Title: Nameless Shadows.
Sorry it's so short...
Broken shadows dance their needless sorrow. They flaunt themselves on the walls, flickering. Climbing up the walls to reach the ceiling, only to fall back in disappointment soon after. Their living companions sob quietly, unaware of the silent dance they are taking part in.
"Why?" Someone whispers quietly. Her silver circlet reflects the weakened firelight and bounces off her metallic silvery dress. "Of all people, it had to be him."
The blonde nods in agreement, her shadow bobbing up and down in an elegant attempt to outshine the others. The long, slender legs of the alter-egos quiver in excitement; waiting anxiously for their next opportunity to take part in the strange, beautiful dance. "He's a hero." She says firmly, and at the same time her shadow seems to say something of utmost importance to the others, who in turn, dip their heads in agreement. "He always will be."
It's his turn. He wishes for nothing more then to be out on the battlefield, fighting for breath instead of words. His shadow portrays this; it's body shaking softly with pent-up energy. When it is its turn to dance, it goes off with sharp moves, nothing of hesitation. It knows what it's doing. It is similar to the one with the the circlet; a no nonsense dance filled with sorrow and unspilled secrets.
The boy who no longer is considered a boy, the man stands up andspeaks. His words are filled with a choked reluctance, tinged with sadness. But something also lays hidden underneath the words; the sound of hope. Hope at the chance of a new life. "He was a hero," he says softly, gaining strength with each word; like a toddler who has just discovered the ability to speak. "But what he did was wrong. In the end, it was right. But he will be considered a hero, though what he did was so, so wrong. His actions have caused for sorrow and betrayal almost unimaginable- even for us. He will never be forgiven for his actions, although in the end, he was true to us. He gave away much. Many lives, many secrets, many hopes were lost because of him."
He raises a fist that is still clenching the ordinary blue pen that when uncapped will turn into the most extraordinary of weapons. He knows the pen's past; how it was filled depression, hate, promises that were broken, hearts that were torn into pieces so many times they became unfixable.
The arena fills with the soft murmurings of the survivors, injured and unscathed, each and every one of them waiting for the Son of Poseidon to continue. He looks at all of them, not each alone; because alone you have nothing. No, he looks at them as one. An entire force dedicated to helping each other, defending its fellow members with its life. He looks at them all, somehow alone and together at once, and smiles. He catches the eye of the puffy-eyed blonde, the black haired Huntress, the furry legged friend, the seemingly dead-and-yet-still-living son of Death, and the fiery-spirited Drakon Slayer. Their shadows managed to pause their dance, falling back and almost melting completely into the darkness in respect for the man's speech. "He should be treated as a traitor. Because that's what he is. But he won't. He's a hero."
He falls silent and took his seat once more, his shadow sadly following.
As each of them contribute to the speech, their shadows slowly disappear from the dance. One by one. Two by two.
Eventually, each and every one of them disappeared. The shadows and their living counterparts dispersing with the rising sun.
And day by day, week by week, month by month; the memory of the Hermes Traitor Hero faded from memory like a failed math test or Tuesday night's dinner.
But he never completely disappeared.
Fin.