Fan Fiction ❯ A Shifting of Fates ❯ Prologue ( Prologue )

(A/N: Hello, everyone, I'm Caton Kadokawa, but you all can call me Caton. This will contain homosexual relationships, so be forewarned. I'm also a new writer, so please be gentle. Constructive criticism is welcomed, and any comments about what you enjoyed would be very much enjoyed by yours truly! And, unfortunately, I did not create Ramen noodles. I just eat a lot of them.)

A Shifting of Fates

Prologue

Earth is an odd planet, don't you think? I mean, we're the only planet in the entire solar system that can sustain life, really. Why was Earth created? Some say God, some say just pure luck, some say aliens advanced far beyond our very perception of reality. Well, I hold the answers. All right, so I don't, but this tale does, the tale which I am bound to tell you.

Who am I? Why, simply call me the Storyteller. I am one of the Mysticals, one of the humans who have been blessed (or cursed) with a gift that most humans have never even thought of. I can see the lives of several people on this planet; I can see every movement they make upon the earth. I am bound by my gift to tell you their story, although I do not mean to sound as if I protest. After all, their names have almost become my own.

Quincy Hamilton, the first of them.

Makoto Haruki, the protective one.

Karin Anderson, the enigma.

Sadira Rochelle, the purveyor.

Nea Tomioka, the dreamer.

Five names, and yet their fate is one. How clichéd it seems, the number five, and yet that's exactly the number of the ones I watch; the number of the ones you will learn of as I tell the tale. Five-unless you consider ME one of the ones in the tale. But of course you don't, do you? I'm no one, just the Storyteller. Just as it should be.

And now…the tale begins.

October 14, 2000

The youth who gazed around the woods like a skittish deer looked to be only fourteen or fifteen. Of course, the jumpy look upon his visage only made him seem younger, more vulnerable. A hunted look was in his vibrant viridian eyes as they roamed the scenery around him, searching for…something. The warmth of the sun upon his features promised that more freckles were soon to appear on his face, already splashed with countless freckles upon his nose and cheeks, making him seem all the younger.

He moved (crept being a better description) his movements light and cautious as if to keep at bay whatever he was hiding from. A frown twisted his full lips, thinning them as he worried the lower with his teeth, which needed braces. Still moving warily, the teen continued on through the brightly lit forest, the sun filtering in through the branches, most of which were beginning to lose their hues of bright autumn colors and leaving more sunbeams to seep down to the forest floor below. A sudden breeze rattled the branches, making the youth shiver violently in his thin clothing and several dark crimson leaves take leave of the branches and spiral down to the wood's ground to suffer the fate of being crunched loudly under the teen's worn sneakers. At the noisy sound, the boy froze, looking reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights. Only he was a human not a deer, and there were no headlights, only a strident voice crying out a warning to others and the sound of boots pounding the earth.

Panic flared in those viridian orbs and the youth bolted heedlessly through the forest, curly honey-brown locks whipping away from his oval-shaped face as he ran as fast as he could away from the owners of the boots that were rushing in his direction, now not even noticing the crunching sounds of leaves as his sneakers crushed them into tiny crimson pieces. He could hear their voices behind him, for suddenly the breeze had come again, ruffling his hair as it blew the hate-filled words to his terrified ears.

"He's this way!"

"After the freak! He's heading towards the creek near Old Martha's house!"

Old Martha. Yes, the boy recalled the name in a vague sort of way as he sprinted headlong through the woodland, dodging trees and their roots that jutted up in an attempt to trip him and cause his doom. An eccentric old woman who hated visitors and spoke to a donkey, of all creatures. He was certain Martha wouldn't appreciate him splashing through her creek, but if his pursuers should think of hunting dogs it was a good idea to run through the waters. He didn't know if being wet kept the dogs off his scent, but there was no way to find out in one of the many books he'd read now…. The youth kept running, ignoring the protests made by his limbs as they sent bolts of agony up them, ignoring the way he was gasping desperately for breath, ignoring the way his vision kept dimming and making him dizzy. He had to get away from his chasers. There was no other safe alternative.

The creek came soon afterwards, the boy plunging in and splashing quickly through the ice-cold waters that came to a point a little lower than his knees, shuddering and biting his lower lip to keep from crying out as the water soaked his legs to the bone and gave him a shock. Then he was out of the water, stumbling as his sneakers skidded due to their wetness and caused a hint of mud on the formerly dry dirt. In the next instant he had recovered his footing, and surged deeper into the woods, Old Martha's cabin a mere blur in the corner of his eyes as his wheezing for oxygen became the only sound he could hear. Everything seemed to be spinning, he needed to collapse, needed to close his eyes and rest and catch his breath. There was no time for that, so he continued sprinting, tripping and recovering every now and then due to his dizziness. His chasers were gaining on him he knew that fact without being able to hear their boots draw nearer and nearer.

Then…his ruin. Why did his devastation have to come about due to a ridiculous pebble? It added insult to the many injuries yet to come. And yet a pebble was his downfall as his sneaker skidded on the small stone, causing his ankle to twist as he heedlessly continued onward. The youth fell with a single gasp, the dark green floor of the woods rushing up to meet him. Then his thin frame connected with the land, and he gasped one last time, all of his breathing whooshing out of him. His attempt to breathe became even more panic-stricken, an animalistic panting as he simply lay there, sprawled wet and shuddering. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't catch his breath. After a few more frightened seconds, his shuddering frame relaxed. What was the point? Viridian was hidden from view as the youth closed his eyes, only now able to hear his pursuers as their boots shattered any shred of silence there might have been left in the usually serene setting. He heard them as they circled him, yet again to be compared to a lone, terrified deer being circled by a pack of hungry wolves. Their words, harsh with hatred and something akin to fear, filled his ears as their boots finally fell silent.

"Look at the freak. He's just lying there. Do you think he's unconscious?"

"Who gives a damn? We've caught the bastard, and we get the reward money!"

A steel-toed boot nudged the youth in his side, but he stayed motionless. Why give them the satisfaction of knowing he could hear every word that dripped loathingly from their lips? The chase was over, he had lost, and now he had to pay the piper. Why not accept his fate meekly?

This time the boot kicked him instead of a nudge. The pain came so suddenly that the boy couldn't help but let a quiet, wounded whimper escape his lips.

"Looks like the freak can feel pain."

"Looks like it. I bet you he'll bleed too."

"I bet you half of my part of the reward that he doesn't bleed."

"You're on."

The youth kept his eyes closed, only now they were being squeezed closed in a desperate sort of attempt to pretend that his vanquishers weren't going to follow through with their comments, even as strong, forceful hands wrenched his arms and dragged him to his feet.

Quincy Hamilton was good at ignoring things that he didn't like. Unfortunately, he wasn't good enough, and soon his pained screams sent resting birds to squawking and to flight.