The village was under attack. The bodies of men, women, and children who had been at peace with everyone for decades now lay sprawled out like rag dolls in the blood stained snow. Homes were burned to the ground, reducing lives and memories to ashes. What had taken lifetimes to build was gone in a cloud of smoke.
Left standing in the debris was a single child, barely five years old. Huddled in the dead mother's arms, so silent and still that the marauders passed by without a second thought. Lonely child, clinging to mother's bloody robes for warmth, trying to stop the inevitable tears.
"Okaa-san, please, get up." Such a choked voice; words come out only as a whisper. "Okaa-san, please hurry, they could be coming back." A gentle tugging on her shirt yielded only the mother's most prized possession, adding to the little one's grief.
"She can't hear you anymore." A cold man's voice startled the child, who looked at him through wide and innocent eyes.
"Akahousii-sama!" No, not just innocence, trust. "Akahousii-sama, you'll help me, won't you? Please, Akahoshii-sama?"
"Hmph." The priest in red faced the child with icy malice. "There is nothing to be done. She is dead, just as you will someday be."
"Rezo-sama... please...I need your help." Now the child was begging; desparetely pleading for a chance at life. "Rezo-sama, don't go."
"Why not?" The wise man hovered intimidatingly over the slaughtered mother. "What could a weakling like you have to offer that would be worth my time?" with that condemnation, the legendary sage began to leave.
"GRANDFATHER!" Despite the cold, the wounds, and the bitter rejection, the boy stood. "Don't turn your back on me Grandfather!" His words caused the Red Priest to halt.
"What did you say?" The wise man's already soft vocie was now no more than a hiss.
"Don't turn your back on me." The youth reitterated. "I'm the last of your line now. Please don't turn your back on me, Grandfather!"
Rezo Akahoshii spun around, crimson robes standing out against the snow like fresh blood. His sightless gaze somehow took in the boy's slender build, thin limbs, and frail constitution.
"Hm." Rezo twirled his staff in thought, the gentle clang of the metal rings relaxing his frayed temper. "What's your name?"
"I am Zelgadis Greywers, only child of Isafale, and the last living descendant of the Red Priest." There was a certain nervous edge in his voice, which Rezo noticed.
"And how old are you, Zelgadis?"
"I..." The youth paused, then cleared his throat and continued in the most adult like voice he could manage. "Today was my birthday, sir. I just turned five."
"Hmph." I suppose you'd like to live to see your sixth birthday?"
"Yes Grandfather. I would."
"Very well. Come with me, Zelgadis. From this day on, your childhood is a lost dream. There will be no time for you to lag about, for you have much to learn."
"Yes Grandfather."
"And never, ever, call me by that term of relationship again. Understand?"
"Yes gr - yes, Rezo-sama."
"Good."
Grandfather...