Fan Fiction ❯ slave to the stars ❯ slave to the stars ( One-Shot )

'Eternity' means 'endless' and 'life' is just a fancy word for 'pain'. What's it to be gifted with eternal life? To watch something happen and know that you have no say in the outcome… To know that no matter what, you'll have to watch your loved one die… Thrice… He's the other half of My soul… Literally. As day is to life, so is He to Me. What was Our Father thinking when He decided that the way to reimburse Taiyou from His 'sins' was to make Him die… again and again. How is it that such a being could live through that… I don't know how I've lived… and He's been the one tortured… Ryuujin, the Father, told Me if I was to act… Damnit all… He didn't do anything wrong… He's perfect… Perfection cannot sin… It's just not the way things happen…

Takara laughed, trying to convince himself that he wasn't going through any pain. Nay, the pain was past. He doubted he could even feel pain any longer. However, it probably wouldn't be too long before he was proven wrong. Life just seemed to work out like that for him. He cowered in the small corner of the tavern's taproom and eyed the emptiness with strong suspicion. Moments ago, it had been full of people. Moments ago he'd almost died. Right, they wouldn't let him die, lest their amusement would end prematurely. It wasn't a great existence, but one that he'd been forced to accept. Did he look like he had a choice?
Choice?
He very vaguely remembered what that word meant. His choices were made for him, his will was just taken. He wasn't his own person anymore. Had he ever been? Probably not. He just seemed to realize it more of late. He felt like a trained pet, ordered to heel and obey. Bloody hells. Why did he have to be so weak? Did he need the orders in his life? He'd been living with them for so very long, first from his father and now from The Demon, that he doubted he'd be able to survive with out them for too long. Wasn't that just wonderful? Humph. There was no escape.
How he longed to end it all, to stop the pain welling inside him. He couldn't though, there were no implements of destruction nearby, not within his reach - The Demon had left him tied, leash and all, leaving Takara very little space to move from his dusty corner. He couldn't undo it, he hadn't anything to undo it, and if he did he would put it to better use than releasing himself. Well from the leash anyway.
Just moving hurt, he realized as he tried to move in his allotted space. Moving hurt and breathing was hell. Just another thing to add to his growing list of the downfalls of living. By being born, one is guaranteed death eventually. At any rate, life is pain. More pain for some than others - and Takara felt like he had it pretty bad. Some people got lands and wealth as their birthright, and all he got was the right to live a pitiful existence. He was the youngest of six, and his father made it clear that he was worth nothing. While all his brothers could be educated and lead good lives with fair wives, he'd always be good for nothing. He could never be strong or handsome, he'd always be weak and look like a tavern whore, as his father so bluntly put it.
Gods, he wanted it to end.
Heh, the Gods hadn't listened to him before, why would they listen to him now? They just don't pay attention to the pathetic. So, he was damned and in pain, and they seemed to be coming back into the tavern - The Demon anyway. Well, wasn't his luck just getting better and better? He tried to crawl into a small ball, attempting to become invisible. With his luck it would only make things worse. Joy.
Nobody seemed to notice him though. They all just sat down and ordered another round of pints from the quivering landlord. Poor bloke probably wasn't used to so much excitement and he definitely didn't know what to make of Takara. He'd tried to help him earlier, and got an empty mug thrown at him. Thankfully it had missed. Since then, the landlord had just been shooting him worried glances, as unable to help as Takara himself was. Well at least he wasn't alone in that. The landlord was also reluctant to pass out any more pints of his strong ale - as Takara supposed it was - he'd seen the men sober - well, as sober as they could get - and didn't want to know how much worse it could get. Heh, Takara would probably welcome the effects of a drunkard's rage as opposed to what he was used to. On second thought, maybe he wouldn't. However, it was more than obvious that the man hadn't seen such a rowdy group of Gods-forsaken fiends in his entire career.
As tired as Takara was, and as anxious as he was to get away from the pain, he didn't allow himself to fall into the depths of sleep. Not tied up as he was. Not as vulnerable as he would be. Funny to think he could possibly be more vulnerable than he already was. But then, Takara never tried to bet on things like that, he knew he'd always lose… badly, too. Bloody hells. There was nothing he could do. No way out.

The rain fell in droplets thrice their expected size. They had appeared from nowhere and were showing the land below no mercy. As they fell onwards, they leaked through the roofs and walls of the much unprepared houses. Accompanying the icy rain, was a strong - and equally cold - wind that blew everything about. If any of the houses, and other buildings, had been protected from the rain, they would have fallen to the wind itself. Neither seemed to show any mercy, it was as if the Gods Themselves were angry. While it may have been Raidon, the God of Thunder - and, needless to say, weather as well- it was probably Tsuki, the God of the Moons and the Night. This was especially likely considering that the rare third moon, Okugi, was shining brightly in the sky along his brothers as the rain poured. Something had made the peaceful God upset, obviously. According to travellers to the area, it wasn't raining so hard in the neighbouring towns… only the small village. Nobody seemed to pay attention to it as they continued to cover rain leaks with their pots and bundle up in layers of blankets with their loved ones.

Voices, calling to him. calling his name out… gently. It could have only been a dream. Nobody cared about him. Not even his mother called his name out so sweetly. There was love behind that voice, well love of a sort. It was more than he was used to. The voice didn't seem like it would kill him. Heh, well, The Demon wasn't going to kill him either, but that was another story. For one time in his life, Takara didn't want his dreams to end. For the first time, his dreams were not painful memories of what had past, grotesque recollections he had imprinted on his memory forever, whether he wanted them there or not. Every image brought back the swelling pain. It was all part of a never ending circle that Takara wished could end, but knew it wouldn't.

The leashed boy was no longer cowered in a corner, but under a table. He liked the corner much better. Despite the feeling of being, well, cornered, he didn't feel so watched. The tavern was well filled, it, being the only completely wood-free building in the village, had nearly no leaks. People gave the teenaged boy wearing a leash some interesting looks. Some of the looks were of sorrow and there were even some of disgust - not aimed at The Demon, but at Takara himself. For the most part, the patrons just didn't know what to make of him. The innkeeper, whose name turned out to be Kaemon, seemed a bit more at ease now that his taproom was filled with others than The Demon and his lackeys - though most of the latter had left hours ago, when Takara fell asleep. Now it was only The Demon and a particularly sadistic looking man - not as sadistic looking as The Demon, but he did come close. The boy knew that he couldn't count on the emptiness of the tavern to help him should The Demon or his friend decide to try anything. He also knew that, should they try something, the patrons would make very little, if any, move to stop him. They'd probably enjoy watching 'that pretty boy in the leash' get 'seen to' by 'his master'. Ironic how villagers in a country that was so pro human equality would do nothing to stop any acts once they started.
That would teach the boy in his lead to obey his master, he deserved it because his master said so.
Right.
Since when were these laws around? He knew he was but property, though. Curse his father… Were they so poor that 10 gold geruto was too much to ignore? His brothers were bringing in a lot of money, what with their fine educations and whatnot. Takara felt lowly and used. But what else was new? He honestly didn't expect things to change. No, not really. He was not that much of a masochist…

The streams were overflowing, the rain pouring down upon them was too much. Never in recorded history had the streams flooded over by such a margin. Nay, anybody could tell that it had been longer than that by the markings on the rock itself. But the normally calm waters were making their way onto the bank and into the surrounding lands… heading towards the tiny village and the local pub. It carried the Gods' misdeeds, their wrath for something perhaps greater than originally suspected. It couldn't be just Raidon and Tsuki, but others also had to have come into play. The locals wouldn't have known, though. The Faith was Dying, and that was old news. The names of the forty-two Gods were being less recognizable. Most people probably couldn't name one deed that one God had preformed that night, save Ryuujin who Created it all in the first place. To them, it was not important why the gentle stream was overflowing, or if there were celestial causes behind it. All that mattered to them was getting as far as they could from the main surge of the water. They ran as fast as they could to the highest hill in their tiny village. Their meagre garments were soaked in the freezing rain and their sodden hair and cloaks were flapping in all inverse directions, attaching and detaching themselves from the bodies of the villagers.

The voice rang out again, calling to him. He never remembered falling asleep, but the voice was welcome. His mind danced around the owner of the voice. Idly, he wondered what he looked like - the voice was, without a doubt, male - and if he was as kind as he seemed. He didn't ask for too much in a person, he thought, just not someone like his father or The Demon. But the voice called out to him, he had no idea from where. Everywhere was blackness, a deep un-passable dark shade that shouldn't have existed. It was darker than a dark night without stars nor moons. There was no light, no shadows, no nothing. Nothing, that was, save the voice which was calling out to him. Blindly he tried to follow it, captive to his sound. He wanted more.
Addiction.
Dreams were said to be just false realities, a place where things existed, but not really. A dream was supposed to be a nice place, though that was rarely true. Still, theoretically, a dream wasn't a dream if you could feel whilst in that dream. In a dream, one shouldn't have been able to feel pain, or pleasure… nor any other aspect of human touch.
It couldn't have been a dream.
Arms wrapped around him, tightly holding him to a broad chest. The other's touch seemed welcome, familiar… like something he'd known in days long gone. The very scent of the man told him something, if only he knew what. The embrace seemed to last forever, yet not long enough. Vaguely, Takara heard the man whispering; 'Watashi no kokoro… Watashi no ai…'. My heart… My love…

When people are frightened, shaken, hiding or just thirsty they tend to gather in large groups. Normally such things happen at a pub - tavern, taproom… they all mean the same thing - for a round - or two or three - of pints, usually the strongest ale that that pub had to offer. The main room of the inn looked amazingly smaller after what seemed to be the entire village packed into it for all of the above reasons. They were cold and wet and damp, and now the taproom was too. It was miserable - big change there.
Takara felt a booted foot kick at his side, forcing him back to reality - such as it was - and he jumped and tried to fall back to the side of the table that was unoccupied by The Demon and his crony. Once again the Gods didn't heed his plea, he felt a sharp tug at his neck, the lead was being pulled.
No escape, no way out.
He couldn't scream, he couldn't react. All he could do was all he was taught to do: obey. He felt his eyes water up, definitely not looking forward to what was to happen. The Demon and his friend were slobbering drunk… The best that could happen, in Takara's mind, was that they would go overboard and kill him. Great way to be optimistic, but it was really all that he had to look forward to. Without death or illness - both which he was kept far away from - he would probably live a long while, he was only eighteen. Always to be submissive to his master's whims. Always to feel the undying pain. What was it like to be eternal?

The wind continued to blow about, making everything visible seem both insane and alive, in a phantom-like way. The trees blew, not allowing the drops of rain to settle among them, bending in that seemed impossible. There was no rhyme nor reason to the wind's course, either. One moment it was from the north, the next it was coming from southeast. Still, the villagers listened not to the wisdom's prophecies, foretellings and hidden omens that she had gathered just from watching the winds and performing some unknown form of magick. Perchance the 'magick' was why they didn't listen to her, or perchance it was because they were gathered in the public house watching the outlander merchant teach his disobedient slave a lesson. She droned that it was all a forewarning from the Gods Themselves, telling them to stop and behave. So few listened to words of sense any longer, and most had her marked as insane anyway. There was no hope for people like her with her hidden meanings being the winds and rains so unlike any before. Oh! There was another tree snapping in the distance. What wind could snap the local trees into splinters? The local trees that had been around for ages to come? The local trees that had trunks that two big men couldn't hug? And what wind blew the roof tiles off of the Aoi family's new house? No, it was beyond natural… and the only one to notice is was lost in her own world, too far from help to be saved any longer.

Watashi no kokoro, watashi no ai. My heart, my love. He was held to the same person, who kept repeating the two phrases over and over. He seemed to have a deep longing in his voice, but also a great sadness. If given a choice, Takara wouldn't leave. The other's warmth offered a protection that he'd never felt before. This man wouldn't harm him, not knowingly. He did have to wonder what the other was planning on doing, he made no move but to run his hands along his back and whisper the short phrases. Then the phrases, the words of comfort, halted. Takara gazed at the man. Words could not describe the man, the most talented poet could do him no justice. He was gorgeous… Long midnight hair fell down his shoulders, midnight hair that could not normally exist naturally - but Takara was positive it wasn't artificial. And his eyes! There had to be every shade of blue known to man in them, again, there was a sense of surrealism in them. The possible but the impossible. His face was composed perfectly, like some of the pictures in his brothers' books. His skin was pale, glistening in the blackness that was the alternate reality - that just couldn't have been a dream. And this beautiful, perfect man was holding him tenderly and gazing at him lovingly.
A hand reached under his chin and pulled his mouth to the his for a kiss. It was short. Again, Takara found himself wanting more. The other's lips sought out his own again, and they locked. He could feel love and he could feel joy. Any pain seemed to vanish for that short eternity. The kiss was over, and the gentle hand stroked his cheek fondly. It was a memory relived…
Watashi no kokoro… Watashi no ai…

If he hurt before, he wondered what words he'd use to describe the way he was feeling after someone finally pulled The Demon and his friend away from him. He was a trembling mess of tears, blood and bruises. He didn't have the energy to be glad that the fiends were having their own problems somewhere else in the taproom. He didn't have the energy to feel himself being tended to, being lifted gently to one of the rooms and set on a soft bed. If his eyes could focus, he knew he'd see the man from his un-dreams there, tending his wounds. He knew he was crying. Somehow he knew that. Who was this man that cried when he got hurt? Who was this man that seemed to care so much?
He must have been all bandaged, for the hands stopped roaming about his wounds and rested one on his hands, which were folded on his chest, and one to the side of his face. He wanted to open his eyes, to look into the man's face once more. It was as if the man's loving gaze would save him from the abuse he'd taken. It was as if…
If he was to die, why did he have to wait until he'd found what he'd been longing for? It was like the stories said, he'd found 'the one'… Heh, he'd known him only from dreams… but he knew he wanted to stay with this man. The one man ever to show him any signs of affection, any signs of care.
He just didn't have the energy to open the eyes… it hurt so much… Not even his angel's touch could make it go away…
Watashi no kokoro… Watashi no ai…