Children of War

Written By: Error 401 - Talent Not Found

Dedicated to Nerd Corps

Chapter 1: Aerrow

Chapter dedicated to all the Naruto fans...as this has a sort of Naruto-istic tone to it


This is written in a style that differs from my usual one, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. It was originally one long and giant oneshot but I decided to divide it into various chapters focusing on each of the characters and eventually the different terras...you'll understand.

There are a few OCs in this story, but they're not important, so don't pay too much attention to them. Hope you like my sort of Naruto-fied rendition of their actual meeting heh heh. Why? Because I like the idea of them being grieving war-orphans. That being said, you do not have to know Naruto to read this.

For context, in my mind, Cyclonia defeated the Sky Knights a decade ago and held power for 4 years, but control begins to slip because of Cyclonian affairs, which is where the Sky Knights begin to liberate the terras again explaining why Cyclonia doesn't have total control because Cyclonis suddenly has to step up to lead the kingdom (I'm going to write a fic about this, when I do, I will link all you lovely people)

I briefly break the fourth wall...because they do that in the actual series quite often, so I felt obligated to do it at least once.

Enjoy!


Growing up as war orphans and living in the midst of the war that took family and friends makes it hard to understand the concept of protection and alliance- especially in a war brought on by betrayal. Still, as children, the innocent perspective of wonder and joy- the sheer admiration of those who protected them from harm is enough to make them forgive, to hope, to think that maybe, just maybe, the enemy had a reason, but as children of war, learning the reality of the world comes far before compassion.

They say that before the age of five, a child learns the most, that a child is the most impressionable...and perhaps it is that which taught the young ones how to survive.

"Father, you'll return, right? Not like mother?"

The man returned a nod to his son before turning to leave.

The boy's expression changed to worry and he ran forward and latched onto his father, "I love you."

"I love you too, Aerrow."

A fond ruffling of hair and the door clicked shut, the three year old climbed to the windowsill.

"Bye father."

The boy sat and worked through the book his father had given him, but he soon grew restless and found himself climbing the shelf for the model plane that sat high above his reach. His father was out, he wouldn't know that he had been playing and not working.

For hours the boy played Sky Knight, figuratively zooming in his model plane and defeating invisible enemies or chairs and desks. What little Sky Fu he knew was executed in mild clumsiness because of his age. The boy did not play long however, soon he returned to his book and continued to meticulously fill in the rows of letters and numbers carefully outlined for him.

There was a knock at the door.

"Father?"

The man at the door was not he, but it was a familiar face; the face of someone that the young boy was terrified of seeing, not out of fear, or disgust, not because the person was a stranger, or because he was unkind. No, the appearance of this man meant one thing only.

His father would not be returning.

"No! No!"

The boy ran from the door.

"No! No! No!"

"Aerrow, please! You have to come with us!"

"I won't! Father will come back! Father has to!"

He did not know when he started crying. He didn't like crying. His father was strong and his father never cried. He was strong too, so he couldn't cry, he wouldn't. But he was and his father was gone.

His father was gone.

He didn't know how long he was hiding in the cupboard, but when he came out, the man was sitting at the table.

"Ready?"

The boy nodded as the man handed him a bag of his belongings.

"Wait," the boy clambered back to his desk and grabbed the book and pencils, "let's go."

The man wrapped an arm around the boy and lifted him.

"I'm sorry, Aerrow."

The child slowly fell into a fitful sleep.

When he awoke he was in front of a grey and black building covered in windows and pitiful chalk drawings on the bottom half of one of the walls. A lone set of swings stood beside the building.

The man set him down gently and brought him inside.

"Do you want to share something with us?"

The boy looked around at the various faces that had turned to face him at the woman's remark.

"My name's Aerrow and my father was a Sky Knight."

There was silence, then, "wow, cool!" and general excited chatter.

"Which squadron was he with? Who was he?"

"I-I don't know...he never told me."

And if not for the disappointed expressions on the children's faces, he would have spent a minute mourning the fact that he never knew which squadron his father was with and that he never would, but his father had taught him to ensure that the people around him were content, that fame and glory meant nothing if there were those who were oppressed or unhappy. So instead he said, "but I do know he was one of the best!"

And the other children seemed satisfied with that and in turn, pulled him into the room and got him to play with them.

For the next year he lived at the orphanage and while the others played he would study and train. He would practice, but because the orphanage had no real teachers or soldiers, there was little his four year old mind could do alone. For a year, he worked on new friendships, worked on what his father had taught him. Study hard, see the good in people, find those he could trust, and protect those who needed to be protected. All the while, he made friends, played Sky Knight, and taught and practiced with them the simple movements of Sky Fu.

Keep your leg straighter, look up, loosen your wrist...

Yes father...

It was quite lucky there was an orphanage for him to live at. The Cyclonians had won the war and their reign was stretching farther and farther. What used to be prosperous land had become war torn, impoverished. There were orphans everywhere, but no one could spare the expense any longer.

Not two months since his arrival at the orphanage, a storm hit the terra, mass flooding. The children were kept inside for their safet-

"Asha's missing!"

"Where did you see her last?"

"I don't know, we were playing hide and seek, but she never came back."

Behind them, one of the nurses called out, "don't worry, you children get on upstairs, I'll find her," and walked into the blowing storm.

Hours passed and she did not return.


Review?