A boy is standing at the edge of the small cot holding two babies. A pair of bright green eyes peer out from behind dark bangs to stare at the screaming babies.

There is blood dripping down the boys face from a lightning bolt carved into the flesh of his forehead, not-so-bright red drying on his cheeks like tear tracks.

Another child, half the size of the green-eyed boy, stands beside him. His hair is equally as dark but his eyes are a bright red and slitted, reminiscent to the being's looming above them.

They are holding hands.

The taller boy raises a scarred pale hand to wipe away the tears on the red-haired baby's face. His is gentle as he brings his finger down to the baby's hands, smiling when her tiny fingers latch on.

He looks up, green meeting vibrant blue and beautiful violet, both are crying, dying.

"There is no Yang without Yin and life can not be without death." He says as the smaller boy brings his hand down on the infant girl's stomach.

They seem unfazed by the way she screams as the seal on her brother's stomach writes itself on her own.

Then they vanish, as if they had never existed to begin with.

Or:

[Waking up when you thought you would never wake again.]