mellifluous
I
He was immediately struck by how unrecognizable the commander of the Aerial Knights had become. The air of superiority that accompanied Roid Brehm's every movement was infuriating and the way the king clung to his every word even more so. Long gone were the days where they could call each other comrades, friends even. Now the man who stood in front of him was nothing more than a snake.
A snake who had all of Windermere wrapped around his finger.
Keith narrowed his eyes as the king smiled, emerald eyes that used to be so honest and full of hope had become tainted. Yet he was not to blame for the corruption. The perpetrator was kneeling by the throne, relishing in the kingdom he had so willingly perverted. He looked as if he had already won the war, as if he held the entire galaxy in his gloved hands, as if he was a god. From behind glasses, green eyes glanced at the white knight.
He averted his gaze, overwhelmed with both regret and disgust.
Time passed slowly in this place. She spent her time in two rooms - his and what he called 'the sanctum'.
She stood in silence, surrounded by ice. Her shoulders were cold and her fingers a shade of frost. Coarse rope restrained her, and she mused to herself how sad it was that the wretched thing was her only source of heat. Footsteps, heavy and confident approach her then, echoing throughout the tall room. There was no reason for her to turn for the sight of his face made her stomach churn. Instead, she braced herself.
"Rudanjal Rom Mayan."
Familiar and unbearable pain overwhelmed her in an instant. The past she tried desperately to deny wrapped around her form like a rope. As the galaxy crept up to her face, swirling and churning, and her lips parted.
"Your highness, I implore you - " He started, head bowed respectfully although he wanted nothing more than to stand upright. "To listen to me. The commander you trust is nothing more than a rat."
The king sat impassively, his stern face contrasted with his frail figure draped in clothes all too big and surrounded by the softest of blankets. There was a time when they would share beds and laughs but now all that remained was bitter regret. A frown graced his youthful face then, it did not suit him in the least. None of this suited him. The crown, this duty, and this cruel destiny he was born into.
"...Roid Brehm has done nothing but fight for our kingdom," a cold voice, so unfamiliar that it shocked the older brother. "He is a trusted commander who has nothing more than Windermere's best interests at heart. I would rather not discuss this matter right now, Keith. Please leave me be."
The Aerial Knight gritted his teeth, clenched his fists and without complaint, left the room after excusing himself. He did not look back and thus did not see the king lean back into his pillows and close his eyes. The rune that once shined so brightly had been reduced to nothing but a dull glow.
It was worse than he had initially thought. He was fuming as he walked down the corridor, what little power he had prior to his father's death had dissipated before his eyes, faded into dust. Now, he was nothing more than a prince in name, a pawn. A person to be discarded once they had outlived their use. The thought was aggravating to say the least. Yet he couldn't deny the fact that it was not as farfetched as he wished it was.
That man, Roid Brehm - just the mention of his name made the golden haired knight want to smash his fist against the wall - draped in secrets would undoubtedly bring ruin to the kingdom. He was sure of it. Soft whispers late at night revealed similar beliefs among the older Aerial Knights, although the younger ones remained blindly loyal. Yet they knew not what to do - for they were neither kings or strategists, only mere soldiers.
Azure eyes swept over the walls that laid cold and bare on the marble floors. They stopped at a window, where frost dappled the glass like tiny fragments of snow.
Keith looked up towards the sky.
Two young boys, blissfully naïve soared across the almost infinite expanse of clear blue. The wind blew through their hair, their runes shined brightly under the soft sun. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see it.
He woke up in a cold sweat. Images, violent and hot, still echoed throughout his mind. Closing his eyes, the man tried to calm his breathing. He could not recall the exact details of the nightmare, and that alone scared him. His hand goes to his forehead, wiping away remnants of fear, weakness. The knight's room was cold, winter air blowing in through windows he had forgotten to close.
Feet meeting the stone floor, he made his way to the other side of the room. The curtains were pulled apart, revealing cool mountains swathed in night. Buttoning his white shirt in an attempt to combat the onslaught of cold wind, Keith approached the window. It was dark, but he could make out the moon - obscured by the strangest of clouds that danced as if they were swimming. Stars littered the night sky - flickering dimly as the wind blew trees back and forth. In the far distance, surrounded by snow-capped mountains was a small village. It was decorated by warm golden lights that cast a glow above it. Some distance away from the village lay an orchard that he could barely make out yet was no less important. He breathed in the air, closing his eyes. This was his home, his kingdom.
And then he heard it.
An overwhelming voice, a tearful song, the wind.
He whipped his head around, blue rune flickering. It wasn't Heinz. The wind cut sharply into his cheek.
It took him less than ten seconds to leave his room. Pulling his pair of boots deftly onto his feet, hurriedly grabbing his sword, he closed the door behind him. He did not know what he was doing, what he should do, or what had to be done. But he felt that if he didn't find the voice - nothing would change. His brother's face flashed across his mind. He would not allow that to happen. There was no way, no way in hell, that he would sit idly by as his kingdom was destroyed.
He was quick and agile. Weaving between corridors he knew all too well. The voice led him to her, dying walls and floors, tapestries and statues, a distraught violet. It was impulsive, the course of action he had chosen. But, it was already too late to turn back. It was late at night, the only source of light was the moon's rays, filtering in through floor length curtains. Inwardly, the knight wondered why only he had heard the song. This thought was quickly abandoned once he reached the source.
A door he had passed through many times before. The door that led to the sanctum. Where he has witnessed many times over - the power of the wind singer.
Yet it was not the king who sang.
Standing by the ruins, was a woman. Her long, violet hair billowed out behind her, obscuring all of her form. She did not sense his presence, continuing to sing with a voice that sounded strangled, yet also eerily beautiful. At that moment it did not matter who she was, who he was or even where they were. Her voice - a melody that could not possibly be replicated - transcended all.
And then her song stopped. She did not turn to face him - as much as he wanted her to - simply remaining still.
"Let me leave," in a voice that sounded so tired and lifeless that it hurt. "Roid Brehm."
He didn't respond, letting a tense silence fill the room. After a few short moments, where the two stood separated by an immense amount of space, the woman finally turned.
What caught his attention first and foremost was her eyes. A shade of crimson, much like the blood he saw after the fight with the grim reaper, only this time; it was dull and lifeless. Her expression was similar in nature, blank as she looked at him. Instinctively, he searched for her rune. But the only thing shining bright that he could see - was the sanctum behind her. And then - the realisation dawned upon him. He had seen her before. Not too long ago - in the midst of a battle. Her name escaped him, but he knew enough. Walküre.
He hid his surprise behind a face of impassiveness. The woman spoke first.
With a cold voice and colder eyes, she demanded, "Who are you?"
The White Knight remained silent. She needn't know just yet. Instead he began to approach her, boot clad feet clacking on the hard ground. The woman automatically took a step back - clearly perturbed by his mere presence. At this angle, he could see that she was restrained by heavy rope from her shoulders to her waist. He inwardly stifled a laugh, that man always did have bad taste.
She tried to run but he caught her arm with a heavy grip. He lifted her into his arms - her body was soft - undeniably a woman and he assumed that she was of age. Her lips opened - ready to scream, shout, plead - but she didn't. Something stopped her. A stark realisation. Eyes wide, a million stars rolling around like a galactic sea, she simply whispered.
"Just take me away from this place."
Keith smirked - an expression of pure malice painted across his features, "Don't misunderstand. I'm not here to save you."
His strides were long, confident. If he were in anyway paranoid or afraid, he did not let it show. The man's face was composed as he carried her down the unfamiliar, darkened hallway, his footsteps heavy on the hard flooring. Windows and paintings passed her by quickly in a blur their muted colours blending into the night. The further they were from the sanctum, from its light, the more uneasy she began to feel. Her skin begun to crawl and goosebumps appeared on her pale arms.
These emotions weren't hers. She - Mikumo - wanted nothing more than to be rid of that place. The place where her voice was used to destroy. That sanctum draped in darkness and fear.
So she relaxed her body in his grip, her resistance now a mere thought in the back of her mind. She allowed him to take her down those halls. Wanting nothing more than to be rid of that place.
The man finally came to a stop. An ornate door, decorated with gold, yet indistinguishable from all the other doors she had passed. He set her down, a heavy hand on her shoulder - she almost laughed at the unnecessary nature of it - and unlocked the door with his free hand. She glimpsed a small brass key before it was quickly returned to his pocket, averting her gaze when he felt her lingering glance.
She was roughly pushed inside, his hand a tight grip around her shoulders. The Windermere locked the door behind them and she heard it close with two soft 'clicks'.
The room was lavishly furnished, decorated with emblems that she couldn't quite recognise. A large bed - draped in the whitest of sheets rest in the middle of the room, its mauve canopy spilling out onto the floor. Everything was so vastly different to what she was used to back on Ragna. Ornate wardrobes replacing rough drawers. She felt sick to her stomach.
Still, she forced herself to be strong. Turning herself towards her new captor, her eyes narrowed.
"What is it that you want from me?"
The man gave no visible reaction to her question. Instead, he moved to the open glass window that stood across from them. It had been so long since she had been exposed to fresh air, so she began to rest a little easier when he left it open. His rune, a blue that reminded her of the sky, was dull.
"I want," he started, voice low. It was deep and a little rough - nothing like the cruel yet sweet tone that man used with her. "The truth."
Mikumo tilted her head ever so slightly. Upon seeing her questioning look, he began to elaborate.
"What exactly does Roid plan to do with you?"
As if she was aware of it. That man's mind was incomprehensible, a garbled mess hungry for power, for the Galaxy. Yet, to spill that out would only result in her early demise - she spared his hard face a short glance - she was sure of it.
"And why should I tell you?" Her voice was tinged with what she hoped was suspicion.
He turned to face her, face indiscernible. Behind him, the wind blew in furiously, sending violent ripples up and down the curtains. She finally recognised him then, put a name to his face. The man who killed Messer. He approached her, taking long strides, yet she didn't shirk from him. His form obscured the window, the night sky, and the cold wind.
He was so close; she could feel his breath on her lips.
"You want it too, right?" The White Knight murmured, instilling a sense of dread within her. "The fall of Roid Brehm."
She couldn't help but stiffen. Noticing this, he let out a small smirk and took a step back.
"Our goals are the same."
"They are not."
At this, his smirk only grew wider. It was far too late for her to realise that she had long since exposed herself. The loss of power, of leverage, irked her to no end.
Stilling her heart, feeling it turn to stone, she asked harshly, "and why would I trust you?"
He brushed his hair back from his face, letting it run through his long fingers. Although his smirk had disappeared, replaced by an expression of quiet annoyance, his rune had begun to shine. The idol supressed a shiver.
"Frankly, you don't have much of a choice."
A/N i am a wholesome woman don't look at me.
