CHAPTER ONE
It was Auster who died the day I was born. From the talk of him, I suspected him to be a great man, a noble warrior, perhaps a true hero. Auster, however, was not. He died not to save anyone, not to do anything, not to leave a legend, but because of his costly mistake.
Auster hated those glasses more than anything else in the world. He claimed they were a foolish waste of time. You think he'd have learned when he killed that little girl, but apparetly, he hadn't. On top of the glasses, he hated to train. He was, from what I'd heard, the cockiest and most foolish Slayer in history. Because of his hate of training, he did not train like he should have. Somehow, though I'm not sure how, he was sent out by the Synod to deal with a foolish human who kept fishing to close to Grave. It seemed an easy enough task, but with his lack of training, the fisherman overtook him and he was drowned. And so, I was born.
You ask what the Synod is? I shall tell you. The Synod is the leadership of Grave. Every island needs a leadership, and the Synod is ours. It is a council of the five oldest and most brave Slayers. I have heard rumors that Keveen has been alive since the time of the great flood, but that is nothing more than rumors, and I put no stock in it whatsoever. Still, I wonder if it is true.
I have no memory of my childhood until I reached the age of seven. That is the age when Slayer's eyes get their power. That is the age when you begin to train. Before that, I have no idea what my life was like. Not a single Slayer knows, and I fear none ever will. It is a question indeed, but Slayers need no answers, only training.
My name is Breyner, though most call me Brey. I am the only Slayer alive who has not reached the age yet. I have been alive for fourteen years, though I only remember seven of them.
Not only do Slayers have the same eyes, we all look much alike. Each Slayer has one of two hair colors: Pure white or pure black. Mine is as white as any. I keep it cut fairly short, as is the custom for the men of Grave. Also, our hair does not curl. It can not curl. Unlike humans, out hair is always fine and smoothe.
My story begins with training. Training is the life of a Slayer, so it only seems appropriate that we begin there. And so, my story begins like this...
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I moved swiftly, striking down my opponents with ease. Battling our own kind prepares us, and so we must fight eachother. I'd always been good at hand-to-hand combat, though most Slayers were, so I thought nothing of it. I could easily take on four or five grown Slayers and come out uninjured. Never did I question my abilities, for Slayers do not question things.
I could see another coming toward me. Her red eyes stood out against her long, black hair. She attempted to knock me off baclance, but I was too quick for her. I ducked and rolled, standing up behind her, prepared to take her out. I made for the final shot, and she was done. There was nothing she could have done.
She struggled, but I had her. She could not get free of me. Finally, after a few moments, I released her.
"Well done, Brey," she said to me, standing up. I could see the sweat on her face and arms. Unlike me, she had worked up quite a sweat during training. "You are getting better and better every day. Soon they will send you out." Jasy was my best friend. She had come of age a month earlier, but I was still better than her in training.
We began to walk over to the bucket of water. The water was always cold. Our trainer, Master Shav, made sure of that. We filled our cups and I immediately felt refreshed.
"They will not send me out," I said, reffering to the Synod. "Never before has a Slayer been sent out before he reaches age. They would not break tradition and send me from Grave," I told her. "I must be patient."
