Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ The Moonwatcher ❯ Prologue

Disclaimer: This is merely a product of my insane love of fantasy and RK. Rurouni Kenshin does not in any way, shape or form, belong to me. The honor belongs to Watsuki-sensei.

The Moonwatcher

By Lacrymosa

Prologue

Note: This is AU, so I have taken my fair share of artistic license and have horribly mutilated the RK plot. OOCness will occasionally rear its ugly head, but I will try to keep it at bay by keeping the character's as authentic as possible. I still hope you enjoy. Loosely inspired by the film “The Man in the Iron Mask”.

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Amber eyes glowed in the darkness. His face was shrouded, his long hair tangled and knotted around his thin face. His clothes were torn, muddied by the damp and the dirt. A smudged and dented tray lay in the corner, nothing remaining of his daily meal that had been delivered a few hours ago after sunset. It was nighttime now, and he could see the corner of the moon as it slowly crept towards the window set in the ceiling. It shed a strange, distilled light through the bars of the cell, casting darks shadows, illuminating the few mice the scurried around in the corners.

He was used to all of this, but still he tilted his head slightly to catch sight of the moon that hovered in the sky. It was almost full, he mused. The moon was the only proof that time was passing for him anymore. He relied on it to tell him that he was still alive, that he hadn't died to only remain here, in this dungeon cell. Alone with his regrets.

He would have gone crazy long ago if it wasn't for the moon…

- - - -

The City had once been prosperous; the center of the world of trade and the arts. The roads were said to be paved with gold and diamonds, and in some respects, they almost were. Merchants came and sold their goods there, their carts laden with exotic fabrics, intricate pottery and filigree. The people were content, proud to know that they belonged and attributed to the City. Even the lower classes had been satisfied with their status, comfortable with the role they played in society, and they lived comfortably on even what was considered the lowest income. The richer classes were happy to spend their time managing their land, making sure that the wheat fields were growing tall and golden, and the same with their money. It wasn't the perfect place, but everyone still benefitted from the prosperity.

For over three centuries the City had been like that, a well organized structure that anyone could profit from. The tall and regal buildings are still there, a memento of what they had once had. The libraries and the museums still stood, but little were ever used and very few people could benefit from the knowledge that was kept there anyway.

It had started with a drought that had ravaged for hundreds of miles around. Only the City had managed to avoid disaster as the hard-worn farmers came from all around to buy their goods. The King's coffers enlarged, but he was a kind king to his people and made sure that his people did not suffer too greatly. However, with prosperity comes envy, and soon envy turned into jealousy. The outer countries plotted and schemed, their eyes were always turned to City, just imagining what they could do with it in their grasps…

The King was troubled, for he did not want his City to be ravaged by war, which it would surely come to. He thought, maybe, if they had a weapon intimidating enough to scare them off forever, a weapon so strong that it would guarantee his City's safety for all time…

As the threat grew stronger, and the outer countries grew bolder with their plans to conquer the City, the King knew that hope for a peaceful resolution was useless. He prepared his troops for the oncoming war. He sent his young son, an inquisitive child with deep violet eyes, to the East, where he knew the skilled warriors there would protect him. The deportation of the Prince was kept secret, and the King sent his most skilled and trusted soldiers with the Prince, giving them strict instructions to protect him at all costs.

However, the King's plans were discovered, and he knew without a doubt when only one wounded soldier returned to him, what must have happened. His son's carriage had been intercepted by enemy troops, their descent far too swift and unexpected for the soldiers to have retaliated in time. The King grieved for his son, but swore that he would no longer balk at the thought of war, and that whoever attempted to fight him would be destroyed under his fury.

War came very quickly to the City after that, the enemies confident after their successful attack on the prince, and the King burning with grief and anger. For nine years the war raged, and not a day passed when a house wasn't burning, when children weren't afraid to go outdoors, when the bloody rain didn't fall. The City was decimated. The markets could no longer be fruitful if they were also a battlefield, and innocent bystanders were often killed by a blade or cannons. The soldiers saw the peasants that lived in the City as cattle, petty bystanders, and could care less if their swords were stained with their blood. Day time was no longer safe, and to go outside during the night was suicide. No one truly knew what lurked in the shadows, or who was hiding in the alleyways, waiting….waiting….

A month after the New Year, the beginning of the tenth year of the war, the people finally saw a glimpse of what the King had been hoping for. Something so strong that his legacy would haunt the City for all time. Whispers suddenly ghosted through the City, and eventually they travelled to the other countries, other cities. Even in small towns was his name not known? His sword was said to bring the justice of heaven, and to look into his piercing amber eyes surely meant death. He was said to move faster than the gods, his speed quicker than the eye could follow.

They called him the Hitokiri. The Manslayer. Battousai. The master of the sword of heavenly Justice,and the best swordsman that the City had ever had.

No one ever saw him, for those that did never escaped alive. At the beginning, some old women would gossip to each other that he was a myth, a bluff created by the King to bring doubt to enemy troops. Some people believed that he truly existed, and no one believed more than those who felt the pain of losing a loved one to his blade. They said that he was a vassal of the King, given the job of being his shadow assassin.

Some said that he was the King himself, taking his City's safety into his own hands and destroying anyone who opposed him.

But no one doubted his existence when the Hitokiri Battousai finally came forth from the shadows, his sword brandished high, ready to defend the City and their brave soldiers. No one ever saw more than his eyes, for he always wore a long dark blue cloak, the hood pulled tightly over his head and his face obscured by a black velvet mask, no different than the one's present at many festivals. But his eyes shone fierce and golden through the mask, striking terror faster than lighting into the heart of all who saw him. He cut through the enemy lines like a demon, and people who witnessed his battles were haunted by the memory forever. If people had doubted before the power of one person, they no longer harbored such doubts.

On the dawn of the fifth of May-- known in history as the Battle of Cherry Blossoms, for they had begun to bloom during that time--the King's soldiers, accompanied of course by the Hitokiri, marched to the camp of the remaining enemy troops. Once they had destroyed the last of the soldiers there, the King knew that the outer countries would have no choice but to surrender. Victory was so close, seemed so easy, that the King himself rode with his troops, confident that the day was won.

And it was, for his soldiers left a trail of corpses behind them, the blood falling with the cherry blossoms on that morning.

But they did have their own share of casualties. Many of their own died that day as well, and one of their many fallen was their beloved King. The glorious battle was also the beginning of a period of grief for the City, and despite the fact that they were no longer a war, how could they possibly recuperate without their cherished leader, and without an heir to take his place?

And then the most treasonous rumor begun in the City, for it was whispered in the street corners and bars that King had been murdered, certainly, but not by an enemy, but by one of his own people…

Battousai was blamed for his death, accused that his bloodthirsty nature had caused his blade to turn upon his King in some twisted sort of vengeance. And it was true, that after the last battle Battousai had disappeared from the peoples' sight, and had not been seen or heard of from anyone. It was all the proof that they needed, for why would a war hero disappear if he hadn't committed a more treacherous act?

A month later, amidst the turmoil that surrounded them, a bright light shone through their despair. A messenger ran all through the City, down every road and every alleyway. His message was full of hope and redemption for the City, and the exact words of that messenger was: “Our Prince had returned, and has brought the hated Manslayer with him! Rejoice, because our Prince will bring heaven's retribution to the murderer!”

Everyone in the City flew from their homes, and gathered in front of the palace gates, hoping for a glimpse of their Prince who had been absent for so long. They were not disappointed, for hanging suspended on the castles walls was the Hitokiri himself, his masked face bent down in exhaustion, his body so limp that he appeared dead. The Prince stood below the exposed assassin, his eyes a hard metallic blue colder than the winter sky. His hair was wild and red against the grayness of the castle, and his features were a stark contrast against the faces of the soldiers around him.

His voice rang loud and clear, “My people, I have returned from a month of hunting down my father's killer, and here he is presented before you, shamed and humiliated! Truly you're Prince must be a god himself, to have brought down such a feared criminal!”

Cries of joy and pride echoed through the streets, and a few well aimed rocks managed to connect with the body of the hanging man.

“I have been gone far too long, and I assure you that my reign will make our City even greater than before! I will surpass my father in strength and in greatness, and I swear to you that I will turn our City into an Empire!

“I shall first show you my strength by bringing the Battousai his rightful reprisal!”

The people shouted for an execution, a beheading, a burning, they wanted to drink his blood and to crush his bones. To them, their bloodlust could not be satiated, and their shouts for him to suffer would not be quelled.

The Prince raised a hand, and the City became quiet.

In the stillness that surrounded the people, the Prince's footsteps seemed much louder and echoed grimly as he strode nearer to the Hitokiri. With a slight wave of his hand the criminal was lowered, until his feet hovered a few inches above the ground. The Prince reached up and clamped his hands around the Battousai's chin, tilting his head to right, exposing his left cheek. Those with keen eyesight could see that beyond the tattered remains of the shadow assassin's mask where two long scars that formed a perfect X on his left cheek. The blood was still running from the wound down his face, pooling along the length of his collarbone.

“He will be forever marked for his crimes, and this scar shall be a symbol of our hatred for him! Look upon it, and remember what he has done and how we will make him suffer for it!

“Death is less than is deserving for such as he, and I vow to you that he shall receive nothing less than what he deserves! He shall rot in his pain and misery for his heinous crimes and suffer for every life that he took. Forget the name Hitokiri Battousai, for he is nothing compared to your Prince!”

Cries once again reverberated through the courtyard and did not stop until the Prince had turned around and disappeared into the palace. They were left only with the assassin to mock and abuse. For two more days the Battousai was left on display, his wound never ceasing to bleed. On the dawn of the third day, he had disappeared, and was never seen again by the people of the City.

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A/N: So, what do you think? Slightly darker than I intended, but I hope that it is not too confusing. I will be putting up the first chapter as well, just because I want to get the story flowing a little bit more, and to introduce some more of the plot. Thanks so much for reading!

-Lacrymosa