They were back (back home, full circle) – and it wasn't the bleak, dusky world of (blood and shadow) stained glass windows that they had left long ago.
It's insane, it fitting back into a routine that seems –no, even the basic actions exude dislike towards them, or it's in their minds.
Lea finds the fact that, unlike the scientists or the guardsmen-under-guard, he can't easily find a copy of his clothes grown-up and stretched. So he still dons the garb of fiery death (others, his own), and tries to joke that well, he deserves the brand-new fiery Frisbees from the vendor who both is and isn't there – shop passed on to the not-identical-enough son or something.
But things have changed since then. Lea can't seem to recall the simple plastic disc soaring like that, or the unaccustomed lack of danger when a side of it hits his side (lashing out, it's a weapon and-)
A clacking, rolling sound as it simply falls, too harmless and too solid and Lea can't believe that the castle he used to dream of entering now stretches its doors open, where (shadows, solid living and replaying) people are still there.
Lea still takes a last spinning look around – he's missing some-(many)-one, and he isn't sure if it should be Isa (who he hasn't seen much of – maybe he changed too much. Not much as he… or maybe…). Or a speck and a glare of gold-and-blue, or a pulsing headache that calls to…
Lea thinks it's the sky, and the tides of lazy clouds and melting sea-salt ice-cream he still loves and always will. Even when he's astounded at the fact that not-him, shadow-him and assassin-him all managed to remember the flavor so much that-
It doesn't taste right from the ground. It should be eaten high up, from a decent perch instead of a huge garden wall dripping with greenery and unscented grass with fairy lights.
Aeleus had stridden right back to the castle, head still held somewhat high and never unarmed. He was stalking the chill breezes of a world returned, not-quite scowling at details that are supposed to be innocuous and-
Attacking, the feel of a weapon that is several sizes too big compared to the small axe he now carries, and the shadows swirling and lancing at him are indistinct from the end of his cloak-
Not a memory. All is memories now, nothings that he can't shrug back or dismiss with a swing and a glare. It's all the same, and it's all twisted – he hadn't seen Leon in eons, but he hadn't been that sour, and Aerith had left the flowers for dust and research.
There aren't that many kids (killers or not, shadows or not) around either. Or as many guards – or maybe the uniform just got done away with, and Aeleus is just wearing it due to necessity and wanting out of the cloak and out of-
White halls upon white halls and being charmed to his death by-
A scientist and a boy, or a boy who is the elder scientist but with a sure lilt to his voice that wasn't there before, same as the boy himself.
It's too much, and being almost guarded himself does no wonders. Not when he still has the same charge (by half, an ancient memory calls, but maybe it's the same as before, when it was a little lost boy clinging to anyone's hand, while the other often was tangled in a book or carrying some ice-cream).
He still takes his post, day after day, and pretends not to notice when he jumps at the smallest shadows or the ground doesn't answer commands.
Ienzo is smiling – for once, and it isn't a smirk or a sneer like the ones Zexion used to wear so freely as he wove away lies. Maybe it's because he's finally quiet.
He hasn't been whispering in his ears that yes, Aeleus was who he killed with a couple of words and a smile (like the ones you wear so much now, me…)
Or that Lea – nice Lea, laughing Lea who was always prancing around and pulling pranks and fireworks- (No, have you forgotten? He killed us once, like so-)
Breathe, don't panic, it isn't now-
(Ah, but you will, and Aeleus would go and die again for you. You'd research and study and find once again that deep, dark abyss and you can't stand it-)
Ienzo lets the smile falter, but never falls into neutrality. It's his, and Ienzo can't, won't, let him back, not again. There's his hand tapping at his neck, desperate for the pulse there and half scrabbling to his chest-
Heartbeat. A heartbeat through the pale white fabric, and Ienzo's alive, it's all-
(Oh, white. How droll. Do you remember what happened to that girl? The other one in white, with the soft smiles?)
Something dances across his – its Ienzo's face, and Zexion's for a while even – with a smile and a smirk before it all fades away into a fear that (maybe both) could feel.
At times like these, Ienzo misses the time when Ansem, Aeleus and Even would have been there and he wasn't so-
(Your targets again?)
-scheming. Cynical. Less scared of his own (self) shadow, and less reliant on Aeleus's presence or the permanently nagging voice of Even echoing aimlessly in his head.
(He got you in this mess – aren't you happy he isn't here – alive –as well?)
He's alive; Ienzo wants to scream at the shadow that leans against the sole spot of clear wall…
But he can't deny it, save for Even's continued existence. Never could.
Moments like this, when all returns full circle, Ienzo curses the fact that he always was orderly and good with words; bemoans Aeleus's nigh-eternal silence and Lea's easy (too easy – you see?) smiles, like all went so well for him.
For now, it's all about waiting and struggling forwards again.
Hopefully, this isn't cyclical.
(Research may prove it is – you are the living proof of it, are you not?)
A.N. – okay, plot bunnies are officially some crazy, fluffy axe-murderers who wield ideas honed to shocking keenness and polished with crack. Probably aided by too many game/movie trailers and all that.
No, Ienzo isn't my favorite, not by far- yeah, you caught me there. But Lea will get all his due awesome in-game, and Aeleus just probably needs more love. Loads.
SO, that said, thanks for reading, I invoke the classic disclaimer and due fangirl-ism, and hope to see/read more of you very nice people. Reviews are appreciated, but not, you know, required.
See you!