Sunflowers are hundreds of flowers all in one.
She was so many things to him. His very first and best friend. The tried and true comrade that had shared dirt, grit, and tears with him growing up. They shared a world before romance was a word. When all there was only the need to survive. She was his first ass kicking. She was his first love. She was his first heart break. She was his first reminder that he was mortal. She was a deep and integral part of his soul.
When sunflowers are young, they turn towards the sun.
He remembers the day too well. Particularly the smell, it's not something to be bleached and forcefully scrubbed from the senses. The pungent smell of freshly butchered children is not something you forget. The stench of death prematurely celebrated being seared in the mid-day sun is not something you forget. If he thought he felt anything close to pain before that day he was wrong. Life had yet to even hint at what raw emotions felt like. The way every single bond in his body burned. Nothing was safe from the heat. Heat of the sun. Heat of battle. Burn of exhaustion. Everything was a blazing inferno.
He had clawed and refused to concede his mortality. His breath was the last for a friend. He could feel life withering under his spear. There was absolution and relief. The blessed struggle for existence could seep away from the muscles and bones. Markus' rusty iron brown eyes raised to meet the calm crowd. Every death gave back to the earth. All Rakkorans believe they came from earth. To give back to the soil which they came from, a deliverance from battle, was the greatest death they could have. Yet he had no relief. His umber brows still had to carry on the existence. His strained muscles pushed him forward. The battle torn body departed the arena like any other day. Triumph was a long lost word. The dead could be proud to give back. The living had to carry what was left of their souls with them. He would take the seat in the stands surrounding the colosseum and be forced to feel the awful weight of victory.
Then he watched her descend. She was nothing like him. His battle was nothing to ogle at, it was ritualistic and passing. Her unrelenting steps down the arena commanded eyes. You did not know who you opponent was when you entered the arena for your rite of kor. The earth would draw you at your time. Her mane of copper crackled with energy and determination as it whipped behind her. But fate was cruel. Her challenging spirit bore unto the leader. She deliberately closed her eyes, the unspoken challenge to send someone down to try and snuff her out. She was not unafraid, but she had more courage than any fear could overtake. However, this was a test meant to break both parties. The meek steps of her opposition were as deafening as Leona's fierce ones. The tiny soul was her challenge. The self-proclaimed protector had to turn on that which she protected.
The boy had never thrived in the thick of battle. His arms were spindly and altogether his form was underwhelming. It was like glass shattering in Leona's eyes. He could see her heart breaking as she turned to her opponent. The warm brown eyes of chocolate held eons of pain in an instant. She slowly retrieved her weapon of choice. He replied with a similar action adorning himself with a short spear and buckler.
Markus focused on the straining in Leona's jaw. He could tell he was biting her cheek. Then it was like a horrid ballad. She was a forte and percussive force, a melody of passion and intensity. The spindly scare crow of a human dulled under her rhythm. He could see her pulling some strikes, or deliberately not setting up her sequences of attacks.
When he realized her conduct was going to get both the contenders killed if she didn't start taking the fight seriously, he shifted in his seat. His olive fingers gripped and curled around the edges of his hand guards. In his head Markus prayed to any deity listening. He profusely called out to any power listening to tell the girl finish it. The murmurs were beginning to rumble in the stands around him, this is taking too long, I guess she's not that good, kill them both, why is she making so much trouble. Swear beaded on the back of his neck. He ground his toes into the floor. The leather of his sandals groaned under his frustration.
She fearlessly bashed her shield into the rib cage of the young man. He lost his feet. The boy was forced to be prone under the exertions of Leona's force. He had to watch. She brought down her sword it was going to cleanly sever his neck. Then it was a silence louder than any sound he had ever heard. Her steel blade was thoroughly lodged in the dirt. No body spoke. The spared young man began to cry. That was when Markus found her eyes. The two molten magma eyes burned into another man's irises unflinchingly. They certainly were not his. No the opposite orbs Leona found were the eyes of the leader of Rakkor, Jagen.
"Behead her." Was the simple demand. There was no room for obstinate girls in their world. Markus knew she was going to die by her heart of gold.
Then when they are older they turn to the east
It had been years since he had seen her. The last memories he had of her were preserved in nostalgic sunlight. Her sunny smile and auburn hair glowed within the memories. He relished in them as he watched the sun begin to crest the world. He had now grown into his hands, the body of a man now wielded them. Adorned with sun kissed olive skin and muscles of banded steel he looked every bit the Rakkoran warrior he was.
His hands dexterously looped and tied his leather sandals on. Today was to begin as any other day, with training.
After a short jog he found himself before the small armory and training grounds. They were a reserved hillside. A slight incline festooned with rock outcropping and accented by clusters of cypress and poplars. It made for ideal sparring terrain, there was just enough flat to practice spar and enough hilly to weakly imitate the unforgiving slopes of Mt. Targon. There were some other men and women gathered around the armory with similar intents as Pantheon. It wasn't hard to find a partner. They agreed to real weapons each believing in the intensity of learning lessons the hard way. The morning carried on without interest. The afternoon came without flare and Pantheon took his leave from the grounds in search of food.
In odd ways, he held onto the girl from sunny days. He would see the copper of his baking wear and could swear he saw the copper in her eyes. The girl captured in his memories was bathed in the midday sun. So when it streamed into his small abode he was certain she had never left. The warmth was always hollow. There was no bell like laugh, there was no irises of magma. In the cruel reality there would never be Leona. But he in the privacy of his home let the sun blind him, let it bring the memories to life. The precious illusion was where the only remnants of his heart lived. The shell of a man that he had become fooled everyone else. The masculine physique and battle prowess was everything Rakkor wanted from him. But he indulged himself with the places he could find the long lost girl.
With a single tear he closed the reverie away. Lacking the motivation to continue he retired to his room to draft battle plans. He couldn't see people after he let himself go like this.
The next day was as habitual as the last. It was everything ordinary was supposed to be. Full of doldrums and bore. Then it appeared before he could comprehend what had happened. He had been out training for Rakkor when she was there. The long tangent of wild copper hair and bronzed skin belonged to no one else. Then he was on her. The broad hands of a young man forcibly grabbed her shoulders and slammed her to the towering cypress tree. He held a snarl under his helmet. But he hadn't run into any woman, and without a hint of hesitation she delivered a swift uppercut doubling him over and following up with a leg sweep and she took him to the forest floor. Her legs suppressed him and her buckler and xiphos poised to sever his head at an instant.
Eyes steadied and her pupils honed in from her surprise and adrenaline rush. Recognition came in like a tidal wave. A soft curse came on her lips and she willingly disarmed herself.
He wasn't done, he didn't share the light sentiments. Seeing her guard lower he sprung and broke her base by poping his hips and sending her into motion. He quickly locked in her arms as he rolled their position. He ensnared her wrist pinning them to the forest floor. With a menacing tone he seethed,
"You are not allowed here! You left don't you remember! We all saw you trot away to be better than all of us!"
It was like being bombarded by arrows. The onslaught of Pantheons malice was unexpected and overwhelming.
"We all had to suffer here on earth Leona. You disappeared, we never heard from you again."
Anger flared in Leona's heart, any moments of sweet nostalgia were quickly incinerated. Who was he to accuse her.
"You left me! I died that day! Leave!"
"Left you? Left you? I was going to be beheaded! The first thing you say to me is that I left! Of course I left you prick! Get off me if you want me to leave so bad!"
She saw the cheap shot. She wasn't going to be passive while he berated her, so she went for the underhanded tactic without remorse. Swift and painful her strike had the immediate and desired result. His form crumpled and she shoved him off. She wasn't done yet her hands fisted in the name of his helmet. She yanked it off and stared him down.
"I won't forget this. But you are not Markus. You're Pantheon. You are not the boy I loved."
With all fury and rage she strode away from the temporarily crippled man.