DISCLAIMER: This is the prologue to a story...a VERSION of what COULD have happened to the seven BYAKKO SHICHISEISHI, and their MIKO. I don't own Tokaki, Tatara, Subaru, or Suzuno. I believe that distinction goes to Studio Perriot and TVTokyo. And to whoever published the original Manga, as well as Watase Yuu herself. These characters are from the Fushigi Yuugi series, and if you've never read it or seen it, you're missing out.

DISCLAIMER 2: This story has come about from many years of playing on various MOOs and MUSHs as one of the Byakko Seishi. I started originally as Karasuki, AKA Lee Pelham, on the now defunct Shijin. On the now defunct Maijin Chuuten and Three Wishes, I played as Tokaki. Now, at FushigiTouzai, I play as Tokaki once more. I'll be posting the website in Chapter 1, as soon as I figure out if I'm allowed. My versions of the 'Uncanon' seishi stem entirely from characters I've interacted with throughout my time as an RPer of Tokaki. I dedicate this story to them, and devoutly wish that if Watase Yuu should ever find herself bored one night, she finds this story, reads it, and uses some of them as her Karasuki, Toroki, Amefuri, and Kokie. This particular prologue stems from conversations and RP I've had with two of the best Subaru's I've ever seen played, Subaru@Shijin, and Subaru@FT.

DISCLAIMER 3: This story will be told through the eyes of the old man in the prologue. As such, you have been warned. There will be violence, bad language, and possibly some other things that parents might not want you to see. Especially considering who one of the primary characters is.

PROLOGUE: After 'The End' and before 'Once Upon A Time.'

Watching him work in the garden made it difficult to tell that he was an older man. He moved quickly and easily through the rows, pulling out weeds with a strength that seemed much younger. When he had to stand, it was slowly, but still with an amount of grace that would be surprising, considering his true age.

It was the hair. At least...now it was the hair. When he was younger, one look at his hair, and people would think he was a lot older. Bright white, it hung down in a ducktail at the back of his neck, with two long bangs at the far corner of each eye. And when he turned, then it was obvious he was not a young man. For the face that gazed out from under that peculiar hairstyle was wrinkled and lined with the worries of many, many years. He wore proudly a mustache and goatee, and his face carried the appearance of someone used to smiling. There was something about him, even now, an indescribable quality, a wildness to his features and his face. It could be his dark skin, it could be his hair, or the glint in his eyes, but there was something wild about him. He was clad in the work clothes of the desert, loose fitting, light and airy, yet they covered his whole body, and part of his face too, if he stood just right.

Right now though, he was scowling in a very grumpy way at the children currently standing at his gate. "Dear!" He called sharply into the house, looking for all the world if he was calling someone to bring him a weapon to drive the children off. "They're here. Again." Someone at the back of the crowd giggled as a kind voice called out from the house. "Goodness. Is it that time already?"

"You'd better get my pipe and some water." He called irritably, knowing without looking that the person he was calling to probably stood in the kitchen, already gathering the requested items, chuckling quietly to herself. He started walking towards a great tree near the gate to his property, a wide and leafy one that provided plenty of shade during the heat of the day. He paused about halfway there, glancing first to the elderly woman upon his porch with a smile on her face, then to the children, still at the gate. "Well? Come on. What are you waiting for?" He asked gruffly. The old woman caught his still golden eyes for a moment, her eyes twinkling merrily. For a moment, he studied her, as he had for many, many long years.

She stood much shorter than he, but it was obvious from her face that their ages were very close. Age had filled her out, her once curvaceous body now more plump. But it was that happy sort of plumpness that comes to old women who have lived very good and happy lives. Her hair was as white as his, but longer, with two lengths of it done up in circles on the top of her head. She was no longer young, but she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He turned back to his walk towards the tree, settling with his back against it's rough warmth as the children who had never come to sit with him before approached nervously. By unspoken agreement, the new kids sat up front, and the ones who had heard it before sat at the back. Before the children sat down, one little girl, hiding behind an older boy, as though for protection, put her little hand up in the air, while eyeing the old man nervously with wide eyes. "S'it twue dat you're a seshi?" She asked softly, before ducking back behind the older boy.

The old man's response was just to chuckle softly, his face softening. "I tell you what." He said, motioning for the girl to step forward towards him. "You're Xi-fan, right?" he asked, smiling as the girl stared at him, surprised that he knew her name. "Come have a seat in my lap, and I'll tell you the story. When it's over, you can decide for yourself what I am." He said with a smile, before accepting his pipe from his wife.

The little girl complied, and soon all the children were settled in a loose semicircle before him, with his wife beside him, sitting on a blanket and working on her embroidery. The old man lit his pipe, and took a deep puff from it, before turning his attention to the children. "My story." He started softly. "Is a very important story. It's the story of how the Byakko no Miko came to Sairou-kotu, and called forth the power of Byakko to protect this land." He turned to smile at his wife for a moment, before continuing. "But the story doesn't begin there. It begins several years earlier, before the Byakko no Miko arrived." He paused here for a moment, regarding the children solemnly.

"It begins very simply. It begins with a girl."

***********

The market was full that day, one of the last days of the week-long sale that came after every harvestime. It was busier than usual, as this had been an unusually good year for harvest. It seemed like everyone in all the four lands was there, so crowded did it appear. Farmers and craftsman haggled back and forth for goods and services, as well as coin from Konan, Hokkan, and Sairou. The people in the crowd were from all walks of life. Monks, soldiers, farmers, merchants, craftsmen, and nobles, and each was different, from the color and style of their clothing, to the way they wore their hair. It was an amazing array of color and culture. However, nothing out of the ordinary was happening there. For that, we have to look several blocks away.

The street was mostly empty, as most of the people living on it were at the market. The reason it was not entirely empty was very clear, however. About midway down the street, there was a large field. A little old woman sat in a rocking chair on the back porch of a home that bordered the field, but she was fast asleep. The children she was supposed to be watching played on, as intent on having a good time as their parents were of getting a good deal in the marketplace. The boys played a rowdy game of ball in the field, while the girls sat along the sides, talking, gossiping, or working on something. It was a scene that can be found in all times and cultures.

Except one boy. Perhaps he was a tad young to be wondering about things like this. Perhaps adult women watched his antics and shook their heads with a smile, remembering their youth. Perhaps fathers watched him warily, knowing that he spelled trouble. Whatever it was, this young boy, marked by his unusual white hair, was NOT playing with the other boys. No, instead, he spent his free time in more...creative pursuits.

A small group of girls sat on a bench beneath a tree. Most of them were watching the boys play, talking about things that little girls have always found important, what's important in a future husband, fashion, toys, cooking, sewing, and what their parents were likely to buy them in the marketplace. They were perhaps a little older than the rest of the children, less given to play, and already starting to turn their minds towards more adult pursuits. The little boy sat against a wall, his golden eyes upon them, gleaming impishly. His regard turned to the tree the bench sat beside, and he grinned.

Getting to his feet, he started to slowly make his way along the wall he was sitting against, keeping his eye on the bench as he edged to the side. Everyone was ignoring him, so wrapped up in their fun were they. Or, he thought everyone was ignoring him. He slide until he could no longer see the bench for the tree blocking it, and then slowly, casually, started forward towards the tree. This way, he figured, he'd be out of the view of the girls on the bench.

It should be stated again that he thought everyone was ignoring him. There was one person watching him. She was small girl, probably no older than five, possessed of the same unusual white hair he had. She sat upon a porch, swinging her legs back and forth idly, her eyes slightly red and puffy. Her parents had told her not to play with the other children and get dirty, but that game of ball that the boys were playing looked fun. She was dressed in shiny silks, and had her hair done up so that most of it hung down, but some of it was pulled up to be two loops on top of her head, one on either side. She watched the boy because he was behaving very strangely.

He continued to move towards the tree, his feet light and silent on the ground, and totally oblivious to the pair of grey-blue eyes upon him. He reached the tree, and stepped up towards it. Slowly edging around the tree, he looked once more at the girls sitting on the bench. They were much closer now, and his grin widened. His plan would work perfectly. He got down on the ground, and slowly started to work his way towards the bench, crawling underneath it. It was along the ground, and he had to move slowly, but he eventually made it to the bench. Sliding underneath it, he rolled over to look up. Yes, that's right, this whole effort was just to look up their dresses.

It would be at this point that the screaming began. The boy had forgotten about one thing. When he rolled over, he failed to take into account the position of the girls' legs. So he hit one of their ankles with his shoulder. When one girl started screaming and lept up off the bench, the other girls looked down, saw the boy, and also lept up, screaming. His look of triumph faded, since he'd failed to actually see anything because of his own bad planning. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the girls run screaming across the field as the boy pulled himself up and started to brush the dirt from his body. Because this had put his back to the field, he failed to notice the parting of the crowd of children behind him.

When the little white-haired girl realized what the boy was to, she leapt from the porch to the ground. She hadn't even started walking that way when the screaming began. Turning back to the porch, she grabbed the first thing her hand touched, and then started stomping across the field towards the boy. The other children, seeing her anger, moved away from her in awe, parting to either side of her.

For the rest of his life, he will swear that he never heard her approach or felt it coming.

Then it hit the back of his head.

The boy sprawled out facedown along the ground, his head swimming more from the shock of being struck than from the force of the blow. Too stunned to move for the moment, he could only stare at the ground and pray to Byakko that it would stop moving in circles shortly. When it did, he rolled over onto his back and looked up. The sight that greeted his eyes was no less stunning. Looming over him in a way that only a five-year-old filled with righteous fury can, the girl pointed her finger at him, the other hand weighed down by a very small cast iron frying pan. She waggled her finger at him in a very chastizing manner, and said. "Dat wasn't nice." His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, as she put her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

This went on for a few moments, but when the boy continued to stare at her, with his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, the little girl became concerned. "'re you okay?" She asked, and when she received no response, her eyes started to tear up. "Uh oh." She said softly, her voice wavering. "I tink I broked him."

"DOURIN!" Came a high pitched woman's voice, full of disappointed anger. The little girl's eyes went wide, and she turned, face full of fear, as her mother came up to her and grabbed her by the arm. "I thought I told you not to play with the other children and get all dirty!" The woman started to drag the little girl away from the children. "It's time for us to go now. Your father is waiting.

Dourin did not put up much a fight against her mother, her eyes remaining worriedly upon the boy she'd hit. "I's sowwy!" She yelled, not to her mother, but to the boy. But her mother's strides took her far too quickly away for her to see the boy's mouth close, and his lips turn up in a rather mystified smile.

"Dourin." He said softly.

End.