Blue rain. I don't know if rain is actually blue or not, but that's the color it seems to apparently take during its course from heaven to earth. What I am certain of is this, rain is not crimson. Rain is not the color of death. Rain is life giving, rain is pure. Yet, rain is cold, and rain is hampering. And on that dreadful night my life was shaped, the rain was hampering, the rain was the color of death.

It was my birthday. I was 14. My father had celebrated the day of my birth with a simple yet thoughtful gift, he had given me the afternoon off. I couldn't remember the last time I had some free time; it was always cleaning, cooking, and tending the farm, but he gave me the afternoon, and of course I wasted it away. I went down to the stream that flowed at the edges of our farm, and brought along my father's fishing rod. Laying there on the grass, nestled underneath a giant oak tree, I cast my unbaited hook into the stream, and dreamed of a life of comfort, a life of meaning. A life where I was next in line to defend the emperor, a life where my family's name of Rino was still respected, still important. How foolish of me, to spend the last hours of my father's life as far away from him, and the life he had provided for me.

Once the sun had begun its final decent of the day, I decided to return home, and try to get some last farm work in, before the stars and moon claimed the night. Yet when I reached our fields, the blazing orange and reds I saw were not from the coming dusk, but from the fire scorching my entire existence.

Our house, our home, was burning right in front of my eyes, and the fire was beginning to reach the fringes of our crops. I desperately ran to the water well and vainly tried to stop the monster before it consumed our entire livelihood; but I failed, and our farm was ruined. Staggering and shocked from our loss, my mind shifted to my father. Frantically I ran to the burning corpse of house, and strained my sights into the inferno, hoping to see a glimpse of my father. Nothing. So I ran to the back of the house, calling, searching for my father; yet there was still nothing, and my heart was beginning to break.

Heading out into the last remains of our crops, the sky cracked, and mother earth began to cry. Tears mixing with the rain, I lost myself in the last few stalks of grain; and I fell to my knees, despair overwhelming me. It was at that point, when I heard the voice of the devil himself.

"You must be Jaynus. Tell me Jaynus, do you think that today is a good day to die?"

Turning towards the mysterious voice, I was meet with the most debilitating pain I'd ever experienced, as a katana ripped through my body, clean through to the back. All I saw of my assailant, was his dark blue armor, and my blood streaking down his stainless steel blade, gathering into a puddle at his gloved fist. Bringing his arm and blade down, he allowed me to slowly slide off his blade, the excruciating pain causing me to gurgle a mixture of blood and scream.

Hitting the ground felt like dying, it felt like being born, it felt like the most intense sense of pain and relief you can ever imagine. To this day, I awake in a wail, the experience, the horror of absolute pain burnt into my mind and soul. People ask me why I don't smile.

Laying there, cold and aching, I could only see my attacker's blade dripping my blood, slowly hitting the ground, a thick crimson tear. He was simply standing there, watching me die. No laughter, no remorse, just a sadistic intent in watching life perish. Fading out of consciousness, I caught the last glimpse of my father. Sword in hand, he wobbled in front of the assailant, and charged the dark man. Holding his own, my father pushed the murderer back. Showing me a skill I'd never seen him possess, my father's blade danced, slicing and striking the monstrous man. Yet the intruder was a master as well, and slowly my father began to tire.

"Life in the farm has sucked the skills out of you Kainan."

Before I could blink, the devilish man raised his dark blade, and an explosion of dark energy struck my father, bringing him to his knees. Eyes wide, I saw the dark man bring his blade downward, a clean stroke to my father's back. Time appearing to slow, my father fell, face first into the dirt, sword bouncing lifeless from his hands. Stepping into the shadows, the dark man disappeared, taking everything from me.

Slowly, my father stirred, and he crawled his way to me, picking up his Heaven's Cloud along the way. Rising to his knees, he grimaced brining the blade over his head. Slowly, the dark mist of the Heaven's Cloud began to form overhead, bringing with it the tears of the spirit of the blade, the tears of my father. The all too familiar sight of blue rain mixed with crimson tears, and with his last ounce of strength, he summoned the power of life, and healed my wound, sacrificing himself. My father was injured, he was rusty, it was my fault. He had to work the farms, he had to raise me, he lost his skill because of me. He begged the spirit of the Heaven's Cloud to heal me and only me, sacrificing the precious healing tears meant for himself, and using them on me, ensuring that I was spared.

I lost my father and my own identity that night. Here I lie, in a cot on a vessel destined to the lands my father used to war with. All to avenge his death. A mere few hours remain of the night, but I can't sleep. I can never sleep. The nightmares return when I sleep, the vision of that fateful night haunt me. I am forced to stay awake till I pass out from exhaustion, only then will my rest be peaceful. Overhead I hear the cries and squawks of seagulls, land is near.