I do not own beyblade. This story is rated M to be safe, but isn't too bad.
Prologue
About 50 years ago, Bay City was known for its bustling coal mine. The town thrived on the money received for the exported coal and sometimes even diamonds.
Hundreds of black slave children worked these mines. Hardly anyone had ever seen one of them leave, but they knew that they were down there.
No one could say exactly how many children had been in the mine on that day, April 9, 1956. The day had been clear and fresh, people were strolling about the town square. The children could be heard working below…
And then…the wind began to blow.
The foreman of the mine stood at the mouth of the town's riches, smoking a cigarette. The hot ash fell in the patches of dry, brown grass, smoldering and leaving naked patches. The wind took the ash, carrying and twisting it in the wind. Down in fell to the children below, hit a stick of dynamite…
The explosion sent the foreman flying; he was later pronounced dead on impact. The small stick of dynamite had been sitting on a cart full of coal, fueling a tsunami of rock and earth. Gravel rained down on the citizens of Bay City; children ran screaming, women stumbled around in the rubble, men's bellows to their families could be heard at any part of town. The rock continued to pelt down upon the town, growing larger and larger…
Then the dust began to settle.
People stumbled around blindly, dropping to their knees and screaming for family. Some fell to their knees to pray, hoping they could live through…
Over half the population of Bay City died that day, almost all of them children. If they hadn't been pelted to death by rocks, they had met their fate chocking in the great dust cloud.
Never had something so horrible ever occurred in Bay City.
A mass funeral would be held for the children. It was decided, since no graveyard was big enough for them all, they would be buried in the mineshaft. Their parents were horrified; they did not want their children to be buried with the slave children. Everyone had assumed every child in the mine had died, but this was not so. A group of twenty where cowering, badly injured, in a portion of the mine that had survived the explosion. The splinters of bone from the other corpses pricked them as they huddled together. They had survived, but for how long? The river of the town flowed beneath the mine, and the explosion had been deep enough. They watch their deaths in horror and the water rose higher and higher…
Of course, no in the town would be stupid enough to check. Of course the children where dead, why go after them? The truth is, no one want to save a black child, nor go into the now unstable mine…
After much debate, the mayor of the town had had enough. He ordered the rotting bodies to be put down the mineshaft and that would be the end of it.
On April 23, the children where laid to rest in the mine. They where put into mass coffins and places in the walls of the mine where the rock still fell away.
The night was beautiful and clear. Their parents sobbed with loss as they held melting candles and silver crosses.
People threw flowers into the mine, and the next funeral began. Those others who had died, sixty men, three women, would be buried in a small gravesite at the bass of the hill the mine stood on.
Dunia Kalkonov watched on as to large men lifted her father's coffin was lowered in to the mass grave. The wind began to blow. She turned from the gravesite to the mine, where she could hear the sob of the children. She scowled, good children shouldn't cry.
"Mama, why are they crying?" she asked, squeezing her mother's hand. Olga Kalkonov turned her tear stained face to her daughter. "They are sad, Dunia. They have lost their husbands and wives and-"
"No, the children in the mine," said Dunia, though knowing she must never interrupt, "The children in the mine are crying, Mama, the wind carries their voices,"
"There is no one crying in the mine, Dunia," snapped Olga sharply, "You know perfectly well that they are dead."
"But Mama-"
Olga struck her daughter hard across the face. It stunned Dunia; it had been a while since she had been so naughty she needed a beating. Olga dragged her away and hit her again, and while she knew she shouldn't, Dunia began to cry.
"Good little girls don't cry," she Olga calmly as she began to batter the girl's tiny frame. Over and over she struck Dunia, until the little girls tear began to subside. Olga left in the brush and returned to the funeral.
Dunia lay there for a while. Those children kept crying, and no one was punishing them.
"'Good children don't cry…'"
She got up, limping from her injuries, and up the hill to the mine she went.
The cries of the children echoed in the mine. She stood there, hating them. She picked up a stone and hurled it with all her four-year-old strength into the mine.
Wind stop blowing, and so did the cries.
Eventually, Dunia Kalkonov became Dunia Hiwatari. She was blessed with a baby of her own, but she did not know what had become of the baby, nor did anyone else. Rumors flew through the town, most of which said Dunia had killed her baby. Certainly, she was a very strange and vengeful woman, but she grew even stranger at times, and even stranger events would follow, especially when the wind blew.
Because when the wind blows, the children will die….