It is easy, he thinks, for her to forget. He may as well be made of air, for all the regard she gives him. Her attention is riveted on the half-breed, and his upon her. Bloody claws caress her cheek. Golden eyes fix upon her own. His hand clenches around Tessaiga’s hilt. He forgets nothing.

He should have known. He should have foreseen that this would come to pass. That the half-breed would return to threaten his claim. Bakusaiga is in his hands. Green and simmering, its blade runs the half-demon through, and he falls forward through the open window, into her arms. Two sets of eyes stare up at

The light fades from his mother’s eyes. His hand slips beneath the collar of her kimono. From the valley of her breasts, he retrieves the Jewel of Four Souls. Its glow is muted in his hold. He considers it briefly, his grip relaxing on his mother’s broken throat. Her vacant gaze draws him in—pinpoints of

The Jewel glows in his mother’s hand—a dark pearl of abominable power. An amalgam of crystallized souls. Insidious, yet lovely to behold. He studies it. Studies her. Her eyes glimmer with triumph. He can see that she has been studying him, too. “How like your father you are,” she says with a sneer. “Preoccupied with

Iron claws score the salt crusted rock. Snarling, he drags up the writhing sea dragon. Wing-like fins shear against the crags, stomach plates sparking at the contact. Waves rise and crash as the serpent’s tail thrashes. He braces himself against the tide, fangs crushing through scale and flesh and bone. Death shrieks rattle the flinty