… A pure, unblemished hue.

A deep, rich color, bursting with intensity.

He had seen many different shades of red throughout his life. Pastel red, burnt red, dull red, vivid red; shades and tints that constantly change with each passing moment. And each shade held many indefinite, yet symbolical meanings to him. Meanings that he doubted any other person could understand their importance to him, at first glance.

—x—

Even at a young age, he had already begun to identify the dark, sanguine shade of red with affliction. A tragedy. The rusty blotches that had stained his mother's clothes that one fateful day as she held him in her snug yet limp embrace; the crimson liquid that slowly leaked from his father's gaping wound as he struggled with his breathing. In those moments, the red that clouded his vision paralyzed his body with fear, trapping him both physically and mentally. Yet, he felt no palpable pain.

None of that red had come from his own body. It had only served to teach him what it felt like to have the threads of life he had clung so dependently to ripped away from him in an instant. It taught him what it felt like to lose what meant everything to him. And later, it taught him what it felt like to have the people he trusted leave him behind in the middle of it all. When it mattered the most.

Red symbolized death; the death of loved ones. It was the blatant manifestation of impending danger, and later, ill-fated endings. Those were among the meanings of the grisly color he had taken for granted until then, and they were meanings he may never forget.

Soon enough, the color had associated itself with something else. An emotion that bubbled from the recesses of his heart. A feeling that soon grew to an intensity like the blazing flames that lick upon its kindling. One that subsequently blinded him in his dire, disorienting moments.

In those moments, no longer did he associate the color with death, but with anger. From the hurt he had felt when his father's associates and even his own people — his own brothers — turned their backs on him, it had brought forth a loathing that just refused to die down. And from that loathing, a hardened resolve surged in his mind. A goal that he would go through any lengths to achieve.

To become greater, stronger, more powerful than his father ever was — both mentally and physically, among everything else. To become the man that succeeds his father's legacy; to rise to the top of the ranks and reclaim what was meant to be his; to make those who have abandoned him, plundered his privileges and belittled him regret what they've done. It was a goal he had obliged himself with.

But, he was blinded by the redness of vehemence. Earnest at heart yet provoked by his own conditions, he no longer paid any mind to the people around him, and focused solely on the only driving force he had left that urged him to keep struggling even in the direst of situations; his own ambitions. And it was those high hopes he'd placed upon himself that compelled him to keep going.

He began to fight for some sort of consistency in his turbid circumstances, only to return to the old family library his father used to maintain. A fairly quaint little library it may have been, but its mahogany bookshelves were teeming with a wealth of knowledge that one couldn't even begin to fathom without any prior research. In Kiriha's case however, it wasn't much of a problem for him.

Books with a wide array of subjects were arranged in an orderly fashion, from biographies to anthologies, to philosophical books and books on political systems, yet Kiriha simply strode past the number of shelves that towered over his short figure, not even batting an eye at them. No, none of those topics were relevant to his interests. He well-nigh knew this place like the back of his palm; he was aware that what he sought was further in. Slowing in his walk as he turned up at one of the library's nooks, his eyes carefully trailed over the titles, and he reached out a hand and let his fingers glide over the books' hard spines.

And then, there it was. A vivid cardinal color. Fingers paused upon a certain bounded book, he withdrew it from its snug spot on the shelves and held it in his hands; a movement that evoked a faint memory in the back of his mind. In the past… he vaguely recalled a time where he had gotten his hands on a book just like this. And the more he gazed at its brick-red cover, the more familiar it seemed.

Nevertheless, he began to read. Alone in the comfort of this hushed library, feeling at ease in the alcove where no one could reach him, Kiriha had lost himself in the voluminous pages of the author's treatise; the monograph that expressed warmongering ideologies and principle standards, concepts and dogmas, triumphs and tragedies. And amidst his interpretations of the author's written words, he felt… enraptured by it all.

The profound strength, pride and willpower of the warrior he envisioned from this book — it seemed to elicit an intense feeling within him. A dynamic, passionate color. And with his burning inclination, the vision he had only served to further harden his resolve.

So when the knowledge of a paradoxical world — the Digital World — was disclosed to him some years later, he was all too willing to take upon that offer. A once in a blue moon chance for him to test himself, to prove his own worth and significance, to show the world what he truly was made of despite all odds. With a near impossible opportunity like that practically presented to him on a silver plate, how could he have refused?

A firm utterance of his name, and the object before him — the key to the road of success that awaited him beyond — had glossed into a deep, impassive color. A clear midnight blue.

To him, all that happened then had flashed by in an instant. The sudden experience had been anything but plausible. Yet, he questioned nothing.

After those wasted years since his parents' passings, living in his family's stagnant, stifling homesteads; having to endure the apparent stigma his own brothers had burdened him with; choking back his pride as they all looked down upon him with disdain… Finally, Kiriha truly believed he had found his release. His outlet. And finally, it was his chance to turn the tables in his favor.

—The bright redness soon engulfed his vision once more.

Yet, he did not run from it. Not that fear had paralyzed him as it had years ago; rather, he chose not to run. Focused eyes kept gazing upon the scene unraveling before him. Bizarre beasts of many shapes and sizes fled the area like scattered ants as the animated sea of ember flames began to consume the forest territory. The wildfire's blaze continued to flare up and dance in erratic rhythms amongst the kindled trees — and amidst the wails and weak cries, a low, fierce roar reverberated, its rumbling voice full of raw ferocity rippling through the air like an electrifying surge.

It was then he'd confronted the draconic beast he had come to tame, emerging from the wildfire. In its eyes, he had seen the passion that burned fervently as it let out yet another clamorous roar — it was the look of one that sought death-defying challenges, to put their strengths to the test in the battlefield, to exceed their limits. It had a thirst for carnage; a craving for fighting.

Indeed, to him, red was the worst possible color on the chromatic spectrum. It reminded him of everything that had been torn away from him. It ignited the anger and rage within his very core. And worst of all, it relived the hurt and the bitter resentment that cascaded in the form of salty tears and a heavy heart.

Yet, as he challenged the beast with his own wits and raw audacity, he did not waver.

… Reflecting back on that experience and the times that followed soon after, Kiriha couldn't help but think that it may have been one fateful encounter indeed. Despite his dislike for the words "fate" and "destiny". Those were words he dismissed and refused to acknowledge their reputed impact on his life — or so they say. He never really believed in fate as an entirety. They say that destiny is absolute. Yet, if destiny was as integrated as they claim it to be… then what was the point of living when everything has already been laid out? The mere concept of lives being bound strictly within the limits of this term called "fate" made little sense to him.

His perspective of that began to change when he'd crossed paths with him.

Another young boy seemingly around his age — the boy that cryptic girl mentioned to him on one occasion. And he had seen it with his own eyes, the device he possessed. A vibrant scarlet Xros Loader… a total, perfect contrast to his own.

And he had witnessed for himself, the bravery that brimmed from his core. The integrity he bore. The abilities and strategic skills he possessed. Those prominent, unique qualities of his…

… He wanted them for himself.

—x—

As time had passed, the meaning the color red had once embodied changed, as did his perspectives. There had been a point in his life where all he wanted to do was run away from it all and forget that he had ever seen it, that color. But, that was in the past, back when he was only a little child, far too young to understand. Too young to orient himself and grasp a more broadened mentality.

And he had tried to run away from it at one point — only to realize much, much later that the color he hated so much had already grown on him.

He just couldn't turn his back on it anymore.

Now, after enduring and triumphing over the trials he underwent during his time in that outlandish world, almost every time he spotted something scarlet, a shade reminiscent to that of the fated red General's emblem, his train of thought would lead back to the boy, his crowned partner, and the numerous allies he had gained along his journey.

—No, they weren't just "allies" to him. Now… it was safe to say that he'd finally learned to trust them wholeheartedly, as true friends.

"…Friends, huh…"

People he'd finally allow himself to rely on; to be relied on; to seek solace from. These people had become his driving force, and through their close bonds of friendship and mutual trust in each other did his strength and resolve grow.

His friends have shaped him into the person he is today — and in doing so, they have become what drove him to move on, to keep striving for his ambitions.

He finally understood what his father had been trying to teach him from those days gone by, and what Deckerdramon meant back then when he still saw the very thing he nearly lost completely, during those few fateful moments.

The love he had for his parents and his friends have become his true strength.

It was a life lesson he treasured dearly, even now.

—x—

"… So this whole time, you still held onto that?"

The brunet raised a finger, pointing at the wrister clasped in the other's hand.

Azure eyes lingered on the device's insignia a bit longer, then lifted themselves to glance at the teen.

"Does that surprise you?"

"Well… yeah, to be honest. I didn't expect you to be the sentimental type, Kiriha."

"It's nothing like that. I've been meaning to return this thing for a while now…"

He paused as the faintest of smirks began to tug at the corners of his lips.

"… But I think I'm going to hold onto it a little while longer."

"Return it?" The other teen quirked an eyebrow quizzically. "What for? It's not like we're short on these, let alone need them anymore…"

"Never mind that." He held up the wrister by its strap and lifted it to his eye level. "Like I said, I'll keep it instead. As a good luck charm."

"A charm…? Wait, I thought you didn't believe in those sort of things."

"I didn't. But, I guess you can say that it's become a symbolic thing for me. For all of us."

"Hmm…"

"What?"

"… You sure have changed a lot since the last time we got to see each other."

At that, Kiriha smirked.

"Same goes for you, Taiki. … Though I can't say the same for your height."

"No — you're just too tall."

"Jealous?"

"What? Haha, no way."