The world of Kenshin's mind was a bleak one, covered only in shades of white, grey and black. The scene depicted Kenshin, a young, newly-turned vampire resting against a barren tree as snow fell around him. His blade, a katana and not his sakabatou, rested propped against his shoulder as his vibrant, red hair was drawn up in a ponytail, the bangs obscuring his eyes. The cross-shaped scar, the symbol of his shame and only object of color in the grey landscape, was glaring and fresh and red on his cheek, the second half of the mark carved by a mystical blade, one that could scar even an immortal. His eyes, the eyes that she would remember as so kind and loving, were dead and empty.
The scene flashed to an earlier date, the day he became Kenshin. His caravan attacked by raiders and him but a young boy, unable to make a difference though he picked up a blade and tried to fight them. The women who had been seeing to him, shielded him from the bandits as they were slaughtered, one by one. Until his master arrived. Until Hiko saved him before leaving the child to his fate.
It went on hours later, showing him laboring to dig graves as that same little boy, soaked in the blood of those who had protected him, eventually buried each and every person who had fallen to Hiko's blade. He'd made nice graves for the women, the women who had died protecting him. It was upon Shishou's return that a small expression of shock crossed the ancient vampire's face.
"You buried all of them. Why?"
"Because everyone deserves a grave," was the little boy's world-weary response. Silence followed, the older vampire that was his savior stunned for perhaps the first time in his long life. It was when he spoke again that it was decisive and with authority.
"A boy should not carry the world on his shoulders. Get up. And tell me your name."
"My name? My name is Shinta. Why-?"
"Too soft for a swordsman. I shall call you Kenshin, and I will teach you my style."
Everything, Sayuri-dono. I will let you see everything."