Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Fated Meeting

Mornings… they were HARDLY the favourite days in the book of a certain white-haired Orphan.

Worse still, were the Monday mornings, as they seemed to have a certain 'charm' to them which made the less desirable members of society want to crawl out of their hidey holes across the entire village then set up ambushes for potential candidates for the Turf Battles. They did this usually because there was a high likelihood that the brats these candidates represented foolishly gave them enough money to wager for their starting battles, resulting in adults trying to 'push them around' sort to speak.

Those that did this, often found their funds stolen from them from the grown up 'thieves' who either hogged the money for themselves… or had 'employers' sneakily gathering some extra cash for their own purposes, and since there were few witnesses at all, these things couldn't be reported. Heck, even if a witness DID manage to report it, because that witness would usually be some unknown schmuck or someone of little importance, those in power would generally brush him or her off.

Children, especially orphans, slaving away in this so-called 'job' and the adults who profited from it, that's pretty much how the system ran itself, honestly. How it managed to survive this long was considered to be a complete, utter mystery that would baffle any economic and political mind who'd attempt to solve it.

The system itself, as barbaric and far-behind the times (possibly being inspired by the medieval Europe period) as it was, could only be described as broken and illogical. Kind of like a VERY worn out piece of equipment like a small cog in a large, rusty machine about to fall apart at the seams any second, yet the masters of said machine kept it running at top work rate regardless.

If a civilian who'd been raised in a well-off city with a good upbringing, education etc were to look at this system, they'd be APPALLED by it, no doubts could be made about that. Not only did it have WAY too many holes in it that could be easily exploited by the right people, making the rich folk richer and leaving the poor people without hardly any income, but it would not show even the slightest amount of mercy to those who struggle just to earn a daily wage.

Furthermore, there were certain Laws put into place to persuade people 'against' the 'idea' of either working in another job, thus resulting in there being few jobs that weren't connected to these Turf Battles or leaving the village entirely.

One could even consider this entire village to be a thorn-covered cage, and any outsiders visiting would have to conform to these laws or face some… rather harsh consequences. Such things HAD happened before, after all.

This would end up making a certain amount of people wonder just why such a system had been approved in the first place.

Some would wonder if the Village's Elders, since the Village had an Elder Council governing it, were filled with a bunch of cruel sadists who enjoyed these twisted activities.

Others didn't really care much since it easily allowed them to monopolise the Village's economical budget.

Then there's people who just didn't give a shit entirely and tried to live life regardless.

This thought process in particular, had repeatedly crossed through Shiro's mind as the sun's rays illuminated his facial features through the holes in the Orphanage's roof, holes which also served as windows to allow the residents within to look at the night skies. His eyes, covered in dirt and gruel from the Floorboards beneath him like any Orphan in this hellhole, tightened their eyelids in an attempt to block the sunlight for some more sleep. It wasn't often that he had this much sleep due to some prank the other Kids would sometimes cook up for him in another display of their 'dissatisfaction' with his appearance, so Shiro wanted to get as much as he could for the hectic day ahead.

However this turned out to be a fruitless endeavour, resulting in them slowly opening with a dark gleam of annoyance within them. Shiro groaned as he slowly sat up, holding his back which lightly ached from sleeping on these floorboards, even though he had done this ever since he could recall his first solid memory in this twisted lifestyle of his. Well, others would call it twisted, he himself just called it.

'Ugh… Monday mornings are always the most annoying…' the young boy thought as he reached with his right hand to the sword which he slept beside, its sheath having shielded him from getting cut by its blade, before grasping it and standing up. Looking around whilst strapping the sheathe to his person, Shiro noticed that neither Brihanna nor Jamal could be seen, their usual sleeping areas empty including their own weaponry. 'Well, Jamal IS the one who is the most eager out of us to make a good haul on days like this as the eldest of our little trio. Brihanna, I guess she wants to make sure he doesn't get himself killed…'

Thinking this, a low hum mixed with confusion and slight happiness escaped his lips, matched by a half-smile as Shiro's preparations for the day (not like he had much need for a lot of things like washing (unless he were covered in blood and even then the ability TO wash was rare for kids like him), brushing teeth etc) neared their completion. That always did confuse him, why someone like her who could use her looks to entice richer kids to live a life of luxury, instead simply stayed by their sides in this shitty Orphanage. He knew for a FACT that she disliked this place just as much as any other kid would, yet she still stayed with them.

However, he would always appreciate it all the same, for having people close to one another like this, showing great loyalty and consideration (especially considering how Kids and Adults in this Orphanage tended to treat him), made living in this Orphanage much more bearable.

'Whelp, time to go out there to crack some more heads… if I encounter any 'thieves' I'll likely have to book it so I can preserve strength for getting my job done…' Shiro thought once his Sword had been strapped to his back. Since his preparations had been complete, he hoped to avoid any confrontations with other children till he left the orphanage, though in his heart Shiro felt like this would be an impossibility just like all the other times. The kids usually were a little more active on Mondays, even though some looked like they'd rather be sleeping… just so they could torment him further.

Ah, the joys of people, right?

One can literally taste the sarcasm there, huh…

Yet, as Shiro left his, Brihanna and Jamal's makeshift 'bedroom' to go about his daily business, the young male didn't notice a familiar shadowy figure watching him with it's hawk-like gaze, the same one whom had been stalking him since yesterday.

As Shiro had somewhat anticipated…

"Hey look, it's the white head!"

"Yo white head, you still up for earning your keep?"

"Well it's not like you have any choice in the matter, hahaha…!"

… other kids were waiting for him by the Orphanage's main entrance, or rather, the outside one and not the one that led to the main building which gave him a PRETTY good idea of what they intended. The fact that they had their weapons on their person also seemed like a particular motivator here.

Each of them looked to be wearing similar tattered looking clothes, but each of them also had their own unique builds though as Shiro and his two companions weren't the only kids who earned money through turf battles this wasn't to be unexpected. Some of the fatter kids had to stick to less… damaging threat level Turf Battles whilst the slimmer, leaner and tougher Kids usually went for the higher ones, yet despite the number of kids participating in these fights, which numbered at above 30, they were still one of the lesser ranked Orphanages in the Village. Not to mention that they all had different weaponry on their person, decently maintained for weapons belonging to them honestly, though if one compared them to weapons given to those of the more well-off Orphanages, then they'd be considered nothing but complete garbage.

"Move it."

Still, he had no desire to entertain their games and made to push past them, intending to get on with his own business. He should have figured it out though, but when he tried to the other kids rebounded him backwards, causing him to stumble back a few steps but not fall like they had wanted. A kid tried to trip him up from behind, but Shiro had noticed and reacted first, flipping backwards to avoid his foot then performed a perfect split kick, jamming his foot into the kid's face and knocking him down. "#SIGH# seems like the usual gag's started then, eh?" the male mused after rolling backwards and standing up straight. He rolled his right shoulder a full 360 degrees a few times, eyeing each of them with a neutral expression. His distain for them aside, Shiro had plenty of experiences with these lot, so he could always tell what it was that they intended for him, sort of like seeing their true nature and easily seeing through any of their lies/deceptions.

Only added another thing to the list of petty reasons to despise him.

"Why you little brat!" Yelled one of the kids, a burly looking one who wielded a sledgehammer, although Shiro did note the hypocrisy in calling him a brat considering how they were all of similar ages. However, the white-haired boy didn't mention it since past experiences told him they wouldn't have listened… or cared for that matter. "You should be grateful that we even bother to keep you around, you piece of garbage! Nobody here likes you, so accept your annual beatings like the lesser being that you are!" he declared, pointing a stubby finger towards him like he were looking down towards a cockroach just waiting to be squashed.

"Yeah… I'll just go with no."

"You have no choice in the matter, shitstain!"

After yelling that, the same burly kid unleashed a loud battle cry as he charged forwards, swinging his Sledgehammer towards Shiro with the intent of smashing his face into a bloody pulp. What, kids in this village, especially Orphans, had been exposed to plenty of violence already so it shouldn't be TOO surprising that they would swear, threaten and even kill right? They aren't too different from adults in that respect, this lifestyle forced children to grow up fast, should they want to survive.

However, the same could be said for Shiro as his eyes narrowed lightly as his instincts shifted from standby mode to battle mode, his form crouching slightly as he spread his legs out so they resembled a toad's stance whilst his arms were thrown to the side. Just as the Sledgehammer was swung towards his head, Shiro quickly tilted his body downwards and rolled to the side, avoiding the blow whilst drawing his sword as he got to his feet, intending to jump forwards and cut into the other kid's legs to immobilise him. If the circumstances allowed it, Shiro would have killed him no problem, however since the Orphanage they stayed in didn't have much money compared to others of its kind they needed as much muscle as they could to rake in the money… this would be HIS contribution to Jamal's overall dream, since killing them and inadvertently weakening the Orphanage didn't sound like something that would help him out.

Just as he made to jump though, he had to quickly raise his sword so the blade was angled downwards with its tip pointing to the left, blocking a diagonal slash from a similar sword that had been striking downwards at the opposite angle, a brief flash of sparks being born from the collision of the two weapons. The one responsible for the attack, another kid who looked a bit slimmer than the sledgehammer user, growled as the blade he used got sent downwards away from its intended target, allowing Shiro to smack him in the side of the head with his sword's pommel. This ended up dazing the fool, allowing the white haired boy to crouch low into a sweep kick that knocked him off his feet before shifting into a prone position and rolling across the ground to avoid a two-handed axe strike from a rather… muscular lad, like someone who spent all their time lifting heavy objects.

Getting up from this, Shiro continued the fighting with the intent to knock them all out in spite of his instincts screaming at him to do… something else.

All the while, the watchful eyes of the figure kept their vigilance from behind one of the Orphanage's corners.

It turned out to be about late morning, so around 10 to 11 or so, when the fighting ceased with Shiro claiming the victor's position, and everyone else sprawled out on the ground around him. Each of them had varying levels of injuries done to them on their person, however none of them were particularly life threatening, something which Shiro took personal pride in as evident by the slight upturning of his lips as he wiped a trail of blood that had fallen from the corner of his mouth. 'Heh, those idiots… thinking they could take me down with something as minor as numbers on their side…' he thought, more than a little cocky with his victory, as well as a small bit of sadistic pleasure blossoming like a flower in the spring within his torso…

Despite the state he had been reduced to, something which Shiro had already taken notice of.

The thing was, considering how he had taken a bit of a beating himself thanks to some pot and cheap shots taken against him, anything usually goes in fights like these as long as victory was obtained in the end, Shiro couldn't say that he could go a full 100% today without some rest. After all, rest was widely considered something which would come only in rare instances within THIS particular village.

To him, he had learned how good it felt to kill one's opponents whenever they annoyed you or caused you some manner of harm, bodily or spiritually. It felt good, REALLY good, and to him, that seemed like a simple part of the true primitive nature that lay dormant within all human beings. It had been an opinion he had gained since a few years ago when he had his first kill, a bunch of thieves who had tried to rob him of his hard-earned money one afternoon.

It had then turned into one big, insanity-filled struggle for survival at that point, and whilst his memories of the event had become hazy and stained with blood, he still remembered the feelings that he had felt that time: wild bloodlust, a maddening frenzy, a strong… 'desire' for 'battle'. It had been such a wild rush, such a frenzied mass of emotions tainted by the bloodstained blade he wielded as he cut down those who tried to take from him what they felt belonged to them, when in reality that was hardly the case at all.

Then, before he knew it… it had all ended, with him having killed over 5 grown ass adults with just his sword.

At the time, Shiro hadn't thought of it very much, but afterwards one question had bugged him, a question which he largely ignored even now:

What did this make him?

What was he truly?

What would he become now that he had been forced by life to set upon this bloody path?

Shiro didn't know, nor did he care to know. To him, all he cared for was to survive, with his companions being second priority to that… well, he said secondary, but in reality Shiro didn't think he had it in him to abandon those two, especially with how Jamal had convinced him to help with his Dream. They had stuck by him even under threat of being discriminated against by the other children at the Orphanage, and if there was any lesson that he had taken to heart aside from the brutal ones about the cold nature reality had, it would be that owing debts to people wasn't inheritably wrong, but not paying them back was. As such, he would make sure he can help his companions in arms with Jamal's Dream, as a means of repaying the debt of loyalty that he owed them.

A debt that he would likely never repay by just sitting around here, he figured after a few moments, so to that end Shiro got his breathing back in order and proceeded to head out into the town to get started with his day…

"May we speak…?"

"?!"

All of a sudden, a young masculine voice, softer than a feather as if trying to appear unassuming and fragile, spoke from behind the young boy, causing his eyes to shoot open wide. Not only had he not heard such a voice before, but he also didn't even realize someone had gotten so close to him, which resulted in the boy internally scolding himself. 'Idiot, how could you let this happen?! Someone, an adult no less judging by his mature voice, snuck up on you when you were defenceless! If that guy hadn't foolishly exposed himself like this, you could have lost your head before you could repay your debt!' his brain screamed and berated against him mentally, like a professor scolding his student for bad behaviour. Part of him also realized that if it were anyone else then he perhaps could have been looking death's door in the eye, not his FIRST life-or-death experience but still.

Quickly spurning himself into action, Shiro twirled around with his body quickly adopting his signature sword stance: his legs spread open wide and his hands both gripping his sword's handle, angling the blade downwards towards the ground in front of him. His upper body's right shoulder faced his potential adversary as he eyed said being, finding him to be… a man, at least in his early 20's. A man whom, in any other circumstance, would have stolen the breath of any other mortal with how… effeminate he looked, to the point where one might be hard pressed to consider him a man at all. Though Shiro's honed gaze from his years growing up under the threat of his death at any means saw the minor signs of his masculine gender.

Still, that didn't mean he wasn't COMPLETELY unaffected by the appearance this man donned, as he had to mentally do a double take whilst checking out his appearance. Apparently, the man stood rather tall, for an adult, whilst being clad in robes similar to those of some sort of religion, and not one which Shiro had any knowledge of. Hell, Shiro only knew about religion due to overhearing some of the Villagers talking about them in passing, whilst this guy also had a sense of military leadership about him. A mix of the two, especially with the armour plating over his chest, shoulders, forearms, legs and feet, all whilst a slim-looking sword remained sheathed at the side of his waist. He also had a helmet laying next to him, not having placed it on to allow his effeminate facial features, such as his long flowing silvery white hair and alluring blue eyes to be seen by the younger boy.

'This guy…!'

The said boy did not let his guard down however, as he kept his sword at the ready, waiting for any signs of attack. As bewitching and enchanting as this guy presented himself to be, Shiro couldn't give much of a crap, as he growled ferociously like an animal, his instincts SCREAMING at him to be at the ready.

"Will you… lower your sword?"

Once he heard the man ask him that question in that low, soft sounding voice while looking at him with an… an unreadable expression so not even he could tell what the man was currently thinking, adding this sense of… mystery surrounding him, something within Shiro snapped. All restraint within him crumbled to pieces, letting the instincts of a beast inside of him take over as he unleashed a loud war cry, bursting into a sprint as he raised his sword for an overhead swing. He moved across the distance between them in only a second, blurring forth into one big mass of motion with the rage he felt inside fuelling his movements, supplying them, and by extension their owner, with the power he craved to take the head of this adult who DARED tell him to do that one thing. That one thing which he would NEVER do under any circumstance, for to him, the fact of lowering his sword meant that he would be surrendering his life to the one whom he lowered his sword to: an action that would spell death for ANYONE within this village.

SCHWING-CLANG!

When he got close enough to strike, Shiro swung his sword in a downward arc, the man twisted his left side so that it faced the space behind him whilst he held his sword in a downward angle with the guard covered angle over his features. The two lades met together in a mighty clash, with the shorter and smaller of the two sliding the latter blade downwards and away from its intended target.

'?! How did-?!'

Thoughts like this passed through the startled Shiro's mind, his instincts freezing into place from this experience for a short moment before he turned around to raise his sword and defend himself. Shame though, cause that momentary freezing turned out to be his undoing, for the man's sword was then swung and a thrust of the weapon allowed it to lodge itself STRAIGHT through Shiro's shoulder area, close to where his heart would have been but missing just slightly. The sheer force behind the strike, as well as the sound of metal meting flesh filled the air space between them for that one moment, and yet it seemed so loud that it almost resembled an explosion within Shiro's ears, the young lad being launched backwards to the ground behind him.

'He's… quick…'

Again, Shiro got the feeling that he had charged into a fruitless battle recklessly against an opponent that had outclassed him in every way possible.

Would he… expire here?

But… what of everything else…?

He still… had stuff he needed… to do…

Was he… Shiro… going to die… before he could repay his debt… to Jamal… and Brihanna?

Would he… expire… before he could… help swing… his sword for… their… sake?

…

… The last thing Shiro saw, or rather felt AND saw at the same time wasn't the way the man took off his helmet to showcase his effeminate features, nor the look in his eyes as he stared him down into his descent into oblivion…

It turned out to be the crimson hue that took over his vision, his vison becoming slanted like some sort of twisted, demonic lighting bolt's…

Running…

Panic, fear and terror filled his breath, his lungs burning in their desperate pleas for him to stop and rest himself. His legs moved constantly as his sword, clutched within his right hand to the point where he vaguely managed to make out the soft, liquid-like feeling of blood covering it due to how hard he gripped the blade's hilt (that feeling likely came from his own blood too), his arms moving alongside them as they burned within him like no tomorrow. However, he couldn't slow himself down in the slightest, not with the thing behind him chasing his frail, fragile self like a game of cat and mouse, the fear and all-consuming terror he felt inside wouldn't. He knew not what whatever chased him looked like, nor did he want to nor did he dare try to push past the fear to check, for whatever chased him down had been doing so for seemingly ages. Why it was chasing him, a simple child who'd done only what he'd needed to in order to survive he didn't know, perhaps this chase would continue on forever, a thought which sent an uncountable amount of shudders down his small spine as his legs moved like they had never moved before.

"#PANT#... #PANT#...#PANT#... #PANT#... #PANT#... #PANT#...!

He could hear it, the heavy breathing that escaped both his lips, as well as the towering monstrosity that chased him down behind him. The more he ran, the increasingly aware he became of the grim reality that his attempts to escape would only end up being futile, the reality of there being no chance for him to ever be free from this torment settling in as much as he tried to deny it. No matter what he could always feel its presence as if it were directly behind him, feeling its crimson breath which stunk of thick iron found only in the blood of others, he knew this for a fact upon the exact SECOND he had first smelled it in this mysterious, yet unending nightmare.

At this point… the truth for him finally sunk in like a chilling yet unavoidable dagger piercing straight through his very being:

There was truly no escaping it, especially with how everything around him had been nothing but this black, ominous void of pure darkness this whole time, nothing around him to indicate that he had even been moving at all, and finally no signs of life nor light being visible since he started running in the first place…

'... Huh…? Wait a moment… then…?'

Now that he thought about it, how long had that been? How long had he spend running from this inevitability? This fate that demanded to be met by him? He didn't know, nor could he think for much longer as the need for oxygen started to get to him allowing him to slow his movements bit by bit. That is, until he finally had no other choice BUT to stop as his body simply REFUSED to move any further until he had caught his breath, his form hunched over as he placed his hands on his knees even as one of them held his sword, onto his lap whilst he hung his head, gasping for breath like a baby newly born into this cruel, merciless and unforgiving world.

Gradually, as the realization of his futile attempt to flee settled in, his head slowly began to move on its own, changing the direction it faced slowly like an old, rusty robot towards the direction behind him no matter how much his brain tried to command it to stop. Not only this, but a morbid sense of curiosity also swayed control over his movements away from the thing which, by all counts of logic, SHOULD have retained its dominion over them from the beginning of his life to his eventual death, something he had long since been aware of growing up alongside the grim reaper like he had. By the time he looked behind him proper, finally he managed to see what had been chasing him all this time.

It was…

"Guh…!"

Eyes shot open and a small, but quick gasp of air escaped his lips like a prison break, as Shiro finally awoke from his slumber. The teen spent a few moments just calmly remaining spread across the ground, he realized, prone and seemingly covered in some sort of white cloth-a Blanket he soon realized- that concealed the majority of his form save for his head. As he started to calm himself down from that… experience he'd gone through, Shiro clutched the blanket covers with his right hand as he looked around, finding himself inside some sort of tent. He could tell due to the white cloth being sprung up, held in place by some wooden supports, not to mention that it looked just big enough to support a couple people not just a small child like him.

Still, none of this answered the biggest question in his mind:

Where the hell was he?

As that question floated within the depths of his consciousness, Shiro's brow furrowed into a scowl. If someone were to tell him that he would be waking up in an unknown tent today, then Shiro would not only have not believed him, he would have likely ran him through with his sword for wasting the time he COULD have used to gather money for the Orphanage. However, upon closer inspection of his surroundings, this fact became all the clearer for him, and THAT wasn't something which Shiro appreciated. Not. One. Bit.

'Shit… shit! SHIT! This must be…'

Closing his eyes to think back to where he had been before falling unconscious, as well as calm himself for the time being, Shiro winced when he felt a sharp sensation erupt from his shoulder, and when he did do, his eyes widened after throwing the covers off with his left hand to see his upper body bare to the world save for some bandages around his torso along with ones strapped diagonally over his shoulder. Memories of the 'fight' he had with that weird looking white-haired guy returned to him, playing within his brain like they were some sort of message, a testament to the following revelation:

That he had likely been captured by the enemy or something.

The thought nearly made him want to throw up in his mouth in sheer loathing and disgust, although Shiro held it in instead, using his… above average maturity to his advantage to calm his surging emotions and prevent himself from going into a full-blown panic attack. Shiro wasn't a stranger to what he was experiencing, in fact it wasn't uncommon for children like him to be captured by thieves and sold to other places as manual labour workers, child slavery actually was a non-surprising occurrence here.

In fact, a portion of the Village's workforce turned out to be young boys and girls, captured whilst on their patrols for their Orphanages and forced to work for others aside from their own brethren. 'Though, I never considered anyone in that damn shithole, other than THEM, as brethren anyways…' he thought, grimacing as he got to his feet and headed to the tent's flaps, drawn to the sounds of commotion outside like a moth to a flame. Perhaps he hadn't completely woken up yet, cause if he were, he would have been FAR more cautious of going outside unarmed and injured like he had been.

Though, two things he should have thought about before stood out about his situation:

One, he had only been treated for his injuries, not restrained in any way which wasn't the case for other kids in these situations.

Two, and MUCH more importantly… the way that there were various scratch marks on the space behind him where his head would have been back when he'd been asleep.

After exiting the Tent, Shiro felt like he expected only something akin to a slave camp filled with whimpering brats being whipped about by adult slavers or something…

But instead, what he saw was completely different.

Before his eyes, what could only be described as a gathering of adults spread itself out before them. It seemed as though the camp was located around a rather well-fortified courtyard, with there being sandbags over the walls and holes to allow the inhabitants to peep outside for any trespassers. Furthermore, there seemed to be some guards patrolling the outskirts of the camp, although Shiro couldn't see many pedestrians around which made him wonder if this place scared them off with their presence. He would have snorted if that were the case, especially when he saw that the majority of the people in this camp were adults, most being barely in their 20's from the looks of them but considering his own age they might as well be full-on adults to him.

Each of them looked to be wearing some sort of uniform, one made to resemble a mix between robes and armour similar to that guy's outfit too. Not to mention they each wielded an assortment of dangerous weapons, something which made Shiro question on whether or not these guys were just typical thieves or… something else. Well, they did at LEAST look like they came from this village, so that had to mean something, so did that mean that they would shun him because of his appearance too? Probably…

'What the… what the hell is this…?' the male wondered, watching absolutely dumbstruck like a fish out of water, how everyone laughed and howled as they conversed with one another like they' known one another for their entire lives. Some looked to be bathing by washing themselves off in wooden water tubs, whilst others looked to be practice sparring with one another, something which drew his attention quite quickly since out of all the stuff he'd seen, THIS was the most familiar to him. The way their weapons clashed, the way that sparks flew…

Wait, his sword!

TAP-TAP-TAP!

The sound of footsteps reached his ears just as Shiro started to panic when he realized that for the first time in a long while, his weapon had not been on his person since he'd woken up. Part of him cursed himself for forgetting such an important piece of equipment to his survival whilst he looked to the source of the footsteps. Low and behold, the same man who had defeated him so soundly (much to Shiro's humiliation) stood there before him, holding Shiro's precious sword.

What was his goal, here…?

"I am Griffith, what's your name…?"

"… Shiro."

Whilst the boy wondered what this man was intending for him, instead of responding to his introduction Griffith he'd his prized possession out in front of him, looking down to inspect it with an affectionate gaze. "This sword is an excellent one, it is quite well made, and it suits someone like you perfectly. I'm afraid I, on the other hand, have no ability to truly wield it." He explained, completely pulling a 180 on Shiro's expectations with how… soft, his features had suddenly became, like the persona he had seen of him beforehand had never even existed in the first place. The way his eyes beamed with an almost child-like innocence, the way he smiled so brightly that it rivalled the large hot thing in the skies above them, it al took him by surprise as he silently offered his sword back to him.

As he took it back into his waiting hands (mentally sighing and unintentionally allowing his body to relax, now that the comfort of having his sword was back), the effeminate looking man known as Griffith turned his back to walk somewhere, potentially leaving his back open to a strike from behind although Shiro felt in his gut that wouldn't work out too well for him. "Would you accompany me…?" he asked, but to Shiro it felt more like an order.

Knowing this guy outclassed him in swordplay at the moment, Shiro quietly complied, although he definitely wouldn't miss the chance to have a rematch with this guy in the future.

Still, as he walked off after him, Shiro couldn't help but notice the way the guy walked, something about it felt… off, like he were trying to conceal something. An injury perhaps? Shiro wasn't sure, but he didn't care enough to ask.

After all, why would he care for someone who humiliated him like that?

"Pshaw, what the heck is Griffith thinking? Bringing a brat like that to our Camp…"

"Maybe he's trying to make an ally?"

"?!"

"You DO know that the captain did suffer an injury to his person by that kid, remember? He came with several wounds to his person that he said the kid had and judging by how his posture is right now I'd say there's some credibility to that story."

KICK!

"Quit sproutin' that shit, Rickert! That brat's got nothing next to us adults, he wouldn't be able to kill a damn beansprout compared to the guys we face on a daily basis. Right Pippin?"

"…"

'If looks could kill…'

Shiro would have been an idiot if he hadn't noticed the unfriendly stares directed at him, especially with how he holstered his sword onto his back and held his arms in a crossed position under his chest like he were letting down his guard. The way that the majority of the camp attendees stared at him looked a lot like the ones which he'd seen aimed at him from the kids back at the Orphanage. However, there was something… different, off he could say, about these ones. Back with the children he'd seen them as a source of arrogance, of false pride and superiority since they acted like that despite not being as good as him with a weapon. Well, to be fair whenever fights broke out between them the staff members would step in, then believe their story over his (even if the evidence contradicted this) and they'd pull mocking faces at him when the staff members weren't looking. Kids weren't the only ones who bullied him because of his appearance, after all.

Whelp, perhaps he could ask? No point in not trying after all, Jamal would have said.

"… So who are these guys? With their evil gazes…"

"…We are the band of the hawk."

"?!"

"You know of us?"

Shiro scowled after his momentary shock when he had heard that name be uttered from Griffith's lips. How could he have NOT known about that name, the Band of the Hawk were QUITE infamous in this village. Little was actually known about their true origins, as they came into being only recently, about 5 years ago or so. However, that didn't mean that they didn't have their own reputation by this point, no sir. Not only did they start off as a band of petty thieves who stole and sold children from Orphanages as slaves to various 'interested parties' before becoming a full-fledged fighting force ain to a Mercenary group, but they too sent representatives to fight in Turf Battles against them.

One could say that they were similar to a mobile Orphanage themselves, or even a mercenary group with how they act.

Despite them looking like they were full of young adults not that much younger than their leader, the Band of the Hawk were considered by the Village Elders as a 'player' in this 'game of survival' against the other Orphanages, their leader obviously being this Griffith guy Shiro had only paid a little attention to the rumours spread about them, but they definitely had earned the reputation that they had, for whenever their reps returned to their ranks they usually held hugs sacks of money, won through the highest threat level battles. Furthermore, people WIDELY feared meeting these guys on the battlefield due to not only the fierce fighting strength behind their members, but also because of the cold, often emotionless detachment that their Leader portrayed as he systematically butchered his opponents with an almost inhuman grace to him.

This information made him wonder though: Just HOW the hell did he attract this group's notice anyways?

"Ahhhhhh, this hits the spot...!"

Finally, after walking for a short while Shiro and Griffith stood atop a large, open area. One could have called it some sort of training ground considering all the equipment lying around the areas' edges. It looked pretty obvious that Griffith had wanted them to be in some sort of open space, which only added to the young boy's suspicions about his motives. For someone who led a former band of child traffickers, there seemed to be some 'oddities' about him since he didn't treat Shiro like any normal child trafficker did with their 'wares'. It made him all the more cautious, especially if he were to be forced to fight his way out, which Shiro doubted he would be able to survive for much longer afterwards, especially within this den of ferocious wolves.

(Play Berserk OST - Guts)

Finally, as Griffith stretched his arms up after taking a large breath of the air, probably not liking too tight spaces very much (something which, reluctantly, Shiro mentally admitted he agreed with this person on), Shiro decided now would be the time to get some answers out of him. "Why?" he began, getting the older man's attention. "Why did you miss my heart on purpose back there? For someone like you, simply killing a defenceless child shouldn't be too major a concern."

...

"... Because I realized the potential within you, and I WANT that potential, Shiro." Griffith finally answered with his hair swaying slightly in the ensuing gust of wind. It also caused his clothes to flutter in the same direction, alongside Shiro's own ragged robes whilst if his hair had been as long as the older man's. it wouldn't have looked akin to rustled grass. Still, Shiro's surprised expression caused Griffith to elaborate on his point. "We were also there overlooking that Turf Battle yesterday, allowing us the fortune of witnessing your fight with that other child. What you did in that battle impressed me... but it was also very dangerous. Despite that battle not being too high on the threat level, there was still a chance that those rich kids would have not only pulled a fast one on you, but that big one had the strength to kill you with that weapon if you got hit in the right spot by it."

"...Probably."

Yeah, Shiro couldn't argue with him there. The whole thing about 'treat levels' in Turf Battles had been decided by a group of old geezers who didn't know what fighting was actually like, hence even though their system SHOULD have been effective, there were cases where death occurred beyond the scope of the high tier Threat Levels in Turf Battles. It had been something Shiro had become well aware of, since it DID concern his own life, but to him it didn't seem like too big of a deal, not in his mind at least.

"... You're honest." Griffith remarked, slightly smiling whilst a little chuckle escaped his lips. His gaze then peered downwards towards the boy's abdomen, the gaze slowly changing into a more... melancholic one, perhaps even remorseful as his hair still fluttered in the wind, though towards Shiro this time. "That fighting style you use...although self-taught and could be improved, its a style that incorporates one core aspect: that you gamble with your very life on the line."

"?!"

Once again, Shiro lightly gasped when he heard those words come out of this man's lips. Nobody, not even his childhood friends ever noticed that part of his fighting style, though by no means did he blame them. They DID usually fight separately, plus he felt like they perhaps had their suspicions about it but they never really confirmed it with him. Still, for this guy who he considered a stranger to notice that... well, it caught him off guard a little. Regardless, Griffith turned around, facing away from him yet still continuing his speech. "You don't budge an inch against people who try to oppress you, instead you just charge on forward sword swinging, regardless of your situation. Some would call that reckless, even suicidal, but at the same time it seems as though while you gamble with your life you are also struggling to make it out alive, like something greater is forcing you to live on. That's how I see it at least."

Shiro stared as Griffith said all this, utterly speechless despite the scowl on his features as he stopped himself from succumbing to the urge to just swing his sword right now and cut Griffith down for... well, for lack of a better word 'exposing' him. He couldn't hep it, the more that he spoke, the more Shiro felt like the chains, things which he used as locks to hide away everything he felt inside, were being forcibly unravelled, laying everything out flat and bare for all to see. He didn't like this feeling, having never felt it before and thus didn't know what else to do with this 'threat' against his internal defences. Even though his mind reasoned that Griffith's skill with a blade far surpassed his own, the sheer NEED to do so in order to keep his internal conflicts to himself pretty much demanded him to take action, resulting in this conflicted feeling arising within his chest, like two armies were charging into one another like some sort of ancient medieval battle in the past.

'Should I...? Or should I not...?'

After a moment of contemplative silence between them, Shiro saw Griffith look up at him once again, his face that of a smiling innocent child who found a new, intriguing toy to play with. "You're interesting, and I decided that I've taken a liking to you." he stated, though the following statement pretty much sent the entire conflict within Shiro into a screeching halt.

"I want you... Shiro."

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