Like an old mutt left on the streets for a purebred pup, he was abandoned on the sidewalk, waiting for the darkness. He who had always believed that his family was bulletproof, who had believed himself immortal was the one dying. So young, his soul already shattered. Decimus.
Tenth. Unloved. Nothing. Only fifteen, yet his eyes were so aged, his knowledge so deep, yet shallow. He had, in his time, loved and been loved, but he had known both life and death. He had dreamed of dragons and giants, knights and swords. Decimus Aelius Drusus.
Memories flooded his mind, as tears left soft, silver trails in their wake. His mother - his hero was gone. Nine friends, siblings, of which he was the youngest, all dead. Nothing left for him. A breath that should have belonged to his sister. Decimus didn't deserve it, he had done nothing. He was hopeless, no fight left with him, and he hated it. Weak enough to hold onto them, he clung to his memories like a childrens toy. He couldn't let go of them.
Impossible, he thought, to die so young, with so much to do. So many had died younger than he and that would not change, and so he dreamt. The colour was fading from his eyes. A small whimpering came from a pile of old clothing beside him, and so Decimus looked over, seeing only his portrait in a frame of broken glass. He wanted only to escape his nightmare, but he could not. Wanted only to die, but it was not a gift given to those who did not act. His emerald eyes blazed faintly, as the lilac lids imprisoned the jade. He had lost his will, and anyone who passed would observe that he was like not likely to live until morning. But he did.
As his senses awoke, Decimus found that his limb was draped over a large, golden pup. The hellion must have crawled up beside him as he slept, he decided warily. It looked up at him silently, before slipping away into the frost of the morning. He stared after it, bemused, while his mind strayed onto more confusing things. Memories that he had thought long forgotten, ideas that he had once thought intelligent, though now, as he remembered, he wanted to forget.
He only had to move.
His body shook as he stood, his weakened being unable to support its own weight. For the first time, he realized that he would have to make his dreams become real. He realized that he would have to leave his past self behind him. He would make himself new, leave Decimus Aelius Drusus alone, bleeding on the sidewalk.