Manzo began his usual walk throughout the path to the outskirts of Orchidia, it was where he called home for the moment. He had truly fallen in love with the scenery, especially the one in front of him. Four hectares of thick spring grass, wet under the early morning dew. Ankle-deep, undulating, thick and tangled as a horse's mane. Steel water trough, lined with green algae, filled with a bucket from the faucet every morning. Wooden fence, post and rail, five bar gate. Beech trees line the fence to the north, overhanging boughs provided apple shade for the horses in summer, standing flicking flies away with their tails. It was a truly beautiful thing to behold. It reminded him of his childhood home in a small joyan village. His mind began to ramble to his childhood home, finding himself quite home sick.

The edge of the woodland, sloped down gently to bramble filled ditch,ditch overgrown with cow parsley and nettles, bare patches, thick lush dew laden grass, cowslip with it's broad yellow flowers trumpetting the music of spring, Dandelions, Ragwort, scattered clusters of rabbit droppings, hawthorn hedge, the brook half chocked with weeds, purple thistle, bumble bee, rutted track, cow pats, clump of figwort. It was truly something that must be seen first hand to truly understand the beauty of it all. Though truthfully, that image was something that wouldn't last much longer than his early years.

The beautiful fields in his mind quickly turned for the worst. It was a battlefield that appeared to be anything but, the people unknowing of their roles and every one of them a double agent. I wish I could have told them all what reality is, how to choose the side that is love and healing... avoiding the chasms that open and the daggers that appear in the hand without asking for them. Each sought to be on the right side, convincing themselves that they were. When they did the bidding of the darkness they made up stories to justify their actions rather than face what they had really done. It takes someone strong to feel the sting of the dark-side and remain steadfast in a will to work only for the light - to see the dagger in hand at the exact moment you feel compelled to use it and still be loving and kind, to let the weapon clatter to the floor, soundless, unnoticed. That's what being a warrior for the light requires, an inner strength, a keen eye for noble and good opportunities to bring peace, health and love - a self-control to avoid doing service for the one who harms. That was the war, the one we hoped to win, but it was hard every day, turning for the better only when we became players instead of pawns, destined to protect our lord.

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What was he in this massive scheme that the old had created for the young. A tool, a tool used for nothing more than the entertainment of old men stuck in their ways. Had it not been for those three loving woman who took myself, I too would have been just as deluded and filled with nothingness as the faces I still see today. Some of those faces still appear in my dreams. They were sons, brothers, and fathers. But I was just doing what I was told, doing what I had to do to survive my situation. But truthfully, these were things I just told myself so I could sleep at night. But for what, It would wipe away my shame. That is what lead me down my current path, a path handed to me by my mentor, master and friend. He knew the blade brought me nothing but pain and torment. So  in his infinite wisdom he set me down the path of magic, and I thank Kenta every day for what he did for me. He gave me all the tools. I still think about that day, and I'm sure I always will.

The battlefield lay quiet, for it was now a graveyard of the unburied. Their corpses lay among the buttercups and forget-me-nots. The sun still shone and the wind still blew, but somewhere mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters waited in vain. These men that were once boys who played in the yard with sticks and laughed at each other's silly tales were now meat for the birds.Their eyes were as immobile as their limbs. Their souls had long departed to the celestial planes to walk with the ancestors. I truly believed my battle had come to an end, it was the end of the road for my young life. Thank the gods above that I was wrong. There he stood before me, the man who had come to my rescue, in my darkest hour, in my time of need. There stood Kenta of the three rivers. Sword in hand, bloodied steel was all I could see, was it this man who had come to stop the violence of the raiders who had come for our caravan. I truly didn't know at the moment. I was coward, my eyes were closed. I knew nothing, I was nothing. My master was dead, for that I was truly grateful. But in that moment he spoke some of the most important words to me. I am the servant of the meek, the master of the strong and the enemy of the evil. Choose where you stand carefully because I always win; it is what a hero does. So ask for help, follow or run... the choice is yours.

Those words still ring in my head like a gong going off, like a bomb exploding. Here was someone so certain of himself, something I lacked. But before I knew it he had vanished, as if into thin air. I stayed at the scene for days, digging graves for the people that had been lost, even those who took the lives of my friends. It was something I felt that I had to do in order to cleanse my soul of what it is I thought had stained it. What I thought had stained me. No matter how therapeutic it would become to me in my memories, it was still  incredibly painful. Imagine the most pain you had ever felt in your life, and that's how it felt. Except I had forced myself to feel it, over and over again. Tough love on myself for having been to much of a coward to do anything in that moment. Days and nights had begun to blend together on this canvas I called my life. Though soon, I would begin to distinguish it all again. And not a moment too soon. Kenta appeared out of nowhere seemingly, though truthfully had I eaten or slept I'd have seen him coming but alas I did not.

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Kenta had looked me in the eyes, piercing through to my soul, he had asked me, "did you dig all of these graves?" I nodded my head, unsure of what would happen next. He cracked a smile, I remember his smile most of all. "So you've made your decision." I was puzzled for a moment, but only for a moment. A firm hand placed upon my head, ruffling my hair. Kenta saw something in me that I couldn't see in myself at that moment in time. He scooped me up onto his back and off we went. After regaining my strength I finally was able to walk on my own again, something I didn't think I was capable of. But it was truly Kenta's faith in me that allowed me to try to function again. When we arrived at what would be my true childhood home. The town was a maze of narrow winding streets, as complex as the heart. The streets were the veins, paved with dark red stones, and the people were the blood. The sound of the smiths, beating swords and breastplates into shape, was the consistent and dull pounding that let you know the town was alive. The colours of the town reminded me of children's toys. Every red was the exact same one, a brilliant cherry scarlet. Every blue was a bright royal hue, neither dark or light. There were no trees, perhaps the foliage would not cooperate to be the same shade on every leaf. The street-lamps were the same canary yellow as the rain-slickers and the iris' that belonged to my new father figure. There was no pink, no grey, no orange or violet; but it was more than that. Nothing was sun-bleached, nothing scratched or chipped. The street was free of litter, the walls were unvandalized perfection.

I often wonder how such a place could exist in Joya, but I just counted myself lucky that such a place did indeed exist. My days with Kenta were more than just wandering from city to city, though there was quite a bit of traveling around, it was something I had gotten used to, but more than anything what was more apparent in my mind, was how hard he would train me. How hard he would ride me. It was as if everyday was a fight for survival, except this time I didn't want to survive because I feared death. I wanted survive because I felt a great burning and yearning for life within me, something I had not felt in such a long time, not since the days of my youth. Oh, how I wish I could return to those meadows, among the trees which had been planted time long past; and I yearn for the extra hours of June solstice, where we frolicked about the vast plains of the open country, and then hurtled back from wherever we came before the moon shed its light on us, and spawned “dastardly creatures”, as mother put it, and to awaken tomorrow so we could begin again. That was a youth of mine I shall never forget, as well as the friends I had shared it with. I just hope they forgive me, forgive me for what I had done to them on that cursed battle field. No matter how many times Kenta told me that I was just doing my best in the situation I found myself in, that wasn't good enough for me. How could it be, we from the same village, we grew up together, I loved these people. Yet, none of that mattered once the swords were drawn, it was kill or be killed, and all I wanted to was survive the day. My survival, in that moment was so much more important than their lives. Something I could not truly forgive myself for truthfully. I had learned to cope with it, through the night terrors, through the cold sweats, through the panic attacks, I came through to the other side. For better or worse I was here. I thank Kenta for that, he was so patient with me, even when he didn't have to be. He had always asked me to describe my anxiety for him, it was something he could not truly understand.

The thoughts race through my head I told him, I want them to slow down so I can breath, but they won't. My wind comes in gasps, my chest feels so tight as if it is going to truly burst. My head is so full, yet so empty all at the same time, my vision won't steady, black spots cloud my eyes. I often think that it isn't real what is happening, oh how I wish it wasn't, but it truly is. It's a like being in hell, like dying but awake. My heart feels as if it is going to crush my rib cage from how it beats, like sledgehammer it bashes away at my chest. An invisible hand grasps at my throat, something I can't break myself from, something I have sit with and suffer through, because it's the only choice I have, because I'm not dying, even though I wish I was in that moment so it would all be over. My hands they tremble and shake, they ache with yearning to end it all so that I don't have to take it anymore. Kenta took me in his arms before I could finish my description, he told me it would all be okay. I would find a way to over come this panic. These fears were not going to hold me back, they didn't make me less human, they made me more human than anyone he had ever met. My capability to feel is what he told me he admired about me the most. I had quickly become his favorite student, and very much a son to him. That made me happier than anything.

As I reminisce, I feel a slight rain drop fall upon my head, the black storm clouds that I had once described as clouding my vision in my moments of panic had become real. Though I did not fear these black spots, I welcomed them. They were like a warm hug from the earth and the air above. It was a storm, something I loved. Something that gave me strength, I am of lightning, lightning is the mother that brought me into this world, the womb that cradled me in my darkest hours, the father that taught me to stand on my own feet. The rod I used to catch fish for my meals, the sword I kept hidden under my bed to protect me at night. I truly believed that I was one with the lightning. As it descended to the earth, to a spot that was not too far from where I was, I took it as a sign, A sign of what I was doing here. Nature had something to teach me, something very important I needed to learn. Like a mother teaching me to speak, to walk, to function. I fallowed the bolts to where they would find their resting place. Then it would hit me, it was striking multiple trees in the area. That was perfect, the perfect application for a new technique. I thought to myself what it would be best transformed into. I had a spell that attacked from below, but what about from the air, an aerial assault was something I was surely lacking. Thats it I thought to myself, I raised my hands up to the heaves, as if preordained by the gods above, I felt my palm struck with electricity, the very electricity that bestowed my gift upon me all those years ago. Within moments the image had formed into his mind, what it is he was to do with this muse of his. As he finished crafting it within his head, it suddenly hit him, Not a blunt object, but thousands of little ones, needles, needles that would pierce his foes. That was it. I then lowered my hand, following the lowering of my hand was a barrage of needles created from lightning. A thousand of them, mercilessly piercing his targets that were the trees, shredding them into nothing more than splinters. After the barrage was over, I looked at my hand in awe of what it is I had done, I had surprised myself yet again.

But did I have another one in me, could lightning strike twice. I raise my hands to the heavens one more time to draw from the well of power that had given me the chance to do this once, hopefully it will allow me to do it once more. My raised hand waited to be graced with the pure joy that was the feeling of the shock from natures greatest source of power, as it met my hand once more, I put the spell to memory, only needing one more to truly get a feel for how much of my own energy it will take. For the final time I law down my hand creating a barrage of electricity so great that it took down the other tree line 15 meters away from where I stood in the field of creativity. Soon after, the sky would open up for the sun to shine upon, I felt that it was Kenta's spirit that brought this storm to me, that brought this muse to me for what would be one of Kenta's gifts I believed.

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