#inucest

The fire crackled softly, its orange light throwing restless shadows across the clearing. Night had settled fully, cold and damp, wrapping the forest in an eerie stillness. Rin sat crosslegged on the ground, staring into the shifting flames. Her face was bright in the glow, framed by the soot and dirt of travel. Across from her, Jaken fussed over his staff, rubbing the crooked wood with the hem of his sleeve, his bulbous eyes narrowed in great concentration. 

Sesshoumaru kept guard a short distance away. His back to the camp, he faced the darkened woodland, the silver cascade of his hair catching faint glimmers of moonlight. Rin studied him, seeming thoughtful. His customary silence had been heavier today. Taciturn and unmoving, the Great Demon might have been carved from stone and left to watch over the entrance of a shrine. 

She leaned closer to Jaken, whispering quietly so only he could hear. “Lord Sesshoumaru seems… sad.”

Jaken froze mid-polish, his thin lips curling into a sneer. “Sad? Foolish child! Do not mistake discipline for weakness of heart.” He puffed out his chest, though it was absurdly small. “My lord is incapable of such petty mortal feelings! He—” 

The imp hesitated, then. His gaze flickered toward the white figure beneath the trees, then back at her. Suddenly, he appeared oddly reluctant to speak. “Today marks the anniversary of his father’s death. That is all.” 

Rin’s brow furrowed in confusion. Her words, though hushed, carried the unassuming bluntness typical of a child. “I thought Daiyoukai lived forever.” 

“They do not die of old age,” Jaken corrected harshly, as if to reprimand her ignorance. He cleared his throat, features momentarily softening with reverence. “But they can be killed. The Great Demon Dog, Lord Toga, was gravely wounded in battle. He sealed away Ryukotsusei, a dragon who terrorized these lands. Even with his immense strength, the effort cost him dearly…”

He paused, his claws tightening on the staff, as if wondering whether he should continue. For a brief moment, anger marred the smooth expanse of his beak, or perhaps pity. “But no. That was not what ended him,” he muttered. “He died for a human.”

Rin blinked, taken aback. “A human?”

“Yes, his mistress. Princess Izayoi,” Jaken spat the name as though it tasted foul. “While Lord Toga lay wounded, she was giving birth to his bastard child. She had been captured by her former suitor—a man named Takemaru. Lord Toga went to her rescue, though he could barely stand.” 

Jaken shook his head slowly, his disgust plain. “Takemaru struck him down. Felled by a human. The most shameful death imaginable for a Daiyoukai.” 

The fire popped, sending a spark spiraling upward into the night. Rin stared at her hands, weak and mortal, painted in trembling warm hues. “So that’s why Lord Sesshoumaru doesn’t like humans.”

Jaken grunted, nodding stiffly. For a long while, Rin was quiet, looking unusually downcast. Then, with a suddenness that caught the imp off guard, she inquired, “Was it a boy or a girl?”

“What?” Jaken frowned at her, his staff at last forgotten. 

“You said the princess was giving birth.” Rin leaned forward earnestly, her child’s curiosity as sharp as any blade. “To a hanyou. Was it a boy or a girl?” 

Jaken’s beak opened, then closed. For once, speech failed him. He squinted at her, as if she had grown two heads. “So you know about hanyou. I did not expect such perceptiveness from a silly little girl,” he murmured. Finally, he sighed, “It was a boy.” 

Rin’s eyes widened, round as hazelnuts. “A boy? What was his name?”

Jaken seemed nervous, like he’d been caught in some misdeed. “... Inuyasha.” 

“Inuyasha?” Rin repeated, too loudly, the name carrying through the clearing.

Jaken nearly leapt out of his skin. He clapped a hand over her mouth, glancing frantically at Sesshoumaru. “Quiet, you fool!” 

The Daiyoukai had not moved, but there was a hint of expectancy in the air, the way storm clouds gather before a thunderclap.

Jaken swallowed hard and hissed furiously. “Do not say that name where Lord Sesshoumaru can hear. The very sound of it enrages him. Do you understand? That half-breed,” he spat again, as though trying to cleanse his tongue, “is a stain on my lord’s noble bloodline. The reason his father died. They despise each other!”

After some brief hesitation, Rin nodded, and Jaken released her with a tired huff. She looked at Sesshoumaru once more, her brow creased in worry. Rigid as a statue, the moon cast his profile in light and shadow—the cold, immaculate beauty of a mask no human could ever read. Rin hugged her knees tight, her heart strangely heavy. 

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The wind howled through the Valley of Ryukotsusei, like a dirge haunting the crumbling cliffs. Sesshoumaru’s silver hair whipped violently in the breeze, every strand gleaming under the pale sun. His gaze roved across the scorched earth where even now vegetation refused to grow, as though the land itself could not forget the great battle once wrought here. 

Rin clung to his trailing fur, unsettled by the dreary scenery. Behind her, Jaken scampered with quick, clumsy steps. He held the Staff of Two Heads firmly against his chest, as if prepared to shield himself from the valley’s elusive spirits. 

Sesshoumaru’s mood was sour. He did not need Rin’s trembling hand or Jaken’s fearful mutterings to remind him what this place was. They stood on the ground his father had consecrated with blood—the sealed grave of Ryukotsusei, chained in eternal sleep after defying the former Lord of the Western Lands. A hollow victory. Bearer of a power revered by all Great Demons, Toga was not brought down by the beast, but by a spurned man’s lowly hand. 

Within Sesshoumaru stirred that same quiet, unyielding ache. A wound born of insult rather than grief. His father had not perished in this vale of shadows and decay, but in a human fortress now burnt to ash. He still couldn’t bring himself to visit it. When it was time to commemorate Toga’s passing, he always came here instead. Even that was no longer allowed, though. 

“L-Lord Sesshoumaru,” Jaken stammered, scuttling forward a few paces. Round eyes darted left and right, scanning the terrain. “The body—where is it?” He cried out. “Where is the sealed body of Ryukotsusei? It’s gone!” 

Sesshoumaru did not answer. His senses had already told him what Jaken was yet to understand. The air, acrid with centuries of malicious energies, now carried a different scent. Another’s presence lingered like a blemish upon the battlefield. The faintest flicker touched his eye—a twitch so light it could have been mistaken with the flutter of a lash. It was the only sight of his displeasure.

“Ryukotsusei is no more,” he spoke gravely. 

Jaken reeled back, blinking furiously. “N-no more?” he squeaked. His squat form whirled in frantic circles, peering behind boulders, flipping over rocks with the end of his staff, as if the dragon’s colossal frame might be hiding just out of sight. “But how can that be? He was sealed! No sword, no force could—” 

Rin tilted her head, a faint frown creasing her brow. “Was it… Inuyasha?”

Sesshoumaru’s gaze lingered on the horizon, where storm clouds gathered in sluggish coils. When his voice finally rose, it was stripped of all feeling, each syllable precise as a needle through silk. “It was Inuyasha who slew him.” 

The child’s frown deepened, unsettled not by the words, but by the way they were spoken. She clutched at Sesshoumaru’s sleeve, a nervous gesture he felt no wish to correct. Jaken froze, his wide beak falling open in disbelief.

“That—that imbecile?!” He asked in a strangled gasp. His legs wobbled as if the very thought unbalanced him. “The half-breed? Inuyasha? He could not defeat a flea without stumbling over his own feet, how could he—” Suddenly, he faltered, unable to finish the sentence. It was rare when he was able to understand that he was treading dangerous ground, but not impossible. 

Somehow, Sesshoumaru’s silence spoke louder than any denial, and even Jaken’s outrage. Ryukotsusei had been more than a demon. He had been the measure of his father’s strength—the limit that had defined him. To see it surpassed, not by himself, but by the half-brother he had always dismissed as weak and pitiful, was a venom spreading through his veins. 

Inuyasha had mastered Tessaiga, and he had used it to achieve what their father could not. He had done what Sesshoumaru, for all his refinement and power, had never accomplished. The revelation hung like gallows above him, suffocating and inescapable. His fingers flexed slightly at his side. Was Inuyasha now stronger than their father? Stronger even than him? 

Rin peered up at him. “Lord Sesshoumaru… are you alright?”

Jaken whirled on her, his beak snapping. “Quiet, girl! How dare you—”