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Once upon a time, there was a golden kingdom. Full of life and happiness, the people of that glorious jewel they were fortunate enough to be allowed to call home went through their days without a trace of sorrow. For there was no such thing as sorrow, or pain, or suffering. Their home was a place of perfection, a place one would think to call paradise.

But there are no places like paradise. And the perfect kingdom with its towers of black crystal and rivers of obsidian beauty fell. Everything died, the people, the knowledge, everything. Nothing remained but a child's tears and a warriors blood.

For those two were the only survivors of the cataclysmic disaster which had the great honour to wipe a once powerful nation from the face of time. A child and a warrior. Twins, if not through birth than through experience. Brothers in blood and pain. United for all eternity in their wish for revenge.

Revenge. What a pitiful wish to avenge the victims of nature. But this is what they wanted to do. What their bleeding souls screamed to the heavens. What their broken hearts demanded. They tried to fulfil their promise. They really did, but there comes a time when one sees the impossibility of ones task, when there is nothing left but failure.

This time came for the two survivors earlier than they hoped. Grief stricken and destroyed beyond repair they had to admit that there was nothing they could do but give up. Give up and live their lives anew, try for a small piece of happiness, a tiny bit of hope in a cold cruel world.

And though they did everything to stay alive, to not be wounded or hurt, one of them died. One of them died a horrible death full of tears and promises which could never be kept. One of them died only to be saved by his companions blade. For this was the only way to safe not only the boy but his offspring as well.

The child died with a smile on his lips. For it was the sight of his child's father holding the small being up to the moon that was the last thing he would ever see.






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