Archive of Our Own

Prologue: ???? Years Before Present Time.

In the end, and the beginning of the end, she couldn't have told you what had been, exactly, the last handful of snow upon her coffin. 

Perhaps it had something to do with Hina glancing out the window one evening, and found herself unable to decipher whether it were dawn or dusk. Or remember when it had last mattered, save for that terrible, terrible morning two ice apparitions held her fast and listened, stony faces impassive to all Hina's screams and frantic pleas for him. My baby. My baby. 

My baby. 

It might yet have had been caused by that particular evening's-or morning; it was much the same to her now-particular snowstorm, and how the storm whistled shrill and desperate in the air like a warning call of a bird in its death throes. Or the cries her baby boy never uttered, so brave had been he, even in the face of certain death. 

There was nothing particularly unusual about the blizzard, strictly speaking, not for the Glacial Village, which stood, passively frozen like most of its inhabitants, in the heart of a wintry wasteland. It was hardly out of the ordinary, during any time of the year, for heavy snowflakes to twirl down thick and fast from a skyline the color of weak tea. For even the most fortified homes in the village to quake like frightened hares in the harsh, battering winds that sent snow scattering in all directions in a rush of white. Warmth had seldom ever seeped into this island's bones, for daytime was not defined by the presence of sunlight so much as it was the absence of darkness. The result was a perpetual veil of cold that knifed away intruders, or any prospect of a meaningful existence, for that matter. 

Hina had been used to that well enough, could all too easily picture the island on which she'd been born and spent well-over one hundred years' existence even with her eyes closed. And maybe understanding that alone, as she stood at the window, felt like something like a suggestion to her. 

In her house on her final night, the house's window covers were violently swaying back and forth. They struck the house as they did so, as if in a tantrum. And Hina let them do as they liked, turning from the window to contemplate the hearth for what might've been hours before noticing no fire burned there. She only lit one reluctantly-it could hardly warm her, the way her son had warmed her from within like an ember during her pregnancy so long ago. His father's tribe-if there had been any members left alive by the time Hina had her children-would've surely rejoiced over a boy whom blazed with all the light and strength of a star. Blessed as a future warrior. Yukiteru, she wanted to call him, a blessing from the stuff of light. 

In her cradle, Yukina began to weep bitterly. Hina winced at the sound, her teeth sinking into the inside of her cheek and her nails folding into the inside of her palms. Most reluctantly Hina slowly rose and trudged across the room, staring down at the baby as hirui stone after hirui stone blossomed and clattered into being. 

She'd loved Yukina dearly once. Hina remembered attempting to soothe both twins whenever they shifted uneasily in the womb, which was often. And Hina had prayed fervently that somehow, somehow she was expectant with two girls, even if one of them was burning inside her, clearly not an ice apparition. Even an ice maiden might show mercy to another maiden, even if that child were born of fire. But no measure of mercy could be granted to the unlucky child whom had committed the unpardonable sin of being born a boy. Much less a male fire demon. 

Yukina continued to cry heartily and Hina screwed her face up against the noise. Her baby boy came into the world silently but very much alive. His large eyes-red eyes so very much like his sister and mother's-had rested on her when she'd taken the child into her arms. And the twin tears she'd shed for her children fell, and she loved them so much she thought her heart might stop. 

Then came the roars of rage and horror from the midwives, and the shrieks from those outside the birthing hut, waiting for Hina to deliver the two newest members of their sisterhood....

Still Hina's baby girl sobbed, and Hina turned her back on the child, face in her trembling hands. Let the girl learn early that no amount of tears or begging would melt the heart of an ice apparition. Hina had learned the bitter lesson all too late, and her son paid the price with his life. They had wrapped him in fire-nullifying binds, and Rui had dispatched her son over a cliff with as little fanfare as if he were disposable waste. 

"Yukina, enough. Enough." 

Tears were streaming down Hina's pale, haggard face now, bouncing off the ground as they became stones, joining the incalculable number of stones glinting on the floor-a sea of sadness Hina had not seen to sweep away. There were enough now to pave the floor of this wretched building that had not felt like a home in years. She fumbled for a box on a shelf, hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped it. 

Clothes. Tiny little clothes. They were his, or they were meant to be, and that was enough. Yukiteru. Hiei. Hina placed those clothes against her face and howled, her frantic keening even rising above that of her daughter's. Her poor, poor daughter whose caresses and smiles were so warm, whom looked at the world with earnest, curious eyes, unlike the rest of her sallow, timid brethren. Yukina, whom reached out so longingly to hug and be held. With her turquoise hair and red eyes she looked like Hina entirely, which made Hina absolutely sick. 

They had named her boy Hiei the Immiko, after a cursed thing, after shadows. But he was meant to be her Yukiteru, her good fortune, the reminder that her lover had once existed and she'd melted under his touch and dared dream a dangerous wish that had long since smothered. Hiei could murder her like the elders insisted he would and Hina would die adoring him and his sacred memory. The fleeting warmth in her arms, the burning eyes that knew too much too soon. Had he understood she loved him with a fire of her own that, if made manifest, would've consumed the glacial village entirely? That she would've eagerly thrown her life at the elder's feet-she offered, oh, she did offer-if it meant mercy for her son? Could it ever possibly be enough, when she couldn't protect him when he needed her? 

No. With the all the force of a dying fall, the word struck her with enough conviction to effectively knock the air out of her as Hina fell to her knees. No, it was not enough to intend the best in this damned purgatory where her love was gone, with her beautiful son's bones surely gathering dust wherever they must've shattered. And poor Yukina here alone, with a mother inhabiting the same house without ever truly being present. 

Hina felt a stab of pity, because the pretty little girl should've been enough. But she was cold to the touch-and it had been a long, long time since Hina had felt the cold, or anything at all, as a matter of fact. Yukina was already the most beautiful and lively child this place where people did not live so much as they waited to die had ever seen. and that ought to be some consolation. But she wasn't, whatever she ought to have been. She deserved better, insofar as an ice apparition deserved anything but to die. 

And with that, with all the conviction of one not acting on the spur of the moment but of one whom had made their minds up years ago, Hina stood. At last she scooped up Yukina, absently stroking her hair. It wasn't fair. If Hiei had lived, she would have her happiness, and she would love Yukina as freely as breathing. She would a capacity to love someone still alive. She would know how to love at all. 

Hina headed outside, her kimono sleeves flailing in the gale and making her appear like a strange bird attempting to take off. The few women whom had not sought shelter indoors scattered at once at the sight of her-a pariah even now. That had been branded into her forever. The joke was on them-there was nothing left they could've done to her, in any case. 

Through chapped lips, Hina began to sing a medley that she had not sung long since the last days of her pregnancy. The noose had been tightening around her son's neck all the while-and hers all along-but still she'd sung stupidly, like a bird in a cage: 

Till you're sleeping through the night. 

"Hush, Yukina," she murmured tenderly, the baby's cries becoming increasingly drowned in the face of the wind. "Everything's going to be alright. And everything's going to be good."

She marched a path well-trodden throughout the years, however much the elders admonished the youth to never tread here. Evil was dispelled in this place. It's hallowed ground, and much too close to the edge beside. You could fall out of the sky before you know it. 

Yes....

Yukina's wails continued inconsolably. Hina pressed her lips against Yukina's brow, and imagined in her other arm cradling a warm bundle.

"Though the winds may blow, over hills of snow, 

And the frost may bite, in the winter night...."

A good kick sent hirui stones she'd shed here in the past scattering everywhere. This path she dreaded above all others since she was dragged here and forced to watch her baby's execution. For the crime of being alive in this dead place. Hina tucked Yukina's head underneath her chin. 

She'd been frozen too, in this tomb, in his memory. Hiei had not fallen here to the depths of Demon World once but a thousand times in her waking nightmare. But wouldn't it be far better, richer atonement, for her to suffer the punishment he had? At last the near endless inner cacophony of I Hate You, I Hate You, I Hate You, produced by and directed at herself, would cease. Her eyelids fluttered shut. 

"You will find your place, in my warm embrace..."

And once she departed this world, she could fly at last into the next. Hiei was probably waiting for her. She could hold him as much as she liked, and no one could tell her otherwise. Hina's sandaled toes skimmed the absolute edge where the ice world ended, straight into the yawning depths of demon world. 

Yukina whimpered in Hina's arms and Hina paused, blinking furiously. Why not take Yukina with her? The child would be spared an excruciating existence on this floating prison that would inevitably harden her into a heartless being, devoid of any hope or pulse. Surely Hiei would wish to reunite with his twin, too. Yes, it was surely only the reasonable the right thing to do....

"HINA!" 

Oh. Hina turned around, hair flowing madly in the breeze. And there was Rui, racing clumsily up the path after her. Rui crying out her name as she had not in years, faced Hina as she could not bring herself in years. She was running up the path, shouting sweet lies:

"Your baby's still alive, he's still alive, I knew he'll find his way back, and you and he both can have your atonement-" 

Rui dashed towards her, and with one last, tremulous kiss on her daughter's brow Hina silently held Yukina out. After a bewildered, frightened pause, Rui obeyed and took Yukina from Hina's limp arms. "Please, Hina, whatever it is you're about to do, I'm-"

"....and your dreams will soon take flight...." Hina murmured, almost inaudibly. 

And with one last thin smile Hina fell backwards into the void with Rui's screams filling her ears and not an iota of regret in her heart. She plummeted out of paradise down.....

................down..................

.....................down below. 

"Hiei, Hiei....

My baby boy....wait for me....Mother's coming." 

~o*oOo*o~

Present Day 

"No!" 

Hiei scarcely managed to avoid tumbling from the window seat. His shaking arm was still extended in front of him, as if he could still possibly grasp her hand in time. Gasping, glittering in a fine sweat, he immediately looked all around him, breathing deescalating only slightly in the sunlight beginning to stream in. 

Oh. Hotel Kubikukuri. 

Yusuke, Kuwabara, Keiko, Botan, Shizuru, were still passed out in the hotel room in varying states of dishevelment all around him. Toasts-none of which he willingly participated in himself-to the end of the tournament and avoiding being buried alive in a collapsed stadium had continued long into the night. His Jagan anxiously swiveled in the direction of the nearby bedroom-Yukina was safe, curled up in her bed. He relaxed somewhat more, head falling back against the wall with a sigh. 

He had seen that cliff before, certainly. More times than he'd ever care to. But never before with Hi-her, tossing herself to die. Leaving his sister behind in the hands of the woman whom had left him for dead, as if only in an afterthought. Hiei tasted rust in his mouth before crossing his arms and glowering daggers at the floor. 

Had that been how Hina died? Rui had never said how she'd died, exactly-save for that it had been a suicide. His mind closed on the thought like an insect in the jaws of a Venus Fly Trap. It wasn't like it really mattered anymore. Probably never mattered in the first place. 

The dream was, he reasoned as he turned to look out the window, in all likelihood caused by needing to protect Yukina yesterday from the crumbling stadium walls. And very possibly from the shock of understanding that this wretched, idiotic tournament was at last at an end. Few things were more inconvenient than escaping a series of desperate battles for your life, only to emerge from them seeing things that had you doubting if you really had any real reason to live, anyway. 

"It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?" 

In an instant, Kurama was standing beside him, looking out the window at an overflowing blue sky with a small smile. Hiei only grunted in return. Kurama went on: "It's certainly been quite awhile since I've had time to take any notice. After all-" Here his smile was a touch sardonic. "-it was enough for the longest time to wake up any morning, still alive for another battle. I seldom pondered the aesthetics of this island."

"I take it you recovered from your wounds from your battle with Karasu?" 

"For the most part, yes, thanks to the ministrations of Botan and Yukina. They were certainly stretched thin yesterday, with as many people as there were to heal."

They were both quiet then, and Hiei knew without asking Kurama was thinking of Genkai, too. Yusuke's damn sentimental side was practically contagious.

"What in the world are you doing?" Kurama asked in surprise as Hiei's hands went for the window. 

"I've been advised that opening windows is considered more polite than simply breaking them." 

To his profound annoyance, Kurama's hand swat his own away from the window. Kurama was, after all, meant to be the most understanding of his nature. Hiei came and went as his pleased, belonging to no one and nothing.

"But why are you going out? You should rest from all the energy you exerted yesterday. Not worry about training."

"Never said I was going to train," Hiei snipped, wondering if it'd be worth a lecture from the others to break the window and simply head out that way. 

"Never said you weren't," Kurama pointed out calmly-Hiei didn't even attempt to lie to him. "I admire your dedication, Hiei, I truly do. But after all the fighting you've done these past few weeks...after all the time it took you to master the dragon, surely you're more comfortable taking one quiet day in here just resting with everyone?" 

The 'everyone' was intoned in such a way Hiei couldn't help but wonder if Kurama meant to say something else, particularly as Kurama's hand curled around his arm. Anyone else would be sporting a broken wrist by now. 

He still pulled back from the touch. No, he didn't feel like training, particularly as his own demon energy was still recovering. No, he didn't feel like moving from this warm windowsill with Kurama sitting mere inches away, overlooking a beautiful view of dawn climbing up the ocean waves. It made a particular weight grow in his throat. 

"Yes, I'm comfortable where I'm at right now." he said at last, prying the window open. "And that's the problem." 

And Hiei was out the window and away, leaping for a nearby tree branch. He would not allow the Jagan to whirl back and check Kurama-it'd had an irritating habit of wandering to him recently. Far better to be out here alone, where he belonged to himself, where he was in control, still alive, and alone-or almost alone, save for the dream that never quite evaporated in the crisp morning air.