Silver Moon

Prologue

Prologue

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The tree stood resolute, its branches stretching towards the heavens, while its leaves rustled softly in the breeze. It appeared untouched, as if unaffected by the passage of time or the events that unfolded around it. Sesshomaru fixated his gaze upon the ancient tree, a peculiar feeling of connection emanating from its sturdy trunk. It seemed to gaze back at him, almost tauntingly, as if mocking him. 

Slowly, he extended his hand and touched the rough, weathered bark, feeling the intricate grooves beneath his fingertips. He gritted his teeth in disdain.

Just as Sesshomaru immersed himself in his contemplation, a voice shattered the stillness of the moment. Startled, he turned his head to find the familiar figure of old man Higurashi making his way towards him, his hand gently supporting his tired back. 

Sesshomaru regarded the elder with a measured gaze, exhaling a barely audible sigh. The old man stopped on the opposite side of the tree. Higurashi was visibly marked by the passage of time --- deep creases etched upon his forehead, strands of gray hair adorning his head, and weary eyes that struggled to remain open. Sesshomaru resisted the urge to point out the physical toll the years had taken on the man, recognizing instead the unwavering strength and resilience that resided within him. 

The old man bore his age with dignity, never shrinking away from the natural progression of life. With an astute eye, he recognized the striking similarities between his character and the resolved, determined nature embodied by his half-demon brother's wife, Kagome.

"People will soon be arriving at the temple," Higurashi stated, prompting Sesshomaru to withdraw from the place.

A month had passed since the unfortunate incident that had occurred, and during his visits to the tree to assess the situation, Sesshomaru couldn't help but display a tinge of disgust upon his countenance. Higurashi had advised him to adopt the guise of the people, but Sesshomaru stubbornly resisted the encroaching modernity that surrounded him. 

Admittedly, to the human eye, his appearance was far from conventional. Clad in a white robe with his Mokomoko --- a fluffy fur boa --- draped around his shoulders, and the Tenseiga, his sword, firmly secured at his waist, Sesshomaru exuded a daunting, otherworldly aura that would undoubtedly raise suspicion in this era. 

Survival in this new age would prove challenging if he refused to adapt.

"I won't be long," he assured the old man, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation.

"The circumstances have changed, demon dog," Higurashi replied, his tone laced with understanding.

Sesshomaru's glare met the elder's gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. He pointed resolutely, pain welling up within him as he contemplated the fate that had befallen them.

Problem after problem burdened him, wearing down his patience and resolve. All he yearned for was a peaceful morning with the woman who brought solace to his tumultuous existence, but even that simple pleasure had become elusive. It seemed as if the world reveled in mocking him, reminding him that even his formidable power held no ground over the inevitable.

Higurashi sighed in defeat, aware of the risk involved in antagonizing the demon, yet driven by his unwavering concern for both Sesshomaru and the girl.

"Sota has already made the necessary arrangements. You can check on them this afternoon," the old man offered.

"No need. I trust his judgment," Sesshomaru responded quietly, his defiance momentarily subdued.

The old man shrugged, understanding that his words may have fallen on deaf ears. After an hour had passed, Sesshomaru began to walk away, his footsteps carrying him toward an uncertain future. However, before he could fully depart, Higurashi called out to him one final time, his voice carrying a sense of urgency.

"At least leave the fur," he implored, his concern evident in his tone.

Sesshomaru paused, his gaze fixed upon the old man. The request struck a chord within him, a reminder of the ties that bound them together and the responsibility he carried. Slowly, he turned back, his eyes meeting Higurashi's weary but determined expression.

"Very well," Sesshomaru conceded, his voice devoid of its usual stoicism. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the Mokomoko slid from his shoulders, its soft fur fluttering gently to the ground. He allowed it to rest at the base of the ancient tree, a symbol of their intertwined fates.

Higurashi nodded a mixture of gratitude and understanding in his eyes. He knew that Sesshomaru's gesture, though small, signified a willingness to compromise, to acknowledge the changing times and adapt, even if reluctantly.

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