Tadashi's memories

Tadashi had never known his parents; their absence was a silence that echoed louder than any sound.
His grandmother, though—she had been everything to Tadashi. Sweet, kind, with a boundless capacity for optimism, she had seen the best in everyone, even in the young Tadashi who the world left to die.

She’d grown old too quickly, her frail body unable to sustain itself.  Tadashi, barely five years old, had found himself on the streets, begging for scraps of food and coins to ease her suffering. He remembered the gnawing hunger, the chilling nights, the constant fear. 

Then came Vanchelloe. The bartender had found him huddled in a doorway, his small frame shivering in the cold. The offer, a life of thrill and adventure, had sounded like a fairytale to a desperate child.  

But Tadashi had never made a more stupid mistake. A mistake that ruined his childhood - ruined his life.

That same week, Tadashi met one of the Twelve Generals. General Sicarius. A monstrous figure, a giant of a man who loomed over him, a presence that still haunted his nightmares. He barely remembered the General’s features, only the crushing weight of his presence and the cold, hard glint in his eyes.  

This terrifying man, the founder of the Assassin's Code, the ultimate assassin of the night, sanctioned Vanchelloe’s recruitment.  

Tadashi remembered a searing pain. A red-hot metal brand pressed against his tongue, leaving behind the mark of the assassins code – a searing brand that remained his reminder of his deal with a devil.

The training was brutal, the price of survival steep. But he had to provide for his grandmother.  He had to make money to pay for her mounting medical bills. 

For a while, things had looked up. He earned enough, enough to provide her with the care that she needed and deserved. 

Then, on his eleventh birthday, his grandmother suffered a sudden, fatal heart attack.  The news hit him like a physical blow, shattering the fragile hope that he had clung to, leaving behind a void greater than the one left by his parents.  

As an assassin, he automatically assumed she was murdered, after all having a weakness for anything or anyone made it a target to assassinate the assassin. Noblemen always looked for ways to kill assassins. 

After all these years, he got over his grandmother. Those kind and sweet caring eyes died away like the taste of food leaving one's mouth. It was good while it lasted.

To Be Continued...