Warm rays of sunlight fell upon the stream, lighting it with millions of dancing sparkles. The rhythmic scrape of clothes across the washboard blended neatly with the soft singing of the crickets. A gentle breeze blew past the woman, stirring her wavy auburn hair. Brushing it behind her ears, she sat back and stretched, soothing the cramped muscles in her shoulders. Squinting into the suns, she gazed towards the towering mountains that marked the boundary between Chrysál and Argentad. With a sickened feeling, she hastily suppressed the gristly images that rose to the forefront of her mind.

    The two neighboring nations were at war. After centuries of peace, the Argentadi King, Omnituens Regis IV, declared war against the Chryslin, claiming that their Emperor, Orion Vasiliko, had sent a skilled young man to bring upon him and his family the final gift: death. The previously peaceful mountain passes were now stained, by the constant spill of blood, a deep red. All able-bodied young men were called to the battlefield to help fend off the vicious attack from their former friends. Every woman was strained with worry and tension, fearing the day that the messenger would come, bearing the dark news of their husband's, lover's, son's, or brother's death.

    Waiting was painful it's own way. Every being left behind was sometimes sucked deep into thought, imagining the worst. The housewife was no different; her son, barely eighteen, had left to seek glory and victory, like so many others. For the second time that day, her mind procured bloody images of him being cut down by a sword wielding Argentadi. The vision itself was vivid enough to be real, the crimson blooming on his chest, surprise and pain etched forever onto his still-childish features, the heavy thud as his body hit the ground. This time, however, she was jerked harshly back to reality by a sound from behind. Brushing the salty tears from her browned cheeks, she turned apprehensively as another sharp crack rang through the air. Flimsy sticks from the overgrown forest were being broken by a clumsy tread.

    Clutching her skirt in one hand, the woman reached down and pulled a long, wicked looking scaling knife from the folds of cloth in the basket. Silent and cautious as a deer, she approached the lively trees. Another snap broke the silence, closer then the last, and soon the labored breathing of another human could be heard. The first thing to emerge was a mud-caked boot, followed shortly by the rest of the man's body, along with an abnormally large sword. It rose up just past his head, the blade itself a meter and a half* long. The wickedly gleaming metal had been crafted with an expert eye, and looked as though it held within it an unearthly silver light. Compared to the massive weapon, its wielder looked insignificant and feeble. His clothes were a simple black, with a long, open-fronted coat falling all the way to his ankles. A worn eye patch covered his left eye. He appeared to be just around the woman's son's age, younger than twenty. She was encouraged by his incompetent profile, and in a flash had the knife at his throat.

    “Don't move an inch, or I will not hesitate to use this.” At her sudden appearance, the young man froze, his hand tightening on his gleaming sword, but he didn't test her resolve, staying as he was. “Good, now drop the sword, please. Slowly.” Compliantly, he unclenched his had and let the magnificent blade fall to the ground, then slowly kicked it away from himself.

    “Sorry, I did not intend to run across anyone, ma'am.” He said with true regret for frightening the poor woman. Looking into his face, she thought she saw the sincerity of his words, but did not deem it safe enough to relax her arm.

    “Why have you come here then, you filthy Argentadi?” The venom in her words was apparent, but a slight quavering in her voice hinted at hidden fear.

    He was taken aback by this question. “Argentadi? I'm not from Argentad.” He slowly began to move his arm upward. Seeing his action, she pressed her knife into his neck, drawing a drop of blood.

    “Don't move!” His limb halted in its gradual journey, and he took a shuddering breath, blinking drops of blood from his silvery eye.

    “I am just trying to clear my vision.” He said, as more blood trickled down his face. It was this simple statement that brought to the woman's attention the man's injury. A small gash glistened just above his eyebrow, trickling blood into his good eye. A dripping sound also caught her attention. Looking for the source of the dripping, she saw the crimson pool forming on the hard packed earth. Alarmed, she examined the young man more closely. The front of his tunic was saturated with blood, and his arm was pressed tightly against his chest, trying to slow the bleeding. He also had various other cuts and bruises covering his body.

    “Gods above!” She exclaimed, dropping the knife and anxiously removing his ripped shirt. His flesh had been parted from his collarbone diagonally all the way to his right hip. In some of the deeper areas gleams of white were visible. “Gods above!” She cried out once more, “How have you been able to stand, much less walk?” He grinned at her.

    “Haven't really been able to. I was using that.” He gestured over to his abandoned sword. At the movement he doubled over and clutched tighter to his wound, falling to his knees. She knelt down beside him.

    “Hold on, I'll get you some proper care. Just don't die before you get to my house, you hear me?” Ripping strips from her apron, she quickly made a makeshift bandage, wrapping them tightly around his unresisting torso.

    “I won't, I promise.” Despite his brave words, the man's voice was noticeably tremulous as he spoke. Looking fearfully up at her, he searched for reassurance.

    “Shhhh. Don't worry, I won't let you die.” Gazing down at him lovingly, she sought to ease his emotional pain, at the very least. The corners of his mouth curved up in a tiny smile, as his body racked with another bought of pain. The uncanny, yet beautiful silver eye looked beyond her and up into the azure sky. With a sigh, his eye fell shut, and he fell into a deep and oblivious sleep. His expression relaxed as he once more became a clumsy toddler, playing among the butterflies of his home.

 

 

    A red haze layered over his mind, preventing any rational thought. He registered the great emptiness that Kurayami, his sword, usually filled. Panicked by it's absence, he tried to search for it, but he wasn't able to lift even a single eyelid. Eventually, he fell back into a exhausted, dreamless sleep.

    When he next woke, the young man was more aware. Someone unfamiliar was standing over him, feeling his forehead. After a moment, the cool object was removed and voices spoke from a great distance away.

    “The fever has broken. He's no longer in danger of accepting the Reaper's call. I'll be back tomorrow to check on him.” Somewhere, a door opened and closed, then all was silent, except for his own, rasping breath and the quieter breathing of the person left in the room. A tug at the back of his mind brought him to consider an even more important matter. Where was Kurayami? He could tell that the blade was nearby, but where? Stretching his senses to their limit, he finally found it propped in the corner of the room. It was sheathed, so its presence was faint, but it was there. Content, he let the Dream Lord claim him once more.

 

 

    The other man was back again. His strict and professional presence hovered over the now conscious man. Blearily, he opened his eye and was met with unfocused, fuzzy images. After blinking a few times, the blobs started coming into focus. There was a tall, gray haired man leaning over him, studying something lower on his body. Just behind the other man a woman was hovering. Where am I? What happened? Who were these people? He slid his eye even farther beyond the others and spotted it. Kurayami. He thought with satisfaction, glad that its presence hadn't been another dream. A movement in the corner of his eye brought his attention back to the aging man. The man straightened up and surveyed his patient. Catching the young man's eye, he moved to the head of the bed.

    “Welcome back to the world of the living. Can you speak?” Concentrating, the young man focused on his mouth and tongue. After a bit, he accomplished his goal.

    “Sorta.” It came out slurred, and slightly difficult to understand.

    “Good. What's your name?”

    “Yukimura Takehashi.” This attempt at speech was a little better, but still slurred.

    “Okay, then, Yukimura, what country do you hail from?”

    “I was raised in Shusshia, but I'm Eruvan.” The words that came out were near perfect.

    “Eruvan? Is that one of the native peoples?” Confusion was apparent on his face. “In any case, it appears your memory is intact. Just follow Misses Kaitlin’s instructions, alright? I'll be back again tomorrow.” He headed for the door, but paused with his hand on the nob. “By the way, I'm Doctor Alexander Haughline. Pleasure to meet you, Yukimura.”

2: Chapter 1

    As the weeks passed by, Yuki slowly gained his mobility back, as well as his sense of pain. It was hard, with too much movement sending pain searing down the raw pink scar. He was forbidden from practicing, or even lifting Kurayami, and so he had to content himself with staring out the window of his small room or reading Kaitlin's small collection of books. Restricted from much upper body movement, he quickly found himself getting twitchy and irritable. Yuki looked forward to the day that Dr. Haughline would finally pronounce him healed, and he would once more be able to pursue his career in martial arts.

    Meanwhile, Kaitlin grew to become a second mother to him, and perhaps his being there eased the absence of her true son, Jeremy, some. The war still raged on, both sides winning bloody victories. There had been no messenger to report Jeremy's death, but he had yet to return on a leave of absence even once. Occasionally a letter would come with the outline of how things were going up at the front, but other than those brief notes, there was no communication from Kaitlin's only son.

    Yuki sighed as he stared out his frosty window across the fields, over the woods and up to the snow-laden mountain peaks. He felt the urge to go to one of those passes and place his life in the hands of Kurayami once more, but he was kept securely in the cottage, away from the harsh snow and ice of the cold fall. And yet, he could feel the desperate itching in the back of his mind, where Kurayami constantly urged Yuki to bathe him in the wet crimson of a person's lifeblood. To accomplish this faster, he carefully followed the doctor's instructions, and when he was alone, Yuki would focus his energy into the palm of his hand, creating a glowing orb that he would then run over the long scar. Healing Magoi wasn't his strong suit, but every small bit sped his recovery.

    Supper was the highlight of his current life. Kaitlin would explain in detail what was occurring in the outside world. Yuki would no longer feel quite as cut off. In return, he began to tell his own tale to his kind patron.

    “I was a single child. My parents and I lived on the side of a mountain, right next to a waterfall. There were wildflowers everywhere, and we lived an hour's walk from a secluded village. In the spring and summer butterflies would fly everywhere, causing the sky to look like a giant rainbow had shattered and was falling to the ground. When I was really young, I'd try to catch them, over and over again, but, being the clumsy little thing I was, I never did succeed, until one peaceful spring day. My parents were planting our vegetable garden...”

***

    The air was alight with countless fluttering wings. Small yellow shapes darted in and out of the lager iridescent ones, as green butterflies carefully alighted upon a wide variety of equally colorful wildflowers. Purple, blue, orange, every color one could think of was there, flitting among the spray from the high waterfall cascading into the pool below. A particularly brave butterfly floated down and alighted upon the straw hat of a graceful woman. Her hair was waist length and a shimmery blue-black. Beside her, a tanned, muscular man bent, creating precise furrows in the soft dirt outside their comfortable house.

    The chubby, brown haired toddler spotted the magnificently large, blue butterfly before either of his parents. His large, silver eyes grew even wider with amazement. With the best stealth technique the clumsy boy could muster, he crept up closer behind his mother. Deciding he was near enough, he broke into a run, chasing the amazing creature up into the air. It fluttered just out of his reach, taunting the outstretched hands. He followed it further and further away from his parents, hopping and jumping, but always falling just short. With a great leap, he left the meadow and entered a cool forest.

    The butterfly weaved between the trees, calling to its new friend, but one of its wings caught on a thin strand of spider web. The peaceful flapping quickly became a fierce struggle with the sticky substance. Seeing his chance, the toddler reached up and plucked the blue beauty from its restraints. The large wolf spider felt the tear in its hard work and silently fumed over such a wonderful meal lost. The butterfly in hand, the boy trotted back toward the meadow, a gleeful expression glued to his round face. His mother turned as he neared, a warm glow in her bright purple eyes, but instead of the ecstasy the young child expected, her face filled with fear. She said something to her husband, and he, too, turned. Grasping the situation, he began call out to his precious son.

    “Yuki. Listen to your daddy. R----” He was silenced swiftly with an arrow to the soft flesh of his throat. Yuki watched in fascination as the crimson droplets emerged from his father and joined the mix of colors in the meadow. He giggled and told his daddy to do it some more, to make more colors, the butterfly forgotten in his hand. A shadow fell over him, and he tipped his head backwards and stared up into the scarred face of a heavyset man.

    “Hi! Can you make more pretty colors?” He asked, curious.

    “Sure, kid.” The man said nonchalantly, “Come with me for a sec.” He began to approach the woman and her dead husband. Yuki followed him obediently. “Keep her paralyzed, please, she won't be able to do any bothersome Magi stuff.” He said to the robed man who stood to his left.

    “Of course, boss.” Their boss moved towards Yuki's mother. He steered the obedient child in front of him and stopped a few feet away.

    “Now, if you care for the kid, tell me where you bastards hid it.” He snarled. She glanced at the hopeful eyes of her son, and silent tears fell from her eyes. Taking a shuddering breath, she tried to assure herself that nothing would happen to him.

    “Y-Yuki, listen carefully now, follow the butterflies. Can you do that for M-Mommy?” Her voice sounded strangled as she held back even more tears. She closed her eyes and grew as still as death.

    “Stubborn bitch. Do you not even care about the boy?” With those words, he shoved Yuki to the ground. The child skinned his knee on a small rock, and he began to cry. “And you shut up!” The boss picked the boy up and shook him. “You hear me?” The crying grew steadily louder. The man's arm reached toward his broadsword, but he froze as once more the captive woman opened her eyes. The purple irises shimmered with an eerie light, just like a luminous crystal. The depths of her eyes drew the onlookers in. She stared defiantly up at the large man.

    “Zisha.” The strange word rang through the meadow like the tolling of a church bell, and all the color drained out for the blink of an eye. When the bursting color returned, Yuki's mother collapsed on the ground, her spirit following the tall shadow of the Reaper to the Otherworld.

    “Damn it, damn it, damn it! She had a suicide word in place already?” He kicked the neat furrows in the garden, destroying the orderly rows. “Damn it all! Burn it. Burn this entire blasted meadow!” Yuki, who sat forgotten by the wall gazed at the empty body of his mother.

    “Mommy? Hello? Mommy?” He kept repeating over and over.

    “Boss, what do we do with the kid?” One of the various lackeys scattered throughout the meadow asked.

    “I don't care. Kill him, sell him, hell, keep him if you're up to it.”

    “Let's sell him. He's cute, he'd fetch us a good price.” The man, who had spoken grabbed Yuki and pulled him to his feet. “Kid, you're coming with me.”

    “What about Mommy?”

    “Jeez, she's dead. Get that into your head, will ya? She won't come back...ever.” He held on tightly to the struggling Yuki, as four other minions approached the once peaceful cottage and set it alight into a brilliant blazing. Orange and gold reached up to the heavens, pleading for help. At the sight of the fire something finally clicked in Yuki's head: something bad was happening. His knees gave out, and he found himself falling onto the emerald grass. His eyes found the iridescent blue butterfly, still held safely in his small palm. A high, unearthly wail rose from his throat, ripped from his cheerful body by natural instinct.

    The man who was in charge of the toddler turned quickly at the haunting sound, a shiver wracking his body as he fought to block out the horrid sound.

    “Boss...” He whispered, staring fearfully at Yuki as tendrils of black emerged from him. They wrapped the young child tightly in their grasp, expanding outward at a rapid pace. The once beautiful flowers withered at the faintest touch, and the crisp grass turned to ashes. The shadowed mass advanced on the attackers steadily, enveloping the frightened butterflies as it advanced. The men turned and ran, leaving the Magi and the Boss to face the oncoming darkness alone. A steady chanting could be heard coming from the former.

    “Ó, hÄ“i'àn de lìliàng, kÄ›néng nǐ bèi fÄ“ng. Èmó, gÇ”n de yuÇŽn yuÇŽn de, yÇ’ngyuÇŽn yǐncáng zìjǐ zài zhè suÇ’ jiÇŽnxuÇŽn de qìmǐn!” With this exclamation, the robed man leaped towards the blackness, thrusting a glowing hand out in front of himself as he neared. He met the opposing power with a ringing clash. Slowly, he forged a pathway through the inky thing. Panting and pasty faced, his brilliant hand connected with the small body at the center. “FÄ“ngyìn!”

    A massive shock wave resonated from the man and child. A cloud of black butterflies rose from Yuki, spiraling into the air. A particularly large one was reveled, perched delicately on his shoulder, opening and closing its red veined wings over and over again. The Magi stayed vertical for just a fraction of a second, before crumpling to the ground. A small, silver flame bloomed from his back, and soon all that was left was a pile of fine dust. The boy then, too, fell to the ground, motionless.

    The Boss, the only man left, crossed the desolate space and bent to the boy. There was a pulse; his wares were still alive. He scooped Yuki up and tossed him over a shoulder, then the Boss left the destroyed meadow the way he came. His heavy footsteps stirred the silvery dust of his Magi, but the man didn't care. It settled on the fine body of the black butterfly, which was following close behind.

    The wolf spider, hidden just within the trees, was oblivious to the commotion around it. Sinking its fangs deep into the juicy body of yet another butterfly, it savored the rich flavor. This time there would be no one to pluck its prize from the glistening web.

***

    “...It was an incredible victory, catching the enormous, blue insect. Holding it carefully in my hands, I trekked back to the cottage. My mother was happy with my success, but she made me let the butterfly go, much to my disappointment. That butterfly was never seen again, nor any quite like it.” Yuki finished his story, as well as the last traces of an amazing beef stew.

    “That was beautiful.” Kaitlin, her eyes closed, envisioned the bright meadow contently, unaware of the much darker expression her dinner partner wore.

3: Chapter 2

Warning: There is some vulger language in this chapter.

 

“What do you think of this place, Kurayami?” Yuki sat by the window with a delicate butterfly slowly opening and closing its black wings. “It's so peaceful, it seems unreal. Did you know a place like this existed anywhere in this world?”

The peace is just a cover story. The stain of chaos even reaches here. The sweet voice echoed in his head.

“But there isn't anything here that would attract chaos.”

People's inner feelings draw it here. They may seem happy, but everyone feels rage and hate. You've got to remember that. Also, we are a major chaos magnet. The butterfly crawled up Yuki's arm to rest on his shoulder.

“I don't like being a chaos magnet! Who would? It's so bloody annoying!”

You have no choice in the matter.

Yuki shot a glance at the sword. “I know that.” He grumbled. “That doesn't make it less annoying.” He cupped a hand over the butterfly and brought it to his face. “Go see what that idiot of an emperor is doing, will you?” Without a word the black insect drifted out the window and headed east.

“Yuki! Who are you talking to?” Kaitlin's voice came from the kitchen.

“No one! Just to my self. Is supper ready?”

“Yes, come while it's warm.” Yuki grabbed a silken strip of fabric and exited the room. Moments later, he entered the kitchen with his long hair secured in a sloppy ponytail. Set on the table was a simple meal of bread, chicken and corn.

“Sure you don't want me to help out sometimes?”

“No, no! It's fine. You just concentrate on healing completely.” She sat and held her hands out in a moment of prayer to the various gods. Yuki sat down as well, and waited patiently for her ritual to be done.

“Tell me more about your childhood.” he glanced up through long bangs.

“Right, let's see... Soon after I caught that butterfly my parents decided to go on a research trip of some sort. Can't quite remember what they were researching. They couldn't take me with them, so I was sent to my uncle's mansion. It was in Shusshia, and after the ship docked I was enveloped in a hectic crowd. My uncle's servant, Julius, found me...”

 

***

 

Something was biting into Yuki's wrists. It hurt, and he couldn't quite figure out what was wrong. Opening his eyes, he squinted into the dimness down at his hands. They were chained, as were his ankles.

“Yo, kid, you awake?” Yuki looked up toward this new voice. It came from a tired looking man sitting to his right. Despite his haggard appearance, he was actually fairly young, around 20 or so.

Turning to him, Yuki said “These bracelets hurt. Can you take them off?”

“Sorry, kid, no can do. I'm Julius, by the way. What's your name?”

“I'm Yuki.” A big smile lit up his features. “Who are these people?” he gazed around at the defeated faces around him. There were a few dozen of them stuffed in the grimy room, all of them dirty and thin.

“Well then, Yuki, nice to meet ya. Those people are the people who are as unfortunate as we are. Do you know what a slave is?”

“Slave?”

“Ahhh...how do I explain. We're slaves. These collars around our necks signify that. Uh, slaves do what people ask them to do. We don't struggle, ya?” Julius rubbed his head, trying to come up with an explanation that would make sense to his young comrade.

“So, I follow people's orders? Why?” Confusion was apparent in the furrow of his brow.

“Just cause. That's how it works.”

 

 

An hour of games created by Julius later the Boss entered with a couple of his lackeys. They began to take people out alone or in small groups. The departed slaves did not return. Soon, He approached Julius and Yuki.

“You two, up. Now.”

“Yuki.” Silver eyes looked imploringly at Julius. “Come with me, will ya?” He awkwardly held out his hand, which Yuki gladly accepted, bounding up on his short legs. Julius led him out of the rank room and out into the harsh sunlight. After his eyes adjusted, Yuki gazed about with curiosity.

The hard packed dirt road was framed by equally brown buildings. Their roofs didn’t seem very sturdy, and the walls could have crumbled at any time. In the midst of this poverty was a spacious courtyard. Slaves of all nationalities stood in orderly rows, waiting as various folk examined them closely. Julius and Yuki were led to a spot near the edge.

They stood there, connected by their warm palms. Dark skinned men with loops of gold adorning their bodies, fair women in sweeping dresses, families, merchants, even a man with a pet monkey passed them by, uneasily glancing at the boy's strange eyes in their passage. Then one of the larger groups stopped in front of them.

It was led by a gangly young man dressed in the finest fabrics. His thin face was pinched in the oddest of manners, and his dark hair was cropped short. Behind him was a mixture of slaves and servants. He stared down at the young boy, and those eyes blinked right back at him. Julius began to grow uncomfortable at the oppressive silence. Long moments passed, and the two continued to draw out their stares. Finally, the rich boy broke off and glanced disdainfully at Julius.

“You his caretaker, filth?”

“That I am.” The pinch-faced adolescent winced at the lack of title.

“Useful for anything else?”

“I am fairly handy with a sword, if I do say so.” A glint of humor appeared in Julius's hazel nut eyes at the pained expression the lordling in front of him was making. “Is something the matter?”

“You're the matter! That's what! You know nothing of etiquette! It's 'I am, my lord' and 'Swordsmanship, my lord'. Say it!”

“Ah, but I see no valid reason to do so. You see, I don't recall being purchased by you, and thus, you are not my lord as of yet.”

“Go to hell, you scumbag!”

“Now, now, that's no way for any kind of lord to speak. Especially in front of children.”

“Damn you and your charge!” He looked around. “Where in this stinking piss-hole did the salesman wander off to?” Catching sight of the man in question, he sent a servant to fetch him. Moments later the stout man walked over.

“You ready to make your purchase, ah, my lord?” He hesitated for a moment, trying to pin the correct title on the pompous young man in front of him.

“Yes, by all the gods, I am! I shall be purchasing this rude son of a bitch and his useless charge. He needs to be taught to behave.” He reached into his purse and pulled out a few large gold coins. “Here, this should cover the price.” He stalked off to his awaiting horse, the entire entourage following in his wake. With a shrug Julius took a step in towards them, only to be stopped by a slight tug on his hand. Turning, he looked down into the big, sleepy eyes of his charge. Yuki yawned, and tugged again in silent protest. Julius bent down, sighing, and scooped the young boy up into his strong arms. As he turned to follow their new owner, he felt a slight touch, and glancing over he saw an unearthly black and red butterfly perched upon the child's soft hair. It sat there, dreaming of its once-blue wings.

“Strange.”

 

***

 

“...after Julius established my identity, he tried to lead me to the mansion, but I was young and kept getting distracted by the new sights, sounds and smells. He was incredibly patient, though. Eventually I fell asleep, and only then was he able to escort me to my new home. He had to carry me all the way. He said I was sucking my thumb, as well, though I'm not sure if that's true. But imagine my surprise when I woke up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar house.” Yuki smiled. “Though, the servants may have been more surprised when I opened my eyes, and they were revealed to be silver.”

“You were a cute boy, weren't you?”

“Yes, I suppose I was.” He ate the last of his corn. “If you'll excuse me, I'll retire now.” He pushed his chair back and returned to his room. Closing the door behind him, he crossed to his bed and removed his shirt. The scar was still tender to the touch. Resigned, he held his arm out and concentrated, collecting a pale orb of light on his palm. Soon after he began the healing, though, Yuki grew tired, and lay back.

You're really not good at that, are you?

“Shut up.” He turned away from the chattering sword and fell asleep.