The scent of blood hangs ominously in the air. It stains my white dress to a dark crimson. My sword clangs to the ground with an echoing clatter while my fingers shake. I take in the sight of Father's defeat. His blood running down my face and body as I stumble back away from the fight. He couldn't die. Not now.
"Father!" I scream, clutching his shirt tightly as he lays bleeding on the mountain top.
But his violet eyes have closed and I struggle to lift him up. "Morasha!" I almost cry in relief of brother's voice just in a few yards in front of us.
He doesn't ask what happens. He simply picks Father up into his strong arms and takes off, I following after retrieving Father's sword, Hyoroku, and my own, Hyoka. The war had been close to finishing when the enemy had ambushed our family as we were taking a caravan of supplies to a tribe in need.
"Morasha, Father will be fine." Brother calmly states, light eyes watching me as I walk silently beside him.
I bite my lip and look away. My eyes instantly search the surrounding area, fear clawing at my heart. What if he didn't make it? He and brother are all I have now after Father adopted me. My memories of being alive remained for some strange reason after my death and they haunted me constantly. I could never feel at ease before I met Father when trying to fight off some of the bandits who raided the village I was enslaved in.
I turn at the rustling of a nearby brush and justly barely catch of the sight of a white hare before a terrible pain erupts through my back. Vision blurring, I stumble towards brother only to slip into blissful darkness.
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