A girl sat in a dimly lit forest clearing. The moonlight just barely broke through the thick branches and cast a shimmering glow across the glade. The trees rustled slightly in the breeze, but other than that all was silent. It was a peaceful silence.

The girl was sitting with her back against the rough bark of a tree. She didn't seem to mind the wood digging into her skin. Her mind was elsewhere at the moment. She was thinking of war and sacrifice. She was thinking of her cousin. The boy she had left to save the world.

He was so young at the time. If you think about it, sixteen years is nothing compared to the span of a lifetime. He hadn't understood exactly what sacrifice was. But he found out soon enough.

The girl glanced up toward the sky. Her cousin had war thrust upon him. And he had accepted the fact that he had to lead the army. He had to defeat the enemy. Everything was on him. It was stunning, how he did what he had to do without a complaint.

It was amazing, how he acted so confident while nothing but doubts raced through his mind. And he had won the war. Outnumbered and nearly hopeless, he had led an army of forty to victory. It was truly miraculous.

So many had died, so many had suffered, and the girl's cousin felt the shock of that at full force. But he never once faltered. He was the first to charge. He was the one to succeed.

The girl smiled.

He fought with an unimaginable grace. His body twisted flawlessly, obeying his every command. His sword glinted wickedly, reflecting his eyes as he looked upon the enemy. He was born for battle, that much was certain.

The girl fought well. She was one of the few able to hold against him for extended periods of time. Yet, she never could manage to win.

But she was proud of him, her little cousin.

He had transformed from a clumsy child, into a hero. A hero who held his sword with pride. But he was not arrogant. He would never dream of becoming like his father's family. They were the very essence of arrogance.

This boy had fought for them loyally, with a blind belief that they were right. He now knew that they were all wrong. He would continue to fight, because such was his way, but he would no longer look to them with awe spread over his features.

People now looked to him with awe. He was their loyal hero. He was looked up to as a father, a brother, a friend. He was not perfect, but people liked to think he was.

One reason being that the way he fought seemed to be a deadly dance. And it was a dance only he knew.