A/N: A retelling of a popular Christmas story. Cookies to whoever figures out which (...and really, everybody should be able to figure this out. Extra large cookie to whoever figured it out from the title.)

"It's a pitiful sight, wouldn't you say?"

Sain put down his spyglass and looked over at his partner. "I think for the first time in my life, I feel justified in being forced to support the government funded workhouses."

"Really? Sain? Support a government facility? My what has the world come to."

"Well..." Sain said raising the glass once again. "From the look of things the world has come to robbing farmers and widows on the eve of Christmas."

Kent chuckled. "Then that's where we come in. Alright, I'll lead the main charge up the middle. You take a small company of the men around the side up the river to flank them."

"Right..." Sain said saddling up. "I'll see you on the other side."

"Of course." Kent replied. "Oh and you are coming for dinner tomorrow right? I think motherhood has finally fine toned Fiora's cooking skills."

"That's what you said last year," Sain laughed. "When we had that barely edible brick she dared call a turkey."

"You cad, that's my wife."

"And your wife is lovely, but I say she better be better in bed than she is in the kitchen."

"I will not even justify such talk with a reply." Kent shook his head. "Her sisters will be there, along with several of her friends."

"Well then! Why didn't you start with that? You know I'll be there now."

Kent laughed. "Yes, well, try to show up sober at least."

"Haha..." Sain chuckled. "No promises."

With that the two took their separate paths. Sain took a group of twelve men around the village, waiting for Kent's signal. As they approached their position, one of the men called out in alarm. Sain quickly turned to see the problem.

"My lord, that child."

Sain looked around, confused until his vision caught on the bright sun dress of a young girl being carried off in the arms of a savage brigand. The bandits were taking girls off to be raped... or worse. Sain looked back across the village to the hill where Kent waited for the moment to strike. He had the entire free mercenaries behind him, surely he would be fine. Gritting his teeth, Sain motioned his men to focus their attention on the brigands ferrying unconscious young girls out of the village.

Chapter 1: Spectral Warnings:

Kent was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner.

But our story is not about Kent. No, Kent was a happy man up until his death. He is survived by his loving wife and three children who couldn't be prouder of his accomplishments. Our story is about another. One who forged darkness within a heart of gold. One who nobody ever expected that such a story would be written about.

Our story, is about Kent's partner: Sain.

You see, after the war, Sain and Kent, after a whirlwind of events, found themselves the proprietors of a well renowned training facility for young men desiring to become knights. They soon formed their own mercenary band, going into the countryside and protecting the populace from roaming bandits. However, during these years, Sain... changed. It is difficult to say when the change occurred. It is even more perplexing to understand why the change occurred. But nevertheless, occur it did, and the skirt chasing, layabout that used to be Sain transformed into a miserly, miserable man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, spurning the company of men for the company of gold.

Years past, and since the day of Kent's passing, Sain grew ever distant to the world. The warmest of days could not reach his heart, and the coldest of winds could not chill his spine. He worked tirelessly, replacing his love of women and wine with a love of gold; amassing a fortune and sharing with none. Ladies who once so often stopped him in the streets with shy glances and flirtatious smiles now avert their eyes with his approach. Men who had never spoke ill of him before now speak of him behind his back.

Such is the state of affairs we find Sain in, this Christmas Eve on the twilight of the seventh year after the death of his partner. With the trainees home for the holiday season, Sain kept only a small counting house open. During this time, Sain would sit in his office and count his yearly earnings. While the winter snow in Lycia could hardly compare to the wrath of heaven that is an Ilian Storm, the dismal fire kept by Sain would hardly provide enough warmth to melt the smallest of snowflakes, and his office remained in a state cold enough to freeze the breath of a man.

"A Merry Christmas!" A cheerful voice called. "May St. Elimine smile upon you Sain."

It was the voice of Kent's widow, Fiora, whose enthusiasm and cheer far surpassed her delicate frame.

"Bah," said Sain. "Humbug."

"Christmas a humbug?" Fiora quipped. "Surely you jest Sain."

"I do." Sain snapped. "Merry Christmas indeed. Why, what reason would you have to be merry? You're poor enough."

"Well, what reason would you have to be dismal? You're rich enough." returned Fiora, still abound with cheer. "The fortune you've amassed would make even my sister blush."

"Speak not of that peasant. She's yet to settle on her debts."

"Oh do not be cross Sain." Fiora said, approaching Sain at his table. "'Tis the season for giving, for joy and merriment."

"Joy? Merriment?" returned Sain. "How can I be such in a world of fools. Merry Christmas indeed. What be Christmas but another time for paying bills without money, a time for finding yourself a year older but not an hour richer. A time for neglect, animosity and hidden agendas all wrapped underneath a facade of 'giving' and 'generosity.' Too long has Christmas been a time of justifications and excuses for behaviors and existences that should long be extinct. If I could in my will, I would damn every fool who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips to be boiled in his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart!"

"Sain!-"

"No, you listen here Fiora," Sain interrupted. "You keep Christmas in your way, and I'll keep it in mine."

"Keep it?" Fiora repeated incredulously. "But you don't keep it."

"The leave it be." Sain roared. "Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!"

Fiora stopped, fighting back traces of tears in her eyes. Her husband loved this man, he was his brother. His words did no more to pain her than the reality of what Sain had become. Slowly, she regained her composure.

"Though I may not profit from it, I dare say much good has been derived for me from Christmas." Fiora started slowly. "It is a magical time, a time that Kent kept sacred, that you once kept sacred. Though you may have lost the spirit of Christmas in your heart, I still believe that it is a good time, a charitable, kind, forgiving time. The only time in the year when men and women would freely open their hearts to others, thinking of all men and women as brothers and sisters; where the welfare of those beneath them is for once more important than the welfare of their purse. So though not a piece of gold has ever gone into my purse from Christmas, I still profit greatly from this time and so I say, Merry Christmas and Elimine bless it."

"Not another word from you, less your children be spending Christmas without their mother." Sain said. "Though you are a powerful speaker. Why haven't you ever thought of going into politics?"

Fiora sighed. "Oh don't be angry Sain. I've come to invite you to dine with us. The children do miss you so, and you haven't even seen the youngest one."

"I'll be seeing you." Sain returned. "Good afternoon."

"But... Sain... why?" Fiora pleaded.

"Good. Afternoon," said Sain.

"Sain, nobody blames you for what happened."

"Good afternoon," said Sain.

"I want nothing from you, I ask nothing of you, why can we not be friends as we once were?"

"Good afternoon," said Sain.

"I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. But I have made the trial in homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humour to the last. So a Merry Christmas, Sain!"

"Good afternoon." said Sain.

"And a Happy New Year!"

"Good afternoon!" said Sain.

Fiora smiled and left the room without an angry word. On her way out, Fiora passed by two portly gentlemen attempting to enter the establishment. She kindly held the door open for them and exchanged seasons greetings, much to Sain's chagrin.

The men entered Sain's office and bowed. In their hands they carried thick books and long parchments.

"Sain and Kent's we presume?" One of the gentlemen said.

"Kent's been dead for nearly seven years." Sain replied.

"Ah...well..." The man said, presenting his licenses. "I do apologize. But I have no doubt that his generosity is well survived by his remaining partner."

Sain handed the licenses back cautiously. "And what business do you have?"

"Well Sir Sain," The man continued. "At this most festive time of year, we wish to make provisions for the poor and destitute of this city, who suffer greatly during this time of year. There are hundreds who lack basic necessities, and thousands still who lack basic comforts."

"Are there no prisons?" Sain asked curiously.

The man looked confused. "There are sir..."

"And the workhouses, are they not in operation?"

"Yes, they are." The man said grimacing. "Though I wish they were not."

"Oh, good," Sain continued. "Because from what you just said, I was under the impression that these facilities have ceased to function."

"Well, seeing as how those facilities are barely adequate to house even the basest of creatures..." the man returned. "A few of us are endeavoring to collect funds to buy some meat and drink for the poor, and perhaps some means to keep warm. We're doing it now since this is the season of giving, and it is during Christmas that loneliness and poverty are most keenly felt. How much should I put you down for sir?"

"Nothing."

The man quirked an eyebrow. "You wish to remain anonymous sir?"

"I wish to be left the hell alone." Sain said. "I can barely afford to keep Christmas merry myself, and I certainly do not have the means to keep it merry for others. I support those establishments that I have inquired about, and those who are in need should go there."

"But sir, there are many who cannot, and others would rather die."

"Well..." said Sain. "If they rather die, then they had better do it and decrease the surplus population. Good day gentlemen."

Sain returned to his accounts, and the shocked collectors, seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue the matter futher, left quietly, casting sad looks back upon the miserable man counting his money.

By and by the hour passed and Sain found himself making the solitary trek from his business to his home. Men and women alike knew to make a wide circle around Sain as he walked down the snowy streets. Carolers ceased their singing and children halted their play until Sain was well out of sight. Those new to the town, though curious, could see clearly the thick tension and fear that permeated the air and quietly followed the locals in their caution.

After assuming full control of the training facility and the free mercenaries, Sain had dedicated his life to his work. Despite his miserly claims, Sain himself had more money than he knew what to do with. His manor rivaled in size to the castle in Ostia. However, as grand a structure as it may be, it only served as a stark contrast to how bare and gloomy the place was. Sain had no wife to decorate his home, nor was he willing to pay a stranger to design his home for him. So, despite the grandiose structure, Sain's furnishings were bare, dark... gloomy.

He headed up the walk to his front door, pulling a string of keys out of his pocket. As the years wore on, Sain added lock after lock onto his front door, to a point where even the most talented lock pick would require hours to gain entrance simply due to the sheer number of locks on the gate.

"Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaain..." a ghostly voice called as Sain unlatched his front door.

Sain rubbed his ears and looked around. He could swear as his eyes fell upon his knocker, a ghostly apparition took place where the effigy of a great wyvern stood. An apparition far too familiar for comfort. Shaking his head, Sain rubbed his eyes to be sure that his vision was simply due to dry and blurry eyes caused by the winter winds.

"Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaain..."

The voice called again. Sain dropped his keys as his hand rested tightly upon the hilt of his blade. Surely it was some thief about to unnerve him, looking for a chance to steal his gold.

But alas, as he scanned the region again, that same familiar apparition stared back at him from where his knocker once stood. A familiar tired face stared back at him with eyes shining in disappointment.

"Kent...?" Sain asked, uncertainly.

He reached for the knocker, but as his hands approached the ghostly face, it quickly faded back into the cold steel of his wyvern shaped knocker. Sain sighed and rubbed his temples. For once in a long time, he wondered if he was working too hard. Writing the visions off as a product of stress and overwork, Sain entered his house and slammed the door, quickly bolting all his locks.

The entrance way was dark, and darker still was the stairs that led deeper into the house, to such a degree that not even all the torch staves in Lycia could illuminate the dreary building. But, just as the cold could not penetrate Sain's body, the darkness could not impede his vision. Sain slowly, methodically descended deeper into the darkness of his house, moving with a precision honed by infinite solitary repetitions.

The living room is as dark and as dreary as the rest of the house. The decorum, paintings procured from master artists, furniture and statues purchased from around Elibe from the most exclusive of merchants, all languish in perpetual darkness, prisoners to a fate worse than destruction. A small, timid fire crackled gently beneath a blackened pot filled with generic mush. Sain eased himself in front of the dim light of the fire and helped himself to a small bowl of the bland gruel.

THUMP

Sain's eyes flared. Many years have passed since unfamiliar souls treaded within the dusty halls of the manor. The sounds of footsteps not belonging to Sain rang through the house with an eerie ring, as if the walls had forgotten how to echo such alien sounds.

THUMP

Sain could feel the vibration within is core. No longer is it a fantasy brought on by indigestion and fatigue. Falling back on the training he received as a member of the Knights of Caelin, Sain quickly put out the fire, using the familiarity he has with his own house to his advantage. He haphazardly moved his furniture in a manner that would afford him the best protection while putting his intruder at an disadvantage. Then, drawing his silver sword, the only object in his possession that he did not allow time to claim, Sain waited in the darkness. A twinge of excitement and adrenaline, a feeling long forgotten, shot through his icy veins.

Suddenly, the room, once cast in a tangible darkness, lit up as if illuminated by the brightest of stars. Sain clutched his eyes as the brightness burned his retinas. Then, as quickly as it came, the light faded. Sain slowly removed his hands from his eyes, expecting fully to find a light mage standing over him, ready to incinerate him if he did not hand over his wealth.

Instead, he found the once dark room to be gently cast with a soft bluish glow. Perplexed, Sain scanned the area slowly, until pinpointing the source from the entrance of his living room. A single blue flame, floating in air, supported by no candle, cast by no mage. The flame simply... was. Sain stared in fearful fascination. There was a gentle comfort radiating from the flame. Sain did not know what it was, but he did know not to fear it. Then, slowly, deliberately, the flame floated into the room. It quickly settled into a chair that did not make it into Sain's hastily built furniture fort.

Succumbing to curiosity, Sain left the safety of his fort and approached the flame, cautiously, with a hand on his sword. The flame itself remained passive, flickering gently within the confines of the large armchair. It brightened momentarily, and as Sain jumped at the sudden change, a small spark separated itself and leaped into the fireplace, reigniting the smoldering coals.

"I know not of what you are and from where you came, but I demand to know for what reason it is you intrude upon my house." Sain said, slowly after regaining his composure.

"Oh Sain... they weren't lying. You have changed."

"It speaks," Sain mused. "What are you? Your voice, it sounds familiar, but I do not believe I am acquainted with any phantom fires. Why do you know my name?"

"It has been seven long years... Sain. Where it not for the documents you carry upon your person, I would have trouble recognizing you."

"Speak not of the past phantom!" Sain demanded, agitated. "Tell me who you are! Why do you trouble a man so late at night?"

"To deliver a warning..."

Sain stared in wonderment as the flame flickered, growing brighter, then, with an anguished howl, the flame disappeared, replaced by a transparent form of something quite familiar.

"What are you?"

"It is not what I am, but who I was. Do you not recognize me now Sain?"

"No...it is impossible... you... you're... you're dead!" Sain cried. "Stay away from me oh ghastly abomination. I have done nothing to harm you."

"Ahh, but you have pained me greatly Sain."

"HOW?!" Sain shouted. "Do you still blame me for your death? Kent? Or do you worry about my coveting your wife? I am not at fault for the former and I have not done the latter. It's been seven cycles since you've passed. Why do you come back now? WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THIS?!"

"Sain..." Kent said. "My pain does not draw from your actions. I am your friend in life, and so I remain in death. But pained I am by what I've witnessed. You've changed Sain."

"Change is inevitable." Sain said. "All things change with time."

Kent's ghost sighed. "You know, when I died, my greatest fear was that with my passing, you would have nobody to control your Merry Andrew tendencies. I could've never guessed that since I've passed you've... you've turned into a more miserable version of me."

"I grew up Kent." Sain muttered. "We all needed to. You left behind a pregnant wife and two kids."

"I did, and I'm grateful for what you've done for them through Fiora's pregnancy. But... after she delivered... you stopped going. You spurned all society... and for what? Wealth? Gold? Look at you, despite your wealth, you are still the poorest man in town."

"You know not what you speak of." Sain said. "This is my house and I will not be lectured here by a spirit. If that's all you've come to do, then I suggest you leave."

"That is not all I've come to say." Kent said. "I've mentioned before, I come to give a warning."

"What could you possibly warn me of?" Sain asked.

"All men are judged upon their death. As was I and as will you." Kent continued. "Though the past few years, you've forged a great chain of coldness and cruelty, link by link, yard by yard. These chains weigh heavily upon your heart and your soul. In death, you cannot unforge these chains, only in life can you reverse what you have created."

"You speak nonsense. I have forged no chains."

"You will be visited by three more spirits tonight."

"What is this? A children's fairy tale? I do not have time for this."

"You will make time Sain, should you hope to avoid the fate of so many like you..."

With a flourish of his hand, Kent blasted open the windows. Outside, a blizzard raged, and to Sain's horror, hundred of spirits, carrying ghostly chains so long and so heavy floated about. Many stopped before beggars sleeping in the street, trying in vain to provide warmth yet failing so miserably. They could not help, and tormented by this fact, they float onward, wandering helplessly through the world for an eternity.

"Thus will be your fate should you choose to ignore this warning."

"No... please... I've seen enough!" Sain cried

He turned away from the window, but his efforts were in vain as chained spirits rose through the ground and entered through the walls. The moaned pitifully as the circled Sain, their chains rattling loudly, sharply piercing deep into Sain's heart.

"Remember my warning..." Kent said, rising to his spectral feet. "You will be visited by three spirits. The first upon the stroke of one tomorrow. The second the same time the day after... and the final upon the stroke of midnight one night further still. Heed their lessons... much will you learn..."

Kent waved his arms and the wandering spirits shot around the room, exiting violently through the windows. Terrible howls filled the air as Sain covered his ears in vain to block out the blood curling screams. A great gust filled the room; chairs toppled over, paintings flew off their hooks, and for the first time in years, Sain felt a chill down his spine. He prayed to every deity that came to mind, begged for the torment to stop. The full weight of the spirits' misery and anguished washed over him, crushing him under their weight.

With a start, Sain shot up in his chair, knocking over the bowl of now cold gruel. The fire under the kettle was now mere embers. Sain looked around. All of his possessions were as they should be. His furniture remained still, unchanged, with years of dust as characteristic of them as the wood they are made of. Sighing, Sain picked up the toppled bowl and prepared himself for sleep.

As he climbed into bed, his thoughts drifted to the very realistic dream he just had, and as consciousness faded away, his final thought lingered upon the anguish of those thousands of souls.

The anguish that extinguishes one's will to live.

Note: Yeah, Sain's OOC, next chapter, you get to see me take the cheerful Sain we all know and love and break him so thoroughly that he becomes like this.

And didn't I tell you it'd be quite easy to tell which story this is based off?

Oh yes, my muses (schizophrenia) wants you to know that Sain does get a girl at the end. Feel free to comment on who you think/want it to be. I may or may not take it into consideration. Hope you did enjoy the product of my post-being-raped-by-finals imagination.