The
village was under attack. The bodies of men, women, and children who had been at
peace with everyone for decades now lay sprawled out like rag dolls in the blood
stained snow. Homes were burned to the ground, reducing lives and memories to
ashes. What had taken lifetimes to build was gone in a cloud of smoke.
Left
standing in the debris was a single child, barely five years old. Huddled in the
dead mother's arms, so silent and still that the marauders passed by without a
second thought. Lonely child, clinging to mother's bloody robes for warmth,
trying to stop the inevitable tears.
"Okaa-san,
please, get up." Such a choked voice; words come out only as a whisper.
"Okaa-san, please hurry, they could be coming back." A gentle tugging
on her shirt yielded only the mother's most prized possession, adding to the
little one's grief.
"She
can't hear you anymore." A cold man's voice startled the child, who looked
at him through wide and innocent eyes.
"Akahousii-sama!"
No, not just innocence, trust. "Akahousii-sama, you'll help me, won't you?
Please, Akahoshii-sama?"
"Hmph."
The priest in red faced the child with icy malice. "There is nothing to be
done. She is dead, just as you will someday be."
"Rezo-sama...
please...I need your help." Now the child was begging; desparetely pleading
for a chance at life. "Rezo-sama, don't go."
"Why
not?" The wise man hovered intimidatingly over the slaughtered mother.
"What could a weakling like you have to offer that would be worth my
time?" with that condemnation, the legendary sage began to leave.
"GRANDFATHER!"
Despite the cold, the wounds, and the bitter rejection, the boy stood.
"Don't turn your back on me Grandfather!" His words caused the Red
Priest to halt.
"What
did you say?" The wise man's already soft vocie was now no more than a
hiss.
"Don't
turn your back on me." The youth reitterated. "I'm the last of your
line now. Please don't turn your back on me, Grandfather!"
Rezo
Akahoshii spun around, crimson robes standing out against the snow like fresh
blood. His sightless gaze somehow took in the boy's slender build, thin limbs,
and frail constitution.
"Hm."
Rezo twirled his staff in thought, the gentle clang of the metal rings relaxing
his frayed temper. "What's your name?"
"I
am Zelgadis Greywers, only child of Isafale, and the last living descendant of
the Red Priest." There was a certain nervous edge in his voice, which Rezo
noticed.
"And
how old are you, Zelgadis?"
"I..."
The youth paused, then cleared his throat and continued in the most adult like
voice he could manage. "Today was my birthday, sir. I just turned
five."
"Hmph."
I suppose you'd like to live to see your sixth birthday?"
"Yes
Grandfather. I would."
"Very
well. Come with me, Zelgadis. From this day on, your childhood is a lost dream.
There will be no time for you to lag about, for you have much to learn."
"Yes
Grandfather."
"And
never, ever, call me by that term of relationship again. Understand?"
"Yes
gr - yes, Rezo-sama."
"Good."