silhouettes that his mind holds. It would be an uncomfortable fit at best, and a disfigurement at worst.

Honebami looks over at him, “Are you planning to have dinner with us?”

It’s so quiet he nearly misses it, but he counts it as a victory. He has been steadily working on increasing the number of words Honebami speaks to him on any given day. He started out at abysmal average of three words a day. Two words if he excluded sighs. This is an improvement, without a doubt.

“Unfortunately, I must finish a report for Aruji, but I wanted to offer Yagen my congratulations.” It’s difficult to part with the chance to see the Awataguchi brothers celebrating, but responsibility is inescapable. If he procrastinates too long then Yamanbagiri will have to pick up his slack.

“Thanks.” Yagen retrieves his hand from Gokotai’s. He gives Mikazuki a wave.

“Well, another time then.” Ichigo smiles.

“Of course.” Bowing gently, he takes his leave. There will be other opportunities to enjoy their company. Aruji doesn’t pull them away from each other the ways their pasts once had.

Successfully completed missions usually earn them some down time. Some use it for rest, and others decide to celebrate. Mikazuki recalls the Shinsengumi swords singing and drinking after their victory at the Ikedaya. Mikazuki is interested in something quieter for today. Fortunately, Kogitsunemaru is willing to join him for snacks and tea while they unwind. Each drop of blood and tension dries up and flakes off their skin.

Mikazuki admires that about human bodies. They’re always changing. The air in his lungs is not the same as it was a breath ago, and his blood replaces itself after any injuries. His skin works to wipe away abrasions and bruises. Waking up to his body moving itself through different cycles had been disorienting at first. He has come to find the variety exciting. Better yet is that this body can interact with others in a way that produces a seemingly endless number of responses.

This past battle hadn’t made him work that hard, and repairs were minimal. It was the kind of battle they wish for every time a team heads out. Nobody lost, nobody broken. Mikazuki does not particularly fear death, but he is grateful to indulge in the company here. It would be unfortunate to break just yet, even if time says he should have shattered a long time ago.

“You look lost.” Kogitsunemaru bumps his shoulder. He points upwards. “The clouds are that way.”

Mikazuki hums. “Oh? I was just admiring the view. Look at the leaves.”

“Hmm. They look like fire with all that red and orange.” Kogitsunemaru is amused. He has always been good at following the winding paths of Mikazuki’s mind.

“It’s a warm time of year.”

Kogitsunemaru snorts. “Are you trying to be ironic? It’s pretty cold out.”

“But that’s what makes it warm!” Mikazuki taps his fist against his open palm. “Everyone gets closer together when winter gets nearer.”

“Then can I except you’ll be trying to cuddle up to us all? Skinship and all that.”

“Perhaps! Does this also mean you’ll be growing a winter coat?”

“I’m not quite that much of a fox.” Kogitsunemaru leans back, tucking his arms behind his head.

He laughs far too loudly for the early morning. “I suppose you are more of a sword. You’re much too large and sharp to be a fox.”

“Is that Mikazuki I hear?” Footsteps behind them are accompanied by Ichigo’s voice.

“Yes, yes. Were you looking for me?” Mikazuki glances over his shoulder.

“Yes, actually.” Ichigo holds up the daily to-do list. “I came to ask if you gave the report from your last dispatchment to Aruji yet?”

“Ah, you’re very diligent.” Mikazuki nods, “I turned it in last night.”

“Thanks to Ishikirimaru. He already had half of it written.” Kogitsunemaru cracks one eye open.

Ichigo glances between the two of them and laughs. The sound has a similar kindness to the laughter Ichigo usually saves for his brothers. “Ishikirimaru is quite helpful.”

“Why don’t you join us for a little while?” Patting the spot beside him, Mikazuki pours another cup of tea.

“It has been awhile since we’ve had time, hasn’t it?” Ichigo kneels next to him.

Kogitsunemaru props himself up on one elbow, giving Ichigo a playful smile. “Between your brothers and helping Aruji, you’ve been too busy for us geezers.”

“I’m sorry, I lost track of time. I really do enjoy your company.”

“We understand.” Mikazuki hands a cup of tea to Ichigo. “Although, speaking of your brothers, how are they all?”

Taking a sip of tea, Ichigo smiles widely as soon as his brothers are mentioned. “They’re doing well! All of the tantou have finished their kiwame training. The celebration for Yagen’s return was wonderful. Hasebe, Souza, and Fudou stopped by for a while.”

“I’m sure they are also proud of Yagen.” There are certain observations that don’t need to be voiced. The bond between Nobunaga’s swords is one of those things. They look after each other despite the memories they draw from their connections. It’s easier to avoid falling apart when you have more hands there to hold you together.

Ichigo nods. “Yagen really appreciated the gesture. Whatever their own feelings may be, they came to listen to Yagen talk about his journey and that man.”

“Your brothers have become quite strong, haven’t they?” Kogitsunemaru sounds almost proud. The whole citadel has been rooting for those sent on kiwame.

“They have. They’ve each excelled, more so than I ever expected.” A special kind of animation runs through Ichigo when he speaks about his brothers. He leans into each tender word. His body looks as though Aruji chose it specifically to contain all the fondness that Ichigo has held for centuries.

“And you’re ever the proud brother!” Mikazuki pats Ichigo’s knee.

He vividly recalls Ichigo worrying himself into knots when the first of the tantou left for training. Mikazuki had feared they would have to lay Ichigo over the forge to melt the strain out of his body.

“Of course. I never thought I would see some of them again, and now I get to watch them grow like this.”

No human who has ever touched an Awataguchi sword has loved them as much as Ichigo does.

“Hmm. But Aruji has only opened kiwame training to tantou so far. How have your other brothers been?” He slides the question to Ichigo. As a sword drenched in decoration, light reflects off of him and his intentions. His intricacy is often mistaken for misdirection.

His patterns aren’t as much of a maze as one would assume. Mikazuki always makes sure there’s a way out. Nobody needs to be trapped.

Kogitsunemaru sees right through his ornamentation. “You could just ask about Honebami, you know.”

“Now Kogitsunemaru, this old man is just curious about a friend!”

“I see.” Ichigo watches Mikazuki thoughtfully. When he smiles to himself, he pauses to bite his lip. “He worries me sometimes.”

“How so?”

Ichigo sighs. “He seems to fluctuate between wanting his memories back and not caring that they’re gone. It makes it difficult to know how to help. He insists it’s his burden to handle.”

“He doesn’t remember anything at all, right?” Kogitsunemaru asks.

“Yes, that’s right.” Lowering his head, Ichigo takes a deep breath. “Some of others have tried different tricks to jog his memory. They even borrowed a few books from Aruji.”

Mikazuki rubs his chin. “Caring for their brother is expected, but this is nothing a book can answer.”

No human authors can write the spirit of a sword. Nobody knows how to transfuse memories back into steel. Metal is too hard. It doesn’t let anything leave or enter easily. Once something is taken from a sword it's hard to put it back. Their wounds and losses always have a sense of permanence to them, it’s just the nature of their blades.

“Namazuo and I are missing a sizable portion of memories… But Honebami has nothing from before he burned.” Ichigo reaches for his tea. He swirls the cup around as he thinks. “I worry that it’s painful for him when the others try to get him to recall things. I have been considering asking them to give him a rest.”

Kogitsunemaru frowns. “Is that what Honebami wants?”

“I don’t know.” Ichigo shakes his head. “He never complains about it, but Honebami doesn’t complain about anything really. I see the notes he keeps though. He doesn’t want to forget anything again.”

“I can’t speak for him, but I have known him for a quite long time.” Mikazuki remembers learning how to befriend Honebami the first time. He remembers how delicate of a process it was and still is. “I believe Honebami would say something if the attempts were unbearable. The closeness to you all is worth any discomfort.”

Kogitsunemaru nods, “I’d imagine being without his memories is isolating enough already. It looks he’s trying his best to be close to you all… He’s just working out exactly how to do that.”

“You’re right. He’s more open than he was at the beginning, but…” Ichigo’s fingers tighten around the teacup until his knuckles turn white. “I wish we could do more to help. He’s still so reserved sometimes. I worry I’m not doing enough for him.”

“You’re doing just fine, Ichigo Hitofuri.” Placing a hand on Ichigo’s shoulder, Mikazuki gives it a gentle squeeze.

It is painful enough to lose something. It’s even more painful to feel as though someone dear to you has been robbed. Ichigo cannot hold his blade to a flame and make it pay for what fire did to Honebami. He cannot bend time’s arm until it returns what it has taken. He cannot grab humanity by the throat and force it to apologize.

Mikazuki has outlived restlessness, but he isn’t numb to the desire to project. Somewhere among the dust of their long lives, they all have something they wish they could have guarded. Be that another sword, a human, or even a sense of self.

“Thank you.” Ichigo pats the top of Mikazuki’s hand. “Though it can’t be easy for you either, given the circumstances.”

Mikazuki tilts his head. “Don’t worry too much. There are far worse outcomes than this.”

“I suppose.” Ichigo looks at Mikazuki with something that’s part sadness and part gratitude. He smiles gently. “Thank you for listening to me, but I unfortunately should be going.”

“What else are we here for?” Kogitsunemaru sits up, draining the last of his tea.

“It’s no trouble.” He shakes his head. “Feel free to join us anytime you want to chat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Nodding once, Ichigo rises to his feet. “Please have a good afternoon.”

Mikazuki drums his fingers on the side of his teacup. There’s a tea stalk floating in it. “Good luck with the rest of your errands!”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Ichigo turns around quickly, “Thank you for looking out for him. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Kogitsunemaru bursts into laughter as Ichigo slides the door shut behind him.

Mikazuki nudges Kogitsunemaru, but ends up laughing himself. He is hardly surprised that Ichigo picked up on his attentiveness.

In a house full of swords, it’s natural that very little goes unnoticed. Some of them were kept constantly at a master’s hip, others waited in shrines or storage rooms. Listening and observing are skills almost as embedded in them as fighting. Now with lips to speak with and ears to whisper in, there are hardly any secrets that don’t make their way through the whole citadel. Mikazuki prefers it this way. Information moves through their home like the blood in their new veins. They all give this place its own kind of life.

Mikazuki considers his closeness with Honebami to be one of the best tales assigned to his blade. If that’s one of the stories that the others decide to share about him, then Mikazuki is truly fortunate.

~~~

Disappearing is easiest when there isn’t much of you for others to find missing. Most nights he enjoys sleeping surrounded by his brothers. He tries to drown out the echoes of everything he has forgotten with whatever memories he made that day. Somewhere inside him there must be a more permanent place to write names, but he doubts there is anywhere that the flames couldn’t find. Fire circles his veins, watching for a trace of anything it hasn’t devoured yet.

It’s fine this way. There’s nothing to be done for it.

Or at least that what he had thought until more recently. Lately, he can’t shake the restlessness that comes each time he is repaired. As his body heals, his mind walks to the edge of a wall of flames until he can feel his thoughts start to melt. He can practically taste the charred remains of what he lost, if only he had the strength to endure the heat for a moment longer. Each time he thinks he can rescue something, he has to pull his hands back.

Would he even recognize what he found if could recover anything?

He refuses to cling to anyone with his sooty hands. The smell of smoke is his and no one else deserves to bear the weight of an engulfed building.

Honebami walks down the halls of the citadel, keeping his steps light to avoid waking any of the others. Being alone gives him the peace he’s seeking. There’s a decision to be made, but first his feet take him on a different journey. The night sky follows him as he goes and he notices that the moon is nearly full.

Walking by each door, Honebami checks to see if he can remember whose room is whose. In an ironic twist, his ability to remember such details is impeccable. He can still recall the number of boats on the water during the first battle Aruji sent him to. He can recall the exact words each sword in the citadel said to him upon meeting. Maybe it’s because there is so much room left in his head. His mind is so desperate to fill in the empty places that it scavenges whatever it comes it across. He’s been alive too long to have so little.

His mind and his body create a sort of dissonance where he feels like both an old and a completely new person.

A certain scent catches his attention, but he refuses to pay it too much mind. His senses have a habit of trying to make a fool of him. They promise him they have the secrets he has been without, but they never tell him. It’s a cycle he doesn’t have the time for. His energy is better saved for the battlefield where he is still able to serve the purpose he was intended for. He doesn’t need the past to recognize the marks of war on his blade.

The door behind him slides open, and Honebami knows whose voice he’ll hear before they call to him.

“Oh, if it isn’t Honebami!” Mikazuki opens the door wider, gesturing inside. “Would you care to join me?”

He considers walking away, but his legs are reluctant to move. “Surely you can find better company than me?”

Mikazuki laughs in that overly amused chortle of his. “Ha ha ha, you’re perfect company.”

Mikazuki tosses Honebami a key, but he doesn’t know where it leads. He doesn’t even know where to find the door. This is why he is simultaneously more comfortable and more unsettled around Mikazuki. It’s familiar, but it’s a familiarity that belongs to someone who is a stranger to him.

“If you’re sure...” Honebami sighs and steps through the door. The candle light makes everything look warm. Mikazuki’s room is cozy if nothing else.

The scent from earlier hits him as soon as he’s fully inside Mikazuki’s room. It’s incense. His chest grabs at the feeling welling up inside him. No matter how much his senses beg his mind for a name or an image, he comes up blank. His body will have to keep the scent with the rest of the lost sensations that are missing their names. It’s the same wall he always hits, so he moves on. His fingers are too tired and raw to climb out of whatever has him so stuck.

Forward is the one direction he can always go.

He hears Mikazuki slide the door shut, but he doesn’t turn around to watch him. Instead he looks around the room. It’s not the first time he’s seen it, but it is the first time he’s been here this late with just Mikazuki as company. There are small gifts from other swords on a shelf. Flowers, teacups, doodles, a hand-sewn doll of some sort. Honebami recognizes some of the items as gifts his various brother have given Mikazuki.

For as special as Mikazuki is, the room is simple in furnishings and decor… Although, there is one painting that Honebami stares at. It’s a field with tiny white flowers stretching along the edges of where crops grow. His ankles flex to push him towards the picture, but Honebami locks his legs. It would be rude to go around inspecting Mikazuki’s things, wouldn’t it? One part of him doesn’t want to look directly at anything in this room for too long. The other part of him wants to memorize every detail.

“You don’t have to stand there.” Mikazuki smiles, tapping his shoulder. Honebami’s skin panics. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you.” He kneels down at the kotatsu in the center of the room. The warmth moves up his legs. Autumn evenings are chillier than he gave them credit for. This body has a smaller range of temperatures that it considers comfortable.

For a second he wonders if his posture is appropriate…

There are probably rules of decorum about visiting the room of a Tenka Goken, but Honebami isn’t certain. Mikazuki doesn’t seem like he would care even if there were. Titles and names are strange to Honebami. He knows from Aruji’s record books that his name comes from an unfortunate killing that was the first of many strange accidents involving his blade. He is named for violence and Mikazuki is named for beauty. Honebami has precious little other than his name. Mikazuki’s scabbard is full of over a millennia of treasures. Yet here they are.

“You look thoughtful. Care to share?” Mikazuki places a bottle of sake and two cups between them.

Honebami shakes his head. “It’s nothing important.”

“Does it need to be important?”

“I don’t understand.”

For a minute he thinks Mikazuki might be able to see something that Honebami himself can’t. Is there some sort of inscription on this body too? If there is, then how did he miss it? He has searched himself again and again for all the disappointing blank spaces that others find on him.

The moment of analysis passes so quickly that maybe Mikazuki’s smile was only thing that was ever there.

“You don’t need to be so troubled. I simply meant that you can say whatever you’d like. It doesn’t have to be profound.” Mikazuki’s voice is quiet compared his usual jovial tone. It’s warm nonetheless.

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” He mutters. It’s not that he can’t speak, it’s just that there isn’t much he has say. Words never seem to reflect what he really means, and silence gives him more room to breathe.

“How about we drink a little first?” Mikazuki fills each of their cups. The candle light slides around the bend of his wrist. “I won’t force you though. Your company is already a significant improvement to my evening!”

The alcohol isn’t a bad suggestion, but thinking of Honebami as good company is laughable. Mikazuki should be saying that with some kind of irony, anything to indicate it’s a joke. Honebami can’t find anything other than genuine appreciation. Mikazuki always smiles like he knows far more than any one person should… But somewhere in all that wisdom, he seems to have got it in his head that Honebami is a pleasant companion.

Honebami takes a small sip of sake. “You’re strange.”

Mikazuki shuts his eyes and takes a moment to enjoy the first taste of sake. “Hmm how so?”

This is where he pauses. Another sip of sake gives his mouth something to do. Whatever Mikazuki has served is certainly smooth. It runs down his throat easier than all the questions he’s trying to swallow. Mikazuki watches him like he’s daring him to speak his mind.

Honebami feels himself drawn to the challenge in the same way he’s at home on the battlefield. “You don’t react the same as the others.”

“Is that right?” Mikazuki’s eyes laugh even while he tries to keep his mouth straight.

“To me I mean.”

That makes Mikazuki’s amusement back away in a hurry. His jaw gets a little tighter. “I know I made a misstep when we first met here, but have I done something since then?”

“No. It’s not in a bad way” Honebami isn’t sure he’s the best at reassurance. He’s too quiet and not graceful enough with his words. He wants to be silent, but he can’t just yet. “...And I wasn’t offended that first day either.”

“Mm, I’m glad! You had me worried.” For whatever it’s worth, Honebami did enough to bring the ease back to Mikazuki’s face. He can be proud of that much. “I would hate to chase you away.”

He debates asking. Knowing the answer won’t change anything. Still, he wants to hear it. Maybe it will help him learn more about the stranger trapped behind the heat.

“There is something that I want to know.”

“Yes?” Mikazuki leans in closer. The intensity is a little much, but there’s a layer of encouragement that pushes him on.

“You never try to hint at what I’ve forgotten.” Honebami takes a breath. “Not about myself, or you, or anything.”

“Does that bother you?”

“It confuses me.”

Mikazuki smiles slowly, taking another long sip of sake. “I did say that the past doesn’t matter, and that we should get along with each other once again.”

It’s difficult to navigate a conversation like this one. Honebami is completely unarmed, and Mikazuki has a whole arsenal. More baffling still is that Mikazuki won’t raise a single one of the weapons he holds. It’s not that he thinks Mikazuki would hurt him, but Mikazuki has all the tools he’d need to go pawing around Honebami’s head. He just never does. It makes no sense. He looks again at the painting on the wall and then back to Mikazuki. There is something oddly comforting about Mikazuki’s refusal to apply any pressure to him. Honebami has been reshaped to suit others’ purposes many times. Mikazuki is perfectly content with his current form…

But how could anyone be happy with the way things are now? What Honebami lost was never just his own.

“Are you honestly satisfied with that?” Honebami puts his sake cup down with more force than he intends. It’s too loud. He’s not loud. Why does his body choose now to be disagreeable?

Mikazuki refills his cup, making no comments about the sudden sharpness to Honebami’s movements. He continues like he already knows that Honebami’s frustration isn’t intended for him. “Why shouldn’t I be? You are easy to get along with.”

But I might not ever remember. That thought stays firmly lodged in his chest. He cradles the cup of sake in his hands, just touching it to his lips. Instinct guides him through battles with a careful sort of precision. He knows he was used in numerous fights because even if he can’t recall anything, he moves with the assurance of a seasoned blade. There’s no instinct to help him through this. He hates the feeling of stumbling. His metal is so soft right now that Mikazuki could probably leave fingerprints on him.

His silence does little to trouble Mikazuki.

“My version of our history is not the same as your memories.” Mikazuki gives him a gentle smile, resting his fingers on the back of Honebami’s hand. “Why would I want to influence your perception, when I can have the joy of knowing you all over again? I’ve always wanted you to be yourself, whoever that may be. Filling you up with my memories would defeat the purpose of that.”

Oh. His chest tightens, and he presses a hand over his heart to keep it inside him. He isn’t sure if organs can forcefully exit, but he doesn’t want to find out. Mikazuki’s words are touching, even if he can’t quite get his mind around the entirety of the sentiment. He does understand that Mikazuki is doing him a kindness. Mikazuki doesn’t see him as incomplete or broken. He shudders slightly. Too much warmth always makes him burn again. All the joy and relief catches on fire, so he knows it must be something precious to him. The flames never try to take something unless it’s important.

He takes a gulp of sake to rinse the ash from his mouth. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing to thank me for.” Mikazuki shakes his head. “Trust that it is to my benefit as well.”

“That doesn’t matter to me. I’m still grateful.”

“And yet you still look sad.” Mikazuki glances from Honebami’s hands up to his face. Sad isn’t the word others have used. More often they pick dazed, lonely, quiet.

“I try not to be fixated on the past, but I get flashes and it aches.” The sake is loosening his lips, but Mikazuki’s quiet coaxing works wonders as well. “Who forgets their own brothers and friends?”

“Would this have something to do with the way you occasionally gasp when I touch you?”

He shouldn’t be surprised that Mikazuki is as perceptive as he is. His secret is already dangling in Mikazuki’s fingertips, and no amount of saying it’s nothing will retrieve it. He decides that he doesn’t need it back anyway. He’ll entrust Mikazuki with it.

It’s still difficult to put into words.

“I-” Honebami bites on his tongue. “When certain swords or Aruji touch me, it aches. I see images, but I never get to keep them.”

The visions he gets vanish as soon as they appear. No context, nothing to tie them too- Just a collision with his mind, and then rapid disintegration. There has never been any point in telling anyone. False hope is cruel, and Honebami never intends to harm anyone other than their enemies.

Mikazuki rests his chin on his hand, listening to each word carefully. “Mm, I see. If it makes you uncomfortable, please tell me. My goal is never to upset you, even unintentionally.”

How should he try to explain that every brush of skin makes him feel like he’s being broken and put back together all at once? It would be more frightening to never have these swords around to touch him. Any pain pales compared to the sense of peace that settles in after the initial ache starts to fade.

“It’s ok. It’s not a bad pain, really.” Honebami shrugs. Mikazuki has never pushed him past his limits. Furthermore, the ache means that something is there. Even if he can’t find it yet.

Honebami has told Aruji not to touch him though. The dreams of a man who smells like the fields had left him too disoriented. He can’t afford to become a liability. His brothers each carry enough without having to worry about him too.

“I’m sure you have your reasons to endure it.” When Mikazuki sighs, it brushes the soot from Honebami’s skin. “But if I could make one request? Please don’t punish yourself.”

“It’s not punishment. The past is the past.” Honebami looks down at where Mikazuki’s hand is still resting on top of his. “But a vague past means an uncertain present.”

For a moment, Mikazuki doesn’t offer him any more words. He takes another sip of sake and closes his eyes. Tapping once on the back of Honebami’s hand, Mikazuki draws his fingers away. When he opens his eyes, he’s almost too vast for Honebami to keep a hold of. Mikazuki is practically another citadel with too many halls to get lost in.

“You want to make peace with it.” Mikazuki pours himself more sake, but makes no move to drink it. “How do you plan to do that?”

“I just need to see what I can find.” Walking through fog and shadows leaves him constantly questioning whether he’s about to step off a cliff. His body is getting too accustomed to waiting to fall. “I want to see if there are any pieces of me left in those years. If not, I’ll cross that bridge.”

“Ahh, so you want to go for the same training as your brothers!” Mikazuki claps his hands together. His smile grows wide enough that Honebami is tempted to count his teeth. Every part of him is deceptively polished.

“Yes.” He nods. Aruji already gave him the ok when he spoke to them after Yagen’s return. He’ll be the first wakizashi to go. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

“In that case…” Slowly Mikazuki gets up from the kotatsu and starts rummaging through his shelves.

Honebami watches Mikazuki’s back. For as often as some wax poetic about Mikazuki being the moon, Honebami thinks he exceeds it. He’s beautiful for sure, but he’s alive. The way he bangs around and mutters to himself... How often he’s ruffled and sleepy before his morning tea… Moonlight makes Honebami think of quiet nights and cold windows. Mikazuki takes those silvers and brings the moon closer to earth.

Mikazuki kneels back down at the kotatsu with something hidden behind his back. “I have something for you.”

“Hmm?” Honebami leans back slightly, trying to watch Mikazuki’s face for the punchline. His brothers have given him gifts, but he hasn’t the slightest idea what Mikazuki could want to give him.

“If you’re going, you should take this with you.” Mikazuki gives him an intriguing grin before presenting him with a small mirror.

Honebami holds the mirror in both hands. The glass is perfectly polished, and his reflection is too crisp. It’s been a long time since he has seen his cheeks slightly pink, or his eyes this bright. Maybe this is the first time? Steel can’t smile, after all. He turns the mirror over and traces the intricate designs on the back. Deep blue with gold inlay in the shape of looping crescent moons. It’s a treasure worthy of a Tenka Goken, so why haven’t his fingers broken it?

“What do I-” He pauses, looking at his reflection again. He tilts the mirror so that it catches Mikazuki’s face too. “This is yours.”

“And now it’s yours.” Mikazuki laughs. “Bring it with you. Maybe it will help you during your time of reflection.”

It’s a terrible pun. Honebami takes a gulp of his sake to drown his dried-out laughter. The weight of the gift is much more than the small mirror that fits in his palm. He’s not sure what Mikazuki expects from him in return, if he expects anything at all.

“Jokes aside, thank you.” Honebami smiles. His cheeks feel funny. Does he really smile that little? “I’ll bring it with me.”

“It’s just a small thing.” Finishing his sake, Mikazuki stares intently at Honebami. “Do your brothers know you’ll be going?”

Honebami shakes his head. “No. Nobody knows yet.”

“You told me first? I’m honored!”

It’s difficult to look right at Mikazuki’s face. He looks pleased and surprised... And something else that Honebami finds too difficult to name. It’s strange how Mikazuki doesn’t have to touch him to open the holes inside of him. It reminds him of how hollow he is, but it also provides the comfort of what it might be like to be full.

“Ichi-nii has his hands full and I didn’t want any of them to worry.” He tries his best not to mumble. It’s not as though his brothers can hear him through these walls.

Mikazuki looks down at the mirror. “Your brothers will worry regardless I’m afraid.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure you don’t need to be told that it’s because they care so much.”

“It’s…” Honebami searches through several words with his tongue. “Overwhelming.”

“I can imagine.” Mikazuki tilts the sake bottle towards him, but Honebami shakes his head. “Ichigo is grateful to have you all together.”

“It’s different for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your relationship with the other Sanjou swords.”

“Mmm.” Mikazuki sits back a little. “I suppose it is. We’re close, but we don’t refer to each other as brothers really.”

“I see.” Maybe it has something to do with age, or how they were kept. Honebami isn’t certain. He can’t dig deep enough to uncover the roots of family even if he can feel them.

“It’s a little different for any of us that share a smith.” Mikazuki’s tone grows thoughtful. “Sharing a smith also doesn’t guarantee sharing much of a history. Humans were quite good at spreading us around.”

“When we first met here, you said you knew me for quite a long time.” Honebami frowns, trying to add up numbers he doesn’t have. For Mikazuki to call it quite a long time, he can’t imagine how many years that totals.

“We were lucky. Our paths kept crossing.” It’s still dripping with vagueness, but Mikazuki’s fondness slips through. “And here we are now!”

“Yeah.” Honebami’s mouth is too dry to let words pass properly. He tries clearing his throat a few times. “I guess we are.”

“Is your throat sore?”

Honebami’s shoulders roll forward. “I don’t normally talk this much.”

“Mmm.” Mikazuki shuffles across the room to pour him some tea. “Here you go. It seems I’ve given your voice more of a workout than expected.”

Sipping on the tea eases some of the scratchiness. Mikazuki is right. Honebami doesn’t think he has spoken this much in a month, never mind in one evening. It should feel like he’s slipping out of his own skin, but each word tastes like his own. It would be easier if he had a sharper picture of who Honebami Toushirou is supposed to be.

“I didn’t think I would run into anyone tonight.”

“I’m happy I caught you.” Tapping on the edge of the mirror, Mikazuki chuckles. “I’ll have to prepare to send you off tomorrow.”

“I’ll be leaving in the morning so...” Honebami trials off. He isn’t sure how one should tackle going away. All of brothers used different words. “I should get back to my room to rest.”

“If you’d like to stay the night, you’re welcome to.” Mikazuki makes a sweeping gesture towards the single futon. “It’s very late and you might wake your brothers.”

The ridiculous flare of it all makes something like a quiet laugh jump out of Honebami. Whether it surprises him or Mikazuki more, he can’t tell.

“I can get around my sleeping brothers just fine.” He tries his best to return Mikazuki’s smile. “I have to grab my travel supplies that Aruji gave me.”

“Mhm, so you would stay otherwise?” Mikazuki scoots closer, and Honebami fights to not lean away. He may not have been originally forged as a wakizashi, but he still knows that support swords aren’t usually the recipients of this kind of careful focus.

Stretching first, Honebami stands up noiselessly. Perhaps he is overly careful to remain silent, but Mikazuki doesn’t need to worry about him waking any of the others. He has practically been a ghost since arriving here. Curling his fingers around the mirror, Honebami holds it to his chest before tucking it into the folds of clothes.

Every once and awhile Honebami overhears the others talk about how quiet he is. They worry about him. Sometimes he repeats sentences in his head over and over, but never feels the impulse to share them. What is his voice, and how does he use it? He is less confident in that than he is in his ability to fight and protect. Guarding the others is easier than holding a conversation, unfortunately. Yamanbagiri and Ookurikara rival him for fewest words spoken.

In all his time here though, he has never heard Mikazuki complain or whisper about his nature. Even now Mikazuki watches him with a peaceful smile. He is happy to just observe Honebami being Honebami, and that is something he is still getting used to.

He takes a deep breath and nods to Mikazuki. The walk to the door feels longer than when he came in. If he hadn’t been distracted on his way in, he would have counted the number of steps from the door to the kotatsu. Exact details make for a stronger foundation to rest the present on. Mikazuki keeps him from fixating on collecting every precise detail. Instead, he gets the impression that Mikazuki is thumbing through Honebami’s body for stories that Mikazuki has read a thousand times. If Mikazuki is to be believed, then there is more to Honebami than his memorization of the number floorboards and battle strategies.

He has to go.

This is why he asked Aruji for the chance to search. He can’t continue on without knowing the boundaries of his body and his memories. Even if everything within those borders is destroyed, he can’t continue with just a vague outline of a self.

He looks back as he reaches the door. “...I’ll be leaving around sunrise.”

“I’m an early riser.” Mikazuki reassures.

Honebami supposes the moon is always there for the first taste of the morning’s light.