Hey, look, another new story! I know the last thing I need to be doing right now is starting another project, but inspiration for this hit me suddenly, and I didn't want to lose it.

Can't really say much more, only thing is that I hate the shortness of this... I couldn't even get it to 1,000 words... Oh, well, It's a prologue, and they are typically short anyway. Oh, I also apologize for the violence towards babies here, but it is necessary for the plot, you see.

Prologue: Hating Father

The wind whispered quietly as it blew across the Begnion night sky. In the central region of Seriola, east of the Miscere river lay a quaint village known as Tsena. In the outskirts of the small town was a modest cottage, much smaller than all the others set further away in the main village square. Inside, the cries of a newborn child rang out, piercing the quiet air. As the midwife left the home hastily, the parents looked down at their first child with silent disappointment. They watched as the still damp child slipped into a deep, peaceful slumber in an old battered crate filled with ragged blankets and cloth.

"How could this happen?" the mother moaned quietly, looking down at the newborn sleeping tranquilly before her. "How could he be...?"

The infant's bright green hair was longer than most other babies', but not long enough to hide the small mark on his forehead. The small, complicated design traced on the young boy's new skin marked him as one of the most despised beings in the known world—a Branded, half-breed, parentless; countless names society has come up with to describe the unholy child of a Beorc and Laguz.

The boy's father held his wife at length and looked down at his son with a mix of anger and sadness, his violet hair falling into his face.

"There is only one explanation..." he mumbled, turning his gaze up to the mother.

The woman looked up after pausing to let her husband's words sink in, "No! No, I didn't. You know that I would never..."

"Well, what do you want me to think, Sorcha? He's... one of them. I know that no one in my family has ever associated themselves with one of those wretched beasts."

"Please Neal, you know I love you and would never leave you for a La—sub-human..." Sorcha whispered, pulling closer to her husband.

Neal said nothing and continued to look down at his son resentfully for a few moments.

"I am capable of forgiving you for this one lapse of judgment. This time, we made a terrible mistake. We can always try again to bear a son worthy of the family name." Neal took a step towards his son and pressed his hand across the baby's face, covering his mouth and nose.

"Neal! No!" breathed Sorcha, rushing forward to stop the death of her son.

She pulled at the stronger man's arms without any results. Growing desperate, Sorcha opened her mouth and bit down on the arm covering the infant's face. Neal shouted in pain and rage, pulled his hand back and slapped Sorcha roughly, sending her tumbling to the hard wooden floor. The baby had woken up now, and his sharp cries echoed in the small room. Sorcha looked up at her husband, her emerald eyes watering and a large red spot marking where she had been struck. Neal bore his navy eyes into her body, his gaze unable to express the hatred coursing through his veins.

"You can keep your filth, but I want nothing to do with him, or his worthless whore of a mother!" Neal shouted angrily, his loud footsteps shaking the humble cottage as he made his way to the door, slamming it behind him.

Sorcha sank further to the floor and wept, her sobs blocking out the cries of the newborn.

After what seemed like hours, Sorcha pushed herself up from the dusty ground and leaned over the makeshift crib heavily, tears still streaming from her eyes. She gently lifted her baby up and held him against her chest.

"I don't know how such an innocent child could be presented with such a heavy burden," she whispered quietly, preparing to feed her child, "but it doesn't matter what you are, you are still my baby. I will love you until my dying day and beyond, no matter what others say or think. I promise you, Stefan; you are worth no less than any other Beorc or Laguz in all of Tellius."

As baby Stefan ate loudly, his mother kissed him gently on his forehead, her lips temporarily covering the intricate design traced upon it. With a small grunting noise, Stefan reached up and wiped his mother's lips from his head and continued to eat. Sorcha smiled and petted his messy green hair lovingly, her own emerald locks hanging over her face, covering her pine green eyes.

Neal never came back. He left Begnion forever, leaving his wife and disowned son to live on their own. Sorcha taught his son not to hate his ancestry, rather embrace it and not become one of the many self-hating Branded that inhabited the continent. The others in the village could care less if Stefan hated himself or not, they despised him with every piece of their being for sharing the blood of a 'sub-human'.

They found out early on what Stefan was even though Sorcha tried her best to keep it a secret. But once the midwife who delivered Stefan told everyone in the village about what Sorcha's baby was, the two quickly became outcasts. They never seemed to belong after that, but Sorcha knew that someday Stefan would defy the odds stacked against him and become much more than any of the short-sighted racists surrounding them could ever imagine.

Yay, Stefan! Boo, Baby abuse! Yay, End of Prologue! Boo, shortness!

I promise the next chapter will be longer than this, and that I will keep working on my other stories too. Just not in the mood for other things, I suppose.

Anyway, please don't just favorite or alert if you like it, leave a review too! I would prefer one review to three favorites/alerts any day. Better way to show that you like a story, really.