First Fire Emblem story, the beginning is slightly rushed just for the fact that the story ages with that of the characters. Tell me what you think and you know the rest.
Time. Time, what exactly is it? Well for starters, who gives a damn.
Life started out fine and dandy if that's what is considered for a child of rusty red hair that trains to kill in his twin's place. He wasn't family, no, he was the shadow of the feet that pounded their world in. His hands were bandaged so the stains never actually touched his heart.
Clashing a sword made of steel against that of his brother's bronze, pushing the younger back slightly in the sand. He smiled faintly as the other weakly stabbed the blue-ish sword into the soft ground panting. His white hair covering his facial features.
"Boys! Time for supper!"
Both of their heads shot up, a spark flashing between the golden brown and crimson orbs then raising towards the grand carved doors to the dining room. Practically jumping into their seats, grinning from ear to ear as their mother and a maid walked out carrying plates for each one. The maid holding extra for the mother.
"Nobility should never cook, yada yada yada, honestly if your father wouldn't be off trying to get a seat next to the throne or better, the leader of the Grimleal." Their mother scoffed. It was pretty apparent that her hate for the man was growing. "To have cut into his own sons' hands saying that the order is wrong. Then to tell me that you guys must know how to fight even you're only four years of age. Disgraceful."
They nibbled on the well made meat and vegetables, stealing glances at each other as their mother rambled. Both had looked down to their right hands, one having memories of a knife stabbing it's surface apart. The other, the other's hand had a detailed scar form on his hand because his father knows of their birthright. Though the scarring is more delicate than the roughish form from the stabbing of the design.
Only memories of hate for their father.
The nights were often like this, the children never cared much. They lived in solitude except for each other, the younger one was far more friendly whilst the elder was more fiendish. Though for reasons unbeknownst to them, today was different. As they were taken to their beds, the mother stood closely to the white hair. Wishing the eldest the best of dreams before taking the hand of the younger one down the steps.
The child only had time to gather his bronze sword and a few books. Taking the ceremonial coat has he walk after his month and picked up onto their horse. His brown orbs only peered back to the house to a single window that which he saw a pair of glowing red eyes.
His childhood. Gone.