Chapter 1 - From a half forgotten dream

He was dreaming.  He was dreaming of that night – the night that had plagued his thoughts since its occurrence.  Returning to the house – to his home – to see his mother and his father standing forlornly amongst the trampled daffodils with tear streaked faces.  It was dark, it was the middle of the night, and the only sound was that of the empty wind that tussled his hair.  The hand on his shoulder stayed firm as he looked at the scene and tears began to form in his eyes.  The little house where he’d lived since his birth was small and homely, a thatched roof and pretty garden instilled on his memory.  He was seven years old.  He’d lived seven years of sweet happiness, playing in the garden, laughing and rolling in the grass.  He couldn’t remember his sister’s birth for he had only been two years old himself, but he’d always loved her, looked out for her and cared for her.  They used to bath together in a large round copper tub in front of the cheerful fire, splashing carefree and blissful, parents looking on proudly.  A perfect happy family.
And that night – on that terrible terrible night it had all changed.  His parents, standing on the lawn, the house a ruin, burnt to the ground, smoking cinders blowing in the wind.  That happy cheerful house destroyed, and his sister with it.  And the hand on his shoulder. He tried to turn around to see the face, but he couldn’t.  He wanted to run to his parents and hug them and cry, but the hand was firm and commanding and all he could do was watch, in his hands he clutched a sword, his sword.
  “You don’t yet understand.”  He voice had said from behind him, the faceless man.  “But you now have a part to play.” 
Then the hand had gone, disappeared and he was free to run across the muddy lawn and throw himself into the protection of his parents’ arms.  The relief on their faces when they realised their son was alive, relief that vanished when it was clear their daughter had not returned with him.
The young Akira didn’t care to look back and see the stranger who he’d met that night – who had come to the door while his parents had been out and had led him away from the house.  Almost as if he’d known.  But that was impossible, the thought had only occurred later to Sendoh that the man had known more than he had revealed that night, but it was dismissed as quickly as it had come.
His parents asked about the sword, where had he got the sword?  But Akira could say nothing but cry, and after that night he simply refused to tell them – not sure why he didn’t say, only agreeing to the stranger’s wish to keep his appearance secret.
The stranger, what had he looked like, who was he?  Akira tried hard to remember, tried so very hard to recall the features, what colour were those eyes?  The hair, what had he been wearing?  But it was no use – the image of the man just would not come, it had been erased from his immature memory as the more distressing revelations of the night had occurred and bitterness at his loss had begun to grow…

~~  

The air was different. 
He knew he was somewhere else as soon as he drifted back into conciseness.  It was the smell of the place.  It smelt of someone he didn't know, and yet strangely was not threatening.
His eyes snapped open in an old, instinctive reaction to the unfamiliar.

The room was empty, and it was silent, reminding him of the deserted wasteland he remembered near his birthplace.  There he’d played merrily during the days when he’d been happy.  In the early hours, standing in the bright morning light, when the companions he’d played with were already snuggled up warm at home, there had been a silence that had overwhelmed him with its loneliness.  He remembered that place well.  He’d stood there alone and gazed at the rising sun in defiance.  What right had anyone to be joyous when his sister was dead?  He’d thrown a stone at the sun and its mocking cheerful smile, and then he’d sobbed when the sharp tap of the stone reached his ears as it landed only a few feet away.  There, that was how pitiful and small he’d been, not yet significant enough to make the smallest dent in society nor the world. 
Since then, silence had become a faithful friend.  The only thing as lonely and empty as he was.  Or so he presumed.

Now he lay in a soft bed, dressed in an itchy woollen gown that was not his own.  The walls were white washed, and thin cotton curtains allowed the morning light to filter in through the large window and lie in streaks across the bed sheets.
He strained his ears... but there was not a sound to be heard.  Not even the gentle ticking of a clock.

He tried to think back to what had happened, through the muffled fog that presently clouded his mind, and slowly the realisation dawned on him that he should be dead.
The memory of a sword against his head immediately triggered the pounding headache that suddenly started to hammer on the inside of his skull, demanding attention.
He groaned and rubbed his temples.

Carefully he swung his legs over the side of the bed where his feet touched the cold wooden floor, and he looked down at himself, checking for injuries.
All his wounds were bandaged delicately.
He ran a hesitant finger across one of the plain cloth bandages on his arm, all the while not having the faintest idea what had happened to him.  Who could possibly have helped him?

Making up his mind that he ought to find out, he gently tested his weight on his shaky feet and managed to stand unsteadily upright and look about him.
Something stuck to the fabric of his loose tunic suddenly caught his eyes, and carefully he picked it off and held it in the palm of his hand.  It was a feather, but one like which Sendoh had never seen before.  It was long and white, and shimmered sweetly in the early morning sunlight.  Something compelled him to run it across his cheek, and he marvelled at its softness. He had just brought it up to his face to examine closer when there was a sound from outside the wooden door which led out of the bedroom he was in.  He startled slightly and immediately hid the feather in his pocket, although he was not entirely sure why.

It was at that moment that the door opened and a person walked in.  It was a boy, possibly even younger than himself.  He had deep swirling blue eyes that registered a minimal surprise at seeing Sendoh standing up.
His feathery black fringe hung over his eyes and contrasted against his pale skin that seemed to glow with an ethereal beauty in the morning sunlight.

Sendoh blinked in surprise.

There was a few seconds silence where the two boys gazed at each other, both calmly regarding the expressions on the others face.

  "Who-?" Sendoh began.  But the other boy cut smoothly across him in a gentle tone that rang clearly in Sendoh's mind.
  "Come.  As you are up, you must eat something."  He turned to make his way out of the room before Sendoh could speak again, but then he hesitated and turned back uncertainly, almost in embarrassment.  "Erm... can you walk okay?"

Sendoh blinked again, unmoving, "I think so" he hazarded.

The boy looked at him for a second, something strange deep in his eyes.  "Then follow me."

He swept out of the room gracefully, and Sendoh tottered uncertainly after him.

The rest of the house was much the same as the bedroom.  Everything in neutral shades of pale cream and white.  The floors were all wooden with long creamy rugs stretching along the corridor.  Compared to the other dwellings of the citizens of this town, the house was the definition of luxury.  Simplistic, beautiful.  Its owner walking a few paces before him was certainly not the type you could expect to see desperately gathering firewood in the failing light of the evening.  Perhaps he had servants, he certainly seemed rich enough. 
There was an air of grace about him that transferred into all the objects surrounding him.  He had the sort of presence that meant that just by entering a room he could make it seem the pinnacle of elegance and class.
Sendoh watched his steps carefully, all his senses suddenly heightened, aware and alert for any indication of danger.  The boy ahead of him walked with ease, as if he had calculated the situation and come out with the conclusion that Sendoh would not be a threat to him.
From the corridor that led to his temporary room, Sendoh was led into a small hall with a table against one wall.
From the hall, there were 5 other doors, each crafted from a thick dark wood that looked expensive, yet not patronisingly so.

The dark haired boy glided across the floor easily and disappeared through a doorway on the opposite side of the room, not conceding to look back and assure himself that Sendoh was still following.

Sendoh frowned, not sure whether he should trust him.  This was a strange house after all, and the person was a stranger, whether he had saved him or not.
He might be dangerous.
But then, Sendoh reasoned, he didn’t really have much choice.  And if the boy intended to hurt him, why hadn't he acted while Sendoh had been defenceless?

Sendoh followed the path of the beautiful boy into the room warily.

It turned out to be a kitchen.
In the centre was a large wooden table on which was laid out an elaborate breakfast, waves of exotic smells came from the plates, making Sendoh suddenly and painfully aware that he was ravenous.

He looked around for the boy, but he had temporarily disappeared from sight.

Sendoh eyed the food with suspicion.  He was hungry yes, but he was not stupid.
He could wait.

He sat and waited with limited patience for what seemed like 10 minutes before the other boy returned. 
He appeared in the doorway and in his arms was a sword, its blade wrapped protectively in a plain cloth.
It was long and curved; the handle was beautifully carved with ornate designs.  He held it so gently, as if it was precious and might break.

Sendoh instantly recognised it as his own.

 "I thought you might like this back" that perfectly smooth voice came again "I seem to be making you nervous, and I know how safe you fighters seem to think you are as long as you have a sword in your hand."

He offered the handle to Sendoh, who took it carefully, his eyes locked on the boys face.

  "Who are you?  Why am I here?"

The boy sat down opposite him on the table and fixed him with a cold, and yet somehow not entirely unfriendly glare.
It was a gaze that was hiding something.  Deep within his eyes was a cavern of carefully guarded secrets that you wished to know, but you instinctively knew that you’d never find out.
Simply looking into those wise eyes caused a wash of fear to suddenly engulf Sendoh; and all of a sudden he wasn’t really sure that he wanted to know.

Seeing the apprehension appear unprovoked in his companion’s eyes, the slightly shorter boy shrugged in an overly casual way that didn’t suit him at all and looked downwards.
  “My name is Kaede Rukawa.  I found you bleeding to death in an alley.  You were in a bad state, so I brought you here.”  He shrugged again.
Sendoh waited a couple of seconds for him to continue, before sensing that he had no such intention.
  “No one else was there?  Did you see anyone else?”
The boy fixed him with another of those gazes.  “I saw no one.”

There was a few seconds silence as Sendoh allowed these words to sink in.
During the pause he studied the boy Rukawa’s face for a long minute.  There were no signs of deception, no beaded sweat on his brow, no hint of a blush staining his cheeks.  For the entire world to see the boy might have been telling the truth, indeed it certainly seemed so, but somehow, Sendoh did not believe him.
The story did not make sense.  Why should the demons have left him alive?  They killed and, more often then not, they ate.  Their fang-like incisors were designed specifically for ripping human flesh.
And yet here he was, whole and alive, with only a boy who claimed to have seen no demons about him.  Either something had frightened them away previous to the boy’s arrival, or else the boy was lying.  There was little that could frighten a group of demons that was about to feed, which led him to only one answer. 

Internally, Sendoh was shaking his head.  He knew that he wouldn’t gain any more than the bare minimum from this boy, but thankfully the beautiful creature did not, as yet, seem to pose an immediate threat.

But Sendoh knew that he was dangerous.  He was so sure of it.

He just knew that behind the pale face and delicate features was creature perfectly capable of tearing him limb from limb.
There was a calmness that surrounded it, a calmness that emitted such power.  Everything about it had been made for killing.

He looked up to speak his reservations about Rukawa’s honesty when, once again, their eyes met.
Those eyes. 
The boy seemed younger than himself and yet his steel blue eyes looked on him with ancient wisdom.  Those eyes had seen things Sendoh couldn’t even dream imaginable.  Those eyes had seen death himself.  Those eyes had looked directly into the face of God and laughed at what they had beheld.
Now these eyes were turned, burning on Sendoh, in a seeming challenge for him to speak. 
Sendoh said nothing.

Rukawa seemed to approve of this, and motioned with a hand to the plates of food laid on the table in an orderly fashion.
  “Eat something.”  He spoke gently.  “Do not be wary, I wish you no harm.”
When Sendoh made no move, the boy smiled slightly and leaned forward in his chair.  “Come now, watch.  I shall eat with you.”

 When Rukawa began to eat and no harm came to him.  Sendoh, feeling very hungry, gratefully followed suit.  However he was careful to only eat from the dishes that Rukawa served himself from first.

Rukawa must have noticed, but he said nothing.

When they had finished, Rukawa gathered all the remains of the meal up and put them to one side to deal with later.
  “That sword…” he said, his eyes moving to Sendoh’s blade that was resting against the taller boy’s chair, “…is very fine.”
Sendoh blinked, and had to look down at his sword for a second to understand what Rukawa had meant.
  “Oh!”  He laughed quietly, “Yes, I suppose it is.”  Then, uncertain whether the words were designed as a compliment, he politely added; “Thank you.”
Rukawa sat back down opposite him and rested his chin in his hands. 
Sendoh couldn’t help the way his eyes immediately ran down the delicate, pale forearms of the boy, nor the way a shiver suddenly ran down his spine.

~Idiot~ he told himself ~don’t be so stupid~ 

  “It looks like an angel’s sword.”  Rukawa pondered aloud, more to himself than Sendoh.
Sendoh replied carefully, trying to keep the wavering in his voice to minimum, “yes, I think it must be.”
Rukawa smiled slightly to himself.  “And may I ask…?”  He continued, “How such a beautiful piece of artwork came to be in your hands?”

Any remnants of a smile immediately disappeared from Sendoh’s face.

People had always been too afraid to ask that of him before. 
Sendoh lived his life as a shadow in the background, an indistinct figure whom people tried not to look at too hard, for fear that he might meet their eyes.

To speak the truth, humans were pathetically weak.  They could not face up to the reality that the demons were slowly driving them back.  Killing, destroying. 

There were very few mortal slayers, the only ones who could see the world for what it was.  Could see how hopeless the future of humanity seemed. 
And at one time in the not so distant past they had had the courage to stand up and speak of such things.

That was why they now were outcasts. 

Nobody wanted to hear that their race was doomed.  Nobody wanted to hear that they were weak.  Nobody wanted to accept that the demons were stronger.

Women who saw Sendoh on the street would turn and flee the other way.  Men would scowl angrily at him.  Children playing in the road would go silent as he walked past, and stare at him frozen in fear.
And none would have the courage to speak with him.

That was why the question had never been asked, ‘where had a poor boy, with no work and no future, acquired a blade fit for an angelic lord?’

But Rukawa was asking him now.

  “I was given it.”  Sendoh replied, a bit nervously.  “As a present.”  He added.
  “By whom?”
Sendoh thought again.  “By an old friend.”  <I lie – that man, that man from that night… a friend?  I suppose so, he saved my life and gave me purpose.  My friend.  That’s what he was – my only true friend.>
  “What was his name?”
Sendoh frowned suddenly.  “Why the third degree?!”
Rukawa shrugged innocently.  “No reason.  I only wanted to see if you could remember.  I shall not mention it again if you don’t wish it.”
Sendoh said nothing.
  “Then may I ask you one more question about it?”
  “If you must.” Sendoh sighed to illustrate his annoyance.
  “What is its name?”
At that Sendoh smiled slightly and looked up into the piercing blue eyes.

“Oh that’s easy.  I call it Innocence.”

Rukawa raised one, interested eyebrow, then contentedly sat back in his chair, in an open and relaxed gesture that was suitably fitting after such a meal.  He let one corner of his pale, sweet lips lift slightly in the merest glimmer of a smile and thought contentedly to himself;

<Good, he has not yet forgotten me.>

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