Spirit of Fire
Prologue

	He looked out at the tiny cemetery through the tinted windows of his 
elegant limousine, sadness evident in his normally stony gray eyes. They were a 
perfect match for the overcast skies.

	Looks like rain, he thought, grabbing a large black umbrella from the 
seat beside him. The man then reached for the solid gold handle, but couldn’t 
bring himself to open the car door. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come.

	It had been over ten years since he last visited the small Buddhist 
cemetery where his wife’s ashes were buried. After the funeral, he just couldn’t 
bring himself to visit her grave, afraid to feel the sharp pain that accompanied 
any reminder that Takara was no longer with him. So why now? What possessed him 
to return after so many years of pretending that the time spent with the 
raven-haired miko was nothing more than a beautiful dream he had been forced to 
wake up from one ironically gorgeous spring day?

	He involuntarily jumped as the window separating him from the driver 
slowly rolled down. The driver, a sixty-year-old man who had been the prominent 
politician’s personal chauffeur for the past fifteen or so years, glanced up at 
his boss’s reflection in the rearview mirror, a confused look on his face.

	“This is the correct address, is it not, Hino-sama?” he asked. “I 
followed the map, but some of the street names are faded and such…”

	The man nodded. “Yes, this is the place, Ogata-kun, but I’ve changed my 
mind. Take me back to the office.”

	“As you wish, sir.” Ogata rolled the window back up and started to drive 
away. They were barely ten feet away from the cemetery when his boss knocked on 
the glass. The driver stopped once again and pushed the button that put down the 
window. “Yes, Hino-sama?”

	“I decided to stay,” the man replied, reaching again for the door handle 
and opening the door. He stepped out of the limousine, stretching out his hand to 
check for precipitation. It was lightly drizzling, but nothing too bothersome. 
Still, he took the umbrella just in case.

	Ogata rolled down his driver’s side window. “Should I wait here or come 
back later, sir?”

	“I’ll call you when I require your services,” the man decided, checking 
to make sure he had his cell phone with him in his coat pocket. The chauffeur 
nodded before driving off toward a nearby restaurant for some lunch.

	Once the car was out of sight, the man turned around and pushed his 
gold-rimmed glasses up his nose, sighing loudly. He was surprised to find the 
cemetery practically deserted except for about three or four families who braved 
the dreary weather to pay respect to their deceased relatives. It was the holy 
week of Obon, was it not? He expected to find the place more crowded, but he 
supposed the possibility of rain kept most mourners away.

	After taking a deep breath, the politician forced himself to enter the 
cemetery, ignoring the atmosphere of death and loneliness that surrounded him 
like a thick wool blanket, almost suffocating him. He looked over the vicinity 
with his cold eyes, searching for a particular tombstone.

	Though years had passed since he last saw her grave, the man was able to 
easily find the simple headstone located in the far corner of the graveyard. It 
was practically hidden in the shadows of an old sakura tree. He slowly walked 
toward the grave, suddenly feeling self-conscious as he realized that he had 
nothing to offer the deceased. It was too late to go back now though.

	Only as he walked closer toward Takara’s grave did he notice that someone 
else was already there.  The visitor had long raven hair, almost the exact color 
of midnight, which hung loose down her back and wore the familiar red and white 
robes of a Shinto miko.  The faint smell of incense hung in the air and the girl 
was softly speaking, mostly likely some prayer for the desceased.  The man 
suddenly paused in his tracks, the color running from his face as if he had just 
seen a ghost.

	“Takara…”  

	The beautiful shrine maiden turned around and glanced up at the sound of 
her mother’s name, staring at the man who stood less than five feet away. Her 
lovely amethyst eyes, identical to her late mother’s, darkened in a mixture of 
sadness and anger as she recognized who he was. The man knew he was the last 
person she wanted to see today.

	“Otou-sama.”






DISCLAIMER: Sailor Moon and all related characters belong to Takeuchi Naoko.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is based on information given in the manga. Any 
comments about the fic can be sent to me at ElysionDream@aol.com.