A/N: It started with a sentence that crawled into paragraphs. I didn't want to include romance, but somehow it turned out like this, with almost every prompt guaratee a pair. Grammar shifts are mostly intentional, but do tell me if there's something wrong, or incoherent lines.
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Flowers flying in the air, sending my longing to you.
Spring. It has been fifteen years since that night. Have you ever forgive me, Anna? The way I failed you both, losing Lloyd you entrusted to my care. Fifteen years, Anna, and I'm back to Mithos. Perhaps you'd smile at me, slapping me for trying to forget everything we once have, then you'd point at the blooming flowers, telling me to start anew. But I can't. There's no you by my side. There's no one else left from what I used to be. Where are you now?
Today is the day of Oracle. Maybe you'd hate me for being part of a plan you hated so much.
But you're not here anymore.
Song, that melody in the rain.
He always hates the rain. At first, it was with no particular reason. He just hated the way it drenched his hair, sticking them to his neck, making him uncomfortable. The way it creates puddle that splashes around, dirtying his clothes and slowing down their journey.
She, on the other hand, loved it. She remarked the beauty of the water droplets, falling from the celestial sky. She noted the smell of life that came along with it. She loved the sound of rain hitting the window of their makeshift home.
Kratos, always the more sentimental one out of the two of them, would join her, liking the rain for all the memories it evoked. Then she would sing. An angel who shone through gloomy sky to bring back the light to the land. He decided that he might like it.
Until she was murdered under the rain she loved so much. He hates rain, because it took her away from him. Forever.
White ash, memories scattered under the darkening sky.
The road ahead is misty, beyond curtain of wispy breath and falling snow. Bare branches stand in silence, not wanting to disturb the silver heaven. More whitish to match my hair, but glistening all the same. Wind blows, scattering the powdery substance, slapping them to my overcoat. Slapping me to reality, dragging me back to earth. I was lost within the passage of time. There, where we used to be, now overgrown with thistles. Here, where we first held hands, now is your resting place.
It was winter when we first came here, but it has always been winter in my heart since you left.
Shards of crystal, mirroring the world's memory.
It was old Mizuho site. Now it's ancient ruins, valuable heritage of the past. It was Lloyd's house. Now it's a sanctuary built to honor the Hero of Regeneration. What would they say if they ever get to see how much the world had changed? Three hundred years following their deaths, the end of their little, tight knit group, she'd lost every link to the past. Even Genis and her, finding it to be too hard to be together since it'd remind them of the others, had gone on separate lives. He went to the depths of the forest, up high tracing mountain paths, settling somewhere as the new Storyteller. She, only she, spent her time to revisit their memories. To her, the ruins are more than academic study. It's the only place she could look at the passage of time, to find and to lost more.
The river flows, to the end of the world.
There is one in Gaoracchia, where she used to hide from time to time. It's place of things unneeded and forgotten-moss, ugly aquatic plants, assorted rocks- a lonely place for a deserted girl like her. Here, she wouldn't cause any trouble. Here, she could be herself. Sometimes she would skip some rocks. Other times she'd sing. Most of the time she'd be crying. Even after she was sent to Sybak, even after she beat Volt, even after she'd appointed chief, even after there's another place where she truly belongs, she still come here, only to remember a little girl who was alone in the entire world.
Dancing leaves, the sound resonating in my heart.
He couldn't remember when exactly he discovered light once again. All he could make out was that involve a pair of fiery eyes and raven hair. And a powerful right hook. After that, the swirling irises became the most beautiful thing in the world, and he could look into them all day, even if the owners didn't seem to like it. She's different. Others dance of waltz. She dances with death. They speak in hushed whisper. She yelled her mind out loud. They walk. She flies from branch to branch. They're elegant rose petals. She's nimble leaf, trying her might to hover in the air.
He's stubborn earth, catching her when she falls, protecting her from blades of wind.
Floating clouds, I'm afraid to tell you my feelings.
Falling down, the sky's crashing down. There used to be times where I'd try to show how precious she is to me, but then I'd back out. I was afraid. I was a coward. And I never know how much I used to have until no chance exists anymore. Words. Kratos is right. I'm all talk and no action. If only I looked into her eyes to figure what was wrong. If only I heard her scared whisper. If only I looked through her distant shadow. She was always by my side. I was too much into my own curiosity, neglecting her feelings. Could he make up for anything? Could he wake her up from her soulless prison?
For the first time in his life, he'd be the one saying apology.
Sands in the hourglass, numbered days to see your face.
He smiles. He laughs. He yells. He walks. He speaks. He's alive. She will not be. He looks up to the future. She's trying to save it. That's why; he should never see her crying face. He should never see how much she wished to run away. He should never see that he's the reason she never abandon her duty. He should never know how much she loves him. If that means he could continue to live on, she'd gladly goes through the regeneration.
Flying birds, voices carried to faraway place.
Spring. Blooming flower, chirping birds. Alicia's tombstone in the middle of the sky garden. He often wondered how she'd look like now. Smiling, perhaps? Or laughing because he'd finally thrown out his trademark handcuffs, returning to Duke Bryant at last. Once or twice he'd frown, swearing that he could hear her crisp laughter, her voice whispering from the frosty breeze. Only in this place he let loose all logic he possessed, chattering to the nothingness for long hours, summing his life to sentences overlapping one another like a child talking for the first time.
He'd swear he could hear the nothingness replied.
Morning dew, droplets of soul emitting life.
What is life? What is time? What is 'me'? What is 'Presea'?
It took her a long time to get rid of those questions, those numbing reflections of what should've been but never been. She spent a long time trying to find herself, a little girl lost in age, literally. 16 years wasn't short amount of time to be lost. Yet, despite her best efforts, she found herself powerless to catch on.
"You think too much."
Really, for being told that sentence by the certain silverette, she couldn't help but smile. Maybe she was. Step by step, little by little, he opened her minds that it was how she lived her life mattered, not recounting on 'what-ifs' and expectations. Life had given her the second chance. She'd not let it go to waste.
All it took was a morning dew to remind her that her winter was over. Spring has come.
Twilight ,shifting hue to darkness.
He never believed in any sort of deity. Martel did, to nature spirits she taught to believe existed, a part of the elfish culture when they were very, very little. She never pushed it to him, though, having witnessing that he was too smart to his age, too bitter to accept that something was in charge of the world yet didn't do anything to end everything. Racial friction, endless war, hunger, inequalities of life. No one could blame him for that.
Yet, at the time, he prayed to whatever creature called 'The Holy One', that it was unreal. That Martel would be smiling at any second, apologizing for not being able to help, walking beside him to humor him since he pulled a cold war with Yuan for 'stealing' her sister. Whispering lectures all the way long.
He never believed in any deity. He never needed one. His deity was very much alive, down to earth, smelling of blood and grass and wind, with flowing green hair and mesmerizing eyes.
Crashing waves, words resolved in cacophony.
Why a fight? Why a war? Why hate half-elves?
It's ironically funny, the way this world dealt with matters. Despite having intelligence, these people talk with brute forces. Even elves are guilty of this, abusing their ability to sense mana to create more powerful spell to devastate the enemy. The world's autonomy is at the hands of fearless warriors, who unfortunately never allow themselves some silent spaces. Nothing is eternal. Long lived it might be, it still wouldn't last forever. Yet, grudge carried itself through years, centuries, until the burdened bearers slash down each other without knowing what supposed to start the argument. Living is a game of revenge.
I'm not going to argue hypocrisy. We too, are in a journey aimed to end the war. But we too, shed blood of the innocents (Is there still any innocent people living on this land?). I can take no responsibility other than my own, but what's worse than dying is having to watch people die by your name.
Upon this land of Aselia, we pray to the Goddess that never was, placing wishes to the starry sky. Our dreams, falling in thousand pieces of hope, within grains of sand and drops of water, swaying amongst the wind and soaring high from the blazing fire. Our thoughts, everywhere, living on the existence of the land itself.