Ten wasn't an old age. Even in poverty and misery which required a rapid upbringing, you were still a child when you were ten.

I, however, had been an unusual child. As I grew up, that would be a side of myself I hid from the world, something I was ashamed of as it had caused my brother's death. But at ten, it had caused me immense pride.

At that time, the men and women and non-binaries of our little village whom chose to do so, received training in warfare from the age of fourteen. And I, since the age of four, had hidden behind a rock, stick in hand instead of a sword, copying everything they did on the training grounds. Not only did I practice the moves, the blocks and the different techniques of slicing, but I always listened intently at the theoretical aspects, absorbing everything like a sponge in a way that was unusual for someone my age as the terminology was exceptionally advanced. I didn't understand the unusualness of the situation at the time. I didn't speak about it with my parents or my brother, with whom I normally shared everything. This was something I was happy to keep it to myself, my own secret world of dreams and fantasies that was, to me, nothing but play.

That was until the king and his men came to the village.

Anger had already begun to ignite within humans at that time eight years ago, anger at the king and his court for not changing the ancient oppression of humans by the elves. Usually when the king, whomever it might be at that point because they changed every five years or so due to the elves' short lifespan, visited us they were welcomed, traders excitedly fighting over who could give the more extravagant gifts or trade the most with the ruler of our Kingdom of Autumn Fire and his captains. This time, however, was different. Me and Madara, my brother, were alone at our little house, our parents out to gain dried food supplies for the month at the local market, when we heard a stir outside. Curious as we were, me being ten and Madara being fifteen, we went out to see a mass of villagers having gathered around a bunch of horses and their riders, who turned out to be the king and his court.

"You are not welcome here!"

It was Gedallion who spoke, a young woman who was known among the elves for her weapon forging. Her swords had killed many during battles around the world, and were gracile yet razor-sharp and beautifully decorated without being extravagant and while still being perfectly balanced. It seemed as if though the king, a nineteen-year-old, handsome elf with white hair reaching his waist and his captains were here to trade for weapons. The villagers were throwing rocks at their horses, causing great despair to them. 

I had the advantage of being ten, so I could use my smallness to get to the front of the crescendo. I looked up at the king, and was fascinated by his colouring and handsomeness, so much so that I was locked into place for a while. I had never seen an elf, yet alone anyone with his colouring. His skin was white, as was his hair, and his eyes were an eerie blue colour, almost translucent, and the whites framing them were not white but red, as if his blood vessels were particularly prominent there. Like all elves he was beautiful, as was in his nature, with high cheekbones and a tall, heavy yet slender body that intimidated my small, childish frame. His horse, pitch black as a contrast to himself, was standing on its rear legs, and I could see the king becoming increasingly angered at this treatment of the animal. The captains were encircling their king to protect him.

Suddenly, there was a roar.

"Get them!!"

It was Gedallion, and on her command, the people of the village charged, running straight for the circle of horses, swords lifted. The captains of the king lifted the swords, and...

I don't remember having any sort of thought process about it. But somehow, I had grabbed a sword from the sales stand of Gedallion, a shining steel one with an amethyst in the handle, that was almost as tall as me, and started yielding it.

At that time, I had only ever trained with a stick, but the sword felt much more comfortable in my hand, being balanced in such a way that it encouraged each movement I made, bringing them to perfection. I twirled and flashed my steel against that of the captains, screaming as I strained my muscles lifting the sword, that was not meant for a child. As the circle of captains protecting their king killed off the villagers, I moved around chopping the hand of one, slicing the eyes out of another. And I was halfway round the circle when they started to notice.

"Be wary! Be wary of the child!" One of the captains. "He's a demon!"

But it was too late. The king himself didn't have time to react before the last of his elf captains fell. Exhausted, I sunk to my knees as the horses of the captains galloped around, wild now as their riders had fallen. The rest of the villagers had fallen dead silent.

"Izuna..."

I recognised the voice of my brother. I realised then that my surroundings had been silent for a good minute or so. The king was looking at me, brows furrowed.

Then, he spurred his horse on and galloped past me, grabbed a rusty sword at the weapon stand made for blunt training...

And sliced Madara's neck.

It happened so suddenly, I didn't have time to even breathe. The sword was in such bad shape that it formed a slit that was too shallow to kill cleanly, entailing that my beloved brother's final moments were a slow pooling of blood not from his carotid, but from his jugular veins, causing him immense suffering and fright as he was slowly drained from life at the age of fifteen. The king then galloped to me, jumped off his horse and landed where I was at my knees, forcing me to watch the spectacle of my brother, whom was the person I loved most, die before my eyes as he lay lonely on the ground by grabbing me by the neck.

"No... NOOOOOOOO!!"

I was screaming and clawing at the king's hands to get free, but to no avail. He forced my head back so I had to watch until I closed my eyes, as Madara started cramping and the sight became unbearable. The villagers were unable to help me in any way and were too frightened to even try to help Madara, and I didn't blame them. I was crying when the king dragged me away to an empty ally, slamming my head into the wall. 

"Utter one word and I'll crack your skull", he murmured.

I hadn't planned on saying anything to him.

He spat in my face, looked at me with those ice-cold, bloody eyes.

"Where did you learn that?" I didn't speak. "WHO TAUGHT YOU?!"

He strangled me. I almost died. Yet, I refused to speak. It wasn't because I was brave, or stubborn. I was just put in a situation too difficult for my young brain to handle.

The king put his lips close to my ear. I had heard the touch of an elf was much different from that of a human, activating a whole different set of nerve endings. The king took great care never to have skin contact with me, wearing gloves and making sure his lips did not touch my ear. "I will not kill you", he murmured. "I will let you live. You are to stop any training you're doing. I will bring your brother's body with me to my castle. If I hear about you doing anything funny, I will have his body manhandled. Be a good boy, and you might have his body back one day."

He pushed me away so I fell into a puddle of old rain water.

He turned and left, his cobalt blue robe blowing in the wind around his black boots.

I was left to deal with my shattered life, not even having the body of my dead big brother to bury.