A/N: Hey there! Nagivator here, bringing you my first fanfic for this account. I did have an account a few years ago for a number of games, with Elsword thrown into the bundle. I found story writing to be impossible because of my issue with procrastinating at any given moment; now with that being said, I am probably watching some Youtube videos while I'm typing this up or roaming around Elsword while stalking glamorously dressed people.
Anywho, let's get on with the fanfic! Just a small introduction to make sure I don't completely forget this little idea...
So I attempted to add a bit of religion (ONLY A TINY BIT OKAY?!) to spice things up a little bit. I tried my best to research everything, but research can only take you so far, amirite. Which meant I got a bit lazy with it.
If I get anything wrong, please don't kill me. Allow me to apologize beforehand to those of you who are religious and are offended by my idiocy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Elsword and its characters; they all belong to KoG! I do not own the cover picture either!
Chapter 1 - Illness
Walk on, wandering souls.
Blood. Corpses. The gaping hollows one would call a 'mouth'. They were littered around carelessly, abandoned, shredded to pieces. The darkness, so suffocating, the greatest nemesis of an unsuspecting target. What a brutal scene. It hung in the air; the fresh scent of scarlet liquid, spewing out in chaotic arcs from warm bodies before settling ominously on all that it smites. shhhnkk
For your respite we pray.
There it was, the unmistakably cruel sound of meat being skewered mercilessly, blood dousing all in its wake, cries of terror cut short in a split second. It turned deathly silent, save for the quiet mumbling of a long forgotten song.
Let our humble song clear your hearts of dismay.
Amongst it all, a tall malignant being, a mere teen slouching over with his eyes fixated blankly on his feet as his lips moved to form the words of a song. In his hands, he brandished a dual weapon; one, a wicked blade sharpened for the sole purpose to bring about destruction, its white edges leering menacingly as scarlet tears ran along its surface, the other a great sword of many tales, its rough surface embellished with innumerable scars of countless bouts. His hair, a cluster of burning fury spiking in a messy fashion stained by an ugly jet black speckle on the left side of his head.
...
After what seemed like an eternity of standing in solemn thought, the boy lifted his head skyward, eyes now closed and eyebrows knitted pensively as he lowered the two sharp pieces of metal and emptied his chest of unseen contents, a breath he did not realize he had held in. It was only at that moment did he feel the wet pellets of something cold striking and prodding harmlessly at his armor.
"Oh," The boy slowly revealed his crimson orbs, lifeless, empty. "It's raining."
The rain doused his lean figure in a gentle embrace. It eased the stubborn throbbing of his temples and the dull aches in his muscles. The moonless sky served as a great disguise for this night of slaughter, the bodies left graveless and in their tarnished states.
He favored the darkness. The sun was just too bright, too cheerful. The boy impaled his blade into the ground, the elegant curve of the scabbard inviting crystal droplets to join the blood resting on its surface. O, how this melancholic downpour toiled to rouse his wretched memories.
"Hmm...?"
There he stood, staring into the clouded skies then at the violent reality before him, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips as one droplet of this blasted rain tasted rather... salty.
Tsk.
"You seem happy, don't you," The boy clutched a gloved hand to his face, pain sharpening his features. "...Conwell?"
Coughs rattled the small girl, the muffled sounds rippling through the air in ear-splitting intervals. Her eyes moistened, threatening to spill tears down her cheeks as she felt jolts of pain agitate her body. Lavender tresses tumbled in violent sways as her body rocked viciously from the internal assault, shadowing her face in long wisps of hair.
The coughs subsided to feeble wheezes, until absolute silence fell upon the vacant room. The girl brushed away tenacious strands of her lilac locks, wiped away the final traces of dampness under her eyes and patted down her scrunched up blanket.
She folded her fingers under the tome that she had sent tumbling off the side of the bed during her coughing episode, and carefully eased the crinkled pages into a flatter surface. It proved challenging, for once the damage was done, the ugly crease will never be reversed to its original state. The girl closed the ancient book, and gingerly ran a finger over the raised surfaces of the weathered cover; an image of a burning flame, a solitary snowflake, the waves of the wind and a bolt of lightning. She patiently traced the edges of them, training the images into her mind as she often did during her pastimes throughout her fleeting childhood.
A lone cough escaped her lips, then a hushed sigh. She averted her gaze to the window outside, the sound of rain striking the glass and splashing into accumulated puddles reverberating in her ears.
Settling the book on her linen lined lap, the girl tipped her head backwards, resting against the wall behind her. She stared absentmindedly at her hands, at the threads of fate written along them her mother once called 'palm lines', with a blend of insipidity and contemplativeness etched onto her gentle features. Rested on the wall next to the side of her bed, a staff that stretched from her head to past her waist, engraved upon it a holy cross. Honey-gold and baby pink ornaments adorned the structure at the tip of the staff, framing the intricately crafted wings that hung from both sides. Indeed, it is a staff fit for a young lady of her caliber, for its anatomy served to efficiently channel the energy borrowed from the land to harness the four elements of nature at its optimum level.
A smile danced on her pale lips as she remember fond memories of fellow magicians practicing the same as she. Perhaps it was time for her to say her prayers to them at the cemetery. Although...
She could barely remember their faces.
Again she sighed, disgruntled. No, she had more important matters to attend to; tomorrow she must once again offer her prayers in favor of those who were still alive and breathing.
She just simply had no time for the dead.
Two soft, carefully measured knocks resonated from the door.
"Aisha? Are you ready?" A voice called, laced with a woman's matured timbre.
Aisha stifled a sigh and fastened the magenta bow settled on her chest. She pulled on her brown gloves and donned a pure white robe lined with fuchsia ribbons and a feathery motif along the edges of the billowing sleeves and the seams across the bottom of the robe.
Today was just another day. She would perform her weekly ritual of climbing the mountain, isolated from her populated hometown, and offer her prayers to the lone ash tree situated at the summit, a duty she had been burdened with for as long as she could construct memories. Aisha did not dwell on it, though.
"You are special, my dear. The essence of your being has always allowed the breath of the land to favor you for it is stronger than most if not all, and thus, you hold a greater influence on the energy that flows consistently through the earth; the energy of life."
Those words would always echo somewhere at the back of her mind. A smile flickered on her lips.
She patted down her indigo pleated skirt and, reaching for her staff, felt a cough bubble up in her throat as the air was almost knocked out of her. She retracted her hand and hacked into her gloves, her legs buckling under her. The majestic door hurtled open as a haze of forest green and ebony black darted towards her. A delicate, warm hand glided over the back of her quivering, hunched body comfortably as the coughs tortured the small girl.
The purplenette heaved, each breath sending a thousand agonizing pinches to her torrid throat.
"M-my... staff..." Aisha croaked, as she searched for it through watery eyes. She felt the familiar handle of an object press into the palm of her hand.
"Here." The woman breathed, balancing the staff in Aisha's hand and patting her affectionately. She pressed her lips into a thin line, worried for the girl's deteriorating health. She instinctively ran a hand over the hilt of her blade, fiddling with it as unease scintillated across her emerald green orbs.
"Thank... y-you Rena." She gripped onto her staff and propped herself up. The purplenette staggered uncontrollably, the world seeming to tumble in a torrent of white and chartreuse. She furrowed her brows in concentration and sealed her eyes tightly shut, regaining her equanimity. She puffed out a lengthy sigh as her features relaxed, a bead of sweat streaming down her forehead.
"I'm afraid we'll have to take our leave soon... the sun is about to set," The woman brooded, examining the younger girl. "Are you able to walk?"
"Of course," She asserted. "Of course I can walk."
A/N: And there you have it! I've had a lot of free time handed to me now that it's summer, so it's back to a bit of writing for me! That little snippet of a song at the beginning was actually from Final Fantasy Type-0. Man did that game change me... The theme song was also very fitting for the theme here, too! So rights go to the person who wrote down the translations~
Till next time, adieu~