~VII~

Alaric sank, sitting on the dirt ground. He lay his head back against the tree, closing his eyes. Nothing was right anymore, it was all so wrong.

Why was he to be framed for a sin he did not commit? No matter.. it was no longer his concern. His only goal now was to travel to the Sarua Clan and join their ranks.

The sound of a snapping twig came behind Alaric, followed by the sound of ringing metal. He lurched forward, ducking away from the tree as a sword sank into its trunk, the edge cutting a deep gash into the wood.

Alaric spun, getting to his feet. And then was still, his eyes darkening as he saw who had just made an attempt on his life.

"Esrian."

His elder brother pulled his sword from the tree, holding it out at his side. His eyes were wild, consumed with rage.

"This is all because of you, you bastard! You took the life of our father, our kind, and thus stole my throne from under my feet!" Esrian roared, swinging his sword madly, without any real aim or focus.

"I did not take the throne. Tanon is the one who took it from you through his lies." Alaric responded, stepping away from his berserk brother.

"It is all your fault.. you are nothing more than a nameless, worthless welp! So just die already! Die, die, die!" Esrian screamed, flinging his sword madly.

Alaric became irritated, insulted by the way his brother wielded his sword. There was no beauty in it, just wild, aimless attacks without any skill or depth put into them. It was the worst show of swordsmanship Alaric had ever witnessed in his life, and it insulted him.

He moved his hand down to his side, feeling grasping the hilt of his wakizashi and drawing it, the comforting feeling of the handle in his hands and the blade scraping against the sheath as it was drawn. The metal of the wakizashi gleamed beneath the canopy, rays of light glancing off of its smooth metal as the weapon flipped through the air.

Alaric raised his wakizashi up, blocking a downward swing from Esrian's sword, the sword vibrating in his hands as a metallic ring resounded through the trees. Rage welled up inside Alaric, all of his stress and pain flowing through is body and into his weapon as he forced Esrian's sword upwards, then dashed forward, slipping through his brother's defenses.

The feeling of a blade clashing with another is the one thing that ever could give Alaric any sense of being, but the feeling when one's blade sank into your opponent's flesh, cutting through the skin and severing the muscle and skewering their innards, it was different. It was unique, you could feel every single motion and vibration of not only your own emotions reverberating through the blade but also the life of your enemy and the last thrumming beats of their heart slowed to a stop.

Alaric stood, his wakizashi burrowed deep into Esrian's chest, the blade cutting into his brother's heart. Blood spilled from the wound where the blade had broke the skin, the crimson liquid flowing like wine as it soaked Esrian's clothes and Alaric's hands were dyed red.

Esrian's katana clattered to the ground as Alaric withdrew is wakizashi, blood dripping from the blade's edge.

"You.. you.. stabbed me..?" Esrian asked in shock.

"You just tried to kill me. It's only fair." Alaric responded, then swung his wakizashi through the air, the blade glinting in the light as shimmering droplets of blood were flung, splattering across Esrian's face as the last light of life left his eyes and he stumbled back, collapsing against the tree, dead.

Alaric stared down at his brother's corpse. His hands were now stained red. He'd taken the life of another, his own sibling. Now he knew, for certain, he was capable of hatred. And he was capable of war. The shadow of death was now sown into his very being.

Blood still cling to his blade, making it glimmer with a crimson sheen. He made no move clean it, nor did he clean the blood from his hands. He was completely unaffected by it. He felt no remorse whatsoever for his brother's death. He did not care.

He slipped his wakizashi into its sheath and knelt over Esrian's body, I clipping his brother's lavish sheath. He then retrieved the dropped katana and and sheathed it, clipping it to his own hip. It would serve as a reminder for the day he'd taken his first life. The day he had spilled blood for the first time, the day he'd killed his own brother and denounced his Clan and family name.

After that, Alaric turned his back on the corpse he'd made and began his journey, moving through the woods and weaving between the trees.

The Sarua Clan lay on the other side of the mountain, it would only take a day to traverse there though if he used the trader's paths. And when he reached them, he would bring about a new era, the beginning of a new war that would soak the land in waves of blood.

And so, Alaric would traverse the trader's road, following the path he had set out before his own feet. He intended to follow this path without turning back, and without any regrets.

That day, later in the evening, Alaric stopped. His eyes now rested on a deer off in a clearing. The light of day cast ever shifting shadows over the grass as the trees swayed in the wind. The tall grass rippled like waves with the breeze.

The deer turned, raising its head and staring at Alaric. For a long time, he simply stared back at the animal. He wondered whether or not it understood the way the world worked. Was it able to consciously understand its existence? Could it feel or comprehend emotion? Or was it much like himself, unable to know what he was feeling.

The antlers of the buck curled and ended in pointed tips. It's beady black eyes were still trained on Alaric, but a moment later it turned away, it's horns swiveling with its head as it then began to trot away, disappearing into the woods.

Alaric turned his eyes skyward then, staring into the expansive blue sky. The wind ruffled his long hair and tugged at his kimono. Black strands of hair broke loose from the rest, flickering in the wind.

Reaching into his pocket, Alaric pulled out a gold clip and put up his hair in a bun, slipping the needle of the clip through his hair to hold it up, loose strands still flowing over his eyes.

He sighed. Continuing his path, he decided that, in the end, it doesn't matter if you understand your own emotions or not. It doesn't matter if you can show them, or act on them, all that matters is the simplistic fact that you have them. All that mattered was the actions you took towards your goals, because, in the end, your goals and ideals are forged from your life experiences, the emotions you've felt along the way acting as the flames, and the actions you take in the present being the hammer that bends the metal to your will, to make your own path.

And that was what he would do now. As his feet fell on the ground, step after step, he gained a spring in his walk, an air of confidence exuding from him, determined eyes trained forward on his goal.

The uphill journey to traverse the mountain began now, the path forward being just one of many hills and mountains he'd have to surpass. And he would. More than anything now, he wanted revenge on those who had wrongly accused him.

Alaric had made his decision. Not only would he expose who really killed his father. He would erase every trace of his clan's existence.

He glanced down at his hands, the blood now crusted, clinging to his skin. He had no will to wash it off, he would leave it for a time. It was his way of reminding himself, he really had taken a life. He had killed someone, he had the capability to hate.

One would think the fact that you are capable of hatred would be upsetting, but for Alaric it was a comfort, as he had never before been able to recognize any of his own emotions unless he was wielding a blade. But now, for the first time ever, he could identify, understand, and accept the fact that he held an emotion in his heart. Even if it was hatred, it was something, and that was enough to give him the strength to move forward. The strength to fight.

As he walked, the sun falling on the horizon, he now came up to the top of the mountain, the wind ripping at his clothes and the clouds rushing above his head. Below him, sprawling out endlessly was the world below, an expanse of rivers, forests, wetlands and mountain ranges. A world… that would soon be overflowing with a sea of blood.