MSG Hello. My first Phantasy Star Phanphiction! It's YAOI! HahnX?? Lots of angst
I don't own PS, I'm just a phan so don't sue me, or I'll cry.
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BREAKDOWN
"That poor woman... She was so young, too!"
"I heard she was with child!"
"How terrible!"
"How long is he going to stand there?"
"Don't be so callous! He's been through so much..."
Hahn heard their whispering voices behind him, but he paid it no mind. Instead he listened to the
tinkling and splashing of the water, and let the Motavian spring wind caress his hair as it
danced through the delicate white and pink blossoms that lay strewn across his young wife's
grave.
The doctors said there was nothing he could have done, that even if he had been there he couldn't
have prevented her death. It was a blood disease, a hereditary one,
and it was probably the reason Saya had grown up an orphan. And yes, she had indeed been with
child- a child, Hahn thought, that had lost its chance for life before it became more than a
twinkle in its mother's eye.
He hadn't known. He'd been away too long.
She had died peacefully, at least. Quietly, in her sleep, and painless. No one had even noticed
any of the symptoms, and she never complained of discomfort or fever. The doctors never tested
her for it, and it seemed Hahn had never questioned her enough in his letters when she said she
was all right.
"Heh.." A sardonic smile would have twisted his mouth if his body hadn't felt so numb. He had been
the first to find her dead; he reached to kiss her good morning for the first time in months, and
tasted dry blood on her cooling lips.
They were all here, three tombstones lined with tiny, delicate spring flowers, symbols of hope
and the future. Here lies Jana Mahlay. Here lies Thom Mahlay. Here lies Saya Mahlay. Absently,
Hahn crushed one of the blossoms under his shoe, and his smile widened. There would be a fourth
grave, one day..
A shaky little laugh escaped him, and he fell to the ground. His brown eyes were murky and blank
as he wept and brayed at the sky, his laughs becoming screams and miserable sounds that could
have been sobs or giggles. The villagers turned and stared, watching as their most successful
citizen slipped away from his sanity...
Months passed.
Krup went on, as most places will. With no one to manage it, the armor shop closed down, boarded
up and waited for a new blacksmith that would never come. The children found a new teacher and
loved him as much as they had Saya, and she was quickly replaced in their minds. No one
mentioned Hahn in polite conversation; no one knew where he was. He'd fallen to the grass that
day, and when night fell, he disappeared. The rumors flew like hawks, each one more farfetched
and superstitious than the last.
Some said he was dead, others pronounced him undead, still others claimed he was in the
basement of Piata Academy, using a breeding capsule to clone his poor dead wife. But whatever
else might have come up in the rumor mill, they all agreed that after his father's heart attack
and his mother's addiction and, later, suicide, Saya had been his lifeline to reality. He put
himself heart and soul into protecting her, caring for her, loving her. He put away his knives
and taught at the Academy, sending all but the smallest possible portion of his pay back home to
her so that she could live comfortably. And then she died of that horrible illness, and he lost
his grip.
But, contrary to popular belief, Hahn Mahlay was neither dead, nor undead, though he wished
otherwise, when his mind was clear enough. Alas, he was very much alive, and in a very sorry
state indeed.
He had slipped away in the night, quietly and shaking, ambling along like a man
He wandered the desert, his face and hands red and raw and clawlike with years-long sunburn. His
funeral suit was tattered from animal bites and scratches, covered in dust and grime. His hair
was matted to his head with old blood and lizard venom. One eye was covered in the milkiness of
cataract, the other half-swollen shut and dripping saline, and his dry, scratchy throat produced
a sound that might have been a loved one's name, so long ago...
He could see her, suddenly. As if she had appeared out of thin air. "Hahn," she was saying.
"What's wrong? You look upset."
"Saya..!" he whispered. His throat hurt too much. He reached for her, found purchase in the soft
white of her dress, and held on for dear life, weeping against her neck.
"Come with me, Hahn. You'll be all right," said Saya.
He felt a cool rush of air and a hand against his forehead, and everything became still and black.
I don't own PS, I'm just a phan so don't sue me, or I'll cry.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
BREAKDOWN
"That poor woman... She was so young, too!"
"I heard she was with child!"
"How terrible!"
"How long is he going to stand there?"
"Don't be so callous! He's been through so much..."
Hahn heard their whispering voices behind him, but he paid it no mind. Instead he listened to the
tinkling and splashing of the water, and let the Motavian spring wind caress his hair as it
danced through the delicate white and pink blossoms that lay strewn across his young wife's
grave.
The doctors said there was nothing he could have done, that even if he had been there he couldn't
have prevented her death. It was a blood disease, a hereditary one,
and it was probably the reason Saya had grown up an orphan. And yes, she had indeed been with
child- a child, Hahn thought, that had lost its chance for life before it became more than a
twinkle in its mother's eye.
He hadn't known. He'd been away too long.
She had died peacefully, at least. Quietly, in her sleep, and painless. No one had even noticed
any of the symptoms, and she never complained of discomfort or fever. The doctors never tested
her for it, and it seemed Hahn had never questioned her enough in his letters when she said she
was all right.
"Heh.." A sardonic smile would have twisted his mouth if his body hadn't felt so numb. He had been
the first to find her dead; he reached to kiss her good morning for the first time in months, and
tasted dry blood on her cooling lips.
They were all here, three tombstones lined with tiny, delicate spring flowers, symbols of hope
and the future. Here lies Jana Mahlay. Here lies Thom Mahlay. Here lies Saya Mahlay. Absently,
Hahn crushed one of the blossoms under his shoe, and his smile widened. There would be a fourth
grave, one day..
A shaky little laugh escaped him, and he fell to the ground. His brown eyes were murky and blank
as he wept and brayed at the sky, his laughs becoming screams and miserable sounds that could
have been sobs or giggles. The villagers turned and stared, watching as their most successful
citizen slipped away from his sanity...
Months passed.
Krup went on, as most places will. With no one to manage it, the armor shop closed down, boarded
up and waited for a new blacksmith that would never come. The children found a new teacher and
loved him as much as they had Saya, and she was quickly replaced in their minds. No one
mentioned Hahn in polite conversation; no one knew where he was. He'd fallen to the grass that
day, and when night fell, he disappeared. The rumors flew like hawks, each one more farfetched
and superstitious than the last.
Some said he was dead, others pronounced him undead, still others claimed he was in the
basement of Piata Academy, using a breeding capsule to clone his poor dead wife. But whatever
else might have come up in the rumor mill, they all agreed that after his father's heart attack
and his mother's addiction and, later, suicide, Saya had been his lifeline to reality. He put
himself heart and soul into protecting her, caring for her, loving her. He put away his knives
and taught at the Academy, sending all but the smallest possible portion of his pay back home to
her so that she could live comfortably. And then she died of that horrible illness, and he lost
his grip.
But, contrary to popular belief, Hahn Mahlay was neither dead, nor undead, though he wished
otherwise, when his mind was clear enough. Alas, he was very much alive, and in a very sorry
state indeed.
He had slipped away in the night, quietly and shaking, ambling along like a man
He wandered the desert, his face and hands red and raw and clawlike with years-long sunburn. His
funeral suit was tattered from animal bites and scratches, covered in dust and grime. His hair
was matted to his head with old blood and lizard venom. One eye was covered in the milkiness of
cataract, the other half-swollen shut and dripping saline, and his dry, scratchy throat produced
a sound that might have been a loved one's name, so long ago...
He could see her, suddenly. As if she had appeared out of thin air. "Hahn," she was saying.
"What's wrong? You look upset."
"Saya..!" he whispered. His throat hurt too much. He reached for her, found purchase in the soft
white of her dress, and held on for dear life, weeping against her neck.
"Come with me, Hahn. You'll be all right," said Saya.
He felt a cool rush of air and a hand against his forehead, and everything became still and black.