Author's Note: Forgive me if this has been done before. I just had this idea and needed to write it. Perhaps you understand. Oh, yeah, I do not own Soul Eater. In case you were wondering. Which you weren't.
It didn't begin like all the usual dreams. This one started with dancing.
Unusual, thought Death the Kid. He stood on a balcony over the ballroom, watching the swirling dancers below. It took him a moment to notice the symmetry of their pattern—also unusual. Normally he would have spotted it immediately. There was an equal number of pairs dancing on either side of the dance floor, which was divided by a silver line—had that been there a moment before? No matter. The pattern of dress colors was also exactly symmetrical across the golden line, and the pattern of suit styles. Most unusual.
Wait. There was a single flaw in the pattern. There—near the center, right by the rich purple line that divided the dance floor—a woman danced alone. Kid frowned, then relaxed. Ah, of course. He was the missing piece. How silly of him. He dreamily floated down the steps and passed through the dancing partners like a ghost. He bowed when he reached the lady. She did not cease her dancing, but smiled shyly at him. He took her hand and waist and effortlessly fell into the pattern with her. For a few moments, they danced silently.
"Maka, why are you here?" Kid asked after a time. "Is it not rather unusual for you to dance?"
Maka gazed at him silently, liquid green eyes open wide. Kid accepted the silence and danced on. They spun, stepped, drew closer, fell back in time with one another. Maka's full, silky skirts swished against Kid's crisp black trousers. He admired the elegant symmetry of her wine-red gown. "You look lovely," he told her. "But are you sure this is where you are meant to be?" Maka gasped, gripping Kid's hand and shoulder more tightly. The music reached a crescendo, and Kid wondered vaguely why he hadn't noticed it playing before. The black line running down the center of the dance floor was spreading, extending until the floor beneath Maka's feet disappeared beneath it. Then the darkness began to run up Maka's skirt, engulfing her.
"Don't worry," Death the Kid urged. "It is just taking you where you need to go." Maka's tightly gripping hands relaxed, and she nodded, smiling at Kid. For some reason, he felt his heart grow warm. He watched the darkness inch up Maka's shoulders, spill over her arms, and close over her head. Slowly, the darkness dissipated, leaving nothing behind. "Good bye, Maka," Kid called softly. He continued to dance as one by one the other dancers vanished, and he was left dancing alone in a symmetrical ballroom.
Black*Star slipped silently through the grove of bamboo that surrounded the grand house. His thoughts were entirely focused on his target, the individual who resided in this large, lonely place. His breath was silent, his passage nothing more than a shadow.
Noiseless footsteps carried him across the grass, then over the stones that zigzagged artfully across the pond. He made not a sound as he flitted through the rock garden, disturbed not a pebble. The flowers parted before him and swept back into place when he passed; not a petal fell. He reached the smooth white wall of the house unseen, unheard.
He ascended the wall rapidly, still quiet as the distant stars in the night sky. The second-story window was locked; he picked it expertly and was through it in a matter of seconds. The room he entered had a simple wooden floor and white walls, and it was empty of people, furnishings, and decoration. At least, he thought so at first. When he blinked, he saw a young woman in a red kimono decorated with white camellia flowers standing in the center of the room. She watched him soundlessly with calm green eyes. For a few moments, they stared at each other.
"Maka, why are you here?" Black*Star asked after a time. "Don't you know I'm going to have to kill you now?"
Maka said nothing, did not move. Black*Star padded toward her, drawing a small, ordinary knife from a hiding place in his clothes. "I'm sorry," he told Maka, "but a Great Assassin like me cannot let himself be seen by anyone. It's just your bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." Maka waited as Black*Star came to a stop right before her. He noticed that, though her face was expressionless, she was trembling slightly.
"Don't worry," Black*Star said. "I'm just sending you where you need to go." Gently, he slid the knife into her heart. A breath of air escaped her lips, and she sank down. Black*Star caught her with one arm. She met his eyes as blood stained the white camellias on her kimono. The smallest of smiles curved the corners of her mouth. For some reason, he felt his heart grow warm. Then Maka transformed into dust and was blown away on a small breeze. "Good-bye, Maka," Black*Star whispered. Then he slipped through the door, down the hall, and into a study. He quickly, neatly, and silently dispatched his target. Then, blood dripping from his knife, he stood and shouted, "Now I, the Amazing Black*Star, have proven my Bigness by perfectly assassinating this evil guy with an ordinary weapon, so give me my real Weapon back!"
Franken Stein floated on his back in a vast expanse of water. Gone were the self-inflicted scars on his body, the screw in his head, his glasses and lab coat. He drifted on the waves, serene. The laughing sun beat down, warming him.
His mind was blissfully empty, free from the constant questions and facts and theories and problems that clamored for his attention when he was awake. The aching curiosity, the need to know more that drove him forever to probe and experiment and seek, was sleeping, like his physical body. For now, he could be content to merely exist, to let the ocean carry him where it willed.
Stein was distantly aware of another body bobbing in the waves near him. The red of its clothing stood out in his peripheral vision. His curiosity slumbered, but something made him turn his head to see who floated in his dreams. For awhile, he simply watched.
"Maka, why are you here?" Stein asked after a time. "Do you need to escape your mind, or come to understand it better?"
Maka didn't answer, but her expressive green eyes told Stein that she was lost and confused. Stein gave her a rare sincere smile. "It's fine, Maka," he told her. "Most people your age don't know their minds." He turned his head back to look at the clear skies. "You can rest here if you like, but what you are looking for is down deeper." He listened, eyes closed. For awhile, the only sound was that of the water lapping against him. Then he heard a deep inhalation. His eyelids drifted open, and he glanced at Maka out of the corner of his eye. The girl was holding her breath and letting herself sink. Her face was set with determination, but there was fear there, too.
"Don't worry," Stein assured her. "It's the only way to find where you need to go." Some of the fright in Maka's eyes melted away, and she smiled at Stein. For some reason, he felt his heart grow warm. The ocean claimed the girl, and there was nothing left but a fast disappearing shadow beneath the water. "Good-bye, Maka," murmured Stein, eyes closing once more. The waves gently tugged his hair, his clothes, and Stein slowly dissolved into sea foam.
Lord Death burned.
Flames, scarlet, yellow, orange, indigo, flickered among the folds of his ragged black robes. The edges of his craggy, cracked skull mask shone cherry red, as did the tips of his skeletal fingers. An ember glowed from the depths of one of his empty eye sockets. Smoke wisped around him, blurring the edges of his figure.
Fire consumed the world. The flames roared, raging over every corner of the earth. Through the sheets of fire, dark, charred figures could just barely be seen—burned out houses, broken trees, blackened corpses. Billions of souls hovered among the dancing flames. Lord Death gazed over the destruction with pained eyes. Too late, too late.
Too late, but for one. Lord Death hadn't seen her at first, because the red cloak draped around her body made her difficult to distinguish from the flames. He waited as she slowly made her way toward him, passing through the fire without pause, though her clothes, like Lord Death's, burned fiercely. She came right up to him, stopping only a few feet away. Now that she was closer, he could see that her face and bare feet, the only parts of her not covered by the scarlet cloak, were clean and unburned, though she stood on a carpet of embers and smoke streamed from beneath her flaming hood.
MAKA, WHY ARE YOU HERE? Lord Death asked after a time. SURELY YOU KNOW THAT THE ONE YOU SEEK IS NOT HERE?
Maka looked directly into Lord Death's empty eye sockets with blazing green eyes. AH, I SEE, Lord Death. YOU DO NOT YET KNOW WHO YOU SEEK. He gazed at her determined face. She was still such a child, yet she did not cower from this face, this voice, which had terrified countless children before her. She was a bold one, this. He could help her on her way.
GO, THEN, Lord Death said with authority, waving a hand over Maka's head. DO NOT WORRY. YOU WILL SOON KNOW WHERE YOU NEED TO GO. The last thing he saw before Maka vanished was a grateful smile on her face. It warmed the heart that he sometimes forgot he had. He turned to the fire that scorched the world, his mask and hands transforming. "Good-bye, Maka," he called cheerfully, and he set about extinguishing the flames, until all that remained were ashes, a few shimmering embers, and a tiny ray of hope.
Spirit sat on an old, spindly wooden chair. He wore a threadbare suit that had long since faded to grey. A layer of dust coated his shoulders, rested upon his arms and thighs, lay on his shoes, dulled his red hair. The chair was in the center of a drab, empty room, floored and walled with ancient grey boards. A dim grey light from an unknown source filled the sorrow-drenched place.
Spirit sat hunched over, head hanging, elbows resting on his knees. He made not the smallest movement, did not seem even to breathe. He wasn't even sure if his heart was beating. His dull eyes stared at the worn picture in his hands, though they could no longer focus properly on the faces of the three smiling people in the photo. Himself, his wife, his daughter, standing together, laughing, happy. The old, weary photograph was the only object in the room upon which the heavy dust would not settle.
The floorboards directly in front of Spirit creaked. Slowly, he summoned the willpower to look up. First, he saw red tennis shoes. Farther up, knee-length red shorts, then a baggy red sweatshirt. Finally, a face. It took several moments for him to focus on that face, to see the sad green eyes staring directly into his own.
"Maka," he breathed. "Maka, why are you here?"
The only response Spirit received was a pair of green, green eyes pouring their soul into his own. Tears formed at the edges of his eyes and spilled down his dusty cheeks without his noticing. The tears pooled on the photograph, smearing the faces until they were unrecognizable. Spirit began to shake. His breathing returned as quiet sobs that racked his frame. He could now feel his irregular heartbeat. He could not take his eyes away from his daughter's.
"Why?" he wept. "Why is it that this is not where you are meant to be?"
Maka opened her mouth, but Spirit shook his head. "No," he told her. "It is time for you to go where you must." Maka hesitated. "Don't worry about me," Spirit whispered. His cold heart wrenched, but he knew that for once, he was saying exactly the right thing. Maka nodded once, and turned to walk away. Spirit forced himself to watch her go. She stopped by the bare wall, and Spirit realized for the first time that there was a window. She pulled open the patched curtains, and a beam of soft golden sunlight fell onto Spirit's face. She gave Spirit a tiny, sad smile, and was gone. But, for some reason, he felt his heart grown warm. He closed his eyes, basking in the sunlight, and let the ruined photograph slip from his fingers. "Good-bye, Maka."
Soul lounged on a flat stone at the edge of a large, mirror-smooth lake encircled by a quiet forest. He tilted his head back, crimson eyes following the shooting stars that whizzed by overhead. A warm breeze swept playfully around him, ruffling his spiky white hair. Music danced on this breeze, a beautiful melody that fell softly on his ears. He smiled, a feeling of profound peace washing over him.
As he watched the shower of shooting stars, he noticed one that moved differently from the others. He traced its path with his eyes and realized that it was descending, right toward the lake. He stood slowly and watched the ball of light grow, awed. As it drew closer, the wind changed, sending waves across the smooth surface of the lake and rustling the leaves of the trees. The bright golden light of the star made the lake shimmer and sent the shadows scurrying away. Soul had to shield his eyes against the intensity of the light.
The star dimmed slightly as it approached the water. Soul stared into its depths. The bright center was slowly resolving into a defined figure; Soul squinted, trying to make it out. At last, he saw the falling star for what it really was: a young woman in a simple white dress, falling toward the earth. His awed expression disappeared, replaced by concern. He splashed into the lake, determined to catch her.
The girl's descent slowed until she was merely drifting downwards. Soul stopped beneath her, the lake's water swirling around his waist. He stretched out his arms and caught her, one arm behind her back and one beneath her knees. As he pulled her to his chest, whatever power had made her float disappeared, and he felt her weight return. She was small and very light, like a bird with hollow bones. Her shining light faded to a warm glow that did not hurt Soul's eyes, but still illuminated the entire lake. Soul gazed at her beautiful, sleeping face and squeezed her gently. Slowly, her eyelids lifted, and brilliant green eyes gazed into Soul's.
"Maka, you're finally here," Soul said. "It took you long enough." He grinned happily, though he had not realized until this moment that he had been waiting for her.
Maka sighed, turned her head slightly, and rubbed her forehead against Soul's jacket, like a child. "This feels right," she murmured sleepily. A contented smile lit up her face.
"No, Maka," Soul told her gently. "It's not quite right." Surprised, she looked up at him, searching his bright red eyes for answers. Carefully, Soul set her down. She stumbled a little on the slippery lake bottom and clutched the front of Soul's jacket for support. He put his warm hands on her shoulders to steady her. When she was able to stand on her own, Soul turned her around and stepped forward, pressing his chest against her back. He took her hands in his own, twining his fingers around hers.
"Now," Soul whispered into Maka's ear. "Fly!"
With that, he flung his arms into the air. He heard Maka gasp as she rose out of the water. Her fingers pulled away from his, and he forced himself to let go. Maka flew high into the sky, white dress and loose hair rippling in the wind. An expression of amazed joy spread across her face. She spread her arms and soared, grinning. Soul's heart grew warm.
Soul watched with a subdued smile as Maka spiraled up and away. "Come back someday, Maka," he called quietly after her. Then he turned and walked out of the lake, to settle down and wait for her return.
Death the Kid awoke abruptly in the middle of the night and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He recalled the dream he had been having. Although he had a vast vocabulary, he could only think of one suitable descriptive adjective at the moment.
Unusual.
Black*Star yawned as he briefly regained consciousness. "Huh," he said blearily. "Wonder why someone as Big as me would dream about Maka. Guess I'll just have to go back to sleep and dream about a Great Star now—someone like me. Yahoo…" He fell back into a deep slumber mid-word.
Stein blinked and realized that he had once again fallen asleep at his desk. He looked down to see what he had been doing when sleep had claimed him, and found himself staring at a test of Maka Albarn's, which he had been grading. He rubbed the back of his head. "I guess that explains it," he murmured, a tad doubtful. He shook his head, stood, and went to his bed to complete his night's rest.
"Hmm. I wonder if she found him in the end?" Lord Death thought aloud.
Spirit was dragged back to wakefulness slowly and painfully. He had a hazy memory of having dreamed and struggled to remember what it was about. There…was…something…it had something to do with MAKA! "Daughter!" Spirit sobbed into his pillow. "I dreamed about you! Feel my love for you even as you sleep! My darling Maka!" He fell back alseep almost immediately, and would have no memory of dreaming in the morning.
Soul exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. It was dark in his room—was it still night? He turned his head and looked at his clock. 12:01. He shoved away his sheets and padded out of his room. He noiselessly made his way down the hallway of his apartment and opened the door of Maka's bedroom.
There she was, fast asleep. In the moonlight that flooded through her open window, she looked almost luminous. Her hair was spread around her like a halo, and her arms were stretched out like wings. Her lips curved up in a sweet smile of innocent happiness.
Soul crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, a small smile of his own adorning his face. For a few minutes, he stayed and watched Maka sleep. He knew that she was dreaming about flight. Then, suddenly embarrassed, he mumbled, "What a kid," and retreated back to his own room.
Maka sighed in her sleep, and her smile grew.