This story is very much a fantasy—fantasy world, strange, fantasy names, made-up language…the works. I won’t say anything more for fear of revealing anything about this story prematurely, before you even read it, but I wanted to let you know. ;)

This started out as a ‘Naruto’ story—anyone who as looked under the Naruto section on Fanfiction. net may have seen that version. You may find some similarities between this story and the show, and I won’t deny this story was inspired almost entirely from Naruto. I’m trying my hand at making this a complete original—maybe I’ll even publish this version. Read it over and tell me if you think I should even consider this a possibility. ;)

This first chapter is a rewrite of a rewrite of a rewrite, as some of you may know…I hope this version of the beginning is better than the last, even if I don’t think so. If it sounds interesting to you, leave me a review at the end. ;)

Oh yes, this version of the story is a rough draft. A VERY rough draft. If I do end up publishing this story (which I assure you I will), this will not be the version I do so. Why? Because of my age, that’s why. If you see anything that doesn’t make sense, point it out to me, and I’ll see if I agree with you or not. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated…if it is given nicely. I want to be helped, not attacked. So criticize me if necessary, I know I need it!

Enjoy.

Chapter one: Eclipse

“Sithous scum!”

The man’s voice shattered the silence of the cold forest night, followed by the sound of metal on ice as his daggers collided with the long, thin ice-made sword wielded by his opponent. The young Sithous, for the first time during their battle, faltered as his sword was torn from his hands. He stumbled slightly, but managed to retain his feet. Instinctively, he raised an arm to shield his face, and leapt backwards as the human swung one dagger at a wide arc in his direction. The blade missed him by a hairsbreadth. He landed noiselessly in the snow, knees slightly bent. He scanned his surroundings quickly but thoroughly, and saw his sword was lying perhaps ten yards from him on the other side of the clearing, its blade glittering dimly in the Moonlight.

For the first time his impassive expression was broken, a slight scowl crossing his features. Then his expression faded into that perpetual, almost unnerving blankness once again, so quickly the human barely even noticed there had been any change at all. He shifted his gaze back the human, in time to see the man’s daggers come down on him again. The young Sithous ducked barely a second before the blade cut through the air where his head had been, and rolled onto his side in the snow. He moved fast enough so the human did not realize he had even missed before his blades had penetrated the soft blanket of snow on the ground, sending a cloud of cold white dust flying up at him.

Scowling, the man looked around to see the Sithous rise into a sitting position. He moved without hesitation, swinging one blade in an upwards arc, aiming for the Sithous’s leg. The much younger creature pushed himself backwards just in time to evade the blow, but the movement caused him to fall onto his elbows. The human was now standing above him, and a slow, hateful grin crossed his features.

All the human could think was that the mutt he was facing was finally down—he had at last gained the upper hand, and he intended to end this battle right here and now. His eyes burned with hate and repulsion as he glared down at the young boy, and brought one dagger down on the Sithous’s chest. The boy moved backwards again, twisting his torso to the side in one smooth, sinewy motion which would have been beyond any human, so the blade stabbed the ground barely an inch from his abdomen.

“Filthy mutt,” the human man sneered, his face twisted in rage and utter hatred. He pulled the blade from the ground, swinging it across the Sithous’s face. This time the boy did not move quite fast enough, and the dagger grazed his cheek. His head snapped to the side, his long black hair falling over his face in an opaque veil. A sudden wave of cold air erupted from him, and the human immediately jumped back. Small bits of frost had appeared on his blade, and from its tip a small icicle curved downward. The man’s eyes widened briefly when he saw this, and then he scowled and slammed the frozen tip of his dagger into one of the towering trees nearby, shattering the ice which had formed on it.

The Sithous turned back to the man, and his hair fell away, revealing a long, thin cut across his cheek. A small stream of blood trickled from the wound and dripped onto the ground, staining the white blanket with tiny dots of crimson. The human’s grin widened. He took a step closer, unmindful of the frigid waves of air the boy emitted. “You pathetic little dog,” he hissed, his voice terribly full of triumph and disdain. The Sithous moved backwards, but the human only continued to advance. “You are weak.”

Zane, his heart thumping, glanced between the human and his sword, attempting to calculate the distance. It couldn’t have been more than a few yards now. He was backing away in the direction of his weapon, but if he misjudged how far it was, or how fast this human could move, how fast he could…

He saw the bloodlust in this human’s eyes, that blind, burning hatred all the humans showed his clan, the Sithous. This human wanted him dead, and would kill him without a second thought. He understood this all too well—he had seen enough of this intent, the hate, to have made this all too clear. The young Sithous mentally berated himself for letting down his guard, even for a moment—Itsuki had warned him many times not to underestimate these humans. He had, and now he was facing death. If he did not move quickly, this would be the end for him—here, barely past his fifteenth year, at the hands of a human. Ironically, it would be underneath a crescent Moon—the same Moon which had been present during his birth, the shape of which was marked on his forehead.

His eyes flickered to the pale crescent hovering above them in the darkened sky, and then the human’s silhouette blocked his view. The much older man raised his dagger, the grin still stretching horribly over his face. “Time for you to die, mutt,” he whispered.

Palain could taste the victory—finally, after two years, one of these monsters would perish at his blade. For a moment, nothing moved—the entire forest was still, deathly silent. The human raised his blade higher—and then stopped, his grin faltering briefly. For a fleeting second, Palain found himself not looking down into the face of a monster, but a child—this Sithous could not have been much older than fifteen or sixteen, younger than his own son.

Zane would never know why the human had hesitated in that moment, but he did not give the man time to recover. He kicked upwards, his foot colliding hard with the human’s stomach. The man released a cry of both pain and surprise and was thrown to the left, collapsing on his side. Zane leapt towards his blade, snatching it from the snow. He propelled himself towards the human, simultaneously swinging his blade at the man’s chest. He moved quickly—the man barely had time to raise his blade to deflect the Sithous’s, the force of the collision throwing him backwards.

For a moment, human and Sithous struggled against each other’s strength, each attempting to overpower the other. The man’s face twisted with rage and the effort to hold back the Sithous’s sword, clutching the hilt of his own dagger with both hands. The muscles on his arms bulged, his lips pulled back—and gradually, Palain managed to regain his feet. He shifted his dagger slightly, applying more force, and Zane took a step back, leaning a trifle in that direction. His eyes narrowed infinitesimally, hands tightening on the handle of his blade, and stepped forward again, forcing the human’s sword back towards its owner’s chest. Palain scowled—and then, with a sudden burst of strength, moved forward and shoved Zane’s blade to the side. The young Sithous stumbled slightly, and the human brought his curved dagger around, aimed for Zane’s neck—the weakest part of a Sithous.

Zane saw the attack coming, and one hand snapped out as the dagger came towards him, snatching the human’s wrist in mid-swipe. He twisted, causing Palain to drop his dagger. Before the human could even receive the chance to cry out, Zane pulled him forward by the arm, driving his knee into the man’s middle. Palain collapsed into the snow, winded. Zane twisted his body, bringing his other foot around, slamming it into the man’s back. He grunted in pain and rolled over onto his stomach, his arms crossed over his mid-section. The Sithous did not relent, but kicked at the man’s jaw, which immediately numbed from the cold force of the blow. Palain was thrown back, and he lay there in the cold, white blanket of the snow, dazed.

All of this happened in the space of perhaps half a second. The human never even saw Zane move—the young Sithous seemed to disappear and then reappear, the blows appearing to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Palain hardly knew what had hit him—or even that he had been hit at all, until it had ended.

Zane leapt backwards, away from the human. His face remained inscrutable, but he was slightly perturbed. He regarded the human, breathing in quick, light gasps. The man was quick to recover—he rolled over onto his back again and glared at the Sithous, wiping blood and snow from his mouth. “You’re not even trying,” he sneered, his eyes resentful and burning, and spat blood onto the frozen ground.

The dark creature regarded him impassively, saying nothing. The Sithous rose to his feet, a movement so swift Palain’s eyes missed it entirely, his ebony hair falling over his shoulders. His silver skin glittered in the faint light of the Moon, giving him an ethereal, otherworldly look in the darkness. He moved forward, as silent as a ghost, and the human noticed something then—the snow was deep and light, but the Sithous left no tracks in his wake. None at all. He did not appear as if he was truly walking, but rather gliding—as if he really were an apparition.

A shiver ghosted down Palain’s spine, and then he dismissed it—although the unease he had felt since facing this creature only deepened.

The human regarded the Sithous, his face twisted in abhorrence. This hate, however, which had prompted him and his fellow human soldiers to attack these creatures in their massive forest home, only masked the fear underneath. For a moment, looking into the Sithous’s face, he was paralyzed—unable to move or make any sound. The Sithous’s eyes, a deep violet, seemed to penetrate right through him—to immobilize him with their cold, unblinking stare, seeming to cut through his defenses and into his deepest thoughts, into his soul. Those eyes seemed almost to emanate cold—power. They were unnatural, beautiful, inescapable—they stood out against the Sithous’s glimmering skin, and he thought he could see a dim speck of white in each, closely resembling the stars sparkling in the darkened expanse above. The Sithous only looked at him for a moment which seemed to go on for eternity, silent and motionless…and then he vanished.

Palain did not attempt to search for the opposing creature with his eyes this time; he knew he would never be able to find the boy in the darkness of the night. Sithous could disappear without a trace into the blackness, and one would never be able to find them with sight alone. So he concentrated his hearing and his ability to sense the life-force of others, searching for the Sithous’s cold, black energy. He would have to be cautious—to sense the inner force of a Sithous for too long could freeze the blood of any human. So he searched with caution, preparing to block out the energy the moment he found it.

“Turn around.”

Palain whirled at the sound of the Sithous’s smooth, cold voice. The boy was standing by a tree not far from where Palain lay, half-submerged in darkness. Only his eyes were clearly visible, like frigid violet jewels glowing in the black. Palain instinctively gripped the dagger in his belt…but the Sithous was suddenly no longer there.

The human blinked, uncertain. He had thought he’d seen the young boy by one of those huge, looming trees, but now the boy seemed to have vanished. He had not jumped away, or backed into the trees—he’d simply gone.

A wave of air swept over him from the other side, colder than even the artic temperatures which had hung unbroken over this forest since the winter season had begun. He turned, his eyes widening slightly, sure he’d see the Sithous there, half-hidden in the trees, his blade at the ready and those strange, beautiful and somehow frightening eyes narrowed—

There was no one.

Behind him, something rustled in the trees.

Palain whirled again. His heart was pounding in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. He scanned the dark trees in search of his young, violet-eyed opponent. He could feel the cold hands of panic settle lightly over his heart, and pushed them away—he could not afford to panic here, facing a creature such as this. “Where are you?” he demanded the silent, shadowy trees looming ominously above him like gigantic monsters, surrounding him, closing him in.

“Here.”

He sensed the Sithous appear mere inches away from him, and instinctively drew back. This time, he was too slow. Before he even had time to open his eyes, the ice-blade the Sithous wielded was driven into his shoulder. There was a moment of blinding agony, before the shoulder, and his arm, went numb. The Sithous drew his now bloody sword from the man’s body, his expression—or lack of expression—never changing. The man cried out in anguish, and collapsed once more onto the ground, holding his bleeding shoulder. The Sithous regarded him blankly. “You are the weak one, human,” he said, and held his icy blade to the man’s neck. His voice was low, deadly. “Run.”

The man’s eyes widened, and he instantly complied. He scrambled to his feet and retreated into the trees, not looking back.

Zane closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, releasing a snort without amusement. His voice trembled slightly. He felt a little shaken, weary, the way he had always felt lately after these battles. Perhaps two years was enough—he only wished now the humans would surrender and finally leave his clan alone. Zane looked down at the bloody surface of his blade for a moment—and then the sword disappeared, seeming to melt into his hand. He absorbed the ice back into his body, where it had come from. The human’s blood—a foreign substance he could not absorb—collected on his hand in a small pool, and then dripped onto the ground. Feeling a little sick, he leaned down and wiped his palm over the snow, leaving red streaks.

“Zane!”

The young Sithous looked around at the sound of the rough voice calling his name, and a small smile touched his pale lips. “Itsuki,” he addressed the tall, broad-shouldered man who stood between two nearby trees.

This man was human, not a Sithous by blood—but he was as much of an accepted member of the clan as any true Sithous. He had never known anything else, and over the years he had become part of the bloodline in the minds of the clan. Itsuki smiled gently at Zane, his brown eyes sparkling in the Moonlight—and yet, Zane could see he was worried. “Something wrong?” he questioned, stepping closer to Itsuki.

The man’s smile faltered slightly, though did not disappear. He was attempting not to appear too concerned, Zane saw. “Mercury. Have you seen him?”

Zane’s heart skipped a beat, but he hid the immediate alarm, regarding the older man questioningly. Mercury was Itsuki’s son—part human and part Sithous. The boy’s skin was the same silver hue as full-blooded Sithous, although lighter, but his hair was a fiery red—something which had caught all the Sithous off guard—and his eyes were grey; not quite as dark as the midnight black eyes common among the clan. He was a year younger than Zane, he was something of a little brother to the older Sithous. “No. Isn’t he in the village?”

Now Itsuki did seem troubled, and his smile faded. “No…when you left the village an hour ago he followed you. I tried to tell him it was too dangerous, but you know how he is. He slipped away from me. He was worried about you.”

Zane frowned slightly. He had not seen nor heard from Mercury since he had left the village for battle with a group of other Sithous. The initial alarm swept over him again, and he found himself involuntarily glancing down to the blood-stains in the snow. If Mercury followed me…then where is he?

…

“Sithous wretch!” Palain cried angrily, as Esane, his partner, cleaned and bandaged the wound in his shoulder. Esane rolled his dark eyes, finished tying the bandages, and sat back to regard his irate companion sternly.

“I tried to tell you, Palain—you should not attempt to fight these creatures on your own. Even one of them is too much for you to handle alone. These creatures are a hell of a lot stronger than you are—what would you have done if there had been more than one?” Esane put the bandages away, and held up a container of water to his partner. “Here, you’re going to need a lot of this.”

Palain snatched the container out of Esane’s hands. “I thought you said Sithous were weak on nights with a crescent Moon! Isn’t that the whole damn reason you suggested we attack tonight?” he snapped, glaring venomously at his partner.

Esane sighed, rolling his eyes again. “Pal, do you ever listen to me? Remember what Kansana told us? Even the weakest Sithous can easily overpower a lone human. Besides, it’s winter, my good man, and you know cold strengthens a Sithous. We’re no match for them on our own, especially at night, and in this time of year. Whoever you attacked had the upper hand from the beginning.” Palain’s scowl deepened, and Esane crossed his arms and considered the other man steadily. “You should have told me you were going to attack, Pal. I could have helped you. Perhaps together we would have been able to prevail. Now, what color were his eyes?”

Palain did not answer for a moment, attempting to remember. As he continued to think of the young Sithous who had wounded him, the more irritated he became, obscuring his vision and making it near impossible to recall anything clearly. “Violet,” he said grumpily. “That’s rare, isn’t it?”

Esane seemed thoughtful. “Very rare. You more commonly see Sithous with black eyes…Sithous with violet eyes are the weakest of the clan…and on a night with a crescent Moon…if you had only thought to enlist my help, we could have easily overpowered this one. Perhaps even killed him.” He said this with the casual indifference of one who sees those he is referring to as less than another living creature.

“He didn’t seem weak…but he…” His expression became suddenly thoughtful, the anger fading away. He thought of how the Sithous had held back the cold Palain knew he could release, how he had barely seemed to retaliate—and how he had ultimately allowed Palain to escape. If he had not, Palain was certain he would have ended up dead; he had realized this too late. Mercy was not something Sithous were known for.

There was a rustling to their right. The two stood instinctively, gripping their curved daggers, ready to defend themselves should the need arise. It did not, however—two other humans stepped from the darkness of the trees. One was a tall, burly man, the other a young boy with fire-red hair and the same blue eyes as Palain. “Father!” this boy called, and ran to Palain, wrapping his arms around him briefly.

“Asan,” Palain addressed the boy, surprised. “What are you doing out here?” He turned to regard the muscular man who stood by the trees, watching them indifferently. “I thought I told you to keep him in the camp, where it’s safe.”

The man shrugged, saying nothing, and finally Asan spoke. “No place in this forest is safe, Father. Besides, I wanted to come. I just asked Kamais to come along with me. I wanted to see you beat down these little mutts.” He emphasized this last by slamming his fist into the palm of his other hand, and smiled up at his father, eyes alight.

Palain smiled, and gripped his son’s shoulders affectionately. “That’s my boy,” he said, and patted the boy on the back.

Esane regarded them both disapprovingly; he did not like how Palain could so easily allow his own son to take part in a battle he knew was extremely dangerous. But he said nothing, knowing Palain would pay his opinions and warnings no heed. The man was stubborn, to say the least. The same could be said about the boy, as well.

“Father…” Asan said, “Where do you think these monsters came from, anyway? I can’t imagine what could have spawned such beasts…” The hatred in his eyes and voice was quite evident, and his hands clenched into fists, seeming enraged at the prospect of what ever had created the Sithous.

“No one really knows,” Esane said, stepping up beside them, inspecting his daggers. “Some say they came from the gates of Heaven, some say they ascended from the black depths of Hell. The Sithous themselves claim to whoever can get them to talk they are the Children of the Moon…certainly their life revolves around it…but no one really knows.”

“Children of the Moon…” Asan said, looking towards the sky, where the bright, white-silver Moon shone in the form of a crescent upon the world. “Don’t their foreheads have marks in the shape of the Moon?”

“Yes. Sithous can only be born at night, and the shape of the Moon present for their birth is shown as a white marking on their brows. Of course, very few can say they’ve seen the mark—Sithous don’t like it when their mark is seen. No one really knows why.”

“I’ve heard Sithous kill whoever sees their mark,” Asan said solemnly, though the hatred and rage in his eyes remained. His fingers did not loosen.

“Maybe they do, maybe they don’t—who knows if the stories are correct? I’ve never seen one kill, but there’s no doubt in my mind they could, without blinking an eye,” Esane responded soberly, and sheathed his daggers, shifting his gaze to the brilliant Moon. “Maybe they’re monsters, maybe they aren’t. It’s hard for me to believe such a beautiful thing like the Moon could have spawned the beasts everyone talks about.”

“It almost seems to me you doubt the Sithous are malicious,” Palain said hotly, regarding Esane with rising anger. It almost seemed to him his partner was fond of the Sithous clan.

“I’ve never seen them act like monsters,” Esane said coldly. “That’s all. No, I don’t approve of this war we began two years ago. We should leave the Sithous alone—they’ve left us alone.”

“They’re monsters!” Palain snapped with a sort of incredulous fury. “Beasts! They all deserve to be destroyed! Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“I’m on the side that keeps me alive,” Esane said frigidly. “And so far, old friend, that side doesn’t appear to be the one I’m currently on. Monsters or not, the Sithous are deadly creatures. We’re lucky they haven’t killed us all already.”

Palain almost spat out another retort, but stopped, as his partner’s words began to register. It was true—Sithous were dangerous, cold beings, who were rumored to kill without hesitation. So why weren’t Palain and the other humans who had led the attack on the Sithous dead? There hadn’t been a single casualty in two years—how was that possible, considering who, what, they were facing?

“They’re not even trying…” he said suddenly, slowly. His rage had been replaced with a growing excitement. “They’re barely fighting back…”

“What, Father?” Asan questioned, sounding a little uncertain.

“The Sithous!” Palain said. He glanced between his partner, who appeared slightly startled, and his son, who still looked confused. He continued, speaking quickly now, “They have barely been fighting back in this little war of ours. Think about it—we started this war, we’re the ones who always initiate, and none of us have been killed yet. You see what this means?”

“No,” Esane said impatiently, “but apparently you do.”

“The Sithous don’t want this. Their little black hearts aren’t in this. They don’t want to kill us; they don’t want to even fight us!”

“So?” Esane regarded him with increasing impatience, now appearing annoyed. “So what?”

“So…perhaps we can use this,” Palain continued, suddenly clam, smiling a rather maliciously pleased smile.

“How?” Asan seemed excited now, his eyes alight, leaning in closer to hear.

“Simple…”

…

Mercury bounded through the forest, gracefully maneuvering through the dense trees, his head up. His eyes were wide open, blinking only occasionally, his eyelids opening and closing so fast they seemed not to do so at all. His fiery hair was escaping the loose bun he always wore it in; he reached up and pushed a few rogue strands out of his eyes without thinking about it. His concentration was entirely on finding Zane’s energy—the cold, dark energy the Sithous emitted—and locating the older boy. He had been searching now for what might have been a half-hour, perhaps longer—he wasn’t sure. The longer he went without sensing the energy of any living being, much less Zane, the more worried he became.

Itsuki, his father, had attempted to tell him he needn’t worry about Zane—after all, it was only a small band of humans they faced. They outnumbered the rival human army, and they were stronger. Or so, Itsuki seemed to believe. Yet Mercury was not so certain—he had seen the humans before, the abhorrence in their eyes, the bloodlust. The Sithous wanted nothing to do with this war, did not want to kill any of the humans—this was not the case with the humans. They wanted blood. They would stop at nothing until they had attained victory in this two-year fight they’d begun—and from the look in their eyes, Mercury did not want to think what a complete victory might be for them. He knew this, and so, he was worried.

He halted, suddenly aware of a presence ahead—a few. The energy was not weak, but it was not extraordinarily strong, either—and it was warm. Mercury’s senses were not as acute as that of a full-blooded Sithous, but they were greater than any human’s. He could detect a faint, warm scent—rather pungent to his senses, which were used to the frigid odor of ice—and, stronger than the other scent, the smell of blood. Humans, no doubt—but what about the blood? Curious and concerned, yet cautious, Mercury advanced forward through the trees, his gradual approach making no sound. He peered through the trees as the scent and the energies drew closer.

A group of four humans were gathered in a small clearing, talking in low voices, one of them obviously wounded in the shoulder. The wounded man’s eyes were terribly excited, as were those of the boy, not much older than Mercury, sitting in front of him. The blond one was sitting with his arms crossed, appearing slightly exasperated and annoyed, and a burly man stood behind them, boredom and indifference clearly marked on his rugged features.

A Sithous’ hearing was far more acute than a human’s, slightly greater than that of the average dog—Mercury’s, however, was only slightly more acute than that of a human, and he was unable to catch more than fragments of what they were saying.

“Sithous…little…if we…mutts…attack…” It was no clearer than this. Curious, realizing they were plotting something against his clan, Mercury moved closer. He attempted to remain silent, but inadvertently stepped on a fallen branch, consequently snapping it in two. The sudden sound seemed quite loud in this otherwise silent forest. The humans looked around, and the blond one rose to his feet. Mercury retreated back into the trees, concealing himself behind a thick tree trunk.

He held his breath for a moment, his eyes wide, and waited for the humans to come nearer and begin searching the trees. When none of that happened—the humans remained where they were—Mercury slowly and carefully looked around the tree trunk, exhaling as silently as he could.

The blond one was gone. The others had resumed speaking, apparently unaware they were missing a member. Mercury regarded them a moment, confused, searching for the other man’s energy.

The moment he found it, an amused voice spoke from behind him: “Well, greetings, half-breed.”

Mercury whirled and rose to his feet, his eyes wide. The blond man smirked down at him. The human held two daggers, their blades curved slightly to create the shape of two faint c-shapes, glinting in the Moonlight. Mercury backed away, immediately searching for an escape route, knowing he was not prepared to fight one of these humans.

“No where to run, filthy half-mutt,” taunted another voice from his left. He whirled again, to find himself standing before the other man, the one who had been speaking. This human also wielded daggers, grinning now, his eyes so full of hate.

The boy stepped up beside this man, regarding Mercury closely. There was a strange look on his face, one of recognition—and it was then Mercury realized he recognized this boy, as well. “Asan?” He continued to back away, his fear rising, the disbelief at seeing Asan here among the opposing human army quickly overridden. He suddenly collided with something hard and warm, and turned abruptly. The burly man stood there, brandishing a long, curved blade. His face was twisted in an expression of both distaste and a slight interest, as if he were regarding some repulsive new insect—but he said nothing.

“I know this one, Father,” Asan sneered, drawing identical daggers from his belt. “This is the half-breed I told you about, Mercury.”

Mercury looked around, understanding with increasing horror he was surrounded. Belatedly, he realized how reckless it had been to wander so close to the human camps unarmed. He was unable to create ice the way the other Sithous could, and he doubted he would be able to fight off four armed humans without a weapon of his own—Zane might, but he could not.

“No where to run, mutt,” the man beside Asan—his father—repeated in a soft, deriding voice. He stepped closer. Mercury flinched back, and whirled. He attempted to retreat into the trees, but a sudden sharp pain in his foot forced him to the ground with a startled, almost dog-like yelp. He looked down, and saw a dagger lodged into his foot, blood beginning to seep from the wound. The man leaned, and tore the dagger from Mercury’s foot, causing a blinding wave of agony to tear through the young half-Sithous.

Mercury’s body jerked convulsively, and he held back a scream with all his will. He managed somehow to force himself to his feet, ignoring the pain. He would have to escape before these humans killed him. He was faster than them, even on an injured foot, and he would be able to get away if he could only reach the trees—

He never made it; another wave of agony forced him to the ground again as something—another dagger—ripped through his side. He stumbled, and collapsed hard into the dirt. The dagger retreated from his body just before reaching his shoulder, and returned to its owner like a boomerang. Asan was the one who retrieved it. There was a terrible grin stretched over his face of triumph and hate—and yet buried underneath this there was a deep-set fear, and even in the haze of pain Mercury thought that grin looked more as if it wanted to be a grimace of pain. Asan’s dark blue eyes were alight.

“Time to die, half-breed,” Asan hissed, and Mercury saw the boy raise the dagger in his hand. He turned his face away, his eyes squeezed shut. He attempted to prepare himself for the end, which would come in one blinding sheet of agony as the curved dagger severed his weakened neck.

It never came. After a moment Mercury looked up, his eyes wide. Asan’s gaze had diverted upwards, his expression that of both fear and rage. The dagger had descended upon Mercury, but had never made contact—a long, thin blade of ice had halted its path. Mercury looked around. There was someone standing there, someone who had stopped Asan, but the entire world seemed to have been covered by a veil of grey—he could not seem to make out exactly who it was. He squinted against the haze of pain, and gradually the figure began to come into focus. “Zane…” he managed weakly, faint relief washing over him. The older Sithous’s expression was impassive, but his deep violet eyes betrayed his anger.

“You,” a voice hissed. It sounded as if it came from far away. Mercury looked over, to see Asan’s father step forward, gripping his curved daggers. Mercury could barely discern his expression, but he thought he could see the older human was scowling, glaring at Zane. The Sithous did not so much as glance his way, but regarded Asan coldly. His eyes were unblinking, and for a moment he did not move at all. Then he pushed Asan back, using his blade in one swift, sudden motion, and stepped in front of Mercury. Asan was thrown back, and landed in a sitting position before his father. Zane held his ice-blade to Asan’s neck, regarding him wordlessly.

“Zane…?” Mercury faintly heard the voice of the other man, the blond one. The wounded red-haired Sithous saw the man step forward, his eyes wide as he considered Zane. “Wait a minute…you’re—” What Zane was, however, would never be known—the young Sithous’s fist collided hard with the man’s head, cutting off his words as cleanly as if with a knife. The man collapsed, unconscious. Asan’s father stepped forward, brandishing his daggers, mouth twisted in fury.

“Sithous—” he began, but Zane twisted his body in the man’s direction, holding his ice-blade to the human’s neck.

“Retreat, human,” he whispered, and the man’s eyes widened. Asan rose to his feet rapidly, snatching his father’s wrist. He attempted to pull the older man away, regarding the Sithous with wide eyes.

Palain did not move, however—he simply stood there, seemingly oblivious to his son, as he too came to the same realization his partner had. “You…I know you…Zane…” he said, seeming mystified. These words were slightly muddled to Mercury, distant, and the young Sithous could barely make them out. “You’re the one who—”

He never got the chance to complete this statement. He was silenced as Zane’s blade was driven into his side, causing him to release a low grunt of pain and surprise before he collapsed. “Father!” Asan called. He dropped to his knees beside the fallen man, his expression truly frightened now. The tip of Zane’s icy blade touched his neck. He looked up, sweating visibly, his eyes wide and terrified.

“Go, human,” Zane said coldly, emotionlessly. Asan shrank back from the blade, lifting his unconscious father. The larger man lifted Esane, and called to Asan to retreat. Asan instantly complied, dragging his father along, and Kamais followed.

Zane’s blade retreated into his hand, disappearing as the young Sithous turned to regard Mercury. Mercury looked up at him through the grey cloud which had descended over his vision—the world was beginning to fade in and out, and he felt faint, weak. It took some effort to turn his head so he could look down at his wound, and he winced slightly at the sight of it. Blood oozed from the long, thin gash which spread from beneath his arm to the heel of his foot. He looked up again, face pale, lips pressed tightly together with the pain. Even through the haze, he saw Zane’s concerned expression as the older Sithous kneeled next to him. “Are you all right, Mercury?” he questioned softly.

“It hurts,” Mercury managed somehow, finding it somewhat difficult to talk. “I think I’ll make it, though.” He paused, and then added faintly, “I’ll have a scar, probably.”

Zane nodded, and reached out, holding his hand over the wound. He let his hand trail down it, never really touching it. The pain faded immediately, replaced by a faint cold feeling. Zane had numbed him. Mercury smiled gratefully, though it faded as he attempted to sit up, and a fresh gout of blood resulted. The world swam momentarily out of focus. Mercury shook his head, his eyes slightly narrowed, concentrating on remaining conscious.

“We’ll have to get that patched up, quickly,” Zane said softly, regarding the wound with evident worry. His voice sounded far away, and his form was becoming unfocused in Mercury’s eyes. The young half-Sithous shook his head, closing his eyes briefly, and when he opened them the world was clearer once more.

“Well, it’s not like I can bleed to death,” he said thickly—but he was uncertain, and nervously looked down at his wound. Sithous could not die from blood loss; their bodies naturally and constantly replenished their blood supply, as it was always being depleted. This could or could not be the case with Mercury—he wasn’t sure. His blood was only partly alike theirs, and his body was not made up the same way. “I think, anyway.”

“You certainly would have to lose more than half of it, but still…that wound looks deep.” Zane gently lifted the tattered remains of the side of Mercury’s shirt, exposing the injury completely. Mercury flinched slightly once again at the sight of his torn flesh, and turned his face away. The smell of blood—his own blood—was nauseating, and looking at it made him feel dizzy all over again. He was dimly grateful there was no pain.

“Here.” Zane’s soft voice sounded slightly distant again, as if the Sithous was attempting to speak to Mercury through a glass door. Everything seemed to have been veiled behind some sort of light, grey mist, obscuring Zane’s form. Mercury could feel the hands of unconsciousness wrap lightly around him, the world beginning to fade into complete blackness. He closed his eyes tightly and bit his tongue. The pain was sharp and instantaneous, and when he opened his eyes again everything seemed clearer. He took a deep breath, and flinched a little once again.

He felt Zane’s hand touch his arm, and he looked around to see the Sithous had taken out a bundle of bandages. Mercury raised not-quite steady hands to remove his shirt, and for perhaps ten minutes the Sithous cleaned and bandaged the wound as best he could. At last, it was mercifully concealed from Mercury’s view. “There,” Zane said softly. “That’s the best I can do for now. We’ll have to get you back soon for better care, though.”

Mercury nodded, his eyes closed again. He felt light-headed and tired, and it was difficult to breathe. He dimly wondered how he was going to make it back to the village, and something occurred to him. He regarded Zane, slightly questioning. “Zay?”

Zane usually snapped at him for the use of this nickname—although at most times playfully—but the older boy only regarded him, concern etched over his face. “Yeah?”

“Those humans…one of them was wounded. Did you fight them before? They seemed like they recognized you.”

Zane’s expression seemed to falter then, so minutely Mercury could not be completely sure it had at all. It seemed as if a shadow descended over the older Sithous’s face, and for a moment Mercury thought he could see something in Zane’s violet eyes, something he could not quite place. Then Zane turned away, his hair obscuring his face. “Yes,” he said shortly. “Your father was looking for you. He was worried.”

Mercury said nothing for a moment, regarding the other Sithous through the dim haze which had fallen over his vision. There was something strange in Zane’s voice, the way he had changed the subject so quickly, but Mercury could not seem to decide on what it was. He paused, and then finally said, “I was worried about you. I…” He hesitated again, and whispered, “I don’t like this. This…this war with the humans. I…I don’t like it.”

Zane kept his gaze lowered to the ground for a moment, his long ebony hair concealing his expression. Then, at last, he looked up at Mercury again, his eyes solemn. “No,” he said quietly. “Neither do I.” There was a moment of silence, and then he reached up and touched Mercury’s forehead, where his faint crescent-Moon mark was. “I’m sorry, Mercury,” he whispered.

Mercury blinked at the older Sithous, uncertain just what he meant. “Zay?”

Before Zane could say anything else, a relieved voice sounded through the clearing. “Mercury.”

The two Sithous looked around, to see Itsuki emerge from the trees. “Father,” Mercury said, and managed a small smile. Zane lowered his hand, and Mercury looked back at him. The Sithous’s head was lowered, his hair falling over his eyes again. The auburn-haired half-Sithous’s smile faltered a little.

“How are you?” Itsuki rushed to his son’s side, kneeling beside him, and reached out to his shoulder.

“I’ll live,” Mercury said with some difficulty. “Though I’d like to go back to the village now, if you two don’t mind much.”

Itsuki nodded, his grip on Mercury’s shoulder tightening briefly. He wrapped his arm around his son, and assisted the young half-breed to stand, carefully avoiding the wound. Mercury stumbled, but managed to stay on his feet by holding on to Itsuki, once more thankful he was numbed so there was no pain. Everything began to grow hazy again, and he bit his lip in an attempt to refocus the world. “How’s Sazume, anyway?” he asked after a moment, looking between his father and Zane. The violet-eyed Sithous looked up at the mention of his mother, and a small smile touched his pale lips—but that strange look in his eyes had not disappeared.

Tomorrow was the night the entire Sithous clan had been anticipating for the last nine months—the night of the eclipse, an event which only came for the village of Aspasia and its Sithous inhabitants once in a century. At the moment the Moon and Sun aligned to form the total eclipse, a Sithous child would be born—and the eclipse mark would be burned into their brow, bestowing upon this newborn a power greater than any other. It was this child, the Eclipse Sithous, who Sazume would give birth to.

“She’s fine,” Itsuki said, and touched Zane’s shoulder. “Now, come on—let’s get back to take care of the wound. You want to be able to see Zane’s little brother be born, correct?” He looked down at Mercury’s bandaged side, concern etched into his features. Mercury smiled slightly, and nodded.

Zane stood, smiling at Mercury. “Our brother, right?”

Mercury nodded his agreement once again, and embraced the older Sithous as best he could. He smiled up at the other boy, but his smile faltered when he saw the expression on Zane’s face. That strange look was still in his eyes, despite the smile on his face. It was almost…sadness, guilt.

He recalled again what the humans had said—or attempted to say—before they retreated, how they had seemed to recognize Zane from somewhere. What had they been trying to say? Mercury wondered, regarding Zane uncertainly, and his smile vanished. Despite Zane’s numbing of it, his wound was beginning to throb, and he suddenly felt dizzy. How did they recognize him? Why did he want to silence them? What is going on with him?

…

The full Moon moved unhurriedly, its form growing darker as it neared the burning Sun. To the watchful eye, it would seem that the Moon was hesitant to join the Sun in an eclipse. If one looked closely, one would see the Moon halted briefly every few seconds, and then continued slowly on, as if being forced. There was, however, no force involved—merely hesitation. Second thoughts about attempting this battle.

Everyone around the world watched the darkening sky eagerly, and Aspasia was no exception. Dark eyes regarded the flaming expanse above with wariness and exhilaration. Tonight was the night. Finally, after one hundred years, a new Eclipse Sithous would be born.

But would he survive?

…

Sazume laid quietly, her eyes closed, the pain slowly fading as the world gradually slipped away. She was exhausted and could hardly breathe, but she was content.

“Sazume?” Mercury addressed her worriedly, regarding her with his concerned smoke-colored eyes. He was seated on the edge of her bed, and reached out to lay his hand over hers. He flinched at the pain resulting from the movement—over the last twelve hours the wound in his side had begun to heal, and the bleeding had stopped, but the numbness had begun to fade and the pain was back, albeit duller than it could have been.

Sazume smiled gently at him, and regarded Itsuki. He stood beside her bed, gently rocking the quiet infant she had just delivered in his large, strong arms. Itsuki and Mercury were both trusted friends of her and her son, and she knew they, along with Zane, would do well in caring for her newborn child.

“He is a beautiful child, Sazume,” Itsuki remarked softly, and touched the child’s small, silver cheek. “He will grow strong…very strong.”

Sazume nodded, smiling. “Yes, he will. Care for him well, Itsuki.”

“I will.”

“Mother?” Zane said, appearing concerned, and gently laid a hand over his mother’s. “Are you going to be all right?”

Sazume turned to him, and touched his cheek, smiling mildly. “Zane, you know I was not meant to survive this night. Do not be saddened. You have a brother now.” She turned to Mercury, slipping her hand out from under his and taking it into her own. “You both do.”

Mercury smiled, though his eyes betrayed his sadness. “Yeah,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “We’ll take good care of him, promise.” He lifted Sazume’s hand and kissed it lightly.

“I know you will.”

Zane, his expression solemn, leaned over and lightly kissed his mother’s brow, where her white half-circle mark was. “Good-bye, mother,” he whispered, and she smiled once more at him. She closed her eyes, and exhaled her last breath. The three men at her bedside watched soberly as her mark faded. Zane touched his mother’s cheek, and then straightened, regarding Itsuki.

“Itsuki.”

“Yes.”

Itsuki handed the sleeping child to Zane, who held the boy in silence. Then he turned and strode out of the room, his footfalls making no sound on the wooden floor.

Mercury looked at Sazume somberly for a moment, before turning to his father with enquiring eyes. “Father, what will his name be?”

Itsuki regarded him. “Sirius…shall we name him Sirius?”

Mercury nodded, accepting without question. He then followed Zane, and after glancing once more at Sazume, Itsuki followed as well.

…

The Sun and the Moon aligned again after a century. The Moon turned black, concealing the center of the Sun, and the outer rim of the burning star created a ring of embers around the Moon’s profile. It was a lovely sight to behold.

Zane raised the child to the ring of light just as it became complete. A white ring of embers was burned into the brow of the infant, bestowing upon him a power unmatched by any other.

The power of the eclipse.

Zane closed his eyes and lowered onto one knee as the child shone with a silver radiance. Every eye was on the glowing infant, the whole village silent with awe.

Then, as the Moon and Sun separated, and the silver illumination faded, Zane stood. He opened his eyes, and looked down at his sleeping brother. He gently kissed the eclipse mark on the child’s brow, and turned as Mercury, limping slightly, came over.

“It’s not exactly the greatest time to be born,” the auburn haired boy said soberly, touching young Sirius’s cheek. “In the middle of a war.”

Zane smiled at him. “Actually, I believe the war may be over.”

“Over?” Mercury regarded him with slight disbelief. “Do you think the humans have retreated for good, then?”

“I don’t believe they’ll be coming back,” Zane said, rather inexplicably, and for a moment there was something in his eyes, something Mercury could not place, something which almost scared him. And then Zane turned away, as the other Sithous came over to greet the newborn infant.

I’m assuming you are having no trouble pronouncing Mercury and Sirius’s names, and Itsuki is a pretty easy one to break down, too, but ‘Zane’ in this story isn’t pronounced like the English (or wherever it came from) version—it’s actually pronounced ‘Zan-hay’. Sazume is ‘Sah-zoo-may’. Sazume. Sithous you’re most likely saying right, just pronounce the ‘Si’ like ‘sigh’. Aspasia is ‘As-pay-see-uh’. Asan is ‘Ah-sahn’. Esane is ‘Eh-sah-nee’. Kamais is ‘Kah-may-is’. I will clarify on the pronunciation of my strange made-up names throughout this story, just because I think that makes it easier. ;)

Anyway, now all that’s left is for you to leave a review telling me what you think. I know you can’t form much of an opinion just yet, but tell me if you’d like to read on. ;)