Chapter 10 is short . . . It is another interchapter. It will most likely be the last short chapter unless otherwise happens, since I know that many of you do not like short chapters, but I did it for a reason... It is just like chapter 5... Everything will be revealed gradually. I've tried to be ever so sublte about it. But expect the last chapter flashback (15 if you haven't noticed the pattern yet) to reveal the truth about the past year. Caution, heavy angst to come up soon.

I've voided out meticulous use of Japanese terms in order to give a better understanding to those who do not know of the Japanese culture. Though some will remain in the cases of necessity.

Disclaimer for the rest of the story/novel: I do not own Gundam SEED or Destiny.

The Way of The Warrior

by

Ethereal Enigma

First and Final Author's Note

I would like to thank all those who read this story.

Hountouni Arigatou

Prologue

The waning days of February signaled the fast approaching cherry blossom season of the sakura trees. A fertile peace birthing in a new age of peace in the infant days of spring. The fierce remnants of the wintry wind blew through a young man's tattered kimono as he felt a cool sensation run like ice water in his veins. A small reflex shiver shook his flimsy physique. The dull grey color, poor cotton fabric and lack of kamon or family crests on his clothing identified him as a child of low class. If the clothes did not give his status away, his worn tabi filled with large holes showing the ends of his toes surely did while his worn-out waraji matched the decrepit theme of his attire.

By far, he was not of any honorable titles, opulent assets, or imperial nobility. There was hardly anything that he could call his own. He was nothing but a mere boy to those around him, just another living creature that was born, grew up, grew old, and died. In the eyes of many, he was not special, not brave, and especially--not samurai. But for the many things he was not, he was surely a kindhearted individual from the depths of his heart. A kind and gentle benevolence emanated from his soul that readily embraced all those willing to blind blindness.

He was Kira Yamato. A Japanese akyuudo of the Edo Era. A simple merchant boy by trade in the Plant city of Junius Five. A forsaken child shunned out by the blindness of those of higher class. He belonged to the fourth lowest class in the social hierarchy of feudal Japan--second to only the burakumin or eta who worked with the corpses of humans and animals alike. His birth was an enigma in its own rights while the past of the youth remained a mystery to even he himself. All he knew was that he lived to serve and even if he was mediocre in essence, his life was not meaningless.

During the day, he was a servant in the noble house of one of the great daimyos of the land, Siegel Clyne, Lord of Plant. By night, he was a merchant of the Junius harbor cunningly getting by life with lower than meager standards. Years of struggle, trials, and tribulations shaped the boy in ways that never showed to others. No one took notice of the boy, unless an offense was committed that is. Orphaned at a young age, he would occasionally be forced to sleep on the cold grass shaded by a lone and unusually flowerless sakura tree in the forested clearing near the edges of the village. He had no soft futons, no blankets, no charcoal braziers, not even a matted tatami. He had nothing for a source of warmth but the ragged clothes on his back.

- - - - -

Chapter 1

"Insolent swine!" roared a great daimyo, Patrick Zala, Lord of Zaft. Anger seeped through his veins at an insubordinate child carrying no more than 15 years in his frail body. More often times then naught, the great daimyo would direct his ire towards a particular servant on his visits to the lands of Plant. Today was one of several days that Lord Zala payed a visit to his old comrade, Lord Clyne. Partly because of the proximity of their lands, and partly for his own intentions.

Remorseful by nature, the boy softly spoke an apology to the nobleman. An apology that the middle aged man unrighteously repudiated as he spat a vicious string of curse words one after another. A violent strike soon followed suit as he delivered a vicious blow to the solar plexus nearly breaking the boy's fragile bones. The boy doubled over instantly, wincing in pain from the hardened man's attack.

After having momentarily recovered, the boy repeated his futile apologies as the lavish donjon barely carried out his meek voice enough to reach the nobleman's deaf ears. The problem was that the servant brought back a cup of tea that the nobleman deemed distasteful after one sip of the warm substance. Hearing the raucous, Lord Clyne entered the room looking around for any problems while asking his old friend what the matter was. Upon observing the familiar trouble making figure cowering in the corner, Lord Clyne scolded the already frightened child and subsequently dismissed him from his duties for the remainder of what would be a direful day.

More than happy to oblige, the boy scurried away from the scrutiny of the noblemen. He knew all too well from previous experiences that being around such nobility with his stature did not blend too well. Reaching the outside of the donjon, the young servant tilted his tired head downcast in shame while tears rolled down his reddened cheeks. He was both grateful and fortunate to have a lucky day in not getting severely reprimanded . . . .

Starting as a child of no more than seven years was he severely punished for apparently failing to fulfill his duty as a servant. He never knew the reasons for his failures and despite his best attempts, in one way or another he would always be scolded for bringing displeasure.

In an isolated incident that the boy had apparently served Lord Clyne's heiress to the lands of Plant too well, Lord Zala took matters into his own hands and privately punished the boy. Often times when found in seclusion, the young child tasted cold hard steel from none other than Lord Zala. Kind and honourable Lord Clyne was led to believe that the boy had always been trouble and though he failed to realize Zala's deception, the Lord of Plant had yet to find malice in his heart to let the servant boy go. After having been scarred for several other incidents, the servant boy held onto servitude by a mere thread.

That mere thread was held in place by Lady Lenore Zala and Lady Eileen Clyne, noble matrons of the great daimyos of Zaft and Plant. Two women that the boy was forever indebted to their seemingly impassive kindness. The many times they calmed their husbands down saved his servant status in the noble house many times before. He did not know why they would often save him, nevertheless he was always grateful. They were the closest mother figures that the boy had ever known and he cared greatly for them. Though he could not show it to them outwardly, neither could they . . . .

On his off days from servitude, the boy would often find himself wandering the grounds of the town aimlessly. At times he would often wander out of town and have been witness to treachery. A veil of peace masked the turmoil of a never-ending war. Peace could not be attained when the world before it created anew through previous wars. Even as a child, being born witness to several bloodshed on the outskirts of the Plant lands did he know that anger and hatred still lingered in the darkness of human hearts. After all, the light in them could always be easily turned off. He knew best himself what the consequences of battles were--for he himself was a result. The fraternal men who became brother-less in battle. The sororal women who became sister-less in battle. The familial parents who became childless in battle. Then there was his example--the lonesome children who were orphaned in battle.

Sadly enough for him, there was no one who would or could accept weak blood in their families. That was the reality he faced growing up, nothing more, nothing less. He knew his place in life. Just by living was he reminded constantly of such a fact. Perhaps the greatest disappointment in his life was the fact that he was not samurai--the elite social class in all of Japan. He was far from such an esteemed status, he was just a servant/merchant boy who could hardly even fathom being samurai. He would often found himself looking in envy at the many noble children fortunate enough to have been born samurai. Regardless, the boy never contained an ounce of spite or negative feelings towards others except himself. He just simply wished to be samurai in order to protect . . .

Sadly, the boy thought to himself that being samurai was not possible even if he was born into nobility. Even one of his precious friends who was samurai made it clear to him every time he would absentmindedly long for the sword. His violet eyes snapped shut remembering the harshness of reality.

"I want to be a samurai!" a brown-haired boy of no more than nine years of age proclaimed boldly to his friend.

"But Kira, you cry too much and you can hardly hurt anyone."

"But . . .I want to be samurai . . ." the brunette said solemnly, losing confidence in his previous acclamation every passing second.

"Sorry Kira, but you are weak minded and too kindhearted to even wield a sword," the blue-haired young samurai remarked regretfully as he unsheathed his katana and proceeded to hand it over to the trembling hands of his friend.

Kira dropped the sword unceremoniously as he had gotten nervous in wielding such a weapon capable of killing. Having been proven the truth, the brunette apologized to his friend for dropping his sword and began to cry silently.

Outside the donjon, he found himself crying silently just as he had done so on many occasions. He could not help it. His friend was right about him.

"Kira!" an emerald eyed youth of similar in age yet different in status interrupted the boy's sorrowful reminiscence. "Are you okay? Geeze, why are you crying again?" a blue-haired handsome young man inquired, having seen the brunette cry on several occasions.

"Athrun-sama!" the brunette cried surprisingly.

"Hey, I thought I told you to just call me Athrun?" the emerald-eyed boy replied cheekily.

"Gomen . . . Athrun-sam--Athrun . . ." the servant boy apologized. An unlikely friendship had formed between the two over the years. Born into nobility, Athrun Zala, ever the kind and honorable child he was, befriended everyone and anyone he ever met. He generously treated servants or samurai alike without acknowledging any difference. He was especially fond of the servant boy he had only come to know as Kira Yamato. Having grown up with the servant since practically residing with the Clynes as Athrun often visited, the two formed an impractical bond being naive as they were. On many of Athrun's regular visits, Kira was the only boy who Athrun could talk to and in return, he would tell the brunette boy about the ways of the samurai. Over time, Kira became Athrun's precious friend and vice versa.

"It's okay," Athrun said while patting his friend's back comfortingly. A few minutes of silent peace passed until Lord Zala unceremoniously appeared before the two friends.

"Athrun get away from that wretc--that boy, I need to speak to you for a minute son," Patrick corrected himself before blowing his cover. Athrun was unaware of the mistreatment Kira received because whenever he was around, Patrick would always hide his ire at the servant. Lord Zala knew of the friendship between the two. Though utterly disgusted at the fact, he would not chance having his son feel the slightest bit of resentment towards him. For he needed Athrun to carry out and enhance the family name of Zala. He would often plan ways to break the bond, but he found such a task to be difficult to achieve.

"Hai Chichi-ue, can I have moment with Kira first though?"

Patrick became irritated at first though his features did not show it, but in an effort to appease he allowed Athrun the moment he asked for. Turning to leave, Patrick seemingly disappeared into the inside of the inner donjon while keeping a hidden eye towards his heir's actions. A wicked smile crept on his lips after having seen a chance.

Athrun knew that today was the day he would have to leave Plant lands for an undetermined amount of time. He was very sad to leave his precious friend and a particularly precious female. A kind man that he was, he had made special farewell gifts for his precious friends.

Athrun led the boy around the castle to one of the special gardens lavished with sakura trees as he prepared to say a proper farewell to him. An innumerable amount of prematurely blossomed sakuras reigned down and about the two as Athrun tentatively fished around the insides of his silky noble kimono. The gentle breeze of the wind tossed around countless pink flowers that perfected the scene for a momentous occasion. Kira's intrigue piqued when Athrun pulled out a small wooden wakizashi.

"Kira, I'm going back to Zaft and seeing how much of a crybaby you are, I won't be around to help you so here," Athrun said jokingly in an attempt to lighten the mood while placing the small sword in his friend's trembling hands.

Though saddened with the news of his friend's departure, Kira's violet eyes enlarged at the mere sight of the dagger in his hands as childish happiness consumed him, "Arigatou gozaimasu Athrun!"

The servant boy was so ecstatic about receiving such a precious gift from a precious friend that he almost forgot about the laws of the world he lived in--he was not samurai. Therefore he could not possess such a weapon. Disdainfully, he began to offer the gift back. Athrun shoved his hands back remarking how overly gracious the boy was. A stern look from him let his friend know that the gift was his and he should just accept it.

"But, I don't have a gift for you . . ." Kira said sadly with his head down-casted a little.

"Don't worry about it Kira, you didn't know," Athrun said reassuringly patting his friend's shoulder.

After a couple of seconds passed, Athrun realized he needed to get back to his father, "Well, ja Kira," Athrun said nonchalantly while Kira could only nod, a farewell unutterable from his lips. After Athrun's figure disappeared within the confines of the structure, Kira drifted into a world of his own as he often did.

Left alone, Kira stared at the magnificent gift in his hands once more. He noted that the dagger was professionally fabricated with little hints of it being handcrafted. An inscribed lettering of the word 'Tori' on the underside of the wooden scabbard proved otherwise. Athrun was one of two people who knew of his fondness of birds and Kira couldn't help but smile at his friend's thoughtfulness. The wakizashi was his most precious belonging amongst the few things he had. He was very grateful to receive such a gift usually made for samurai.

However, unlike Athrun, Kira was not born samurai. He was never formally subjected to the rigorous training of a samurai warrior during his childhood. Samurai school was a necessity for children who were taught a unique combination of the arts including Chinese studies, physical training, poetry and spiritual discipline that would lead to their maturation. It was there that the young samurai learned Kendo, the moral code of the samurai, and Zen Buddhism. It was there that they learned the strict ethical code influenced by Confucianism that stressed loyalty to one's master, respect for one's superior, ethical behavior in all aspects of life and complete self-discipline. In short, it was there that they learned Bushido.

Absentmindedly stashing the dagger inside of his shabby kimono, Kira began to walk carelessly around the vicinity of the mountaintop castle known as Gujo Hachiman. Though it was not the best in all of the land, the castle was very luxurious in its own right. It was vast and magnificent in its own unique elegance. The outstanding white and pink painting along with the dainty scenery marked its distinguishable features. The unusual colour during the Edo era synchronized in harmony with the surrounding sakura, while the elevated view made the castle very picturesque.

Enveloped in his own world, the boy unconsciously crept near the edges of a ceremonial garden, often used for performing artistic abilities. Kira thought about the times he had serving the Clynes, which he was always grateful for having such a wonderful opportunity. His thoughts trailed to sadness after having realized that he would miss Athrun's presence and that if he were to be discovered with his newly acquired gift, it would surely be taken away from him. Silent tears threatened his boyish features once again, crying was something he was very used to.

Seconds ticked away until he was snapped from his lamenting reverie by a familiar angelic voice that always brightened his mood and dried his tears. Hiding behind the walls of the corridor he came from, his violet eyes peeped out to gaze on his forbidden love's visage. His heart pulsated at just the mere sight of her. He had many fond memories of the young woman that treated him with genial kindness ever since he could remember.

The loveliest woman to ever grace the face of the Earth. The blossoming sakura trees enhanced her image to impossible proportions. Her light pink hair matching the petals of the precious flowers. Her laughter of merriment bringing joy to even the coldest of hearts. Her honest baby blue eyes shining brightly against the spring light, though seemingly naive as they were. She was Lady Lacus Clyne, Songstress of Sakura.

Over the years, Kira had grown rather enamored and fond the gorgeous girl. Being the servant of the Clynes, he grew up with Lacus Clyne. Out of all the nobles, she was by far the one who treated him the kindest It pained his heart that she was so close, yet so distant from him. Though the compassionate Lady often wore a warm-hearted smile, it was only by her personality that entitled any man or woman to such sincere kindness. Lacus was oblivious to the fact that the world often failed to accept one another. Because she lacked malice herself, she could not see it in others.

She was never exposed to such horrors of human nature at its darkest hours. She never lived that kind of life, and Kira was genially happy for her. He wished she would never know such a horrible thing. It was not of her own fault. She did not choose to be born noble nor did she choose to have a tender caring soul that could look beyond hierarchal status.

Shigata ga nai.

She was so pure in nature that Kira depicted her as a tennyo sent from the heavens. Someone of unearthly beauty and unearthly kindness who cared and loved anyone and everyone just as much as the next person. Her beauty awed many, but there was indeed more to her than met the shallow eye.

He knew that personally himself. Not once had she ever shown him anger ever since he had known her. His aloofness never bothered her. His inadequacy as a servant never afflicted her. She smiled at the world's flaws and never once shunned them out. He remembered the kindness she showed him, even if she showed kindness to everyone. He was shown kindness. Kindness he was never shown outwardly. Kindness he never once thought he had. The torment of his life did not allow him to live so peacefully. It was her kindness that gave him a break in the rigors of his life. He knew he loved her the minute he saw her. He knew he loved her more when he saw the kindness in her. He also knew. . .

His alien world reverie would soon be broken when he spotted her fiance approach her and envelope her lovingly in a warm embrace. When they broke away, the soft and silky hands of the petite girl cupped the young man's face warmly. A loving gaze staring intently through the windows of the soul. A perfect match of earnest baby blue with earnest emerald. A small genial smile etched on their features. Happiness emanating from their bounded bodies. That was what he knew. He had often wanted to trade his life away for even a fleeting moment to be in love and to be loved back. That was not possible though. He would be reminded of such a terrible fate.

The blue-haired young man gave her a sensual kiss, which she returned merrily illiciting several 'aws' and 'oos' from the small crowd that gathered by the garden. Amongst the witnesses was a pleased Lord Zala, proud to have a courageous and headstrong samurai as his son and a beautiful daughter as well as more power.

It seemed the kiss drove a sword directly through his heart in one clean thrust. The pain hurt so much it was palpable. The blade in his heart twisted at every passing second the two were lip-locked. The hope in his eyes fading into a dark abyss. How could he have forgotten? He was a servant. She was a goddess. The thought of her with him always forlornly ended in sadness as he often thought that there was no use--who was he kidding? He was not even samurai and not even half the man Athrun Zala was.

The harsh reality settled over the brunette while a terrible feeling clenched the innards of his chest even tighter. He was jealous. But he never wanted to feel such an emotion, especially towards his precious friend. He felt like a traitor. He felt ungrateful. Yes he loved her, but she loved Athrun, and Athrun loved her. He felt shame for his feelings. He felt disgust at his weakness.

By the time the two disentangled themselves from each other, the horrible feeling was gone. Kira may not have been samurai, but he knew his duty. He knew the plight of his life. And above all else, his weak but tender heart did not allow him to carry such a vile emotion.

Kira's saddened yet jovial eyes glistened with tears because he knew from the depths of his whole heart, mind, body and soul that it was an impossible love, but a love nonetheless. He was not giving up on her. He was not letting her go. Though he never had her to begin with. He could not bare to see her with another man. But he could not bare to see her at all. Though the feeling she aroused in him unknowingly would inevitably end in utter despair. It was a different feeling rather than the constant pain and sadness he often felt in his life. She was like a pill that soothed his dying heart, yet silently killing it. A pill he was addicted on. An addiction he could never stop.

He could see her pure emotions written all over her angelic face. She was happy. That was all that mattered. With the thought of her happiness in mind, he could never hold a shred of anger, jealousy or malice towards anyone, especially the one who made her happy. He was happy for them, as they were happy being together.

This was one of the many inner battles Kira fought over knowing the couple for the course of his life. They would soon be married and in his kind and gentle heart, he knew he did not have the courage to face such an event. The familiar tears rolled trailed down his features. A small smile curved on his lips while his eyelids covered his violaceous eyes in a feeble attempt to engrave the solemn facts in his soul. He wanted to stop loving her for the sake of his precious friend. In his mind, he wanted to stop loving her for his sake as well. He would often try with each time getting closer and closer to success by drowning himself in a flood of misery. Though the flood came by nature, he would take the dip in the death awaiting waters. To love the betrothed woman was a sin. A horrible sin compounded in the sin of betraying a friend. Those reasons alone were enough to convince his troubled mind to stop loving. Nevertheless, just as one's lungs will always draw the next breath so long as there is air to breathe, Kira's heart would always love her for the kindness she has shown him.

There was no longer a trace of envy. His heart's resolve never wavered, nor did it once faltered. After all, it was not his choice to fall in an impossible love.

Shigata ga nai.

Suddenly, he was snapped back to reality by a blinding force that held much vigor filled with resentment. Kira found himself placed high upon the rigid wall, frightened and miserable with his mouth covered by a calloused hand. When his tear streaked eyes opened, he saw a wicked smile plastered on the lips of Lord Zala. In a low menacing voice, "You will no longer be a servant here. You will be nothing and you will live with the worms of this world."

In a tragic sequence of events, he found himself crying for the losses in his life. First, he lost a precious gift. Next, he lost a precious friend. Then, he lost a precious duty. And last but not least, he lost his life.