notes: This was a first attempt at something longer than a thousand words. Characterization might be off, but I tried to stay as close to their personalities as possible. Probably riddled with nitpicky things but I'm pretty sure it's all cleaned up. So I hope you enjoy this first (and probably failed) attempt at a No. 6 fanfic!
This might look a little bit better at 1/2 page, with 2/3 clicks of the small font button.
disclaimer: No. 6 is not mine, no matter how many times I use those 11:11 wishes. Sadface.
Once upon a time there once was a prince who was blessed by an angel. He was graced with a lovely voice and beautiful looks. His parents, the king and queen of Mao, adored their baby boy and gave him everything they could. He grew up to be a lovely young boy, always enchanting the servants with his voice and mischievously roaming the castle halls. It seemed to be a time filled with peace and joy, but since all good things must come to an end eventually, it was just that.
The kingdom of Mao was attacked one day, on the eve of the little prince's eighth birthday. They were all celebrating in the town square, the king and queen and little prince and a few royals from the neighboring kingdom were enjoying their time of peace. When the soldiers came, from the tyrannical kingdom of No. 6—the kingdom had no name, just a number, it was to be a utopia, perfection; nothing sentimental existed, nothing hopeful raised up, nothing, nothing, and nothing forevermore—chaos erupted in the peaceful kingdom of Mao.
Mao had no need for a heavy supply of military power, everybody got along with one another, and the soldiers of the kingdom tried their best to valiantly protect the king and queen and the little prince. Alas, their efforts were futile and the No. 6 soldiers overcame the small army and massacred the entire kingdom in search of more knowledge to keep their utopia a utopia.
In the midst of the chaos, the little prince—with the blessing of an angel over him—managed an escape. His heart pounded furiously in his chest as he listened to the screams of his people being horribly tortured and killed in front of his eyes. His wide, wide, wide steely gray eyes darted back and forth for any sort of escape from the guards tailing him.
His eyes, preoccupied with a vain search for escape, did not see the rubble that littered the ground and instead of fleeing like he intended, the little prince tripped and fell head over heels to the ground. He could feel the sting of the cobblestones and the grit and dirt from the ground being dug into his knees and his chin ached from the impact. His mind reeled from the fall, his eyes blurring and crossing in an attempt to clear his vision. He could hear the shouts of soldiers and screams of his people echo in his ears and all he could think was escape.
Sadly, the little prince was not able to find his escape, for a No. 6 soldier found him crouched in the tall grass of the florist's backyard. With a malicious smirk, the soldier lunged at the little prince and everything went dark from there. All over the countryside the news spread that the once perfectly peaceful kingdom of Mao was no more. The kingdom of Mao had fallen to No. 6, and to add more salt to the poor kingdom's wounds, No. 6 was to build another utopia on the ruins of the once grand kingdom.
No one dared object No. 6, since the kingdom had spread and became so powerful with the sin of greed. Before long, the countryside fell into a quiet lull, silently mourning the loss of the little prince with an angel's blessing and the kingdom of Mao.
The countryside had become barren soon after the downfall of Mao; the land dried up and would not give any more sustenance to the inhabitants, as if the great goddess Elyurias was angry with No. 6 and the other utopias' sins. She sent a plague upon the lands, drying it to nothing and causing the utopias to close their kingdom's walls and manage with their own wits and experiences. The punishment Elyurias sent upon the remaining kingdoms eventually became something normal and daily in the lives of the people.
It seemed like the ruin of Mao was completely forgotten by the countryside.
"The Kingdom That Never Had a Chance: Mao..." a curious hum escapes a twelve year old boy with auburn hair and bland mocha eyes as he reads the book in his hands. It is old and worn, its title just barely able to be made out. He curiously flips through the book and gasps at the writing in looping, swirling, twisting handwriting and realized, dimly, the book was a diary of sorts.
Something like this was forbidden in the kingdom of No. 6 and he could be tried for treason if someone got wind of this contraband in his arms. A thrill shook his spine as he gripped the book tighter to his chest. He wanted to read it. Mocha eyes shined with excitement at the wonderful images his mind played for him as he wondered what curious things the lost kingdom held.
He peered around the corner and spied an old woman at the counter. His eyes brightened as he recognized the lady at the counter. Her eyesight was terrible and she merely just rang up whatever was placed in front of her, no questions asked. Quickly making his way and shoving the book in the woman's hands, the boy smiled graciously—even though the woman wouldn't be able to see it—and pulled out what little pocket change he had for the book.
"There you go little Sion, though I don't know why you'd be buying such a decrepit old book anyway. What about the royal library? Don't they have plenty more fancier books and even some in Latin! This old book probably is so water logged you can't read the writing inside!" the woman crowed and Sion winced at her callous tone. He snatched the book back up and cradled it against his chest, like a precious jewel. He wasn't going to tell the old woman there was something about the book that… entranced him and called out to him. No way.
"Heh… you know how I am Verna, I hate the stuffy atmosphere that library has. This place is much homier than the royal library!" Sion cheered happily as the old woman chuckled. He picked up the book that Verna handed back and scurried on his way home to the manor he resided with his mother and their two servants.
As he made his way through the streets of the pristine No. 6 kingdom, Sion couldn't help but let his mind wander. Why did such a book exist if the kingdom was annihilated long ago? It didn't make sense to Sion. Making his way to the center of the town, a strangled cry startled the brown haired boy into stopping dead in his tracks. The cry sounded as if someone was in pain and wanted help, badly. Sion noticed a crowd surrounded a cage with a tarp on it. He then realized that there was a traveling troupe in town today. Curious, he started toward the crowd.
"Come one, come all! Come and see the last royal of the mythical kingdom of Mao!" the criers calls made Sion wince as he passed by the traveling troupe. How terrible, parading such a scam to the public. He watched with uninterested eyes as the crowed continued forward to the caged cart that had a tattered tarp over it. Sion paused as the crier smirked and ripped the tarp away.
The sight before Sion made his heart stop. There in the middle of the cage was an ethereal figure in too-big clothes. Black hair that shone blue in the flickering sunlight shimmered as the figure remained seated. Unconsciously, Sion could feel himself move closer, past the horrified mothers and amused fathers and disgruntled drunkards until he was in the very front. Sion clutched his purchase tighter in his arms and let out a small gasp of pity.
As if a spell was broken at Sion's gasp, the figure in the cage jolted up and looked around. Steely gray eyes darted back and forth frantically searching for an escape that seemed futile. He let out an inhuman sounding screech and lunged at the bars, startling the faint of heart and making Sion jump.
The boy, probably his age—or younger—suddenly paused and stared right at Sion, eyes eerily calm and void of emotion. He glanced down and his eyes suddenly widened at the sight. Sion blinked and looked down at where the boy was searching and realized he recognized the book. The black-but-blue haired boy's hands reached for Sion and just like that, the bubble of silence around the two children was broken by the sound of a whip cracking.
"Alright now ladies and gentlemen! If you want another show, you'll have to come by the outskirts of town. This fiery being knows more than just wildly running about like a heathen!" the crier smirked. The boy with unique gray eyes growled low in his throat and shot another glance at Sion, but the brown haired boy with mocha eyes had already bolted. As Sion ran to his manor, his mind raced. He was terrified and all the more curious about the last Mao royal and the kingdom's destruction.
When he arrived at his home he was out of breath and terrified. His personal servant, Yamase, appeared by his side curious and concerned. Sion shook off the comforting touches his servant tried to place on him, and he bolted up the stairs to his room, ignoring Yamase's concerned calls.
"Shall I bring up some snacks later Young Sion?"
Pausing at the top of the stairs and looking down at the servant, Sion smiled weakly at him and shook his head. No need, he wanted no interruptions whatsoever as he looked through the treasure he held in his hands.
"No need Yamase, I have a lot of stuff to work on for the apothecary. They would like me to help with making a new ointment for rashes and I'll be really busy! Tell mother I won't be having dinner with her either," Sion continues, book clutched tightly against his chest. Yamase nods his head and disappears to the servants' quarters, leaving Sion to bolt for his room.
Once safely in his ornately decorated room, Sion smiles happily and settles at his writing desk. He sets the book down and makes himself comfortable in his quest to learn more about Mao. He flips the book open to the first page, after the preface and other letters about the author and family members and the royal family tree, and gasps.
There, in roughly sketched marks, was the boy that was in the cage the traveling troupe paraded around. Sion's eyes widened as he traced the picture with a thin finger. So the crier wasn't lying when he said he had the last of the royalty of Mao. How did the crooked man gain the boy in the first place? What little history Sion did know was from the gossiping royalty that frequented balls his mother went to and dragged him along on. They said the entire kingdom was burnt to the ground, its royal family and citizens tortured and massacred.
Why was this boy still alive then? A horribly cruel twist of fate or was there something else that the utopia of No. 6 hid from prying eyes? Sion couldn't believe what he saw and he frantically began reading. It was going to be a long night, but it was going to be worth it if he could find out more about the kingdom and the little boy who had steely gray eyes.
"They weren't the right shade…" Sion hummed quietly to himself, "…not the right color to be considered 'steely'. The color is more… moonlight and alluring… like unicorn's blood…" he continued, eyes drooping slightly as his head slowly made its descent on to the book he was reading. The candle he was using for light slowly burned itself out and the room was plunged into darkness.
As Sion drifted into a dream filled sleep, he could only see a boy with alluring silver eyes and a desperate will to survive.
In the morning, Sion's neck ached from sleeping at his desk. He blearily rubbed his eyes as he glanced at the book, fully read, his curiosity still not sated. He wanted to talk to the little boy with the alluring eyes and ask him all sorts of questions about the kingdom—why was he still alive? What happened to the kingdom? Why didn't No.6 kill him three years ago why, why, why, why?—and learn more.
Mind made up, Sion stood and stretched. The sound of a knock at his door startled him and he waited for the calm voice of Yamase to ask if he would like anything special for breakfast. Eventually he heard the door open and the distinct sound of heels on the ground instead of firm footsteps.
"Ah Sion… you came home in a rush yesterday, was everything all right?" His mother's honey coated voice rang out and he tensed. Sion turned around and smiled cheerfully. His mother was dressed in her usual finery, perhaps there was a ball that afternoon?, and she worriedly stared at him.
"Everything was fine, just the apothecary wanted me to come up with something better for rashes. Nothing more mother," he replied simply and his mother nodded, turning on a heel to leave.
"Well then, make sure you go downstairs and have Yamase make you something, since you didn't eat last night dear."
"Of course mother."
Listening to his mother's fading footsteps, Sion held his breath as he waited. When the footsteps fully disappeared from his range of hearing, he let out the breath he was holding and glanced at the book sitting innocently on his desk. He picked it up and pulled open a drawer to set it in, for safekeeping. He then made his way downstairs, where the smell of breakfast made his mouth water and stomach grumble in protest. Sion entered the kitchen, fully intent on simply picking up something quick to eat and then make his way to the town's outskirts.
He was going to see that boy once more. There wasn't any doubt in his mind that he needed to do this and learn more. He spied Yamase working diligently on the breakfast and a twinge of guilt bubbled in his stomach as he realized this would be the second time he didn't eat the servant's marvelous cooking. At least the servant hadn't gotten too into the cooking for Sion to feel extremely bad, just a bit.
"Yamase… you don't have to cook much. I'm not all that hungry and I plan on spending most of my time out, so you and Rina can have the day off, okay?" there. That eased his guilty conscience somewhat. Yamase paused his cooking and smiled softly at the boy.
"Thank you Young Sion. I'll be sure to tell Rina that and we'll go out then." Was the reply and Sion happily watched as Yamase set aside a plate for him and headed to the servant's quarters. Sion eagerly ate the breakfast, surprised the older man had given him a surprise in the form of a cherry cake slice.
After finishing the breakfast and washing up, Sion determinedly made his way out the door and toward the direction of the traveling troupe. He smiled cheerily at the calls of his name from some of the elder women and ignored the teasing catcalls and whoops from the lower class boys that were jealous of his accomplishments. As he got closer to the troupe's resting ground, he noticed the scenery changed greatly. The homes were still elegant and fancy, but not as strong a degree as Sion's manor was; and eventually he found the troupe's caravan.
It looked like everybody in the troupe seemed to still be in his or her own tent, sleeping. Sion's heart raced at the excitement and nerves that seemed to boil beneath his skin. He had never done such a thing before (he also didn't buy books that were obviously banned and dangerous to possess even) and it sent a thrill down his spine. He cautiously and quietly darted through the camp, searching for the familiar tarp and cage that held the Mao royal.
Finally spotting the cage, Sion quickly made his way to it and lifted the tarp up a little bit. His breathing very nearly stopped at the sight underneath the tarp. The Mao boy was curled up in the corner of the cage, his breathing ragged and shallow as he clutched himself for warmth. Sion's eyes widened at the sight and a small gasp escaped his lips. In an instant, the boy sprung to life. He lunged at Sion, grabbing his throat tightly and yanking him forward. Sion's forehead collided with the metal bars and he nearly bit his tongue in half trying to stifle the sound of surprise and pain that wanted to bubble forth.
"You. Stay quiet."
The harsh order grated against Sion's ears, making him wince and stare in awe at the boy that had him in his grasp. Sion blinked as the boy seemed to strain his ears for any sounds, his head darting back and forth for any sign of other members of the troupe. Satisfied with the position of power he had over Sion, the boy loosened his grip on Sion. A quiet sigh of relief left Sion's lips as he rubbed gingerly at the bump forming on his forehead.
"What are you doing here?" The boy's grating voice echoed in Sion's ears as he smiled cheerfully. He didn't bring the book, which saddened him somewhat (but it was a liability, so he needed it to stay home) but he could recall every single fact of the boy's origins.
"You're about twelve now, you were born sometime in the changing fall to winter season, and are the only living member of the Mao royalty and people," Sion recited succinctly. The caged boy's eyes widened at the information and then his eyes narrowed. Sion was then pulled into another death grip and smashed against the bars of the cage.
"You sure know your stuff. How's that, I wonder, since most of the history books were commanded to omit any information about Mao. Why do you know so much?" Sion could feel the boy's wariness and suspicion build until it finally bubbled over in the form of scathing words.
Sion smiled softly as he held out his hand in a peace offering. He could see the incredulous expression on the other boy's face and then the boy started to laugh. Laugh of all things. Sion's lips pursed until they were forming a large pout as he waited for the little nameless boy to quit his laughter. After a few moments, the boy looked through his shaggy hair at Sion and wiped away a few tears of mirth.
"That's rich. You want to help me, a heathen royal of a dead kingdom? Don't make me laugh," the boy spat out bitterly. Sion shook his head as he continued to smile. The blue-black haired boy started at the calmness of the other and reluctantly looked to the side. Sion perked up at the silent approval from the boy and he made his way to the door of the cage where a large and intimidating lock was, guarding the prisoner of the cage.
Sion easily found an old nail on the ground, probably from an old project that required some carpentry, and slid it into the lock's keyhole and jimmied it. The inaudible sound of gears clicking and clacking made for a comfortable silence, occasionally Sion would hum something or the blue-black haired boy would mutter something about time wasting. The jingling of the chains and lock falling startled Sion, surprised that what he did actually worked.
"Hum, I guess thieves' really do like learning such a trade. It is very thrilling to hear that soun—"
"Oi brat! What are you doing over there?"
Sion jolted at the sound of the crier who had advertised the captured boy's plight and he glanced over at his shoulder. The crier, along with a few of his goons, was running towards the cage. He couldn't do anything but stare, wide eyed, and a sitting duck. Before Sion could get a surprised noise past his lips, the boy had grabbed him roughly by the wrist and tugged hard to get Sion to run.
The two boys ran as fast as their legs could carry them, darting past shops and through alleyways in their quest to escape the troupe that held the blue-black haired boy captive. Sion's eyes were alight with an intense look as he watched the back of the boy's head while they ran. The boy's hair shifted back and forth back and forth back and forthlike a pendulum, setting itself a rhythm only it knew.
Sion was enraptured by the sight and once the blue-black haired Mao boy felt it was safe to stop, Sion started laughing. The Mao boy stared as Sion laughed, utterly confused as to what was going on. Before long however, Sion's laughter infected the other boy and the two slumped down in the alley, laughing wildly. After a few minutes, the two boys calmed their laughter and Sion smiled brightly. The Mao boy frowned at the cheery smile and scoffed as he looked away.
"You're an idiot. Your face will probably be all over the town square now, great going." He spat, still not facing Sion fully. The comment went ignored as Sion leaned forward to stare closely at the other boy. Startled, the boy lunged at Sion, knocking him backward into the alley wall. Sion's head made a sickening thud against the stone, but the brown haired boy still smiled softly even with the Mao boy's hands around his throat.
"It's okay. I'm just glad you're away from that horrible man," Sion replied sincerely, eyes shining. Startled, the Mao boy's grip loosened and the cold and hardened attitude he had toward Sion melted away. The blue-black haired boy shook his head, an amused smile on his face as Sion rubbed the back of his head gingerly.
"You're one strange kid."
"I don't see how I am. I merely helped you get away from that horrible situation. It was not a fit place for a boy your age and—"
"For what purpose?"
Sion stuttered at the words of the boy, not knowing what to reply to that. He didn't know why he helped the boy honestly. It just felt as if the boy needed to be helped out in Sion's eyes. Sion bit his lip and went silent, noticing the other boy smirked in triumph at the verbal war he just won.
"…y-you looked so helpless in that cage! You were half starved and shaking and so pitiful looking I-I…!"
A raise of the boy's slender eyebrow made Sion choke on his words, his rant halting immediately. Okay, maybe explaining himself further dug Sion into a deeper pit, but it didn't matter because the Mao boy was getting up to walk away? Sion sprung to his feet, his hand reaching for the other's wrist. He gripped it tightly and the blue-black haired boy spun to glare at him.
"W-Where are you going? I-It's dangerous to go out there!"
"…Nothing I can't handle."
Sion worries at his lip, wincing at a particularly sharp bite to his flesh. He was nervous for the boy, what if he was captured again?
"B-But… Ah! Your name, what is it?"
"…Nezumi."
"…Nezumi? Is that really your name?"
"..che of course not. Why would I share my name with you?"
"My name is Sion. S-So now you can share your name with me…?"
"Fat chance."
Sion pouts at the tone Nezumi has with him, but calms at the amused smirk the boy has on his face. His grip on the boy's wrist loosens and Nezumi is free to leave. The blue-black haired boy smirks one last time before he darts into a crowd of rowdy children. Sion watched with awe as the boy slipped in and out of the crowds like a snake.
He waited a few moments longer, just to make sure the crier and his goons didn't suddenly attack the Mao boy and drag him back before he decided that he needed to leave. Sion quickly tried to imitate the languid way Nezumi darted between the crowds, but only succeeded in annoying the occasional adult and finicky child. As Sion made his way home, he wondered if the boy would be alright after all.
When Sion arrived home that night, exhausted from the day's events and all that ran through his mind were fantastical visions of a lost kingdom and a boy with alluring eyes and a name that wasn't quite a name.
Nezumi. Nezumi. Nezumi. Nezumi. Nezumi.