Raising The Sword

Chapter One

By the two authoresses who are INCORPORATED:

aZn dReAmEr xD and xx Painful Bliss xx.

REMEMBER US!

A/N: This is a mix of both of our styles, so it came out...interestingly. Read and review!

A/N: Jenn's space.

So yeah, xx Painful Bliss xx will have italicized author's notes. aZn DrEaMeR xD will have underlined.

The author's note method will be the same for my stories. At each place an author's note appears in the middle of the story, there will be a number (#). Match the number with the same number at the end of the story. For example, (1) will go with (1).

Happy Reading!

----

Flashback

"Father," I stared at the paper, "Who is this man? What does he want from me?"

I was seven. And I was afraid.

"It's nothing, son," he assured me. His dark brown hair was neatly combed and

smoothed down. His hair was very controlled and professional looking-- just like someone would expect the French Ambassador to look like. A few wrinkles appeared around his eyes from stress. But, most of his stress was from me and my situation--the danger of losing his only son. He was young, but not young enough to escape the growing signs of aging. Father was old as well, but he wasn't old enough to have gained the wisdom needed for this.

Father was suffering from the large amount stress placed on him. At only 28 years old, he was the first ambassador to ever come to Japan, this strange country I lived in now, from France. As if that wasn't enough, he had to worry about me now. I, his son, the only child he had, was in a a great deal of danger.

Back then, father was loving and caring just as he is now. But after losing his wife, my mother, he'd been awake suffered restlessness and insomnia for days, and at some days, he got less then 20 hours of sleep a week. The pain of my mother dying of a disease people would later discover to be cancer was just too much for him to bear already--but if his son was to disappear off the earth too, he would surely break. I was the only thing left for him--his only family, and the last remembrance of his beloved wife aside from a few grainy pictures that were torn and burned at her funeral.

"But, father! I wanna knoww..." I protested and whined childishly while tugging the long baggy sleeve of his kimono.

I still remember that day as if it were only yesterday. A note had been sent to my father, and a picture accompanied it. That man in that picture--he wore a long black coat that almost touched the ground, and a black hat cast a shadow over his face, making it invisible. Black pants that were long and baggy, black boots that looked thick and powerful. His face was ducked beneath his hat, hiding him, and his hands were covered with criminal looking gloves.

Just the sight of him had made me shiver.

It looked like he was a monster who could just melt into the ground and rise back up...someone indestructible.

This photograph was sort of blurry, as if he was running away while it was being taken. The mist and rain only added to it. The single lamppost in the picture illuminated one of his black gloved hands--although I was kind of glad it wasn't his face--in which he was holding a pipe that was still smoking from a recent use. The wispy bits of gray caught in the picture rising up, as if they didn't even want to be near him.

This man...he was a true object of terror to me.

He looked like some evil criminal in a book, but surely he wasn't. By the look on Father's face I could tell that the man was real and alive. The scared look that played with my father's features were not one that could be drawn out by a mere book. No, he was real.

An artist probably wouldn't be able to paint someone looking so real and petrifying, no one could capture the sinister aura just around the simple photograph. Probably someone who was stealing some of Japan's beautiful jewelry, I had thought. Jewels were expensive and valuable, but what he had been taking was much more precious.

Lives.

Life was priceless, whether it was taken from criminals or the innocent. But I hadn't known this when I was young--he wasn't after pretty little gems.

He was after me.

While I continued to stare at this picture, entranced by the evillness, Father was still staring at the slightly crumpled, yellowing paper in his hand. I realized that it had probably accompanied the photograph.

"What's that?" I pointed at the paper. Father looked at me in a sad way, and clenched the paper a bit harder, putting it in his sleeve pocket, trying to hide it.

"It's nothing important," he lied, "Don't worry about it Ulrich."

I glared at him, giving him the most fierce face a little seven year old like me could manage. "Let me see!" I demanded.

My quest to uncover the paper was interrupted by the young maid who appeared at the doorway.

"Stern-sama?" her gentle voice broke through the tension still in the air from before, and Japanese accent made both of us instantly look in her direction.

She was still very young, only about 15 years old, and using a formal title for my father. Nervously, she fiddled with the hem of her traditional working clothes, hoping that she hadn't been interrupting anything important. She feared for her job. Work was scarce, and anyone with an occupation was very lucky.

"Yes?" my father answered wearily.

"Ulrich-san's bath is ready," she answered timidly.

Father gave me a look of fear. It gave me a cold-warm feeling then. I was happy that he was worried about me and cared so much, but I was also upset about the circumstances why.

"Go on Ulrich," he finally said in a voice barely above a strained whisper. "It's late, but come back down when you're ready to go to bed, please."

I nodded, biting my lower lip as I followed her out. This was father's personal maid, not mine. Why wasn't Nami here for me instead? I pondered about this but thought no other about this. Maybe Nami-san was sick. Midori was here instead.

She guided me to my bathroom, it was clean and made with polished stone. The wooden tub was was filled with a fair amount of steaming water. Next to it was a towel, my pajamas, and soap. I nodded and thanked her before she left.

Quietly, I bounded back to Father's office. My curiosity had gotten the best of me. Sure, the water would be cold, but I wanted to know what this was about. As I pressed my ear up to the closed wooden door to my father's office, I heard him talking to Midori-san.

"M-Midori," his strong, unsteady voice was breaking off into small pieces, "Promise me you will tell no one of this situation."

"Yes, sir," her voice was quiet and breathy. "I will tell no one."

"I trust you...earlier today, I recieved a letter. Inside the envelope, I expected a complaint of some sort, but I found a photograph instead. This note accompanied it..."

Father took a deep breath and started reciting what the mystery paper had said. It was tempting to just run in there and grab the note from him. But I stood with my feet firmly planted to the cold tile beneath my bare feet. Pushing all the temptation away, I listened carefully, straining my ears to catch any words at all.

"Stern:

Leave this country at once, or else you'll say goodbye to your son.

Forever."

I heard Midori gasp before asking the question I longed to know the answer to. "Stern-sama, who wrote it?" she asked.

I darted back to the bath. I didn't want to think about this. I was seven. This couldn't be happening to me. Pulling off dirty clothes, I sank into the tub and dunked my head under water. At least there no one could tell the tears from water.

Present Day

Now, I am no longer an itty-bitty little seven year old. That man in the picture-- I later found out by more eavesdropping--is known by X.A.N.A.

It probably stands for a group he's in, or his initials, but I may never know. I'm fourteen years old, twice as old as when the cursed anonymous letter was placed in my father's mailbox.

Yes, I'm a teenager now, not some scared little. Nothing much has changed. Father is the same headstrong, paranoid French Ambassador in Japan. This X.A.N.A. had been gone from Japan when I was eight. We didn't know where he was--he was sneaky as a fox, running and hiding everywhere. No attacks were made, but paranoid ol' dad thought I should prepare anyway. At anytime, anywhere, he could attack. Well, that's what he told me when I turned eight anyway.

So finally, when I turned fourteen years old, Father had finally decided that I was ready. Almost immediately after the threat came, he had enrolled me to learn how to protect myself. He had let me learn martial arts, but nothing else. He thought the Japanese way was dangerous, and eventually pulled me out of the class. I only had a few years of experience under my belt.

I had waited forever for this day to come. Waiting for six, what seemed like endless years, I finally was presented with my own set of weapons. There was a black unifrom fitted for me, but I liked the weapons the best. Knives, swords...many things were given to me. However, among them was a katana. My time had come. Finally, I was allowed to learn how to fight. (1)

I was a strong, tall stubborn boy now. I didn't let anything or anyone pass through me, and nothing could bring me down, or make me feel butterflies in my stomach. I was invincible.

That was the truth back then. I thought no one could make me feel pain, whether physically or emotionally.

But now, it's a lie.

Because on my sixteenth birthday, I met Yumi.

---

A/N: Well, I hoped you enjoyed this! We're going to have lots of fun writing this, I can tell.

A/N: Space for Jenn.

Author's Notes:

(1)--A katana is a Japanese sword.

Review please!

--xx Painful Bliss xx, aZn DrEaMeR xD