Vow Of Silence
Disclaimer: I don't own Nagi, Weiss Kreuz, anything to do with Weiss Kreuz, etc. Similarities to existing material is purely coincidental, blah. Don't sue me. Please. I have nothing of value.
Nagi had been practicing for ages. Weeks. And weeks of practice, to a six-year-old, was an eternity of practice. But it was worth it, because now he'd got it just right. It was perfect. He grinned to himself as he ran eagerly, and in the careless manner of a child, home. He saw the faded, peeling red paint of his front door. And burst through, not even reaching up to turn the handle. Nagi had found opening doors easy for years. He'd always wondered why people bothered with all the hassle of using their hands. Why didn't they just think it open?
"Mama!" he roared. "Look at what I can do! Look, look!"
His mother appeared from the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up and soapsuds on her arms. She looked tired and worn, but smiled fondly all the same. "Not so loud, Nagi-chan. We'll have the neighbours complaining. Or your father."
Nagi put his hands over his mouth. "Sorry mama," he whispered as quietly as he could.
She ruffled his hair. "Away with you! Now, what is it you want to show me?"
Nagi lit up again like a light bulb. "Come and see, it's really really good!"
His mother's hazel gaze flicked back to the open doorway to the kitchen. She still had washing up to do, but it would keep. "Alright, Nagi-chan. Lead the way."
Grabbing her hand, Nagi charged off. "Not so fast!" laughed his mother, and he obediently slowed down, but he was impatient to show her. Aha, there! The cherry tree, in full blossom. You'd never have thought it was May; it looked like the tree was laden with snow. Petals steadily fell and floated lazily on the air with every breath of wind. The cherry tree's snowing, thought Nagi happily. He slowed down, and came to a complete stop, panting slightly.
"My, the cherry tree's beautiful this year," murmured his mother in admiration.
Nagi nodded impatiently. This wasn't what she was supposed to see! "Watch," he ordered. She hid a smile from her authoritative young son. He took a deep breath, and with all the solemn dignity of a small child, he closed his eyes for a moment to get his focus. When he opened them again, he raised his right hand almost dismissively, and a wind started up, picking up the cherry blossoms and making them dance on the air. Wherever Nagi directed them with his hand, they went.
He concentrated as hard as he could, forming fantastic patterns and designs in the air with snowy petals, trying his hardest to make this the best show he had ever done. Nagi traced spirals and circles, curves and twists and didn't drop them once. Then he let his hand drop, and watched the petals and blossoms fall. The world returned to normal, without the slightest sign it had ever been otherwise. In his mind, Nagi thanked the wind and the blossoms. It had been a very good show. He was proud.
"Nagi," whispered his mother. He looked at her, his grey eyes large. This was wrong. "Nagi," she repeated. She didn't look proud. She looked scared.
"Mama?" he questioned.
"You… you're a … demon…" His mother sounded terrified.
He looked up sharply as if he'd been struck. "No!" he cried. "I'm not! Mama!"
But she was already running home.
-
Hadn't he been good enough? wondered Nagi. He was still there, sitting with his back to the trunk of the tree, hugging his knees. He hadn't gone home yet, he wanted to stay here for a while, and then maybe when he went back, mama wouldn't be mad anymore. It was getting dark now, and a few scattered stars were visible. Mama would be worried if he wasn't home soon. And he was tired, because controlling the wind was hard and he'd never done it for so long before, and he didn't really like the dark much anyway.
So he got up, feeling a little better because soon he'd be back home where it was warm, and mama would light a candle in his room so it wouldn't be dark, and he could play with the flame and make it dance before he went to sleep. But best of all, mama wouldn't call him a demon anymore because he'd be extra-careful and not control the wind when she was there.
Nagi managed to summon a small smile as he began the run home. But only after he'd sent a little breeze to tease through the branches of the cherry tree in a goodbye.
-
His room was dark. Mama hadn't lit him a candle. He hadn't seen her since he came home. She might have been in the kitchen, Nagi didn't know because his father had been standing there when he opened the door so he couldn't see. He had his belt in his hand, and before Nagi could run away he was hauled into a room.
Usually when Nagi was beaten, his mother would try to intervene, and as often as not, his father would turn on her while Nagi cowered in a corner, covering his ears. But this time, she wasn't even there. He tried calling for her, but she didn't come, and the belt only came down harder, so he stopped and tried to take the beating quietly. She mustn't have been in the house, he reasoned, or she would come.
So here he was now, alone in his small room, in the dark. His father had told him, in between strikes, never to use his power again, and had threatened him with all sorts of punishments if he did. Nagi knew better than to protest. Thinking about it, he curled up defensively on his bed, and hurt, and wondered what he'd done wrong. It was because he had shown mama what he could do, but how did his father know? Mama wouldn't tell, Nagi told himself confidently. She'd never ever give his father a reason to beat him. Maybe he'd followed them when Nagi led his mother to the cherry tree. That must be it. And he'd put her out of the house while he beat Nagi.
He shifted positions, and tears sprang to his eyes from the stinging pains that shot through his body. He was lying on something wet, and got up to see what it was, stifling a whimper. Even in the dim half-light he could tell. He was bleeding. Nagi threw himself back onto his bed, burying his face in the cover and crying softly until he fell asleep.
-
Nagi was nearly ten years old, and life was almost normal. He'd learned that the less he used, or even mentioned, his telekinesis, the better he was treated. He'd never stopped though; his psychic abilities were too much a part of him to lose, so he trained himself in secret. He couldn't do it outside anymore. If anyone saw, and mentioned it to his parents, he'd be driven out of town, or worse. And that was if they didn't carry out their own punishments. He had to be content with moving things around his room, and even that could be dangerous. The first few times, he'd dropped things. His father had come up to see what was going on, guessed what he was doing, and Nagi had earned himself another beating. He was getting used to them now.
But it was worth it. He was getting better and better. He could lift up heavier things, and manoeuvre them without even losing his grip, and he could even set them down gently, which was the hardest part. And he was less and less tired every time. He was much quieter than the boisterous child he had been, and more withdrawn. His grey eyes were always serious, and he rarely spoke even when spoken to unless it was absolutely necessary. But he always made eye contact, with a gaze so intense it was as if he wanted to pierce you right through. And he was so impermeable, that's what he might have been thinking, and no one would be able to tell. Nagi's parents, however, didn't mention this change. They didn't speak to him at all usually. Nagi didn't care; he'd lost all respect for them a long time ago.
He was just grateful they weren't openly hostile towards him. Well, not much.
-
Looking back, he should have known better, but there was no point in saying that now. The damage was done. And boy, had he done it this time. Too bad he couldn't turn back time. He smiled bitterly in the darkness. Yet. Maybe if he trained enough.
How was he to know, anyway? She wouldn't have said anything to anyone. She could even have been his friend. It had been her, after all, who approached him in the first place, bouncing a ball. She threw it at him, and he psychically bounced it back. This seemed to amuse her, and they started a little game to pass the time; she bounced the ball to him, and he bounced it back, no hands.
Then they appeared. Nagi had learned that no matter how careful he had been, rumours had still spread about the demon-child. So really he ought to have seen it coming. But he didn't. There were four of them, all older and taller than Nagi, but despite this, and their aggressive swagger, he remained cool, and merely fixed them with his deadly cold grey gaze as he did everyone.
"Well, if it isn't the little psycho-kid," said one, grinning.
Nagi didn't flinch. "I think you mean psychic," he corrected coolly, with the dangerous politeness of the panther. He'd heard the word used often enough to make the connection. He'd also completely forgotten about the girl with her ball.
"No," butted in another who obviously fancied himself. "We mean psycho. Like, crazy? They shouldn't let people like you out with normal people like us, you freak."
That hit a nerve, and Nagi reddened. "Hey, I'm not-"
"Oh yeah?" This one had a cruelty in his eyes that made Nagi feel like a butterfly waiting to have his wings torn off. "Well, you obviously ain't normal. So what does that make you?"
"I… I don't know?" Nagi's eyes flickered for a second. Well? What did that make him?
This was what the other boy had been waiting for. "That makes you a freak, don't it? Don't it?" He turned to the others, who sounded a chorus of agreement. Then he turned back to Nagi, waiting for his answer.
Nagi just shook his head in mute denial, blinking back tears from his eyes. He wasn't scared; he'd had people throw stones at him before. Nothing was worth compromising who he was, not even these boys who were all bigger and heavier than he was, and obviously meant business. He managed to glare defiantly at them as they approached. Slowly. Menacingly.
Nagi hated dramatics.
He refused to admit this afterwards, but he was unprepared for the quick lunge forward, and even less so for the swift kick to the stomach that doubled him over. Everything was just a confusion of blows and taunts and pain after that, but Nagi was silent through it all. He was pretending to himself that this was just another of his father's beatings, and succeeded in distancing himself, separating his mind from the pain until he was alone with himself. And had it just been a beating, he would have simply taken it and carried on with his sham of a life. But it wasn't. The next thing he knew, his shirt was being ripped roughly from his body, exposing his chest to the cool air. The fear really kicked in when he felt strong arms wrap around him and instinctively he began to struggle, all in vain. With the first tug on his trousers, he froze, to terrified to move. Too terrified to even think.
A shrill scream rang out, and there was the sound of a ball hitting the floor and bouncing as its owner fled, leaving it, and Nagi, to their fates.
-
They left him lying brokenly on the floor, sobbing softly. He felt tainted. He felt physically sick. 'Violated' didn't even scratch the surface. The word 'rape' wasn't in Nagi's vocabulary, but that didn't matter now. The name of hell is irrelevant. And he didn't want to know. Only one of them had been doing it, he thought, while the others watched, but he couldn't be sure. They hadn't been too gentle about it either. Someone threw his clothes at him, and then they turned to leave. It was possible they would have gotten away with it, but then the one with the vicious eyes made his mistake. Turning and sneering derisively, he spat. Nagi felt it hit the side of his face, and wiped it away, disgusted, with the sleeve of his shirt. When he raised his eyes again, they were twin fires. They wouldn't get away with that. Now he knew.
Channelling all his emotion and fury, he lashed out with his mind and sent the other boy flying. Nagi pinned him by the throat against one of the peeling, graffiti'd walls. He felt a surge of fierce joy when the cruel face contorted and he let go, watching the body drop dispassionately. The others were already running away.
It was all they deserved, he told himself. His anger began to dissipate, and fear rose in him. The prone body lay still. What the hell had he done? Was he dead? Nagi stood up unsteadily. He felt bruised and battered inside and out. Blood ran down his legs, and tears pricked at his eyes again. Dressing with trembling hands, and with only a minimum use of telekinesis, he wondered what would happen now. They'd be after him. All of them. Everyone he'd ever known, and many he didn't. There was no time to feel sorry for himself now; he had to find a place to hide.
-
He should be safe here though. It was dark, but he didn't mind so much anymore. The dark was his friend now; so long as he stayed still and kept quiet, no one would find him. Nagi was curled up on the smooth, cold floor, just like he had done when he was younger. His eyes were open, but unfocused, and he made no noise, but tears streamed down his face.
I'll get them. They won't get away with this. I'll hurt them, I'll kill them all for not understanding, and when I do I'll laugh. I'll enjoy it.
Nagi tensed, and sat bolt upright. There was someone there. A faint scent of aftershave hung on the air. "Hey," said a soft, cocksure voice. "Need somewhere to crash?"
Silence. He wasn't going to blow his cover. Not until he knew what this person was really up to.
"You want revenge, right?" continued the silky voice. "Sure you do. Come with me and I promise you it'll happen."
What did he have to lose? "Fine." He could tell the other was probing his mind. So what? That just meant they were the same.
"Then follow me. I understand, you know."
And without a second look, Nagi left his past and his life behind him.