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Despite his initial feelings, Hisui had grown accustomed to the changes in his home life after his father departed to begin the thousand-day kaihōgyō. He would never admit aloud how he yearned for the familiar presence at his side during morning meditations, or the spices slipped into a separate helping of food, for he and his father shared the same taste in dishes. Nor would he confess how happy he was to be considered the messenger between the mother who raised him and his three siblings as well as a growing clan for half a decade, and the father sequestered in the mountains working tirelessly to be recognized by the Immovable Wisdom King. For as much as he argued against his father’s leaving, and admonished him for his absence, his gratitude for the continued affections between his parents overwhelmed him.
A bundle of hishi paper, neatly tied with one of his mother’s white ribbons, was tucked neatly in his pack to keep them safe from the elements as Kirara carried him across the skyline. He dared not look at them even to admire the smooth, shiny surface he’d only touched within the string-bound books left in his father’s temple - for the contents were not stories to be passed down, but the intimate words between lovers. While his mother insisted there was no such thing when teased by his Aunt Kagome, Hisui knew how expensive it was to produce hishi paper. A single page could keep an entire family fed for half a season, and his mother was not a reckless person who would use such a precious thing carelessly.
She would never know that he’d seen her wielding a brush like a sword but unable to take the first stroke, relighting oil lamps as they burned low while awaiting her thoughts while she stared longingly from the nearest window at the lightless sky, undoubtedly thinking of his father. By the time he’d crept away and slipped back into bed between his younger sister, Ruri, and his elder sister Gyokuto, his mind would be riddled with questions. Ones he couldn’t voice to his mother, for she would find him out in a single glance.
So, he tucked them away until he reached the hidden temple where his father waited.
Their reunions were less stilted as time went on, and when he saw his father, weatherbeaten from his morning run and sweat-drenched - he felt pride. This was the man who was pushing himself past human limits, attempting to catch the eye of a god, solely to attain an enlightenment that would protect his family. His father was painfully human, and Hisui was reminded of it whenever they stood side by side, and he found himself gradually approaching his father’s eye level. The light divots by his eyes, wrinkling when he smiled, and the hands that grasped him by his shoulders to tug him into a tight hug - warm and encompassing, but less suffocating. When he realized how easily he could break his father’s hold on him, he hugged him tighter and buried his face against his shoulder, praying that the kaihōgyō would end so his father wouldn’t meet his end on this accursed mountain.
But as they sat down, and Hisui gently bullied his father into eating the salted pickled plum riceballs Gyokuto painstakingly made for their visit, his thoughts were consumed by questions. He passed over the letters from his mother without ceremony, exchanging them with a clay cup of tea. Without hesitation, his father set the tea aside and took the letters in his hands, tenderly cradling them as if they would dissipate into ash if he held too tightly. Hisui took a long sip of his tea, pretending not to notice the way he brushed his fingers over the ribbon once and then twice.
With a tug it came undone, and Hisui excused himself with a half-hearted mention of fetching fish for Kirara which was promptly ignored with how engrossed his father was in reading. By the time he returned, Kirara was resting on his father’s lap, lulled into a light sleep by a stroking hand.
“Your mother says you’ve been distracted lately,” his father told him once he sat down.
Hisui blinked. He knew that his parents talked about them, but he hadn’t expected what it would be about. “It’s nothing—”
“You dropped Hiraikotsu during a spar, Hisui,” his father lifted a brow as if challenging him to lie. Heat rushed to the tip of his ears as he remembered, mortifyingly, how the weapon slipped from his hands. Shame curdled in his stomach, stirring in a way that would only make him sick to think of for too long. And as if sensing this, his father laid a hand on his shoulder, providing a temporary albeit soothing calm, “What is troubling you, son?”
Hisui curled his fingers atop his thigh, then splayed them open, sighing. “Chichiue, is it possible to love someone and wish for them to be independent of you?”
His father is silent for a moment, but it feels charged. Hisui looked up, meeting his gaze, and there were words in his eyes - sentiments - that he couldn’t quite catch. If his mother was there, surely she would know. They seemed to communicate often in a language no one else knew, through their eyes, touches, and at times gestures. A flash of a soft face crossed his mind, sharp eyes that knew him better than anyone, quick steps that matched his, filling in where he left space - big enough for them to fit, for no one else could. All at once, the space beside him feels empty, and he dares not look aside - keeping his gaze on his father.
His father’s gaze dipped low, and Hisui made the mistake of looking down as well, catching his tight grip on the clay cup. A chip of it, fallen loose, rolled across the ground near the tip of his boot. He remembered exercises in his strength. He’d always been stronger than most children, and learning how to control it required patience. Many of their family’s belongings shattered in his hands during the quest for the perfect medium, but his father always said they could be replaced.
Even now, the gentle curve of his smile and the comforting pat upon his shoulder echoed the same sentiment.
“I have known those who confused love with obsession,” he started in a gravelly tone as if he were recalling something painful. His fingers slipped from Hisui’s shoulders, knuckles brushing the page’s glossy backs, “and others with obligation,” he set them aside, twisting his finger in the hair ribbon, and to Hisui’s surprise, he brought it to his lips to give a gentle kiss to the threads. His cheeks burned at the sight, and he quickly tore his gaze away, suddenly feeling as if he were intruding.
His father’s chuckle made him groan inwardly. At times, he wasn’t sure who was worse - him or Kin’u.
“But I have known love to be freedom ,” Hisui glanced over in time to see the way his father’s face softened and aged all at once. Within the span of a few seconds, Hisui could see his father at different points in his life - a comely young man with a willowy smile, a young eager father brimming with love, and a seasoned monk stepping along the path to Nirvana.
“To love someone willing to know you wholly, to see you as who you could be, and love you for who you are is a gift that alludes most.”
Hisui’s heart stirred, and before he could stop himself, he asked, “Is that what made you want to be with Hahaue?”
“Aside from her striking beauty?” His father beckoned with a sultry smile, the poorly hidden suggestion in his eyes prompting a groan from Hisui.
“ Chichiue —”
“I jest, I jest… somewhat ,” at Hisui’s deadpanned glare, his father waved a hand dismissively, “While she is a beauty, Sango is a woman unlike any other. Before she was your mother, before she was my wife, she was someone who could not be beaten. She wouldn’t allow herself to linger in sadness, to show weakness, to stand down, or allow others to be downtrodden. And I behaved terribly in front of her, I showed her sides of myself that were shameful, but she accepted me. She believed I could be better, and I found myself wanting to believe the same. While I hoped for the future, I could not see it. I was resigned to death, but I tried to fight against my fate. Sango… she made me hope for the future. And she led me to it - a world filled with love and hope, cherished friends, a lovely family, beautiful daughters I could have never known more honor and joy to have fathered…”
His hand settled, heavy and warm on Hisui’s shoulder, gripping with a touch that didn’t feel domineering but was rather steadying. “As well as a son I couldn’t be happier with.”
Hisui considered the words deeply. He knew that his parents were someone else before he was born, that they lived full lives and faced countless perils. Any wrong turn could’ve resulted in an ending where neither of them was here, and as a result, he wouldn’t exist either. There was no reality where his mother and father wouldn’t be just that - but his traitorous mind couldn’t help wondering — “What if she didn’t choose you?”
His father sighed, lifting his hand to gather the hair ribbon in his palms. “Believe it or not, Lord Kuranosuke of the Takeda clan asked for your mother’s hand during our travels…”
Hisui’s eyes shot open. “Wh— really ?!”
The Takeda Clan was one of the most influential families in the Kai Province, and though they had no need to rely solely upon the demon-slayer clan in Musashi, they remained steadfast in sending their missives to his mother and uncle. To think that it might have been because Lord Kuranosuke favored his mother and still retained feelings for her, despite the futility of it, was flooring .
Either unaware of his shock, or unfazed by it, his father continued his reminisce with slight thoughtfulness as if he were speaking to himself rather than Hisui, “At the time, I wished her happiness if she chose to remain as his wife. I thought she would have been better off that way, perhaps.”
“Chichiue…” Hisui trailed off, a dip forming between his brows as he seriously stated, “You were an idiot .”
His father blinked, seeming to sober up when he glanced his way. “Calling your father an idiot is rather rude, don’t you think?” He asked dryly, quirking a brow.
Hisui didn’t care to think of the lack of filialness towards his father, and neither did Kirara, who abdicated his father’s lap to instead curl upon Hisui’s thigh. “Don’t you think you were taking Hahaue’s feelings a little too lightly?” Hisui asked, rubbing his palm up and down Kirara’s bristling back, “Like you said, she was a warrior before she ever met you. Thinking she’d be better off as someone’s wife is an insult, not a compliment.”
A strange, gentle gleam illuminated his father’s eye for a brief second. Then, his lips curled into a smile. “True enough,” he sighed exaggeratingly loud, pulling a knee to his chest while his cheek spilled into his hand.“I don’t know if I could bear the sight of your mother with someone else, truth be told. But…” then his lips curled back showing a dazzling smile, and Hisui felt a tinge of irritation when he slyly asked, “all that isn’t what you wanted to ask me, was it?”
Feeling strangely exposed, Hisui remained obstinately silent.
“Is this about Setsuna-chan?”
He wasn’t sure if his face gave him away, but his father’s good-natured chuckles made him close his eyes in a bid to gather what fraying patience and face he had left.
“Your feelings are your own, Hisui,” a gentle flick against the side of his arm pushed him to open his eyes again, regarding the world before him before he glanced at his father, “ But , if you consider them a burden to her ,” his father tipped his head, and the smile he wore reminded Hisui of the wise young monk his mother tended to recount in the earlier days of their journey, “then perhaps you should heed your words.”
The rest of their meeting steered carefully away from topics of love and confessions. His father insisted that they spar at least once, to put his mind at ease considering the whole ‘dropping-Hiraikotsu’ issue. And while Hisui found himself being pushed on the defensive, and nearly hammered into the ground under the weight of his father’s horiki, it was refreshing to not think of matters of the heart. But the moment came to a close all too soon, and with a tight hug and a promise to deliver the letters tucked in his pack, he bid his father farewell.
The sky bled into a deep, burnished orange as Kirara circled the perimeter of the village, finding a place to land in a willowy meadow land. Hisui had just begun to swing his leg down when he heard a voice say, “Welcome back.”
He blinked, looking over his shoulder at the young woman half-hidden beneath the shade of blushing lavender flowers. They compliment her eyes, he thought distractedly, noting how Setsuna’s eyes are a darker shade of purple - mauve - deeper than the wisteria's flowers but no less beautiful. He managed to shake the thought free, but it stuck to the back of his mind, syrupy sweet.
“How long were you waiting here?” He asked, untying the parcel from Kirara’s flank and then smoothing down her fur.
“I wasn’t,” Setsuna said, her voice barely audible under the rush of flaring, sizzling heat that hurtled past him as Kirara transformed. Her soft mew prompted him to open his eyes and lean down to let her scamper up onto his arm.
“More letters?” She asked, glancing at the violet furoshiki-tied parcel in his hand.
Hisui nodded, lifting it a little. “I’ll be bringing them to Hahaue first.”
“Hm,” Setsuna sniffed, seeming uninterested but the way her eyes lingered on him made his stomach flip. Was there something he was missing? “Now that you’ve returned, patrols can resume as needed.”
Hisui chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “Ah right, it is our shift, isn’t it?” He pointed a thumb at the long grass leading into the forest proper, where long after, the plain valley where their village stood would emerge. “I’ll just need a moment. Wait for me?”
He isn’t sure what made him do it, but he hesitated before he turned away from her completely. And for a second, briefer than a heartbeat, her eyes lingered on him. She stared, her pupils just the slightest bit bigger against the lavender of her irises - considering, watching, and…
I’m hopeless, Chichiue.
He turned his gaze away, marching toward the path ahead. The words tucked deep within his chest buried deeper beneath the weight of this new moment. Where he was certain that she had seen something in him, was looking at him, but he dared not linger upon why.
He could only be resigned with the knowledge that he’d fallen in love with her again, and he may be doomed to do so for the rest of his life. With time, he’d grow accustomed to it too.