Every day, the sky was filled with dreary clouds and rain would fall from the sky. Ao wasn't even given the blessing of the sun and its warmth. The closest he could get to it were in the golden eyes of the child that he was forced to care for; but even those had to be hid away beneath a mask.

Clutched loosely in Ao's right hand was the stiff handle of his sword. The blade was dried with blood, something that even the child was conditioned to. He had watched from the sidelines while Ao dealt with the bandits and now tottered along next to the large man as they made their way back to the shack.

Ao's steps paused as the boy tripped over his own feet and fell against the barren earth. His mask slipped off, and the boy quickly fixed it. He was a blur to Ao, who's vision was waning, but the man reached down and grabbed the back of the boy's shirt with a large hand to pull him back to his feet.