Epilogue

--

Stepping Stones: A Path towards Redemption

No longer whole,And lacking a physical body,

One would think it through.

Yet, the legacy will remain

Through remembrance,

Through what was left behind.

The glass rose will never be gone,

So long as memory remains.

Obsidian perfection. A pure and unobstructed blanket of ebony. Dark and unnerving, yet oddly calming all at once. Complete serenity in the face of unparalleled mourning. In the face of such a night, not even the doleful moon seems inclined to appear, nor the stars. A sign of bleak and looming reality perhaps?

And yet, amid the darkness, like a lone beacon of sorely misplaced hope, early blooms flutter in resistance of the steady evening breeze, carrying the scent of recently fallen rain.

Winter has recently fallen away into something like a distant past, and already the Cherry tree in the front yard bears the fruits of what will surely be yet another lovely Spring. Young and frail shoots, bearing faint, premature tinges of pinkish-roan, cling tenaciously to the generally stark-bare and brittle branches that adorn the tree's upper canopy. It seems that they, at least, have the will to survive.

I sigh quietly, allowing my gaze to wander over the area. Darkness, aside from the cherry blooms, and the wane glow of light filtering from gaps in the otherwise still-drawn curtains of the house before me, are all that I can see.

Indeed, all that I can feel is the darkness, pressing on me from all sides; suffocating in its own right.

"Kurama, are you ready? It's almost time."

I tense at the voice issued from behind me, having been caught unaware. After a moment, I relax and turn to gaze at the woman behind me.

Looking back at me with such despondent eyes and an unfazed expression painted on her features, she really does portray Death. At least, more so than her companions do most times. Of course, she never really looks any different to begin with, I suppose. Her face always seems to hold a relatively neutral expression, her raven hair is always pulled back neatly, with an almost professional air, and the deep violet kimono she always wears gave her a very serious look. When compared to the others in her trade: Lena, Hinageshi, and Botan — well, it is not difficult to see that she is the most mature and the best suited to the profession.

I nod slightly in response, my gaze darting to rest briefly upon the house once more. "I suppose it is for the best, Ayame."

When she replies, her voice sounds strangely ethereal. "Perhaps you'd like to say good bye?"

A hollow chuckle escapes me as I think back on the failed attempts I had made for notes. "I tried once today, and failed miserably."

"Such a fatalistic reaction," she sounds almost bemused. "Quite a different stand from when you made this decision in the first place," she observes, raising an eyebrow.

"Indeed," I comply quietly, shifting my shoulders uncomfortably. "Death certainly has a way of doing that to a person."

"Are you implying that you made a mistake in doing this, and are now regretting it?" she asks quietly, tone utterly neutral and still managing to belay understanding.

"Oh no," I respond curtly with a shake of my head. "No. The time for that — for remorse, for regrets and second-guessing myself — the time for all of that has long since passed."

"Yet you're reluctant," she notes wisely.

"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time," I quote, finding the words extremely fitting given the current circumstance.

"You don't seem quite convinced of that."

Brief anger surges through my veins at her reply and for the first time in quite a while, I can feel a familiar presence awakening within me. It seems that with physical restraints no longer binding him, Youko once more flows freely within me. My eyes narrow in slight annoyance and I cast her a scathing look.

"I have no regrets," I reply, my voice coming out in a low baritone whisper.

She holds my gaze unflinchingly, her countenance and features remaining, as ever, unchanged. A moment of silence follows, in which the wind picks up, whistling quietly through the branches of the Cherry tree sending a few of the loose, premature blooms plummeting to their deaths after a final, sensual dance on the wind.

I sigh dejectedly, my gaze softening again after an extended moment. "My apologies, Ayame. I should not act this way."

She merely turns, and for a moment, I am not sure what exactly to make of it. Have I angered or upset her? Offended her perhaps? I am not sure any of those things are the best thing to do to the Ferry woman who is supposed to see your way into Reikai, but what is done, is done, I suppose.

"Well then, if you've left nothing undone, let's be off then, shall we?" she suggests.

"Sure," I agree, not knowing what else to do. I cannot remain here, that much I know. But where exactly I will end up from here, I cannot quite say either.

I turn and make my way slowly towards her, watching as she conjures her oar and perches herself upon its slim shaft. After a moment of silent misgivings, I join her, taking up residence behind her. As I situate myself in a feeble attempt to find a comfortable position, my eyes dart once more towards the house, and the warm glow of golden light permeating the darkness from behind the kitchen curtains. At the site, my heart clenches painfully, and suddenly it is all I can do not to have misgivings. Why? Why? Why?

I shake my head slowly, turning away from the site, eyes downcast, and fixed steadily on the ground. Yet, now that the emotions have surfaced, being rid of them will not be an easy feat.

"Ayame?" I ask suddenly, in an attempt to direct my mind towards anything other than the house and my treacherous thoughts.

She turns to look at me slowly, a quick glance over her shoulder. "What is it, Kurama?"

"Why did Koenma send you as my Ferry woman? You are his personal assistant; he would have normally sent someone in your stead, I assume."

At my inquiry, her normally expressionless face adopts a sad, sympathetic look. She sighs heavily. "Well, yes. That would be the case usually, you know. You're right..."

"But this isn't 'usually' am I correct?" I ask, my mouth curling into a slightly cynical smile in spite of myself. Hardly anything with me in life was usual and I do not suppose I can entirely escape that nature even in death.

She nods, a sad smile adorning her features. "But you see, it's because it's you, and that's the problem. Lord Koenma couldn't very well have sent Botan to collect you, now could he?"

I cringe at hearing her name, and though I am fairly sure of what answer it will warrant me, I ask the obvious question: "Why not?"

"Lord Koenma knows what happened between the two of you, you know." She gives me a pointed look. "He also knows very well how Botan feels for you. She's been in a right miserable state ever since that night."

This revelation, while not unsurprising, does nothing to settle my already melancholy thoughts. So, now I know assuredly. Since the night she departed my house — even then, presumably since the incident at Master Genkai's — she has been having issues coping. Again, not unsurprising. But still not what I want to hear at the present time.

"She knows what you did, of course," Ayame continues on, pulling my attentions back to her. "But she's a mess of tears; there's no way she could have gone through with being your Ferry woman."

I nod, my head feeling heavy. "Understandable." Remind me to apologize to her when next I see her, if she is willing to look me in the eyes at least.

I pause for a moment, not sure whether I should voice my next question. "And what about Hinageshi?"

Another thin smile follows the former. "Same situation. That girl's been so taken with you since she met you that Lord Koenma didn't think she'd be competent enough to carry out her duties."

I fall silent after her answer. I should not find this news too startling, and yet, it comes as quite a shock. After all, when you choose death in the face of life, feeling that you have caused too much pain in life, only to find out that you have inadvertently pained Death as well, it leaves you feeling rather guilty and out of place.

"Well, if that's all then...?" Ayame inquires lightly.

I nod, slightly unaware, finding my gaze, rather subconsciously, lingering once again on the house. "Yes... let's... go..."

I hear her sigh, and I cannot be certain, because I am still looking in the opposite direction, but I think she may have turned to me for a brief moment, before I feel the slight tug of the oar being sent into motion.

Then slowly, as we begin to ascend, she looks away again, leaving me staring after the house and its fading kitchen light as the glow continues to diminish as darkness and newfound distance swallow it up.

Just before the lingering glow of yellow fades completely from my vision I hear her whisper quietly, "All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain."

And then, we are gone.

--

A windswept valley, long tendrils of jaded grass billowing gracefully in the breeze. Above us menacing cliffs loom, stretching towards the highest reaches of the infinite sky and looking, in their own rights, magnificent. The stark contrast of placid valley and craggy cliffs is strangely appropriate for the area. And, to complete the array, a river, winding its way through the center of the valley treacherously.

Sitting along the nearest of the two river banks is an old row boat, looking quite worse for the wear, as though it has been used a few too many times in its life. The harsh rapids have taken their toll upon the boat's structure, and I find it completely plausible that its next passage could very well be its last. Farther away, looming downstream of the vicious torrents, a conveniently placed foot bridge arches over the river. Its body, unlike that of the boat, is not in constant contact with the river's harsh berating and so, structurally. Is fairing slightly better. It looms almost majestically over the rapids, remaining well out of the water's way, and yet remaining near enough to make crossing its threshold a slightly unnerving thing. Returning to the opposite side of the river once more, past the rowboat and continuing upstream, nothing but an open stretch of white water, raging furiously, greets the eyes.

And that, in all its glory, is the Sanzu River.

Truly the River of Three Crossings. And of those three crossings, I hate to think which faces me.

It is truly the greatest form of Judgment Reikai can pass upon its souls. Not even the word of Enma stands strong if the river purges one before coming face-to-face with he who ultimately rules Reikai.

Traditionally, those with few sins are to ford the river in the provided rowboat. Their going is neither too easy, nor too difficult; a perfect medium for a person who's life was neither of the two. Those with no sins must merely cross the footbridge. For all who treaded through life as a Saint, the bridge offers assured, and painless entry into Reikai. Of course, such pure souls are rare this day and age as the human spirit is often tempered with greed and lust for those things we cannot have; the bridge is rarely used now. Those with many sins to their name have to swim the river. It is ideal that someone with much foul play under their name should meet the same hell in death as in life; swimming the river is surely nothing pleasant, and you cannot expect anything more for such corrupt souls as it is.

I suppose that a normal child would simply have this told to them to enamor a sort of fear of sinning into them; a sort of safeguard parents use to ensure that their children learn to become respectable citizens. To such people it is no more than a myth, of course, but it serves its purpose regardless. To someone like myself, who knows well that Reikai and all adjoining myths are quite true, however, the emotion it imposes on me is slightly different.

The river stretches before me endlessly, coursing ceaselessly through the plains with no apparent end in sight. Cool jets of water splash forcefully over rock outcroppings protruding from the shallows, and the fine airborne mist spraying me is slightly refreshing. Though it is more of a call to my present reality, which is that I am actually standing at the forefront of the rest of my existence.

Ayame is beside me, looming further from the banks than myself, and she is currently perusing a small, leather-bound book. The same book that every Ferry Woman carries with her. The Grade Book. And, whatever she pulls from that Book will dictate my afterlife, and how I am to get there. Namely, how I am to cross the River and enter into Eternity.

"Kurama."

At her soft-spoken word I cast a sideways glance in her direction, only to see that she is slowly approaching me, the Book still held open in her hands. Assuming that she will further address me upon stopping once more, I remain silent and wait.

Indeed, when she stops, once more at my side, she continues on, her tone hinting at underlying confusion. "How aware were you of the consequences of your actions?"

I sigh in an attempt to calm my already frayed nerve ends. Youko's revived spirit surges through me, and for a fraction of a second I feel him take control of my body, his long untapped ki searing my veins, before I can ease my thoughts. "I do believe we've been over this, Ayame," I settle myself, still feeling my veins burn as Youko composes himself.

Her amethyst eyes flit up, in an action highly reminiscent of a Geisha, which causes me to wonder if perhaps she had been one in a former life, and linger on me for a second, before falling back upon the page she had rested on.

"Yes, I know," she nods. "I just didn't expect these notes for you." She nods again, almost as though assuring herself of the fact.

This takes me slightly by surprise, as I'm not sure how to take this news. "Would you care to elaborate on that?"

"You know that suicide is a forbidden act..." Her voice tapers off on the breeze.

I nod, still not quite sure where this is going quite yet. "Yes, I am well aware of the fact."

"...And, in that light, it's a highly punishable crime by Reikai Law..."

"Punishment being nothing short of eternal damnation, I believe," I supply, nodding to myself.

"Yes, that's right," she confirms. "Because suicide, even as a single act, counts for an almost infinite amount of single sins against the soul..."

"I know the logic."

"And, with so many sins, entrance to Heaven is all but forbidden, because it's near impossible to have more good deeds to your name than sins in the wake of suicide... usually..." Oh no, not that word again...

I sigh tiredly. "Can I hazard a guess that this is not usually?" I run a hand over my face tiredly, bringing it to rest in my hair, which I tousle in slight agitation. Will this never end?

"Right." She looks up at me from the Book for a moment. "I'm sure you know that your soul is judged by weighing the two factors."

"Indeed."

"Because of what you did — in committing suicide, it should be pretty clear that you are bound for nothing good." Her voice falters as though in reluctance.

"I was aware of that, yes. It is part of the reason as to why I chose to do what I did." I sigh in agitation. "Eternal damnation is a small price to pay in repentance for all that I have done in my li—" I stop abruptly, forcibly correcting myself, "—In my lives..."

At this, she gives a tired laugh. "I hate to say this, Kurama, but your efforts were in vain."

"Pardon?"

"It's almost impossible. In fact, it's the first time I've seen it happen. But then, I've learned to expect the impossible from your group..."

"What are you implying?" I inquire, my impatience already on the brink, and Youko burning once more to free himself.

"Even with suicide in the notes, your deeds more or less even out—"

"Impossible," I cut across her sharply. "With all that I have done in my former life as Youko, it cannot be possible."

"Well," she laughs lightly, tapping the open pages of the book before her lightly, "the Book doesn't lie, Kurama."

I shake my head in disbelief and my voice drops into a low whisper, pain seeping deep into each syllable as I continue. "I've done horrible things, Ayame. You don't know; you couldn't begin to understand.

"Apparently the are not so, so horrible, Kurama," she intones placing a hand on my shoulder. I suppose she expects me to feel elated at this startling turn of events, but I cannot bring myself to it.

I have to repent for my sins somehow, Ayame," I let out a forced, hollow chuckle. "...And now, now you dare tell me that, even in death, I am bound for more than I deserve because of derelict circumstance."

"Kurama..." her voice is soft and sympathetic, and I feel her hand close gently over my shoulder. I can't help but tense under her touch.

"No..." I shake my head. "The book must be wrong."

"Please," Ayame soothes, looking at me with softened eyes. "You've spent your entire life trying to make up for your past; you've done more than enough to make things right."

Her feeble attempt to console me falls on deaf ears.

"Why can't you just accept that your soul no longer bears the burden of a past you no longer hold claim to?" she asks quietly.

"A past I no longer hold claim to?" I laugh numbly. "Of course I hold claim to it!" My voice wavers slightly in agitation, cracking in feeble resistance to remain calm. "How can I not hold claim to it?"

The words are true but I am utterly beside myself saying them. At the outburst Ayame backs away from me the slightest step and watches me with cautious eyes. I know that look — one I received time and time over as Youko. She is afraid of me. Or, at this point, perhaps for me. I am not so sure where my sanity is at present, lest it still be resting within the coil of my abandoned mortal flesh.

"I am still me, no matter how much time has passed, no matter what circumstance; I am still Youko and he is still me. The past was Youko's; the future is mine and I am going to use it to repent for all that was done," I finish, my breathing heavy from the outburst.

"You've spent your entire life repenting, Kurama." Her voice is still fairly quiet, but she has adopted a hardened tone. "And, ironically enough, you ended your very life doing just the opposite; by committing the most acrid sin known to humankind."

"And you're telling me I have nothing to show for it," I point out mildly, my voice bitter.

"Nothing to show for — what do you mean nothing to show for it? You've still overcome that sin, as impossible as it is, and you say that's nothing?" she asks, incredulously, slamming the Book shut.

"Exactly," I admit, watching her carefully for her reaction. "My aim was no more than for a future in which I could make up for my past, and now you dare to tell me I need not bother."

"You don't! You've done enough!" is her feeble argument — as though I could ever do enough.

"It will never be enough, Ayame," I deny with a shake of the head. "You could not understand the burden someone such as myself bears."

"You've suffered more than enough, you deserve the chance you've been given," she restates, refusing to be swayed in her judgment.

"I do not, I am afraid," I reply quietly

"Why? Why don't you deserve it? Why aren't you deserving enough, Kurama? Tell me." The demanding nature of her tone demands my attention, and I find myself gazing tiredly at her.

"Some things will forever stain you, no matter how much time comes to pass; some scars never fade, and the memories never dull."

"I'm in the mind to believe you're afraid." Her voice is stony, and for once, her usually expressionless eyes meet mine with such flaring intensity that I must take a moment to marvel at how different she seems.

"Afraid? Of what per se?"

"Afraid to admit that you deserve better for yourself than what you've resigned yourself to over the past eighteen years, Kurama."

"Eighteen years is a trivial time frame in the face of centuries," I rebuke.

"You've done plenty in those eighteen years. How much have you sacrificed? How much have you suffered?"

"Not nearly enough," I reply flatly.

"When will it be enough, then?" she prompts.

I hesitate for a moment, not sure how to answer her. I am not sure I have an answer myself. Suddenly, a face that has forever been present in my life drifts across my thoughts, the image burning into the recesses of my mind. Shiori's face...

My mother's face.

At the thought of her alone, I am able to find my tongue once more, and answer Ayame. "It will be enough—"

I let out a slow breath and close my eyes, concentrating on the image of my mother. Her warm smile, her forever sparkling eyes; for a moment, the regret that I did not see her as such in my final moments, and the regret that I refused to say goodbye, swell inside my chest painfully.

"...When I am able to look back down upon my mother and feel, that, in spite of the lies, I am truly a son whom she loved, and a son that has not caused her only pain and suffering beyond her years," I pause, opening my eyes slightly, gazing half-lidded at the ground. "That is when it will be enough, Ayame." My voice drifts off and I take in a deep breath of air, its crisp aroma mingled with the essence of pure River water.

"If it helps, perhaps you'd like to know part of the reason why you managed to balance your deeds against the suicide?" she asks slowly, seeming almost reluctant so say more after my confession.

"Do as you see fit," I shrug in tired resignation, deciding I no longer really care what happens.

"Lord Koenma didn't hold you fully accountable for the suicide."

I smile wanly, almost amused at the Junior Ruler's incompetence. "You would do well to tell Koenma that as the Junior Ruler of Reikai, he should not be inclined to pick favorites."

She nods, a small smile flitting across her features; perhaps my comment had amused her?

"I can see that you've gotten your wit back. I must say, it is rather becoming of you."

"I've been told," I reply with a shrug.

"Yes, well, it's not his incompetence, as you say. Rather, it's a loop hole."

"A loop hole?" I blink. "Now I am intrigued."

"Suicide, no matter what the circumstance, is a highly punishable crime. But, there are certain factors that can lessen its potency, so to speak. In your case," she stops for a moment, as though trying to recall what she means to say, "it was lessened because you committed the act not out of self-deliverance, so much as concern for your family's well-being."

I remain silent, allowing her words to wash over me. I partially believe them, yet a deeper, more fundamental part of my existence still screams that I do not deserve the kind of peace that comes with death.

"Kurama, if it's proof you need, just see that as the ultimate testament," she ventures on, apparently knowing full well what my silence stands for. "You sacrificed something so incredibly indispensable for the sake of your family. A sin, yes. But, there can be no higher form of repentance than lowering yourself so much, just to assure the well-being of your loved ones."

"I do not know—"

"And besides," she continues on, dismissing my comment as though it never occurred. "Your family — your mother — loves you. They always will. What reason do they have to hate you—?"

"This final act should be reason enough—"

"Maybe so." A smile once more crosses her lips. "And so, we have found our happy medium."

"Care to explain?"

"Your family loves you, they always will; do you have mind to deny it?"

"No, I do not suppose I do," I comply.

"All right. We have that established." She nods in a self-satisfied sort of way. "Now, you still wish to repent, because, for whatever reason, you're not going to be content until you do, correct?"

"I have made that fairly clear, have I not?"

She smiles. "That's our happy medium, Kurama."

"I am not sure I see where you are taking this, Ayame," I confess.

"You realize that even in spite of your act, your family will always love you. That's one point you said you required before you could happily go on. The second to this compromise is that since suicide is still a sin, you still have some punishment to endure before you're allowed to ascend. You want to repent. But, in light of everything else, you still have a chance at Heaven. Which you do deserve. We both win."

I look at her thoughtfully, my mind formulating ideas and ways to prove her wrong, but her theory is sound. And, really, part of me does scream for release. And with this happy medium, I may just find my way to it. Conveniently enough for me, it is a fair compromise. I suppose it is time I chose the middle ground. After all, yesterdays are too far-gone and tomorrows are too uncertain to build upon.

Youko can only do so much, and I have spent so long making amends for him, for me; many consider it far too long. I know I can never fully be rid of my past or of Youko, I would be a fool if I tried to be rid of them. I must still repent, of course, for as long as I reside in any of the worlds I will continue to repent for him and for myself.

And, as surely as hard times lie ahead, I can take comfort in knowing that...

As with all else, in time, this too, shall come to pass.