Her dark eyes shifted between the amber, almost golden eyes of the woman shrieking on the bed before her, to the stoic and cold Sultan who lounged lazily on the other side of the room. He busied himself with one of his many wives on his lap, completely unphased by the chaos that had broken out over the past hours in the small bedroom while two more of his wives in addition to herself tended to who should have been his most prized wife.

"She needs a real doctor!" Zara remembered urging, pleading with the large man who barely blinked, only sitting back in defiance with his arms crossed over his chest while a woman who could barely be described as pretty sat on his knee and stroked his thick black beard. The Sultan's wives rushed frantically around the tiny room, the poor woman they worked over focused her grip on Zara's shaking hand as though she could somehow transfer some of her pain onto the older woman. If she could have, she would have gladly accepted it.

Tahira screamed again, grasping at Zara's hand trying to breathe the way she told her to. Fear was absent in her face which grew pale in comparison to her unflawed sunkissed skin. Her silken black hair was matted and plastered to her angelic face and it made Zara afraid for her. Zara had stayed in servitude to the Sultan out of pure fear for decades, watching the brutish man take wife after wife without ever bearing a son. The Sultan was a horrid man for more reasons than Tahira's misery, for more than his decimation of her own life- though Zara would say this day was what made him a monster.

Tahira was a great beauty from a neighboring country. She was still young and mysterious with amber colored eyes and long waves of the blackest silk for hair. As one of the Sultan's many wives, she exhibited a kindness and generosity that his other wives lacked and a free spirit that ultimately attracted their tyrant of a ruler. The Sultan sought to break her spirit, ripping her from her family and forcing her hand as his wife. She'd been raped repeatedly and beaten, and yet Tahira's spirit never broke. Zara remembered dancing with her in celebration when she found that she was with child, the younger girl announcing that she would have the most beautiful Son that ever lived. That he would be strong, a great and a powerful King, beloved by his people. Zara thought perhaps she told herself this because it would make her feel better about the child conceived by force by the very King that brought the two women so much pain. The Mother's easy smile and bright eyes told her that it was merely a Mother's hope for her Son.

She knew that Tahira clung to this even now, her frantic eyes meeting hers again before the Mother clenched her eyes and shrieked. Zara refused to leave her side, ignoring the pain in her bones from hard grasp she held on her hand. The two women had each other if nothing else, the vanity and fear of the other wives kept them divided with untold jealousy that the newest wife would give the Sultan a Son.

"Push.." She urged Tahira quietly, pressing a wet cold rag on the woman's forehead. She took a breath and complied with another shrill scream. They had been at this for hours, Zara became concerned that there was more blood than there should have been, too much pain, and yet the Sultan was contented to sit back in near boredom without bothering to supply an inch of concern or even a needed call for a doctor. "Push" She urged again after a few moments, fighting the urge to glare at her Sultan. She'd seen servants killed for less.

The night was waning when one of the other wives called out, and a strong cry was heard after a few longer moments of Tahira's hoarse screams. The mother was pale, and yet she smiled weakly. Her lip quivered, arms reaching out shakily to silently ask for what she always knew would be her Son, even if no one else knew.

"Shhh... rest a moment, I'll retrieve him for you." Zara whispered, motioning for one of the wives to bring Tahira some water. As she stepped away, flexing her hand that had almost been crushed during the labor, her black eyes widened when they fell on the crying baby in one of the wife's arms as he was cut from his chord. A younger girl began to clean him off with a towel Zara hoped was clean, and it took her a moment to accept what she was seeing.

His skin was consistent with that of their people, darkened by a Sun he hadn't met yet and a bit red from being so new. The boy had a lot of hair and somehow the fine hairs that marked his head were a stark silver shade. Seemingly a small concern but instead of the standard deep black or brown standard to their people, it wasn't blonde or red- but silver. It could scarcely be called grey or white, there was a luminocity to it even in its dampened state that prevented such a bland description. Zara stepped forward to gather the baby from the wife who began to shout at the Sultan that his Son was a Bastard, or abomination.

The woman was dealt with swiftly by the hard slap of the back of his hand across her face, yelling curses at her while she fell to the floor in customary tears. Zara had more important matters to tend to, and stepped slowly back to the Mother with her Son who had calmed his cries. A shame really that the Sultan was so monstrous, he had been handsome long ago, turned rounder around his strong frame, face masked with anger always since in his gluttony nothing was ever enough. Zara knew Tahira would have rather shared the moment with a loving husband, been made wife to a gracious King.

Tahira gladly accepted the baby from her arms, both ignoring the chaos that continued to erupt behind them with tearful smiles. The babe was beautiful, eyes a light grey though Zara had a notion that they would not darken as he grew in the coming weeks but remain the slate grey that they appeared now, if anything they would sharpen and become much clearer. She could see that Tahira was fading, her lips a pale white shade, quivering with tears perhaps because she knew that she would leave her Son far too soon. Zara fought tears of her own, not knowing how to help the Mother who had only just met her child.

The Sultan nearly slipped on blood that continued to drip onto the floor in his haste to see the abominable child. Tahira still had it in her brilliant soul to smile up at the baby's father, who sneered at the silver hairs on his head that stood out against his reddish skin. The Sultan thought he was immortal and while the thought of a Son brought him pride, he talked of never relinquishing his throne. He pulled a large knife from his belt, Tahira far too weak to fight it, and Zara didn't dare interfere out of purely selfish fear.

"Ghost child!... demon child!" The Sultan growled in a primitive manner he had about him, his eyes two glowing black coals of hatred at the bundle currently suckling hungrily at his Mother who could scarcely keep her eyes opened. Tahira held the baby closer as if to shield him, proving ineffective the weaker she got. Zara knew she would be lost in mere moments, panic rising to her dark eyes when they met the mother's amber colored ones that became so bright with a sudden determination at the sight of his blade. It was as though some untold prophecy was whispered to Tahira as her gaze sharpened. The older woman left to watch with wide and frightened eyes as fate seemingly intervened between the Sultan's blade and the young wife who's spirit had yet to be broken even in her final moments. Tahira didn't fear the knife's edge, but offered protection to the boy she loved so very much.

"You will call him Kunzite..." Her voice was a mere breath, and it was enough to halt the knife before the Sultan could bring it down upon Mother and Child. "He is my Kunzite... my one true love... Kunzite..." No one even regarded the Sultan who fell back, dropping his knife to the bloodstained floor. Zara's eyes were locked on Tahira who stared back at her, who was already dead.

Kunzite's cries were all she could hear and yet she could scarcely gather herself enough to pull him from his Mother's arms. The Sultan stared wide eyed at the dead woman on the bed, still wrapped in fine silks, still not asking after his son who now had a name. There were legends about names in the Four Kingdoms about Kings to rise from them, named for prominent and meaningful stones and the attributes they possessed. Something about Heaven-born beings mating with humans to create something unique and magical which lead Zara to think perhaps Tahira was a true Angel. Kunzite was perhaps the most important stone of that time, a pale pink stone that spoke of connectivity of souls and true love, a bond between Mother and child as well as soulmates.

"Clean this up." The Sultan bit at her with a cold growl, glaring at Zara with the screaming baby in her arms he seemed to no longer acknowledge. She sniffled, nodding affirmatively with hope that Middle Eastern ruler would just leave them be for a moment. It wasn't until his imposing frame left the room that she began her work.

"You!" She pointed at one of the younger brides who peered back fearfully. "Find a proper Midwife right away- this baby needs milk. Go!" The girl ran off toward the town, leaving Zara to begin barking her orders for the blood to be cleaned and the body moved to a cooler location. If she could do anything for the poor woman, so beloved by their people, it was to see that she receive proper burial. She knew the Sultan would sooner toss her remains to desert scavengers, if nothing else than for giving birth to this rather remarkable looking child.

Zara stayed with Kunzite. Too old to act as a proper Mother already, she took it upon herself to hire the Midwife to stay with them and provide the baby with nourishment. The Sultan wouldn't know better, for he kept his fortunes for himself while the rest of their people starved and as long as she conducted her duties as head of his house staff she would be safe. Judging by the haunted look on his face when the babe was named, she knew that Kunzite would not go forgotten by him. Zara scribed a letter that night, to the dignitary of their people that resided in Elysium as their Kingdom's representation to the throne. If there was anyone on the planet that could provide the child with protection, it was Earth's so very gracious King.

Whispers through their city of Kunzite's birth did not speak of abomination, but of Angelic descent based on his poor Mother, and the beauty of his features. Days passed, and as Zara thought, his eyes did not darken, his hair grew ever more vibrant and his features a bit clearer. Their Sultan relented for the moment on delivering the child to his mother in death though it was a daily threat that had her keeping Kunzite tucked safely in her room. Otherwise the Sultan would have to kill her as well and Zara found herself with a courage she hadn't had before. If she was to die protecting this child, it would be an honorable death. It was a mere tense few days before Elysium returned her prayers.

Zara shifted the sleeping bundle in her arms, juggling the constant wiping of tears to accept the urgent message from Elysium. She sniffled, speaking her gratitude to the armored guard in a language he would no doubt not understand. The parchment wrinkled in her shaking hand, rough scroll in their language from the dignitary for their country outlining wishes from the King of Earth himself. The Sultan would not be pleased.

Zara watched the guard load the body of Kunzite's Mother into a horse drawn transport. She held surprisingly well in the cool cellar beneath the palace but it brought her to tears to know that King Adrian specifically asked that her body be buried in Elysium Fields, that the Sultan was under strict orders to not harm a hair on Kunzite's head and Zara was to send letters on his progress through the years. The King had even sent his own doctor to examine the baby, pleased to hear that little Kunzite was stronger than strong as far as infants went. She wasn't an educated woman, but knew the stories about Elysium and the Guardians of the Four Realms, Four Heavenly Kings- the Shitennou. She also wasn't daft so the older woman was quick to connect the dots of the Elysian King's suspicions.

The rest of the world had always thought Elysian Royalty was a little crazy. They defended their stance with the Moon Goddess and Zara had never paid it all much mind until now. All she knew in that moment when Kunzite stared up at her, wide eyed and somewhat knowing, that this boy was special.

The years that went by were tense ones. The Sultan was not pleased by the arrangement with Elysium and was fast to start a war as a temper tantrum in defiance of his King. Zara was never allowed to have children of her own, often fearful that her lack of maternal instinct was far more harmful than good to Kunzite who spoke rather well by the age of three. The Sultan was absent, and Kunzite was left to tutors and given the smallest wooden sword to begin training with. Child's play really so Zara told herself, but Kunzite's eyes were too cold for a child's and absent father or no- she knew that the boy saw his Father's shortcomings and sometimes felt them.

It wasn't uncommon for Zara to find Kunzite with a black eye or the impression of fingers bruised into his skin. He fell mute shortly into his fourth year because the boy was relentlessly inquisitive, always asking questions. He would sing loudly and entertain the older maids of the house, he brought a life that had been lost when Tahira died back and the Sultan stole his voice, but did not break his spirit.

Kunzite was smart, his skill with a pen more than made up for his lack of skill with the voice he refused to utilize. He was more literate than some of the adults in the palace, and spent more time watching the Sultan's armies train than indulging in the studies of the Planetary Relations around them. He listened, and seemed to hear with an awareness of his surroundings that set Zara on edge, there was no hiding anything from the small Prince since he was ever so silent.

She continued her correspondence to the King of Elysium who began to communicate with her directly as opposed to through a translator. Kunzite was nearly turning five when King Adrian sent her a letter that took her breath away.

"Dear Zara,

I hope this finds you well in the heat of the Summer Months. We are preparing to welcome our own Prince into the world and the thought has befallen me more than once that the coming of the Four Kings has been upon us perhaps since your first letter about Kunzite's arrival. I am planning to offer your young Sultan sanctuary here in Elysium since your last letter describes not a child, but a man.

I fear Kunzite's exposure to the abuse he has been subjected to, as well as the Sultan's rather inappropriate behaviors toward women in his presence will only further damage the boy in his upbringing. It will be decided if he is a Legendary King or if he will be returned to the Middle East after a proper education and training here amongst other boys somewhat near his age. A boy of five years does not need to mingle with the likes of your Army's generals and no one else his own age. Certainly not a father who beats his own heir- it does not sit well in the ideals that I strive so hard to reflect to our Interplanetary Partner. Nor does it raise fruitful heirs. Your devotion to him will earn your place beside us here so you can continue to care for him, if you wish.

Your Ever Faithful King,

Crown of the Golden Rose; Adrian"

The letter was promptly burned of course, but a new hope blazed within the older woman who swept the sand from the palace's beige marble floors with a light hum and extra sway in her full hips. Zara was a homely woman, perhaps once beautiful before the Sultan took her for a servant the way he took everything, against her will. Her back was hunched from carrying heavy pails of water and leaning over a laundry tub for too long and grey had begun to seep its way into her thick, coarse black hair which was always worn in a braid over her shoulder. Zara took joy as it came which wasn't often between silent hours with Kunzite as he studied.

Words of war clung to the air around them constantly. Their people were poor and starving, becoming more desperate by the day as it was bad enough that they lived in fear on top of it all. A neighboring tribe was the threat this week, a threat the rash Sultan welcomed with arrogance. Against orders from the Golden Kingdom, their ruler gathered his armies and marched without a backwards glance at the Son he left behind.

Kunzite stood beside Zara, his grey eyes untelling of emotion really. He'd stopped holding his Nanny's hand though she missed his small hand in hers. He refused to allow her to cut his hair, already nearly reaching his shoulders in length, Zara assumed it was in defiance of his Father who merely referred to him as the "Ghost Child." She went to speak, to tell him to head back inside to finish his studies when her black eyes met his grey.

Zara was taken aback by the beauty of the boy who defied his looks with frowns and this hardened gaze he gave her now. Instead of complying with what he probably already knew she was going to command of him, he squared his shoulders and walked away into the hot Sun toward the sandy training grounds where he spent most of his time. She deflated, calling after him only to be ignored. She couldn't know that Kunzite was upset, she'd never be able to tell because this was the day he began to hide emotions.

The letter came nearly two years later. Kunzite was six now and Zara not weathering well in her years but she remained sturdy as she could. She frowned, holding the letter in her hands that spoke of a new path for the young Prince, and not the path she'd hoped for. She groaned when she kneeled in front of him, Kunzite hadn't spoken in two years now but she'd begun to notice how his face shifted, cold eyes following hers as they became level with his own.

"The Sultan has fallen. He will return home in a weeks time." A normal child would have fallen to tears at the news, and had Kunzite not just been left alone in the world with tremendous weight falling to his shoulders, she might have celebrated his death. The boy stared at her, silently taking the piece of paper from her shaking fingers and she watched his grey eyes dance over the paper slowly while he absorbed the words. Zara thought it wasn't fair, for a boy of only six being crowned as Sultan. She wondered of the offer King Adrian had extended, for the beaten boy to live in Elysium amongst the gilded beauty and regality that would have served his upbringing better.

Kunzite was dressed in thin and colorful robes at the Sultan's funeral. Standing silently beside her when the head of their armies handed him a blazing torch. He didn't flinch when the pyre erupted into flame, the warm colors of the fire strangely not reflecting in his eyes but the blue of the sky and greens of the oasis reflecting in them instead. The ceremony wasn't long, no one had honoring words to say for the monstrous man their Sultan was. There was little hope that Kunzite would fare much better, his youth did not lend much to be desired either.

A council of men had been put in place during the wars the Sultan had been away for. It was well known they weren't effective mostly because of the former ruler's lack of cooperation on any laws or areas that were in dire need of improvement. Unfortunately Kunzite's father's reign consisted of a collections of wives he cared nothing for, pointless war with is own countires, rape, pillage, and unrestrained gluttony. One of these men now stepped forward, kneeling before their young King.

"My Lord, in wake of this... tragedy...my council is happy to serve in any way that we can. Might I suggest a briefing of our findings over the years? There is frankly much to discuss on the state of things."

Zara opened her mouth, shifting in preparation to protest his forward approach at the funeral of the boy's father. She didn't know if Kunzite mourned, or if he was complacent. His facial expressions were often blank masks of ambiguity, she never knew what the boy was thinking or feeling and yet Kunzite still had the ability to surprise them all. The fire that consumed his Father's body had not yet gone out when Kunzite turned his back on the display to say the first words he'd spoken in two years. Kunzite took a few steps toward one of the diplomats that had otherwise gone ignored by their previous King with child-like determination.

"See to it."

Zara was left dumbfounded with the rest of them as the boy walked away from the funeral. He was tall for his age, and far too smart. There was no need to hide her correspondence to Elysium now, and since Kunzite immediately moved into his Father's quarters, she was alone for the first time in six years.

True to plan, Kunzite met with the council of men already breaching the middle of their years. It was almost comical to see the young boy perched at the head of a long table with his sandaled feet scarcely touching the floor in robes that were almost too big for him yet. There were experts from financial advisors and economic researchers, lawmen, tradesmen, an overwhelming amount of responsibility that Zara noted Kunzite seemed to struggle under. Zara found it endearing that he insisted she be present alongside his tutors, it was only later that she realized how smart it was of him to have these people present so he could better understand what they talked about.

The meeting was far longer than any of his study sessions, some of the older men grew impatient with their young King who asked more questions than they were comfortable with, and even checked his math and ideas with tutors before coming to any decision. The process took longer of course but the result shocking and fruitful. Zara was only happy to hear the young boy's voice.

"Given the fortunes hoarded by my Father..." Kunzite's wide grey eyes shifted over to his tutor, a sign that he was unsure of his words though his tone would have suggested otherwise. "I think we can provide interim salaries for rations... until trade is established better?" His tutor, and older man with a greying beard and glasses smiled warmly and nodded, quietly pointing to some numbers they'd scrawled out together on a worn parchment with one hand, and placing a reassuring hand at Kunzite's back with another.

It was another couple of hours while arrangements were made and written up, Zara could see Kunzite visibly start to squirm in his seat but gave him credit for his patience at such a young age was impressive. He didn't smile persay, but she could see the makings of one on his mouth, eyes lit from within when he declared a feast for his household which had grown considerably in the days following the Sultan's funeral. Kunzite had the council move into the palace along with some of the army's leaders much to Zara's dislike. They tended to be much cruder than she wanted as an example for the young Sultan but wasn't in a place to argue.

It was his resolute proclamation that made Zara wary, for the young King's cold stare had weight at the age of six that most tribe commanders sought to hold in the prime of their years. Word spread to the neighboring kingdoms of the Child King and the turnaround of their people's famine over the next months. The former Sultan was beyond greedy, hoarding gold and more food than Kunzite and his house staff could eat combined- not that the former King had even given enough to his own staff. Kunzite saw to it that they all had plenty.

There were immediate and drastic differences in the house staff once well fed and more at ease without the old Sultan's violence and brutality to fear. Kunzite however, even in his youth, was swift to show them all he wasn't to be underestimated. His frail child-like body was clearly frustrating to him but he moved the Army Commander into the Palace with his family to have at least a method of authority present. Thankfully what Kunzite saw as out of line was far more lenient than his Father's vision.

Zara noted the many changes happening around her with a breath of fresh air she hadn't been able to breathe in decades. Kunzite dismissed his Father's wives, some calling it cruel since they would no doubt be possessions of the nearest whorehouse with no husband to keep them. The boy had a rather open disdain for the women and no further use for them though it seemed he had a much greater use of the house the old Sultan held them in. Kunzite had it fixed up, as much as a boy knew a house needed fixing, and gifted it to Zara so she would be close to continue her duties, and live a more comfortable life. She'd cried when he announced it to her, hugging him whether he liked it or not because her heart was so full that the seemingly cold child was not truly devoid of feelings.

Kunzite was damaged, this much was clear and justified given who his Father was. Without a Mother, his every joy had been snuffed out by the late Sultan who spat at the boy and bloodied and bruised him at every small sign of happiness in the small child, confusing him with violence that seemed to stem merely from boredom most days. In his silent years it was clear the boy became an observer, no longer playing or singing but he paid close attention to everything his late Father did, and mostly the things he didn't do. Zara had seen him flinch at someone's abrupt movement or at a minor show of affection toward him and yet his spirit was not broken. Especially once freed from his tormenting Father, all the pain and hurt seemed to fuel Kunzite along with a determination Zara had only ever seen from his mother.

The Gods knew she tried, but Kunzite had never known love in a true sense of the word. She had given him affection, and doted on him as much as she could but the boy was often left alone to his vices while she tended to her duties of the house or suffer punishment for becoming lax. Kunzite learned loathing from his father, and as often as Zara told him of the deep love his Mother had for him, he would experience none of it. She was only all too happy to watch him flourish beneath the pressure and weight of new responsibilities, glad he wasn't alone to face them.

As her days became harder, for no reason than her age, Zara watched as Kunzite grew into a solid young man. He was coming out of his awkward stage by the age of fourteen, baffling his people by his strange and sharp beauty that had begun to take shape. He looked like their people, and didn't all at once. One would have to look closely to see the telling signs that he was born of their region yet there was no denying his bloodline. Zara would smile, seeing much of his Mother in his appearance, and it feared her the more she saw his Father in his personality. It was different and concerning all at once the way his anger could flare so easily, his voice once suppressed was thundering with sharp command. With his unrelenting training sessions with the Army Commander he spent so much time with, it was clear his body was becoming as strong as his mind, the few servants he'd reprimanded were likely to agree.

Initially it was against Zara's will that he train so hard, and he was fast to remind her that it wasn't her concern. He'd grown tall, body forming well with hours of hard training and his mind was even better developed by years of observation and hundreds of books he read in his early years by the solitude he was given. When Kunzite wasn't training, he spent his time with the other diplomats, a board of men he'd gathered in his growing years to aid his knowledge of the lands and Kingdoms around them. A council that had always been there, yet seemed to have formed in preparation for something he himself couldn't have explained, young up and coming men who valued education and seemed to hold mutual interest in the betterment of their lands. Aside from feeding his people at the age of six, with the council's aid, Kunzite's major victory at fourteen was open trade.

The King of Elysium had a harsh hold on his lands under the old King. The Middle East was borderline banished from the rest of the world because of the monstrosity of it's ruler, lifted only after his passing to see what the new young Sultan would do. It took him eight years but one by one the surrounding Kingdoms of his own land, and even that of the other three regions around them agreed to open trade. This was huge, opening venues of revenue and opportunity for his people to flourish and the rich culture of his lands to spill out over the surrounding areas to be adored and admired by all.

By the time Kunzite reached sixteen, Zara's concerns broadened when she'd first found the young Sultan with a woman in his bed. His beauty and unique appearance was becoming something of a legend which certainly drew out the hoards of women seeking to be one of his wives since he was now of age. Of course Zara was a much older woman by now, flushing to the roots of her hair when she was summoned to his room to find his state of undress with a very naked woman at his side. She turned her back quickly, but not quick enough that she didn't see bruises on the flesh of the woman beside him.

"Master, pardon the intrusion and my crass words, but just because I changed your diapers and bathed you as a child does not mean you may summon me to your rooms in such a manner. Cover yourself at once." Zara frowned, gazing at the intricate tilework that framed the chamber doors once belonging to his Father with her arms crossed at her chest. The faint hint of incense lingered in the air that mingled with the spiced oils the Sultan grew fond of. It was a unique smell that was his and it made her heart sink with the notion that he'd be cruel in actions that were supposed to be the result of affection. "Are you injured miss?"

"She is fine." She could hear Kunzite shifting, the sound of fabric in motion as he dressed.

"Respect Sultan, I did not ask you." Zara peeked, shifting her black eyes becoming laced with cataracts in her age to ensure he was dressed. When she was certain he was, she regarded the woman whose eyes darted nervously between him and herself as she clutched the sheets to her chest to cover herself. The bruises on her wrists were dark. Kunzite's brow raised, staring hard at her as though he dared her to speak. Zara was no stranger to the fear in the girl's eyes. "Miss? I ask again, are you injured?"

The woman shook her head slowly, shifting nervously beneath the silk sheets.

"No ma'am... bruised... but he did not mean to hurt me. He's merely passionate." Her voice was small, the tone of a battered girl that set rage into the older woman's bones.

"Leave." Kunzite spat behind him at the girl, stepping toward a mirror to comb through the starlight of his hair. He never spoke much, but when he did there was command to it, sometimes ice that the older woman knew given the life he's had to not take offense. Everyone else seemed to suffer beneath it. The girl scrambled from the bed to pull on her dress, refusing eye contact when she rushed from the door with the laces on her garment scarcely done.

Zara huffed, stomping across the room toward the young Sultan who already looked very much like a man but proving himself still very much a boy in his actions. It was difficult for her to reach anymore, but she defied her aging bones to grab hard at his earlobe and dragged him back toward his bed with a harsh yank.

"Zara what the-"

"LISTEN to me RIGHT NOW Lord Kunzite... " Zara's tone took Kunzite aback, his eyes grew wide, and for the first time in ten years she saw fear in the pale grey depths that betrayed his hard commanding presence for once. "Your mother would be ashamed and your Father proud. Will you be the saint or the tyrant?" Her fists found her round hips, pleased that shame washed over his otherwise handsome features.

"I- I didn't mean to harm her..." He muttered, staring off to the side toward one of his finely carved bedposts. It could have gone one of two ways. He could have become enraged with untold brutalities toward her boldness, or Zara would judge his character by the shame he showed now and know that he meant it. "I know Father was unkind to my Mother... "

"Your father was unkind to all woman Sultan. I thought maybe I had schooled you better. You're strong for a boy your age... stronger than most men twice your age even. Don't underestimate the strength of women but most won't be able to stand up to a man of your power." Kunzite nodded, still staring at the floor and trying to hide behind a curtain of his silver hair. "Remember...don't ever think a woman is less powerful than yourself. You may hold strength over her, you may not, but know that a woman's resourcefulness can topple entire Kingdoms."

"It's just... she didn't seem to mind." His voice was more timid than she was used to, and Zara looked away awkwardly, her face flushing a deeper red than it had earlier when she came into the room.

"Mind or not... I won't hear of you hurting women or anyone that doesn't require punishment. You're better than that. Rest her soul, your Mother knew you were better than that before you were born so you'd do well to make her proud. Hm?" In efforts to lighten the mood, she lifted the boy's chin and smiled warmly. Zara knew he wouldn't smile back, but that serious mask he wore washed back over his features, his nod was the only affirmation she really needed. It did little to help however, whispers around town of the Sultan's newfound appetite gave her a new source of embarrassment each day. She was too much of a coward to inquire about it further with him. It helped that women did not regard him with fear, and only mildly bothered her that they lusted rather openly for him. To Zara, Kunzite was very much still a child.

His next bold, idiot move, was to go to war. Not of his own devices but there were tribes bitter with the actions of their past King that threatened the otherwise quiet contentment of their slowly prospering lands. Rulers that sought to overthrow the Sultan and hail a new leader as King of their realm. So Kunzite saddled up beside their own Army Commander and rode off into the sands declaring that he would be no coward King, but one to fight for his people with sweat and blood. To fight and earn the title that was rightfully his own. Not that he was a man for speeches at all. He'd written it for the head of his council that he kept in place even now when his skill in diplomacy and economics had become unmatched in any region due to years of study, and it would be that same council to run the Kingdom in his absence. It wasn't the first time he'd gone to war, Kunzite had participated in smaller skirmishes since he was fourteen and always scared the life out of Zara but this battle was proving to be worse than imagined.

He was eighteen the next time she saw him, two years of written letters and absence of the boy that Zara loved so dearly as the Son she'd never have. It wasn't a surprise that it was on a stretcher, bloodied and near death. Zara was grey now, her face plump and wrinkled from hard days of work in the beating Sun, her black eyes wide with worry while doctors worked tirelessly over the King the way they never would have over his Father. They would have left him to die she was certain, but Kunzite was widely respected and feared simultaneously because not only was there something so vastly strange about him as a man, he was a unique ruler for their region in his virtuous ideals.

Zara settled into a chair outside the King's chamber where his screams could be heard while doctors tried to sew shut his wounds and set broken bones. They were more feral growls than screams, because if she knew anything about him as a man, it was that Kunzite showed no weakness. A scribe and the new Army Commander sat in the airy walkway outside the King's chamber to document the war so that the world could know of a new hero found in their King.

"He was as the wind... sweeping silently through the blood and sand with the strength of the Gods at his back. His blows were not always deadly, only when there was no other option but an entire army fell before his skill with a blade. It was unlike anything I have seen in my many wars as though he commanded Aries himself to bend before his will. Our Commander fell in the ambush of the two other tribes, but our King would not relent. Most men fell to exhaustion first but the battle seemed to fuel him forward as though loss was no option for our realm."

"The battle was with our own realm." The scribe frowned, peering up above the crude lenses that rest on his nose.

"Yes well... it was our King to best all three tribe leaders. Even after the broadsword pierced him he used the time that was against him before he bled out... and he decimated them all. Our Sultan was an Angel of War and he remains victorious." Kunzite's snarls and curses rang out from behind the door. Zara winced and acted like she might stand to go to him, but the Soldier beside her place his hand gently at her arm and shook his head slowly. "Our King...Kunzite is no normal, mortal man. He is being heralded as some God... "

It was days, weeks even, after crude surgeries and fight with infection that should have killed him if the wound didn't, that Kunzite was something of himself again. Zara tried not looking at the angry wound on his chest from what appeared to be a rather large broadsword when she came to deliver him water and broth with the news that he was awake.

"Zara.." His voice was hoarse, pale eyes hooded and drowsy when she approached his bed side. She noted that his hair had grown long, very long, and yet unlike men of stature in their lands he kept his face shaven clean. His body was tanned and strong, limbs long and muscled and he'd grown imposingly tall. Had she been a younger woman she would have been devastated by his beauty even in his weakened state where he fought infection and was ordered not to move or his wounds would open once more. He'd been riddled with scars before from smaller skirmishes, but he'd returned from this battle with angrier ones.

"I thought you would have known better than to come home in such a state. I thought we'd lost you." She scolded, eyes watering and Zara tried hard not to let him see her so affected. Her hands trembled anyway, but more so now as her fingers fidgeted with a tassel at the corner of one of his many pillows. His hand, large and warm over hers was calloused and gentle, as were his eyes when hers snapped up to his so very light grey ones against the tanned sun kissed skin of his face. She could see it, what they meant about him being some reincarnated God, or Angel only Zara couldn't picture any such thing on a battlefield. She'd seen his sharp and well defined face twisted in malice before, but it was this silent beat between them where his eyes were gentle, features relaxed and his lips even dared to quirk in the faintest of smiles. His eyes were grey instead of amber, but she almost thought she felt Tahira's spirit with them in that smile.

"I am sorry to disappoint you... but I thought it best to come home outside of a box than in one. I would rather disappoint you than make you grieve." One of her tears hit his hand when she nodded in affirmation. Kunzite reached to wipe another from her wrinkled cheek. "I fear my duties lie yet ahead of me... I felt a calling that I can't describe other than there was a white horse with dove's wings. I would call it a fever dream but those are frustrating where this one brought me peace."

The angry broadsword wound was the worst of his injuries, the swelling and bruising around one eye had faded into an olive hue but his left brow had been split open and sewn shut, ribs deep purple amongst other cuts and wounds Zara was happy to stay oblivious to.

"You've been lax in your studies of worlds outside this one... as well as the legends of your own planet. I'll bring you the book and some parchment. You may want to write to your King." She shifted on her swelling feet uncomfortably with the strange pit in her stomach at his words. "Well... I'm glad you are awake." She sniffled softly, wiping one more tear before she sat beside him on the mattress with a sly little smile. "I brought you soup. It's been some time since I've had to feed you."

"If you tell a soul..." Zara laughed gently at his empty threat, noting how his lips turned downward in a warning frown.

"I make no promises Sultan...but you need to eat."

"Zara... why would I write to the Elysian Palace after a dream?" He looked almost boyish in his curiosity, like that small boy who asked a hundred questions a minute.

"Because perhaps they are right in what they say about you Kunzite. I think maybe you are a King of Heaven."

It took him months to recover, but that first day he could stand and walk and do anything of note Kunzite promptly pulled on thin linen pants and stepped out into the fresh air of the open Palace outside his rooms. It was late morning, his pale eyes gazing out over the sands watching the golden dunes shift in the warm breeze. The towns below him were bustling already full of life. His right shoulder was still stiff even if the wound was in his chest, and though he wanted to rush down to the training grounds, knew it would still be weeks before he'd be able to lift a sword again.

A frown graced his lips at the sight of Zara just outside. She struggled in her older age with heavy buckets of water balanced carefully by a pole over her back for laundry no doubt. Kunzite took a moment to appraise the woman who raised him from an infant, saved his life, and gave him some semblance of a child hood. It wasn't her fault his Father had taken any chance of her having her own children or even a husband, the old spinster was the only family he had and could place fear in him the same way most Mother's knew how to place fear in their children. Kunzite found her beautiful now, her back hunched, wrinkled hands struggling to keep the pole balanced, how her grey hair almost matched his own in shade.

He rushed down the short flight of stairs, sand coarse beneath his feet but it was always everywhere, you get used to it. The older woman didn't hear him coming, only gazed up in surprise when he lifted the buckets from her back with his left hand and placed it gracefully over his one shoulder. She'd shrunk over the years, standing a foot and a half shorter than himself and Kunzite had somehow grown so strong. His injury forced him to learn to write, and use his left hand over his right one and so he favored his left now, but Gods save the man who met him in battle next if he switched to his right.

"But my King..." Zara began to protest, Kunzite waving her off immediately with disdain of her insistence of using formalities with him. She was the closest thing he had to a Mother, and yet remained so far from it. He gave her a scolding look with his eyes and she fell silent and unsure when he lead her to the bath house. Kunzite handed the buckets to a younger girl he'd just hired to take more responsibility from his head of house. Zara gave him a look, and Kunzite merely kept his silence, and embraced the older woman.

"Thank you...Zara... just...thank you."

Kunzite had little time. No sooner had he written the Elysian King about his dream did he receive a very specific and very formal summons. His research on the myth and legends of Elysium and the Four Kings Zara spoke of was light and incomplete and did little but feed the sense of destiny he'd felt since he was a child. All he knew was that per the letter King Adrian sent him, he was to form a system of government and rule through them from the Golden Kingdom where he would serve as a leader for the rest of his days. According to the King, Kunzite had been chosen as Commander of the Earthen Armies and Guardian of the Prince who was still a mere boy from his understanding.

It was the deep conviction of the King's scroll, how the handwriting was clearly written so feverishly of destiny and profound things like prophecy and legend. Kunzite devoted his entire life to his people, knowing of the lands the King he now served were of mythology and real all at once. It was an afterthought to the young Sultan because they were real- and therefore no longer mythology.

Deep down he always knew he was different. From his strange appearance to the way he just knew things, understood things well beyond his years. Kunzite felt the call long ago, it kept him from breaking when he'd curl up after the Sultan's harsh beatings. The man who gave him life, who should have loved and protected him as next in line to his seat did not pull his punches one bit. There weren't words enough for the pain Kunzite endured since his earliest memories, the fact that his father broke his nose once and he'd used a medical tome to try and set it himself. His nose never did sit right after that but he never had time much to think of the long term repercussions.

His people were always more important than his own personal pain and so he buried it out on the training ground, scribed it in hidden imagery in piles of reports and laws he scribed that might allow his people to prosper. Kunzite's pain was laced throughout all of his hard earned accomplishments so that he could refuse to acknowledge it on the battlefield no matter the injury. He supposed he had his Father to thank for that.

The King's letter told him that a caravan was on the way to deliver new uniform and instruction and that he had a mere few months to prepare everything else. The government he was to form was one of the many things he just knew he needed to do, since he was six and all alone in the world it seemed aside from Zara. Part of the council he'd put together of young, up and coming diplomats and scholars who had proven themselves many times over in his court.

For the moment he just held on to the older woman. Worn and beaten in her years under his father he saw that Zara never quite recovered. She'd tried to teach him so much but in his stubbornness some of it rolled right off of him, other's she'd forced him to see her view on such as her concern for the women he associated with. Kunzite could have had a harem of women, yet found the practice of many wives and collecting them like one might collect trinkets appalling. He was thirsty in his lust, an attribute perhaps passed on by his Father and yet it was the only time a woman would walk away from him with bruises. These marks however were formed by his mouth, or perhaps he became too overzealous and would grip their wrists or arms a little too tight. Nothing malicious, nothing forced, and nothing unwanted.

For what it was worth he loved Zara, not the way he might have loved his Mother but the old woman showed him that strength was as feminine as it was masculine in her iron determination, independence, and devotion. Love meant little to Kunzite who read poetry of the European Kingdom, and far fetched tales of romance and soul mates. He didn't understand them mostly because he'd never felt like that toward another soul. Sentimental emotions weren't anything he regarded with exception of the old woman always seemingly close to him.

"Come with me." He commanded in a gentle way he only used with her. She was propped up in her bed, long grey waves falling over her shoulders. Zara's eyes warmed at him, her shaking and wrinkled hand brushed his cheek affectionately, and she slowly shook her head.

"No Sultan. I am old, my body would not make the trip." She was becoming more frail, that old strength and fire in her visibly waning. Kunzite could not bear the thought of leaving her here in this vast and airy palace to die alone.

"Then I will stay." He frowned, brows furrowing. He still held such youth in him, only just a man at eighteen and had seen so many horrible things. Zara was the only good he'd ever known.

"No... you know in your heart that you cannot. But you will not leave me little Kunzite, I'll be with you as much as you'll be with me." The wrinkles around her eyes deepened as she smiled, her black eyes gleaming lively in the dim light of the fire in her hearth. It seemed she was always cold these days. "Just the way your Mother has always been with you."

Kunzite would never admit that he was afraid. She had always been there to guide him and set him straight when his temper got the best of him. A security and a comfort he wasn't sure he could part from. She was right as usual- his heart knew he that something was waiting for him. A pull too strong to ignore. Kunzite gave the woman a solemn nod, standing slowly to press a kiss to the top of her head before he'd disappear into the cool desert night.