A/N: Alright, real quick, it has been a looooooooong time since I've written and posted any fanfiction. Long enough that I'm using a different pen-name than I used to (huzzah x3 ). So, yeah, throwing this out there: I'm a wordy person (in case that wasn't already obvious) and it shows in my writing. This fic is kind of AU; it takes place in the present, but still has the cursed blades and people fighting over them, so there's that. It was born out of an rp that I had started with a friend that died off before I was ready to let it die. IF ANYONE HAS ANYTHING AGAINST GAY ROMANCE, THIS IS PROBABLY NOT THE FIC FOR YOU. In later chapters, there will be guys falling in love (as well as girls and guys falling for each other, but that's beside the point). If anyone is offended by that, turn back now. I feel I've taken up enough of your time with my babbling, so I'll end this with a quick thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it! :D

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Calibur or any of the characters. I don't even own Zhang He, who I'm borrowing from Dynasty Warriors- which I also do not own.

ONE:

The Insomniac Child

The incense burned slowly, a thin trail of smoke steadily rising and curling and floating away making little curls and loops in the air as it rose and dissipated, scenting the air. In the slivers of silver light that leaked into the dark room from the cracks in the tired wooden sealing, the sight was entrancing. The smoke dance and the calming smell of the air was enough to lull the lone monk laying on his back in the middle of the worn chamber into a state of relaxation that teetered between meditation, dream, and consciousness.

Half lidded brown eyes fallowed the trails of smoke, occasionally loosing focus or being covered by drooping eyelids for short periods of time before returning to the bits of gray that moved amongst the moonlight with a grace that the monk could only attempt to imitate as he trained. His breathing was deep and even and his mind was drifting as carelessly and unpredictably as the smoke. Thoughts of the past. Thoughts of the future. Thoughts of the current. Questions. Observations. Aspirations. He had always had a quick mind, always one of the brightest amongst his peers. That may have been why sleep eluded him so often. He couldn't stop thinking. Even while his body lay prone in a spell cast by moonlight and smoke, his mind couldn't stop.

"Still awake, Kilik?" The sudden voice made the youth jump, his body suddenly as awake as it was when he stole away into the chamber earlier. It was the voice of Zhang He; one of his teachers. His favorite one. "Do not be surprised when you're too tired to focus and get hurt again."

The younger of the two tore his eyes away from the smoke and sat up to look behind himself at his teacher. He smiled nervously, a slight pink staining his cheeks in embarrassment at being caught, "It isn't a lack of sleep that gets me hurt." He stood and stretched with his arms above his head as his entire body lengthened and loosened, "Between myself and my opponent, I would rather hurt then them." It wasn't the normal way of thinking, but it was how the young monk was. He had been told that he would grow out of it and see that, sometimes, other had to be hurt.

The older of the two was leaning against the frame of the door with all the relaxed grace and observant eyes of some great feline. Dancing in those dark, knowing eyes, was some kind of joy that Kilik did not understand. The feeling was echoed in his smirking lips. He was still clad in the clothing he had been wearing the day before, his hair was still in its usual high pony-tail and hanging carelessly, ending at his lower back, he was still covered in dust from being outside with his students all day. Despite that, there was still something about him that didn't look ruffled at all. As though, even if clad in filthy rags, he would seem regal.

Those dark brown eyes seemed to look through the ten year old of the too as Zhang He spoke, "I know." He strode over to where his student had been laying and lowered himself to the ground; if it had been anyone else, the motion would have been a careless flopping, but it managed to look elegant when the older of the pair did it. "You're gentle."

"...you are not going to tell me to go to bed or..." Kilik didn't want to finish that thought, but his mind continued even as his lips stopped moving. They were strict, the Elders, and older ones like Zhang He were supposed to carry out punishment even if the Elders themselves were not around or informed of the transgression. Being awake would not have been punished, but creeping out of the room where Kilik and others of his age group slept into a the large circular chamber usually reserved for meditation and prayer would ended in pain and bleeding and learning exactly how hard bamboo can be upon one's back.

He was answered by a deep chuckle, "Your sticks have yet to burn out and I do not feel right allowing such an ideal environment for deep thought and insight to go to waste."

"Thank you, Seifu." The phrase was softly spoken, but there was no other sound and the words, as well as the relief they held, were clearly heard.

Kilik's attempt to simulate the older man's graceful decent was less than successful, but he wasn't completely foolish looking when he did it. Still, he already knew that he would work to improve. In everything he did, Kilik tried to be like his teacher, but he knew that it would take years before he could even come close. One day, he would. He knew it. He simply had to work harder. Train harder. Be more diligent. More disciplined.

The two stayed on the floor next to each other, watching the smoke as it continued its lazy trails into oblivion. Neither felt the need to speak and break the comfortable silence that had settled back into the room, each lost in their own thoughts as the sticks burnt down and the moon moved across the sky in its steady pace. The smoke, like all else in life, did not last forever and their time in that dark room came to an end a couple hours after it had began.

As Kilik thought about his training and what he would need to do to become like his teacher, said teacher was thinking about the conversation he had had with the Elders earlier. They wanted him to take the spirit of the blessed blade, Soul Calibur, into his body. He remembered what happened the last time they attempted to give the spirit of the blade a body- but it wasn't a living host. It was ripped out of living flesh; a body of its own. It didn't last. No matter what they tried, it couldn't sustain itself. They concluded that they needed a body with a soul for the blade. One that would not fight Soul Calibur's influence. One that would sacrifice itself in order to have a defense against its twin that was being guarded in the bowels of the temple. Zhang He had accepted under a single condition and was told that this would be his last night as himself. In return for giving his body to the blade, he asked that Kilik be removed from the normal routines when he was old enough, and placed under Zhang He's tutelage so that, one day, the young monk could take his teacher's place. The next body for the blessed blade, in case anything happened to him. The Elder's agreed to this plan; they even thought it was for the best, having sensed the boy's talents in the realm of such things.

Originally, the older man was going to tell his student what was going to happen and make sure the child knew it was for the best and that, deep down, Zhang He would still be himself but, when he saw the kid laying there, thinking and looking much older than he should have, he could not bring himself to say anything which might upset the child. Kilik would not have wanted to accept the possibility of his teacher being possessed and no longer being himself.

Zhang He was the first to stand when the smoke finally stopped, with the same ease and grace as every other move he made. He looked down to see if his student would imitate his movements again and did not bother suppressing a small smile when he realized the young monk was asleep. "Better you sleep now than during training tomorrow," the older of the pair murmured as he bent down and lifted the boy in his arms.

Kilik was small, even for his age. Light. More like a stick doll than a boy, really; but he had yet to break as some of the others Zhang He had seen. Even when the Elder's had Kilik spar with children older, stronger, bigger than himself, the boy did not break. Of course, Zhang He knew why they did it to the boy. It was not out of malice, but necessity. It was clear that Kilik was not as proficient in sparring as he was in simply training, going through the motions. At first, everyone thought it was fear that held him back, then the Elders thought it was something that they could make the child grow out of if they simply pushed him hard enough. Zhang He hoped they were wrong, for his student's sake.

As he silently made his way to the children's sleeping quarters, he thought about himself at that age. He hadn't been small like this one; in fact, he had been a little taller than average. Leaner. He didn't want to hurt anyone, either. The Elder's had made him train with those they knew he could defeat but would beat him time and again until his will broke. He fought back as they wished to keep himself from hurting. He caused them pain to save himself as the Elder's wanted. Not enough to make them useless, but enough to win the match. The monk had felt that part of himself that would rather hurt than cause pain shrivel and thought it had been lost forever until he saw the small boy who had been the fastest, the first to perfect stances and moves, hold back during matches and allow himself to be beaten instead of striking his enemies.

The Elders were correct in their beliefs that one who does not fight back is doomed to hurt. They were correct when they said that Kilik would either learn to do things their way or he would eventually be severely hurt; or worse. Still, Zhang He wanted to protect his student's innocence for as long as he could. Perhaps, that was why he made the choices he did in regards to both his, and this boy's, path.

He laid the child down on the worn blanket Kilik always slept on and gently brushed a few stray strands of brown from his sleeping face. He looked peaceful. Zhang He straitened himself out and quickly left the room. He, too, would have to get some sleep before facing the day ahead.