The infant stared up with innocent eyes at the huge green mass towering above him, only understanding the last part of what he could decipher from the rumbling guttural cacophony uttered by the Orochi.
Protect her...protect...
The familiar word echoed in his mind as the seven streams of opalescent blue streaked towards him, meeting with an impact of utter nothingness; silence, a vacuum of both sound and motion, surrounded the minute form in sync with an azure eclipse that only he himself would ever see. That day, that one fateful evening, was the last ever that the child would ever truly be able to do as he pleased.
He was no longer his own soul. He was Orochi's souls.
The last thing the baby saw that day was blue. Blue light, surrounding him completely, engulfing him...
He was no longer an infant.
He saw himself as though he were out of his own body. Twin pools of naive blue dilated impossibly wide, then contracted into near nothingness, a vague semblance of something feline left in their wake. The peaks of both eyebrows separated from each other, making a quadrant of angled lines across his forehead. Already lightly-tanned skin grew darker yet, almost olive in tone, as the short mop of hair strewn across the infant's forehead shaded lighter and lighter from black to dark emerald.
What is happening...to me?
He stood suddenly, with no supports, somehow holding perfectly upright on two stubby, underdeveloped legs. But all too soon did the infancy fade, his body growing taller and thinner with every passing second. Cheekbones rose up under eyes widened in fright as his face took on an older appearance, tiny clenched fists loosening into long fingers and broad hands. The mess of hair atop his head grew longer, thicker, even more disturbingly green as it sloped down his neck to just barely above his shoulders. He twitched mildly, hiding his face in shame as his hair covered the small black dot on his forehead, the symbol of his Shinto heritage, which had now been mutilated into nothing more than a mark of servitude.
Now, the figure that had once been idly cross-legged in the sandy gravel was no longer an infant. Never would he know what it was to have a childhood, never would he know his family, or what the word 'family' truly meant. But, oblivious, his mind clouded with confusion, he could only stare at his bare feet in embarrassment, refusing to acknowledge the blush across his cheeks, the lump in his throat.
H-have I...failed...them...?
His eyes drifted back to the disfigured remnants behind him, wincing and forcing down the shock, the disgust, the sheer humiliation of such a disgrace. Had that happened...because of him? No, it couldn't be...they were somehow oddly familiar, and yet...he couldn't quite place the feeling...
He snapped painfully back to reality as a single tear fell down his cheek. He couldn't figure why.
Protect her...
Protect...who?
The answer was forcibly presented to him in a voice he'd heard somewhere before; so familiar, and yet...
The Kushinada.
...who?
The one who will put us to sleep forever if her blood is ever spilled...the Kushinada. She must be protected until the time is right.
And...I...?
Yes. You shall protect the Kushinada at all costs. You must not let her die, lest we all be forced into Eternal Slumber.
So...I must ensure...the Kushinada will not be harmed...
Swear it now, on your own blood.
As if out of his own control, the boy whirled around, one arm out to his side as he saw the tree in an impossible second and, by some unfeasible means, managed to raise that forearm to shield himself...skin scratched almost audibly against the bark of the tree, a violent smirk somehow creasing one corner of his mouth as he saw the blood, even his own. Seeming oblivious to the pain, his eyes widened for just one instant, loving every second of this rush, this surge of energy, this adrenaline, this need to fight, even to kill...and he winced as he found his mind his own once again, a pained expression crossed his face in a mix of realization of his injury, of how the thing before him had somehow seemed to overcome his mind and force him to do this, to bleed like this...he shivered in disgust at the mere thought of, let alone the actual sight of even a single drop of his own thick red blood spilling down his arm.
Protect her well, Mamoru Kusanagi. That is your name. Protect her...
Wha...w-wait!
But it was too late; the voice had fallen silent.
Resigned, he forced himself to look down at his arm, at where the skin had been etched into with both bark and blood, and gave a rather sickened shudder as he wiped the small trickle of blood off of his skin.
...it...it's not...red?
No...it was green. Green, like the grass. Green, like the forest. Green, like the immense form that had loomed over that baby so recently. Had it truly been him? It was all so familiar... but why couldn't he remember? He growled to himself in irritation.
Was that thing...an...Aragami?
He could only vaguely recollect the word, and yet, somehow, he knew...the ancient race of plant-demons that would be put to sleep if the Kushinada was ever sacrificed, as she had been since antediluvian times. That was what that green thing had been. Orochi-No-Orochi, the King of Dragons...was, indeed, this thing called an Aragami. He knew it.
And now...now, this child, this unsuspecting infant whose parents' decapitated and bloody remains still lay sprawled across the dusty ground behind him, was the same as this Orochi...this...Aragami.
He suddenly realized the gravity of his situation.
Wait! Please! I...I can't do this! How can I protect someone I don't even know?
Protect her...
I don't want to! I...I won't! Give me have my life back!
You swore on your blood. You are mine.
No...n-no...please, no...
His head sunk into his hands, eyes shutting in despair. How...?
"No," he finally whispered aloud, "I don't want it. I don't want this, any of it."
There is no turning back, Kusanagi. You have sworn. Sleep. You shall understand in the morning...
--
He started suddenly and with a mild gasp, glancing instinctively from side to side in a near panic...until it occurred to him that it had all been a mere illusion.
"That same dream..." he shook his head, glancing down at the undeniable evidence of it's truth that marked the back of both of his hands, some unidentifiable emotion plastering itself cross his face.
After a moment spent in unvoiced thought, he finally turned his attention to the window below him, unlocked and opened just enough for the breeze to billow the snowy-white curtains away from the glass.
The faintest of smiles creased his lips at this - she'd been expecting him.
Silently, he leapt from his perch in the familiar tree outside and managed a smooth foothold on the windowsill, crouching, almost feline-like, to peer into the window at the sleeping form of the girl, entangled in the bed sheets, sleeping soundly in his absence.
He closed the window behind him.
Seating himself, cross-legged, on edge of the bed, he peered over at her, a streak of childlike innocence glazing his eyes for but a moment. She was dreaming, too...no doubt over the accumulation of events that had lead to one final emotional exhaustion no less than a week ago...he himself found his usual stoicism wavering at the memories. He seemed a bit sobered at the look of concern that marred her otherwise peaceful aura. A wistful smile broke over him as he reached over to brush her hair from its tangle over her face, gently...as if protective.
The very irony of the moment rendered his smile bittersweet.
"Don't worry, princess...I'm here."