Disclaimer:

I do not own Klonoa or any other of his game series' characters. Rewrite of the prelude. I do own the character narrating this chapter. Slight changes from the old one.

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A NEW LIFE

--MY STORM--

In this place, the wind blows forever. I had always loved that fact.

The village brushes with the sea breeze as it always had. Uneven intervals, the sea and the land would blow in. Right now though, the winds blow harshly. The village, it battles for dominance tonight as nature has started to reveal her wrath. The grown had bolted their doors, nailed their windows. The young are far from finding their peace in sleep and they aid their parents. Some houses maintained their lights, the residents probably on guard for what may occur overnight. Breezegale has experienced more than a millennia's share of calamity; the denizens know what they should do.

Ignoring the strong winds and the bullet-like rain I made my way.

The windmills built long ago, you can never see them in this time of night but I'm not you and I can. They turn all year round redoing their cycles. I should know. They would spin so tirelessly, not once stopping.

I began to think.

Purpose- we all have at least one. When would I be relieved from mine? I would redo my purpose so tirelessly not once stopping… much like a windmill. But windmills rust, they age. Sooner or later they would stop, they make break tonight who knows? What's stopping the storm from whisking their wings away?

I grunt in realization. For a second I paused and then once again I realize, no matter what the reason no matter what enters my head, my purpose comes now. My purpose: my duty. I started to walk slowly.

There's no storm to stop me.

The lesser critters had hidden in their shelters. They sense me and they loose their calm. I chuckle for what made us similar. We see not each other yet we know where the other is. It's amazing how the little things give a bigger meaning.

The long grass that could withstand the winds brushed against each other. They seem to mourn for their kinds that were blown away. The elder trees were loosing their covers, and for a moment their leaves attack me. All throughout the storm everything has been doing their roles. I start to appreciate such organization life has even against nature herself, that I began to see the harmony in this chaos.

I remember a dream.

It was the best time of day to relax. It was that time where the sea breeze is at its prime. The clouds were in the most amazing shape for gazing. There's a tall cliff where you can get the best of that moment. There's also the bushy green grass and I like that feel against my back. If it was real then I would have happily breathed in nature's scent.

Flashback's over. I'm on the same cliff, the one from the dream. Things look different during the night; things look different during a storm. My ears perk up and despite the storm I hear a voice.

"Grandpa…" It was a sound lesser than a whisper. It was a sound lost in the storm, lost in my ears.

Clear as day I can see him.

A child was out in this storm in the middle of the night. He was holding for his life. The storm was beginning to get the better of him. It was his handicap, nothing to shelter him and his disproportionately large ears were easily being pulled by the extreme wind. It may have been a miracle that he could hold on for so long in such harsh exposure. A part of me wanted to cheer him on, to not give up the fight for survival. It makes me hate my purpose all the more. Someone will die before the sun rises, I've know forever.

He was wearing a suit, the one you'd wear for special occasions. It was black, as black as most of his fur. He wasn't just wearing a suit; he was wearing sweat, earth, grass, rain, tears… and blood.

I've known forever: that his grandfather would die four days ago, that the old man would be buried the next day and until his last breath, this child would never leave this spot- his grandfather's grave site.

The locals of the windy residential area took pity on the lad; after all it was his once untainted smile and laughter that brightened up their days. I frowned.

Pity leads to irrationality.

When the storm was yet to come, everyone could see the signs. Everyone tried to bring the boy to shelter. Why? They knew he had been there for two days and what did they do? They gave up out of respect when the child said he wanted to stay.

…and irrationality leads to regret.

I had no need to pity this child for I know – he'll be taken to a better place.

I can feel it.

His strength was leaving him.

His vision was beginning to blur, a yawn escaping from his hungry throat and his limbs shaking from reasons to many to explain, trying his best to hold on it finally happened; the boy suddenly collapsed.

Suddenly, the storm seized. How it happened was so abrupt, so sudden. The wind, the water and everything ended. For the first time in a long while I was taken by surprise. A light made its way through the darkness. It shone and I was taken aback. It was him.

It was him, that long eared beast of a man. One who does not belong. It was him.

The light was gentle yet in its range it was as if morning had struck. There was a strange sound, a high pitched hum. It came from the same source as the light had. It came from a ring, strapped on that man's belt.

That man made his way towards the tombstone, towards the boy. Like a bride he carried the boy, still unconscious though. I realized something as he tried to walk away from the site. For a moment he looked at me eye to eye. He saw me.

I realized I had been bested, what I knew had been broken. No one will die in Breezegale tonight.

I just smiled as I watched his back. That man made his way. And now, I don't know what was going to happen. 'I've known forever' cannot be applied. And I confess – for a bit I cried. A huge weight was taken away and for a while it felt like I was free.

As the man went farther, so did the light and soon it was dark again. I didn't know how long I just stood there. I loved that moment, when as if time has stopped. The wind came back, and water fell from the heavens. The water did not fell in drops at first; it fell as one large mass, as if it was held from falling for so long.

That man, this was the second time he stopped me. The first time it happened I thought it was just a fluke, something that only happens once in MY lifetime. I was wrong.

He was the storm that stopped me.

He was the storm that stopped death.

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I revised the story since I was struck with inspiration sometime ago.