kurofai | The Foundling (Prologue and Chapter 1)

Title: The Foundling
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kuro/Fai
Summary: Kurogane thought that he'd made peace with his past, and left it behind to travel the worlds But a summons back to his homeworld comes from the source he least expects it, and when they get there, Kurogane must face the realization that he was never at peace with himself. Not at all.

Author's Notes: Set post-series, specific spoilers for the Recourt arc. This will be a mostly Kurogane-centric story, for a change.

He has dreams sometimes, dreams about the night that Suwa burned.

In the dreams, he can see all the details that he blocked out from his waking eyes. In the dreams, he can see the castle burning, the strangely delicate flames that licked up the side of the crenellations under the heavy belching cloud of crimson smoke. In the dreams, he can see the bodies - the people of Suwa, hacked and scattered in the streets, crushed and burning under the falling rubble.

In his dreams he can see the sinuous forms of the demons sliding slowly through the streets, burnished-black scales reflecting the orange glow.

In his dreams he can smell the smoke, choking him with ashes, the wind full of the taste of charring human flesh.

He wakes from these dreams bolt upright, never making a sound - but with all his flesh breaking out into a cold sweat, gasping the clean air that does not smell of smoke and blood and bodies.

He sees Syaoran's eyes looking at him across the darkness sometimes, shining with understanding. Syaoran saw everything, through the eyes of another. He feels Fai's body pressed against him in the darkness, not looking, not judging, but understanding and offering comfort all the same. Fai has his own nightmares, his own demons, and his own blood.

And he lies back down, too iron in self-control to let himself tremble as he wants to, in cold and fear as he lies wide-awake, staring down the darkness.

Because they don't understand. They can never understand.

In his dreams, he likes it.

Then:

It was hard. Every day, it was hard.

It would have been difficult enough just moving to the castle - a new place with a new culture, new rules, new everything. Suwa had been his home, but it had been a quiet, idyllic country backwater compared to the sophistication and bustle of the capital. He still would have had to learn all the new customs, the new dialect, all the changes that came with becoming a member of Princess Tomoyo's personal guard.

Even if that had been the only thing, it would have been hard. But it wasn't the only thing, because he hadn't only moved to the castle - his home was gone, burned, and he'd never get to go home again. Never get to see his faithful old servants, his childhood friends, ever again. His parents were dead, dead, dead, and he would never see them again, they couldn't reassure him or give him advice or help him ever again because he hadn't been able to protect them.

Sometimes he felt furious at them for dying right when he needed them most; then he felt horribly guilty for dishonoring the memory of his parents that way.

He found himself unable to make friends; the rumors which had raced ahead of him to the capital served to clear everyone out of his path, however they stared or whispered behind his back. Most of the time, he was glad of that. He wasn't here to make friends; he was here to continue his training as a member of Tomoyo's personal guard. But that didn't make it easy to feel the glares burning on the back of his head, to ignore the little, subtle slights that Souma's ninja found ways to inflict on him every day... or the uglier rumors that his sharp hearing caught when people didn't think he could possibly hear them. He'd been found, after all, with a sword in one hand and his mother's broken body in the other - with no other human souls in sight. He knew what they thought.

To hell with what they all thought, Kurogane thought furiously. To hell with all of them.

He took refuge in training - or he tried. Every day he practiced in the yard for hours, forcing his muscles to work harder, trying to perfect the techniques that his father had managed to teach him. That was hard, too; all the memories of his training lay behind a red blur of hurt, mixed up with memories of how his father would stand behind him and grip his hands to correct his stance, of how his mother would watch them both from the porch across the training yard.

Sometimes those memories felt flat and unreal, as if they had never been, or as if they'd belonged to someone else. That hurt, too; it felt like he was slowly forgetting them, and by doing so he was failing them as a son. He worked hard to bring the memories back into clarity, sitting in front of the family shrine that Tomoyo had helped to set up in his quarters... studying their miniature portraits, trying to fix the images in his mind. His mother's face was the hardest to remember; his father's was easier, if only because he was reminded of him every time he looked in a mirror.

He was fourteen now, and starting the growth spurt his mother had always promised him when she'd told him he would be as tall as Father someday. He was growing energetically now, sometimes seeming bigger and taller every time he woke up. His voice cracked, his muscles thickened. At first he was overjoyed because it meant he was getting stronger. At first.

He was getting stronger, but that didn't mean he was getting better. Now he found himself fumbling his sword, tripping over his own feet, as he had to constantly readjust the memories of his training to a body that no longer fit those memories. No matter how hard he practiced it felt like his weapons skills were deteriorating every day; one day he found himself unable to do any of his father's special attacks at all.

Kurogane returned to his bedroom that day in a foul temper, hating everything in the world: his sword, the castle, his parents for no longer being there; the princess, for bringing him here; the demons, for destroying his life; and most of all, himself. He was frustrated, lonely, exhausted, hurting, and most of all he was angry, angry, angry.

He caught one of the maids in the process of cleaning up his futon, taking the covers away to be washed. He didn't often see the servants in the palace; they excelled at whisking around when his attention was on other things. It had taken him some time to realize that the servants weren't just discreet - they were terrified of him.

The sight of her pawing through his personal space stoked his simmering rage. "What the hell are you doing?" he barked at her.

The maid froze, looking like a startled deer. "The laundry, young master," she said.

Kurogane stepped up onto the tatami, shucking his practice sandals and frowning thunderously at the unfortunate maid. "Those were washed just yesterday," he growled. His voice was breaking, and when it wasn't squeaking like a mouse it dropped to a deep, rumbling bass. "They don't need to be washed again."

"Beg your pardon, young master, but it's the - the - palace policy," the maid stammered.

"The hell it is!" Kurogane exploded. "You think I'm filthy, is that it? You think I'm unclean? If I want my laundry to be done I'll ask for it! I don't need you in here messing with my stuff! Now get out and leave me alone!"

The maid scooted hastily away from him, but not in the direction of the door. In a sudden spurt of fury, Kurogane grabbed the nearest object to hand - a solid wooden wardrobe - and heaved it in her direction. "Get out!" he howled.

It was dark mountain wood and heavy, and when it struck the wall inches away from the maid it left a huge gash in the wall before it struck a support post and burst into splinters. The maid shrieked as sharp splinters rained around her, shielding her face with her hands, and bolted out the door.

Kurogane stood for a long moment after she fled, fists clenched, inhaling deeply as he slowly calmed from his fit of temper. He could smell the faint tang of blood in the air, from where the maid had cut herself, and it made him feel guilty - no, he thought, it made him feel satisfied, and guilty to feel so. He shouldn't lash out at the servants, he knew. It was just that they were the only outlet he had.

Eventually, he went to pick up the pieces of the shattered wardrobe.

It was perhaps not surprising, after that, when later that evening he received a summons from Princess Tomoyo. There were a lot of people he could (and would) ignore, but she unfortunately, was not one of them.

"Kurogane," the princess greeted him as he entered her chambers. With surly gracelessness, he bowed to her, then crossed the floor to sit seiza in front of her.

She regarded him solemnly for a moment, her expression lacking the usual small, gentle smile. "Kurogane, I have spoken to you about terrorizing the palace staff once before," she said. "I should not have to ask you again."

Kurogane glared. "They're just servants," he muttered.

"They are not 'just' servants, Kurogane," Tomoyo said crisply, and Kurogane cringed a little despite himself at the authority in her tone. "They are part of my sister's household, and mine. You may no longer be the heir of a noble household, but you still have the obligations and duties to act like one. Your parents should have taught you to comport yourselves better than this!"

Kurogane averted his gaze, although a seething core of resentment remained. Yes, his father had taught him about the obligations of the nobility towards the peasants - never to use or abuse his power against those who had none. But his father was dead - dead, dead, - and besides - these weren't his people. They would never be his people.

Tomoyo sighed, and her face softened, although there was still no smile in her eyes. "If nothing else, Kurogane, please try to regain a hint of compassion," she said. "They may be servants, but they are still your countrymen. And they are still human beings - just like you."

"Yes, Tsukuyomi," Kurogane said quietly.

He shouldn't feel ungrateful, he knew. No. He was grateful. Tomoyo had granted him sponsorship, bringing him to the palace and guaranteeing him a life and a position here. Kurogane still wasn't sure why she had done that, nor why she continued to work so patiently to civilize him ever since, but one thing was for sure - she was his master, the only one he would ever allow to hold power over him.

Now:

The wheels of the cart creaked noisily as they turned over and over along the road, but at least the ride was relatively smooth - despite the noise of the axle turning in the wheel-well the cart was well-shocked, and the road was hard and smooth. Kurogane let himself slouch a bit, legs crossed and boots braced against the edge of the dash, and the beast of burden pulling the cart snorted indignation as the reins brushed over its flank. Kurogane wound the reins an extra turn about his wrist, picking up the slack, and slouched down again.

It had been a long day. He had a job in this world as a wrangler, lending his substantial strength and (no less important) his quick, combat-trained resources towards the herding and corralling of some of the local cattle-beasties.

All of the animals in their current world looked strange to Kurogane's eyes, more like overgrown lizards than any kind of beasts of burden or meat he was used to. These particular lizards were only waist-high on a man, but they were quick and cunning and ran in packs, and far stronger than their initial spindly appearance would suggest. It took no small effort to rein them in if a pair or trio got it in their head to escape the pens where their herds were kept, and if their colorful feathers made Kurogane think of chickens on steroids, the cruel bone spurs that jutted from their feet could eviscerate a man if he wasn't quick on the draw.

Kurogane was hot, he was filthy, and he itched. The first two had a part in contributing to the third; the sun beat down on him and the dust kicked up from the road liberally combined with the sweat on his skin to form an itchy crust. He couldn't wait to get back home and wash himself off, but the beast pulling his cart - a round-headed, heavyset four-legged thing the locals called Packies - was built for strength, not for speed. If he tried to urge it forward any faster, all he'd succeed in doing was annoying them both.

Home? Kurogane frowned at the direction of his own thoughts. It didn't feel quite right to call their little barrow home, not in any lasting sense of the word. They'd been in Jura for three weeks now; longer than usual on this journey, and long enough to have fallen into some sort of routine, but… at any time, none of them knew when, Mokona's earring might glow and they might be whisked off to a new world to start all over again.

Home was Nihon, and would always be. Kurogane wasn't desperate to return there any longer; he'd had a chance to go home and he'd had his chance to choose to stay, and he'd chosen to come on this journey instead. He'd come for the kid, and for Fai, and for the chance to see Syaoran and Sakura again… and he stood by that chance, would stand by them for as long as it took to make their dream of a happy world where they could be together come through. But behind it all there was always a little nagging reminder that home was waiting for his return.

It wasn't just that he missed Nihon, although he did, or that his soul was still sworn to Tomoyo's service, although it was. There were… obligations that awaited him, when he finally did return. He'd ignored them for years and years, because - and he could admit this freely now - he'd been a kid, selfish and callow. He'd let the obsession for strength and power drive him, using the lessons of his father's swordsmanship carelessly without ever stopping to remember what his father had given him that strength for.

Someday, sometime - he didn't know when, but someday - he should go back. He should return… not just to Nihon but to Suwa. He was the last of his family line. That meant he had certain obligations to fulfill, and while he could put them off for a while, he could not put them off forever.

He could put it off for one more day, though.

They crested the hill, and the clean white green-capped dome of ho - their current lodgings - came into view. Despite himself Kurogane leaned forward eagerly, and kicked his toe into the tough leathery hide of the packy pulling the cart. The beast brayed in annoyance, but did pick up the pace - a little bit - and the cart rattled on the downhill slope.

He drove the packy into the small stable and then unhitched the cart, pulling it into its stand by hand. It was a small cart, really only intended to carry himself and a small amount of cargo - he pulled the sack out of the trench behind the seat and slung it over his shoulder before heading towards the house. He passed by another lizard beast on his way through the yard; the locals called them donts and raised them as both pets and meat. Small enough to come only up to his knee, but fleshy and with a protruding set of tusks jutting from their jaws, they browsed on leaves and twigs in the patch of overgrown space and made grunting noises that put him in mind of a boar.

Kurogane let himself into the house, and immediately felt a sense of relief wash over him as he stepped out of the hot, sticky air of outside. "I'm back," he called out, and let the sack of supplies - groceries, blankets, a half-dozen other small fundamentals he'd picked up on the way back from work - slither over his arm onto the table.

"Kuro-sama?" Fai poked his head through the intervening doorway, and gave him a sunny smile. "Welcome home! Syaoran-kun is still at the library, so I haven't started dinner yet, but there's fruit and cheese in the kitchen if you're hungry."

"In a minute," Kurogane said, pulling his tunic away from his body to try to get a cooling draft going. "I need a bath first. I'm filthy."

Fai came all the way into the living room then, his nose wrinkling in exaggerated disdain. "You certainly are," he said. Belying his words, he leaned up against Kurogane and wrapped his arms around Kurogane's neck. "Filthy, sweaty, stinky, dusty, dirty…"

He leaned up for a kiss and Kurogane obliged him, feeling Fai grinning against his own mouth before the mischievous smile melted. Fai's eyes fluttered closed as he pushed himself up on his toes, deepening the kiss and sliding his hands below the collar of Kurogane's jacket.

This was Kurogane's anchor, the force that kept him grounded even when feelings of homesickness and uneasy obligation tugged him in a dozen different directions. He couldn't leave Fai. It would - manifestly - be easier to leave his arm or his leg behind than to be without the man he loved. Fai wanted to keep journeying with Syaoran, Fai wanted to find a way to bring back the kids they had loved and Kurogane would never abandon that goal so long as Fai stuck to it. They had developed a partnership that was part camaraderie, the loyalty and trust that grew between two warriors fighting back to back in a battle; part friendship, a deeper understanding than they could claim with almost anyone in any world; and no small part passion.

At the moment, though, Kurogane really was hot and sweaty and wanted a bath more than anything else. There would be plenty of time to enjoy his boyfriend's company later. So he broke the kiss, giving Fai a little promissory nip on his lower lip to show he didn't really mind, and shot back "Are you just going to complain about that, or are you going to do something about it?"

Fai grinned and whirled around, heading for the back of the house. "I'll stoke the boiler," he said. "Once you're all scrubbed up, I'll meet you in the bedroom~!"

The water for the bath - well, shower really, since it would have taken too long to fill an entire bath when he was more interested in scrubbing than soaking anyway - was ready in an astonishingly short time, the large rainwater tank heating much faster than he would have expected. Probably something to do with the strange alloy the tank was made of, Kurogane thought as he stepped under the spray.

Jura country was a strange combination of opposites and contradictions, things strange and familiar. The walls of the house, the furniture and cookware, even the materials of the road and the cart seemed straight out of Tomoyo Daidouji's world; metals so light they hardly felt real, a tough white substance they called plastic that was slightly gummy to the touch, yet could be forged into any shape imaginable. And yet despite this futuristic setting, everything that moved and burned was practically primitive by contrast. They used beasts to pull carts and turn mills, providing the brute labor that kept this village going. Fires to cook and heat water by were provided by wood and charcoal, each house having its own small boiler.

Kurogane couldn't begin to imagine how such a strange dichotomy existed, but they had adapted to it - as they always did - and used the tools of the world as each day came. Did it matter whether the water he used to bathe was piped in under city streets, or rainwater gathered in cisterns overhead and heated by a wood-burning boiler? It got him clean the same either way, he thought as he sluiced himself off under the warm stream and scrubbed the dust and sweat away with a rough washcloth.

The big hot-water tank gave Kurogane plenty of time to brood on his current dilemma, his thoughts circling round again to his obligations. No doubt Fai could be persuaded to return to Nihon with him, eventually. He had no homeworld of his own to go back to, and Kurogane was certain Fai could come to love Nihon as he did. The court, led by Tomoyo, would accept him with friendship. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was that if he intended to fulfill his obligations, as he knew he must, then that meant that someday he would have to take a wife. The thought in itself didn't bother him. He had no intention of giving up Fai, and there was plenty of precedent for a lord to keep a long-term lover even after marrying. The lady of a noble house was as much a steward and purser as she was wife and mother, and although husband and wife were expected to work together to administer the land, love was not a requirement. Even the production and parenting of an heir was a duty too important to rely on a love that might or might not ever blossom between them. His own parents had been different - his own parents had been special - but Kurogane had seen enough other couples in the Shirasagi court to accept the value of pragmatism over romance.

But Kurogane wasn't sure that Fai would see it that way. Wasn't sure that Fai could see it that way. No doubt Fai would accept the arrangement, if he had to - the damned idiot was too self-effacing, too self-sacrificing. He would smile and reassure Kurogane that he was okay, that he wasn't bothered, no matter how deeply that lie cut…

Kurogane growled and shut off the hot-water valve, splashing himself with icy water for a moment before the flow fell to a trickle and then died. He yanked the towel off the side of the shower stall and scrubbed his head and neck vigorously for a moment, wrapped it around himself and went to look for his boyfriend.

He was getting ahead of himself, worrying about problems that might be years down the road. Maybe they'd both be eaten by one of the big trexor lizards tomorrow, for all he knew. Best to just take each day as it came.

--------------------------

Syaoran came back as purple shadows began to fall over the landscape, with the strap of a hempen bag of library books riding one shoulder and Mokona on the other. By that time Kurogane and Fai were both back in their clothes and on their respective sides of the house, Kurogane stacking firewood for the boiler while Fai cooked up a storm in the kitchen.

The boy was full of enthusiasm, babbling on about the things he had found out in the past day. His lengthy library sessions had finally been enough, it seemed, to convince the librarians that he was serious about his interest; and so they were finally allowing him access to some of the more advanced and valuable books in carefully sealed rooms in the back of the chrome-and-plastic library building.

He hadn't been able to take any of those valuable books out of the library, of course, but his research had turned up references to half a dozen other volumes that he claimed were necessary for a background understanding. Kurogane had picked one up and leafed through it while Syaoran was changing out of his own dusty clothes. The language seemed vaguely familiar to him - some variation on Japanese that used similar kanji but different kana - but the terminology was completely unfamiliar. He was more fascinated by the material the book was made of: instead of wood-pulp paper, the leaves were made of a tough, paper-thin, eggshell-clear film of plastic with the words printed in black ink on the pages. The pages resisted tearing, and Kurogane was pretty sure they'd be waterproof as well, not that he intended to test his theory.

At dinner Syaoran's conversation was all about this new science of cloning, a way to make duplicate creatures genetically identical to the original, but with no magic involved. Fai made polite, interested noises as Syaoran chattered on about zygotes and parthogenesis and artificial embryonic environments, gene splicing and gene sequencing and chromosomal positioning. Kurogane could only assume that Mokona was translating, because the words all sounded like nonsense to him.

Mokona, who accompanied the kid to the library every day, had little interest in the finer details of genetics and much more on the topic of giant lizards. There were thousands of varieties of the lizard-beasts (Mokona called them dinosaurs) in this world alone, and Mokona kept interrupting Syaoran's monologue to project an image of a new bizarre-looking scaled or feathered critter in the air above the dinner table. (Kurogane particularly liked the sea-going ones with the long sinuous necks and the frills around their heads; they looked interestingly liked dragons.)

"Mokona knows all about dinosaurs, of course!" the critter chirped, during a lull when Syaoran had devoted himself to the savory soup and cornbread Fai had cooked up. "Yuuko had a book about them! But Mokona is lucky to get to see them in person. Lucky, lucky!"

"Yuuko-san had a book from this world?" Fai asked her.

"Nope! It was a book from Mokona's world. Of course, the dinosaurs lived long, long, long ago, so there aren't any left any more!"

"Where'd they go?" Kurogane wanted to know. Mokona was now entertaining herself by making a projected herd of lizards trample through Fai's carefully arranged greens, while Fai laughingly tried to defend his garden with a salad fork.

"Most of them died off," Syaoran said. "The ones that survived evolved into birds."

Kurogane considered this new idea dubiously, comparing the lizard-quick, vicious intellect of the raptors he wrestled with every day at work to the chickens he knew from the other world. "Those must be some birds," he said with a touch of skepticism.

Syaoran started to speak, stopped a moment to swallow his mouthful of soup, then cleared his throat and spoke again. "Actually, we think that dinosaurs may have existed in the past of a lot of different worlds," he said. "There's fossil records in many of the worlds we've passed through, and other worlds have legends of creatures that might have been dinosaurs. Like in your country, Kurogane-san. They died off in most worlds millions of years ago, but in this world, with cloning..."

Kurogane looked up, frowning. "My country?" he said. "There are no lizard-beasts like this in Nihon. Not even in any stories that I know of."

"Well, not dinosaurs exactly," Syaoran said. "But there are legends of demons in Nihon, just like in a lot of different places, except in other worlds, those stories of dragons and demons were probably actually dinosaurs..."

Kurogane felt the handle of the flimsy metal fork bend as his hand clenched around it. "Demons are nothing like these lizards," he said, and his voice was suddenly harsh and grating.

Syaoran looked at him, eyes and mouth wide, as he realized he'd made a faux pas. "No, of course not, I didn't mean that. I just meant that there are stories of things like demons, I mean, even if other worlds don't actually have - I mean..."

Mokona and Fai stopped their clowning and were looking at him, eyes as big as Syaoran's. Kurogane took a deep breath, and tried to tamp down his aura.

"Demons are nothing like animals," he said flatly. Images boiled up in his vision, clouds of red and black, dripping red and writhing black. "Not even remotely the same thing. Animals are animals, and that's all there is to it. They fight for food, or territory, or mates. Demons are completely different. They're creatures of pure evil, and they hunt and kill just for the fun of it. They can do nothing but destroy..."

He felt a warmth on his right elbow, and glanced over to see that Fai had put his hand on Kurogane's arm under the edge of the table in silent support. That contact was enough to ground him, calm him; he took another deep breath and exhaled, letting the sudden dark anger flow out of him with the exhalation. "Forget it," he muttered.

"Kurogane-san, I'm sorry, I didn't mean -" Syaoran was very nearly in tears, and Kurogane felt a little bad for him.

"Forget it," Kurogane said a little louder, and he managed to muster up a brief, small smile for his foster son. "Anyway. You were saying?"

After a brief pause, the conversation limped on; Syaoran kept it carefully to the subject of cloning from then on. Fai and Mokona managed to keep up a light banter, while Kurogane picked at his food and wavered between irritation and contrition. It had been years since he'd let his temper get the best of him; why would it strain to the breaking point now, in this safe haven surrounded by those he loved best?

Maybe that was exactly why, Kurogane eventually concluded. Maybe this idyllic domesticity was putting more of a strain on him than any battlefield ever could, if only because of the dangerous directions it led his thoughts. It made him think about what had once been, and what could someday be, when he had no business focusing on anything but the now.

After dinner Syaoran produced a new treasure, a set of colorful playing cards in the same tough, interesting material as the books. Although Kurogane could see that the durable cards were definitely going to be an asset on their journey, he begged out of the game, claiming to be too tired from the long day of work to concentrate enough to stop Mokona from cheating. Mokona had objected, Fai had laughed, and everything had been back to normal again.

And when Fai slipped away to the bedroom not half an hour after Kurogane had undressed for bed, joining him under the light blanket that was all this summer heat required, Kurogane was at last able to truly live in the moment. Forget past. Forget future. Only this, warm skin and scent and breathy moans calling his name. Only now.

Soon:

In the darkness, the Mother turned.

The darkness itself did not bother her much. She had lived for a long time under this mountain, long enough for the forest to grow to cover the bare slopes and burn and grow again more times than she could could; long enough for her to carve out more nests and dens in the subterranean passages under the stone than she could ever remember; long enough for her body to have worn the passages smooth. She had grown old, and sight had gone dim in all but two of her eyes; even if she were to emerge into the cold air above the mountains, she would see little more.

It mattered not; there was little on those cold, bare slopes to see. She did not need eyes to see the world about her, extending her awareness like the feathers of outstretched wings to brush over distant slopes of rock and blurred treetops. This was her domain, and little stirred here that she did not know about; only the small lives of the forest animals, from the nervous rabbits to the placid deer browsing on twig-ends and treebark, awaiting the coming of spring.

Beyond the mountain her vision was less clear. This land was a harsh one, with rugged mountains and unforgiving oceans pinching the human lands between them. Over many years the humans had done much to level the rocky hills, building as far up against the mountains as the steep slopes would allow them - but beyond that point they could go no further; their roads and terraces ended, and all beyond that belonged to the youkai. Here, no humans walked.

It had not always been so. She immersed herself in old memories as if sinking into a warm bath, redolent with comforting heat and pleasant smells. There had once been a time when the humans of the kingdoms below had come up here, regularly - to pay homage to the great spirits of the mountain, to offer tribute, or to beg an audience. There had once been a time when she and her brood had been great in power in prestige; when wise men and women and shamans and even emperors would climb her mountain slopes to seek wisdom. Her kind lived long, and wisdom tended to accumulate as carelessly a housewife accumulated clutter.

Things had changed. She was not sure when. Years tended to slip by her without notice, and somewhere along the line the relationship between her kind and the humans had chilled. She'd ignored it like she would a snowfall, attributing it to a passing fancy of the mortal races... but instead of passing, like winter into spring, the cold had only deepened.

Perhaps her own children had been at fault, lashing out violently at the humans a little bit too often, greedily taking more than tribute offered, playing pranks too cruel for mortal egos to bear. She couldn't remember; she hadn't tracked her children's activities all that closely. But the humans had retaliated, sending strong warriors against her children, hunting them down like beasts... and like beasts they became, more and more, their very intelligence and self-awareness slipping away into a vortex of mindless destruction. Chaos was woven into the very fabric of her people's being, and if they could not resist that -

Or perhaps it had been the miko themselves. Yes. There was that. As years had passed they became ever more skilled at raising kekkai, barriers as strong and impenetrable as the stone castles they built. She could understand their passionate desire to protect their young, being a mother herself - but did they not understand that to wall the youkai away from their homes and nurseries would only hasten their own destruction?

Perhaps they didn't. The humans were only mortal, after all, and correspondingly short-sighted. It was easy for her to forget how quickly they lived and died, lives flickering out like fireflies, and if they failed to pass the knowledge on to their own children... yes, the humans so easily forgot.

The Mother was dying.

She recognized the truth of it now in herself, in her feebly flickering energy, her wandering bouts of senile thought. She was dying, reaching at last the end of her long centuries - life was long for her kind, but when the end came it often did so suddenly. She had not even ventured from her lair in a long time, not since that one desperate night years ago when she had been drawn forth from her resting place by the smell of fire and blood carried on the winds up her mountain. Not since she had stirred herself for one last chance, one last hope for her people -

Not since the night of the covenant.

She was dying. The time had come to redeem her pledge, to return what had been entrusted to her years ago. She had banked everything on this last gambit, on the last and youngest and most wayward of her progeny. She could do no more.

The time had come. The Mother gathered the last of her once mighty power, and called for her child.

~to be continued...

The Foundling (Prologue and Chapter 1)

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