AN: *Pulls on baseball hat, cracks knuckles, & turns on Soul Eater OST*

Alright. Let's do this! For those of you who don't know me, I'm SilentSongAtDawn, formerly KHatake007. Call me Dawn. I used to be a very laid back, slow to update Author, but no more. It drove me crazy how long it took me to update, so expect regular updates from now on.

For those of you who haven't read A Witch In The Woods: An Ancient Legend Come To Life?, this is a rewrite of that story. I hope you enjoy it!

IMPORTANT!

This is based off of the Soul Eater Anime, so *Spoiler Alert!* Asura is not Lord Death's son in this story. *Spoiler Over* This also takes place about two years post Kishin, but the ages of canon characters are the same. Because I can do that because it's my story. The ages are as follows, however.

Maka: 14

Soul: 14

BlackStar: 14

Tsubaki: 18

Liz: 17

Patty: 13

Crona: 14

Kid: He's a reaper, so who the heck knows. He looks like he's 15 though.

There will be no Lemons in this story!

I don't own Soul Eater.

Death City, Arizona, is home to one of the most unique schools in the world, The Death Weapon Meister Academy. The Academy, or DWMA, is anything but normal. Run by the Grimm Reaper, Lord Death himself, it serves as a safe haven where young Weapons and Meisters can search for their chosen partners and train to better themselves. By joining hands, they would become the ultimate force for protecting all that is good from monsters they all call Kishin.

Ever since the defeat of the Kishin, Asura, the student body had grown and new legends had been born. Names like Soul Eater, Maka, BlackStar, Tsubaki, Liz, Patty, and Death The Kid were spoken with reverence among the new students, who stare in awe at these legendary heroes of the DWMA. They all aspired to be just like them. But, judging by their lack of memorable features and average skill sets, it was obvious that these poor fans were no more than minor characters; stuck in the Normally Overcome Target, or NOT class.

Ironically enough, that is where our story begins.

Inside the NOT classroom on a typical Friday, pencils hurriedly scratched against paper with only five minutes to the final bell. All the students were desperately trying to finish the worksheet their undead teacher assigned them, glancing between their papers and the skull shaped clock on the wall repeatedly. Every one of them were anxiously awaiting the last bell which indicated the start of the weekend.

All, that is, except one.

In the back row, on the far right side, a student obliviously slept.

His head was lying on the desk since his worksheet, which was currently covered mostly by his shaggy black hair, had been completed almost an hour before. It was an unusually high level assignment for the NOT class, but this particular student had already completed the paper twice before. He didn't even have to even think about the answers, he already had them completely memorized. After all, it was child's-play for someone who had repeated the class for two straight years.

It wasn't his intention to fall asleep, but he had run out of things to do. Before sleep had claimed him, he had covered all but the bottom margin of his paper with an intricate and astonishingly life-like replication of a tiger stalking through a bamboo forest. It seemed almost three-dimensional, the shadows and shading making it look as if the tiger was about to leap off the page. There wasn't much to do after that, so his mind had decided to just shut down.

A student three seats away (The ones between them were empty.) glanced over, saw the doodles, and rolled his eyes at the sleeping teen. None of the students in the NOT class really liked the black haired boy. It was mostly because he was top of the class, yet all he seemed to do was doodle and sleep. Not that said boy cared what they thought.

Sid glanced at his watch, one minute to the bell. If he was the kind of man he used to be, he would have felt bad for Professor Stein. There was no doubt the mad scientist had his hands full trying to keep BlackStar under control right now. But that was who he was in the past. Now he was just glad he didn't have to deal with the little blue haired maniac.

The blue skinned teacher clapped his hands together, immediately drawing in the attention of the whole class.

"One minute to the bell," he said quite unnecessarily, everyone knew what time it was. "And once I have everyone's attention…"

The students snickered. This happened every day. Sid didn't even have to look to know that the student in the far back right, (his left, but whatever.) was once again asleep. Someone in the front row tossed a pencil back at the sleeping student, and smirked when the pencil found its target, the boy's head.

The mop of shaggy black hair shot up, accompanied by a pair of unnervingly bright green eyes, which almost seemed to glow behind his hair, giving him a haunting, otherworldly appearance. This effect, however, was ruined by the worksheet stuck to his cheek.

Laughter echoed all around.

Sid cleared his throat and the noise died down as the focus of the class shifted back to him.

"Now, when the bell rings, turn in your worksheets, finished or not, on my desk. Then you can leave, but don't forget to practice the new maneuver we went over today with your partner over the weekend. There WILL be a test on Monday." He said over the groans of the class.

One of the students, the one that threw the pencil, raised his hand and cockily asked. "Sid? What if you don't have a partner?"

Forget muffled chuckles, the entire class burst into peals of laughter... except for the green eyed boy in the back. He simply peeled the worksheet off his face, brushed eraser shavings off his slightly wrinkled white short sleeve dress shirt which fell onto the legs of his dark blue jeans, and attempted to straighten his perpetually crooked black tie.

Sid waited till the class fell silent to answer the smart-aleck kid. "I was unaware you and Phoebe were no longer partners, Carter. When you end a partnership, you're supposed to tell the teacher."

The kid, now known as Carter, gave the zombie an odd look. "What are you talking about? We're still partners!" he said, putting an arm around the girl on his right.

"Then why do you need to know?" Sid asked.

"I-uh…" Carter stuttered.

"Stupid questions waste my time and I don't tolerate them. That's the kind of man I am," the zombie said.

At that moment, the bell rang, and the students surged forward, rushing to turn in their papers and get out the door. It took all of two minutes for them to escape, leaving Sid with a hazardous mound of papers all over his desk. Said zombie sighed and began to organize the worksheets.

The only one who hadn't run out the door like his life depended on it was the boy in the back. He too sighed tiredly and stood up slowly, running his hand through his already messy hair. He winced as he touched the spot where the pencil made contact with his cranium.

Gathering his things which consisted of a binder, workbook, and a few spare pencils; the teen descended down the steps toward Sid's desk, trying to rub the soreness from his head where the projectile made contact.

"Did you really have to let him hit me?" He asked as he placed his paper atop the now neat stack on his teacher's desk.

"You're the one who let him hit you." Sid retorted. "You could have blocked it."

The boy waved a hand dismissively.

"Could have, should have, didn't. Would have been too much of a hassle." He said as he put his things into his black leather backpack, pulling out a pair of sleek black rollerblades simultaneously. After removing his black converse and putting them in his bag with his school items, he strapped on the skates before standing up and saluting his teacher.

"See you Monday Sid." The teen said as he rolled out the door, carefully avoiding the bump on the floor that often tripped up patchwork professors on wheely chairs. Sid waved him off while taking a moment to glance at the paper the black haired boy had turned in. Without actually going through the answers, he sighed before marking a 100 on the paper at the bottom margin next to the boy's name, written in a messy scrawl.

Samuel Black

Samuel Black rolled down the hallway, picking up speed as he went, weaving around lagging students with ease. Hands in his pockets, he rolled by the EAT classroom, Crescent Moon. He had enough speed to blow the ashy-blonde pigtails of Maka Albarn (who had stayed after a bit to talk to the professor about their latest assignment) in her face.

Maka's face contorted into one of confusion as she looked down the hall after Samuel's retreating form.

"Who in the world…?" she said to no one in particular. Soul followed her gaze and just shrugged as Stein rolled to the door on his chair.

"Ah, that would be Samuel Black. Been stuck in the NOT class for two years now, going on three. No one special." The professor said as he rolled back into his classroom.

"Two years?! He's that bad of a student?" Maka asked aghast as she followed Stein back into his classroom. Soul sighed. This would take a while.

"Actually, he's top of the class despite his lack of self motivation, and has been for a while. The only reason he hasn't moved up to EAT class is because he doesn't have a partner. Which I don't find surprising, given his weapon form." The Patchwork Professor said as he adjusted the screw in his head.

"What do you mean?" Maka questioned.

"It's not impossible, but it is very difficult to take missions when the weapon doesn't have a meister. And while the NOT curriculum is made to cater to both partnerships and solo students, the EAT curriculum is not. A solo weapon can enter the EAT class, but only after passing the physical and written tests that everyone else has to take, AND claiming 20 Kishin souls by themselves. So, you can see why someone with as little motivation as Samuel would have failed to move up."

"If it's so difficult to move up by himself, why doesn't he just find a partner?" Soul asked. Stein sighed.

"He's tried, but I think he's given up on ever finding a partner by now. His weapon form is a major turn off for any meister he might have paired with." He answered as he rolled to the chalkboard.

"His weapon form is a very rare type of sword, called a Garian sword. Some have three blades, but he only has one." He said as he drew the sword on the chalkboard. It looked like any other sword, the hilt bearing qualities of both an English short sword and a Japanese katana. The cross guard was too large for an average katana, but the grip was too long for the Hand-and-a-half length of the English, and the pommel was non-existent.

"The sword itself is not all one piece, however. There is a wire running through the blade, allowing the sword to break into multiple pieces, to be used as a whip, or shot at an opponent." He then drew the lines on the blade where it would come apart, and the blade in its extended form.

Soul and Maka just stared at the board for a moment before Soul spoke. "You should never be an art teacher, Professor."

Maka smacked him in the back of the head. "It's just an example, idiot."

She then turned her attention back to the professor. "But I can see why nobody would want to partner with him though. A blade like that would be hard to wield."

"Not to mention that as far as anyone knows, he's the only weapon like that." Stein said as he erased the poorly drawn sword. "Even Lord Death hasn't seen a weapon like him before, so even if someone wanted to partner with him, there would be no one to teach them how to wield him. It's a pity too. Otherwise, he'd be a powerful weapon."

Samuel rolled through the doors of the great school and down the thin incline next to the stairs. He let gravity do the work and pull him down, speeding up faster and faster until he had reached the front of the large mass of bodies exiting the school. Out of the corner of his eye, he could have sworn he saw someone with blue hair gape openly at him and then start yelling about him trying to steal his spotlight, but before he could make sense of it, he had swerved onto the sidewalk.

Samuel fished something out of his pocket and began flipping through his DeathPod, looking for a good song, before settling on one and slipping the device into his pocket as the music blared into his ears through his black Shinigami ear buds. (Working copy of those worn by Justin Law! Limited edition, buy now for only 19.99, plus shipping and handling, and 15% of the profits go to the DWMA!)

The sounds of the city were drowned out by the song he had chosen, some JPop song called Bakuso Yume Uta. The Japanese lyrics filled his head as he followed the streets home, subconsciously skating in time to the beat. Despite being in a different language, he had spent some time in Japan, and knew enough to translate.

A glint in my glaring eyes flares up like the noise of breaking the harmony

They snuck in, those hearts unchanged from the days we dreamed in the garage

That's right, there will never be a tomorrow that's like today; I'm roaring with sensitivity

My singing heart plays this beat, certain proof that I'm alive

What I gain, I lose; what I gain, I lose

Even on the nights I cried, alone, among these changing times

Everything is right here, everything; I should still

Be able to go on by myself

A pure light comes through the dark night

My life is crying that these times are eternal

Look, you're always reflected in the depths of my heart

Just keep embracing the truth you should protect

There's no reason; my trembling soul, ah

It's generally a lie when I say I have no regrets; I spit on the roadway

Accept it! I just need to be that much stronger and waste my effort once more

Yeah, when I realize that I'm not clever enough to fool myself as I am

Right now I think, feel; and I certainly wouldn't if there were an answer

Those I meet, I part with; those I meet, I connect with

The brilliance of the youth I'm cuddled up with, even on guileless days

Everything is right here; everything is beautiful

But I'm still fighting

Even if we're swallowed by the raging ways of every repeating day

We'll still be here, without waking up from the dream

The voices of my friends always reach me

I have no choice but to keep going in the city wind,

As if shaking off loneliness; the way of life I believed in, ah

While wandering,

(I gain) the unchanging courage to keep changing things

And the strength to stay here without losing or changing anything

A pure light comes through the dark night

My life is crying that these times are eternal

Look, you're always reflected in the depths of my heart

Just embrace the truth you should protect and go!

Even if we're swallowed by the raging ways of every repeating day

We'll still be here, without waking up from the dream

The voices of my friends always reach me

I have no choice but to keep going in the city wind,

As if shaking off loneliness; the way of life I believed in, ah

There's no reason; my trembling soul, ah

The city became more rural, tall buildings replaced by increasingly large expanses of desert sand and sagebrush. Eventually, he rolled up to the little two bedroom house on about 3 acres of dry Nevada soil. The outside was fairly standard, red brick with a white porch that extended along the length of the house. The most distinguishing features were the yard, however, not the home.

Despite the heat and lack of water in the soil, it was a vibrant green. On the right of the house was a small, but well tended and thriving garden, on the left, a giant apple tree.

Samuel took off his skates and dropped them off at the door along with his bag, and pulled on the waiting pair of work boots. Crossing over to the aforementioned tree, he plucked a ripe Red Delicious and took a bite, enjoying the warm, sweet taste of the fruit as he opened the gate to the 5 foot fence behind the house.

'I wonder if Lord Death likes apples…' The dark haired teen thought to himself, closing the gate. He grinned as he felt something push against his back, and turned to smirk at the being who had pushed him. "Impatient today, aren't we Phillip?"

The now-named Phillip nickered and nudged Samuel again. A Large Chestnut Mustang, he towered over the weapon. But despite the fearsome appearance, he was quite the gentle giant. He was a rescue, as the scars all over his legs, neck, and flanks clearly told.

The poor horse had belonged to an abusive owner who whipped him whenever he was too slow to respond. The man was lucky. Most horses would have turned mean and could have seriously injured him, but not Phillip. He just took it until he was forcibly removed from the man's custody.

Said horse nosed Samuel's half eaten apple, asking for permission to take it. Samuel laughed and let him take it, rubbing his nose as he ate. "Come on you," he said as he walked deeper into the yard, where more horses awaited.

Every horse was a rescue, each one had a story. Some were blind, some missing an ear, others still showing ribs, and they were all scared deeper than any knife could reach. Thinking of the people who abused these poor creatures made Samuel mad. Raving mad. So mad, he wanted to tear into each and every one of the terrible owners. Having a responsibility like taking care of another life, and leaving that life out in the cold and rain to starve and die…

It made him see red.

But then, the horses around him would nudge him back to reality, calm his bloodthirsty heart. They were like a family to him. They kept him grounded, and no matter how bad the damage, external or internal, they slowly healed under his touch.

As he arrived with Philip in tow, the other horses looked up at him from wherever they were, and hobbled, walked, and trotted over to him. They were sniffing all over him, licking his hair, and searching his pockets for treats. Samuel laughed out loud, all his barriers that he had up at school tumbling down. He smiled like no one at school ever dreamed he could.

"Alright, alright!" He laughed.

"Let me through, or I won't be able to get you guys fed!" He said, pushing through the herd. He managed to get through to the shed where he kept the feed,(He had to keep it padlocked or the more clever ones would find a way to get in, and then eat until they were bloated, thus throwing their intelligence into question.) and hefted the large bag, filling the feeders around the three acre pen, then filling the feeders in the stalls where the more sickly and injured animals were.

Once the majority of the herd was occupied by the arrival of the food, he grabbed the hose from the side of the house and repeated the process, filling water buckets and tubs instead of feeders. The entire process took almost an hour, and was backbreaking work, (Lifting fifty pound bags of feed wasn't easy, unless you were BlackStar.) but he enjoyed it. The physical labor left him more physically fit than most weapons, which he needed to be since he didn't have a meister.

It left him too tired to think too much about bothersome things like his place in the universe and all that. He was quite obviously a side character in the big picture, so things like that didn't matter too much to him.

As he wound up the hose, he felt a large velvety nose rest on his shoulder. He smiled. "Hey there Niato. Let me guess, you're looking for treats again?" he chuckled.

"By your human standards, carrots and apples aren't considered treats. So, no. I am not looking for treats." She said in his mind. "Though I wouldn't turn up my nose at a sugar cube or mint either."

Samuel chuckled at the mare. "Alright, alright. I need someone to taste the carrots from the garden anyway. I lost the seed packet that said when they would be ready."

"I know exactly where it is, it's in that pit of despair you call a bedroom. Honestly, I've seen colts with cleaner stalls!" Niato chided.

"You're probably right." The weapon said as he turned to face her. The mare was almost as large as Phillip, who must have had some Clydesdale in him somewhere, but she was not as bulkily proportioned. She was as black as Death's cloak, but her coat was flecked with gray, matching her mane and tail, which were also streaked through with the faded black color.

She was the only horse that wasn't a rescue.

She was… Different.

Samuel scratched her behind the ear before he climbed over the fence and dropped down to the ground below, landing next to the garden. Carrots, tomatoes, lettuce, beans, peas, cucumbers, strawberries, squash, and medicinal and common herbs too numerous to mention covered the garden in neat rows. He made his way over to the carrots, careful to avoid the stinging nettle. (He had been reminded of why it was called STINGING nettle on more occasions than he cared to recall.)

After selecting a few and brushing the majority of the dirt off, he turned back to the Large Black equine head sticking in between the logs that made up the fence.

Niato looked at him expectantly, her gaze darting between the teen and the carrots he carried. He laughed and offered one to her.

She gingerly plucked the carrot from his outstretched open palm and crunched on it for a moment, her expression the horsey-version of thoughtful.

"Well?" he asked with mock impatience. He knew what she was planning.

"Hmmm… I'm not sure. I think I need another one to be able to tell." The weapon laughed at her ridiculous ploy.

"Alright, but just one more. You can't eat too many, or you'll put on weight again." He said as he held out the other carrot.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about." The mare thought as she munched on the second treat. "Besides, you are fifteen-"

"Seventeen." He corrected.

"Seventeen, and I am… much older. I think I would know what was best for me."

"Knowing and acting on that knowledge are two different things." He said as he climbed back over the fence. "Need I remind you of THAT incident?"

"Ah… No, you don't." Even in her mind's voice, he could hear the embarrassment.

"That's what I thought." The teen said as he dropped to the dusty ground.

"Alright," He said as he brushed the dust off his jeans. It was then he realized that his school shirt was hopelessly dirty, and discount laundry day at the Laundromat wasn't till Tuesday. He shrugged, deciding that he could make a run into city sometime during the weekend. "I'm heading inside. Keep Phillip away from the apple tree okay?"

"I'll keep an eye on him." She promised.

Samuel made his way back to the house, rubbing noses and scratching ears as he went. The back door to the house let out directly inside the fence, so the only thing he had to climb was the stairs to the sliding glass door.

Once inside, he walked about twenty steps to the loveseat, picked up the remote, and pointed it at the TV sitting above the fireplace on the same wall as the door, turning on the TV to the classical music channel. Satisfied with the background noise, he headed into the kitchen to make something to eat, eventually deciding on being lazy and making some ramen. Not what he usually had, but he honestly didn't feel like making anything else.

While the noodles were cooking, he headed into his room to change. Opening the door, he was forced to agree with Niato. He couldn't even tell what color the floor was, for all the junk on the floor. Heck, even his desk, dresser, bookshelf and bed were covered! Paints, clothes, notebooks, old tests, books that he needed to take back downstairs to the library, the list went on and on. That one kid, Death's son, whatever his name was, would probably have a heart attack if he saw the mess.

Digging through the mess, he found a clean t-shirt and jeans, put them on, and went back into the living room, grabbing some paints and brushes off his desk on the way.

He dropped the paints on the couch as he crossed into the kitchen, grabbing the noodles from the microwave and a pair of chopsticks from a drawer, and then crossed back into the living room, proceeding to stare at the wall that separated his bedroom from the room he was currently in. After tilting his head back and forth for a while, whilst eating his noodles, he finally seemed to decide on something. Setting the noodles down, he picked up a pencil from the couch where he dumped the other art stuff. (AN: He has a loveseat facing the TV, and a couch against the wall he was just staring at.)

After pushing the couch away from the wall, he broke the rule that has been drilled into our heads since we could hold a drawing utensil; he drew on the wall.

After a few minutes, the picture became recognizable as the DWMA, but with a bit of a twist. The sun was on the right, the moon on the left. Even though it was just in pencil, it was evident that he planned to feature both night and day in the picture.

Once he was satisfied, he began painting the building. He had finished the main coat and was about to move on to more detailed work when he caught sight of the time on the TV. It was getting late, time to go to bed. He for one tried to maintain a semi-normal sleep schedule, even during the summer.

Leaving the paints where they were, but turning off the TV, he trudged off to bed. He flopped onto the mattress, making sure all 6 alarms on his DeathPod were set. (Yes, he's one of those people. So am I.) After his mind settled down, he finally drifted off to sleep.

And that was an average day in the average life of the apparently average weapon, Samuel Michael Black. And it would have continued on like this, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, until the day he died, had he not woken a few hours later to a soft chime like sound and a green glow emanating from a seemingly average mirror hanging by his bedside…

AN: I know! I know! Selena's a Guy! Don't kill me! I swear to you it works out better this way! I had a long discussion with my mom about my story, (More like me thinking out loud and my mom just listening.) and it suddenly clicked! It works out really well in the long run so please don't kill me! Also, it's more of a challenge for me to try to write for a guy, so that's an Author skill bonus.

Internet cookies to anyone who recognizes the song he was listening to, and/or gets the other references I made later on.

ALSO! By reviewing, a horse of your choice of name, breed, and color will be added to the story! Limit one per user; Up to 15 spots are available! No special powers, but personality quirks are welcome! To submit a horse, see the outline on my profile, fill it out, and PM it to me!

Ja Ne!