The Long Road to Freedom 2: Fire on the Water

Burn

1438 mid-Muromachi Period, Autumn, Musashi

'...This path of conquest, as you call it, is not one of cruelty...These idiosyncrasies of yours are not those of a greater demon or superior lord...'

Sesshoumaru wondered absently as he inspected his crimson-stained claws why his father's words had chosen this moment to haunt him. Gazing over the battlefield freshly bathed in blood and death, he could find no reason in them. A conqueror slew his enemies and all those that stood in his way; that was simply how things worked, how the order was maintained. To some, like his father, murder could be considered cruel, but to Sesshoumaru, it was just another tool, and it was one he was infinitely skilled with. He'd lost count of how many bands of warriors and human colonies he'd cleared away as he continued to scour the land, but at the end of the day it mattered little to him.

The humans were ignorant of anything he needed to know, their hovels held nothing he wanted or could make use of; useless, vulgar, repulsive creatures, all of them, and so they'd been removed from his path. It was simply in his nature to destroy, to carve away at the world until it fit the shape that suited him. There was no changing this; and even if there was, he saw no reason to try.

Still, his father's words echoed...

"A most excellent victory as always, Lord Sesshoumaru! Er...Milord, where are we off to now?"

Sesshoumaru turned away to head elsewhere, and Jaken scrambled to keep up. Sesshoumaru did not answer, not quite sure himself just where he was going. All he knew was he needed to leave. Now, with the battlefield left far behind them, something was pulling him in a particular direction, and so that was the way he went. Slowly the landscape became familiar to him, and as he crested the hill to examine the contents of the shallow valley, he realized just where he was. He made his way gradually down to inspect what was left.

The trees that had once stood as a crisply preened grove now stretched and drooped in their wild fashions; beyond them, a crumbling wall and dilapidated castle told the tale of decades of neglect. The front gates had long been torn away, the corner yagura towers missing great sections of tile and wall, and the courtyard he now entered was in a despicable state of disarray. Had Sesshoumaru not spent most of his early years here, even he would not have recognized what had once been the castle-base of the great and terrible Inu no Taishou.

The stench of lesser demons permeated the air, telling Sesshoumaru the story of how they'd found this place abandoned and made a nest of it. It seemed that currently, however, they were not here.

'Perhaps away to hunt. Either way.'

"Remain here." He ordered Jaken

Sesshoumaru continued his way across the yard and into the halls. The urging that had drawn him here still pulled, and he continued to follow it. It was darker inside than he remembered, though with his demon eyes it was no hindrance. The walls were slashed and splattered, the wood beneath his feet was warped and rotting, weak in several places, and he had to float to avoid falling through in several times when it broke under his weight; great holes in the roof and floors above let in pools of sunlight in which grew various weeds and wildflowers, twisting up through the ruined floor.

Sesshoumaru found the way back to his old quarters easily enough, more from muscle memory than actual recollection, and he was unsurprised to find the shouji doors broken in and collapsed, the tatami mats splotched with decay and mold. Wildflowers also grew up through the mats here, mostly near the window which was now missing its closable slats.

Though it was hardly recognizable, he could see it perfectly as it had once been in his mind's eye, his gaze settling on the spot where he'd always kept his zabuton cushion. He'd made many decisions in that spot, pondered and parsed through his various inklings and wonderments, but there was one, in particular, that ate away at the edge of his memory now.

He'd cast something away from himself in that spot once, a long time ago, something he'd very much wanted to keep. Deep inside, the bundle of sentiment he'd sealed away in ice all those years ago tried to stir, but he narrowed his eyes and turned from the scene, silencing it once more.

He would let no more of these memories return; he would not be distracted.

He couldn't ignore, however, the sensation of something just beyond his reach, ghostly and formless and...struggling. It struggled and that unsettled him. Sesshoumaru clenched his fist against the fleeting consciousness that had plagued him intermittently for as long as he could remember. Being here only seemed to make it worse, so he turned his focus elsewhere, wandering his way back out to the courtyard.

He called to Jaken and was unsurprised when he found the nintoujou had no reaction in this place. Once again, his father's tomb evaded him. He hadn't truly expected to find anything here, had he? After all, he'd traveled here on a whim, not on any scrap of evidence that there was anything to be found. He chided himself for still being so naïve, ignoring Jaken's usual groveling apologies.

Sesshoumaru considered the castle for a moment and all it had represented; not only to himself but to those that had lived and served here. He'd fancied that at least a few of the servants would have remained to refashion the place according to his father's will, but it would seem even the old General wanted nothing more to do with the place.

It served a purpose no longer, held nothing of any use for him, and certainly was not meant for the cretins that had chosen to fester here.

"Jaken," he said quietly, glancing down only for a moment to find his vassal awaiting his command. "Burn it."

The imp blinked.

"M-milord..? Are you sure..?"

Even Jaken knew what this place was.

Sesshoumaru gave no response, sweeping himself through the nonexistent gates once more and into the wild grove. He paused to pluck a leaf, stiff and brown, from a branch, idly inspecting it until he could feel the warmth from the flames his vassal had set. He watched, unflinching, as the place that had once been his home collapsed and gave way to ash.

He, Sesshoumaru, had a home no longer. No, that wasn't exactly correct. The whole world was his home; every tree and rock and river was his courtyard or nest as he required. He rather enjoyed it, this wandering and wild lifestyle, and it suited his desires perfectly.