Souta:


    My procession carries me in a palanquin dubbed “Heaven’s Litter.” I am enclosed in a lavish box with carvings of cats and tigers etched into the scarlet brown wood. Three slits grant me views of the Giant’s Glades: the wavering fields that dominate the Mid-Eastern lands of Katal, till they are bounded by the Covetous Mountains, where my home resides. It is my first time out. Ever. And they put me in a box.


    Still, I understand. They say it is for my safety. Uncle is careful like that. Paranoid at times.


    I clutch the amulet of emerald and steel, tossing it between both of my hands. If Masaru saw me doing this, he’d probably scold me. He’d say something like: ‘Souta, don’t play with your life so easily!’ in that stern voice of his. I smile at the thought, tossing the amulet at a faster pace now.


    Then, someone knocks on the sliding door of the palanquin.


    “Young Shogun, your Uncle wishes you to exit,” one of my guards say. I wrap the amulet chain around my neck and open the sliding door. The poor palanquin bearers finally get a break, setting the unwieldy wooden carriage on the ground and allowing me to exit. I stand at half their size, which annoys me. Uncle always tells me I’m due for a growth spurt. But I’ve heard rumors from other children that men stop growing after their thirteenth winter, which is said to be upon us soon.


    Regardless, I try my best to look dignified. I wear a slick green and black war uniform with golden tassels and a dark green cape clasped to my shoulders, bearing the insignia of Clan Sorayvlad: the wind bass spirit in a storm. A katana and its smaller brethren sword called the wakizashi, lay at my side. Their scabbards are intricately ordained.


    Walking past my bearers, I find my Uncle at the head of our plodding line. He surveys the glades with a scope; his eyes are weary from long-nights of traveling. It is he who leads our armies, conducts our strategy. He who advises me.


    When he spots me, he smiles.


    “Come and see, Souta. See the histories of these lands,” he says, pushing me gently forward. He gives me the scope and through it, in the far distance of the green glades, illuminated by golden rays of sunlight, glints a giant short arms sword of Western make stuck deep in the ground. It stands half the size of a mountain bearing over the land like a pillar of heaven itself.


    And it is not alone.


    More swords and spears lay near it, similarly stabbing into the world itself. Some of them have bands and tassels attached to their hilts, which flap majestically in the high winds.


    The sight amazes me. Never have I seen such a field.


    “What is it Uncle?” I ask, handing him the scope


    “This is the Giant’s Glade for a reason boy; it was dubbed so because long ago, the angels cast forth their blades and weapons upon the burgeoning djinn folk of the mountains, who sought to invade the heavens. These are the remnants of their battle.”


    “Woah,” is all I can say in response. I see my uncle smiling from the corner of my eye. For his age, Masaru looks fairly young. His skin is not too wrinkled and his body is lean; he was probably extremely handsome in his youth. Though he never does talk about his past. Not even when I prod him.


    “One day,” he begins, placing a strong hand on my shoulder. “They will talk about our war like they speak of this battle. They will hold us, hold you, young master, in the same regard that they hold the angels. Do you know why?”


    I can guess, but I play along, shaking my head.


    Masaru smiles. “It is because you wield the angel dust and you lead our armies against the evil whims of the Western Kingdoms. Look to the East, Masaru. Look at these poor people.” He places his hand on my head and makes me gawk at the sick. The plagued mass travels beyond us, with some of our men moving them along with spirit tigers and swords. It is a sea of rotting humanity that spreads out before us.


    “They came to us for help because their Kingdoms and villages failed them. They might not see it now, but we will save them. You will save all of them. For that is your destiny Souta,” Masaru tells me. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    “My… destiny?” I ask. He speaks of this vague destiny sometimes, but never elaborates.


    This time however, he does: “Your destiny is to wield the Dragon Blade and become the holder of Nine Eastern Dragons. And, conquering Catolica, saving these people, is merely the first step we must take towards that destiny.”


    “I understand Uncle. I think,” I say. Though these grand ideals of destiny and valor bore me, I want to please him. He has always been good to me. It''s time I pay him back.


    “Good. I knew you would Souta. You’re a smart boy. Now,” he stares forward, a darker look clouding his eyes. “Let’s continue forth.”


    …


    Raiten:


    I get a few hours of sleep at Sorina’s behest. At first, I’m tempted to argue against her, but I give in when she tells me, “You’ll be fighting actual soldiers. You can’t do that red-eyed and dreary.”


    When I wake up, Sorina and Kara’s band are backing up our camp. She tells me that we are meant to head to their campsite and tell the forty-some Havenmarchers of our plan. Apparently, they also have more fighters to spare at their camp. ‘Fighters’. More so just able bodied men and women, like Kara’s band.


    As we cut through the woods, off the treaded-path, we cross the creek and slash our way through the denser brush. The forest is eerily quiet this morning. It sets me on edge; there’s always at least some sound, some birds chirping or frogs croaking. It makes me wonder what happened to those animals.


    Did the plague get them too?


    I have so many questions about the plague that keep coming forth. Why does it mostly turn children? Why did Lizzy, the shepherd lizard, seem to go manic upon contracting the plague? Does it work faster on animals? Does it affect the minds of those infected?


    One of the swordswoman of Kara’s band walks next to me. It’s that fighter who gave me the toughest scrap of the entire group; the one whose leg I had to kick in. She keeps giving me weird stares. I don’t know why at first.


    When she does it for long enough, I ask her, “Is everything alright?”


    “Sorry,” she says, blushing slightly. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”


    Our voices are so loud, only because of the lack of other sounds. As to not disturb the group, I slow my pace and fall to the back of the line, behind Sorina and her mist-cloud. Umbrahorn scouts up ahead, rummaging underground.


    “I just wanted to ask: what are you?” the woman prods.


    “Meaning?”


    “How do you heal like that? How do you… fight like—”


    “An animal?”


    She chuckles. “I wasn’t going to be so mean about it, but sure. Like an animal.”


    “The truth isn’t mean,” Sorina says from ahead of us. “Don’t be sorry. He does fight like a dog.”


    I give Sorina a glare, which she returns with a smile. Then, she moves on ahead of us, giving me some peace. Well, at least you don’t have to kick trees today.


    “Before I answer that, what’s your name?” I ask.


    She tugs her brown hair back and smiles. “Hilda.”


    “Well, Hilda, I fight like an animal mostly because that woman ahead of us, Sorina, treats me like an animal when she trains me.” And I also used to imitate the fighting styles of creatures that attacked me in the Thunder Tower, but she doesn’t need to know that.


    Hilda looks somewhat shocked at this. “She’s your teacher?”


    “Believe it or not, she’s a much better fighter than me.” Our walking slows to a full halt as the group continues on ahead of us.


    “Woah. I thought she was too… pretty to be a fighter,” she says, an edge of teasing in her voice. I don’t know what to make of that comment.


    “She’s probably the second best fighter I’ve known.”


    “What about your regeneration? What are you?” she asks, ignoring my remark.


    “That’s… quite the question.” I don’t know this woman. I could just lie to her. But, before I even get the chance to do that, I see something shuffling in the brush to our left.


    A low snarl emanates from it.


    Cursing, I push Hilda out of the way, unsheath her sword, and give the brush of thorns and bushels a WHACK!!


    “What are you—” she begins, but I shush her, closing my eyes and listening.


    No sound.


    Then, a lower growling. Ramping up.


    Getting closer.


    The sound of scraping claws.


    My left hand instinctively goes for the amulet sack, but I resist, clutching the sword instead. Hilda hides behind me, hands on my shoulder. She hears it too.


    Silence reigns.


    Hilda’s heavy, fearful breaths eclipse mine.


    “When I say run, you better sprint. Understood?” I ask.


    “But —”


    “Trust me. We are being hunted by something very smart,” I say. I don’t really know how I can tell, but some instinct screams at me now. Some instinct I gained in my years of fighting monsters at the tower.


    My eyes search the forest. The trees are more spread out here than in the Red Cherry Forest, but the brush and the thorn are more dense.


    Something rustles above me.


    My hair stands on end.


    I sigh. I know what this is.


    So I look at Hilda and nod: “Run.”