The first time they met, Daichi was lost and Minato found him. He had just gotten It from his grandmother, that's how he had known. She had poured IT in his mouth from her own, from her chest and Minato slept for days and when he woke up, he knew a boy with hair the color of blackened roses was lost in the woods, and that he would die in a day's time if left to the woods. He didn't know what the boy thought of him, because the words that fell from his mouth were scathing and tinged with the accent of those that came from far away, but he ignored the aggressive tone, and despite the fact he was so much younger, when he took his hand, the redhead followed.

That was also the first time he met Daichi's father. He brought Daichi all the way back to his house, or more like once he finally recognized the terrain, the redhead had dragged him to his. He had managed to pry his hand off just as the door opened and the older man stared at them, dark eyes digging first on his son and then on the younger child, zeroing in the yellow hair. Minato held the look for maybe a second before turning around and bolting, the life resting in his chest twisting uneasily. Then, for a while, he forgot about it.

There was much to learn, much to do. He didn't have time to play like he did before, even if all he does now is one big play - he eats the berries and shuns the blood, and the animals allow him in places humans don't go, the very earth answers to his call. He waded through uncharted territory in a bright red hood, from his grandmother's house and back to his mother's. The second time he meets Daichi, he is in his house, and he's run off. Daichi's father summoned his mother, and they talk now, low, angry words full of threat and promises. He still doesn't understand them, but knows well enough what his mother thinks- the man he can't read. He is the Arashi, the new one. He does what he must.

Slowly he detaches himself from his mother's skirts and wonders off, feeling the eyes glued to his back. He doesn't wonder what they are saying or how his mother knows the man's language, he just wants to be away. The man lets him. He has his mother and knows the boy can't stray far. It's while he wonders he finds the redhead, also on his own.

The boy sat on the verge of a big pond and kept on throwing stones to the water. From time to time, the stone would jump up from the surface and make a braid of sploshes until drowning. He seemed to not notice the little blond boy until he actually came close. But even by then he seemed to be not surprised by the fact he was there. Too much of strange events happened in his life to be so easily taken aback.

Once he was very small, his grandmother taught him the things his parents forbade him to believe in, like the fact that the forest was full of little red riding hoods that could charm your appearance or that not every plant on earth could be grown by a human. From time to time he saw little fairies which disguised themselves as butterflies and bugs, and even once he saw a nymph.

That day was especially memorable in his head diary, as it was also the first time he killed the nymph. Some things were beautiful, too beautiful to let them be, as it was unfair to other beings. That's why, the soup he made from roses was of the best quality, because he chose the best flowers, his clothes was made from the most beautiful skins as he chased only the wealthiest animals and his weapons shined with the best steels and chromes.

And when he saw that he became the best among his class, he pierced out his own eye. The fake one he put in, was of course, the best.

'Hello there.' he said in a clear, still boyish, but obviously nearing to the manliness voice 'I greet you among my side. I haven't seen you for years.'

The younger boy cocked his head to the side, his expression uncertain. To him the boy's words were non-threatening but still intangible blur of smoothed out r's and oddly accented consonants.

'…Daichi.' he answered instead, lips curling into a warm smile. He liked the name. It reminded him of fruit. The eye was a new addition and like Daichi's father, nothing he could read off. He wasn't sure he liked it- no. He didn't like it, but the older boy was there, so he moved closer anyway.

'Yes, that's my name.' said the redhead, content about the fact that his name was known and remembered even by minions he hadn't seen for a long time. He threw yet another stone into the pond, creating a big circle of waves. 'You're interesting. Why don't you ever come to town, to play with others?' Only now he turned his head and started observing the boy closely. He was having nice blond hair and a pair of nice blue eyes. The skin he had also looked nice, unmarred with dots or pimples.

Nice person. But he saw nicer people. The blond was not a pursue worth going after. People like first prince of the kingdom – were.

'Is it because of the forest? I heard that there are human eating wolves there.' He also desired a skin if the wealthiest animal. Legends said that the one who ate the first red riding hood was still alive and waited for the thousandth hunter who'd pierce through his heart. Daichi wanted to be the thousandth hunter and the first survivor.

'…Wohlz?' the younger boy repeated, the uncertain smile still on his face as he shook his head softly, trying to convey the fact he still didn't understand what the other was talking about. He still like the sound of his voice, it was just a pity he couldn't really get the meaning behind the words.

The redhead blinked, then smiled to himself. Right. Not everyone knew the same language on the world. Living in such a big great town like his made him forget that from time to time. He pointed at himself.

'Daichi.' he said simply and then pointed at the blond. There was no way the boy wouldn't understand something like this. The blond nodded obediently. Of course he knew who Daichi was- he had known even before he had even seen him. Daichi was the person he was supposed to meet. It hadn't occurred o him the other wouldn't know his name, though. He opened his mouth to speak, but doubted at the last second, turning to give an uncertain look behind his shoulder. His name was no longer his own to give. To say it would be to give a word of power to someone he didn't even know.

'Arashi.' he said instead. His title and his new name.

'Arashi. Nice name.' said the boy and smiled, only to lay back on the grass. With one eye, the world looked the same, but the perspective changed. He didn't mind any aspects of that, even if it had some disadvantages. All things on the world had them. He looked at one cloud. People said they could tell what it was. He couldn't. He never did.

'Did you know there are wizards on this world? People who can do magic. Woosh.' he said, taking some stick and pointing it like a wand, only to throw it away 'They say they hide deep in the caves and on the highest mountains… but it's said that our king has a witch for advisor. I wonder if she could teach me magic if I asked her… my grandma taught me some things, but it wasn't the same.'

And really, it was boring. Who cared about such things as math and Pythagoras when you could take weapons and kill enemies? Who cared about potions, meds and herbs when you could pierce them with arrows? There was no better way to get fame than to kill the tribe. He wondered if he could become a king. It was something he could do. He turned back to the blond. 'They also say she is exceptionally beautiful… I wonder how she is like.'

Ambivalence of that problem never really touched him though. Minato smiled again, sitting next to the older boy and wrapping his arms around his legs, the long sleeves of his cloak swallowing his lower half in pools of vibrant red. He didn't know why, but Daichi kept thinking of his mother, only not a in bad way, like most people of the town did. He didn't really mind it. His voice was still so nice, something that was like stroking the creature residing in his chest, something that made it want to curl and purr.

He might have found it strange before, but not now. Everything had a reason to be in this world, and if he wanted to sit here and listen to the other talk, then that was what he was supposed to do. After a few moments, he relaxed further, resting his head on his bent knees and closing his eyes to find it easier to gather what the other could be talking about. It surprised him to find it was of weapons and blood. Hard pointed steel and cutting blades, thoughts of blood and violence. It didn't seem right. All the thoughts he was having were wrong and he tried to tell him so, reaching for his hand like he had in the forest and gripping it lightly.

'Daichi-' he started a second time, straining t force his thoughts into the other, force the understanding of the words- like he could, like all the ones before him had been able to-

'Arashi!' the boy was on his feet again and away the next instant, having bolted like a scared doe at the violence of the tone. His mother stood at the door, an older version of Minato with the same golden hair hanging down to her waist in a thick plaited braid and green eyes, her face pale beneath the angry flush on her cheeks. Her hands were fisted at her sides, barely hidden by the fold of her red cloak and he wasn't sure if they shook because of fear or fury.

'Mama…' And now the man was behind her. Daichi's father. He looked at the forest, wondering if he should run like he had last time, and when he looked back his mother upon him, a strong hand wrapping around his wrist and yanking hard. For a terrible moment he was sure she meant to drag him into the house and leave him with the man, but Kaede merely pulled him in the same direction they had come from, her feet quick and light on the grass. The last thing he saw before the forest swallowed them was the yellow eye on Daichi's face. The color was wrong, but they looked the same as his father's.

The redheaded boy looked after him until he vanished in the forest. He didn't understand the case of such happenings but didn't question them. He rarely did.

'Daichi.' he heard behind him out of sudden. The voice was harsh but this time the sharp edge of it sounded like a clang of the sharpest sword. He got up, looking at him and ran up to the his stance. The man was big, strong and never feared anything. He wanted to be like him.

'Father.' he said with respect, and then turned back to look at the forest one more time 'Who were they?'

'It doesn't matter.' said the man and then grabbed his child by the arm. 'Those are not people you should talk to. You are a warrior. Once day you will find yourself a good woman and you will make a strong son, just like yourself. Not some… some… freak.'

Daichi nodded, even if he didn't understand what was this about. He knew since always that father thought of him as a warrior, even if he saw himself as a noble, prince, tsar even. He didn't mind being a warrior. He liked weapons. He liked the smell of blood, the smell of victory. He liked how it bested him.

'All right, father.' he said. And then he went into the forest and killed the most beautiful hare, the fertile mother who had three kits. They were not healthy enough, so he left them. Weak things had no value.

The third time they meet, Minato is not allowed to talk but he still manages to save Daichi's life. The redhead is in the forest again, even when he knows he shouldn't- Not this far, not this deep, and not in the latha na samna; believing to be hunting but being hunted in turn. The white stallion with the opal black eyes is not of this world, but the redhead has already been ensnared and can't tell he is walking to his death.

The only reason Minato knows this is that he is still too young to join in the rituals of the Tuatha Dé or partake in the insane frenzies and blood rituals. He can only observe from a safe distance as the intoxicated masses tear the chosen cattle to shreds with their bare hands- As the Arashi, he is forbidden from ending an unwilling life, but his duty still is to observe and ensure all the rituals are done properly.

The unborn God stirs uneasily in his chest and the blond quietly leaves, a burgundy shadow among the ritual bonfires and maddened masses, in pursuit of a young man that is arrogant enough to walk during all hollow's eve without a lantern. And it's all because of beauty he doesn't want to posses.

'Come here, sweetheart.' Daichi coos at the stallion, holding out a hand with the bright red apple, not seeing it's rotten and that the poisonous worms crawl out and inside of it. The horse doesn't get away from him so he holds his assegai up high, ready to plunge it into the dark caverns of the lungs, ribs and veins. All for the heart, as everyone knows that the only thing one cannot live without is heart, because that's how the strange forest was charmed. He tosses the apple, along with worms, right under the snow white hooves and touched the pure mane. 'Come here, nokken.'

But when he drills the assegai into the beautiful side and nothing happens, the mane so white doesn't turn blue and black eyes doesn't look back at yellow, he know he lost the battle and that now his hand is numb as the foggy mist covers him in the heavy set, and the stallion stands still, unmoving, dead. He sees the glimpse of the moon and wonders if there is a way to pierce the shadow, but if there is, he is too late for that. He gives in, oblivious to beauty.

The nokken stops when the prey is almost fully submerged, feeling the resistance in the air. Pupilless yellow eyes turn and zero on the lithe form holding onto the prey's hand, just outside the shore of the lake. Creature's such as it cannot see in the range of colors human does, yet he knows who the child dressed in the forbidden color is. If it were blind, it would still know. The boy is the path finder, the storm maker. He is a human abomination, a chrysalis for a restlessly sleeping God, lacking a soul of his own yet existing through the consumption of the last one. The boy is the Arashi, and like all the ones before him, he is the last one. But only until a new one is made.

It knows well enough that to harm the boy is forbidden, than to live is to look away and clear the path, but it is Hollow's eve, and the human is his prize. He caught him fairly, fought for him with the other released and strengthened spirits. The Arashi is not allowed to take an unwilling life, and the famished creature intends to fight for his prey. He pulls harder, feeling the brittle bones of the human unhinge at some point on the joints above his arm- The Arashi loses balance and topples into the water, along with the prey, not a sound escaping the pale lips. He is still clutching the human's hand, but if he can drag him deep enough, the boy will have to let go, would let go when it saw how futile it was.

In the water, The Arashi is invisible, and the only he can tell he is still there is that he can still tell of the added weight on the prey's body. Still, the nokken doesn't let go- Powerful muscles tense under the grown sea grass and he shots down to the bottom of the lake, thinking to ensnare the prey on the long barbs of green growing and knowing there s no way he could be pulled out- It lets an inhuman howl at the scalding feeling when the unworked iron presses against the seal-like coldness of his skin, and immediately releases the prey, a confused sound escaping it's mouth. There is no clue, no movement, and the prey stays still-no longer moving or even breathing, and it thinks it must be a tick- the pain comes back, harder than before. He feels the iron viciously rubbed against the unprotected skin of his back, having cut through the protective layer of sea plants- not the weak amalgam of metals human use as weapons but actual iron, brought and worked from the earth itself. The skin bubbles and foams, and the creature trashes agonially while the Arashi grabs his human by the arm that still hasn't been hurt and drags him to the surface. By the time they get out of the lake, Daichi isn't breathing. Has stopped quite a while before he attacked the Nook, but it's not late enough yet, he feels it in his chest- It's all hollows eve, and the spirits stay tonight, rather than stray beyond.

Arashi lays the human on his back and sits on his chest, taking the sharpened dagger from his waist, slicing across his palm and bringing it to his mouth-His blood is human still, but lacks any sort of metallic taste or smell. If anything, it's closer to the sap of mugoreens. He smells it, feeling a vague stir of want in his stomach and chest, but blood is forbidden to him. Instead he opens his mouth and lets something fall into the wound, his other hand leaving the dagger in favor to open Daichi's mouth and press his palm against it, blood and the shard flowing down heavily.

Yellow eye stares at him blindly, stark naked through the half opened eyelids as the other one looks fogged and dead. Sickly violet skin shows the signs of the soul already trying to move out to the eternal journey on another worlds and soaked red hair plaster to the forehead and cheeks. For a long time only the dripping of the blood can be heard along with the forest and sprits around them, whispering, curious. And then, like in the machine that lied forgotten for too long, something cringes and the chest roses up and down.

For once. The air that escapes the bloodied mouth seems to act like a slaved fairy that finally got out free. Then the boy slowly opens both his eyes and rises to the sitting position. His skin is still sickly violet, now turning a bit more grey and a bit more pale as the blood slowly flows down from the face. The one healthy eye looks at the blond still fogged, dim and almost transparent as it blends with the white – the color now dingy and uncertain. The red syrup that was unswallowed, slowly flows down his chin and onto his chest, tainting his (best) clothes made from the hardest skins.

He looks at the blond and the most living thing in his whole being seems to be – ironically – in his artificial gold tainted eye.

'God.' he mutters and softly curls his stiffened now, fingers on the delicate clothes the blond wears. And he is trapped, trapped already in this body, on this world, belonging to him and him alone. He doesn't want to chase princes anymore nor he wants to collect the best things on the world. Weapons and father don't matter anymore. All he sees is the beautiful crescent aura, the afterimage of what he saw as the last in the moment of death and the beautiful, beautiful eyes of the man (man?).

He thirsts only for him now.

'Please.' he mutters. He doesn't know how to talk, doesn't know what words to use. But all his being exists only for one purpose and that's all that matters. 'Lead.'

Minato smiles, pale arms rising from beneath the soaked material of the red hood and wrapping around the man's powerful neck. It's warmer than expected, much livelier than their cold appearance would make one thing, despite the fact the water of the lake was much colder. Not yet, He says without moving his lips. It will still be years before he is allowed to talk again, not that he really needs it any longer. His forehead presses against Daichi's, and when his chest pressed against the others, the skin beneath the boy's breast shifts and twists as if something beneath fought to get out. Forget me and return to you father.

The redhead looks at him, his gaze uncertain and lost, but then he nods, plainly and gets up. Now his only purpose is to get back to his home, to father and wait, wait for something, but what, he doesn't know, he doesn't remember. He only knows he has to wait. So he moves, through the darkest of the nights, not seeing the animals, plants and spirits as he was left alone by each one of them. He was touched by the sacred hand of Arashi; no harm can be done upon him before his seal can break.

When he gets back home, no profession interests him anymore. He stops visiting their only horse and doesn't pick up fights with people on the streets. Sure, he does everything father tells him to do, including reading books and cleaning the cutlery – but he doesn't understand neither and doesn't remember any of that. In the free time, he sits in the darkened corner, basking in the shadow, his mouth slightly agape, his form loose. His father scolds him and beats him for that every time he sees him, scared by what became of him, scared of that he might have been charmed and taken away – as a proof he wants Daichi to snap out of the scary state.

But Daichi doesn't and the man doesn't acknowledge what he already knows. When the old man dies of the old state, Daichi doesn't get back home to hold his old hand nor he thanks him for what he did for him. He also doesn't dig him grave and doesn't tell people about his death. When visitors come, the rotten body is already dried, laying in the bed as it's left, with the son nowhere to be found. Soon after that, the horse also dies, unfed and trapped in the stable. The redhead sees the bones whispering to him from time to time, full of despair and reproach. But he only grabs a stick and drills a small hole in the earth until it breaks, hidden in the shadow, violet, pale, unbreathing. And he waits.

When it's time, the Arashi knows, because he awakens. It takes on a breath and finds the air sweet. Like so many before, he calls upon the souls to collect them, all but one, who still has a function. 'Do you want to wear the body of an animal and roam through the forest protect by its skin?' It's time, it says. It tells it in dreams to the one with hair like crushed roses. "Do you want to look through it's eyes, speak through its mouth? Do you want to worship the moon and be reborn through it?'

In the dark, the forest is full of sounds and whispers, the noise of animals in heat and scurrying little mice. Sometimes the sounds of children being left so they can find their way back if the forest allows it, but it seldom does. Willing sacrifices of unwilling souls, all to keep this once arid desert in the lush and rich country it is today through deals and payments of blood.

'I want to serve you.' mutters Daichi to himself, answering, but he doesn't know to whom and why. He only knows that his still blood that already went dry in his veins wants to move, leaving him excited, less lethargic. He walks around more than usual, creeping into the sun, back and forth between the shadow. Something has changed, but he doesn't know why. The life around him knows, but he doesn't belong to them anymore, so they don't tell, ignorant, foolish. 'I want to serve you.' he mutters through the dry lips that upon the years turned black and dirty from trying to eat, the habit that stayed with him, though he had no idea why. Hunger was lost with his life the day he stopped thinking. His stomach is full of leaves, stones and mud, all tasting the same. 'I want to serve you.'

And so he does. He has no idea what kind of life he tears, but he hears their screams all the same – the plants cry are the quietest ones as the juices of their branches fall upon his fingers, animal's howl is the strongest one, the blood dark and vivid. Only humans have the more screeching scream but he doesn't mind – he tears up the pair he meets on the way, he tears up the apple tree and kills a dog protecting it and then takes a screaming baby by a leg. His body is red, red as his hair, red, green, blue. He doesn't understand that and he doesn't wish for it, but he does that because his thirst only grows when he finally gets his answers. His gift is loud but it doesn't matter.

On the way he grabs what seems to be – nice – and brings it also. The pair of dry flowers, a necklace with artificial ruby, a dusty piece of wood hanging down from the door and a couple of leaves with white and black stones. It's a gift, something to give, something he wants to sacrifice. He gets it and gets into the black forest, careful to not drop the necklace, the leaves, the screaming baby. The owl hoots at his way and the spirits awaken only to look at him, going in, moving, a foot after foot, forward. He doesn't know where to search and how to do that, but when he finds him it comes out he knew where and how all along.

'God.' he says, his voice chords dry and unused, break in his throat one by one. He doesn't know the being yet he does, remembering and not having anyone in mind at all. His thirst grows but so does his worship, so he just let go of his gifts and bends down in a position he thoughts is one giving a honor. He remembers it from the past, from somewhen, somehow.

And nobody knows what's happens after that anymore.