When he had been a child, he had been abandoned by his tutor in a storm. That tutor had also been his father.

He had been curled into himself as he had lied on the rain-soaked ground, listening to the thunder roar and watching the lightening strike. The rain had come down in torrents, endless waves of water that sought to drown the world and him with it.

He would have looked for shelter – would have been looking for a hollow either in the ground or in the trunk of a tree and wait out the storm such as he had trained with his father – but he was injured.

There was a long ragged scar ranging from his hip to his ankle, bleeding profusely and burning agonizingly as the rain dripped into it and the mud smeared its way along its length. He had tried to keep walking, but every movement had thrown him into a new world of pain.

Forcing his way through a wild rose bush had been the last straw – especially when the thorns had caught in his wound.

He stared forlornly up at the sky. The trickling of a nearby creek had been growing louder and louder until he could feel water lapping at his one arm and then feel it soaking into his back and swaying the short hairs at the back of his neck.

"If you can not survive this, than I will not be bringing you home." His father had told him before leaving him in the wilderness.

He shut his eyes and subjected himself to his demise. He could move… but how far? Would it be worth it to bother traveling any further when there was nothing but water swallowing the ground? All there was were bushes and wimpy trees with not nearly enough width or foliage to be of assistance.

The water was rising, licking his ears and chilling his fingers.

This simple trial and he had failed… He had failed so miserably even he was ashamed with himself.

His eyes shot open as he heard the wet slopping sound of feet through the mud. He held himself tensely, hyperaware of the fact that his father had sent him out into the forest with nothing but his own wits and the clothes on his back – not even a pocketknife to assist him.

"A good hitman knows how to use his resources; the best hitman knows how to make resources out of nothing." Those were the wise words of his father.

He kept his eyes trained in the direction of the disturbance.

Slowly, a form could be distinguished from the storm.

"Goodness…" A smooth, dark chocolate voice sighed. "You can not be any older than five; what could you possibly be doing out during this weather?"

A man stood before him, most likely in his 20's, Reborn estimated. He had black sable hair, a light beige complexion, pale green eyes, and a freckle beneath his left eye, the other eye hidden by his bangs. He wore a fur-collared buckskin coat that fell a little past his waist, a white tee visible beneath it, black leather pants, and buckskin boots.

He looked away. "It's none of your concern."

"Hmph…" The man leaned down, elbows on knees as he crouched close. "For such a small child, you speak intelligently… and angrily." He tilted his head curiously. "Tell me, child, where are your parents?"

He stayed stubbornly quiet.

The man sighed. "Goodness… What a brat you are and we've only just met… Hm?" The man's gaze was on his injured leg. "That looks like it hurts."

He threw him a look that amounted to every insult ever uttered in his large obsidian gaze.

Instead of taking offense, the man smiled. "Hello, child; my name is Lambo." He reached out a hand covered in a fingerless black glove and with nails painted black.

He smacked his hand away without change of expression. "Leave me alone."

The man – Lambo – retracted his hand and frowned down at him. "What an unpleasant little one… I guess it can't be helped."

When Lambo stood up, he thought that was the last of the nuisance. After all, he had never before met a being who would waste their precious time to care for ano-

"What are you doing?" There was a rare lilt of horror in the child's voice, eyes widening as he was lifted off of the ground and into the man's arms.

"Forgive me… but it is not in me to leave such a bitter child to drown here, never to live life long enough to learn true happiness. You see, Yam- …" The man chuckled for some reason. "I mean Rain was told by… Sky to not stop the rain here until it becomes a swamp. If you stay here, you will drown."

He glared up at him. Rain? Sky? "What do you take me for? A fool?" The rain and the sky were not people – the sky could not hand out orders and the rain could not take orders. They were elements.

"No." Lambo answered honestly. "I take you for a child." He looked up to the sky, letting the rain fall down his handsome features. "… Ah, G-… Storm must be giving Rain the resolve to complete his mission. Once this area becomes a swamp, we hope to introduce some endangered species here, hidden far away from prying human eyes."

Human… He said the words as if he thought himself something other than such.

He glowered at the man. "You're an idiot, just utterly stupid. Put me down, I would rather drown than suffer your company."

"Such a clever tongue and yet so sharp." Lambo tutted. "Do you have any friends, child?"

"I don't need friends." He answered on reflex. "I will have those that fear me and those I will kill – a hitman needs no friends."

"… Is that so?"

There was silence, something he was both glad for and upset with.

He was glad for it because he hated idle conversation – it wasted time. Yet he was upset with it because the man… unnerved him. He wasn't sure why, but he just did.

A small hunting cabin came into view, shambled and clearly abandoned.

Nonetheless, Lambo carried him inside and set him down on the grimy, unkempt mattress shoved into one corner.

The small space smelled of mold, rotting timber, and of an outhouse. He cringed at the assault of scents, but forced himself to accept it.

"A good hitman kills to get everything they've ever wanted; the best hitman has everything and kills to lose it." After that important quote, his father had shoved him into different situations with varying hardships that each had nearly killed him – some of which he still shuddered to remember.

This was nothing.

Lambo returned to him with a starch white cloth wet from the rain. Where it had come from was a mystery. He began to wash out Reborn's wound.

He was startled into silence, even though he had planned to not say a word otherwise.

He didn't know how to take this man – this man who had carried him out of the rain into a (relatively) dry place and was now caring for his wound.

"A good hitman has others to care for him; the best hitman needs no one but himself."

This man – This Lambo was being… being… unfair. Who gave him the right to dismiss his father's every lesson for something as selfish as kindness?

He clenched one fist and then sent it sailing towards the man's face, lurching himself from a lying position to a sitting one with the momentum of the punch.

"How ungrateful…"

He stared in shock at the hand holding his clenched fist. Lambo, with his other hand, was wiping away the mud and blood from his wound.

"Why are you being so violent, child?" Lambo lifted his head and his lazy and yet somehow penetrating emerald gaze paralyzed him. "What past have you to make you so guarded and your eyes so cold?"

He trembled; for the first time since his father had shoved him into a walk-in freezer and had left him there overnight with absolutely nothing on and nothing to light a fire with, he shook.

That gaze saw too much. He felt it raking through his being, discarding his appearance and seeking out his thoughts, heart, and soul… But that was ridiculous! There was no such thing as a soul…

The man's gaze made him believe otherwise.

"Lie still and I will be done soon." He was gently pushed back into the bed and then Lambo turned his attention back to his leg. "… Goodness… this is deep… Too deep… I will wash this off and then I will get stitches for it."

He wasn't sure why he thought he had to think aloud. After a moment, however, it clicked as the man looked meaningfully to him – Lambo could sense his distrust, his displeasure… He wasn't speaking to himself, he was speaking to him.

He turned his head away, feeling his heart quiver painfully in his chest. "Do what you will."

"Thank you."

The silence was heavier this time. Some minutes later, the cloth completely blood soaked, Lambo stood to his feet and went to the door. "I will be back in a moment – no longer than a clap of your hands." He smiled lightly, his eyes warm and soft as the child stared blankly at him.

"It doesn't matter to me." When the door shut behind Lambo, he allowed himself a snort. Obviously, the man was abandoning him but was doing it as painfully as he could. After all, what could hurt worse than having someone's gentleness and then have that gentleness be ripped away so obliviously?

"… A clap of my hands…" He looked down at said appendages. … Why… was he tempted to try out the man's words? That would be foolish and pointless; that would be something a child would do and he was far from willing to prove the man right.

Yet his urge kept getting stronger and stronger until it was almost a physical need.

"It's stupid; if he was actually going to come back as quickly as a clap of my hands, he would have returned minutes ago." Because a clap only lasted a second or so, true? Possibly not even that much.

"No longer than a clap of your hands." The words played through his mind, as if trying desperately to point something out to him. "No longer than a clap… Your hands…" "No longer than a clap of your hands."

He flinched. … It couldn't be that simple… could it?

Mostly against his will and otherwise for curiosity, he… clapped his hands; just once and weakly so.

He didn't have time to insult himself for doing something so trivial when the door opened almost at the same moment of his clapping, revealing Lambo with a first aide kit in hand.

The man smiled. "I thought you would never clap."

He was understandingly confused and a little miffed at feeling so. "Was there another cottage nearby?" He settled his gaze on the small metallic chest in the man's hand.

There was a pause and then Lambo smiled secretively. "Not really…"

He glared. "You're lying. There has to be someone nearby for you to be so quick."

Lambo chuckled. "That could be the truth… or the truth could be that I am as fast as… lightening." He pulled out peroxide and a cotton ball, unceremoniously dabbing the alcohol-wet fluff along Reborn's wound.

"RRH!" He managed to bite down on a yelp of surprise and a scream of pain at the same time, instead making a sound more like a ferocious growl.

He wanted to call the man an idiot, but instead looked away, letting him do what needed done. Maybe if this man's need to 'help' was assuaged, he would leave him be.

Next came the stitches and He kept his eyes shut as he felt the needle sink into flesh and the thread drag along his burning wound.

This was all something he could live with… it was nothing but a trifle misstep in his trial to becoming the greatest hitman ever known.

Despite knowing that, the pain didn't go away.

"I'm sorry." Lambo murmured. "I'm being as gentle as I can be…"

He glared at him. He was beginning to hate the man.

His gaze met emerald green after a moment. "You have yet to tell me your name."

He said nothing.

"Hm… If that is the case, I suppose I will give you a name…" Lambo pondered it for a moment and then smiled humorously. "Ah… I know just the name… I will call you Reborn."

He stared at Lambo as if he was a fool. "Reborn? Why Reborn?" Why at all? They would never see each other past this day.

"Because… I think you have the strength in you to change and become the person you want to be – I believe you have the power to be reborn from your own ashes."

He scowled and looked away. "I am the person I want to be."

"I have never before met a child who wants no company, no affection, and who wants only to be left to die in a drowning forest."

He flinched. "… This is… what I want to be…" He said again, purposefully and whole-heartedly and yet with hesitation.

"… Ah… but is it who you want to be?"

Startled, he looked back at Lambo with wide obsidian eyes.

The man smiled softly down at him. "You can be what you wish – but you can be a better person as well." He finished up with Reborn's leg and stood to his feet, stretching his arms over his head. "Goodness… I think it's time for me to move on. Yama- … Rain has quieted."

The child blinked as he realized that that was true; all was relatively silent except for a soft, lazy pitter patter, pitter patter.

"I suppose since I brought you here against your will you can fight your own way out, am I right?"

"For the first time tonight." He sniped.

Lambo smiled softly down at him. "I hope we meet again someday… Reborn."

He would have shot back a retort, but the words were dragged from his mind and his throat closed tightly down on speech as the man opened the door and… flashed. There was a flash of white light and then green thunder danced before his eyes.

"That could be the truth… or the truth could be that I am as fast as… lightening."

There was a chuckle from nowhere – no, not from nowhere; it came from the sizzle and spark of the lightening undulating in the doorway. "Goodbye, Reborn."

And he was alone, left in darkness as the rain fell to silence and the storm became mute. Water flooded in from the open doorway and the roof above his head creaked ominously.

Nonetheless, he remained still for a while longer.

To become a hitman… suddenly didn't seem that impressive.

He smirked into the oblivion of his surroundings. He couldn't be the best hitman… unless he became the best in all the world… and its elements.

"Lambo…" He breathed into the shadows. "… Will you still come as quick as the clap of my hands?"

There was no answer; the storm had passed and taken with it the thunder and lightening.

"If so… I will be calling you again… soon. And we'll see who I become and if who I become is stronger than what you are."

Three days later, he made it to the designated area his father had told him to be at when complete with his trial. He stood there, a bloody and muddy mess with untroubled obsidian eyes and a poker face frown.

His father stared dully down at him and the child's expression bloomed into a grin. "Father…" He began in a non-negotiable tone. "I have a new name now and a purpose. Make me the strongest being that has ever lived."

Author's Note: … I don't know why, but my head doesn't feel like it's on right… So I'm not really sure how well this went, all I pretty much know is that I finally wrote and finished a story for the first time in freaking forever.