Please, please, don't cry like that.

I'm going to go mad. I don't want to see you . . .

I need to see you again. I'm sick from it.

Because as soon as we have to say goodbye . . . I want to die.

– Yun Kouga

Prologue – Sea of Fire: or A Day for Fools

Burning.

Everything was burning.

Screams bled into the night, carried past the stars by orange light and smoke. Trees without number creaked and groaned, adding their song to the young throats scattered throughout the forest. A voice deep and urgent at my ear, piercing through the chaos. Heat, strong hands forcing a wailing girl into my arms. Dying, so many children writhing within flaming wombs, fragile hands pressed against stout prisons. They were coming – invaders determined to vanquish us – the children; they wanted the children–

We had to run.

Two men at my front and back, weapons drawn, arms laden with weeping bundles. Images obscured by suffocating smoke: a thick braid between broad shoulders, leather armor, three tiny faces buried within swollen biceps; broadsword slicing ruthlessly through any obstacle living or no, wings glorious as any sunset poised, ready for flight at any moment. Olive pools flickering across our ruined home, looking for some way – any way – to escape:

This was my Guardian.

A primal screech and black hair filled my vision. The soldier fell dead at my feet and the warrior straightened, pulling a slender blade from the corpse. Cold eyes motioned me to move as he reclaimed his load – two small boys – not bothering to re-sheathe or swipe shining crimson from his sword. Blood coated his chest and arms, blending seamlessly with the scarlet wings adorning his back. Twin charoite flecks rested atop high cheekbones; an angular, almost exotic face; impressive height and a dark mane which played with his calves as he fought:

This was the Monarch.

The flowers joined together with the forest's song, and still they came. A fresh battalion crested the hill before us and we changed route, searching for a break in the trees. More children fell beneath their swords, hands raised in surrender, eyes wide and frightened as they screamed "Marta! Marta–"

I shut my ears to their cries.

Finally, we arrived at the heart of the forest, a great pine wider than four men standing abreast. As the soldiers surrounded us, the winged men thrust the children and I against the rough bark, whispering promises of fealty and safety – promises which did not reach their eyes.

Eyes wide with horror, I watched them fall to the sword: first the Monarch, then my Guardian.

The children went next, desperate in their desire to protect me. One by one, all six fled the protection of my arms and perished until they lay with the winged men, eyes open and unseeing. Hundreds of screams sounded through the smoke, frightened throats crying for me:

Crying for their mother.

I fought then, rage banishing all reason. I did not falter when they took my sword, when they cut away my hair, when they forced me to my knees. My voice only joined the grim chorus when they tore the wings from my back, faces alight with humor as they smeared my face with the blood of my children. Lightning at my ribs – blades shoved in one after another – and red filled my vision: the sky, the ground, the forest, my hands, my young; everything was red, everything was burning:

Everything was dying.

The screams morphed seamlessly into metallic screeching and I gasped, forcing my eyes open. Soft light filtered through the thin curtains adorning the window, warming the speckled ceiling and cedar rafters. Tawny sand and honey walls, fine-grained floor covered in tarps and various paint palettes; a small dresser separating an easel boasting a half-finished painting from the tall bookshelf in one corner, neglect marking the well-bound classics by an inch of dust:

My room.

I sighed, raising a hand to wipe away a thin layer of sweat only to realize both arms and legs were twisted in thick blankets. Images of writhing bodies presented themselves but I shook my head, dislodging one arm with practiced ease. The dream had visited me three times this week and it was only Wednesday.

The fact that it was April 1st didn't help matters.

A guitar bridge sounded again and I groaned, reaching blindly for the source. My fingers closed around my phone after two failed attempts and I pulled it to my chest, silencing the alarm before glancing at the time.

The blaring digits stole the breath from my lungs.

The last bus for the city left fifteen minutes ago.

"Asher!" I cried, scrambling out of bed only to realize too late my legs were still tangled in the sheets. My shoulder hit the ground and I growled, kicking away the offending linen before running into the hall. "Asher!"

The door to his room stood ajar, yet when I poked my head in an unexpected sight waited there. A shape which was definitely not male rested under the sheets, mass of dark curls erupting near where a head should be. The woman breathed a breathy sigh and rolled over in her sleep, taking the sheets with her while offering a gracious view I could've lived without.

Asher had certainly been busy.

I retreated only when I was sure he wasn't in the adjoining bathroom. Taking the stairs two at a time, I vaulted into the kitchen only to stop in my tracks. Asher stood before the refrigerator, one hand lifting a carton of orange juice to his mouth while the other held the appliance door open, filling the immediate space with cool air. Wearing only a worn pair of blue jeans which hung low at the hips, my brother appeared unperturbed at the car grease and grime covering his arms, the black smudges streaking his blonde hair, the fact that he should have showered and been in bed hours ago.

Well, in bed asleep.

An exhausted blue eye peeked through stiff bangs, though he didn't stop drinking until all the juice slid down his throat. Lowering the carton, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before appraising my pink pajamas with a raised brow. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

I glared as he continued rummaging through the refrigerator, arms crossing over my stomach. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Probably." He yawned before scratching his bare chest, tossing the loose braid carelessly over one shoulder. After a moment of rummaging he clucked his tongue and straightened, turning to face me. "Nori had me in call last night – four breakdowns in one freaking night." He yawned again, rolling his spine from his waist to the nape of his neck.

Nori – or Noriko Mizuki – was the receptionist at Burēku Tow and Go, the company my brother worked had worked for going on ten years. She also shared an unnerving resemblance with the woman currently occupying his room. "And you showed your appreciation by inviting her for breakfast?"

He grinned, grabbing a carton of eggs from the refrigerator before allowing the door to close. "What can I say? I'm a gentleman at heart."

I watched as he crossed to the stove, pulling a stout pan from the wall after switching on a front burner. "Seriously – why do people never seem to never break down during the day?"

A smile curled my lips and I chuckled. "You're just lucky, I guess."

He snorted, cracking two eggs into the pan with one hand. "Not funny, Air." Bare toes gripping the linoleum floor, Asher discarded the shells before running black-rimmed nails through his bangs. Frowning, he produced a spatula from who-knows-where, crystal pools growing dark as he broke sizzling yolks. "Sure you're all right? You're never late for anything."

I flinched, tightening the hold around my stomach. We rarely saw eye-to-eye on anything but Asher and I'd always been together – right from the womb. Even though only fifteen minutes older than I, my twin took the role of 'older brother' very seriously; he'd gotten into countless fights over me since we were kids. He always seemed to know when something bugged me, or whenever I was sad or angry, no matter how hard I tried to hide such things. Even well into our twenties, we could read each others thoughts and finish each others sentences.

Guess that's why we worked so well as roommates.

Before I could respond, Asher's nose appeared inches from mine, spatula forgotten on the stove. A mostly-clean hand snared my chin in a calloused grip, turning my face this way and that. "Ash!" My voice came out as a garbled whine as I tried unsuccessfully to beat him away. "Man, now I've got to wash my face–!"

"You had to do that anyway – and brush your teeth." He added, nose wrinkling ever so slightly before all humor fell away. "You've got bags under your eyes."

I swatted his arm again, uneasy under his crystalline gaze. "It's fine, I'll slap some makeup on it in a minute! Let–"

"Is it the dream again?"

I froze at the question, ashamed at the strangled sound escaping my throat as the eggs burned. Even though the colors were different, the sight of charred meat, of smoke rising so soon after the dream –

It was too much.

Only at that cry did Asher release me, turning back to his ruined breakfast. Scowling, he dumped the black mass in the wastebasket, setting the pan and spatula in the sink. Only after making certain a fire wasn't eminent did he turn back to me, arms crossed over his chest. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Sucking my lower lip between ready teeth, I shook my head, staring at his shoulder. For once, I couldn't look my brother in the eye – he looked too much like the man from my dream. "I can't; not yet."

A scowl marred his lips, eyes sharpening to blade tips. "Aaron–"

"I can't, Asher. Not yet." I willed away the too-fresh screams, the tiny hands reaching in vain, the men dying one after another. "I could see them this time, all of them."

He stilled at this, brows raised. "Were they still butterfly-people?"

Somehow, my brother shattered the dream's hold with one statement. I laughed, despite myself. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"No, I know you're crazy but that's beside the point." He smirked then, glancing ruefully at the mess in the sink. "Are you opening the shop today?"

Reality hit with stunning clarity and I groaned, tapping one foot against the floor. "Yes but I overslept! If I don't maintain my hours, that would forfeit the contract." I bit my lip again, thinking back to my landlord's terms. Mr. Norita usually refused to rent building space to those under thirty but made an exception in my case under two conditions: that rent be paid every month without fail, and the shop would conduct business from eight to four everyday but Sunday. No exceptions, save holidays.

The next bus to Mushiyori wouldn't get here until nine.

Asher checked the clock on the far wall and sighed, running tainted fingers through his bangs once again. "Hurry up and I'll take you, short stuff."

"Huh?" I blinked up at my brother. Asher had also earned the title of 'older' sibling by being almost a head taller than I, a fact he rubbed in my face constantly. My mind spun, trying to connect too many dots with no coffee for fuel. The only vehicle Asher had access to was the work truck Mr. Burēku let him use, emphasis on work. If his boss found out about this–

"Wipe that look off your face – what the old man doesn't know won't hurt him."

I glanced between the clock and my brother, deadlines and angry men spilling into my minds' eye. "Asher–"

"Come on before I change my mind."

Apparently, that's all it took to make my legs move. I sped up the stairs at a run, pajamas flying once I reached the second floor. Pulling random clothes from their respective drawers, I sequestered myself in the bathroom, pulling on a shirt, brushing my teeth, and rummaging for foundation all at the same time. Normally, makeup wasn't my thing, but one look in the mirror decided the matter for me – I looked like a zombie.

Jumping desperately into a pair of jeans, I buttoned the tricky things with clumsy fingers, toothbrush brandished between my lips. Spitting before a quick rinse, I dabbed a cotton puff in the loose powder before picking up my hairbrush, attacking my hair and face simultaneously.

Needless to say, I could pat my head and rub my stomach at the same time.

Satisfied, I sprinted back downstairs only to find Asher waiting for me right where I left him. Only the freshly-donned shirt betrayed his having went to his room. "Ready?"

"Yes." My reply came out breathless, heaving, though he had the courtesy not to laugh. Keys clasped in one hand, he smirked and stepped into the genkan, sliding a pair of tan sandals on before slipping out the door.

"No! Asher, those are mine!" Of course, he didn't hear, or pretended not to. Muttering about brothers and good sandals, I pulled on the only other shoes which wouldn't require socks – ragged pink flip-flops – and sprinted after him, praying we wouldn't be late:

Yep, definitely April Fool's Day.

A/N: Hello, dear readers! Roseeyes here with a rewrite to fic in desperate need of one. Since it's conception in 2010, I've loved Black Angel, yet until recently lacked the experience to do the story justice. Still working on finishing this fic (to date, three chapters left!) but I wanted to go ahead and begin rewriting the first half of the story. So, if this is your first time reading BA, please bear with me as I publish new and rewritten chapters. For long-time readers, I hope Aaron's introduction made you smile.

Some important differences to note from the old and new versions: Aaron is not in college, she in an entrepreneur; also, Ocs such as Michael and her dog Lazee are not present (the only Ocs I plan to incorporate are Aaron and Asher). Finally, the story is set in Japan whereas part of it initially took place in America.

What in the world could that dream mean, and what implications does it hold for our protagonist? Also, what are two blonde-haired, blue-eyed siblings doing in Japan? Two of our favorite boys appear next chapter, so be prepared for that. ;) See you in the next installment of Black Angel!