Sunrise.

He would face it this time, face the bleeding of gold and red across the sky, shadowed by the veil of mist that separated him from its heat and life. It waited for him, mere minutes away, poised on the horizon--his fear, his challenge.

Sh'ten still did not understand why he was bound to this world, even at the ending of his life. He wondered if it were not a result of his "immortal" nature, that even as his body passed away his spirit remained trapped within the mortal world rather than passing to the other side--but the wisdom of the Ancients, which he had borne for such a short time, whispered in his consciousness and told him otherwise.

He drifted in the silence before the dawn, floated in the nothingness of his world-that-was-not, surrounded by trees that were black in the grey wash of pre-dawn light. This was his time of peace, and also his time of torment--a flood of memories, quiet but relentless. His life before the MaSho was as clouded and hazy as his strange existence now--a time that he only remembered as soft light and whispered laughter, gentle scents of life intermingled with sakura on the wind. He had not been so hard then, he recalled. So angry.

He tasted metal, hot and sharp, as he recalled his time with the MaSho. His bitterness. It still rumbled raw in his throat, and he only wished that he had cast aside his cloak of darkness sooner. Ah, but foolishness is only foolish in reflection.....And yet still there were happy memories even then, a time of friends and lovers--not simply the four, but the nine, the whole that was now shattered even in this time of peace.  And there was the one....

Sighing, exhaling a phantom breath that did nothing to stir the air around him, he moved to stand next to a tree, lifting a hand as though he might rest his slender fingers upon its trunk--but pausing a mere hair's-breadth away from touching it. Not that he would be able to feel it, taste the roughness of its texture on his skin; as always, his ethereal flesh would simply pass through it, denying him even that single concrete contact to verify his existence. Sh'ten was truly alone in his shrouded world; not even another wandering spirit made its presence known, if one even existed. Alone, a shadow in a world of shadows, even the reality around him clouded by a heavy veil that tinted everything a dead, lifeless grey.

Alone, and horribly, despairingly lonely.

Not even the creatures around him acknowledged his existence; the fledgling birds stirring in their nests trilled to greet the dawn, not because of his silent approach, and rabbits scurried to their warrens with the advent of day, rather than to hide from the tall, proud intruder in their midst. Perhaps this was his punishment for his crimes in life, to be bound to this terrible, aching solitude without even the comfort of another's presence to relieve the monotony. Every dawn reminded him of this, every sunrise that spilled in watercolor splendor across the sky, its brilliance only reinforcing his bitter despair at the coming of yet another lonely morn. This time of life was not for such as he.....not for the dead. And so, like a proper ghost, with the coming of the sun he fled.

Almost sullen, he twined his fingers in a few strands of his hair and stared pensively down at the rust-colored locks, recalling when they had been as bright and bleeding with life as the dawn's red radiance. He would not run from daybreak this morning; no more would he hide within the far reaches of the mountains, secluded in the darkness of caverns that the light could never penetrate. The Oni MaSho, the Demon Lord, hiding from the sun. How fitting.

It was coming. Pressing thin lips together, Sh'ten raised his eyes to the sky, soft blue gaze seeking out the pink stain on the grey. Damned spectre of life that haunted him, tormented him....he would end that torment today. He must.

And so, with his jaw clenched tight and head held high, the former Dark Warlord set out to face the dawn.

He did not know how he arrived at the Shrine. He never knew how he came to be in any place that he desired to be; he simply thought of it, and within moments his smoke-clouded world blurred and changed, and he was where he had wished to be--sometimes miles away from his previous location.

The scent of the sakura nearly assaulted him as he drifted beneath the Shrine's ancient and venerated torii gate, and he was forced to still his slow approach as memories, raw and hot, washed fresh over him. Anubisu. Naaza. White-haired Rajura. Laughing and smiling, men in the prime of their life, dancing in combat beneath the sakura. The Shrine's peace was shattered for Sh'ten, even before it could reach out to envelop him, and he felt a trembling as he closed his eyes against the bitter pain. Why had they all been so stupid....

I will not think of that now. He reprimanded himself sharply, taking a deep, airless breath and forcing his eyes open once more. The memory faded, but the scent around him did not, and as he trailed down the tree-lined walkway towards the Temple proper he wondered that he could even smell it, thick and sweet on the air. Not in the years since his death had he experienced any sense more strongly than a memory, and after so long it was almost overwhelming; the mystery of it plagued him even as he paused to wash his hands according to Shinto ritual, ignoring the fact that his slender appendages passed through the water as they did through everything else.

Only moments away now. His stumbling block, the terrible sunrise....perhaps, once he faced this, he would be released from this aching solitude. It was a slim hope, but one that he held to nonetheless; should he be forced to endure this quietude for much longer, he might find himself descending into madness.

If I am not mad already, he pondered absently as he swept into the low-roofed building before him, the robes of the Ancient that somehow still clung to him trailing behind him in some phantom wind. Proud even in death, strong and graceful, the bearing of the warrior tempered by the beauty of the artist--he made music with his steps, flowing and soft, his slender, toned body singing a gentle melody of green new life and budding blooms; even his passing could not dull that, and in the ancient reverie of the temple that aura was somehow intensified, reaching out from him to stir the air around him with a warmth that smelled of the brightness of spring.

He bowed his head as he passed through the dark interior, allowing the temple's quiet calm to wash over him. Closing his eyes for a moment, he sighed; within the temple's darkness was the peace of the earth, with the same rich, warm feeling as newly turned soil teeming with life-giving essence. It comforted him somehow, to be cocooned within this tranquility, sweeping aside the cold winds of his desolation and easing his loneliness somewhat. The sense of ancient presence here warmed him, touched him, and for a few moments he could feel alive again.

The aura of serenity followed him as he drifted into the rock garden that the temple's structure enclosed, shielding him from the pain of his thoughts. Still, Sh'ten winced as he saw the faint gleam of umber upon the surfaces of the carefully placed stones, and it was with some reluctance that he ventured from the roof's overhang into the open.

Morning awaited, in all its terrible splendor. Swallowing down on the lump of fear in his throat, Sh'ten locked his eyes upon the canopy overhead, focusing on the blend of indigo twilight into pre-dawn grey touched with the pink and gold of the coming aurora. His eyes were bright blue sparks in the shadows, dancing and shivering beneath the fall of hair that flickered like flame, somehow given new life by the ambient aura of age that surrounded him. Pale fingers tangled in that waterfall of fire, and azure orbs stared fixedly at the ever-lightening sky above as Sh'ten nerved himself to stand strong and calm in the face of his irrational anxiety--until he came to a sudden realization.

He was not alone.

The moment that he came to that awareness, he wondered how he could have ever not known it; the other presence was as bright in his vision as a flaring star, shining through the shroud of mist that separated him from the living world and standing out like a burning white flame. For a moment he could only stare in wonder, fingers clutching at the strands of his hair, eyes fixed on the flickering beacon that he could only discern as vaguely humanoid in shape after so long in darkness. Who is that....?

The answer came within moments as the figure turned towards him, and a familiar voice called out softly, "Who's there?"

Seiji. Seiji of the Halo. It was he that blazed within Sh'ten's vision, nearly scorching his dead eyes with his burning life. As Sh'ten stared at him, the light seemed to die away somewhat, or perhaps he grew more accustomed to it, and he gazed in silent wonder upon wide, soft grey eyes that quested in his direction, flicking about from beneath the shadow of a thick fringe of sooty lashes and darkened even further by the sweeping fall of hair that shone a pure, burnished gold when kissed by the rising light. His slender body seemed that of an untried youth, soft and willowy and graceful as a leaf dancing on the wind--but Sh'ten knew only too well the strength of the lithe muscles that shifted beneath the flowing temple robes, catlike and smooth and sensual in their fluid movements.  The sight of the Ronin brought another, familiar pang of pain and regret to him; he had avoided any proximity to the young warriors even in his spirit wanderings, perhaps out of guilt, and this was his first sight of any of them after years.

"Who's there?" Seiji questioned once more, disrupting his thoughts, and suddenly Sh'ten came to another shocking realization.

Seiji could see him.

Somehow, the young warrior knew that he was there, could sense him skulking just on the threshold of the living reality, could feel the faint spark of life that held him there burning just on the edge of his vision....Oh merciful gods thank you....finally....

Taking a step forward, Sh'ten extended a hand as though he might touch the soldier of the Halo, before hesitantly concealing both appendages within his voluminous sleeves. "Sh'ten, " he called out quietly, hoping desperately that the golden-haired young man could hear him--and when blank, searching silence was his only answer, he repeated in a more strident tone, "It is I, Sh'ten!"

Seiji frowned. The other had heard something, of that Sh'ten was sure--but was it enough? He had to make Seiji aware of his presence--after this small hope, he would not let go. Not now, after so many years. "Seiji!" the Oni MaSho pleaded. "Please, it's me, Sh'ten...you have to hear me!"

Silence, dreadful and echoing, as grey eyes narrowed, reflecting back shards of amber and blood in the swelling sunrise. Sh'ten despaired of ever being recognized--and then Seiji spoke again, his voice low and soft and so wonderfully, thrillingly alive. "I can sense you..." he murmured, his gaze flicking sharply over Sh'ten's vicinity, and he felt a trembling. "Tell me who you are...speak your true name."

"Sh'ten!" the Oni MaSho repeated in frustration--and then paused as that, once again, elicited no response. My true name....he mused, wondering what strange magic was at work that might keep the Ronin from hearing anything other than his true name. The falsehood of spirits....The strange thought flitted across his mind, enigmatic, puzzling, and obscure, but he shook it off as he focused his attention on Seiji once more. "Seiji..." he murmured, as though the other would somehow respond to the sound of his own name, and then raised his voice as, for the first time in more years than he would like to remember, he spoke the syllables of his true name.

"Koma Toshitada, " he whispered, and the words fell in a shattering of brazen bells. He tasted the name flowing from his tongue, thick and rich and sweet like summer honeysuckles, and as he spoke he felt a wind rise around him, a wind that smelled of sakura and spring afternoons. Warmth flowed over him like water, and as the last syllable drifted from his lips Seiji's eyes locked on his form--and he saw.

He could see it in Seiji's eyes, see himself reflected in those cool grey depths, warm and bright and flaring with energy; Seiji could see him as clearly as he saw any living, breathing being, could see Sh'ten embodied in spirit....The Oni MaSho could have cried from relief and joy. "Seiji..." he whispered.

"Sh'ten..." The young Halo's voice was dry with awe, his eyes wide in disbelief. "How is it...you're...." Almost mesmerized, Seiji lifted a slim, slightly roughened hand from his side and reached towards Sh'ten; almost in echo, the flame-haired warrior drifted forward and raised his own hand.

Moon-white fingertips, turned golden by the dawn, extended towards ghost-pale ones, as though in mirror image; air rippled like a pond's cool surface disturbed by a pebble, distorting the weave of reality in faint whispers of blue....and then skin contacted skin, finger to finger, palm to palm, warm, touching....

He was touching Seiji. Actually touching him, rather than passing through him, wraithly flesh remaining solid instead of parting around living like so much mist only to rejoin after passing through. Touching that blazing beacon of life that had so drawn him, eclipsing even the rising sun in its brightness.

Hazy grey mist shattered like glass, and Sh'ten cried out as his world was torn apart in a riot of color, threatening to sweep him away in a raging torrent of chaos--but Seiji's fingers tightened around his, anchoring him, holding fast as the Oni MaSho stumbled forth from the shadowed lands.....and lived.

Light, color, sound...touch, glorious touch....the air scraped rough on his skin, cool against him and in his throat, soothed by the softness of robes that he could feel for the first time in years--and most wonderful of all, the smooth warmth of Seiji's hand pressed flat against his, slender fingers entwined, strong and perfect and....

"Ahem." Blushing slightly, he banished those thoughts and disentangled his fingers from the Ronin's, concealing them within the sleeves of his robes and straightening proudly, offering the blonde young man a nod and a smile. "I thank you, Seiji of Halo."

"Sh'ten of Loyalty."  Seiji still seemed stunned, but with his typical calm and rationality he hid it well.  "You live again."

You live again.  Never had any words seemed more beautiful to Sh'ten.   Never had any person seemed more beautiful than the youth who had somehow torn him from his shadow prison, drawing him through the force of his own life power back into the world of color and sound and light.  The scent of the sakura was stronger now, but no longer was it a torment; rather, it was a heady wine that thrilled him, bore him away on a tide of rich sweetness.  "So it seems...." was his only whispered response to Seiji's words as he drifted in the rediscovery of sensations that he had almost forgotten.

The sun chose that moment to burst over the horizon, and Sh'ten was captivated.

First pink, the pink of a heartbeat, throbbing and pulsing....then a wash of red blood, spilling across the sky in a flood of paint-splatter crimson, hot and vibrant, the colors that Sh'ten had lost for so long....molten gold came next, melting the heavens and sweeping the blood aside in its warm glow, tinged in fire-orange and magenta and violet, vibrating with life.  He could only stare in wide-eyed wonder as the bright golden eye of the sun crept slowly from beneath the line of the land, and then suddenly exploded into being in all its brilliant radiance, flooding the sky with heat.

Sh'ten could have cried with the beauty of it all, that he could feel the dawn's warmth on his skin, see it in bright, bleeding colors untainted by dulling shadow, taste the beating of the life all around him, from the trees surrounding the temple to the creatures within the earth to his own heartbeat, drumming steadily in his chest....and always, always he was aware of Seiji at his side, quiet and watchful, golden and lovely, flaring with a light even brighter than the sunrise and yet unseen....only felt in the heat that spilled from him to Sh'ten, warming him in a way that no heavenly radiance ever could.

Seiji was far from as calm as he appeared.  When he had first sensed the other presence, he had thought it some fading vesper, some residual energy that still clung to the temple's ambient atmosphere--but it had been too strong, too vibrant, to be a mere trace aura.  And so he had demanded a true name of it, in the hopes of determining its nature--and had been shocked when Sh'ten had appeared before him.

Sh'ten, the Oni MaSho, Koma Toshitada.....the bearer of the Ancient's Legacy, before the Lady Kyara took up the staff and the robes.  The wraithly, misty spectre that had materialized before his vision still wore those robes, and in an instant Seiji relived the moment that he had given himself to save them all.

Sh'ten.  Seiji would never forget that moment when living flesh touched ghostly, or the spark that jumped between them as, for a brief moment, he flowed into the red-haired MaSho.  Tasted him, tasted his honey and wildflower flavor, savoured hayseed, fern and fire.

And then the Oni MaSho had lived.

Seiji had nearly frozen from shock and awe; had his own life force been powerful enough to bring Sh'ten back?  And if so, why?  What was the purpose?  There had to be some purpose, some cosmic motive behind this occurrence--for the coincidence was far too strange.  Seiji was not in the habit of greeting the morning at the Shinto shrine, and yet here he was--and he was fairly certain that Sh'ten's spirit would have no reason for regularly haunting this place.  This could only be some odd orchestration of fate, and he would have to wait and reserve judgement until the situation developed further.

Seiji still felt strangely, inexplicably bound to Sh'ten; he could still taste his honey in the back of his throat, could almost feel the MaSho's wonder at the dawning of the sun.

He wondered if Sh'ten could sense Seiji's wonder at him.

The Oni MaSho burned as brightly as the sun itself; his red hair crowned his head in a blazing corona of fire that danced and flickered in the wash of golden light that spilled forth to trickle over his skin, kiss his face, ignite him like some living incarnation of the fire of Heaven.  Bright sparks danced in his eyes, blue as midnight velvet, and as Sh'ten closed his eyes and tilted his head back to savor the warmth caressing his skin Seiji's breath caught in his throat.  He was truly beautiful...a fey thing, wild and untamed, blossoming anew in his rediscovery of life.   A faint blush tinged Seiji's cheeks, and he tasted Sh'ten's fire on his tongue again, his heavy sweetness.

It suddenly struck him that he had missed the Oni MaSho....mourned his passing, and his absence.  So well had he buried the thought that, until now, he had not even been aware of it.  A memory that was not his own reminded him of times long past, when the MaSho and the Ronin were one, and the MaSho of spring and the Ronin of life had flowed together in the dance of battle, rhythm and counter-rhythm, discordant strains that together had woven a single perfect melody.   The armors had been bound by similar natures....and so, too, were their bearers, men who shared an uncommon closeness and understanding that moved beyond the camaraderie provided by combat.

So that is why I feel so bound to him, even after being near him for only a short period of time.  At least he had some explanation for that, for the strange sensation that created a tugging in his stomach and a stirring in his blood, drawing him to the fiery-haired warrior--but he still could not explain the rather irritating hint of rose that continued to stain his cheeks, coloring the gold-tinged paleness persistently.   He could only wonder at it, and wonder at his sudden longing to touch Sh'ten......and wonder at the answering longing that he sensed emanating from the Oni MaSho.  Was this madness?  Yearning to touch a spirit long dead....and yet here Sh'ten was, as alive as he had ever been....perhaps more so, and here now was Seiji's chance to finally understand the bond between Oni MaSho and Korin, Loyalty and the light of the Halo, Spring and Life.

Seiji....Sh'ten inhaled softly, breathing in the dusky scent of the other nearby, sensing his closeness despite his closed lids.  He was part of Seiji, part of that life, part of the only man who could save him....he flowed in the Halo's veins like blood, and felt that wash of gold in his own body.  Seiji had given of himself to bring Sh'ten to life, and now the Oni MaSho felt the glowing filaments that held them together, drawing two into one.

Quietly, he opened his eyes and turned to face the Ronin.  He knew what he thought, knew what he felt, as surely as those feelings were his own. He could not understand them, or the reason that they had been brought here, together, at this time....but he would not fight it.  Could not fight it, when for the first time in years blood surged through his body, and his form bore flesh rather than ghostly ether...how could he deny the warmth of the Halo on his skin, or the understanding of his savior?

As though directed by something outside of themselves, Seiji and Sh'ten stepped towards each other, moving to a music that only they could hear, that had played for them in ancient times and renewed itself now in the reverent silence of the Temple garden.   Contact was sought, and flesh touched flesh again, palm to palm, hands pressed lightly against each other.  Grey eyes met blue in wordless silence, but no words were needed for this silent communion of thought, this strange joining and flowing of man to man as fingers laced, the physical contact only a minor affirmation of the bond that wove ever-tighter with each passing moment of silence.   Together they were the sunrise, fire and gold and sky and pre-dawn grey.

Sh'ten did not realize when he began to lean towards Seiji, nor did Seiji know that he shifted slowly closer; lost in silent union, bound by an intimacy that had nothing to do with physical closeness, they knew only when lips met lips as they were meant to, driven by forces internal that could not be ignored.  Gentle kisses fell like rain between them, momentary and light....kisses like dewdrops on roses, soft and sweet.....

"Sh'ten...Koma," Seiji whispered into silken lips as he closed his eyes, hungering towards something that he knew only as a warmth in his soul that was ancient as the earth itself, familiar and yet strange and new.

"Shush, my Halo, " came Sh'ten's whisper in reply, followed by the feathering of the fingertips of his free hand over the soft skin of Seiji's cheek.   "Let me find you again...."  He kissed Seiji again, gentle, exploratory, pink tongue-tip slipping between velvet  lips that parted with a willing sigh of acceptance as the Ronin melted against him, pliant and soft.   He tasted the golden youth, tasted his salt and bitter sweetness and cool flavor of morning dew--and through Seiji tasted his own wildflower tang, experienced the wonder of shared sensations.   Completion found him in that tender kiss, completion that had been abandoned centuries ago, severed by pain and hate but bound once more in this sweet moment.

Seiji's fingers tightened around Sh'ten's and he lifted his free hand to twine his fingers in the crisp blue of the other's robes, clinging to him with a soft, desperate moan; he could not think, could not see, blinded in a rush of colors that flared behind his lids in rainbow starbursts with each touch of lips to lips.   He could only feel--feel Sh'ten, against him, around him, within him.  If this was a kiss, then he had never experienced a true kiss before, this soft meeting of velvet and silk that warmed him with the slowness and languor of a crackling fire on a cold winter morn; he thought that he would die as he found himself enveloped within it, melded with Sh'ten as he was meant to be.  Silence existed for them alone, cradling them within the Temple's sacred cocoon.

Was this love, wordless and sudden?  It must be, for never had he felt anything as rushing and painful and fierce as this.  He could not tell where the MaSho ended and he began, nor did he want to; there was only honey and fire and wildness.   He was burning, he was drowning, he was melting, and all within Sh'ten.

Somehow they moved into the Temple proper; neither knew how, for they were aware only of the melting of the kiss--but they found themselves kneeling before the altar, and a single shaft of brazen sunlight followed to warm them and bathe them in dusky, floating gold as robes disappeared beneath drifting hands, fingers unlacing for only the briefest moments required to free them from clothly confines before slender digits wound again, as though symbolizing a joining that mere words and sight could never bear witness to. 

Twin souls coiled, warriors' bodies twined, velvet on velvet skin broken by the satiny slash of scars that wove across battle-tried muscles.   Not a sound escaped either pair of lips, for none was necessary; a claret call of triumph flowed between them, wordless joy that sang in their veins and hummed through their bodies in a perfectly melding symphony of soundless music.  Kisses melted into touches, whispered caresses that floated over skin and shivered through both with every contact; Sh'ten's weight lay hot atop Seiji, pressing him into the cool stone, and Sh'ten felt the smoothness of polished granite beneath his own back.   Flushed and breathless, Seiji drew the fiery-haired one down for another molten kiss, and honey flowed into morning dew once more, their flavors mingling and flowing to create a new taste between them, one of spring twilights and softly rushing brooks and the fresh sweetness of life and growing things.

Warmth gave way to heat now, surging so forcefully that both felt they must surely die in the rush of it--the sweetest way to die, and they clung to it, riding the waves of yearning carried by every touch and nibble and caress.   The scent of the sakura flowed around them, lifted them, wrapped them in its softness and timelessness; eternity passed in a moment, and yet Sh'ten and Seiji were frozen in time.  Sh'ten's tongue left a searing trail along the path of a scar tracing white-gold skin, and between them another shudder of delirious ecstasy was shared.   Fingers unlaced, but the bond was not broken as newly freed hands quested, sought, stroked, caressed and clung; Seiji explored softly tanned skin with a touch both familiar and wondering, delighting as Sh'ten's breathing quickened in response and he tasted his own scent and flavor through the physical contact--impossible sensations, but there nonetheless.  Tasting a touch, feeling a scent, smelling the savour of sun-warmed skin and burnished hair that flowed like the richness of liquid amber between them, heady and thick....and always, hanging above and around them, was the weave of sakura-laden air, soft filaments of spider-fine thread that bound them ever-closer with each loving touch.

Intimate whispers passed between them, unspoken but forming themselves in the soft shush of skin sliding over skin, and longing swelled on a rising tide that swept the world aside and left them floating in a soft darkness that existed only for their pleasure.  Sh'ten flowed within Seiji, warming him further, sleek bodies pressing and pushing against each other with each slow pulsation.  Grey seeped through them, mist of velvet that slowly gave way to softest rose, warm and promising, washing over them in a swell of color and need before melting into a flooding cry of passion red; Seiji gasped, and his shuddering breath was answered by Sh'ten as sensations of molten gold spilled through them, burning away the last separations and dissolving one into the other before the final bursting of a fiery torrent--hot honey flowing between them, slow but unstoppable, the taste of silent joy and completion as the essence of life fed the vital energies of spring, two becoming one in a single shining moment, fragile as threads of spun glass and just as beautiful.

"Koma..." Seiji exhaled breathily as Sh'ten fell softly against him, nestling his face into the crook of the golden-haired youth's neck.   Silence drifted, sweet and soft around them as they lay together, simply breathing, one's breath the other's life, crystalline filaments weaving between them as they held each other, existed within each other.  Hours passed, or perhaps only minutes, even seconds--it did not matter; time existed only as their closeness.

And yet...."Seiji-kun..." Sh'ten whispered softly, brushing his fingers through the spun gold of the other's hair.  "I must leave now."

"No..." Seiji whimpered, burying his face in a lightly tanned shoulder as, in an instant, his heart was broken like the threads of glass that held them together, their fragile peace shattered.  He had only now discovered Sh'ten, discovered their ancient binding--he could not lose him so soon.  Not again.

"I must..." Anguish colored Sh'ten's soft voice, bleeding through the calm and tranquility that still pervaded them.  Already he could feel himself fading; whatever had bound him to life anew was drifting away, and he could sense a great darkness, warm and soothing, waiting to take him from this world, to end his ceaseless wandering.  "My time is past, Seiji...I must go."  Gently, he wrapped his arms around the Ronin, holding him tightly while he still could; he had known that this strange gift could not last forever, but why did it have to fade so soon....He looked down at his Halo, and felt himself dying inside as Seiji's pain reached out to touch him and he saw the glimmering of tears against soft golden lashes.

"Seiji, " he whispered, bending to kiss the iridescent pearls of moisture from his cheeks.  "Please don't cry...."

Seiji only clung to the warmth of Sh'ten's flame, even as he felt it dying away beneath his touch, fading within his own joined essence.   "Sh'ten...." he choked despairingly.  "Koma...."--and suddenly he was no longer holding solid flesh, but wispy, insubstantial fog; his eyes flew open, and he cried out as the Oni MaSho's form began to dissolve into tendrils of smoke, barely holding a human shape.  "No!" he cried, tears burning their way down his face as the bond holding them snapped in two, and he reached out as though he might clutch at what remained of his few moments of true peace--but his fingers passed through Sh'ten's substance like water.  "Not yet...."

"Shush, my Halo."  Sh'ten's voice was distant, as though traveling from the depths of some fathomless pit, but the twin pinpoints of blue fire that were his eyes still burned brightly, crystalline and liquid with unshed tears.   "It is enough that we had this time...."

"Koma...." Seiji whispered once more, rising as though he might stand and then falling to his knees before the altar, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his forehead against his thighs; he could not bear to look.  If only he had the strength to draw him back, to hold him there forever....but it was impossible.

Tears wet his cheeks once more, gathering in his lashes and seeping over his skin.  Soft, barely heard, Sh'ten's whisper of "I love you..." washed over him--and then Seiji felt a crushing inside, a final severing, and Sh'ten was gone forever.   Weeping, clutching at his hair, Seiji licked his lips--and tasted honey, soft and sweet, in the warm wetness of his tears.  Tasted spring mornings on his tongue, inhaled the richness of the sakura on the air, felt dawn's fire coursing through his vein's....the Oni MaSho's legacy, his mark that would burn within the Halo for eternity.

There will be another lifetime, Koma, he thought bitterly, even as he savored that lingering sweetness and the terrible ache of losing something that he had never known he possessed.  Another lifetime, and we will be beautiful together again.

As beautiful as the sun.