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It was small; meaningless, really. A pointless relic of things that weren’t meant to be. An ephemeral breeze that tickled Sesshōmaru’s skin, but ultimately left nothing there of substance.
But he kept it. And late at night, when his wards slept, he took it out and held it up to the moonlight; he could swear that it glowed in the dulcet light.
He had vowed not to forget her, not to let her death be in vain. In that, was defeating Naraku and the jewel enough? Had he truly made Kagura’s life meaningful?
When the wind tickled his skin, he wondered if she was caressing him, even after her body had evaporated from Naraku’s miasma.
Perhaps that was what compelled him to keep the feather, the last of her. So that he had physical proof that she existed; so in his own small way, he could let Kagura know that she mattered in this world, mattered to him.
What would you have looked like, Kagura, he silently asked the feather between his fingers, to know that I still think about you?
He remembered the day he thought to set the feather free, under the waterfall where he’d saved her life once before—no, that was not right; Kagura’s life was never her own—where Rin had nearly lost her life fishing Kagura out of the river. It was the moment that Sesshōmaru saw something different in her eyes: a fire that refused to be extinguished even surrounded by a raging storm. Beautiful ruby eyes that matched the color of her lips.
He could not save her. The harbingers of the underworld had not come to claim her body. Tenseiga had not pulsed. All he could do was witness her last moments, assuring her that yes, he knew it was her, and that he had come.
The serenity in her face as she turned into the wind would forever be burned into his memory. In the sunlight, while Jaken prattled on about this or that, that memory seemed enough.
In the quiet of the night, alone with his thoughts, though, Sesshōmaru began to understand that perhaps it was not enough. That something inside of his soul longed to see Kagura again. To ask her if in those last moments, she truly was free.
“Did you become the wind, Kagura?” Sesshōmaru asked, tracing the pearlescent sheen that changed color as he twisted it this way and that, letting the moonrays catch it at different angles.
A gust of wind lashed against Sesshōmaru’s hand, prying open his fingers. The feather took flight with such force that Sesshōmaru was unable to recapture it, sailing along as if it had a life of its own.
Sesshōmaru thought to let the feather go. It was as fleeting as Kagura’s life had been, and Jaken would whine the whole of the next day if Sesshōmaru abandoned him.
But he couldn’t let it go, couldn’t let her go.
So he followed.
Once he was in the air, he could have grabbed it and ended its journey, but something told Sesshōmaru to let the feather complete its journey; after all, it was Kagura who had wanted more than anything to be free to follow wherever the wind pointed her. It seemed an insult to recapture this feather that danced in the wind.
Let no one ever find out that I am following a feather. Sesshōmaru sneered at the wind, but he kept the glimmering feather in view, resolved to let it show him where it led. Kagura, if I had followed you like this, would you still be here?
He remembered her kneeling to him in earnest, asking for his allegiance to betray her master. He had dismissed her then, told her that to go so far as betraying Naraku, she needed to stand on her own.
And she had.
She had defied Naraku, even knowing that it would cost her life.
She had protected Kohaku, after he had decided to betray Naraku himself.
A set of slaves set to revolt and die, instead of living in servitude.
Sesshōmaru did not live a life full of regret, save for that one. Because he knew if he had accepted Kagura’s offer, if he had found a way to protect her, then he would not be chasing a feather into the wilderness.
The wind shifted then.
And there it was: a scent that Sesshōmaru had tried to shut out of his memory.
The sickeningly sweet odor of a field of flowers.
The field that Sesshōmaru tried to put out of his mind.
The field that Sesshōmaru would never forget.
Kagura’s field.
Why was the feather leading him here?
Was it trying to finally return to its mistress’s final resting place?
Sesshōmaru had never returned to that field after Kagura had died there. The fragrance burned his nostrils, forcing him back to that place, back to the memory of standing and watching her smile as her body evaporated around her. Back to… the anger he felt that he was helpless to do anything, because there was nothing that Tenseiga could pierce to revive her.
There was no reason for him to return to that field. What was done was done; it was over; the only piece of Kagura left was that feather on the wind. It was pointless.
…Except…
There was a reason for him to return to that field.
To grieve.
To say goodbye.
To admit to himself that her death had pierced his heart.
To…
The feather had slowed, and was floating toward the ground, toward the field, toward the flowers.
But there, in the midst of the lily-white sea, was something strange: an otherworldly crimson glow, as if the land had absorbed Kagura’s blood and was radiating it.
He descended into the patch, landing at the edge of the red, nearly exactly where he had stood not long ago, watching Kagura draw her last breath.
So you have truly come home, Sesshōmaru thought as he watched the feather land, in the center of the pool of red flowers: Kagura’s grave.
“I will miss you,” Sesshōmaru whispered, and he pressed his fingers to his lips. A kiss for the chance that never was, for the alliance that never came to be, for the love that never blossomed.
Sesshōmaru turned away from the red flowers, and prepared himself to launch, to say his final goodbye. He finally had set Kagura’s feather free. It was time to leave this—Kagura—behind and move on. It was time for her feather to join her, as the wind.
“Tenseiga?” Why would his sword of healing choose now to pulse? It had stayed silent when Kagura was there, facing him, with that serene smile on her face as she burst from Naraku’s cruel final gift. But… now, the moment he turned away from the blood-red flowers and the feather, Tenseiga chose to assert itself? To instruct him that he was there for more than just a simple goodbye?
Sesshōmaru took one step, then two, into the red flowers, into the memory of Kagura’s blood, into his grief at her loss, until he came to the flower that Kagura’s feather had chosen for its perch.
Then, he dug. Claws out like the dog demon he was, down into the Earth, ripping apart the flowers as he went, ignoring the memory of Naraku’s miasma and Kagura’s blood, until…
Until…
There it was, shimmering like a ruby in the moonlight: a heart. Had it been buried there all this time? Had it been waiting for Sesshōmaru to find it?
Had Kagura failed to become the wind?
Sesshōmaru couldn’t steady his breaths as he looked down at the lump of flesh, divorced from its owner but undoubtedly Kagura’s. It brought him—dare he say—hope.
He unsheathed Tenseiga, and peered down. There it was, a single denizen of the underworld, seated as if upon an ottoman. But unlike all the rest, this one showed no resistance, no defense. It smiled serenely at him, as if it had been waiting for this moment.
He made it quick. One single stab through the creature, directly into the heart.
She’s been waiting. Sesshōmaru would never quite know if the voice was from the slain creature or from himself, but the moment that Tenseiga pierced the flesh, it let out a pulse. Then another. Then a third.
Sesshōmaru stepped backward, and he watched as the flesh began to glow, then grow, until it was the size of a person, then finally, the shape of a woman. The figure was cloaked in shimmering scarlet, the color of her eyes, then a delicate hand reached out of the veil, plucking the feather from the ground.
Her hair streamed around her in ringlets, something he had only seen the time he fished her out of the river. Her eyes sparkled even under the scant light of the moon, smiling only for him. Her lips were as ruby as those eyes, proof that what he had always presumed was painted was natural. And her cheeks blushed pink against the alabaster white of her skin.
“I didn’t think you would ever find me,” she said.
“I will always find you,” Sesshōmaru smiled, and stepped closer to the wind demoness who had led him back to her with a feather. “Sorry it took me so long.”
Artwork commission by sweepingtree