Rural Japan, June 2011

"A wound will rip through the sky and draw forth a river of cosmic blood, falling to the earth where the child slumbers on her tenth day.”

Bruce blinked through sweat as he scanned the sky with bloodshot eyes. Nothing but stars. Certainly nothing that matched the words of the prophecy.

Flicking his cigarette out of the car window, he spared a glance at his watch. 11:35 PM. Time was running out.

Up ahead on the narrow country lane, the lone house stood dark, the newborn and her parents fast asleep, as they would likely remain.

The girl had the lowest probability rating. Last. Bottom of a list of nearly thirty such children.

And that was why Bruce was assigned to watch her.

He was right at the bottom, too.

Shaking his head and cursing his ill-fortune, he checked his phone for the other sign he was waiting on. No word from his wife.

He slammed his fist into the dash. Mei was in labour back in Tokyo, and here he was, sweating his ass off, a feast for mosquitoes while he stared at an empty sky like an idiot. Meanwhile, all the teams he used to control conducted the real effort over sixty kilometres away, where the omens actually pointed to.

Things couldn't get any worse.

Bruce closed his eyes and sagged into the seat. If his father was still alive...

With an incessant buzz, his phone stole his attention before his hate-filled past had the chance.

The smiling image of his beautiful wife came onto the screen. As Bruce moved his finger to swipe across and answer, something else reflected over the phone's surface. A soft red glow filled the car.

Bruce's heart stopped. He lifted his gaze to the sky.

Listening to the legend as a child, he had always wondered what exactly a wound in the sky was supposed to look like.

Now he knew.

High above the house, embers and wispy flame burned at the edges of a giant stream of molten red, orange and yellow light gushing forward like lava spewing from the burst mouth of a mountain. As it fell, it spread to columns of light, stars twirling and sparkling in it’s misty glow.

Down it crashed to the house. Bruce instinctively ducked behind his wheel as it hit, a wind of red and purples blasting past and dissipating away in total silence.

His fingers burnt as his phone fell from his grip, fizzing and popping with smoke.

Dammit. So much for calling for backup.

What was he supposed to do now?

He rose and peered over the wheel, the sky dark and healed, the house and surroundings not affected by the blast. Checking the gun holstered beneath his thin jacket, Bruce took a deep breath, then exited, making his way along the shadows of the road. His old teams would have seen the sign and be en route, he was sure. But so would the others, and they would be faster. There was no time to lose.

He couldn’t believe it, though. It was actually happening. Excitement and nerves burned inside him. This could be his chance. His way back to the top. If he could bring her in…

The already narrow path grew tighter as lush green filled and grew from the trees at its side, sprouting flowers that held their petals wide open as if looking to the sun. Twinkles of yellow and gold rose from the depths of the twirling vines and leaves as Bruce pushed through the ever narrowing entrance to the sloping driveway.

Silent, he crept to the main porch. The door was already open, an inner slide of mesh net covering the space. He slowly slid it across, and stepped in.

All was quiet in the house as his footsteps creaked along the old wooden floor and down the hallway, a soft smell of incense in the air. At the far end, paper-thin sliding doors loomed next to a narrow staircase. He placed his foot on the first step, looking up and around, his gun aimed ahead.

A baby-like gurgling noise came from behind. He spun, hairs on end.

The previously dark doors were now illuminated with a soft light from the room within.

“Come, Bruce. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Bruce froze. That voice. Like gravel and glass rumbling in deep water.

The space between the doors and stairs seemed to stretch and bend as Bruce’s mind failed to process what he was hearing.

Somehow the humid night seemed cold as he stretched out a trembling hand, and slid the door aside, blood rushing in his ears.

Sitting at a low wooden table over the green tatami floor, was an old man. A man Bruce knew all too well. A ghost.

Elkin.

He sat there, as if the house was his own, leaning back, his bald head shining in the light above a face shrouded in a thick white beard. Dazzling blue eyes met Bruce’s as if looking upon an old friend, his beard rising in a hidden smile.

It only took a moment for Bruce to override his fear with anger, for all the vengeance to rise up in his heart and take his actions beyond his conscious control.

The gun aimed, his lips snarled, and his finger curled at the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Elkin’s smile faded, the blue eyes covered in a grey mist. Bruce stared in disbelief at the weapon as his finger failed to pull the trigger, held back by an invisible force.

“I expected...more of you,” Elkin said, his voice grave.

“You’re one of them?” Bruce blurted, his voice wavering, “you’re meant to be dead!”

Elkin shook his head and sighed.

Bruce’s anger flared, his mind barely catching up with his emotion.

“You killed my father!” he roared.

Elkin’s brow furrowed as his eyes took on a fierce look. He sat up straight.

“Bruce, I tried to save him. He was like a son to me.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Lies!” Bruce shouted, trying to move but finding he couldn’t. The fact Elkin had powers was all Bruce needed to know. He couldn’t be trusted.

But just how powerful was he?

“The girl, she boosts my abilities…,” he said, as if hearing the unspoken question.

Bruce grit his teeth. He had to bide his time.

“What will you do with her?” he said, “take her to the others?”

“I do not serve the others, only fate itself. To push this child into either side of your war will only deny her that which she needs most; love.”

Had he lost his mind?

“Elkin, did you not see the sky? She will bring the end of days!”

“I saw it long ago, and have waited for this day ever since. Her fate will be her own, I will see to it.”

Elkin was going to destroy everything.

“She must die!”

“And you would be the one to kill her, Bruce?”

Elkin’s eyes had the sheen of tears, but none fell.

“The containment teams…”

“You know nothing, Bruce. Nothing of sacrifice, nothing of the truth.”

I know that you need to die, old man.

Something stirred beside Elkin on the floor, the old man pulling a basket into view.

“Now, now, little one. It’s ok, go to sleep.”

The child. Elkin rocked the basket as if a doting grandparent.

“What did you do with the parents?” Bruce asked, prompted by the thought.

Elkin looked down for a moment, before meeting Bruce’s cold stare.

“Taken care of so that no one will ever search for her.”

He’d killed them. The shock must have shown on Bruce’s face, for the old man continued.

“They were a sacrifice that had to be paid. For them to live, was for her to die. Any parent would do the same. Your father understood that. As should you.”

Bruce felt there was some hidden meaning in the words, but his mind could only think of one. A cold shiver shook his body.

“You’re going to kill me?”

Again Bruce tried desperately to move. Elkin hardened his gaze as he rose and stepped over to him. A warm and hard hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Once, you were like family to me, Bruce. But you are not the same as the child I once knew.”

Bruce tried to think of something to say, but nothing came. His eyes darted around the room as his body failed to even shake.

Settling back on the old man’s face, Bruce saw he was crying, and for a second, Bruce’s heart felt something for him, like the old man was telling the truth, that standing before him was someone his father had trusted his life with. Family.

“I will watch over your son, Bruce. I promise.”

“My son? What do you mean? She hasn’t—”

“Forgive me, Jun.”

Before Bruce could ask who Jun was, he felt his own hands turning and rising up toward his chest. Elkin picked up the basket.

“No, no! Wait, Elkin, wait, I can change. I can help you! I—”

---

Bruce’s body landed with a thud on the previously green tatami. The baby cried at the sudden burst of noise.

Elkin, tears flowing of his own, held the basket up to his face.

“I’m sorry, child. It seems today demanded sacrifices from us both. Now rest, for we have a long journey ahead.”

As if seeing his tears and understanding something, the baby became quiet.

---

They were too late, Takahashi could feel it as he arrived at the house, a few minutes past midnight. The air was alive with the buzz of power, and the stench of death.

“Sir, the girl, the parents, all killed. Their bodies are upstairs,” his man Shirai reported, head hung low.

Takahashi clenched his fist. They had failed her. Once in a thousand years this chance would come, and they had failed. His blood ran cold, icey power freezing through his veins.

The war would rage on, for without her, there would be no hope of an end. He wanted to scream, but that would not do in front of his men.

“Sir, an agent of The Order was found inside. It appears he took his own life after killing them.”

“Who exactly?”

“Bruce Feathergood, Sir.”

Takahashi nodded. In a way, it made sense.

“Dispose of his body so that no one will ever find it.”

“Yes, Sir. And the house?”

“Burn it.”

Takahashi looked to the hillside. Lights of cars approaching up the winding roads. He smiled. Nothing would calm his rage, like a fight.

---

After a few hours of driving, Elkin brought his car to a stop. This was as far as he would go. As far as the visions had shown him.

Rising up the mountain side was a small house and farm, untouched by the tragedy of the earthquake and tsunami months before. The town below had not been so lucky. Large swathes of land before the coast lay desolate and ruined.

Under the light of the moon and stars he left the car, gently picking up the basket that held the sleeping girl, trying not to wake her.

With careful steps he walked through the neat rows of growing plants and vegetables that led towards the main house, every branch meticulously pruned and cared for.

Towering over the house was an old tree, bordering upon a small rice paddy and narrow stream. By the trunk he placed the basket, away from the old swing that hung from the thick boughs above. As he did, a leafy plant disentangled from the tree’s base and crept around her like a blanket, flowers blooming from its vines.

Elkin smiled. She truly was nature’s child.

Bending down, he spoke, his voice as low and as soft as it could be.

“Goodbye little one, until we meet again. I only hope it is not too soon.”

As he reached his car, he took one final look back, and knew he had done the right thing. She would be a seed of hope for a town ravaged by disaster, and for the farmer who had lost all but the land he owned, and his caring heart.

For they would teach her love and hope, and when the time came, it would be that and that alone that would save her.

And, as some believed, the world. Elkin smiled, and drove away.

---

“Meow?”

Something warm and fuzzy pushed against Eiji’s rugged face, half-waking him from the best sleep he’d had in the past three months. He sighed, trying to ignore the sound and return to bliss before it completely left, and the despair of the real world returned.

“Meow!”

Something sharp bit his chin, followed by a fluffy blow to the nose that then trailed into sharp scratch.

“Meow!”

“O.K, Shiro-kun, O.K.”

Eiji slowly stood from his futon, and rubbed his eyes, searching for his glasses.

“What? Shiro! It’s only 4am and you want food already? How fat do you want to get?!” he finally said as he saw the clock. He sighed, he would have been up at 4:30 anyway. At least he had slept well this time.

Eiji had bought Shiro as a kitten for his daughter when she was born, and ever since...the disaster, the old, white and fluffy feline had been taking advantage of the fact Eiji didn’t know how much food he was meant to have. But Eiji was on to him now, and Shiro, on a diet.

Eiji yawned, changing his clothes, and walked through his small house and into the kitchen.

“Ohayo,” he said in morning greeting, brushing his hand over the pictures of his wife and daughter laid on the kitchen-side, where he could always see them. Similar photos lay dotted all around the small house; he wanted their memories everywhere, and not just in the old shrine in the back.

Turning on the coffee machine, he began preparing Shiro’s food. If he was hungry enough to wake him up at this time, Eiji would let him eat and have his own way for now, but come dinner, revenge would be sweet.

But today, the fat cat wasn’t circling round his legs, neck craned, expectant and oozing fake love. He wasn’t even in the kitchen. An urgent meow came from outside.

Eiji grabbed his cigarettes and stepped down the entrance to the house, shuffling on his shoes, being careful not to move his daughter’s or wife’s. Sliding across his door, he popped a cigarette into his mouth and set about finding the blob of white.

It didn’t take long. Turning the corner of the house, he saw him laid atop a bunch of leaves and flowers, next to the old oak tree.

As he neared, he could hear the cat begin to purr, like a small engine idling. It was a really nostalgic sound; he used to do that with his daughter all the time, but why was he doing now?

Another sound filled the air, and Eiji froze. There it was again. A giggle?

Eiji bent down, noticing a basket entwined within the strange leaves and flowers. Holding the multi-coloured petals in his fingers, he struggled to identify what kind of plant it was. Maybe something his wife had planted?

And then he saw it, and jumped back, tripping and landing firmly on his bottom, his cigarette falling from his mouth. Taking a second to let his beating heart recover, he was 55 after all, he began his re-approach in caution, circling around as Shiro eyed him suspiciously.

A few deep breaths later, he brushed aside the leaves, and took a proper look. A baby. A real baby, looking up at him with the biggest and brightest eyes he had ever seen.

Out of habit, he bowed, and then immediately felt like an idiot for doing so. But as he ran his fingers through his hair and looked around, half expecting someone to jump out and claim the baby as theirs, something on the tree caught his attention.

A heart drawn in the trunk, revealed by the strange plant pulling down at the vines. It was his name and his daughters within, along with the word ‘forever’. He’d forgotten. She’d cut it out when she had been only six. Her hands had been so small as she had chiselled away, and she’d been so happy...

Like a dam breaking, all the emotion he’d been holding in released in a torrent of sadness, and he cried, and cried. Cried for his daughter, for his wife, for all the people who’d perished.

And then something wrapped around his little finger, and like a beam of light breaking through the storm, he felt a stir inside his heart.

It was the tiny little baby, a whole hand gripping on tight, and not letting go.

The heaving motion of his sobs faded, and he found himself smiling, feeling a small glimmer of hope.

He laughed, smiling as he wiped away his tears.

“Thank you, baby-chan. Thank you.”

Brushing away the plant and a very protective Shiro, he picked up the basket and walked back inside. Even if the parents came to collect her today, he would remember this girl, and the gift she had given him, forever.

First though, he was going to have to figure out what to use as a nappy.