Disclaimer: I own nothing, never have, never will, la fin.
A/N: Well... this fic isn't my own, but a friends and so I hath agreed to post it for them :). Do enjoy and plz review. -Jela
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Prologue
The air was cold that night in the Salean Country, with an icy breeze blowing through the trees. The sky was dark, with ominous clouds blotting out the moon and stars. Great fires burning in the east allowed just enough light to see a man walking alone.
He trudged wearily down the dusty dirt road, clutching his broken left arm with a bleeding right. He hobbled as he went, the shuriken wound in his right leg sending a searing pain up through his body with each agonizing step.
He was a shinobi of Sabbathnia, a once great land that now lie in ruins. He had traveled to the Salean Country seeking to end his suffering and perhaps reclaim the honor of his clan and country. His name was Fericul and this is his story.
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The Great War
It was the mid 1940's and the Great Shinobi War had finally ceased. The warring countries of Foyron, Sabbathnia, Raizengor and Salean had finally come to a peace agreement after several years of fighting. Although each country had taken heavy damage, Sabbathnia was the best off; especially one clan in particular.
The Aeron Clan was that clan. They were highly skilled wind-shinobi who held a special ability over wind. They had the ability to use their spirit energy (the energy inside all living beings) to control the wind, shaping it and altering it's currents to their will. While children could only cause small breezes, adults were able to punch holes through brick walls. One Aeron had been able to conjure tornado-like winds to destroy his enemies and protect Sabbathnia. Many Aerons had followed in his footsteps, but none had achieved a power such as his.
With the Great War now over and peace at hand, the Aeron Clan had moved away from seeking physical power. They were more focused on rebuilding their country and village.
One young Aeron by the name of Fericul however, was not so content as to sit back and watch the other shinobi countries rebuild their armies. Only fifteen years old, he already saw that the peace talks were merely a front, a front for another Great War. The Salean Country had taken heavy damage from Sabbathnia and Raizengor, but it was quickly rebuilding. He knew that the Salean Country would attack as soon as they had the means. And that was not too far off.
One sunny afternoon as Fericul sat in his room, listening to his favorite metal station on his radio, a news announcement came on. "This is KCBC news reporter John Talaron reporting to you live from Sabbathnia's Capital Hill. We have just received word that the Prime Ministers of both Sabbathnia and Salean are nearing a trade agreement. This means that many Salean Country companies will now be able to sell their products in the Sabbathnian marketplaces. It also means that the Sabbathnia Shinobi Army will have their alert status reduced to..."
Fericul knocked the radio to the floor with a loud CRASH , disgusted by what he was hearing. Rushing out of his own room, Fericul headed down the hall to his Father's study.
BOOM! He kicked in his father's door. "What is the meaning of this!" his father exclaimed.
"I have come to ask YOU the same question" retorted Fericul. "How can you allow the Prime Minister to do this?"
His father was puzzled, "Do what?"
"Do what? Do what! The peace talks were bad enough, but lowering the trade embargo on the Saleans? That's simply unacceptable, even for you to allow, Dracon." Fericul addressed his father by his first name to show his disrespect for him.
Dracon spoke in a calm and cool voice to his son, "I have no power in these matters. Were I to interfere, the public would learn of the Aeron's connections to the Prime Minister."
Deep down, Fericul knew his father was right, but he argued anyway. "Surely you must know that the Salean Country is rebuilding their army as we speak. With every passing day, more and more civilians join the Salean Ninja Army. They lost before because they lacked two things: numbers and surprise. They will not be so foolish as to make the same mistakes twice.
"The peace talks were a front and the trade agreement is only meant to lure us into a false sense of security. You must have seen this by now! If the prime minister is allowed to sign this new agreement with the Salean Country, then Sabbathnia is doomed."
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Father and Son
Dracon sat quietly for a time, levying the situation. Is the boy right? Dracon thought to himself. And if so, how can I stop the situation without ruining everything I have worked so hard to achieve?
For years Dracon and the Aeron Clan had been involved with the Prime Minister. They were his body guards, his chefs, his butlers, and every other kind of manservant. They had worked their way into his household and life without him even noticing.
Then one day Dracon made a move. He sent a message to the Prime Minister demanding that he do as the Aeron Clan wishes, or he will suffer the consequences. They slowly let him know of their presence in his life, and once he understood just what kind of presence they had in his life, he quickly agreed to their terms. He realized that they could destroy him at a moments notice, physically and politically.
And so the Prime Minister's political views began to change, in favor of the Aeron Clan of course. And he was not left uncompensated. They kept his bank account high and kept him in office. All of this went unnoticed by the public and other government officials.
But the current situation was much different. Should Dracon choose to force the Prime Minister in his favor, the public would realize what was going on. The Aeron Clan was highly respected in Sabbathnia, but also known for their hatred of the Salean Country. The people would not miss so obvious a move by the Prime Minister, and Dracon knew this.
"I have decided to let the Prime Minister do as he wishes," Dracon said to Fericul "I cannot allow the people of Sabbathnia to know of the clan's ties to the Prime Minister. It would bring a great dishonor to us all."
Fericul flew into a rage at the hearing this. He leapt at his father and punched him hard in the face. "Kaiser Fist!" Fericul screamed as he concentrated his spirit energy around his fist. With a loud "HA!" he landed a blow in his father's chest strong enough to send his father careening back into the wall and crashing to the ground.
Dracon coughed lightly and stood up. Dusting himself off, he said to his son, "You have a long way to go if you want to stand up to the Salean Country. You can't even land a decent blow on your old man. I may be the most powerful living Aeron, but being my son you should at least be able to make me bleed. You arrogant little brat! Allow me to teach you a lesson that you shall not soon forget."
Dracon balled up his fists and began to breathe heavily. The room began to shake as he gathered energy. The air became cold and dense. Furniture began to lift up off of the ground a few feet and hover. Knick-knacks and assorted smaller items swirled madly above Fericul and Dracon's heads.
Suddenly everything came crashing to the floor with a BANG! Fericul blinked and his father stood before him. Dracon muttered beneath his breath so lightly Fericul could not hear what he said. He then placed his hand on Fericul's chest. Before Fericul had a chance to open his mouth to scream, he was sent flying backwards in a clockwise spin. The last thing Fericul saw was the plaster and wood shooting past him as we crashed through a wall and blacked out.