Authors note:
I read quite a number of fanfics so far. It seems that most fans writing fics seem to agree on certain things, that are only hint at in the series. Like Camus being Milo's best friend, or Saori being in love with Seiya. I read a great fic from Seiiruika, about Camus past, in which he is the distant being, he seems to be in the series from a very early age on. Now others had the idea -- What if that was not the case? What if Camus was just an ordinary kid, who became so distant and cold because of the fates he had to face while growing up?
So I decided to write another fic with that background.
I know, that very probably, there will be people who won't like him the way I describe him, but I don't intend to offend Camus' character.
Warning: I run through about every cliché possible here, so be aware :-D Also will there be some minor cursing.
I dedicate this fic to Stayka, the great Camus-fan.
Stayka, I hope you like it. Even though I don't character Camus as you may like him.
The characters of Saint Seiya don't belong to me. I write for fun and don't make any money.
Thanks to Kaos and Pseudo for being such a great help in proofing and to my dear sis Cygny who is always helping me in every way possible.
Fate of lifePrologue:
The little boy stood at the rusty railing of the old freighter. His face was pulled into a pensive frown, as he glanced at the coast, which started to take form through the mist. This was it. Siberia. The land, in which from now on he would be living.
A cold gust of wind hit his body and ruffled his semi-length hair. Absently, he pushed back one indigo strand, which the wind had blown into his face. Camus didn't mind the biting cold of this country. He never had been bothered with the cold and had always enjoyed the winters of northern France, where he had been born and lived happily until the day his mother had died in a car-accident.
That had been two years ago, soon after he had turned five. After that fateful day, he had lived in an orphanage. Although living there hadn't been the best of lives, it had not been bad either. But it had been nothing compared to the life he had lived with his mother.
He sighed out loud in near desperation. He wouldn't do it again, he told himself. Hang onto his happy life before the accident. His past was over and he would look forward to his future -- If only he had an idea what his future would be.
One of the nurses at the orphanage had come to him two weeks ago and told him that a Russian man had adopted him. Strange enough, Camus had never seen his new foster father. Normally no one could adopt a kid, whom they had never met and spent some time with before. The French law was pretty strict on that. And for a foreigner to adopt a French boy and take him to his country was even rarer. But Camus knew that the orphanage had been in pretty big debts and thus, shortly before closing down. And then suddenly, they got this big donation from an unknown source. Camus had an idea, where that money had come from. He was not stupid. He well understood that laws could always be bent with the right amount of money. But as to why this unknown Russian had been so adamant about adopting him, he had no clue of.
His gaze wandered back to the shore, which became more distinct as they approached. The land that presented itself now, looked hostile and was covered with a thick layer of snow.
He remembered having seen pictures of Siberia before, and in most of them were big forests and beautiful landscapes. But here, the landscape looked nothing like that. There were no signs of any civilisation and thick icebergs floated in the water around them. He had more the impression to be in Antarctica than Siberia.
Still deep in thoughts, he didn't notice the sailor who approached him from behind, but as the man said something to him in a loud, unfriendly voice, the French boy jerked back startled, and stared at the sailor in surprise. The man talked again, but Camus had no idea what the words spoken to him meant. He spoke only French and the Russian language that people talked around here, sounded alien to his ears.
The sailor spoke again and pointed his finger towards the part of the ship where Camus' sleeping quarter was located. In the time Camus had had been on the ship, he had learned that the sailors didn't like him getting in their way and so he figured out the meaning of the order that the man gave him. He sighed again and turned to walk towards the small room, he had been given.
He wondered if his new foster-parents spoke French at least. It was very unsettling not to be able to talk to or understand the people around him. The plane flight to Russia from France had not been that bad, considering. The stewardesses had been friendly at least, but then one of them had brought him to this freighter where the sailors didn't seem to feel obligated to make his journey enjoyable at all.
Finally he reached his room, entered and sat down on the bed with slumped shoulders. On the small nightstand beside his bed lay a faded photo of a laughing, green-haired woman. He took it in his hand and stared at it, tears in his eyes.
"Maman", he whispered. "I miss you. I have never felt so alone in my life. Please, don't make my new home and foster-family be as hostile as those other Russian people aboard."
He fought the tears and the stinging pain in his chest for a while, before he lay down and curled in on himself, while he sobbed silently.
*************************
A loud banging on the door and a shouting voice woke him up. Camus blinked sleepy and sat up. With puzzlement he saw the photo of his mother still in his hands, but it took him a split-second until his memory came back.
He had been crying and must have fallen asleep while doing so. And now it seemed that the boat was about to anchor along the shore. Otherwise, he would not have been woken.
Camus carefully placed the photo in his pocket and pulled the duffle bag from under his bed. He didn't have many belongings and all of them fit in the small duffel bag, he now swung over his shoulder.
He got off his bed and left the tiny room without a look back.
As soon as he entered the gangway, he realised that it was more populated than usual. They must have arrived already.
He followed the corridor and stepped out on the deck. As he had already guessed, the ship lay on the small Port of an equally small town, and people were hastily loading and unloading big bags and crates.
Camus stared a little bit lost at the commotion on the Port. What now? Would somebody come pick him up? Maybe his new family?
"Hey!"
The cheery voice behind him made him turn his head. A few meters behind him stood another child, maybe a little bit older than him, who was smiling at him. Camus frowned and studied the other kid. It was hard to tell if it was a boy or girl, because the blond hair was so short and the wicked gleam in the others eyes looked too mischievous to be a girls, but the face and the big dark blue eyes where very feminine. The other kid said something in Russian again and held the hand towards him in greeting. Camus didn't understand the words, but the voice of the stranger sounded too feminine to be a boy's. At first a tiny frown marred the strange girl's delicate features because Camus didn't react to her greetings, but then she laughed, as she seemed to understand.
"Camus?" she asked with a smile.
Camus nodded.
She pointed her finger at her own chest and said "Anja."
Camus couldn't help but to smile back at her and extend his own hand in greeting. She took it in a strong handshake and laughed, while she said something in Russian again.
Again Camus didn't understand her, so she just took his hand and led him away. Camus had no idea who the girl was, but she seemed to know who he was. So he followed her. She led him off the ship and walked, with him in tow, along some old, snow-covered streets.
Finally they left the small town and Anja went straight to a wooden shed outside the village. As they arrived by the front door, she let go of his hand and fished in her pocket for a silvery, old looking key, which she inserted in the lock of the shed. The door opened with a groaning sound and Anja stepped into the semi dark room, only to appear again a few seconds later, pushing a heavy motor sleigh. She then turned around to lock the door of the shed again.
Camus eyed the vehicle suspiciously. He had once heard that riding those was pretty difficult and he couldn't imagine a little girl driving it. As if to prove him wrong, Anja swung one leg over the saddle and started the motor, as if she'd never done anything else in her life. She pulled some heavy, furred gloves over her hands and looked up at him. Again, she spoke some words in Russian and pointed at the seat directly behind her. Camus hesitated for a second, but then took the seat, arranging his duffel on his back.
Anja waited patiently until he sat right and had a good grip, before she let the sleigh speed forwards.
About two hours later, they reached another village. This one was even smaller than the first. But Anja didn't stop the sleigh and steered it around the poor looking houses, as she passed the village. They only rode for about twenty minutes more, before she stopped the sleigh in front of a rather small cottage. Camus descended the sleigh and rubbed absently at his cold, stiff hands while he scrutinized the cabin.
This was it? He couldn't believe that this was what he would be calling home from now on. The man who had adopted him must be very rich, otherwise he would not have been able to pay so much to the orphanage, but this cottage looked not even big or comfortable enough for a vacations cabin. Surely they only stopped here deliver or pick up something.
He was still studying the little wooden house, as the front door opened and a tall man stepped out in the snow. Camus looked at the stranger who had long, light blue hair and very clear blue eyes. The man came slowly closer and sized him up and down with a stern face.
Camus bit his lower lip, as he tried to read the man's cold eyes. Was that his foster-father? He had no idea, what he actually had expected, but certainly not a man whose whole expression and stance was this cold and unfriendly.
Tros of Aquarius studied the child in front of him. He had been told that his new pupil would arrive with the ship today and he had sent Anja to get the new one.
This boy was older than his former pupils had been. He usually had never had a candidate for the clothes coming to him older than six, and even those had not lasted long. They either died or mostly, ran away. But as he held his eyes on the boy, he felt something different in this child. The indigo-haired kid seemed not to be intimidated by him, but held his gaze steadily, and with a curiosity and innocence that was so typical for any normal child, but so untypical for any orphan or Saint to be. The boys were usually shivering from the ride and very frightened when they arrived at the cottage. Tros had made it clear to Anja not to give them any additional protection to the cold than they already had themselves. He knew that his daughter didn't approve of the harsh methods to train new candidates, but she understood the necessity. More often than not, the boys had arrived with frostbite at the cottage, and about half of them gave up then and there.
His gaze wandered down to the hands of the boy and to his surprised, was the only clue of the ride in the biting cold, a very slim pale shade on the skin, and the boy didn't seem to suffer at all from the cold. Curiously Tros activated his Cosmo and reached out to the child. As he touched the aura of the boy, the little one gasped in surprise and took a step back, his eyes wide open. Tros was more than puzzled. The boy had felt his Cosmo touching him? None who had not learned to activate his Cosmo was able to feel another's so clearly. But as he probed further he was really surprised. The boy had a Cosmo so strong, than he should have only after one maybe two years of training.
"Have you been trained before?" he asked with a sever voice.
The little kid just glared at him with big, no understanding eyes.
"Aren't you going to answer me?" Tros asked impatiently.
"Papa, I think he doesn't understand Greek. Neither Russian for that matter", Anja interjected.
Tros looked first at his daughter and then back to the French boy. "Your name is Camus, right?" he asked in French.
The boy, clearly surprised that Tros spoke his language, stared at him and then nodded slightly.
"Good", answered Tros. "My Name is Tros of Aquarius and from this day on, I will train you to be a Saint of Athena. If you work hard, you will have the honour to wear the cloth of Cygnus one day."
"Cloth? Saint?…", Camus echoed, clearly confused.
Tros narrowed his eyes. "You have been told, why you have been adopted and brought here, haven't you?"
Camus just shook his head.
Tros sighed heavily. "I can't believe, you haven't been told a bit. And you don't even speak Greek." He studied the child dissatisfied. The searchers of Sanctuary were getting more and more devoid of scruples. The search for candidates for the cloths grew more and more desperate; the closer Athena's reincarnation came. Usually they prepared the children, and even let them decide if they wanted to gain a cloth and learn to fight. Nobody could be forced to become a good Saint. But then again, this boy was not like any he had ever seen before. His Cosmo was already elevated, without him even realizing it. Something like that was extremely rare and promised the boy to become a great Saint. Tros even doubted that Camus would be a good candidate for the Cygnus cloth. If the promising Cosmo, the boy had already developed, would evolve as Tros thought, Camus may very well be strong enough for the silver-crystal cloth. No. Sanctuary's searchers had had good reason to want this boy. He had been given a gift. And that gift, nobody had the right to reject. Maybe it had even been Athena herself, who had chosen this boy, and this took the right to decide for himself away from him.
"Listen, and listen good, for I will only say this once. You have been chosen. Chosen to become a warrior. You will learn incredible things here. I will teach you to do things with your body, which you would never have thought possible. You will learn to fight, and become one of the strongest beings of this world. But you will be expected to use your strength for the well being of this planet. You will fight for Athena and earth. The training will be hard, but if you do well, your reward will be worth it."
Camus' eyes still were wide open in amazement as he listened to the words of his teacher to be.
"From now on, I will not talk in French to you again, nor will I pay attention to anything you say in this language. When we train, we will speak Greek, and otherwise Russian.
Anja will show you to your room now."
And with those cold words he turned and walked away.