The snowy ground was stained with blood, and in the middle of it lay a young man in his twenties, sprawled on his back. His breathing was ragged, his bright eyes staring dimly at the gray sky. His white hair clung to his pale face, streaked with sweat and blood. The robe he wore, marked with the emblem of the Shogun, was torn at the chest, where a savage stab with a long rock had pierced deep into his flesh, as though it had lodged itself in his heart, beating its final moments.
Before the fallen body stood another young man, seemingly of the same age. His dark brown hair was spiked like thorns, and his amber eyes gleamed with a cold cruelty. In his hand, stones gathered and took shape, as if the earth itself obeyed his command.
The wounded man raised his head with difficulty. His red eyes still shone despite death creeping into his body. He looked at him in shock and spoke in a broken, hoarse voice:
"Why… wh… why, Makia? I thought… we… ah…"
Blood burst violently from his mouth, splattering onto the ground and the other man's clothes. But the one standing before him showed no trace of regret. He kept staring silently, mercilessly.
[21 years later]
Inside an ordinary middle-class home, in the kitchen, a small child barely a year and a half old stood unsteadily. His hair was red like blood, and his bright gray eyes were full of innocence. He stumbled with tiny steps, eyes fixed on his mother who was cooking. It was as if his gray eyes drew comfort from her blue ones, while her tied brown hair swayed gently with every move she made at the stove.
Outside, the full moon shone in the endless black void of the night, as if it were the only light left against the evils of this world. Soon, clouds gathered, painting a chaotic silver scene across the sky above the house. Moments later, thunder roared like an omen of a cursed day, and heavy rain began to fall.
In the heart of the storm, a shadow appeared on the street, walking steadily until it reached the house door. There, the face of a man in his early twenties came into view. His dark red hair glowed like fiery thorns, and his gray eyes mirrored those of his son. He wore a formal suit and carried a black leather briefcase.
He paused briefly at the door, then calmly pulled a key from his pocket. The moment the key touched the lock, the mother turned toward the sound in fear. At that same moment, the child's eyes lit up with longing. He stumbled forward, trying to run as he shouted a single word that filled the room:
"Papa!"
The father entered, and as soon as his gaze fell on his little son, the boy raised his arms toward him. The man smiled warmly, knelt, and lifted the child gently. The boy hugged him tightly, closing his eyes as the father finally broke the silence with simple words:
"I'm home."
But as soon as the words left his lips, lightning split the sky and struck near the house. The child shuddered, his eyes widening in fear as he clung tighter to his father, as if he were the only shield in this world.
"This damned lightning… it's fiercer tonight."
The father muttered as he closed the door slowly, turning the key in the lock, shutting out the raging storm outside.
Far away on the same continent, the storm raged even harder, as if it meant to swallow the world. Streets styled in traditional Japanese design lay empty, forced silent by the rain.
Only one man walked the road. He was dressed in a full black suit, hiding his body from head to toe. In his arms he carried a newborn wrapped in a white cradle, the child's cries mixing with the endless storm.
The man holding him showed no reaction. He walked on silently, peering into the houses through their windows. At last, he spotted a home where a couple and their young daughter were playing together in the living room. Reaching the doorstep, the dim light revealed his dull golden eyes.
He placed the baby at the door, rang the bell quickly, and disappeared before anyone could see him.
The homeowner opened the door, his short purple hair catching the lamplight, his chocolate-brown eyes narrowing. But no one was there.
"Who's there? Zeiko, you brat? If you show up at my door again, I'll beat you so hard you won't forget it for life!"
He growled in annoyance. Then his eyes widened when he noticed the crying infant swaddled on the ground. He bent to pick him up, only to catch sight of a figure fleeing in the distance. He shouted instinctively, child in arms:
"Hey, you! Come back here!"
He ran after the stranger, his footsteps splashing through the rain as his voice rang out again and again:
"Come back here!"
But the man vanished into the storm. The pursuer finally stopped, panting, then looked down at the wailing child before returning to his home.
When he entered, his wife and daughter stared in shock at the infant he carried. He gently set the baby on the couch and uncovered his face. The poor child was no more than a day old, abandoned in front of a stranger's home.
His deep blue hair shimmered faintly under the light, his golden eyes bright as the sun. On his forehead, a small golden mark shaped like lightning glowed.
The baby cried louder, his wails filling the room. The mother, with pink hair and violet eyes, drew closer with her three-year-old daughter, who looked like her mirror.
She turned to her husband in disbelief, her voice trembling:
"Vanco, where did this child come from?!"
Vanco sighed and answered nervously:
"Some stranger left him at our door and ran. I don't know what to do!"
The mother's gaze fixed on the mark of lightning on his forehead. Without hesitation, she hurried to the kitchen to prepare milk.
Moments later, she returned with a bottle. She uncovered him completely, revealing his tiny arms. On his right arm was a name clearly etched: Sakamoto Akio.
Her eyes widened as she whispered softly:
"Sakamoto Akio… so that's your name?"
She lifted him gently and fed him. His cries faded as he drank quietly. Outside, the storm calmed, as if the world itself rested with him.
The little girl reached out curiously, brushing Akio's hair with her tiny hand. She didn't understand what was happening, but her innocent smile showed she had already grown fond of him.
She looked up at her mother with pure eyes and asked:
"Mommy, did you give me a brother?"
The mother froze at the question, fumbling before she replied:
"In truth… we don't know who his real family is. We should take him to an orphanage."
But every orphanage turned them away. Fear of the strange lightning mark made them refuse him again and again.
With every door closed, only one choice remained. They would raise him as their own. From that day on, Akio became part of the family.