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Sesshо̄maru breathed in deeply, inhaling putrid jaki seeping from weeping wounds in the scattered yōkai carcasses littering the ground before him. Several shaku away from a sleeping village where a weathered priestess was rising to commit to her morning rites, and training his niece who seemed to begrudge the morning sun. Even through howling calls for his death and the sizzling, burning flesh cleaved in twain from his whip, he could hear her whining rebuked by the elderly priestess as she was ushered out into the cool morning air. They would be hard at work honing her abilities til the hour of the Dragon. By then, a most displeasing interruption would come and set the village abuzz with festive fervor.
For now, its inhabitants slept peacefully, unaware of gnashing fangs and serrated claws wishing to be dyed red - and now left as an offering for the scavenger yōkai peering from the trees overhead. Their pitch black eyes watched anxiously as he turned on his heel, sparing naught a glance in any direction but the path before him. Morning would soon be upon them once dawn kissed the sky in pink’s and blue’s, and he’d need to be home before his sun rose. His boots carried him through the forest. Dewy grass brushed their soles, happily trampled, then straightened up in his passing as if to bid him farewell with proper respects.
Forest creatures darted out of his path, and he thought little of them aside from distant memories of tiny, shrill voices whooping and hollering as they dove into bushes and knotholes like daring birds unafraid of the ground. How those tiny voices were accompanied by small hands, and big smiles, bringing him offerings of lizards and squirrels, mushrooms, and wild vegetables. He partook in none of them but advised which ones not to eat, and which would be too gamey when cooked. While the voices changed over time, and the hands were at times tipped with claws rather than round, blunted nails - his duty remained.
Pale sunlight shone off the tiled roof of his home, a thin trail of smoke rising as a mischievous breeze picked at the ends of his hair, blowing both westward. The house itself might not have been as elaborate as the Western Palace but what treasures it held were irreplaceable. Unceremoniously, he stepped onto the engawa and pushed the door open, unsurprised to see a little girl crouched in front of a flame she was eagerly stoking to life. The fire illuminated her soft features, from the curved, long eyelashes casting shadows over her plump cheeks to the hair framing her face. Her hair didn’t possess wavy curls but an almost razor-edged precision, perfect in its evenness, and long enough when unbounded to brush shy of her waist. Everytime he ran his claws through it, he was surprised by how fine and light it was, unlike the coarseness of most mortal’s hair. The color reminded him of black basalt, though not as cold, for she could never be. Red veins interlaced in her dark hair reminding him of blood, hearts, and how one’s strength could come from many sources.
As if finally recognizing him, she looked up and her face filled with a delight sparkling in mauve eyes. “Pa—” She caught herself, the endearment corroding on her tongue and with it, the brush of warmth across Sesshо̄maru’s heart, “Ch-Chichiue…”
He would not sigh.
There was no need to.
She was growing up. Already a girl of twelve winters, there were many changes in her behavior stemming from something he was unsure of but was constantly reassured was normal of a child her age.
He would adapt. Nevertheless, he did feel some sense of… longing.
The door snapped shut behind him. His boots and armor abandoned in the genkan before he stepped onto the raised floor, coming to her side to take over stoking the fire. She relinquished the poker with only a fleeting look of defiance, staying by his side with her knees to her chest and her hands cupped over them. In his periphery, she snuck glances at him, mouth opening then closing.
He realized shortly that it would be up to him to break the silence. He vowed to not leave so much unsaid to her, not when his silence could be the last thing he gave her.
“.. When will you be leaving?”
She tensed at the break in silence, queerly looking up at him. “By… the hour of the Dragon.”
“Not long then,” he said absently. Unneeded, from the way her nose twitched and her gaze drifted away, but this was uncharted territory for both of them. Words were difficult to come by.
Silence reigned for a moment before he heard her say, “I’ll write to you. I won’t be gone long, but if it sets your mind at ease, chichiue, then….”
“There is no need,” he interjected, and her mouth snapped shut.
An iciness, despite the fire’s warmth, sept into the space between them. Sesshо̄maru breathed in through his nose, allowing the air to slip past his lips. He forgot sometimes, so taken aback with how closely she resembled him - that she was only half of him. The other half gifted her with a stalwart spirit, a tender heart, but none of the time and experience needed to understand him.
He glanced down at her, seeing the slight crumple of her lips and her eyes as she stared into the fire. After setting the poker aside, Sesshо̄maru reached out with an open hand and cupped the back of her head, gently stroking his fingers along her hair. He saw her blink, glance to the right, then to her left, gaze climbing the incline of his arm to his face with curiosity.
“... If you are in need of me, you needn’t write. Call my name, or whistle if you like..” His hand slipped down to cup her cheek. “I will come to you right away, Setsuna.”
Violet eyes wavered, flicking back and forth, searching his face for traces of lies or disappointment. None would be found, but he would allow her this - for he too often searched for the perceived admonishments in his father’s words. Once she was done, her eyes softened, and she moved with a speed Sesshо̄maru would have been impressed with if not for his elation at how tightly she hugged his torso and rested her head against his heart. A few tucks of hair behind her ears revealed the skin had turned bright red.
She was embarrassed, but he could feel her need for his presence in the embrace.
His arm settled around her back just as the first yellowing sunrays streamed through the windows, enveloping them in a soft golden hue.
“... Thank you, Papa.”
Sesshо̄maru breathed in deeply, inhaling primrose and sweet honeysuckle, the dulcet tones of his daughter’s scent that he’d known since she was an infant curled in his arms. He would release her into the world, and watch proudly as she walked with her head held high.
But until morning came to whisk her away, he would stay by her side.