Prologue: Sowing the Seeds

Heavy footsteps padded out of the thicket of the woods on to the main road. Leather boots squished into moist dirt road, caking more mud onto the already dirty footwear. Climbing up the weary stature of the tired, five foot ten inch figure, dark leather slacks lightly drizzled with mud covered the legs. Adorned across the lightly toned torso was a white cotton shirt with a black linen cloak draped around the shoulders and stretching down just beyond knee cap level.

Trotting onto the main road surface gave the male figure a sense of relief which he expressed by breathing heavily. His arms dangled to the ground as he bent over in exhaustion. The two eyelids quickly closed off the blue treasures from sight, rugged brown hair falling flat over the scalp due to the saturated weight from the currently falling rain. Without the weight of the liquids this particular human’s hair would stand about an inch upward and forward, reaching to protect his face with a slight cliff of shade. Dripping down his face water scaled down the cold metal tool in his right hand: a heavily used iron short sword. The proof of its work output could be seen from the many chips missing from the blade as well as a large amount of blunt surface area. The only part of this weapon that seemed to be capable of cutting was the surface closest to the hilt.

Increasingly loud squeaks and creaks approached the resting male, causing him to lift his head and reveal his blue eyes. A few moments of examining the road revealed the caravan advancing on his position. This vehicle was larger than most, requiring the two white and black splotched steeds to pull the weight along. As the horses trotted past him, a yank of their controlling ropes brought the vehicle to a stop. Perched up on the driver bench of the caravan was the owner: a simple looking dealer concealed mostly in a protective brown cloak. Poking out of the safety cover was the head of a man, consisting of two inch length black hair, brown eyes, a baby round face, and an elaborate black mustache dangling nearly below the chin line. “Say, boy. Looks like life’s treatin’ you rough” the gruff voice predicted. “Where ya headed? Maybe I can give you a lift for the right coin.”

“I’m sorry sir but…” a few heavy exhales followed the boy’s words before he reared his body back to a proper standing position. “ ….I do not have any money. I’ve been…. I guess you could say, living off the land for a long while now.”

The stout trader examined the stranger, his right hand fingers stroking the long whiskers on his lip. “Well, tell ya what. I happen to be fond of a good tale, so if you think you can fancy a story to pass the time, I won’t hold it against you. Think you can handle that much?”

The younger man glanced down, pondering the possibility for a moment. “A story, huh? I’m pretty sure my story will be more than enough to tickle your fancy.” The ragged boy’s face lifted back up, a grin filled with fake confidence shined. “Where do you want me?”

“Pah! Hop in right ‘ere behind me so I can hears ya good!” The trader let out a near cough of a laugh, patting the empty space in the caravan’s hold. “So before you go paying this debt, what’s yer name, son? You can call me Regis.” Only after signaling his animals to proceed once more did Regis extend his left hand over his body towards the boy.

Clearing his throat, the teen grasped Regis’ hand, shaking it with surprising firmness. “I suppose that’s a good place to start. Name’s Ryo. Ryo Kasami. And for the record, I’m no boy. Sixteen years has at least given me the title of ‘young man’”. With the receding of their hands and a slight chuckle from his lips, the teen began his tale.