1. The Beginning

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When Izaya dreams, he dreams of wars.

He dreams himself riding atop a tall white horse, leading hundreds of men, each one of them carrying a sword, or a spear. He dreams of swinging his sword—left slash, right slash, parry, stab, blood— and he dreams of the battlefield littered with fallen weapons and blood coating the land.

He dreams himself holding a rifle and bullets flying everywhere, of holding a grenade and taking cover as he throws it as far as he could over the battlefield that was already littered with bodies.

He dreams of castles of old, of kings and queens whose power was absolute as the gold on their crowns, and he dreams of playing a flute in a court as the nobles danced in their gaudy and intricate outfits, and dreams of forests and fields, covered in blood with metal swords embedded in soldiers' chest.

(When he is awake, he thinks that the gang war he's cooking up are nothing compared to his dreams, but he comforts himself thinking it's the best that he can do in modern times.)

Izaya dreams, and when he wakes up, the dreams leave him with a faint feeling of excitment, success, and bloodlust. (What a way to start a day~!, he sings, as he looksover the sunrise peeking out of the cityline.)

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AN: This stemmed from the plot bunny, "what if Prussia was reborn as Izaya?" because I read too much angsty fics dealing with Prussia being reborn as something else, and NOT prussia anymore. I wrote this ages ago, and I've always did wanted to write those drabble-chaptered fics.

I got some already written out but not polished, hopefully I can finish this in a year. Or two maybe.