Re-Imagine

Chapter 2

Hayo doubled over, unable to contain the laughter erupting inside of him. He was laughing at a joke his father had just made, but he couldn't remember what it was. The smile on father's face was unforgettable, stretching far from one cheek to the other, outlining the creases of his ageing features. His laugh deep and warming, creating a delicate bubble of joy, separating Hayo from the world that was threatening him. Hayo wanted to hold on to the brief moment of contentment it granted him, forcing it above the pain, the fear, the grief. Hayo held it until it cradled him in its arms, until he fell asleep. 

                                                                            ***

He was awoken by the screams of pain. Flashing open his eyes, he shot up, searching. His snow-white tent, the rows of hand picked rocks, the size of prehistoric eggs, carefully laid on the wooden shelf. The single light bulb dangling from the ceiling. But his parents weren't there. Heart throbbing, Hayo kicked himself out of the sleeping bag, and instantly was on his feet. Hayo was out of the tent before another second passed, undeterred by the snow gnawing at his feet. He needed to find his family fast. He needed to make sure they were okay.

Ignoring the pain, he scanned the horizon to see if he could find even the slightest resemblance of his father or his mum. Nothing. Just snow.

Another scream.

He knew at once who this was. It couldn't be. He didn't want it to be.

"Father!"

Hayo screamed till his throat ripped raw, but no one answered. He tried to scream again, but his voice got caught in his mouth. "Please..." he croaked.

"Please."

In the thick of the snow, Hayo made out a figure, his dad. But another one was with him. Someone Hayo didn't know. He was big and thick. With limbs the size of tree trunks. His dad had chains attached to his wrists and his neck, tied to a rock. Hayo saw the glint of an axe.

Hayo's heartbeat quickened.

He saw the axe swing down.

He saw the blood of his father.

His heart rammed into his ribs, as if trying to force it open. Tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down his face. Brick by brick, his walls tumbled down. The walls that made him strong...collapsed. He dug his hand into the snow. He was trembling. The muscles in his chin trembled as salty drops fell into the snow. It hurts. Pressing his hard hard into the snow, he was still trembling. Everything hurts. It was raw, everything, raw tears, raw emotions. And anger. Angry because the man who was killed had done nothing wrong. Angry because the man who had killed didn't care. Mindless, brainless, imbecile. Tears blurred his vision. 

Hayo was about to run to the murderer, when a hand clamped around his shoulder, pulled him back with so much force that he toppled into the snow. Haroki, his Brother. 

"You can't go there, Hayo."

"You'll only make more casualties."

"But I can't let him escape! He killed--father!" Hayo sobs behind his words. He wants to act strong, but his heart doesn't allow him to.

"But not now Hayo, we'll avenge our father, but not now. We'll get stronger together. And together, we'll avenge him."

Hayo took a deep breath, but couldn't stop himself feeling the pain, and the tears kept rolling.

"Don't hide your tears Hayo, crying is when your heart speaks, when your mind doesn't allow you to." And Hayo faced up to his brother, and cried into his brothers arms.

                                                                    ***

Hayo woke up with a start. Tears were starting to swell in his eyes. There was a metallic, copper tang in his mouth. The memory was still fresh in his mind. It was 4 years ago, when he was only 10, when that night occured. They had been forced into hiding away from everyone for so long, an outcast, because they were different. His father had always told Hayo to stay away from people, but he would never say why. He always sent Hayo's brother instead whenever there was a task which had a chance of interacting with another person. But it didn't matter anymore. Father was dead.

Swallowing, he tried to cast his mind somewhere else from his dream. He looked at himself through the mirror, he only saw a living wreck. He tried to focus his eyes somewhere else, and it landed on the end of his bed. At the end of the bed lay his clothes. His Imperial army clothes. It was beautifully sewn.

 It was red and black, mostly black, with a red coloured epaulette, and red lines across the wrist. The golden Japanese Army crest, a 13 sided star, was situated at the top of the zip, 3 golden chains which were tied to the end of the crest dangled along the right side of the army uniform, 2 tucked under the epaulette, and 1 attached to the back by going under the arm. Golden buttons etched with some kind of runic symbol were planted either side of the chest and down to the belt. The top traveled all the way down under the belt and covered the hips and the top of the legs, like a skirt, where the black trousers carried on down to the boots. A black cloak reached from his shoulders down to his ankle-high boots.

Gladly, Hayo got off his bed and hurriedly slipped on his Army clothes and pulled the cloak tight over his shoulder. As soon as he finished, he walked up to the mirror and straightened his hair. He looked smart in it. He was born to become a member of the army. As he pulled down his white, thin gloves down to his wrists, he reached for his sword. The aqua-blue tint of the blade's tip shimmered in the morning sunlight. Hayo admired the carefully handcrafted wooden hilt, the razor-sharp, serrated edges, and the cleverly weighted tip of the blade designed to slice skulls. 

The sword was a present from his village to thank him.

They were desperately in need of money, and needed somebody to join the Capital's army to gain special privileges, like new medicines only given to army members and rich nobles living in the Capital city. And Hayo and his brother were in debt to the village anyways. 

They looked after Hayo and Haroki after their father had gone. They fed them and gave them shelter. They trained him and his brother and acted like family. They were family to him. 

After one last glance at himself in the mirror, Hayo picked up his sword and sheath, attached it to his belt and headed for the elevator. But someone was already there, his shape silhouetted by the light of the open doors.

"Morning, little brother."

The voice was low and mellifluous, almost hypnotising, and the shadow shifted and stepped forward, resolving into a boy with titan's shoulders and sea rover blue eyes that gleamed with delight and a vigour of youth. He carried an imperious nose and his angular cheekbones carved down towards a flinty jaw. Everyone commented on his vivacious and gentle nature. His teutonic, hazel hair had the girls swooning in the aisles. It was a casual jumble, but mostly nice and flowing. The only imperfection was a small scar running through his right, crescent-moon like eyebrow- a relic from his previous battles. But even with this, Haroki Asakura looked more god than human. Even though his brother had only been passed a week before Hayo, he had already been promoted to a Special Private.

Hayo felt himself standing taller, trying to replicate his brother's posture, before he saw the look of his brother's face, his mariner-blue eyes hovering on him, unblinking. He slouched again, this time too far, and forgot what normal looked like.

"The young man, off to school." There was no uptick in his voice, no question.

"Come to wish me good luck then?" Hayo said with a smirk.

Haroki stepped forward and put his hand on Hayo's shoulder. "You don't need luck, but you do need focus. You've already forgotten something."

He lodged an object into the air and Hayo caught it, looking down at his hands. It was the Capital's medallion, made out of silver. Pure silver repelled monsters: and in a worst come to worst scenario, the silver medallion would be the last resort to survive against the creatures.

"Goodbye, brother," said Haroki, punching the button for the lobby.

"Good luck," he added, as the doors slid shut.