A/N: Bum, bum, bum! I'm just pumping them out. Chapters, that is. Ahem... I'd
like to start off by giving a BIG "Thank You" to my reviewers. Honestly,
you people fuel my writing. So, thank you, and please continue to comment
on my writing. It's beyond appreciated.
If the spacing is a little shady, excuse it. My computer likes to fiddle
with my format.
As for this chapter, I believe it has a completely different mood to it,
which is what I was obviously going for. Oh, and take note that all the
names used in this story have a meaning that directly correlates with the
nature of each character. For example, Raidon means "thunder god", but not
literally of course. He has the poise and arrogance of a god. Eh, eh? –prod-
Get it? Enjoy!
Disclaimer: As defined by the dictionary: "A repudiation or denial of responsibility or connection..." So, I'm denying any claim to Sunrise.
Torn skin. A white tiger emerging from the shadows of dusk. Goodbyes. A crooked jack 'o lantern smile. Missing front teeth. Death. Pain. Ryo. Hollowed emotions. Hugs. Tight embraces. A haunting melody. Swing sets. A toy store. A coffin made out of oak. Dead flowers. Twin swords. Fire. Ryo. Light. Stars. Water. Rock. Handshakes. Tears. Blood. Ryo. Black feathers. Blue eyes. Laughter. Running without thinking. Muscles pumping. Hearting pounding. Ryo. Thirst. Grass. Endless fields of grass. Dew. Strangers. Ryo. Watching the lights go out.
He awoke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest, fear and confusion clouding his vision. He lifted his aching body from his bed, and sat over the edge, placing his hands on his forehead, feeling the sweat coat his fingers like droplets of dew. He breathed hard and fast, the images from his slumber tumbling into his head all at once, like horses released from their stalls, straining their necks at the smell of freedom.
The young man grit his teeth in frustration, his jaw aching at the sudden amount of strain. The night sky caught his attention as his lifted his head from his palms. Stretching his muscles, he moved towards the window with a catlike grace, standing before the railing on the balcony, feeling the cold stone of the fence beneath his fingertips. The sweat was cooled from his body by the swift, cold breeze that moved about, flowing through the sky. His thick, unruly raven hair danced in the night, fueled by the wind that that played with his locks.
Goosebumps formed on his bare chest, but he did not leave his post on the balcony. The dreams had disturbed him. He did not know where the images had come from, and he didn't understand the strong emotions that resonated from his dreams. He felt as though he should remember something. But, the images did not make any sense, for he knew he surely had not experienced any of the memories that had come to him while he had slumbered.
He looked up into the sky, as though it would offer him answers to quell his fears. Thin streams of sunlight wove their way through the sky, signaling the approaching dawn. He tried to push back that fear that rose inside of him; something was not right, he could sense it. Swallowing, he turned away from the sunrise, moving further into his chambers; he clothed himself in black clothes fit for royalty with gold and red threading fit so that the ensemble was tailored perfectly for his frame. He donned thin armor that not only served as decoration, but for sparring and hunting. He slid his wrist guards on and tied his black, knee high boots, with motions that proved his daily habit of dressing in such attire.
After fastening a long, flowing black cape around his neck, he ran a hand through his thick, ebony locks. He glanced in the mirror before reaching for the doorknob; his silver eyes glistened in the coming dawn. His long hair framed his elfin face perfectly, the locks falling between his shoulder blades.
He closed the door behind him with a click. He strode with confidence to the room that lay in the center of the palace. The young man took in the rich surroundings about him with appreciation and ease. His boots made no sound as he glided with assurance. After several moments, he had managed to navigate the labyrinth of his residence. He stood before two large dark doors. Without hesitation, he pushed the doors open, closing them behind him, all in one swift motion. His eyes automatically adjusted to the darkness of the room, illuminated only by five single torches, burning in the silence.
The man moved to the center of the room, giving no notice to the ornate carvings on the walls. He knelt before a throne, his smooth movements signaling his reverence to his actions. Bowing his head, he glanced upwards to the seat before him. He waited in silence; until he was greeted by a loud, booming voice that dripped with power, yet a small hint of softness.
"Taro, you look troubled," the voice exclaimed, as a ghostly image formed before the kneeling figure.
"Father," he breathed, almost in a whisper, "I've had troubling dreams."
The image solidified, though it still appeared slightly transparent. It was a figure of a head, armored with a helmet suited for battle and a mask that concealed the face. It looked menacing, but Taro looked upon it with no trace of fear; only respect glinted in his steel eyes.
"My son, tell me," the voice said, soothingly.
"Visions mixed with strange emotions, father, though I know they are not my memories. Death without battle, child's toys, children experiencing joy, and a white tiger," Taro said, his voice steady, though his eyes were narrowed in uncertainty.
"You spoke of emotions, Taro, what did the visions convey to you?"
"Fear, sadness, pain, a sense of loss."
"Do not believe everything you see, my son. Your heart is too soft; weakness is not a quality a leader can afford. Ease your troubled mind. You've no need to think of useless dreams. I'll have a woman sent to your bed to comfort your uneasiness during the night, Taro. It's time you relished in the fruits of warlords."
Taro nodded slightly, still unnerved by the visions and now, even more unnerved by the notion of spending the night with a woman. He found most of them ignorant and naïve, useless to spend time with, unless the needs of the body called to be fulfilled.
Bowing his head, he thanked his father and left the room. Once he was in the corridor, he made his way to the mess hall, wanting to converse with his generals before the appointed meeting that was scheduled for the afternoon.
Weak streams of sunlight began to pour in the windows, and Taro avoided the pools of light that bathed the floors. He cringed at the yellow lakes of warmth spread out on the floor. He much preferred the night. In darkness, he felt truly powerful. Though, as of late, he was agitated in the darkness. The dreams were relentless; their impacts were fresh in his mind, caused him to close his eyes in meditation for a moment.
The memories of the visions were overwhelming, and Taro had to steady himself against the wall with his hand for a moment. When he felt he had overcome the aftershock of the dreams, he continued to make way towards the mess hall, his black cape swishing behind him, like a relentless shadow.
Although dawn had just approached, the mess hall was already bustling with activity. Soldiers woke early in order to begin sparring. Taro spotted Raidon, one of his finest generals and closest friends, sitting on a bench sipping wine. Taro made he way over to Raidon, nodding at various soldiers who motioned their respect.
"A little early, isn't it?" Taro questioned, lifting his chin slightly towards the pitcher of wine.
Raidon looked up at Taro, his green eyes foggy with the last traces of sleep. A smile cracked on his lips and soon, the both of them were grinning and laughing.
"Never too early, my lord," Raidon said between bouts of laughter.
Taro sat down across from his companion, happy that his friend was in such good humor for the time of day. Raidon's wavy red hair was more disheveled than Taro's naturally unruly hair. He refused to cut it, claiming that women went crazy for it. Taro assumed that was true, noting that Raidon had more than a few women that kept him happy. He took note of Raidon's lanky appearance; the man was swift and more powerful than he appeared to be. Though Raidon was a fine swordsman, his skills with the bow were unmatched, except when it came to Taro. The two of them were equally gifted with the bow.
An old man scuttled over to Taro, a tray of food in tow. Taro nodded, and the servant placed the food on the table and bowed. Moments later, a woman, no younger than Taro, sauntered over and placed a pitcher of water on the table, bending over so her cleavage was in view of Taro as she bowed and walked away with a sly grin on her face.
"You should kill that one for that," a low voice said from behind Taro.
"Ah, Kioshi, how wonderful of you to be so cheerful. Come, eat with us!" Raidon exclaimed, motioning to his wine.
"My lord," Kioshi began, not taking his narrow eyes off of the woman, "Her lack of respect is appalling."
"Oh, my good general, lighten up. Drink some wine!"
"Such behavior deserves punishment," Kioshi spat, moving away from the table, "Excuse me, my lord, I shall eat elsewhere."
"And deny us of your rancor? I shall think not! Come, come, good general. I was merely jesting. You're certainly not a man of drink!" Raidon exclaimed boisterously.
Taro smiled, despite the events of the night before. Kioshi sat at the table next to Taro with a sigh, rubbing his short, thick blonde hair with his palm. Kioshi was shorter than Taro by a good five inches, but stockier and more muscular. He did not care much for weaponry, since he was the finest wrestler Taro had ever met. Taro had never seriously tried a hand at wrestling; he much preferred swords or bows.
"My lord, you look tired. What troubles you?" Kioshi asked, putting a hand on Taro's shoulder in concern.
"He needs a women," Raidon said matter-of-factly.
"My father actually suggested that," Taro replied, feeling uneasy.
"He knows best," Raidon said, nodding and grinning mischievously.
"I've other things to think about," Taro began, "Such as new exercises the soldiers should be going through. I've also noticed that we're in need of more blacksmiths, our weaponry grows thin. I also wish to discuss strategies for the oncoming battle," Taro said.
"It's only breakfast!" Raidon complained.
Kioshi nodded seriously, understanding Taro's urgency.
"Do you still plan to attack in five months?" Kioshi questioned.
"Yes. I know many of the men have already been fitted, so all they need to work on is training," Taro replied, "I had already discussed it with Makoto and Leiko before they left. They shall be returning in one month."
"Have they accomplished their goals, my lord?" Kioshi asked.
"They're succeeding thus far. I've only heard news from my father. There's still much to be done here. I'll need you both to train the soldiers with more in-depth combat techniques. There's a lot to be done before the war."
"You will be a god, Taro," Raidon said, his eyes serious and his voice steady.
"Only with victory, Raidon," Taro replied, standing up, "I've much to see to this morning. We shall still meet this afternoon."
Raidon and Kioshi nodded and bid Taro a good day as he left the mess hall. When he found himself back in the hallway, Taro just recalled then he had not eaten breakfast, though food had been made available to him. Not feeling hungry, he did not return to the mess hall.
He made his way towards the training grounds, wanting to oversee the soldiers as well as spar with whoever was willing to fight him.
"Ryo."
Taro felt a voice in his head, a presence within himself. He knew no one had spoken to him; the hall was empty. Then who had spoken to his mind?
"Ryo."
Ryo? The name sounded familiar. He knew no solider by the title. The voice was merely a whisper in his head, yet he heard it clearly.
Feeling foolish, he licked his lips and asked, "What do you want?" His voice was strong and unwavering.
"Come back to us," the voice answered.
Taro could tell the voice was male, but he did not recognize it.
"Who are you?" he questioned, his breathing sharp and quick, as his heart began to beat faster.
"We shall show you."
The words were cryptic, and Taro waited in the hall, poised for a fight. He saw Raidon and Kioshi making their way towards him down the hall, their voices carrying towards him. He felt comforted knowing his companions were near. Without warning, images clouded Taro's vision, much like the dreams he had the night before. Every time an image changed, there was a sharp pain in Taro's body, like a lightening bolt striking him. Running. Falling. Hands grabbing. A white tiger. Five shadows. White armor. Arrows. A woman screaming. A tombstone. Rain. Eyelashes fluttering. Birds falling from trees. Windows being shattered. Black feathers floating in a river, being carried along by the swift current.
Taro cried out, crashing against the wall behind him. The pain was unbearable, and the emotions emitted by the images were just as severe. He felt pain not only of the body, but pain of the heart- despair, loss, death, hopelessness, abandonment, and terror. He felt himself falling to the ground. The visions were fading and slowing down. His sight soon became a blur; colors running together, forms becoming misshapen. He heard footsteps coming towards him. The vibrations pounded in his head, as his vision faded into black. He felt himself being lifted off of the ground. Strong arms gripped his sides.
There was shouting. Men's voices sounded panicked- afraid. Taro could feel what the people around him were feeling. The emotions of their lives soon revealed themselves to him, and he was able to see their souls without physically opening his eyes. It was overbearing. He began to lose consciousness- his brain had become overrun by the emotions that ambushed it.
Darkness came. A boy? A boy. Running towards him. Bright blue eyes alert and focused. Hands reaching out. Fingers trying to close around his wrist. Taro pulled back.
A/N: Man, that's good stuff, eh? If you're confused, don't worry. All will be revealed soon, my friend. Ooo, did you notice the names and the meanings? Oh yes, I go the extra mile! Don't forget to review; I know you want to. I'll have the next chapter out as soon as possible. Gotta love summer, eh?
Disclaimer: As defined by the dictionary: "A repudiation or denial of responsibility or connection..." So, I'm denying any claim to Sunrise.
Torn skin. A white tiger emerging from the shadows of dusk. Goodbyes. A crooked jack 'o lantern smile. Missing front teeth. Death. Pain. Ryo. Hollowed emotions. Hugs. Tight embraces. A haunting melody. Swing sets. A toy store. A coffin made out of oak. Dead flowers. Twin swords. Fire. Ryo. Light. Stars. Water. Rock. Handshakes. Tears. Blood. Ryo. Black feathers. Blue eyes. Laughter. Running without thinking. Muscles pumping. Hearting pounding. Ryo. Thirst. Grass. Endless fields of grass. Dew. Strangers. Ryo. Watching the lights go out.
He awoke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest, fear and confusion clouding his vision. He lifted his aching body from his bed, and sat over the edge, placing his hands on his forehead, feeling the sweat coat his fingers like droplets of dew. He breathed hard and fast, the images from his slumber tumbling into his head all at once, like horses released from their stalls, straining their necks at the smell of freedom.
The young man grit his teeth in frustration, his jaw aching at the sudden amount of strain. The night sky caught his attention as his lifted his head from his palms. Stretching his muscles, he moved towards the window with a catlike grace, standing before the railing on the balcony, feeling the cold stone of the fence beneath his fingertips. The sweat was cooled from his body by the swift, cold breeze that moved about, flowing through the sky. His thick, unruly raven hair danced in the night, fueled by the wind that that played with his locks.
Goosebumps formed on his bare chest, but he did not leave his post on the balcony. The dreams had disturbed him. He did not know where the images had come from, and he didn't understand the strong emotions that resonated from his dreams. He felt as though he should remember something. But, the images did not make any sense, for he knew he surely had not experienced any of the memories that had come to him while he had slumbered.
He looked up into the sky, as though it would offer him answers to quell his fears. Thin streams of sunlight wove their way through the sky, signaling the approaching dawn. He tried to push back that fear that rose inside of him; something was not right, he could sense it. Swallowing, he turned away from the sunrise, moving further into his chambers; he clothed himself in black clothes fit for royalty with gold and red threading fit so that the ensemble was tailored perfectly for his frame. He donned thin armor that not only served as decoration, but for sparring and hunting. He slid his wrist guards on and tied his black, knee high boots, with motions that proved his daily habit of dressing in such attire.
After fastening a long, flowing black cape around his neck, he ran a hand through his thick, ebony locks. He glanced in the mirror before reaching for the doorknob; his silver eyes glistened in the coming dawn. His long hair framed his elfin face perfectly, the locks falling between his shoulder blades.
He closed the door behind him with a click. He strode with confidence to the room that lay in the center of the palace. The young man took in the rich surroundings about him with appreciation and ease. His boots made no sound as he glided with assurance. After several moments, he had managed to navigate the labyrinth of his residence. He stood before two large dark doors. Without hesitation, he pushed the doors open, closing them behind him, all in one swift motion. His eyes automatically adjusted to the darkness of the room, illuminated only by five single torches, burning in the silence.
The man moved to the center of the room, giving no notice to the ornate carvings on the walls. He knelt before a throne, his smooth movements signaling his reverence to his actions. Bowing his head, he glanced upwards to the seat before him. He waited in silence; until he was greeted by a loud, booming voice that dripped with power, yet a small hint of softness.
"Taro, you look troubled," the voice exclaimed, as a ghostly image formed before the kneeling figure.
"Father," he breathed, almost in a whisper, "I've had troubling dreams."
The image solidified, though it still appeared slightly transparent. It was a figure of a head, armored with a helmet suited for battle and a mask that concealed the face. It looked menacing, but Taro looked upon it with no trace of fear; only respect glinted in his steel eyes.
"My son, tell me," the voice said, soothingly.
"Visions mixed with strange emotions, father, though I know they are not my memories. Death without battle, child's toys, children experiencing joy, and a white tiger," Taro said, his voice steady, though his eyes were narrowed in uncertainty.
"You spoke of emotions, Taro, what did the visions convey to you?"
"Fear, sadness, pain, a sense of loss."
"Do not believe everything you see, my son. Your heart is too soft; weakness is not a quality a leader can afford. Ease your troubled mind. You've no need to think of useless dreams. I'll have a woman sent to your bed to comfort your uneasiness during the night, Taro. It's time you relished in the fruits of warlords."
Taro nodded slightly, still unnerved by the visions and now, even more unnerved by the notion of spending the night with a woman. He found most of them ignorant and naïve, useless to spend time with, unless the needs of the body called to be fulfilled.
Bowing his head, he thanked his father and left the room. Once he was in the corridor, he made his way to the mess hall, wanting to converse with his generals before the appointed meeting that was scheduled for the afternoon.
Weak streams of sunlight began to pour in the windows, and Taro avoided the pools of light that bathed the floors. He cringed at the yellow lakes of warmth spread out on the floor. He much preferred the night. In darkness, he felt truly powerful. Though, as of late, he was agitated in the darkness. The dreams were relentless; their impacts were fresh in his mind, caused him to close his eyes in meditation for a moment.
The memories of the visions were overwhelming, and Taro had to steady himself against the wall with his hand for a moment. When he felt he had overcome the aftershock of the dreams, he continued to make way towards the mess hall, his black cape swishing behind him, like a relentless shadow.
Although dawn had just approached, the mess hall was already bustling with activity. Soldiers woke early in order to begin sparring. Taro spotted Raidon, one of his finest generals and closest friends, sitting on a bench sipping wine. Taro made he way over to Raidon, nodding at various soldiers who motioned their respect.
"A little early, isn't it?" Taro questioned, lifting his chin slightly towards the pitcher of wine.
Raidon looked up at Taro, his green eyes foggy with the last traces of sleep. A smile cracked on his lips and soon, the both of them were grinning and laughing.
"Never too early, my lord," Raidon said between bouts of laughter.
Taro sat down across from his companion, happy that his friend was in such good humor for the time of day. Raidon's wavy red hair was more disheveled than Taro's naturally unruly hair. He refused to cut it, claiming that women went crazy for it. Taro assumed that was true, noting that Raidon had more than a few women that kept him happy. He took note of Raidon's lanky appearance; the man was swift and more powerful than he appeared to be. Though Raidon was a fine swordsman, his skills with the bow were unmatched, except when it came to Taro. The two of them were equally gifted with the bow.
An old man scuttled over to Taro, a tray of food in tow. Taro nodded, and the servant placed the food on the table and bowed. Moments later, a woman, no younger than Taro, sauntered over and placed a pitcher of water on the table, bending over so her cleavage was in view of Taro as she bowed and walked away with a sly grin on her face.
"You should kill that one for that," a low voice said from behind Taro.
"Ah, Kioshi, how wonderful of you to be so cheerful. Come, eat with us!" Raidon exclaimed, motioning to his wine.
"My lord," Kioshi began, not taking his narrow eyes off of the woman, "Her lack of respect is appalling."
"Oh, my good general, lighten up. Drink some wine!"
"Such behavior deserves punishment," Kioshi spat, moving away from the table, "Excuse me, my lord, I shall eat elsewhere."
"And deny us of your rancor? I shall think not! Come, come, good general. I was merely jesting. You're certainly not a man of drink!" Raidon exclaimed boisterously.
Taro smiled, despite the events of the night before. Kioshi sat at the table next to Taro with a sigh, rubbing his short, thick blonde hair with his palm. Kioshi was shorter than Taro by a good five inches, but stockier and more muscular. He did not care much for weaponry, since he was the finest wrestler Taro had ever met. Taro had never seriously tried a hand at wrestling; he much preferred swords or bows.
"My lord, you look tired. What troubles you?" Kioshi asked, putting a hand on Taro's shoulder in concern.
"He needs a women," Raidon said matter-of-factly.
"My father actually suggested that," Taro replied, feeling uneasy.
"He knows best," Raidon said, nodding and grinning mischievously.
"I've other things to think about," Taro began, "Such as new exercises the soldiers should be going through. I've also noticed that we're in need of more blacksmiths, our weaponry grows thin. I also wish to discuss strategies for the oncoming battle," Taro said.
"It's only breakfast!" Raidon complained.
Kioshi nodded seriously, understanding Taro's urgency.
"Do you still plan to attack in five months?" Kioshi questioned.
"Yes. I know many of the men have already been fitted, so all they need to work on is training," Taro replied, "I had already discussed it with Makoto and Leiko before they left. They shall be returning in one month."
"Have they accomplished their goals, my lord?" Kioshi asked.
"They're succeeding thus far. I've only heard news from my father. There's still much to be done here. I'll need you both to train the soldiers with more in-depth combat techniques. There's a lot to be done before the war."
"You will be a god, Taro," Raidon said, his eyes serious and his voice steady.
"Only with victory, Raidon," Taro replied, standing up, "I've much to see to this morning. We shall still meet this afternoon."
Raidon and Kioshi nodded and bid Taro a good day as he left the mess hall. When he found himself back in the hallway, Taro just recalled then he had not eaten breakfast, though food had been made available to him. Not feeling hungry, he did not return to the mess hall.
He made his way towards the training grounds, wanting to oversee the soldiers as well as spar with whoever was willing to fight him.
"Ryo."
Taro felt a voice in his head, a presence within himself. He knew no one had spoken to him; the hall was empty. Then who had spoken to his mind?
"Ryo."
Ryo? The name sounded familiar. He knew no solider by the title. The voice was merely a whisper in his head, yet he heard it clearly.
Feeling foolish, he licked his lips and asked, "What do you want?" His voice was strong and unwavering.
"Come back to us," the voice answered.
Taro could tell the voice was male, but he did not recognize it.
"Who are you?" he questioned, his breathing sharp and quick, as his heart began to beat faster.
"We shall show you."
The words were cryptic, and Taro waited in the hall, poised for a fight. He saw Raidon and Kioshi making their way towards him down the hall, their voices carrying towards him. He felt comforted knowing his companions were near. Without warning, images clouded Taro's vision, much like the dreams he had the night before. Every time an image changed, there was a sharp pain in Taro's body, like a lightening bolt striking him. Running. Falling. Hands grabbing. A white tiger. Five shadows. White armor. Arrows. A woman screaming. A tombstone. Rain. Eyelashes fluttering. Birds falling from trees. Windows being shattered. Black feathers floating in a river, being carried along by the swift current.
Taro cried out, crashing against the wall behind him. The pain was unbearable, and the emotions emitted by the images were just as severe. He felt pain not only of the body, but pain of the heart- despair, loss, death, hopelessness, abandonment, and terror. He felt himself falling to the ground. The visions were fading and slowing down. His sight soon became a blur; colors running together, forms becoming misshapen. He heard footsteps coming towards him. The vibrations pounded in his head, as his vision faded into black. He felt himself being lifted off of the ground. Strong arms gripped his sides.
There was shouting. Men's voices sounded panicked- afraid. Taro could feel what the people around him were feeling. The emotions of their lives soon revealed themselves to him, and he was able to see their souls without physically opening his eyes. It was overbearing. He began to lose consciousness- his brain had become overrun by the emotions that ambushed it.
Darkness came. A boy? A boy. Running towards him. Bright blue eyes alert and focused. Hands reaching out. Fingers trying to close around his wrist. Taro pulled back.
A/N: Man, that's good stuff, eh? If you're confused, don't worry. All will be revealed soon, my friend. Ooo, did you notice the names and the meanings? Oh yes, I go the extra mile! Don't forget to review; I know you want to. I'll have the next chapter out as soon as possible. Gotta love summer, eh?