The mountains were cold this time of year. The beautiful blonde haired boy felt it all the more, being small for his age. The training was hard. The days were long. The Teacher was good, but he was not kind. He could not afford to be. His task was to turn the boy into a man, a warrior, a Shitennou. The boy was gifted, of that there was no doubt. It made him an easy target for other boys who were not so gifted, but much crueler.
He knew he had to be stronger. Earth needed him. But that did not mean on the cold nights when he was far from home and his body ached and the wind chilled him to the very bone, he did not sometimes long for the comfort of his mother's arms, as she hugged him close and sang him to sleep. When she did, all the monsters, and the bullies, and the name calling went away, and he was her darling boy, and all was right with the world.
But tonight, he was shivering in a makeshift shelter high in the mountains, hoping to sleep a few hours before he must wake early in the grey hours of dawn for another long day. He can not show weakness, he can not show despair, for there are dangers far worse than wolves all about him.
He hears movement, and instinctively, he reaches for his knife. He may be cold and miserable, but he will not be caught unaware. A lifetime of fighting bullies had taught him this.
"Rest easy brother," he hears a commanding voice say. Even at the tender age of ten, the silver-haired boy has a presence about him. For a moment, the beautiful boy rests easier. No enemies approach. But he is still not entirely comfortable. He should not show weakness.
Three boys enter the shelter and lie close. He feels arms wrap around him as everyone finds a comfortable spot. He can hear the wind howling outside, and there is still a touch of sadness, but for the moment, the chill is chased away.
Zacharie Roy loved coming to the café during the summer. When the weather was warm enough, there was no greater pleasure that sitting outside, enjoying a coffee and cake. He particularly loved the music. He was quite a piano player himself, and on occasion, the owner would let him be the accompanist. He made quite the sight sitting at the bench, with his long curly blond hair and roguish smile. Even at age thirteen, it was apparent that he would grow up to be quite the lady-killer. Indulgent women often left him tips. Some of the bolder ones left kisses. Zacharie soaked it all in.
One day, a new singer came. She was a very striking red-head, who was very clearly well-traveled. She had an air of mystery about her, and when she sang, as when she spoke, no one could ignore her. After her first song, she requested Zacharie accompany her. She had music laid out for him.
"Think you can keep up little one?"
There was challenge and invitation in her voice. He could not resist. And so he played, better than he ever had in his life, but it was nothing compared to her. There was power in her voice. She sang of such heartbreak and despair. She was like some siren from long forgotten stories, beckoning with her sweet voice for men to come and wreck themselves upon the rocky shores of love. He was left with chills when she was done.
He barely registered the more than polite applause they received. He had eyes for only her.
"Not bad. Come back here tomorrow and we'll see if you can't do better."
That night, he had the first dream. He saw fog and mysterious silhouettes. He heard laughter, and try as he might, he could never quite find where it was coming from.
He returned to the café the next day and played again. This ritual continued for the next two years. It bordered on obsession. All the while, the dreams became more frequent. He did not realize he was losing his mind, even when on the morning of his sixteenth birthday, the mysterious woman told him to jump off the bridge into the cold water below.
He could still hear water, still feel its chill deep in his chest. He had drown twice, and very nearly drown himself a third time, hoping he might find escape. Part of him was grateful Ami had saved him. Part of him wished she hadn't. After all, it was more than the water that gave him chills.
He still dreamt of fog and mysterious women. But unlike when he was a boy what seemed like a lifetime ago, the enchantment and romance turned to fear and terror. It was worse since Ami had to leave. In her arms, at least, there was some warmth that could find its way even to the depths of his despair.
It was wrong to show such weakness. Earth needed him again. Endymion needed him. This was his most sacred vow. He had broken it once, and he risked doing so again. Everyone was hurting this time. It was as though there was no one left to hold him and chase away the monsters and the bullies and the bad dreams.
He still sleeps fitfully when he feels a soft hand rest on his head, and a beautiful voice hums a haunting melody.
In another lifetime, Aino Minako would have achieved her dream of being a famous idol. She certainly had the talent. But in this cruel world, her only audience is the beautiful blonde boy who dreams of death and drowning and madness. In another world, she would have adoring fans who would throw roses at her feet and beg for pictures an autographs. In this life, she settles for seeing his face relax and his breathing become more even. If fate were kind, her voice would bring chills to millions. She settles for fate letting her voice bring warmth to troubled dreams.