Title: chasing dreams
Series: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Gen, Friendship/Love, Introspection
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Mikleo/Sorey, Phoenix, Maotelus, more characters in later chapters
Warnings: All the spoilers and possible post-game feels. Also steampunk/solarpunk fantasy Glenwood(?)
Summary: Of rediscovery and finding his way through the dark.
A/N: Zestiria has whelmed me with emotions since last Nov, so here I am finally sharing my version of post-epilogues. Many thanks to SBL and Fran for brainstorming ideas/checking stuff for me (and for generally putting up with my incessant tl;dr zestiria keysmashing, oops) Thanks also to Digi for last-minute grammar checks and correcting typoes Music inspiration for scene #1: The Dragon's Breath by David Arkenstone.
chasing dreams
~.*.~
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i.
He awoke, first, to the memory of a name – "Sorey!" – and then, to the receding echoes of a voice both familiar and unknown to him at the same time.
It was a strange name, though how he knew it to be so was even stranger still. After all, it was the first name that had sprung to mind – the first word, in fact – when his senses had slowly, steadily become aware of his surroundings and then of his consciousness, of his own being. And yet as he blinked, once, twice, into the blinding light shining down on him from up above, he knew, in equally strange ways, that the name was his own.
He raised one hand before him, sluggishness deep within his bones as he shifted, stretching his limbs; curling and uncurling his fingers tentatively, feeling the sensations his nails left on his skin each time they brushed against his palms. The dark smudges of his vision gradually coalesced into something he could recognise and name: a canopy of green foliage and earthy-grey rock walls towering in a circle around him; a bright blue sky dotted with wispy clouds; shafts of light that shone through the crack overhead and illuminated the cavern. There was the faint trill of birdsong from somewhere far above, carried over by the breeze that was now wafting gently over him, ruffling his hair and the embroidered cape draped around his shoulders.
Sun, he thought groggily, finally registering the source of the warmth he was bathed in. Carefully he tried to sit up, steadying himself with one hand against the bed of moss and violet wildflowers he'd been resting upon.
"Looks like someone's finally awake."
The voice rang out through the muted silence of the cavern. But he felt no real fear at the sudden new presence, only a guarded curiosity. He gazed about the cavern, looking for the person who'd just spoken and yet seeing no one. A soft tug down the front of his cape brought his attention back to the space before him and looking down, he saw a small orange and white normin peering up at him, balanced carefully upon his left knee. It bounced lightly from one foot to another, before leaning forward to fix him with a scrutinizing gaze.
"About time too," the normin said, folding its arms importantly over its chest. "I thought we would have to wait for yet another century. So, how do you feel, young Shepherd?"
"I-I..." It took him a moment to find his voice, to remember how speaking worked. His throat felt sore, rough like sandpaper; his voice was hoarse from centuries and centuries of slumber. "I think... I'm sorry, I'm not sure," he faltered again, suddenly feeling disorientated and very lost.
"I was afraid you'd say that. And this just means more work for us!" the normin gave another dismissive huff.
"Come now, Phoenix, you're being harsh. The little one's been through much."
It was a different voice that spoke this time, a deeper baritone that resonated through the cavern - one filled with both immense power and a familiar gentleness. The light before him shimmered, shadows dancing briefly as it fused into the translucent shape of a miniature white dragon, its body no longer than the length of his arm. Its eyes were the green of early spring, its wings tipped in dusty gold and stretched like a kite.
"It's all right, Sorey," the white dragon said as it soared toward him, leaving a ghostly trail of shimmering magic circling around him. "You've had a long sleep, so things may seem confusing to you right now. Let's take one step at a time, shall we? This tiny ball of nuisance here is the normin seraph Phoenix."
Phoenix grumbled softly in acknowledgement but said nothing more.
"And I," the dragon continued, "I am Maotelus, of the Five Great Lords."
"I see..." Sorey could only blink, the significance of the name still lost upon him. He searched through the haze that clouded his mind for a whisper, a hint of information that came with the name but did not find any. Maotelus seemed to understand however; he was still gazing at Sorey with kindness and patience in those evergreen eyes and Sorey realised then that though he wore the shape of a seemingly harmless and small creature, he was old – older than the most ancient seraph elder, old as Time itself.
It was strange how he had known that too and how Maotelus' presence reminded him of another... Sorey frowned, visibly distressed as he felt a growing throb in his temples as he tried again to recall something... someone – no, it was no good. He could not remember the faces any more than names that held no memory nor made any sense to him, even though somewhere in his heart, he knew that they should.
"You have my immense gratitude, little one, for everything you've done, for both humans and seraphim alike," Maotelus said, pulling him out of his reverie again.
He wished he had a proper response to that, but he didn't – so he smiled instead, a sheepish sort of smile, one hand raised to rest a finger against the side of his cheek.
"It's nothing, really. I'm glad I was able to help." It was all he could manage.
Still, Maotelus only chortled and beamed at him, eyes warm with equal parts amusement and affection.
–just like Gra–
And suddenly, an almost painfully familiar sensation he hadn't noticed was bubbling up from within him; it blossomed, surging in his chest, emotion mixed with flashes of memory, dredged upwards from the haze–
"Poor gentle Shepherd," Maotelus said, and Sorey felt the dragon curling himself gently around his shoulders, sadness in his voice. Sorey blinked, aware now of the tears streaming from his eyes, of this dull ache of grief for someone he did not remember and yet did not truly forget.
"It's all right to cry, little one. You have sacrificed much for this world. Weep now that you can; in time, even this pain will surely heal. But for now–" Maotelus drew the young seraph closer into his hold, gently embracing the crying Sorey with his magic.
"–for now, tears will do."
'*'
He fell into a dreamless sleep, exhausted. The white dragon did not leave him, but only curled himself around the reborn seraph. Watching, listening to the rise and fall of his chest, to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
.
.
~.*.~