He has been many things, committed many deeds both heroic and villainous (and to some, both), been named many names, yet now, after centuries of living for himself, he is something new.

He is now Father.

It is strange, he muses. It is strange for a creature who has wrought a path of fires and bloodshed to give back a small piece of the lives he has taken. That claws that have known the throats of his foes can cradle the soft skin of newborn life. That eyes that have roved dispassionate over reaped souls, mutilated bodies and crimson streaked streets have been passed to another.

And so, because he cannot understand, he stands. He stands here now, waiting, for some sign, for some knowledge that it is the time.

Go back, his servants whisper to him, their tones urgent yet subservient, lest they incur his wrath.

You have a newborn son and a wife exhausted from labor, they say. You have a family, they say, as though the word family has some meaning to him.

He does not remember Family.

He remembers War.

Go back, they say, go back.

What do they know, he wonders? What do they, the lesser of his pack, those who take what scraps he leaves behind, know of the pinnacle, the zenith of command, of power?

You are a father, they urge.

I am a warrior, he replies. I have never been Father.

Put down the sword, she asks him. You cannot embrace us with it.

I cannot protect you without it, he replies.

You don't have to, she begs.

He does not answer, and wishes she would not try to tempt with this strange unknown called Family, to draw him away from the Sword.

There are two choruses singing for him.

One sings with harmony for change and renewal, a serenade for Life, and the gentle interlude of Family.

Go back, go back, are the words.

The other is a rhapsody for death, a symphony destruction of self and of others, an orchestrated madness of bloodshed.

There are no words, save the epic beating of his warrior's heart.

Somewhere in the distant world of family that he will never know, a baby he has named Sesshomaru begins to cry.

And he chooses the Sword.

"Wake up, Tessaiga."