yukine {w a n d e r e r} fin~

I wasn't anything important, I think. The hazy memories I contain of life before death are simply that of a normal child. A sword clasped within my hands basically since birth. Clumsy fingers still swollen with childhood clasping the weapon. "Shh, don't tell anyone where we got them." A faceless being kneels in front of me, hands forcing my arms into my sides. "The tunnels of the fallen District are dangerous for children like you." They never referred to it as anything else. The fallen District was somewhere to be feared, horror stories instilled within us so deeply I still remembered them. 

They were always strict, I think. Fond of their regiments and rules. Punishment was as common as words, in the Tribe. Something I was quite familiar with. I can't recall their faces, or the weapons used to strike my back. I don't know what rules I broke to warrant such harsh punishment, but the welts on my back which have yet to fade, are proof enough. The questions pile upon my shoulders, doubts and regrets left by the death of a stupid child. 

Not in the literal sense, I know. Death was something to be admired, in that tribe. Revered so highly is was renamed entirely; a darkening. Returning to the shadows whence you came. Death was then left to take on a meaning completely opposite. To cut ties completely with one who shamed you. 

Independence was something they expected you to possess. Or perhaps detachment is a better name. Affection, pity, and dependence were seen as nearly unforgivable acts. Putting yourself in harm's way to save another, stupid. Even if they were your own blood, no one should possess such connections as to willingly give their life for them. 

I never agreed, I think. Even with a sword in my hand, I saw only reason to help. What was the point of holding such power if I used it for such a selfish reason as self preservation. 

That's why they considered me a failed case. 

I don't quite know what they expected me to do, really. It didn't look like a mutt. When it limped across my path, I expected it to be a wounded animal, waiting for its mother to return. I sat by it all day, and most of the night. Giving it the food and shelter the tribe had given to me. 

When it opened it's eye... I froze. The face of this beast is not vague and disfigured, like those of the memories I possess. Bright and ghostly, that of a tortured soul. Bared fangs and sharp claws bled from its skin. Even with my sword brandished in front of me, movement was never an option. It's body was still that of an injured animal. That of innocence. It would have killed me, had someone not risked their life for me. Something I previously thought no one would dare attempt. 

His hair was dark, but skin the same shade as my own. I remember his face in such sharp detail, though perhaps that's because I see it every day now. He killed the beast, in turn saving my life. Arguably, ruining it too. The tribe saw, of course they saw. I was a dead man the minute the beast was slain. It was easy to take my memories from me, little force required. All they needed was a trigger, they'd been implanting failsafes' in my brain since I was a child. Little actions I'd thought nothing of until it was too late. 

After that, my memories were left a haze. I awoke alone, only sure of two things. My name was Yukine, and I owed my life to the dark haired man. It was only later I regained the strength to put the puzzle pieces together. To bring back the hazy semblance of memories I possess. 

The sword was a little ways off in the grass, stained by a crimson I think was my own. The two slashes across the back of my left hand, in the shape of an x, were still wet after all. I felt inclined to take it, as it was all I'd been taught. The only worth I possessed.

Maybe it was intuition, or just luck, but I eventually found him. 

My face was red and breath labored, but I made it. I learned the name of the man to whom my life was now devoted. Yato. I don't think my life could've been saved by more of an asshat. He was pompous and a jerk. So sure of himself. Sure of his abilities and that he would be remembered. Even when I received another name, another brand carved into the skin of my collar, I hated him. Missed the life I couldn't remember. Despised having to fight for a man who shouldn't have saved me to begin with. 

And, don't get me wrong, I still think he's the biggest shit to have ever lived, but the more time I spend with him, the more I understand why. The importance I feel when he calls out the name he gave me, when he needs me is almost intoxicating. 

Dependence was never a bad thing. Everything they taught me was so, so wrong. 

Dying was the best thing to ever happen to me. 

I don't know how old I was, when my new life began. Perhaps I've been travelling with Yato only a few months, or for many years. The only conclusion I've ever been able to come to is that I am around sixteen summers. I've learned so much, leaving the sheltered life I led. It's dangerous, and contradictory, filled with threats far beyond my understanding. I almost understand why the tribe kept those truths from us. It's all so intoxicating. Their power over others would be shattered in an instant. I wish I could remember whether they were good or bad. Maybe then it'd be easier to decide if I missed them, or whether I was glad to be away. I try telling myself it doesn't matter now. 

Nothing has managed to change the fiery spirit i contain. Not everyone can be a fucking god. Not everyone can be perfect. I'll steal, lie and cheat as much as I damn well please. I'm only human. Besides, it's not like anyone will miss the things I'm taking. 

Sure, I feel bad. Of course, disappointing Yato is never easy. But I don't know what everyone wants from me. 

Actually, that's a lie. 

They want my skills, the sword I carry in my hands. No one wants me. Yukine. At least that's how it feels sometimes. I love Yato, in a way you can only love a brother. When he's not dancing on my last nerve, I mean. But the people we work for are just as selfish as I. Just as imperfect. I don't understand what makes them think they're so much better.

They only prove themselves wrong when they catch me. Faces red and angry, voices rising to a volume I never thought possible. How dare I steal something. How dare I lie. They're hiring us for the same goddamn reason. Hypocrites, the lot of 'em. 

They deserve everything I do. 

I think.

I once heard a story about a man consumed by his sins. He became no better than the mutts he was fighting. Even became them, in one version, not that I'd believe something as foolish as that. But, as much as I attempt to detach myself from any semblance of guilt, that story scares me. I'm not perfect, far from it. I've never once believed I was. Some of the things I've done,though, are downright inhuman. My past riddled with bad decisions and fuck ups. What if one day, my rebellion makes me  into something no better than a monster. 

Could I really trust another to bring me back from a path as dark as that?

Can I really stop myself, from becoming a phantom of who I used to be?