The Day of Thunder

Naraku paces towards the familiar spartan accommodation. The walk towards the shrine had been less nerve wracking than pacing though the Hiruma camp.

He stopped at the entrance of his tent, unsure on what to say, on what to expect. When had been the last time he had seen him? Had he seen him since Kanna had died? Most likely not as he had been focused in his particular warpath, caring little for anything but that goal.

He sighed and steeled himself, crossing into the den of the most dangerous person in the Empire. His father.

Hiruma turned around as another person entered the tent, his eyes going imperceptibly wider. "... Naraku? Is that really you?"

Had his father grown older? Guess that's what five years do to a person.

"...Yes," he muttered, slightly ashamed. "It is good to see you well father."

He didn't know what to say to him. He didn't even know what the man knew about these last five years.

"You, too," he said, coming over and patting Naraku firmly on the back, then heading over to a chair. "I see Kanna isn't with you."