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About five minutes ago, Natsuki and Uruha were deep into enemy territory, both in a mission to retrieve the last bits of datenseki they could humanly obtain for the purpose of creating new Enchanted Blades. Rokuhira Chihiro had succeeded in reforging Enten and Kuregumo together, and now the plan was to forge new blades if they ever hoped to stand a chance against the Sword Saint and his newfound allies in the Hishaku. It was supposed to be a painless mission. But then their presence in the hidden cavern activated some unknown spell, and the world spun underneath their feet. In a snap, Natsuki was transported somewhere else, just like how Shiba Togo brought them out of the headquarters on that day several months ago.
But it wasn’t quite the same. Natsuki felt nauseous then. Now, the “trip” felt more…smooth, like someone drew open the curtains to reveal a new scenery. He surveyed his surroundings, trying to locate himself. Uruha was nowhere to be seen. He wondered if this was indeed real or something akin to the Kumeyuri’s induced hallucinations.
Then his eyes locked on the path beneath his feet.
Despite not having trodden here since that day, Natsuki knew where it was leading – Ibuki’s place.
Something in the air felt oddly familiar. Too real. The sweltering heat of summer, the vividness of the green that lined up the road to Ibuki’s home, the faint veil of peace on this side of the country where people felt assured that an Enchanted Blade wielder lived amongst them without knowing that person had long since given up on fighting. He felt it in his guts, too. In this exact moment, Ibuki was still alive. But not for long.
Forget about Uruha. Before he could think too much about it, his feet were already running along the same path it took over three years ago. His heart had weighed heavily then against his chest on this same road. The HQ had informed him of Rokuhira Kunishige’s death and the theft of the Enchanted Blades. They informed him every Enchanted Blade wielder was at risk and must be secured. Natsuki had rushed as fast as he could, the fastest he had ever moved in his whole life. And yet, he still arrived too late.
Now his heart weighed of something else, a feeling akin to hope. He had reached Ibuki’s corpse back then in the deep hours of the night. Right now, the sun was still ways away from the horizon. If Natsuki’s guts were right, he would have plenty of time to spare. He ran and ran, picking up speed, years of endurance training making it effortless. Still, by the time he reached Ibuki’s door, he was out of breath not from fatigue, but from the anxiety that was starting to eat him up from inside.
Swallowing, he raised his hand and banged on the door.
Cold sweat trickled down Natsuki’s back as he heard faint footsteps approaching from the house.
What if this was all some sort of sick illusion he was put under and behind this door was an enemy waiting to slay him at his most vulnerable? His hand involuntarily wrapped around the hilt of his swords, ready for whoever or whatever would appear before him.
Then the door opened, and there was Ibuki— very much alive, and very much drunk. He was holding a bottle of liquor on one hand as the other held the door ajar. Ibuki stared at him in great confusion.
“Natsuki? Why are you here all of a sudden?”
It was Ibuki’s voice, just as Natsuki remembered. It almost choked him up to hear it again, but this was no time to be all sentimental.
“How could you just open your door to anybody?” Natsuki snapped, looking around in case that bastard was already hiding, biding his time to attack.
“What’s there to be afraid of?” Ibuki's smile was so full of himself Natsuki almost wanted to hit him. “I'm a nobody now. No one’s out there to kill me.”
Oh, only if you knew.
“What if I was a sorcerer who can transform my skin into anybody you knew? You would have been dead by now.”
“I’m not dead, though. Must mean you are Natsuki.”
“I’m not the Natsuki you know.” There was no time to play games, and Natsuki needed to get straight to the point. He saw Ibuki’s face change as well, noting the gravity in his tone. “I come three years from this time.”
Ibuki narrowed his eyes. “Tell me something about me only you would know, then I’ll be sure it’s you.”
“You don’t even have a weapon, Ibuki. Are you in any place to be making threats?”
“I can beat you up just fine.”
“I beat you last time I was here. Right jaw.”
At that, Ibuki finally broke the mask of seriousness on his face. “Okay, only Natsuki would know that. It’s you! But, from the future?”
“Can we please go inside first? This isn’t something I should just be telling you by the door.”
“Come on in, then.” Ibuki turned on his heel and returned to the house, Natsuki following closely after. Ibuki led them to the living room where his sole couch faced the garden, and the center table before it was full of about a dozen liquor bottles, half of them already empty. This was exactly how Natsuki remembered the living room looked when he arrived to Ibuki’s corpse.
Natsuki swallowed hard at the memory and stared at the Ibuki in front of him, grabbing a new bottle of liquor from the table.
“So,” Ibuki turned around and offered the bottle to him, “What brings you here, Natsuki from the future? You don’t look very different, you know. Maybe a bit thinner, have you been eating well?”
“Listen,” Natsuki took the bottle but returned it back to the table, ignoring Ibuki’s concerns. There was no time to dilly-dally. “This will sound absolutely crazy, but you have to trust me.”
“Of course, I’d trust you, Natsuki.” Ibuki smiled. “I always do.”
Natsuki’s words got caught in his throat, Ibuki’s response completely catching him off-guard. It had been years since he last heard this sentiment from Ibuki, back when they still fought side by side. Twenty years. They said people become kinder when they're near death. Was it the case here?
“You…you will die tonight,” Natsuki pushed the words out, nevertheless, not letting this absurd chance to maybe change the course of their lives get away. “Someone will come to ambush you, a very skilled swordsman by the name of Hokuto.” He saw the smile fade from Ibuki’s face little by little, replaced by a mix of doubt and something he couldn’t quite describe. Natsuki trudged on, emphasizing the severity of the situation. “You have to get ready. He defeated you because you weren’t prepared. You can change the outcome of that fight today. Ibuki, please, you said you’d trust me.”
The haziness faded from Ibuki’s face. He placed his liquor on the table with a thud, droplets of condensation creating a small puddle on the table.
“I believe you, Natsuki, I do. It’s just…” Ibuki shook his head then, looking up and meeting Natsuki’s desperate gaze. “We – at least me and the present you – haven’t seen each other in over a year, and now the first thing the future you tell me is I’m going to die? It’s…not really something one would be prepared to hear in any normal day.”
It seemed that Natsuki had to take things into his own hands.
“Where’s your sword?” He swept his gaze around his brother’s place. They should have a few more hours, enough to wash away the buzz of alcohol from Ibuki’s senses, and hopefully enough to either put up a proper fight. Or if worse comes to worst, run away from here. He faced Ibuki sternly. “You don’t even arm yourself at home anymore.”
“It’s—" Ibuki’s eyes evaded him, and it landed on his waist, widening in confusion. “It’s with you?”
Natsuki’s hand came to touch the hilt of Ibuki’s sword, the one he took from his brother’s corpse. He almost forgot he had it in him. Going back to this time also made him feel like the past him, when he was still not carrying his brother’s blade.
“You still have yours here at home,” Natsuki could only mutter. “This came from my time.”
Instead of rushing to wherever his own sword was kept as Natsuki expected, Ibuki plopped back down onto the couch, letting his head hang languidly against the backrest.
“I truly am dead, huh,” Ibuki scoffed, and it sounded like he was even laughing. “Well, can’t be helped.”
“What do you mean ‘can’t be helped’?!” In a few strides, Natsuki was already hovering over Ibuki, grip deep and hard on Ibuki’s bony shoulders where hardened muscles used to be, shaking sense into him. “Cut the bullshit! You’ve been granted a second chance to walk away from this alive, how are you just letting this go without a care?”
“You’ve always been the smarter kid between the two of us. Natsuki. Hell, if you didn’t follow me skipping class and fighting all those thugs, you would have graduated top of your batch. Surely you know the implications of changing events that have occurred in the past?”
“Don’t talk philosophy to me now, I don’t care.”
“Who are you lying to?” Ibuki asked with a smile, but it was not a bit mocking.
“I’ve fought him before, your ambusher,” Natsuki ignored Ibuki’s implication and started planning in his head. That Hokuto was a real challenge, but it wasn’t like Natsuki couldn’t go toe-to-toe with him during their fight. And if he was transported to this time, then the past Hokuto and he now had three-year worth of skill difference. “If we fight together, we can definitely defeat him.”
“You’ve already fought him? Where?”
“Three years from now they will raid the headquarters to free the Sword Saint. He and their leader…we clashed with them. It was not a fight that we were losing until they pulled some trick with that pesky Enchanted Blade.”
“Sword Saint, huh,” Ibuki repeated with a quiet coldness. “Still alive, I see.”
Ibuki always closed off whenever Natsuki brought up the topic of what happened towards the end of the Seitei War, specifically with the Sword Saint. For years, Natsuki and his squad were stationed at the headquarters to guard this supposed hero, but deep down Natsuki knew there was a truth he had yet to discover. A truth Ibuki ran away from. A truth that came to bite them in that raid.
Just then, Ibuki’s eyes widened with some kind of wonder and sat straight up, leaning forward.
“You said ‘we’…you’ve fought together with somebody else again?” Ibuki looked at him pointedly. Natsuki attempted to control his reaction, but Ibuki seemed to have caught it immediately and broke into a smile. “It’s Uruha, isn’t it?”
“I had no choice,” Natsuki grumbled, remembering how fighting next to Uruha did make that fight easier to handle. The bastard even saved his ass once…or twice. Whatever. Why were they even talking about something so useless right now? “Anybody would have done, really.”
“He’s working at the Kamunabi now?” Ibuki leaned back on the couch again, resting his right arm on the backrest and holding up his head with his fist. “Last I heard, he’s travelling all around? Don’t tell me he ended up being your subordin—”
“Who cares about him?” Natsuki exploded, realizing that Ibuki still had not taken the urgency of the situation seriously. Ibuki didn’t even flinch at his outburst. “We have an opportunity to change your fate tonight. Why don’t you care? Don’t you want to live?”
“I don’t.” Ibuki’s answer cut through Natsuki like a blade itself, his brother’s eyes staring back with stubborn determination. No one else in the world knew Ibuki better than him. Even though Natsuki wanted to refute, when his brother became like this, there was no mistaking it – he had already accepted his fate. “If I am meant to die today, then so be it. I deserve it.”
“Then what am I here for?” Natsuki’s voice was barely above a whisper, the question more for himself than to Ibuki. How many people in the world got the chance to go back in time and correct the mistake they’ve been living in constant regret about? He couldn't just let this pass.
“Hey, when’s the last time we talked?” Ibuki’s voice was soft when he asked. “Before today. Last year, right?”
It was four years ago for Natsuki, and he remembered it all too well. “When I hit you square on the face.”
“Yeah, kinda hard to forget that. Bruised for weeks.” Ibuki let out a small laugh, rubbing a spot on his right jaw. “So that means…I died without us getting to talk again? Maybe that’s why you’re here right now. Not to save me.”
Natsuki shook his head. That’s absurd. Why would such high-level sorcery – if this was sorcery – bring him back in time just to have a conversation with his brother? As far as Natsuki was concerned, they were the stuff of fairytales. Only good, pure, tragic kids were given a miracle to turn their life around. Natsuki was only tragic. The blood on his hands, even if they were in service of the nation, already reserved him a spot in some hell. Ibuki, even more so. Neither of them deserved a second chance. But it was here anyway.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Nothing makes sense here, Natsuki. But we don’t know how long you can stay. I don’t think it’d be long enough that you’d get to meet the person who kills me. So, I don’t want to waste any more time either.” He scooted over, making more space to his left, and patted the spot next to him. “Sit. Let’s talk. Catch me up. What were you doing the past year? What will you be doing in the next three? Tell me everything. When I die later, I’d want to go knowing that you are successful in the life you’ve led for yourself, because heaven knows I’ve only led you into terrible places.”
Ibuki was barely done speaking when Natsuki threw himself into his brother’s arms, warm tears streaming down his cheeks and trailing down Ibuki’s back where they fell like raindrops. Ibuki had always told him – a single sign of weakness meant defeat. Crying was definitely a sign of weakness. Natsuki had cried before, but never in front of Ibuki. Not when his face got cut and it hurt to even talk just a bit, not when Natsuki first laid eyes on the real tragedy of the warzone where even children’s corpses littered the streets, and especially not when Ibuki turned back on his swordsmanship and the partnership they had built for years.
Now, he didn’t want to be perceived as strong. For the first time, he admitted to his weakness – that he loved his brother too much to ever be actually angry at him, but that he was also too proud and that he should have learned to accept the person his brother had become instead of clinging on to the person he once knew, then maybe they wouldn’t have lost so many years together.
And for the first time in many years, Ibuki held him back, his arms, long out of sword practice, soft and steady around Natsuki, his hands fondly rubbing at the back of his head. It made Natsuki feel like he was a little kid again, long before they had any inkling of what strength was and thunder still scared Natsuki because he had yet to understand the sorcery they shared.
“Come on now,” Ibuki said after Natsuki’s tears had ebbed to quiet hics. Natsuki pulled away and sat beside Ibuki properly, not once did he let go of his brother’s arm. Ibuki reached out and wiped the streaks of tears still on his face with his free hand, his smile peaceful and fond. “You gotta start talking before you’re whisked back to your time.”
So Natsuki started talking.
He talked of the last year; he talked of the next three. He talked of Kunishige’s death, the rest of the Enchanted Blade wielders being secured. He talked of Uruha’s death and revival by Samura’s hand, of Samura’s death by the Sword Saint’s. Then he talked about his team, how clumsy they were at times but reliable when it mattered, at least they respected him more than a certain someone. It wasn’t the best team, but it was good enough. After all, he had been fighting alone ever since Ibuki stopped wielding the sword.
He talked about how he found Ibuki’s corpse in the garden, how he picked up his sword, the blade clean from any blood, and how he had trained the past three years so that he could wield two swords at once. He talked about how it made him feel Ibuki was still fighting with him, but how it could never truly match up to their synergy together.
And when Natsuki felt the pull of this time start to weaken, the curtains drawing to a close, he talked about how he missed Ibuki and how he regretted not chasing after him.
“If I had been more stubborn about you still wielding a sword, if I pushed you harder, if I didn’t turn away when you did, things would have turned out differently.”
“No,” Ibuki shook his head. “From what I heard, you can even stand against the strongest swordsmen of your time. I don’t think you could have achieved that in such a short period with me. The war…Akemura…it just broke me too much, I guess. I was beyond saving. I would have only dragged you down. If you kept chasing after me, you would never have been this strong. I told you – the slightest sign of weakness means defeat. That’s just how the world goes,” Ibuki leaned in then and planted a kiss on top of Natsuki’s head. “I’m sorry that your brother didn’t get to be strong until the very end.”
“You were always the strongest to me, nii-chan,” Natsuki declared softly, hugging Ibuki one last time. He held on tight as he felt that familiar spin underneath his feet, a part of him blindly hoping that maybe, just maybe, Ibuki would return to the present time with him.
Then the world shifted as fast as it initially did, and Natsuki found himself holding onto thin air.
Ibuki was left in the past to meet his fate.
Natsuki raised his eyes and met Uruha’s gaze at the other end of the cavern, looking visibly shaken, and across that distance, they understood.
“Was that real?” Uruha asked anyway. Perhaps he had also gone through a short journey back in time. If it truly was the case.
Natsuki stared at his hand, where Ibuki’s warmth lingered. His heart felt surprisingly light. He still mourned Ibuki, and perhaps he would do so forever. Was that real? Were those words Ibuki truly said? Or were those just what Natsuki wanted to hear?
It didn’t matter now.
“I want it to be.”