Author's Note: Children of a Dying Sun belongs to me, Crystal Child. Do not use any of the characters here. Please, don't use them without my permission. Please? I'd love you forever! Enjoy!

New Author's Note: Hey guys and gals! Check it out; I'm working on the re-written version. Here's the prologue!

~*~Children of a Dying Sun~*~

~*~Faded Dreams: Prologue: Somewhere far away~*~

The hallway was dark, as the shadow crouched by the door, a silent illusion ready to make the first move. A flash of light revealed a young man, brown-blonde hair and blue eyes, rare for a person on this strange planet. His ears failed to have the slight point at the tips, and his cheekbones were not raised, like members of the Karmanan race.

The room that he sat outside of was alight from the flames in the old brick fireplace. The man the boy had come for sat in one of the two old, red leather chairs, staring at the fire. The man wore a dark business suit, with one of his thin legs crossed over the other, casual. He was slightly slouched, resting his chin on his right hand, as if in deep thought. He was wise.

With the next flash of lightning from the window down the hall, metal glinted in the boy's hand. A gun had been removed from some unknown hiding space. As the fire shifted, so did the man in the chair.

"Come, boy." He spoke, "No weapons may be drawn in this room." The hand his chin had been resting on, moved away, and opened up; the gun fell from the boy's fingers, and flew across the wide space, and, like a magnet, it stuck to this mysterious man's hand. He was magical.

"Why am I here?" The teen questioned, rising and stepping into the room, "Why have you called me here again?" The man studied the gun, as if finding it an interesting invention.

"Sit." He moved, gesturing towards the empty chair across from him. Mechanically, the boy moved to obey. As he had felt every time that he had entered the building, the boy felt a fool. He was nothing compared to this great man who sat across from him. He was nothing. He had nothing.

But the man did not seem to mind, ever. The boy had been there countless times. And still, he never commented on the boy's lower-class manners and dress. For a long time, there was silence, as the man turned the weapon in the firelight. He seemed to forget the boy was even there. While he was silent, the teen was captivated by the way the fire reflected off the man's long, black hair.

"Boy, I have forgotten your name." He set the weapon down on the table beside him. It made a 'clinking' noise as it was put to rest.

"Call me Blade." The voice is a whisper.

"Blade." He tried out the name, "It does not suit you." The boy was silent, and stared with icy eyes, "Blade cannot possibly be your name."

"It's what I am called. It's the only name I offer." The boy replied, his eyes flashed with the lightning outside the window, "It is the name I earned when I was 8. Do not challenge it. You won't know my other name."

"Wise. Names have power." The man nodded, "Did you know names are magical?" His dark eyes danced with the light of the flames, "Blade you shall be called then." He reached for his cup of tea and drank from it. After he had quenched his thirst, he set it down again and folded his hands neatly, "Blade." He paused, not appreciating the name. "It is time you learned the truth. You are one of us. You belong to us, but we are a dying kind. There are very few of us left."

"Us?" The clock above the fireplace ticked the seconds off.

"Children of the Dying Sun." He said. The boy was confused, but refused to yield his face to the emotion.

"Who?"

"The last of a planet from long ago, the few of us who were born from those who came from that planet."

"But I am from this planet!" The boy's defensive barriers went up, "As were my parents and my grandparents!"

"And before them?" The boy found himself clutching the armrests of the chair, and leaning forward. He relaxed his grip as the man talked, "They were Children also. All of us with Terrian blood are Children. But pureblooded Children are becoming scarce. We have become attached to this world now, we are melding into this different society." The man looked away, "We have forgotten who we were. You are the last of the Children's children. There are only six Children now, who are under 20 years."

"Six? There are six of us 'Children' left? But why is that important? Why does that matter?"

"You are the only ones who can go back. Who can start over. You are the only few who can make a new start for the Children."

"Go back? Where?"

"Earth. Far away, somewhere too far for the rest of us Children to return. But you are all able. You can do it, as young as you are, the trip there will, hopefully, not kill you. If you leave soon."

"But the sun is dying there. That's why there's that…that…name, 'Children of the Dying Sun', isn't it?"

The man shook his head, "No. Names come from many places, Blade. We are the Children of the Dying Sun, because we made ourselves that way. We, the Children, we killed our home. You shall see it, I hope. I dream of it, sometimes, but I am too old to make the journey. YOU," The man pointed at him, "you will see it. Perhaps you and these five others will make a new beginning for the human race."

The riddles the man spoke were not wanted.

"You will understand by the time you get there. But the others must go with you. You must find them. I can only tell you scant details of who they are. The rest is up to you."

"What if I can not find them?"

"They are looking. Most don't realize it yet, but they are searching for you as well. They are alone. You will all meet, it is your destiny, but sometimes, destiny needs a little push." The man leaned back, resting his head against the chair, and his features relaxed.

Blade's defensive nature fell away, destroyed, as the realization hit him. If he listened but did not obey what was wanted, he could ruin the course of an entire race. But if he obeyed…his life would never be the same again. He would have to give himself up to Destiny and what She had in store for him.

"The first," The man broke the silence, "is a woman, a girl really, who thinks she has nothing left. There are two sides to her face. She carries her name on her wrist, a result of an attempt to destroy her life. That is how you will know her." The man paused, for a brief second, "The second, is a man, huge. You will know him when you meet him, by his eyes. He will be a powerful ally, and help you waken your true self, while on a ship in the middle of nowhere.

"The third and fourth, you shall meet at the same time. This meeting will be, at first, no concern to you. It will take a while to know them. That is all I know of these two."

The man frowned, "The last shall need your help very badly, if you are to take them with you. The youngest, this one is also the wisest and most powerful. Fear them, but do not. Trust them, yet don't. Let them lean on you, when they need it. You are the leader, but you must not lead too strongly. Children are wanderers, as you know. Children do not need a leash. They will not stray far from someone they trust." The man opened his eyes and reached for his tea, as if nothing had happened, "Leave now, I am tired."

"Will I ever see you again?" Blade rose, and turned for the door.

"Perhaps. But on this plane, we will never meet again. Perhaps in dreams, I shall guide you. My life is coming to an end." For the first time, the man let on that he was sick, by releasing a body-wracking cough, "I will see you again. But not here, never again here."

The teen bowed to the older man, and excused himself from his presence and started for the door.

"Boy," The voice was soft. Blade looked at him over his shoulder, "your gun is waiting for you at the front door. I have three presents for you. Only two are here. You shall find the other one at the End of the Sky." The man fell into sudden sleep; at least, the boy hoped he only slept.

The hall was dark, compared to the room. Blade quickly learned that there were tables lining the right side of the hall, by coming into a few confrontations with them, and earning a few 'battle' scars. How could the man live in such darkness? How could he ask a teen to do something so drastic? To leave behind the only world he'd ever known, even if it had never really loved him? How could he be asked to take care of 5 people? He was only 17.

Windows outlined the front door, casting little light to signify the end of the hall. On a table on his left side, Blade found his gun, and bundle of dark cloth. He reached into it, and brushed it aside. Something tumbled to the floor with a metallic 'clink'. The silver star gleamed with the light of another bolt of lighting outside. It was a necklace; its charm a pentagram, each point of the star touching sky-blue gems, which were encrusted in the surrounding circle. Pausing only to study if for only a second, Blade slipped the silver chain around his neck.

There was something else in the cloth, which had been momentarily forgotten. A gold-weaved stick poked out, over the edge of the table. He pulled it out. A sword. Not a contemporary beam sword, but an actual sword, with a metal blade. He smiled. There was a sheath of black leather, protecting the blade.

It needed a name, he decided. In all of the tales his mother had told him when he was young, the heroes who had swords had a name for them. His favorite hero had always been Degas, who slew the God of Death, in order to save his father. The God of Death had risen again, but had always bore a scar in his side, where the warrior had slashed him apart. He pulled the sword a little way out of its sheath. Degas. The perfect name.

He tied the sword to his belt. The weight against his side felt welcoming. The door was silent as he opened it. It was raining, but the cooling wetness struck him only lightly. There was nothing more to do that day. He'd start the next day.

He paused in his trek down the long, cement walkway, to look back at the house.

What have you pulled me into, friend of my father?

He peered out of the curtains, watching the boy, feeling sorrow and joy all at once. His body rested comfortably by the fire, but his anxious soul unsheathed its self and wandered recklessly across the room to the window. The room grew darker, not quite in a physical kind of way, and the air grew heavier.

~Old friend.~ The voice was calm and familiar.

"That is what I am." He closed his 'eyes' and smiled.

~You requested?~

"Are you sure of this one?"

~Yes. He bears the mark.~

"You never told me of the mark."

~And I still cannot. It is a secret between me and the Master.~

"Ah." Even in his astral form, the effects of age caused him to cough.

~Are you well?~

"As well as can be expected for someone my age. I will be joining you soon."

~Yes.~ Laughter, ~You have given up on the drugs?~

"My work is almost finished. I am ready to die and to be with my best friend again. It has been too long."

~I fear,~ more laughter, ~you will find it dull, being dead.~

"You are there, are you not?"

~That I am. I cannot wait to see the chaos we will create, Odin, my dear friend.~

The man opened his eyes and watched the disappearing figure of the teen, "What chaos have we created here, friend?" But he was alone again, in his darkened house, and was being pulled back into the body that would not sustain him much longer.

What'cha think? Like the new version? Hehe, it's kinda weird, writing in third person, for Blade. If you'll take note, I changed a whole bunch of stuff from the original. The name of the sword and, well, I'll leave the second major change for now, were nice. I didn't really like having the sword named after the main character, so I changed it. Later! (oh, yeah, leave a R/R huh?)