A/N: This one's for Shaka, and it is also the last one of the collection. Amazing how quickly thirteen chapters come around. I must also say Shaka is my second favorite gold saint, and the favoritism I feel towards him made this no easier to write. This was by far the hardest one to write out of all of them. Still, I really do like this one. I won't say it's my favorite-Golden Heart was-but it's up there. Second fave, maybe? I am not entirely sure Shaka is actually in reincarnation of Siddhartha, no one quote me on that. I was watching episodes with very bad subtitles and my Japanese is not perfect, nor did the English manga clarify that detail. I am sad to see this end, but at the same time, it is a relief. One more fic I have seen to completion. Hurray!

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For Shaka of Virgo, supernatural occurrences were as natural as breathing. His first memories were not of being held and spoken to by loving parents, but rather of spirits singing soothing songs to him in tongues he did not speak. He'd been isolated from the world practically since birth. As soon as he'd been born,the elders of his village recognized him to be the reincarnation of Siddhartha and discouraged too much contact with him so as not to contaminate him. By the time he was five-years-old, solitude and illness where all he knew. He remembered the day his new master-a kind-faced man with white hair-came to take him away from his world and brought him to the Sanctuary. At the time, he'd weighed a mere twenty seven pounds-far too light considering he was slightly above the height norm for kids his age-and was so severely malnourished his master had feared he would perish from illness before they could get him back to proper help. To Shaka's surprise, having people care about him made him feel uncomfortable. He didn't want others taking care of him.

Once his health had been stabilized and he had put on ten pounds, he resumed his normal quiet solitude. Aside from the time he spent with his master, he was alone, and that was what he liked. He had little desire to play with the other children his own age, the children who ran so carefree across the battle grounds as though nothing could hurt them. Under his master's instruction, he kept his eyes closed most of the time even though he was not blind so he could sharpen his other senses and he meditated. When he wasn't meditating or training, he was allowed to open his eyes so he could read books and complete puzzles. He never longed for human contact, nor did he expect for others to reach out to him. Then, slowly, little by little, all of that changed.

It all started with a visit to the same place he visited every day in his homeland in India. The day was particularly horrendous as his young eyes took in the sight of suffering and his young nostrils inhaled the stench of decay. Why had he not noticed this intense poverty when he'd been isolated. Even though he'd been malnourished before going to Sanctuary, he'd never been as hungry or miserable as some of the people looked. The suffering people looked at him in awe, a child by himself. His shoulder-length hair, in its unusual golden hue, as well as his pale skin, were clean, his white sari a new one his master had made for him. To people so poor, he must look like a god. He passed by three girls with long, matted hair, hugging each other and screaming in grief. Along the river banks, people from all villages prayed in their frayed clothing, their skin dirty and blistered. Where were the gods now when his people so badly needed them?

When he finally reached his private retreat, he threw himself on his knees and cried like the little kid he so often forgot he was. This was terrible! He closed his eyes, feeling his tears soak his long eyelashes. His body convulsed from his crying, but the more he tried to stop crying, the harder he cried. Had the gods abandoned him, too?

Shaka. My dear Shaka. The voice spoke through the darkness.

Shaka took the same comfort from the voice as a regular child his age would from his mother.

Why are you so sad? You are only six years old, and yet you seat yourself here every day. What distresses you so?

"Today I saw bodies floating in the river", Shaka replied telepathically, feeling somewhat calmer. "And along the river banks were people from all the villages...they were praying...but to me, they looked like they were praying for death rather than life." He paused. "Why is our land so poor? It's like the people here are born just to suffer sadness and sorrow."

My dear Shaka, is that what troubles you so?

"Who wants to lead a life with nothing but suffering?"

Shaka, there is no life that contains ONLY suffering. Where there is pain, there is also joy, and vice versa. Beautiful flowers bloom, but they also wilt. Nothing that is born to this earth stays still for even a second. This is called transience. Human life is no exception.

"So if everything ends in death...doesn't the sadness win out in the end? Even if you seek out love and happiness, it will mean nothing when you die?" Shaka felt fresh tears flow down his cheeks. "Why do people keep getting born into this world to be consumed by death? Death is final and eternal...no one can avoid it..."

Shaka, you're forgetting something. Listen to me. Death does not have to be final. All of the holy beings of the past have overcome death. Dear Shaka, if you can comprehend this, you shall become the most godlike of mortals

Shaka fell face-forward on the ground, dizzy and dehydrated. He'd forgotten to eat or drink all day. As his eyes slipped shut, he heard the spirit's voice offer one last piece of advice

I am confident you'll fully understand when you get older, my dear Shaka. I only hope you won't completely cut yourself off from the contact of other humans.

Shaka tried to get himself up, but when he'd fallen, it had been with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs. He was too exhausted to get going, so he curled up on his side, resting his head on his arm. Within moments, he was asleep.

"Shaka...Come on, Child. Get up"

Shaka slowly peeled his eyes open to see who it was that kept shaking him. The shakes were gentle-more like nudges-but they annoyed him. His annoyance quickly evaporated as he realized the person shaking his shoulder was the Pope. He arranged himself into a respectful kneel as gracefully as he could.

The Pope's violet eyes beheld him in concern.

"Shaka, are you alright?"

"Yes, Pope Shion", Shaka replied quietly, hanging his head in shame.

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling even more shameful, as a voice, frantic and soft, echoed off the cave's walls.

"Master Shion, was he in here? I asked the villagers, and they all said they saw him come here."

Shaka felt Shion's eyes bearing into him.

"Yes, Mu. He is right here."

"Ah, thank goodness."

Mu's gentle voice reached his ears and he heard the older child's footsteps come closer to him and Pope Shion.

Shaka held his breath, waiting for Shion to scold him. The harsh scolding he expected, however, never came. He cracked his eyes open as he felt something warm being slipped around his shoulders-Mu was putting a heavy cloak on him.

"You're lucky young Milo noticed you were missing and came to me", Shion said kindly. "You probably wouldn't be doing so well if you were left here all night."

Shaka merely nodded. His mouth was too dry to say anything, and he was confused. Why had Milo cared enough to notice he was missing? For that matter, why had Mu come along to help his master search for him, and why was the older child being so nice to him now? Nothing made sense-he'd never shown the slightest bit of interest in either Milo or Mu.

I only hope you won't completely cut yourself off from the contact of other humans.

Shion's arm slipped around his shoulder and helped him stand up.

"Are you ready to go, Shaka?"

"Yes, Pope Shion. I am sorry I caused so much trouble.", Shaka replied humbly.

"Maybe...", Shion said slowly. "Maybe it is time you moved on, Shaka...Maybe it is time for you to let go of this place and find somewhere else to train."

Shaka's blue eyes snapped open. He gave the Pope a pleading look.

"Please, Pope Shion..." he cut the protest short when he saw the pain in Shion's eyes. He sighed. "I understand."

"You are very wise for a child so young", Shion said. "Come on, Mu. Let us go back to the Sanctuary together."

There were no words spoken between any of them the whole way back to Sanctuary.

"Spirit", Shaka pleaded telepathically with his guide. "I am so confused. What do I do?"

For the first time in his young life, his questions went unanswered.

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"Shaka?"

Shaka didn't bother opening his eyes as he lifted his head at the sound of his master's voice. There was a rustle of fabric as his master settled down beside him.

"You can speak to me if there's something bothering you, Shaka."

"Are you sure, Master. I know this is a difficult time for you, since your best friend died recently."

There was the futility of life again. His master had shared such strong bonds of friendship with another it had been as though they were brothers, and for what? To stand back helplessly as his friend-his brother-died an agonizingly slow and painful death? Why would anyone want the company of others when it left them vulnerable to such sadness?

His master's warm hands wrapped around his own.

"I'm an adult, Shaka. You are a child. A gold saint, yes, but still a child. I will always be here for you, no matter what you need."

Shaka shook his head.

"It's OK, Master, really. I need to think this out on my own."

"Very well. Oh, I've set you up with a play date with Pope Shion's student, Mu. I think you two will get along very well."

"Wh-why?", Shaka stammered. The thought of interacting with another child his own age frightened him more than the thought of any war.

"Shaka, in nearly two years that you've been here, you have yet to speak with the other children. You are going to be seven years old soon. It is time for you to come out of your shell and spend some time with your peers. Part of sainthood is forming bonds with your equals."

Even as he protested, Shaka knew there was no changing his master's mind. The man was set in his ways.

"I'm not like you, Master. I don't need human company."

"No, you don't need it", his master agreed. "But it will make your days more enjoyable. Continue your meditation. I will send Mu by later."

Shaka just sighed. He was sure everyone in the Sanctuary was against him for some reason.

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Shaka brushed his bangs off his forehead. Somehow, he'd fallen asleep during his meditation.

"Ah. You're awake."

Shaka opened his eyes and blinked. A small figure with pink hair sat not too far away from him, a book in his hands. Mu had arrived.

Mu smiled at him and set his book in his lap.

"I know. You weren't sleeping, you were meditating."

Shaka felt a smile pulling at his lips.

"No, I was definitely sleeping."

Mu shrugged his shoulders. His green eyes held a glimmer of mischief that contrasted weirdly with his gentle features.

"I won't share your secret if you won't share mine."

Shaka rolled his eyes. Humans.

"I can't share your secret if I don't know what it is."

Mu motioned Shaka closer to him.

"I am not reading the book my master told me to...don't get me wrong, I like mythology, but this is far more fascinating. I don't think people realize how important our Cloth really is...it has its own life. It can die..." Mu's voice trailed so low Shaka nearly missed the last part of his sentence. "I want to find a way to repair it once it breaks."

Shaka blinked. Out of all his lessons, never once had his master mentioned anything about the Cloth having its own life.

"There's no way to repair it when it breaks?"

Mu shook his head.

"As of right now, no. Once a Cloth dies, it is lost forever."

"That would be a very good piece of information to learn", Shaka said, genuinely impressed. Here he was, talking to a kid only a few months older than he was, and they actually appeared to be on the same level of intelligence.

Mu stood up and walked around Shaka's stuffy bedchamber.

"You don't ever leave anymore?"

Shaka shook his head.

"I don't feel like explaining myself."

Mu just smiled again.

"Then don't."

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After their initial visit, Mu started coming by to visit quite often, usually accompanied by his friend, Aldebarran. They never really talked much, usually they read books while sipping tea, occasionally making comments. Sometimes they just plain lazed around, dozing off on days where they were especially exhausted. Every once in a while, Aldebarran would bring sweets he made. On those days, they would make tea and bring it outdoors and enjoy the sunlight.

Shaka found himself enjoying their company. For the first time in his life, he understood what it was to feel happy. None of them were very talkative, but that didn't seem to matter. Even in silence, they managed to have a good time together.

"Where are we going, Mu?", Shaka asked. It was his seventh birthday and Mu had told him he had something to show him.

"We're almost there. Just keep a hold on my hand and keep your eyes closed. It's a surprise."

Shaka could hear the birds' chirping growing louder, the cold, wet ground was making his feet freeze in his flimsy sandals, and there was a scent in the air that reminded him of the scent Aphrodite tracked through the temple every time he passed through it. They were definitely out of the Sanctuary-where was Mu taking him?

Finally after what seemed like an eternity, Mu said "Ok. You can open your eyes now."

Shaka slowly peeled his eyes open and blinked a few times against the bright light until they adjusted.

"SURPRISE!", a group of people sang. "Happy Birthday!"

Shaka stared in shock. His own master was there, of course, and so was Pope Shion. Beside him, Mu let go of his hand, and he could see Aldebarran's tall form standing near a tree. He also saw Aiolia, smiling and looking a little shy at the same time. The last people he noticed where Milo and Camus, standing away from the group, yet somehow part of it. Milo had his tanned hand clamped firmly around Camus's pale forearm. Milo was smiling. Camus looked like Shaka felt-like he thought running away was a splendid idea.

Before he could recover his wits, the blue-haired ball of energy known as Milo came rushing up to get a closer look at him.

"So this is what Gold Saint Shaka looks like. He'll become a legend among us-the man who never leaves his temple!"

Shaka smiled slightly.

"You have an unusual aura around you"

"Ohhh...what's that?", Milo asked.

"The aura of an idiot", Aiolia teased. Shaka could tell Aiolia was being playful by his tone of voice and the smile on his face.

Milo stuck his tongue out at Aiolia and turned his attention back to Shaka.

Shaka chuckled softly.

"I was going to say the aura of one who rushes into things and does not know when to hold his tongue."

"Which is a polite way of saying you're an idiot", Camus said.

Milo pouted.

"Everyone's so mean to me...ohhh!"

He dashed off and Shaka could see Aiolia's elder brother, Aiolos, approaching with something in his arms.

"Come on", Mu said, guiding Shaka over to a wooden table that had been set up.

"Mu? Why are we having my party in the middle of the woods?", Shaka asked.

"Pope Shion hoped to keep from distracting us older saints", Aiolos answered for Mu. "But it didn't work out as smoothly as he planned."

"It would have worked fine if you hadn't of followed me", Pope Shion replied. "And then you came up with some crazy story about Shura hurting his leg."

"It should have been his arm...he forgot where he was supposed to be hurt."

Shion shook his head as everyone laughed.

"I suppose I can't fault you for wanting to attend a birthday party."

"Nope. We need more parties", Aiolos set the cake down at the table.

Shaka's master situated the cake directly in front of him and the other children crowded around him to sing happy birthday. It was about halfway through the song that Shaka realized Milo was singing his own rendition:

"You look like a monkey and you smell like one-Ah! Camus! That's my foot!"

"Woops. Sorry", Camus replied.

The two started to bicker.

"Uhh...", Shaka said hesitantly. "Shouldn't you stop them?"

"Nah", Aiolos said. "Milo and Camus are best buds. Sometimes they need to argue with each other-such as now, when Camus believes Milo has been behaving inappropriately."

"Oh"

Shaka's master came up behind him with a cake cutter. He placed it in Shaka's hands and wrapped his own around the child's to help him hold the cutter steady.

"Best to do this quickly, incase their fight gets physical."

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Much later, after all the cake had been served and destroyed, Shaka sat back, idilly picking frosting and cake crumbs from his blond locks. He was watching Milo and Aiolia try to strangle each other while Aiolos attempted to break them up.

"Your hair is almost the same color as mine now in places", Mu said lightly.

Shaka could see sections of hair that had been streaked pink by strawberry frosting.

"Indeed it is", he agreed. "Somehow I thought food was for eating, not for throwing."

Mu smiled.

"With Milo and Aiolia around, it could be used for anything."

"I see."

Shaka went back to picking crumbs from his hair, but now he had a better understanding of human life. He was still at a loss at what Spirit's words meant-how could someone transcend death?-he now understood why people sought out the company of others. Even in the midst of sorrow, a good friend could ease the pain. The joy they brought to the life of another far outweighed the pain when they died.

While he wasn't ready to completely give up his solitude-nor would he ever be-he figured he could tolerate the company of his fellow gold saints for a while. After all, he already knew what it was like to hear the voice of a god. He heard them clearly and understood. Human voices, on the other hand, were a puzzle to him. A puzzle he was suddenly eager to solve.

END

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A/N: And that's it. Sorry for it being so late, I have been insanely busy, then I went to New York, and then I spent the past three months sick and in and out of doctors' offices. But I am better now and back. I hope you all enjoyed it. Please leave a review.