In the Past

Feudal Japan, 1601.

Over the hill, amidst the smoke and the ruins, a raging fire cast its brilliant red and orange glow upon the horizon. They hadn't been ready. Not for her. Perhaps they never would be.

Her presence sparked an all-out war as the powers-that-be declared her appearance a portent of victory and launched into battle. They didn't realize, or care, if she had a mind and a mission all her own.

Around her, people fled before the flames like ants before a deluge, scattering across the fields and seeking shelter in the flooded rice paddies. Unlike the insects they resembled, they made no effort to save their fellows or protect their queen. Not that she deserved their protection. Not after this.

What ruler puts their desire for power above the safety of their own people?

Not an honorable one. But the Daimyo's second wife ruled as queen in name only. At most a regent, she controlled the land and affairs of the province temporarily due to the sudden demise of her husband. Her reign was limited, ending when the heir came of age. This did not sit well with the usurper, for she wished for ultimate control.

The last remaining descendant of the Daimyo by his first wife, the prince was young. It was the only thing which spared him from her wicked poisons. As long as he could be controlled, and offered her some semblance of legitimacy, he was safe.

But in her greed, the queen ignited a war she could not win. Now, the battle had come to their doorstep. Beset on all sides, these humans could no longer protect him...

Alexiandretta could.

It is my sacred calling.

She wove her way sinuously down the mountain trail, sparing an indifferent glance for the attacking warlord. He sat arrogantly upon his horse, egging his raiders on as they swept through the town, setting fire to everything in their path. His metal half mask, Samurai helmet, layered armor and razor gauntlets were indicative of his clan, designed to intimidate.

The Oroku Lords always tend toward the dramatic.

She snorted contemptuously. They fell far short of the majesty of her own iridescent blue and purple scales, seven-inch talons, horns, and gleaming teeth. Still, it wouldn't do to attract his attention, not if she wanted to extract the heir unharmed. With a bit of concentration and a rasping sound, she formed herself into something far less conspicuous.

A small girl child of seven or eight, with shorn hair and a short gray frock, appeared to peek cautiously around the next house, checking the street in front of her for trouble. Her golden eyes remained slitted for a split second, before morphing into the round pupils of the humans around her and darkening to a soft chocolate brown.

Now there was nothing to give her away.

Stealthily, she crept through the ancient town; dark mud caking on her bare feet, splashing up her ankles, and coating her calves. In the chaos, it wasn't hard to make her way to the golden palace and slip in. She was small enough now to fit through the bars of the rear gate and no one spared a second glance as she strode boldly through the gardens. With an attack imminent, no one had time to worry about a street urchin wandering around.

Inside the manor, they ignored her as well, even as she drifted through opulent halls where her peasant garments screamed she did not belong. She didn't pause to admire the walls adorned with meticulous paintings. Mostly, these delicate friezes on rice paper screens illustrated the history of the ruling family, outlining the hereditary lands and the greatness of their name.

If one peered closely, her likeness could be found occasionally amongst the intricate designs. She stopped, staring at one unsubtle rendering close to the floor and dismissed it with a derisive shake of her head. This artist had never actually seen her. The colors were off and he didn't even capture her wings in his depiction.

But perhaps it was wrong to condemn the creator for his inaccuracies for she was in the minority. Most of her oriental brethren shunned flight, preferring instead to travel by magic. She couldn't blame them. It took hundreds of years to master an element and the majority stuck to one despite their long lives.

She had been precocious. Fire was easily controlled and with it transmutation. Yet the sky also called in a way she could not ignore. But that was neither here nor there.

Her old sensei would have smacked her with a claw, told her to focus, and claimed all this wind was scrambling her brain. She smirked affectionately at the memory. It was wind which made her pause here. Wind which informed her the target lingered nearby.

As she stood critiquing the work, a small boy peeked out of an open door to stare. The only one to notice how out of place she seemed in his home. He had certainly never seen this girl with the short dark hair and the dirty feet before. She was a little older and, if she had been one of the daughters of the great nobles, they would have been introduced. Yet she didn't seem impressed by the grandness of the palace.

He wondered about the painting which held her attention so firmly when all the adults around them ran and scuttled about like lost crabs. In all the hustle and bustle her stillness was magnetic.

Obviously, she didn't fear the cause of the uproar and he felt the need to follow her courageous example. Slowly, so as not to ruin the moment, he crept into the busy hallway to her side to see what she was examining. When he saw the picture he understood.

She didn't move, or even look up, as little prince Yoshi came to stand beside her. He hesitated, at first, then reached out his hand and took hers. She entwined their fingers and together they stood staring straight at the image in front of them, neither regarding the other.

"This one's my favorite," he whispered when the silence grew too heavy.

She did not reply for so long he began to wonder if she knew how to speak, but eventually she volunteered a single word.

"Why?"

"It's the only one where the Guardian is down low enough for me to see," he admitted. "Someday, when I'm older, I'm going to find it and ask it to teach me. I want to be a protector."

He tilted his head for a stealthy glance at her face, hoping she didn't think his ambition amusing since everybody knew he couldn't be anything but the heir.

Their eyes caught and she suppressed a gasp. His were a beautiful combination of grey and blue, the color of the sea after a storm. A marker which appeared in the family line only once in a dozen generations. The last time she'd seen it was more than 300 years ago at her oath ceremony.

Yoshi's eyes gleamed in the lamplight, projecting an innocent determination and reminding her forcefully of why she adopted the clan in the first place. They reflected hope and prophecy, but not if the spark was allowed to die out.

When she said nothing, his gaze returned to the painting and his other hand traced the gleaming lines of the beast in reverent awe. Very few families had a physical Guardian. Many had spiritual or ancestral ones, but the Hamato line had been blessed with an entity who intervened directly when the continuation of the line was threatened, at least, according to legend.

"You believe in the Guardian?" she asked and he nodded with endearing eagerness.

"It makes me feel safe."

"What about your guards and teachers?"

He shrugged a little sadly, wise beyond his years. "They are only here because the regent requires them. The Guardian protects my family because they are a part of it."

His quiet statement tugged at her heart. This young prince had lost his whole world. Parents, cousins, uncles, the entire rest of his clan had been quietly removed by the queen, one by one. The only thing he had left to cling too was a name and a myth.

A legend which now stood beside him.

She nodded thoughtfully, deciding to reveal herself even though it was against the rules. Guardians were fleeting shadows who inspired and saved in magical ways; purveyors of miracles woven into tradition. But Yoshi had no one else. He deserved the comfort of the truth.

She could not show him here. There were too many eyes and not enough space.

"I bet with all this commotion, the Guardian is nearby," she said instead. "We should hunt for it!"

The prince's eyes lit up and a huge smile crossed his little face. He nodded wildly in anticipation of such an adventure and with a gentle tug, she towed him down the hall toward the exit. Their escape was easy. Two children offered little interest for those battling grown men. And she used her elemental influence to distract those who drew too close.

When they left the city for the open stars of the countryside, she revealed her true form; exposing herself as his beloved Guardian. They stayed together for several weeks and she adored her little prince, but ultimately she was called to account.

This pairing was a breach of her oath and the Council of Eight forced her hand, insisting Yoshi be placed in a more permanent home. She didn't want to leave him. In so short a time, she cherished him as her own.

But the role of Guardian had strict rules, enforced with an iron fist. She was meant to love the line, not any particular individual in it. She would be removed if she continued to interact with him in defiance of tradition.

She vividly remembered the day she left. She chose him a home in a beautiful forest, away from the province of his birth. A place of safety, far from the rampaging fury of the warlords, where he could grow and live and learn.

Yoshi clutched at the hem of the robes of an old man and stared at her with worried eyes, but the elder had a granddaughter who swore on her honor to watch out for him. Mitsu was true to her word. The little boy grew, prospered, learned to fight, and protect. He married, founded a large family, and died without ever seeing her again.

But tales of her endured within the clan. As myths and legends are want to do...