Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha


As a young boy, he often watched the village festivals with wide, curious eyes and hesitant thoughts.

At three in the morning the bonfires dazzled, still aflame, still going strong. At three in the afternoon there was dancing. At three years old he was just a spectator.

At six in the morning Kirara would nuzzle his groggy form out of bed. At six in the evening everyone was gathered round a feast, just for them, for their holed-up village. At six years old he was anxious to help out.

At nine in the morning the celebrations, unique to themselves, had just begun. At nine in the evening the neighbors would be readying their late night show routine one last time, lighting the torches and sharpening the throwing daggers. At nine years old he was yearning to be on stage with them, juggling blades and bowing for an audience.

At twelve noon the sun was bright in the sky. At twelve midnight the moon was even brighter.

But before age twelve, Kohaku's had far too much practice with such dangerous things, far too many casualties. Naraku took him out back and gave him deadly tips, and now Kohaku's expertise is frightening.