Author Note: I'll keep this short. This fic has been in my head for a while so I finally decided to get on with it and post it. There are quotes that some of you might notice, good job, they're some of my favourite.

For those of you who don't like OC's, not gonna judge, I myself don't like OC's too much, though there are exceptions. I do however dislike too many OC's, so good news, the main character will be the only consistent OC any other OC's are either there to die (mwhahahah) or to somehow affect the MC's life in one way or another.

Criticism and advice will be accepted happily and considered, however not necessarily implemented depending on what it is. Flaming and raging... eh, I'll probably just delete it.

I don't own RWBY! I don't see why I even need to make that statement, I wouldn't be writing this if I did!

Lost, abandoned, discarded, or forgotten… The five year old toddler roamed the roads of Mistral in rags almost as dirty as himself; the orphan with mismatched eyes was raised in an orphanage for the past two years. The little one had no name, no memories of his parents, or any clue that could lead him to his family. If he had any idea to begin with at all that is.

The little one still remembered the answer of the headmistress when he asked about his past, the memory echoed in his mind repeatedly, every day.

I found you in a local bar, no one wanted you.

No one wanted him; it wasn't easy for the boy, especially when dark thoughts consumed him on a daily basis. Had they abandoned him? Forgotten him? Were his parents dead? If not, why had they left him in that hell hole?

The boy had barely escaped the orphanage. He had overheard the headmistress talking to an older man about selling some of the children into slavery, and although he had no idea what 'slavery' even meant, becoming a commodity hadn't sounded very appealing.

The boy was sharp for his age, he could always tell who meant him harm and who was being genuine. He had known that escape was his only option, it didn't matter where, it only mattered how far he could get.

Mistral was one of the four kingdoms of Remnant, and also the most culturally advanced one. However, it was also the home of the largest black markets in Remnant, and the home of countless killers, thieves, and other unpleasant characters.

So there he was, alone, a fragile boy roaming the shady neighborhood of Mistral in the dead of night. His chances of survival lowered with each passing second, but the boy's mismatched eyes held determination, a desire to survive.

The boy had black hair that flowed to his ears like silk, the bangs just above his eyes. His right eye was a deep red, furious and unyielding, while his left eye was a bright green, cold and empty. His eyes had a hypnotic attractiveness to them, not only was heterochromia rare, but those specific colors were practically non-existent. Yet those eyes were also what had alienated him from others, the weirdest thing about him, was the fact that he had no pupils, which made his eyes look colder than they would have been otherwise.

As if that wasn't enough, his eyes actually shone a little, enough that they would look like a predator at night and even be visibly glowing in mid-day.

His physique and height were rather average among those his age, hardly eye-catching. Only the necklace hanging off his neck seemed to be worth anything at all, yet not enough to steal either. It was something the orphanage had told him he had since he was found; he always assumed it was connected to his parents, something he had dearly hoped to be true.

"Hungry…" he murmured under his breath, his growling stomach only reminding him of the difficulties lying ahead. Already he had started to get tired, his eyes barely kept open by sheer will alone. But he was too young, sheer will wasn't enough to keep his undeveloped body going for long.

"Careful!" a man all but growled at the boy that bumped into him.

The collision itself had dropped the child right on his rear; he was in no condition to be out and about in the city.

"Sorry" he mumbled. The boy scurried back onto his feet, rather sloppily, and attempted to go back on his way, wherever that was supposed to be.

"Fucking brat!" the man growled, planting his foot right into the child's stomach, sending him flying for a great distance, stopping only when he hit a wall, his body rag-dolling and crumping on the ground in a painful display.

The kid, already exhausted, vomited whatever he had left inside his stomach and entered a coughing fit. He gasped for air right after he stopped emptying his stomach, every breath of air reminding him of the sharp pain in his abdomen.

No one around seemed to care about the abuse, it was no big deal in the parts they were in. One could, more than likely, murder someone and keep walking without a care in the world.

The black haired boy stood despite his body's objections. He didn't want to die, he had barely even lived. He clenched his jaw and stared the man dead in the eyes, and while it would seem wise not to antagonize someone much stronger with such a defiant act, the boy had no intention of bowing his head to anyone.

The young one had no father to protect him, no mother to comfort him, no friend to back him up, and as of that day, no home to return to. As far as his concern went, this man had come to take his last possession—his 'dignity'. More than likely, he could have survived if only he had gotten on his knees and apologized, apologized like a dog and begged for his life.

But he wouldn't have it.

The man walked closer to the boy, his gait clearly professional, and his intentions well concealed. One could clearly see his features under the moon, he had bright yellow piercing eyes, and his facial features were decorated by his shoulder length silver hair. His facial features were also rather soft, quite fitting to his athletic body, one that was tuned perfectly in balance for power and speed, his muscles lean and obvious through his overall grey clothing.

The man had seemed intrigued, most likely by the defiance reflected in the child's eyes, one that should have been overtaken and consumed by unrelenting fear at the prospect of death.

"What's your name brat?" the man asked, slightly interested in the boy.

However the boy couldn't answer, he had still been rather disoriented from the impact, let alone the fact that he had absolutely no idea what his name was. He had never been given one, even in the orphanage. Everyone simply called him a 'freak'; the mismatched eye colors were unnatural.

The man didn't seem all too concerned with a response, if he even expected one, and instead grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt, hoisted him up like a traveling bag and took him along with a smirk adorning his face. It was as simple as that, no one in the street paid attention to the events that took place, the kidnapping registering as completely natural.

"What's your name?" The man asked again, this time there was the hint of a threat in his tone, one that wasn't missed by the small one.

They had made it back to the mystery man's house, it was quite far from the populated parts of the city, and in fact there wasn't another house or apartment in sight, only a large expanse of trees and nature.

They had sat across each other in the living room; the silver haired man had brought the child with something in mind, what however, the child did not know. The boy had made no attempt at escaping, pretty confident that escape was not an option he would survive.

So instead he opted to answer, "I don't know," he answered with a slight frown at his predicament.

"Doesn't matter, from now on, you will be a shadow," the man started. "I will train you, and you will learn. You will not question me, you will not defy me, and you will either obey or die."

An invisible weight came crashing down on the kid, one that had him gasping for air, only managing short, shallow breaths. The little one felt as if someone had thrown him into the depths of the ocean, it was crushing, but most of all, cold. It was too cold to bear. Cold sweats overtook his body, his eyes moistened under the mental stress, and the adrenaline seemed to prepare him for a fight-or-flight mode.

The man's tone held a darkness that could swallow a person whole, his eyes however promised him only one thing, death. Death would be reality should he decide to disobey.

However, just as the boy seemed to be at his limits, the pressure disappeared as if it were never there to begin with. There was no answer; there was no need for one.

"Remember. If you are not free to say no, your yes is meaningless," the man educated, or so it seemed, as he stood to leave. "I'm going to be your worst nightmare until the day I say otherwise. My name is Sevas, better get some rest kid, God knows you'll need it."

Sevas woke as soon as the sun's light made itself known to the world, like clockwork, he opened his eyes and got out of bed without skipping a beat. This was routine, for one in his profession, there was a need to be orderly, prepared, alert, and ready.

He got dressed in grey clothing that seemingly made him look like a thief, or an assassin, an image that was greatly supported by the fact that he hid countless knives on his person, strapping all types of weapons wherever possible.

He walked where he had left the boy the day prior. Sevas had plans for the boy, ones that many would most likely call him crazy for; it would be the start of a nightmare for the kid.

"Wake up," Sevas whispered right before he threw a dagger into the air, right above the boy. He was intent at teaching the kid to be alert of his surroundings even as he was asleep; he believed that his exercise would eventually yield the desired result.

"Mm…" The one in the bed hummed in response as he opened his eyes slightly, barely aware of his surroundings at all. The dagger spun once, twice, thrice, and then, inevitably, started to fall.

Not long after, a piercing cry penetrated through the walls of the entire house. The boy, left in agonizing pain, held his left shoulder in efforts of reducing the pain caused by the foreign metallic object intruding into his flesh.

Sevas however, seemed to take it all in stride as he smiled, "Good, you're awake. Your clothes are next to the bed, I expect you to be outside in five minutes, a second delay and I will stab your right shoulder, you come out on time and I will heal your left one," Sevas said before he turned to leave the room, seemingly satisfied with his ultimatum.

The boy didn't even doubt the validity of that threat, not with proof of the man's cruelty still stuck in his shoulder, he quickly learned, this man made no empty threats.

Afraid of being stabbed again, the little one got up without wasting another second. A trembling hand grabbed onto the offending object, only moments of hesitance, and then his resolve stood firm as he ripped the blade out with only a slight wince. He wasted no time in getting dressed as quickly as possible, while doing his best to ignore the pain in his shoulder, and then headed out of the house by the appointed time.

The boy was dressed in a smaller version of what Sevas had been wearing, a grey form fitting long-sleeved shirt, coupled with grey pants, not too loose, yet not too tight. They were perfect for all kinds of activities, all the way from simple gymnastics to outright Olympic activities.

Sevas of course was rather impressed, he expected the boy to spend some time reeling from the shock of being stabbed as his previous projects had. He frowned slightly at the memories, so many failures, so many rejects, not one was worthy.

This time, this time will be different, I know it, he told himself, as if he was trying to convince himself, or maybe he had truly believed it. Not even he himself knew the answer to that particular conundrum.

"Alright then, I believe some introductions would be in order," the older man started. He had a plan for the kid, that much was more than obvious. "My name is Sevas Black, master assassin, prodigy executioner, and one of the handful X-Class Criminals. Some also know me as the Shadow Reaper, I have a 'flee on sight' order," the man declared rather proudly with a slight mock bow.

And while the boy was smarter than those his age, he seemed to have been completely confused on some of the things mentioned. A pronounced frown had been apparent on his face to reflect the inner confusion, one that the older assassin easily picked up on.

The yellow eyed man sighed before he went on to explain, "Criminals and Huntsmen are separated into different levels of skill. Starting with Huntsmen, from lowest to highest they are; D-class, which include Huntsmen hopefuls, most of the time they are only slightly better than someone without an unlocked aura that's also a skilled fighter."

The boy nodded, making the connection between well-trained criminals without an aura and D-class.

"C-class includes Huntsmen in training, generally those who have recently started their huntsmen training in one of the four prestigious schools, they are not worthy of notice. B-class are graduate full-fledged Huntsmen, most of the time they are stationed around the outer-lands to gain experience, they know all the basics, but none of the finer parts of battle.

"A-class mainly contains Mentors; much like the name defines they are those who have chosen to pass on their skills to the next generation. Obviously they have enough experience, skill and ability to be able to teach in the first place. Criminals generally avoid them; they can be tough for most of the people who work in the underworld."

Sevas stopped for only a second to let the information sink in before he continued.

"S-class, these are mostly solo Huntsmen, they have enough skill to be able to handle the Grimm easily. They can be compared to about ten A-class Huntsmen working in tandem, they are not to be taken lightly, and are always to be killed if the chance should present itself.

"Then we have the X-class, much like the S-class they are solo Huntsmen, however their abilities are the thing of legends. They are faster, stronger and much more skilled. Given the advantage of surprise and tactic, one X-class Huntsmen could take out a hundred S-class fighters, which is why the underworld has an unspoken 'flee on sight' rule for them."

The black haired boy took the information about as good as anyone else would have, with a gaping mouth and wide eyes. In his defense, it was a rather unbelievable concept, for there to be such strong people out there.

"Now we have the criminals, much like with Huntsmen we have the same ranking system. D-class are those petty thieves that pickpocket and threaten civilians with a knife for money, they are rather pathetic. C-class is where it gets interesting, generally they are one of two, either an unskilled mobster boss or an apprentice to someone in the underworld."

The boy wondered if that definition technically made him a C-class by default. Probably not, but it would soon.

"B-class includes hired assassins, thieves, and mercenaries. While not exactly cheap, you wouldn't have to be rich either, they are easy to contract and have a success rate of fifty percent.

"A-class includes professionals who are generally hired for a pretty penny and have a code they follow. Otherwise the underworld society becomes trigger happy, because while we may be criminals, there is an order to things. Not many cross the ruling society of the underworld and live to tell about it."

That surprised the boy slightly; he always imagined the criminal side of things to be more chaotic.

"S-class criminals are entirely filled with assassins, killers, bodyguards, and the like. Generally all those who are adept at dismantling a human body like a chain reaction of falling dominos, most of the time they are hired by those who are willing to spend millions. Not many exist, much like S-class huntsmen, there is about two, maybe three dozen S class fighters in the entirety of Remnant."

Sevas paused again, yet this time it wasn't for the benefit of the boy, but rather because what he spoke about next was a point of pride for him.

"Finally we have X-class criminals, much like with S-class they are all professional killers. However they are stronger, faster, and much more powerful overall. They have a 'flee on sight' order by every military, police and huntsman schooling institution on Remnant. Oh, and I nearly forgot but every X-class criminal and huntsmen have a title that is attached to their profile."

Now many kids in the same situation would have soiled themselves in fear. The boy was kidnapped, dragged into an unknown area, only to find out that the man who kidnapped him was an X-class assassin by the title of 'Shadow Reaper'.

However, the boy would have no chance to voice his concerns, no time would be given.

"For the next five years, you will be trained all day and all night. The only rest times you have will be the time required to eat, drink, sleep and the privilege to relieve yourself should you need it."

Sevas made sure to heal the boy's superficial injury with an application of his aura first, he always kept his promises.

And so, the first step to the flames was taken…

The first two months was by far the hardest the boy had to survive. Each morning he had woken up with some sort of weapon sticking out of his body, it had taken him quite a while to finally wake up at the slightest sound created around him. Though to his dismay, his 'master' in turn started to muffle his footsteps and conceal his presence, practically destroying the spark of hope for a painless awakening.

After the painful awakening however, the day was just filled with various exercises for strengthening the body, while making sure he wouldn't have any bulging muscles that would slow him down in the future.

This day however, was special. Sevas wouldn't be there to wake him up, the elder assassin had told the boy about a contract he had before he abruptly left. For the young boy, this meant he had time to freely explore Mistral, something he never had the chance for before.

It did not mean escape by any means, the boy wasn't stupid enough to think that he could disappear in Mistral–what could practically be considered Sevas' back garden–and not be found and consequently be severely punished by his master.

The boy woke up rather easily, and went through his daily ritual of cleaning up and getting dressed. It had all become a part of his habit, one that was practically–more like literally–beaten into him.

The boy didn't despair; he simply got dressed and went for a walk back to the city of Mistral as they did in fact live quite far. It would take him at least an hour to get there.

The walk hadn't been without thoughts, it had been two months since Sevas had taken him in, and while he trained there wasn't enough time to think. But now, an empty mind was a vulnerable one. Thoughts about his parents haunted him, and truthfully, he wished they were dead…

While it was a rather ominous thought to have, it brought a form of relief that he was loved, and that they simply didn't have the capability to take care of him. It was a wish that kept his darker thoughts at bay, but never for long. Never for too long, and this would be one of those rare cases, where his defenses were brought down by his darker thoughts.

He wondered if maybe he was an accident, never wanted but simply a byproduct of two people who wanted other things. Maybe they just didn't like his heterochromia; many people at the orphanage hated his eyes. Maybe it was the lack of pupils that made people liken him to a monster.

But what the caretaker at the orphanage had said about being left at a bar specifically brought one of the darkest ones. Maybe, just maybe he had been forgotten in a drunken haze, which was the worst he could imagine. To be so unimportant that his parents would simply forget him, it was a thought he did his best to crush. After all, no one simply forgot their child, right?

Lost in thought, the boy noticed that his destination had already been reached. It was the criminal part of Mistral, the place where his life had decided to take a wrong turn, to mock his already growing list of problems.

"What kind of hair is that!?" a childish voice yelled in a fit of laughs. "It looks like a tomato!"

The boy with the mismatched eyes looked toward the source of the yelling, he quickly discovered three young boys surrounding a girl with red hair, and she looked half their age. One of them had a firm grasp on the girl's locks, it looked very painful, and she had tears at the edge of her eyes, slowly threatening escape.

What is she doing here? He asked himself, the girl looked dressed well; she didn't look like she belonged in the gutter of Mistral. But that didn't matter to him, what could he even do against three boys who looked at least five years older than him?

He was only five, he wasn't a hero.

So he walked the opposite way with a heavy heart weighing on his steps.

Coward, a stray thought, but it was true. Where was the boy who could defy an assassin? Where did his spine go? Yet no normal person could disparage his actions, he was five years old, courage and bravery took time.

"It's so weird!" another exclaimed as he pulled on the girl's hair yet again, this time hard enough for her to release a painful yell. Her tears didn't stop, she sobbed like the little girl she was.

The nameless boy wasn't far enough away; he had heard the girl cry out. The sobs of pain were unbearable, he knew what it was like to be disliked and bullied because of something one had no control of.

He remembered those times he had always wanted someone to befriend, someone to have his back, someone to listen.

He hadn't even made the conscious decision before his body moved, a fist flying straight at the offending boy's cheek. The bully had let go of the girl's hair as something slammed into him, he fell over like a sack of potatoes.

But this wasn't a movie; a simple surprise attack didn't make them run away in fear. The other two still standing tackled the nameless boy to the ground.

The nameless boy had trained for two months, but that wasn't nearly enough to completely ingrain anything into him or give him enough ability to overcome the natural strength advantage those double his age had.

The girl at least had stopped crying, most likely from the shock that someone would help her, but it was something the nameless boy took comfort in even as the third boy got up and started to beat the ever loving shit out of him.

The nameless boy stood up repeatedly of course, every time they knocked him down he stood back up as if the notion of damage was ludicrous. But that was it, his unwillingness to give up didn't magically give him the ability to win, rather it ended with him being beaten to worse degrees.

It hadn't taken too long, the boys either got tired or bored of beating the child, and after five minutes they left. But not before leaving behind a threat, "You better get lost by the time I come back, I'll make sure my brother gets a turn with you too," the largest boy said as he snickered.

The threat didn't have the intended effect of course, what was more pain? It was temporary, but humiliation from giving up? Regret from cowardice? Those were permanent, and that was why he stood his ground, helped when he didn't truly need to.

The red haired girl had started sobbing again, she had tried to get them off the nameless boy, but she hadn't been strong enough, her pleading had fallen on deaf ears. She was powerless as she watched her little guardian get pummeled.

She knelt beside the bloody boy, and took his hand into hers.

She wanted to comfort him, because even as young as she was, she understood one simple fact. He wasn't obligated to help her; he had done it of his own volition. It was so simple, yet it was also a memory that would shape her future decisions.

"M–my name, i–is Py–Pyr–" she grit her teeth at the inability of pronouncing her own name, what were her parents thinking!?

It was the annoyance that plagued the girl however that seemed to amuse the boy as he let out a low chuckle, quickly followed by a pained grunt.

"Leave before they come back," the nameless one spoke out clearly, which was rather surprising.

The red haired girl quickly shook her head in denial, her red hair flowing almost everywhere with her rigorous rejection. She wouldn't leave the first friend she made alone to whatever it was that awaited him.

"What are you doing here anyway? This part of Mistral is dangerous," he queried, it was a rather valid question; the girl didn't look like she belonged there.

"I… got lost," she replied with a light blush on her cheeks, it wasn't exactly something she was particularly proud of.

The nameless boy stared at her flatly before he chuckled again, with yet another painful grunt that followed right after it. He saw her green eyes as she tried to blink her tears away, it reminded him of his left one, but the girl's had more life in them. She couldn't see the boy's right eye; it was covered by his bangs, something he was very grateful about.

His hair had grown over the two months, and the fact that it hid his heterochromia only made him like it more. Now it was only the fact that his left eye didn't have a pupil that was out of the ordinary.

"What's your name?" she asked randomly, he had assumed she would simply skip the subject since she couldn't give him her own name.

I don't know, he thought.

"You, don't want to tell me? That's ok," she said, slightly sad at being unable to receive his name. But she wouldn't let that stop her; he had helped her after all.

The emotion hadn't gone unnoticed by the boy.

"Tell you what, today, I protected you. But next time you should be able to protect yourself, become strong, and if you become strong enough, I'll tell you my name," he promised. "But only if you manage a clean hit on me," he added with a challenging smile.

All he really wanted to do was give himself a way out, without breaking the girl's heart. The fact that he had encouraged her to become stronger was a simple bonus. Who knew, maybe one day she'd climb that mountain and claim her place among the greatest.

"Pinky promise?" she asked as she held out her pinky to the boy.

What's a pinky promise? He asked himself, completely oblivious to the term. So, he did what anyone else would have done in the same situation, improvise. He simply extended his pinky, and let her do whatever she wanted with it. He was only mildly surprised when she locked her pinky with his.

"Right, so, you better leave now and go to your parents," he told her, time had been of the essence, he was too tired to leave, but she could.

"No!" she replied stubbornly, frankly she was starting to annoy him, why couldn't she just listen?

He had to think, of something, anything, to convince her to leave. Silence took over as the nameless boy started to think of ways to get the red haired girl away from him.

"I'm going to cut my hair," the girl announced randomly with tears in her eyes, it seemed like the silence had brought some thoughts into her head, thoughts that didn't truly belong there.

"Why?" he asked full well knowing the answer.

"It's ugly."

"No it's not, I think it's really pretty, you should take care of it," the nameless boy responded with a forced smile, not because he was lying, but because the longer the girl was there with him, the more likely she wouldn't be getting away in peace.

The girl suddenly turned completely red in the face, a phenomenon that completely confused the five year old boy. Did she have a fever?

Funny enough, the girl instantly bolted from his side to a place completely unknown to him.

That was easier than I thought it would be, he thought. He hadn't taken offence at her leaving him; it was the plan all along after all.

It didn't take even ten seconds before he heard footsteps down the alley, before a man came into view, most likely in his late twenties. The nameless boy was thankful at the girl's quick escape, even if the reason was completely unknown to him.

"Seems you caused my little brother some trouble you little shit," the man said with a sneer, the glint of a knife apparent in his right hand.

It didn't take a genius to put two and two together; this wouldn't end well for the nameless boy. The assassin in training stood with the last of his strength, because if he died, then it would be on his feet.

The man laughed at the futile attempt, and simply walked toward the boy.

And then froze…

Darkness descended on the alleyway, shadows moved with intent, but that wasn't the worst of it. There was an impending feeling of death, a freezing cold that promised a slow and painful demise.

The man felt death's cold scythe around his neck, beckoning him to the afterlife. His body trembled in instinctual fear, the knife completely forgotten as his hands slackened.

"What do we have here?" a voice dripping with killing intent made itself known, the trembling man could see the various ways he could be killed in, all of them in the most terrifying way.

He saw himself burned alive, cut into a thousand miniscule pieces, flayed slowly, drowned, ripped apart, repeatedly stabbed, exploded, imploded, crushed, disintegrated into nothingness, and much more.

Yet the nameless boy stood motionless, he had felt none of it, most likely because none of it was focused on him.

"You would try and kill my apprentice!?" the ethereal demonic voice demanded. The voice sounded familiar to the trembling man, it only took moments, but eventually his eyes widened in even more fear as a hint of recognition entered them.

"S–S–Sev–Sevas?" the man did his best to pronounce as his teeth clattered together, it hadn't taken long for him to relieve himself in his pants. The only reason he even recognized the voice was because the assassin frequented the bar he worked at.

The cowardly man had heard legends of the Shadow Reaper, a man so deadly that no one had crossed him, not even other X-class fighters. The reason was simple, fighters were fighters, but there was only a single X-class assassin, and the title was well deserved.

Sevas had once been contracted into taking out another X-class huntsman, and he had completed it without a scratch. It was a feat that put the Shadow Reaper into legends; people whispered his name in murmurs, lest they actually summon him.

A fight between X-class fighters always ended with large amounts of collateral damage, whether it was in land or people, and they always came out with grievous wounds. Killing X-class fighters was by no means easy, even S-rank assassins failed because they would be easily detected by heightened senses or experienced instincts.

Sevas had done the impossible; his skills in stealth and assassination were in another realm completely. The Shadow Reaper had sneaked his way into the Atlas weaponry showcasing, his target being the main guard for the multi-million piece of technology. There were hundreds of soldiers and dozens of guests all around, yet Sevas had simply made it to his target like a shadow, slit his throat unawares, and disappeared. No one had even noticed the body for hours to come.

Even worse was his reputation when it came to simple rabble that crossed him. There were only two ways one could go down after crossing Sevas Black, either a slow and painful death, which was by far the kinder option.

Or they would be crippled beyond recognition; most would plead and beg for death after the state they were left in.

Before the terror could go down further to paralyze his limbs, the trembling man instantly picked up the knife as Sevas watched calmly.

The man slit his own throat without hesitation, effectively escaping Sevas' judgment.

Sevas didn't even spare another moment glancing at the corpse, and instead re-focused on the boy he had apprenticed.

"What happened?" Sevas asked, full-well knowing the turn of events, he had been keeping a watch on the boy, the contract long before completed.

"I… I did what I thought was right," the nameless one answered with conviction. He believed in his actions, the memory of the smile on the red haired girl's face only reaffirmed them.

It hadn't been the correct answer.

The boy flew straight into a wall, as Sevas had thrown him right into it.

"What was right?" he asked calmly, "you stupid, stupid boy," he continued as he walked next to the gasping child.

"Are you going to be there for her tomorrow?" he asked, "what did you gain by your actions, you stupid boy? Tell me."

"It was the right thing to do," he replied, and he believed it. He felt that what he had done had been a good thing, it had meaning, purpose. He'd take the beating, it wasn't anything new.

What he hadn't expected however, was a laugh, Sevas had laughed for the first time in two months, and it was at him.

"Right!?" he laughed even harder. "Boy, there is no higher purpose. There are no gods. No arbiters of right and wrong. I don't ask you to like reality. I only ask you to be strong enough to face it. There is nothing beyond this. There is only the perfection we attain by becoming weapons, as strong and merciless as a sword. There is no essential good in living. Life is nothing in itself. It's a place marker that proves who's winning, and we are the winners. We are always the winners. There is nothing by the winning. Even winning means nothing. We win because it's an insult to lose. The ends don't justify the means. The means don't justify the ends. There is no one to justify to. There is no justification."

The boy listened, but didn't comprehend. That couldn't be right, there simply had to be a distinction between rights and wrongs, what would be the point of it all if there wasn't?

"Let me give you an example," Sevas said with a dark sneer, "The girl you met, her name is Pyrrha Nikos, cute girl; she just became five years old today. I've seen her mother around. Maybe I should pay them a visit, eh? What do you think kid? I'll go and introduce myself, it would be rude not to right? After all you did your best to protect that girl, would be a shame if you never saw her again, right?" he mocked with eyes that promised, no, foretold death.

The boy, while small, understood what Sevas had been saying. He would kill the girl he protected and her family, he had the ability to erase whatever good the nameless boy had done.

"Tell you what, this one time, I'll let it slide," he said, and Sevas could almost taste the hope that exuded from the boy. "But if it happens again, someone dies, understood?"

The boy didn't answer, the lesson from two months ago still rang true in his ears, if you are not free to say no, then your yes is meaningless, he repeated to himself.