The values, ideals, beliefs, and opinions set before you shape the way you think. Much of what you come to believe or value is not your own because it was not self-discovery. The interactions you have during your life shape these things. Shape who you are, and what you will become. My story is one such example of that influence.
Let it be known that I am a fervent believer in 'Fate'.
The specifics of exactly how the birth of a Demon Weapon works are unknown to me other than someone in my families line must have been one at some point or another. Regardless, I was born as one such living weapon. It is normal for someone to not remember the first couple years of their life. Their mind is still developing from that of an infant's after all.
Whether or not my own memories go back further than where my story starts are of no consequence. The only thing that matters is the moment it began.
A brisk day in the city. New York to be exact. A melting pot of various cultures and ways of living. It's winter, but the sky is clear and the sun shining radiantly, so much of the winter cold is staved off. The grinning sun looking over my mother and I as we walked the streets, as if finding amusement at what would happen next despite how lovely the moment was. The older woman had golden hair like mine. I shared her fair skin and still do. Her own eyes were a color I couldn't name yet, but I remember drawing a similarity to the sky when I looked in them, so they must have been a shade of blue.
At the age of 5, the age I am at this point, my parents had discovered I was a demon weapon when I inadvertently changed part of my body into a blade resembling a scythe. After that, I had been taken on this walk. My mother wore a solemn expression. We walked for what seemed like a long time for me, but that was because my steps were shorter and so I took more to keep up with the woman. She wouldn't even hold my hand, so I had to grasp the back of her coat to keep from falling behind.
Coming to a stop on a random busy street, my mother knelt down before me while countless other people made their way around us. She had told me to wait in that spot for her and that she would be back. As a kid, your parents are infallible. You trust them with your life unconditionally, because it was animal instinct. I did so, I nodded my head and she walked away.
And that was it.
I was left standing and waiting. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours. Before long, the cheerful expression on my face had dissipated into sadness. Even as a child, I realized what had happened when she didn't return. I searched anyway. Looked for my mother. Ran through the crowds shouting for her. Asking for help or assistance was something I never had to do and my language skills were basic. I couldn't carry a full conversation at that age. All I could do was tug at people's coats and ask where my mother was.
They didn't care. I wasn't their child, so why should they? I was just bothering them during their busy day and so they just brushed me off as seeking attention. I continued to walk and search. Got myself lost in the maze of streets I didn't know my way through.
The grinning sun set in due time. In the darkness of the city streets, the empty void of space that people were done traversing for the day, I had my first harsh clash with reality. My mother must have thought I was a demon or perhaps she was merely prejudice against my kind. I will probably never find out the reasoning behind her decision. The reason no longer mattered though. All that remained was the result of that decision.
I was alone.