The First Time
The hard thumping of the blood running through his body crashing through his veins was louder than anything in that moment. Everything had happened so quickly, and Mizu could barely understand the events as they were occurring. His body moved almost without his will, the practiced motions like programmed clockwork pushing his densely muscled frame, propelling his fist upward into the Raen’s face. He had been aiming for the other man’s jaw, attempting to strike him with a knockout blow. Instead of what he had expected, there was a sickening crunch, the sound of broken cartilage, followed by the gush of hot lifeblood being exuded from his opponent’s face.
His eyes had been closed as he struck, the sand that had been strewn across his face had yet to clear, whatever he could see when his eyes were open was blurry and translucent at best, as the tears tried to flush the contaminant out of his system. The sound that reverberated through his dark, midnight shaded horns was one that he had never heard before, but it was one that had been described to him many times. The thumping in his chest grew louder as his mind started to put it all together.
A flash of guilt rang through his frame as if he were a gong being struck with a mallet. As the vibration across his body began to slow, he heard the voice of his master and namesake. They were standing in the garden only weeks ago, up on a small bridge over the pond, overlooking the koi. *“Always, young Mizuhiro, look for ways to spare life. We may practice arts of war, but there are many different ways to win a battle, more than using your fists and physical might.”*
He opened his eyes, the drops of tears were still working their way through the grit, but his vision was slightly more cleared. He could feel the warmth of the other man’s blood flowing down his fist, along his forearm and staining the sleeve of his silken robes. The man’s eyes were half lidded now, and Mizu could barely make it out as the light left the stunned gaze, causing it to gloss over, the pupils dilating as they rolled back into the sockets. Another sound of the gong hit him.
This flash brought him to the Steppe, he was out on a hunt with Akai and his father, they were following a small herd of mammoths. The sun was low over the ground, casing the blood red streaks of Azim’s light across the sea of blades and over the large, wooly creatures. The older man’s arm went up, his finger extended, instructing the children to witness what was about to happen. “Watch. See the tiger? It slowly stalks its prey. It is after that calf. It will slink and slither almost like a snake in that grass until it can close the gap quickly and pounce its quarry.” His father had abandoned the hunt when the tiger had been spotted. This was a lesson for the twins to learn, not a time to show their prowess. The tiger did exactly as he had described. It waited for the cow to move off, the bull to be further away and the calf nearly alone. Within moments the tiger had negated the distance, dug its claws and fangs into the animal. The raw bleating from the young beast was audible for only a moment before the jaw of the tiger clenched its throat and dragged it off into the tall grass and reeds. “There is sometimes artistry in barbarism, and the animals show us how good they are at what they do to survive. But learn this lesson if you take anything away here: The tiger kills to live, not merely for sport. We do not kill for sport, we only take lives if we have to for survival or our family is in danger of death.”
The clang of the gong was subsiding again, the man had crumpled to the ground his life gone from his body. Mizu blinked hard and tried to wipe his eyes clean but it did no good. It was more than tears and sand, there was a sticky film of blood streaked across his light-violet skin, he could smell the scent of iron as it stained his flesh. He had done what he had been instructed to do, what he had always trained for. The Raen had accosted him drew a knife and attacked him. The pain of a stab wound throbbed in his side as he dropped to one knee… He did everything right. Didn’t he?
As his vision fully cleared he could see the caved in portion of the man’s face. The strike he hit was not one for self defense, it had the full power of murder behind it. He looked at his hands, still smeared with blood, he felt something crack on the inside, something he had not felt before. Mizuhiro crouched over the man for what seemed like an eternity. As he studied the bashed face of the other Au Ra, there was a third voice that called out to him. One not from his past, nor one to offer up wisdom for him to cleanse his guilt. He heard faint whispers, but couldn’t make out the words, only the tone. He was left with a sense of doubt and foreboding. He wasn’t sure what to do next, so he just sat there and stared back at the dead.
