Chapter Text
Yugno, trapped in his cocoon in darkness, did not dream. The spirits of the dead did not dream. They could only enter the dreams of others.
He'd never truly realized what that meant.
Souls came to him where he lay trapped, dozens, hundreds: some accused him of killing them and clawed at his bare skin until he bled; others came at him with weapons or fists to blame him for the deaths of children, of lovers, of friends.
It was endless. Yugno had lost his sense of time early on when he'd first come to the Flower, but now the agony of his existence made time warp and stretch. The Li had healed him, keeping his physical and spiritual body young and pristine, but that protection had been stripped from him now. Fingernails cracked, bled, fell off or went wrong and sick when he tried to fight off the rabid souls.
Sometimes, there was a respite--a few seconds here and there, maybe as much as a minute. During one of these respites, Yugno heard a voice that sounded vaguely familiar.
"Well, you're certainly in rotten shape." Tanda the herbalist had entered Yugno's petal. As a court member, he could keep the others out. Yugno was grateful and opened his mouth to speak, but Tanda shook his head. "Here. It's medicine. Should help you feel better."
He gave Yugno a honey-coated pill that Yugno sucked on a little before swallowing. His spiritual body started to regenerate, little by little.
"Won't your fellow rulers be angry at this?" Yugno rasped.
"Balsa is furious with me. I told her I came in here to punch you in the face." He shrugged. "But I don't want or need that. Hasham put you here so that you could understand what you'd done and learn your lesson. I don't think torture isn't the best way to do that, but I can't deny that you hurt a lot of other souls. You should know that and accept that."
Yugno nodded cautiously. "Do you think... will I ever get out?"
"You can leave at any time," Tanda said. "I helped Hasham weave this spell. When you truly understand the gravity of what you did, the Flower will forgive you. Assuming your spirit is still here and you haven't passed on, you'll be able to start over." He passed Yugno another pill, which Yugno accepted.
“I... wronged... you,” Yugno said; he remembered that much. “Why help me?”
“Because there’s nothing wrong with trying to help someone.” Tanda smiled at him. “Even someone who might not deserve it. I think everyone deserves it. “ He rested one hand gently on Yugno’s shoulder, and Yugno felt flesh and bone knit under his touch. “I’ll check in on you, when I can. Keep working through it. I think you’ll have a second chance.”
Tanda turned to go, and Yugno called him back. “Tanda?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to punch me in the face?”
Tanda laughed. “Maybe next time.” Then he vanished.
Yugno was left alone again, and the souls trickled in to do him damage.
Instead of sitting there and taking it, he tried apologizing. Even if he didn’t know what the apology was for.
When you truly understand the gravity of what you did, the Flower will forgive you.
Tanda should have been the spiritual child of the Flower, and not him. That was what Yugno thought. He still hated Hasham for putting him here like this, but he could recognize that he hadn’t done what he should have as the Flower’s child and that he was paying for it now.
Maybe he would get out of here; maybe he wouldn’t. But it was easier to look other souls in the eye after that.
Yugno, trapped in his cocoon in darkness, did not dream, but he hoped for a better future.
***
Hasham's recovery was as he'd said it would be: little by little. After a few days, Akira pronounced him fit for travel; he and Hiroshi returned to their petal, which was not Itasuran Estate, like Taiga had supposed, but the house in Kosenkyo that Hasham had stayed in with Shirai for most of his adult life. Hiroshi had a suite there, and when Taiga first visited, he thought it seemed like something out of Hasham’s earlier adulthood: him, his wife, and a young kid running around who wasn’t their son but who had the same name.
Shirai had arrived at Ayutan Estate shortly after Hasham had started accepting visitors. Once she learned that Hiroshi enjoyed stories, she and Teru started a little game where they would all trade tales in a circle. Hiroshi loved this and started conjuring cookies and tea for Shirai and Teru whenever he saw them.
Taiga asked why no one had tried to draw him out with stories before, and Hasham told him that he hadn’t spoken to Hiroshi about the past very much, except to tell him that Isamu was locked away forever and would never harm anyone again. Hasham had tried to make new memories with Hiroshi instead, but even Taiga knew that moving forward without laying the past to rest was a mistake. He’d just had that particular lesson rubbed in pretty hard, himself.
The days blurred for a bit after that: halcyon days of warmth and peace. He spent a week at Mayuna’s house making candy with her grandma in the mornings. He went to all of Akira’s parties. He had tea with Queen Isora and Queen Liano. He came to dinner with Hasham’s family every evening and set up his guest room the way he liked it. He even (horror of horrors!) went on patrol with his dad to seal off the nightmare petals. He didn’t hate it. He was a little bothered that he didn’t hate it.
And now he sat on a balcony overlooking Kosenkyo at night in the summer, lit by a thousand lanterns and an impossibly starry sky. He was in his guest room in the early evening. Hasham knocked on the balcony door and came out.
His Soul Thread was still thinner than it had been when Taiga had first arrived, but it was recovering, just like everything else.
“Don’t just stand there,” Taiga said. “Watch the moons rise with me.”
“Is that an invitation or innuendo?”
Taiga scoffed at that.
Hasham sat down next to him. The evening breeze was cool; Hasham’s extra warmth was comfortable. “It occurs to me that I didn’t apologize.”
Taiga hmmed. “I could demand an apology for a broad range of behavior. What are you apologizing for?”
Hasham chuckled. “That’s fair.” He looked out at Kosenkyo in twilight. “I tried to save you and everyone else by sacrificing myself. I never learn; I’ve always been that way. Hiroshi and I talked about it, and he thinks maybe he made me that way--giving up everything, even his life, to save me. But I think that’s too simple. He was a role model, but I chose to fit into that role. I’ve thrown away the life he gave me for the sake of others. I never considered the idea that he saved me because I was important to him. I thought he did it out of obligation, or duty--doing what a big brother should.” He closed his eyes. “So I’m sorry for under-valuing your attachment to me. I’m sorry for treating you like shit when you try to help.”
“And?”
Hasham raised an eyebrow. “And I wish I could promise that I won’t do it again. I’m not sure I can promise that.”
Taiga glared.
”But we have all of eternity for you to teach me better.”
Taiga poked him for that. “You are a grown-ass man; I’m not teaching you anything.”
“Mean,” Hasham said under his breath.
Taiga leaned into Hasham; his hand sought out Hasham’s and threaded their fingers together. “I thought of a way that you can make it up to me.”
“Oh?”
“Mind out of the gutter, please.” Taiga play-shoved him, then leaned back in. “I was thinking about Hiroshi.”
“My brother?”
“Your son. You came to the Flower pretty much unprepared. We should do better for him, and I want to help.”
“How?”
“You visit him in dreams, right? I’d like to do that, too. You still haven’t taught me how, y’know.”
Hasham snuggled closer, breathing his hair. “All right. I’ll show you tonight.”
“Good. Oh, and Hasham?”
“Yeah?”
“I want to help your brother, too. Gods know he deserves all the love and support he can get.”
“He likes your stories,” Hasham said. “I think he’s in love with Teru. Watch out for that.”
Taiga wrapped both arms around Hasham and pulled in tight. “That’s okay. Teru and I both know how to share.”
***
Late that night, Hiroshi Itasuran had a dream.
His father made frequent appearances in his dreams, of course, but he’d only rarely dreamed of Taiga--much less Taiga in his youth, which Hiroshi didn’t really remember. Taiga was fourteen years older than him.
But Hiroshi knew that he was looking at Taiga in his teenage years in the dream. Hiroshi was sitting up at his desk in his room--asleep or awake; it was hard to tell; the only reason he knew that he was dreaming was that he couldn’t actually read his notes; they were gibberish. That and the two very dead people sitting on cushions across from him were good indications that he was lost in dreams. (And that he’d fallen asleep at his desk again.)
“Dad? Uncle Taiga?” Hiroshi rubbed his eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“You fell asleep at your desk again,” Hasham said.
“I did.” Hiroshi grinned. To Taiga, he said, “I, uh, do that a lot.”
“I remember.”
Hiroshi ducked his head; of course Taiga remembered. “So. To what do I owe this visit?”
“Taiga wanted to see how entering a dream works,” Hasham said. “And he made a few good points about preparing you for when you take control of the Flower from me.”
“Isn’t that... decades away?” Hiroshi’s eyes went wide.
“It is,” Hasham said, “but you can start enjoying some of the benefits now. And learning about the responsibilities.”
“You’ve told me some,” Hiroshi said, frowning a little. “I never knew there were benefits aside from being able to talk to you.”
Hasham smiled. “There’s someone we’d like you to meet.” He clapped his hands, and another person materialized at the doorway of Hiroshi’s study. They didn’t come in.
“He’s a little shy in new places,” Taiga said matter-of-factly. “Come see your nephew, Hiroshi.”
Hiroshi Jr. blinked, then looked toward the door. “That’s--”
“My brother. Your uncle.” Hasham beckoned to the doorway, but Hiroshi Sr. did not budge. Hasham got up, picked the child--he was a child--up piggyback and carried him into the study.
“Hiroshi, meet Hiroshi,” Hasham said to the boy on his shoulders.
“Hi,” Hiroshi Sr. said quietly.
“Hi,” Hiroshi Jr. said back.
Hiroshi Jr. didn't look it, most of the time, but he was fifty-eight years old. Not a child, and yet always a child to his parents. Hiroshi Sr. was far older, but he looked like a little kid. Hiroshi was struck by the strangeness of it; he couldn't stop staring.
“Hiroshi has a lot of stories about our family that I never told you,” Hasham said. “I asked him to tell you those stories. He’d like if you told him your stories, too.”
Hiroshi Jr. cocked his head. “What kind of stories?”
“Anything,” Taiga said. “As long as it’s got a happy ending.”
THE END