Karla: Age Seven

To the horizon and back again, Karla could see nothing but grass swaying slightly in the wind. The setting sun cast a blood-red glow over the flat terrain, blinding her but still making it possible for her to see that there was nothing around for miles. She twisted around; facing her backside was more of the grassland, quickly becoming shrouded with the shadow of night. Though it was still warm out, Karla shivered.

She peered to the right, but still no camp met her eye. Whimpering slightly, she ventured a look to the left of her small form. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it, a thin line of smoke rising. It was too far off to make out if it was her camp or not, but she was sure it was. Really, how far could she have wandered off?

Karla clutched her apron, which was filled with dry and woody grass stems, and pulled it up against her stomach protectively. Though she meant to walk, her foot hastened with every step, until she broke out into a careless run. A few twigs of her precious loot slipped out, but she did not care. She was scared being out here all alone, and she knew it was only a matter of time when there was only the moon to illuminate the plains. Then she would be truly lost.

Five figures came into view at that campfire. Karla halted and stared at them curiously. It was only her father and two of her brothers at their encampment; who were these other men? She squinted her eyes to try to recognize them, but she found that none of the men resembled her family.

Her frail body quivered as she backed off and dashed into another direction. She doubted that any of the men had caught sight of her, and she feared the idea if they had and were coming after her. Her Father had told her stories of bad men roaming Sacae and taking advantage of young girls. Finally, she collapsed, sobbing against the prickly grass. It was hopeless; she would never be found. Some nomads would stumble across her body months later, curled into a ball with tears still staining her face.

"Karla? Is that you?" a familiar voice spoke after many minutes in this position. Her head shot up and glanced around wildly. With a single hand, she rubbed the tears off her face. A shadow loomed over her, but it was no stranger. Instead, it was a blessing. "Thank Mother Earth, you're alright." It was Karel.

Her older brother held out a hand to help her up. His eyes wandered to the pile of timber that should have been used for the fire, but he shrugged, choosing to leave it be. Karla, meanwhile, dusted off her dress and tried to put on a braver appearance.

"Why are you all the way out here?" he questioned her. She shrugged and avoided his eyes. She knew their father would be angry; it was her responsibility to look after herself. Forcing others to do that was only a burden for them; it was a common childhood lesson.

"I got lost," she mumbled weakly.

"No matter," Karel said. "Let's hurry though. There is not much daylight left, and if we get stuck out here in the dark, we'll be dead meat." He turned and squatted, gesturing for her to climb on his back. Karla slipped her arms around his neck, and he lifted her from the ground.

Karla snuggled her head in the crook of his neck, enjoying the warmth of his back. The temperature was slowly dropping, and a cool wind had picked up. She lost track of the minutes as she instead timed the rhythm of his footsteps. It was a gentle beat, and it lulled her into a light doze.

When her eyes next opened, she was staring into the orange glow of the fire. She blinked a few times to clear away the grogginess before sitting upwards and yawning. Karel, her favorite brother, was no where in sight, nor was her father. Karl, the eldest son of the family, was tending to the pot hanging over the fire.

"Lot of good you are," Karl sneered after noticing she had risen. "Finally we get someone to help us with the cooking on our trips, and rather, he lets you sleep early." Karla bit her lip; she knew Karl felt strongly about the separation of feminine and masculine roles, almost as much as her father did. Yet for some reason, her father had granted her an exception this time.

"She is a young girl and has never been on such a trip before," the stern voice of her father, Jargon, spoke as if almost on cue. He stepped out from the shadows, commanding all respect and silence from his offspring. "She got lost, as I suppose should be expected of such a young, inexperienced girl, and being such, she was frightened and rendered exhausted by her trip." It was instantly understood that since she was a girl, she was not nearly as brave as Karl or Karel. But in a way, that was true. Had one of them trekked too far, they would handle the situation in a calmer manner than bursting into frenzied tears.

Karla soon felt Jargon's gaze wash over her. She murmured her apologies, and he seemed satisfied with that.

"Just remember, do not lose yourself in the city," he warned. He was speaking of Dargul. Karla had been raised in isolation for most her life, and she had been never been allowed to accompany her father and older brothers on their bimonthly trips to train, trade and make money in the Coliseum. Karel had convinced him, however, to let her tag along on this one trip. It was a victory for the both of them; Karel had been able to reason with Jargon, and Karla was granted a small freedom. Her father had just left her with a single warning: Dargul was a place of evil, and she should not afraid to shield her eyes should she see something not meant for female eyes.

"I will watch her, Father," Karel came into the circle of firelight.

"Agreed," Jargon said. "But this is an experience in which she must fend for herself. You tend to coddle her, Karel." Karel bowed his head respectfully.

"Understood, Father," he said. When Jargon left them to attend to some other matter, Karel took a seat next to Karla. He was twelve years old at this time, and even for his age, he was tall and lanky, though not nearly as tall as Karl was. An uneven mop of dark hair sat atop his head, but he kept it neat enough so that it wouldn't fall into his eyes during a fight.

"Tomorrow," he said excitedly. "You will be introduced to what our family is truly about." Karla was well aware of her heritage. Her family was a bloodline of renowned swordmasters. From a young age, she had watched her brothers train with Jargon day and night. Even the youngest in their family, four-year old Karmon, was already being subjected to small training sessions. Of course, they were all men. As a member of the female species, Karla was in charge of most menial chores along with Shalla, their mother. Though she saw the family sword hanging from the mantle, she never truly knew what it meant when it was said that one of her brothers would have to usurp the weapon from their father.

"Karel, is it scary in the city?" she ventured to ask. He shook his head.

"No, it's amazing. Much better than our little shack in the middle of nowhere," he assured her. "And the most amazing fighters gather from all around to fight at the Coliseum. But none can beat father. And one day, it'll be me out there that they fear." He was getting that enthusiastic tone in his voice again, the one that always slipped in when he talked about sword fighting.

"Isn't Karl already fighting in there?"

"Well, the minimum age is fifteen, so he had his first duel months ago," Karel said. "He was victorious, of course. He would rather die than wave the white flag. But if you remember, he bruised his ankle last week and doesn't want to play with death. I doubt you'll be able to watch him." Karla nodded, feigning interest. Of what she heard of the Coliseum, she didn't like it. It seemed brutal and mean.

But Karel loved it, and she looked up to him. He didn't tease her and push her around like Karl did. Then again, Karl pushed everyone around, and Karel resented that. Karla would keep her thoughts to herself, though; besides, as a girl, it was not her place to speak otherwise.

----

That night, Karla dreamed. Her mind flashed back to when she left their home. Karmon was tugging at her skirt's hem, staring up at her with his wide brown eyes.

"La-la," he said, using her childish nickname. "Don't go. I gots no one to play with." Karla gently pried his fingers off her woolen clothing. She found the young boy annoying, a nuisance if anything. He tagged after her like a sick puppy, always choosing her over Shalla.

"Play with yourself," she suggested, not trying to be rude. "I won't be gone long. And besides, one day you'll be going with them, and I'll be all alone." He wasn't convinced, and instead, he latched himself on to her leg. After a few unsuccessful attempts to shake him off, Shalla had come to her rescue, pulling the toddler away.

Then the young boy murmured something that had not been said in the real memory. "I will lose you forever. Don't go."

The scene faded. She was no longer in front of her home. She imagined that it was the stadium she had heard so much about. Great stands circled her and reached up to the heavens. It was filled with people screaming and shouting. The faces were all a blur. In front of her, there was a faceless man. He stood three times as tall as Jargon and twice as burly. He had no distinguishable features, just a blob shape of a human. In his hands, he carried a sword mightier than even the blade her father wielded.

He charged.

Suddenly, Karla was gripping the Wo Dao. She found it to be heavy and clumsy in her hands, yet nevertheless, she attempted to swing it. But it was stuck in the ground and would not move. She panicked as every second, the faceless man came closer.

Just as her opponent was about to strike, the sword freed itself from the dirt and cut effortlessly through the air and through the man. Still, there was no wound in the man. He was like a ghost; it sliced him without making any real impact. His weapon came swinging down on Karla, and all she could do was cower in fear.

That was where the dream ended. She woke briefly for a few moments before drifting back into sleep, forgetting about the faceless man until well into the next day.

-----

The Coliseum was more than Karla could have ever imagined, yet at the same time, it resembled the structure from her dream. It was immense, open-topped theater and in an oval shape. Throngs of people pushed through the stands, each raring for the best view. To her surprise, Karla found she was not the only woman spectator, though the other female attendees were nothing like her sweet mother or the quiet and kindly nomads who sometimes camped near their home.

A few of these women rode atop great white steeds with wings protruding from their backs. Their creatures were unlike any Karla had ever heard of, and the short skirts they were made Karla blush on their behalf. Some of the other females carried swords, swinging from their waists. Their skin was scarred and marked with the reminders of battle, a distinct contradiction to the unblemished skin a woman should have in Karla's mind. Still yet, some of them were clutching to large books. She would have taken them for scholars had she not seen them wait in line to apply for the rounds.

Jargon had split ways with them. His three children made their way into the stands. Karla had never seen so many people in her life. They moved so closely together that it was nearly suffocating. A bad stench also hung around the air. Body odor mingled with the scent of death, an unfamiliar redolence to Karla, but she recognized it nevertheless. Karl pushed through for them, with Karla right behind him. Karel placed a guiding hand on her shoulder and shielded her from some of the shadier characters hanging in the crowds.

They found a good spot just as the last warrior fell. The victor raised his hands in triumph, and the crowd roared. Karla watched with semi-fascination as his victim's corpse was dragged away. Her brothers pressed themselves against the railing as Jargon's name was announced. They were so high up that had they not declared his name she would know it was him.

She imagined the winner of the previous round smirking at Jargon. He was younger and bigger than the swordmaster. The mob became deathly silent as the gong was hit, signaling the beginning of the round. The two men studied each other for a moment; his opponent made the first move.

Unlike her father, the other man wielded a lance and was atop a horse. To Karla, this gave him a great advantage. With a quick jerk, his spear jabbed it forward, a simplistic move. Jargon calmly stepped out of the way before he began his dance. It was truly a dance, for it had its own rhythm as he stepped and twirled, his partner being the Wo Dao. Jargon sliced down the weapon. The lancer dodged it. Jargon moved again; his speed was something to be feared. He slithered behind the horse, and before the beast could turn around, Jargon leapt forward and thrust his sword into the side of his opponent.

The horse reared, and the fighter slumped forward. The hordes of people in the stands cheered, then settled again into a tense quiet as the man sat up again, one hand applying pressure to the wound while the other still clutched the spear. He attempted to plunge the lance into Jargon again, though it missed and nearly through him off his steed at the same time. He pulled on his horse's reins to try and escape, if only for a moment to catch his breath, but Jargon struck down his horse by pushing the sword into the creature's side.

With a cry, the animal fell, toppling on top of his master. Crushed and unable to reach for the white flag in his pocket, the man whimpered for his life, a cry that could be heard throughout the theater.

Terrified, Karla tore her eyes away from the scene. She looked up at Karel for support, yet what she found there was even more disturbing. His eyes danced with a passion she had never seen before. He was enchanted by the sight of the battle. His odd trance scared her. It was an expression she would never forget. She turned away from him and buried her head in Karl's side. In a rare bit of sympathy, he stroked her hair comfortingly.

Little did he know that now she considered herself hiding from Karel rather than the sight below. By the shouts of her brothers, she knew that her father had won, but she expected that. Still, she did not open her eyes.

That night, she dreamed of the faceless man again, but this time, he bore Karel's maddening eyes.

------

Author's Note: Finally, this first chapter has been finished. I've been wanting to get this out forever. Special thanks to everyone who has contributed information to help with this story, and I will be needing more help as the story goes on. I'll be asking questions in my thread "Some Background Questions" in my forum. Still, I'd love it if people reviewed. I always accept constructive crit happily.

I have several goals for this story. I always thought that though Karla may be a sucky unit, she has one of the best characters. Her story is one of the best. I want to effectively show Karel's transition from her beloved brother to the Sword Demon to the Sword Saint. I want to show Karla's transition from young, innocent girl to cold wanderer to mother and wife. I want to give depth to their family and to their story. And I want another Karla/Batre on the site, because there is only one for this canon couple. Of course, Bartre won't enter for a few chapters, and the romance will happen much later.

For my disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem.

Please review! I've worked so hard on this story.