[Aran Kha'Serith]

Aran looked up at the man he'd bumped into, his face pale and colorless as he feared what was going to happen to him. Most people he bumped into beat him within an inch of his life and sent him running, and to his sorrow, nobody did anything to stop it. When his grandmother was still alive, she'd been the only thing that stood between him and those that would've killed him on the spot given the chance. Rinhild had truly loved her grandson, but still gave him his father's name to separate him from the rest of their clan. But she was dead, and Aran had to fend for himself.

Strange enough, the man and his companion seemed to be friendly, something the boy had not seen in the longest time. The larger and taller of the two, a golden-haired man wearing odd dress, pulled Aran to the ground. His accent was also foreign to him, but the boy could make out what he was saying; he remarked at how thin Aran was. A weak smile crossed Aran's face as he introduced himself. "I...It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir. My name's Aran."

The red-head, whose name was apparently Colin, then looked him over and point blank commented on the boy's blood and asked him what he was doing all alone on the streets. Before he could respond, they grabbed hold of his bony arm and took off with him. "W...where are you taking me?" he said, frightened. He'd just met these people, and his grandmother had always said to be careful of strangers. Wherever they were going, Aran would answer their questions when they got there.