He listened to the screams of hatred and agony. The plaza of his hometown was filled to the brim with battling soldiers. The young man, around the age of 14, laid wounded on the ground. He clutched his hemorrhaging wound, and pleaded to his gods that the pain would stop. He had not wanted to fight his neighboring city-state. He had been forced -- drafted -- into this terrible war, and it had become apparent to him that he would soon leave it.

The young man did not understand why his people fought. He did not find this murder -- no, this massacre -- honorable and righteous. All he saw was his fellow men slaughtering other men in a country-wide blood-lust.  Even though he hated the war, the young man was a natural fighter. His skill brought expressions of awe from not only his fellow foot soldiers, but also from his commanders. The young man did not like to use his talent. Not like this. Perhaps this was why he was now wounded, leaning against the wall of his neighbor's home.

The family consisted of the father, the mother, and their little daughter. They lived a few houses down from the young man's own home.  It was this closeness that brought a friendship between the two households. The little girl, whom was around the age of six, was good friends with the young man. They were more than just friends, they were practically siblings. She loved his jokes and personality, which always put a smile on her face. The young man always watched out for his friend, and in turn she felt as if he really was her older brother. In reality, the girl had an older brother. However, he-- like the young man -- was drafted for the war a few years before and died in battle. The young man took care of the little girl like any brother would, and the gap in her heart was filled.

It was this very little girl whom an enemy soldier had picked out of the fleeing crowd of pedestrians. She struggled, cried, and screamed in a vain attempt to escape her captor's grip. When the young man saw, he had jumped into action, tackled the soldier, and released his little friend from the soldier's hands.

As the girl ran away to the safety of her home, the young man struggled with the soldier. Despite his small build, he fared rather well in the fight. Since the young man had no intention to fight and kill anyone, he drew no weapon, and instead was stabbed in the stomach by the enemy's sword. With having inflicted a fatal wound to the young man, the soldier let him slide off his blade and crumble to the ground before proudly walking back into the fray.      

It was then that the young man listened to the screams of hatred and agony. As he laid there, praying, he realized that no matter what happened, he would die. This was the end of him.

The first thing he lost was his sense of hearing. Although he saw the warriors screaming, he heard nothing. The closest thing to sound he experienced was the rapid beating of his panicked heart. Although his heart was panicked, he was calm. Everything in the plaza had seemed to have slowed down to a crawl. His pain then left, and he let go of his wound.

He felt his bloody hand get lifted, and he turned to see his little friend mouthing his name over and over, tears streaming down her face. He lost his sense of touch immediately after, but he could tell that his friend was shaking him in an attempt to get him to respond.

The last thing he lost was his vision. At first, everything grew blurry, but then all the light seemed to be draining out of the sky. Knowing the time had come, he looked at the blurry figure of his panicked friend and, with the last of his strength, he smiled. Everything will be fine.

Then everything was gone.

The young man felt his senses slowly returning to him. First came touch. He wiggled his fingers and toes, and from what he could tell, he was lying on some fabric of some sort. Then came his hearing. The sounds of a waterfall in the distance filled his ears. It was relaxing. Then came his sight. As he opened his eyes, white satin drapery and fabrics sprinkled with gold filled his sight. As he stood up, he noticed an entrance. The entrance leaked a bright, warm light. As he walked toward the light, he began to ask questions.

Where was he?

Where was he from?

Who was he?

Although he remembered sensations like happiness, sadness, and anger, the rest of his mind was a blank slate. It was if he was renewed, reborn, where his previous life was nothing but an insignificant part of a forgotten piece of history.

Outside everything was made of glorious marble, with greenery and waterfalls strategically placed. The land mass he stood on, like all the others, were nothing but floating rocks with nothing to support them.

He stopped walking along the cobblestone road and looked at the group of people in front of him. They all looked at him with eager expressions, as if they were waiting for something to happen. Sure enough, a tall lady stepped out of the crowd and walked up the young man. With a smile, she said, "welcome to Skyworld, Pit."