Note: This story generally follows the plot of the manga, but is also contained within the Ode to Memory AU. It is inspired by a single page from the manga (Volume 2), where Kunzite mentions how he and the other Heavenly Kings were reborn, but fell back into the hands of the Dark Kingdom before their memories could be returned to them.
Chapter 1: Kunzite
I.
I float inches above the ocean, my eyes riveted upon the immaculate sky.
There is a sword in my hands. I hold it close to my chest, blade downwards. The hilt is cold, like the wind that touches my face. I feel a cape softly undulating beneath me, and hear the whispering waves.
A palace drifts into view. White columns, and endless stairs. In my heart, there is a brief flicker of recognition, but the flame does not rise. I search the gathering clouds, and soon, a figure emerges.
I cannot see him clearly. The man suspended directly above me. I am blinded by the light of the sun, reflected in his silver armour. He reminds of Hvar, the sun-god, and I shiver in his presence.
"I need your protection," he says, his voice echoing infinitely through the air.
I wish to speak, but cannot utter a single word.
"Find them," he tells me. "Find your fellow Heavenly Kings."
Who are the Heavenly Kings?
Suddenly, someone grasps my arm. Turns me over, to make me stare into the dark waters below.
Into the eyes of a strange woman.
I can see it.
The shining darkness in the depths of the ocean.
"You belong to me," she declares, tightening her grip.
The Earth falls out of balance. Tipping to one side, betraying its axis. The sky now faces the ocean vertically, like an unfaithful mirror. And I am caught in between.
"You were reborn to serve me" the man declares, but his voice begins to overlap with the woman's.
I can barely breathe. My body is completely immobile.
"Find your fellow Heavenly Kings," they both say. Her fingernails dig into my flesh, and I am bleeding. Red filaments all over my skin, dripping down like rain.
They speak to me one last time.
"Awake, Kunzite."
And I am severed from this dream.
II.
I open my eyes, and see a strip of light move across my ceiling. Sitting up, I realize it's coming from a passing car outside. I try to settle down, but my heart is still pounding. How brutal the transition to the realm of consciousness.
As though we were not meant for this life.
The stone pendant around my neck is glowing. I distractedly reach for it as try to make sense of my dream. It was too powerful, too detailed to be ignored. Even now, I hear their words reverberating through my head.
"Find your fellow Heavenly Kings."
I slip out of bed and walk over to my desk. I don't know why, but I turn on the lamp and begin to look for a pencil. Then I open The Socratic Dialogues and, on the first page, inexplicably write the following:
40.7815 N, 73.9732 W
43.7686 N, 11.2552 E
22.3426 N, 114.1936 E
34.6547 N, 139.7370 E
I step back, stunned by my own actions. What is the meaning of this? I take a look around, as though I expect an answer to materialize before me. Once I have regained my composure, I pick up my book, and stare incredulously at the coordinates I have scribbled down.
Quickly, I tug my chair towards me and turn on my computer. The hard drive whirrs discreetly and the white glow of the screen illuminates my face. I enter the numbers and letters, and discover four different locations, in four different countries. None of them mean anything to me.
"Find your fellow Heavenly Kings."
The images from my dream begin to juxtapose in my mind. I see the silver armour against the blackness of the ocean. I remember them calling me Kunzite, like the stone pendant I wear, but do not recognize it as being my name. I close the book, wanting desperately to forget about what I wrote inside. But I cannot put it away. I read the title on the cover obsessively, until the sun finally rises.
I leave earlier than I should. On my way towards the university, I take a long detour. Try to rearrange my thoughts. I walk distractedly, detached, floating like a spirit amongst the living, and eventually wander into a Sufi shrine of the Mevlevi Order.
I stand by a pillar of the circular room, watch the ritual dance of the Whirling Dervishes. Pivoting on one foot, they spin and spin in circles, their white robes floating endlessly around them. I observe the position of their hands; one palm facing the Heavens, the other, facing the Earth. I revel in the elegance of their movements, of their weightless bodies as they revolve around the center of the room, as the planets revolve around the Sun.
And the Moon, around the Earth.
I listen to the haunting sound of the Ney, to the accelerating drums and chanting that accompany the dance. The music transports me into a meditative trance, but I am not at peace. My mind is agitated, in ceaseless motion.
The eyes of the Dervishes are open, but unfocused. So are mine, and the images in my head become blurred. I see white forms flowing before me, the world slowly disappearing. I no longer know where I am, and what I am meant to do. Who I am, and what I must become.
I have drifted out of myself.
III.
The day passes over me like a haze. I enter the classroom, open my book and manage to ignore the coordinates that kept me up all night. I deliver my lecture, and my students barely notice my distraction. We discuss the four cardinal virtues, that of Courage, Wisdom, Discipline and Justice, but my thoughts are elsewhere.
When the class is over, I hurriedly put everything away in my leather briefcase. My notes, my books, the essays I must correct for next week. I no longer care about any of it. All I can think about are the coordinates.
One student approaches me. She seems disheartened that I have already cleared my desk.
"Are you leaving immediately, Mr. Ozan?" she asks me, holding her book against her, as I held the sword in my dream.
"Do you have a question?"
"Not really…"
"Are you sure?"
I look at her longer than I should. She blushes, and I feel guilty.
"I just wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed the readings for today," she finally says.
"I'm glad you did."
There is a red ribbon in her hair. I admire it as she turns to leave.
As I head out of the University, I decide to hail a taxi. The driver asks me where he should take me, and I tell him I want to go to the Gate of Dolmabahçe Palace, on the shores of the Bosphorus.
Whenever my mind is heavy, that is where I seek refuge.
We travel in silence; the driver does not start a conversation, and neither do I. He is tired, and I am preoccupied. I watch the saturated colours of Istanbul slip by, while he listens to a debate on the radio. At the end of the ride, we exchange only a few words; he tells me how much I owe him, and I thank him for the ride. Then, I step out of the car, and head for the Palace grounds.
There it stands, the white gate I have loved all my life. It is backdropped by the water, and the blue sky above it.
I examine the columns on each side of the ornate steel gates, and feel transported by the structure's otherworldliness. No matter how many times I see it, I am always fascinated by it, by the way it reads to me like an open invitation to another realm. The realm of the Sea, and beyond.
The breeze tousles my long white hair. I remain still, trying to retrieve a memory that does not exist.
An old habit of mine.
I sit on the ground and open my suitcase, fumble for my book. I look at the first page, under the title, and my eyes linger upon the coordinates I have been thinking about all day.
What is the purpose of my life?
Through my study of philosophy, I have tried to answer this burning question. Read every dialogue, book, and essay on the subject. I have found many answers, but none that have satisfied me. My existence does not bear a general meaning. There is something specific about it. Something ancient, set in stone. I can feel it in my body.
At present, the experience I have of this life comes to me through my senses. But when I begin to reason, I can no longer stare at the wall before me. The shadows cast upon it are lies, and I yearn to free myself from their entrapments. I must seek out the Forms, so that I can escape their unfulfilling reflection.
"Find your fellow Heavenly Kings."
Was it an order? An exhortation? Was it a desperate plea? Why was it addressed to me? What is expected of me, but to follow my instincts? If I don't, I know that the dream will come to me again. It will hound me, until I give in.
I take a deep breath, shut my eyes for a moment. I can feel the movements of the sea, and the restlessness of the wind. The heat of the land, and the suffering that hovers above it. I can sense each stone of the distant pyramids of Egypt, feel each grain of sand of the Ad-Dahna desert. I can perceive the ruins of Persepolis and picture the view from the Spiral of Samarra, as though I were there, right now.
It has always been this way.
I rise. Make a decision. Choose reason, over madness.
To be mad is to live the life you know was never meant for you. To reason, is to find your true destiny. It is leaving everything behind, all the shadows, for a chance to peer at the Forms.
When I get home, I will pick up the phone, and find a substitute teacher for my class. Then, I will purchase a plane ticket for the first destination I have written down in my book.
The Hayden Planetarium, in New York City.
North America.