Apply standard disclaimers here.
--------- DEUS EX MACHINA (by Raven Minamino a.k.a. Kuroya) ((Written: 4/29/06 Published: 5/13/06)) ----------
Chapter Two: Awakening (Dreaming)
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Someone or something out there, Alex reflected as he faced the Wise One once again, really, really hated him. As if he hadn't suffered enough yet after being buried beneath an entire mountain and having his dream stripped from him, now he had to deal with this rock-- again-- in a small unventilated room beneath the surface of Weyard. He just hoped that he could think of a way to get out of here, and soon. He'd never wanted a roommate.
Both slightly afraid and slightly defiant, Alex tried to rearrange his features into an expression that conveyed at least a small amount of confidence. That big rock may have taken away part of the power that was rightfully his, but he still held half of the golden sun's strength. And no rock, no matter how big or how ugly, could best him again. By God, he wouldn't let it. He'd been through enough injustice already, and he was going to keep the power that was rightfully his. No matter what.
"What do you want now?" He asked irritably, confidence rising as he felt psynergy welling up within him. It was beautiful-- unharnessed, pure power, that knew no limits and no rules. Of course he could beat the Wise One if it came to that; he could beat anything. He could still rule the world. The realization that his dream was still somewhat within his grasp-- if not as perfect as he had wanted it to be-- gave him added courage, and he glared at the Wise One's single, unblinking eye.
The Wise One laughed. Actually, it was not so much of a laugh as a small earthquake; deep, rumbling sounds echoed throughout the small chamber, and a few bits of stone showered down upon Alex's head. He gritted his teeth and brushed them off, annoyance quickly building itself into anger. He didn't take well to being laughed at, by giant boulders least of all.
"What do I want?" The Wise One repeated, his ancient voice still containing traces of laughter. "What do I want?" He paused, as if he were considering the best answer to this question. "I suppose you know, Alex, that I am the oldest being in existence. Except perhaps God-- but I am close enough to God that it doesn't really matter." He laughed again, and this time the sound was almost cruel instead of humorous. "What I want... Is for Weyard to die." He stopped abruptly, waiting for this to sink in.
Alex blinked, absently brushing a few more bits of rock from his head and shoulders. He tried to think of something intelligent to say, or better yet, something intimidating; but "What?" was all that came out. The Wise One was supposed to protect Weyard... Unless it had gone insane in the short time since he had seen it last. Was insanity contagious? If so, he may have caught it from someone... Namely, himself. And after the events of the past few hours, Alex wasn't entirely ready to rule out insanity. It would actually explain an awful lot.
The terrible, hoarse laughter came again, and it was a moment before the giant rock continued. "The only question was, should I let it die slowly or have it go out in a blaze of war and strife?" It closed its one eye briefly, and made a movement that was somewhat reminiscent of a human shaking their head. "I am very, very old. I am not used to change... I am not used to violence and fear. So, naturally I wanted it to die off slowly. But, alas... The lighthouses were destined to be relit, and Weyard was destined to blaze again before it fell. And now..."
Alex blinked a bit more, not really sure if he was actually hearing this or not. He had fallen very far for a very long time... Insanity was an option, yes, but couldn't this easily be a simple hallucination, or a dream? After all, his understanding had always been that the Wise One's job was to protect Weyard and all its people from harm. It was, indeed, a Godlike role, and in the past, it had done good things to help the people of Weyard. It had stopped the lava from Mt. Aleph's eruption from reaching Vale, for example. It was widely revered throughout many countries, though some knew it by a different name than others. It just didn't make sense that the Wise One would turn out to be some sadistic being bent on the earth's destruction. That, Alex reflected bitterly, would be his description now.
But it just wasn't plausible-- why go through all that trouble, then? If Weyard was going to die eventually, then why interfere at all? If he'd never sent Isaac on his quest to stop Saturos and Menardi from lighting the lighthouses, then Weyard would have died anyway. If he were as old and tired as he claimed, then surely he would have been content to sit back and watch as Weyard destroyed itself, whether through inaction or warfare. Did it really matter which method were used if both had the same result? Besides, the Wise One had taken part of the golden sun's power from him and transferred it to Isaac, when it new full well that Alex had interesting plans for that power. In addition, he had tried to kill Alex as well, presumably for good measure, when for all he knew, Alex could have been the angel of death for all of Weyard. No... The rock had to be either lying, or saying this for some malevolent purpose, in which case he wasn't going to be easily manipulated.
It was Alex's turn to laugh. "You? Kill Weyard off at last? Sorry, I don't buy it." He pushed his hair back with one hand, still laughing softly at the rock before him. "If that was really your goal, then why did you bother taking part of the golden sun's power from me? You knew I could have singlehandedly destroyed or enslaved every person on the planet. You probably could have even manipulated me into doing it, but you didn't. So why? It couldn't have just been a whim. You must have given the power to Isaac Sol in order to protect Weyard, not harm it. You knew, then, that Isaac could stop me should I live to use my own newfound power for evil."
The Wise One chuckled, causing a small avalanche towards the back of the chamber, and gazed intently at Alex for a moment. When it spoke again, its voice had a strange quality to it that was difficult to place, but which made Alex feel almost uneasy. "You... You do not understand at all. When Mt. Aleph was destroyed after you found the golden sun, I knew you would survive even if you did fall several miles beneath Weyard's surface. You may have figured this out already, but the power you have attained makes both you and Isaac essentially immortal. So, I knew you would survive... And I made plans to accommodate you."
Alex frowned. This did not sound right... It didn't sound right at all. He didn't like being anyone's pawn, and the Wise One's tone suggested that he had been one all along. It was an entirely unpleasant thought, because he was used to being in control; he was used to manipulating others, not having others manipulate him. In a strange way, it made him feel violated, as if someone had taken something very special to him and used it against him-- damaging his pride in the process.
"You see, Alex... You still have a part to play. A rather large part, in fact... Your power is much too great to be wasted. You alone will see this through to the end; you alone will bring about Armageddon. You alone will know what becomes of everything after Ragnarok... You are my irreplaceable, lovely pawn."
As the Wise One finished his speech, a dull rumbling filled the room, and the floor and walls began to shake so violently that Alex was thrown to his knees, gasping for breath and swearing softly as he was pelted with small stones. Something hit him hard on the head, and he swore louder as blood trickled into the corners of his eyes and made trails through the rock dust on his cheeks. His forehead exploded in pain, and then there was nothing.
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Isaac sighed heavily and rolled over, searching for a slightly more comfortable spot of floor. His friends were all already asleep, snoring to their heart's content, well-fed and thoroughly exhausted. He, however, had not slept much at all for the past few days. He was tired after each day, yes, but a few short hours of quiet and rest seemed to be all he needed to be rejuvenated for the next day. Sleep did not really seem to refresh him anymore, at least not the way it had before... Well, before the lighting. He wondered whether he even needed to sleep. It was a disturbing thought.
So, all hope of sleep forsaken, he reflected with a wan smile that now he had plenty of free time to think. He had fallen asleep briefly while his roommates had been eating dinner, but he had awakened shortly after their return, having achieved little in terms of neither sleeping nor thinking. Of course, now he had plenty of time...
Alex. Now there was a subject he had managed to avoid mentally, even through five days of very boring labor and five sleepless nights (in most cases, equally boring). He wasn't sure, really, why he was subconsciously avoiding the topic; there was something about the man, perhaps, and his sudden disappearance, that made Isaac uneasy. He had said that his goal in ensuring that the lighthouses were relit was simply to see a New Age; to see a time when men again possessed the awesome power of alchemy, and great civilizations rose, and great men led other great men in creating something new and beautiful.
Isaac had not known Alex well at all, but he knew enough of the man to know that he was manipulative. It was a matter of opinion whether he had actually cared about those he manipulated, but the consensus was that he was... Well, not the kindest of people. Isaac didn't think he was truly cruel, per se, but he could not honestly say that he was anything close to a good Samaritan. But Alex's character notwithstanding, it was definitely possible that he had some ulterior motive in aiding Saturos, Menardi, Karst, and Agatio. He didn't want to jump to conclusions and suggest that it was a self-serving motive, but that was entirely possible.
However, no one had heard a word from Alex since he had last been seen at Jupiter Lighthouse-- no one, that was, but a little girl from Vale. She had happened to be talking to Isaac shortly after he and his father had been reunited with Dora, and had mentioned that she had seen a strange blue-haired man near Vale shortly before the collapse of Mt. Aleph. She had told no one else, though-- or if she had, they had thought nothing of it, for rumor had it that Alex had just disappeared after the lighting. But if Alex truly had been near Vale before Mt. Aleph's collapse, then he was surely dead. That wasn't the real mystery, though-- what Isaac really wanted to know was why Alex had been near Mt. Aleph that day, and what he had been after all that time.
In addition, the collapse of Mt. Aleph and the fate of the Golden Sun still bothered Isaac (and Kraden, too). Was the Golden Sun simply absorbed back into the Earth? Did it explode, causing the mountain to crumble? Or did someone perhaps claim its power? And if so, then did they survive? It seemed likely that anyone crazy enough to take the power of the Golden Sun would not be able to escape danger in time, for the mountain had crumbled shortly after the lighting of Mars Lighthouse. Then again, it depended on the nature of the power they had been given; the golden sun was said to be able to do anything for a person-- eternal life, limitless power, limitless riches... If this was true, then surely someone with such an awesome amount of strength could survive. But it was unlikely that anyone would even know about the golden sun besides Kraden and the eight adepts, so the chances of someone having claimed its power were slim.
As for Alex--
Then it clicked. Not for the first time in his life, Isaac felt like bashing his head against a wall, wincing at how stupid he had been to avoid this subject. If Alex had known so much about the relighting and the New Age, and the golden sun had appeared on Mt. Aleph, and he had been seen near there just before the lighting... Of course. It made sense; surely the golden sun was Alex's reason for wanting to see the lighthouses relit. He may not have been an evil man, but even good men had been known to go to great lengths for things such as eternal life, riches, and... Power. Isaac shook his head. He should not make judgements about a man he had barely known, regardless of the others' opinions of him.
Had Alex reached the golden sun in time? If so, what sort of power had it given him and what had he done with it? Was he still alive to appreciate it? If he had survived the mountain's collapse, then where was he? Miles away by now? Buried beneath the rubble? He didn't like the sound of the latter possibility. It gave him a creepy mental image of he and his friends sorting through the ruins of Vale, only to find a certain blue-haired man beneath some boulder, immortal and all-powerful. Even more creepy, that mental image somehow irresistibly reminded him of Pandora's box. Was he Pandora, then? Would he unknowingly unleash evil on the world?
He rolled over again, trying to block out Garet's loud snoring. Sometimes, it was possible to think too much. Then again, he had a reputation for being the careful one; for thinking things through and making fair, intelligent decisions. He wasn't quite sure he agreed with that-- as a fighter, he had to go with his instincts rather often, and instincts were neither logical nor well thought-out. However, he could say for himself that he tried to avoid making rash decisions when possible. Perhaps that came from thinking far too much on sleepless nights like these.
The Wise One. That was another subject he had avoided thinking about, not because it was unpleasant in itself, but because it brought back some bad memories. Fighting his own father, and Felix and Jenna's parents, for example. That was something he still re-lived in his nightmares. He still did not completely understand the Wise One's purpose or motivations, but he trusted that they were not really evil. After all, its duty was to protect Weyard and its citizens from harm-- surely it had done, all along, what it deemed necessary to keep Weyard alive and well. It may not have been trying for a storybook ending, but it had wanted to protect the planet, and Isaac could not fault it for that. Unfortunately, he'd had no chance to ask it why it had done everything it had, for like Alex, it had disappeared after the lighting. Perhaps it considered its job done for now, or it was otherwise engaged, or it did not consider the questions of a seventeen-year-old boy worth answering. Whatever the reason, Isaac had not seen it since the events on the Mars Lighthouse Aerie. Maybe he should be glad; after all, it could easily be a good sign that it hadn't made an appearance. The earth was no longer in danger, as far as he knew. He should be able to relax now, and start a new life.
If only it were that easy... He liked to spend a lot of time thinking, but this also meant that he spent a lot of time worrying. Jenna liked to joke that he'd be an old man by twenty. Maybe that was true. He didn't feel very young. He felt overwhelmed; even though their adventures were over, the others saw him and Felix as unofficial leaders. Even many of the older citizens of Vale and Vault looked up to them now, despite their age. They had proven themselves, he supposed; and there was something of a price to be paid for saving the world.
No, his journey was not over, really... It was just beginning. After Vale's rebuilding got more under way, he and the other adepts were planning to visit the lighthouses, to see and record what had changed since the lighting. Depending on what they found, they might still be needed by Weyard. If everyone started developing psynergetic powers, then they couldn't be allowed to run amok without training. No, someone-- or several someones-- would have to train them. Isaac knew, instinctively, that he would have some role to play as the New Age emerged. He couldn't afford to relax. He had been nominated as leader from the beginning, and it seemed that the title wasn't going to simply disappear. It was his job to worry, to make sure everything turned out okay, to make sure that nothing else threatened Weyard. He wasn't too modest to admit that he could lead-- but, at times, he wished he didn't have to. It was a more difficult position than many people realized.
Not to mention that, at the moment, he had ample reason to worry. There was Alex, for one thing, and the rebuilding, and the as yet unknown effects of the relighting, and his strange new ailments. And suddenly, he was very tired... Sleep may not have given him much true rest for the past few days, but he knew now that he did still need it; perhaps not for the rest, but for the escape. No one, he reflected, could live in reality all the time... It was enough to drive you insane. He wondered about that, sometimes.
He fell asleep to the sound of his friends' heavy breathing; of soft, whispering voices downstairs; of the earliest birds just starting to chatter; of his heart beating and filling each moment with a strange, monotonous drumbeat. He dreamed that he had wings. He dreamed that he was flying, above everything, and it was all beautiful.
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The first thing Isaac noticed upon waking was that his head was throbbing horribly. He moaned softly and rolled over, experiencing an unpleasant jolt of pain as a loose floorboard dug into his side. Someone was speaking to him, but he couldn't make out the words through the cacophony of his own thoughts. The voice was familiar, soft and lilting, almost musical... He felt something cool on his forehead, and instantly the pain vanished, replaced by sweet nothingness. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, smiling into the semi-darkness that prevails just before dawn. "Mia...?"
The Mercury adept removed her hand from his forehead, somehow managing to both frown and smile at the same time. "Are you okay, Isaac...? Usually you don't sleep that deeply. I think you might've had a fever."
Isaac shook his head and struggled to move into a sitting position, absently rubbing his temples with his left hand. "I think I'm okay now... I just didn't sleep very well." His brain finally took in the fact that it was still dark, and neither he nor any of the other adepts ever woke before sunrise. "Is something wrong? It's still pretty early."
"Sort of... A few minutes ago, a Goblin came into Vault. It killed one of the sentries before we could get to it. I think the others are handling it, but we might need your help."
Isaac moaned again, still rubbing his temples. "Monsters? Here?"
Mia shook her head, getting to her feet and retrieving her staff from where she had left it next to the door. "I didn't think it would happen either, not after the lighting. Are you coming, Isaac?"
He nodded, standing very slowly so he wouldn't have to use a bedpost for help. Because he was feeling fine now. Completely and totally fine, except for the fact that his head was about ready to explode. Maybe he was finally being punished for thinking too much when he could have been sleeping peacefully, with everyone else. Wearily, he lifted his sword from its hook on the wall and followed Mia out the door and down the stairs, trying to coordinate his steps so it did not look like he was in any pain.
When he and Mia reached the bottom of the stairs, he could instantly tell that something was wrong: all the inn's tenants were wide awake, staring fearfully in the direction of the door, which had been barricaded with several chairs, an oven, and a dining table. The innkeeper's wife was pacing back and forth just outside this jumble of furniture, wringing her hands. The innkeeper was nowhere to be found.
Isaac felt a flash of uncharacteristic irritation, possibly from lack of sleep, and lifted one hand, enjoying the feeling of psynergy coursing down his arm and into his fingers. With one flick of his wrist, the pile of wooden furniture went soaring to the other side of the room, narrowly missing Garet's little sister, who shrieked and glared at him. The innkeeper's wife took her example and began to shake a finger at him, though she continued to pace as though her inn had never been disturbed.
Isaac shrugged an apology, slightly puzzled at his own behavior, and swept out the door, his sword gripped so tightly in his right hand that his knuckles showed white. Mia frowned slightly at the furniture, then at Isaac, and followed him out of the inn.
'You don't even know what you're capable of, do you...? You've never tested your new power.'
"What?" Isaac turned back to look at Mia, brow furrowed. "Did you say something?" Though it hadn't sounded at all like her voice... It was deep and cruel and horrible, and made his head hurt even more... And why would Mia say something like that...? None of it made sense, and his head really hurt, and he probably should have tried to get more sleep last night...
Mia said nothing, but shook her head, frowning slightly at him. "Come on, the Goblin is over here, by the town entrance." She brushed past him to take the lead, hurrying forward in the direction of the rising sun, which was beginning to claw its was up the eastern hills, bearing its blood-red fingertips, which spread their color into neighboring clouds. Isaac paused a moment to stare at this phenomenon, the spectral words he had heard a moment before echoing through his head. 'You don't even know...' He shifted his sword so that part of its weight rested on his shoulder, and followed Mia into the red sun.
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Felix bit his lip as he concentrated on dodging the Goblin's forceful swings, not wanting to think about what would happen if he got in the way of that gigantic club and the ground. Being crushed to death had never really been on his list of things to do. "Garet, Ivan! Behind you!" Almost too late, the adepts jumped out of the way of the Goblin's other club, rolling to semi-safety a few yards away.
Nearby, Jenna was hurriedly casting Serpent Fume, but it was doing little good, only seeming to annoy the Goblin and make it even more deadly. On the other side of the monster, Piers was making good use of his sword, but with little effect. The skin of the Goblin was thicker than almost anything they'd encountered before, and neither weapons nor psynergy seemed to have much effect on it. "Garet! Cast Debilitate!" Felix yelled across the battlefield, rolling out of the way of another deadly swipe from the Goblin's club.
Garet nodded and complied; it seemed to have some effect, for now Jenna's spells were creating scorch marks, and Piers's sword looked as if it were drawing blood. Felix cast a hasty Ragnarok, but it took up precious time; it appeared that the Goblin was using his right arm to target him specifically, and all he had been doing for most of the battle was dodging and running. He felt a flicker of regret as he finished the spell-- it seemed to have hurt the beast, at least slightly, but now its temper was rising all the more. Thanks to the time he had taken to cast a spell, Felix was a second too late in dodging the next swing, and he felt the wind being forcefully knocked out of him as a giant wooden club collided with his chest, sending him flying backwards, where he collided with a small cliff and lay still.
Sheba cried out and hurried forward, signaling to Piers that Felix needed help. Wary of the still-flying clubs, Piers sheathed his sword and retreated, letting Garet take his place as the guy with the big sword. Ivan and Sheba began to cast Shine Plasma, but to no avail; they were just draining themselves of precious strength while the Goblin continued its rampage.
Jenna made a wordless noise of joy and took a break from her spell-casting to point at the horizon, where Isaac and Mia were hurrying to the rescue. Her strangled cheer, however, was quickly cut off as the Goblin's left club hit her hard in the stomach. Like Felix, she too went flying, landing a good distance away. She didn't get up.
Isaac frowned at the sight before him and ran ahead of Mia, unsheathing his sword in mid-stride. 'Why would a monster be here? And why would it be stronger and larger than usual? Everyone seemed to think that with the lighting, the monsters would vanish. Even you dared to hope that many of your worries were over...'
"Shut up!" Isaac roared as his sword collided with the Goblin's leg, the sheer force of the blow making the Goblin stumble, though the blade seemed to have barely made a dent in its thick hide. 'You want me to "shut up"?' The ethereal voice laughed, and like its words its laughter was cruel and cold. 'You don't understand... I am you and you are me. I will never be silenced.'
"Shut up! I don't want to hear it! Seriously, Mia, this isn't funny!"
Hearing her name, Mia looked up from where she was tending to Jenna a good distance away. "Isaac, I'm not doing anything! Isaac... Look out!"
Gritting his teeth in a vain attempt to push aside the pain in his head, he dodged the Goblin's right club, feeling another surge of uncharacteristic irritation. He couldn't believe that Mia was playing games with him at a time like this... Couldn't she see that he was a little busy at the moment? It was unlike Mia to act so childish, so cruel... And since when could she talk like that anyway? It was really grating on his already strained nerves.
'Isaac... I want you to cast Ragnarok. Take every ounce of psynergy you have, and cast it. I promise you'll be pleasantly surprised...'
"Goddammit, Mia, I don't have time for this! Leave me alone!" Irritably, he dodged another swing, ignoring Mia's protests and assurances that she didn't know what he was talking about. It was only background noise to him, because the voice was all there was. The voice, and him, and his untapped well of psynergy... The voice, and him, and a power so strong and so terrible that it filled every ounce of his being, overflowing, overflowing... He let it surge into his fingertips, and he laughed, because the psynergetic light was so bright, so fiercely gold, that it was like looking straight into the sun.
He cast Ragnarok as if it was his own psynergy that was controlling him. His power, his magic, itched to be free, itched to be unleashed, desired only to show the world what real strength was. He laughed again as his psynergetic sword crashed into the Goblin and exploded. The resulting light was even brighter than before-- so bright that all of the adepts were temporarily blinded, shocked into standing very still for a moment as the Goblin slowly keeled over in a heap of blackened flesh.
As the smoke cleared, revealing a group of eight very disheveled, smoke-blackened and drained adepts, Garet was the first to recover his power of speech. "Holy crap, Isaac, what was that?" His voice was part awe, part concern, and part some alien emotion that Isaac could not place.
'Fear... You remember fear, Isaac, don't you? You helped to save the world, so surely you remember what fear is. And now, now... Now your friends are afraid of you.'
Isaac let out a wordless roar and clamped his hands over his ears, closing his eyes tightly against the red-and-yellow spots that still exploded in his line of his vision. "Stop it! Stop it, please!" He shook his head violently from side to side, not noticing or caring that he had dropped his sword and it now lay in the scorched grass, steaming ever-so-slightly as if it had been nearly melted.
Felix, who was fully healed now thanks to Piers's help, took a hesitant step towards the other Venus adept, holding his hands out palm-up in a gesture of helplessness. "Are you okay...?"
"I'm fine!" Isaac shouted violently, opening his eyes but keeping his hands clamped firmly over his ears. "I'm perfectly fine! Just... I just didn't sleep well." His head was pounding horribly, and the tips of his fingers hurt, and he couldn't believe he was being interrogated at a time like this... Wait, interrogated? Felix had only asked if he was okay, had only shown concern for a friend... No! Well, if they wouldn't leave him alone, and give him some space, then he'd just have to get away from them... Right, away... Because his head hurt too much and he couldn't remember why... Because it was over, empty and over, and he couldn't remember anything anymore.
Leaving his sword steaming gently in the early morning sunlight, Isaac whirled around and vanished into the horizon, making his way back towards Vault. The other seven adepts stared after him, shocked into speechlessness.
"What was that?" Garet asked again after a moment, still looking at the spot on the horizon where Isaac had disappeared. He shook his head, sheathing his own sword and taking a few steps forward to where the Venus adept's sword still lay. "He left his sword..." He said quietly, moving as if to lift it, despite the steam that still rose from its blade. However, even as his gloved hands made contact with the hilt, he let out a yelp of surprise and pain, leaping up to cradle his right hand in his left. "It burned me!" He cried. "The damn thing burned me!"
As the other six crowded around Garet and the sword, he lifted his injured hand for them to see: Most of his glove had been burnt off into nothing but ashes, little remaining of it except for a few hardy patches. The skin on his palm and fingers was bright red and blistered from the heat, a few drops of blood collecting in the center of his palm. Mia cast a quick Ply, and stared for a moment at the blade. As the adepts watched, the metal began to warp and twist, becoming an unrecognizable heap of silver metal. Even the hilt began to melt, its wrappings disintegrating in a fashion similar to Garet's glove. After a few minutes, the metal had liquified itself, becoming nothing but a silvery puddle.
"He melted his own sword," Garet said in awe. "How does that happen?" The others silently shook their heads, still staring at the twisted remnants of a weapon that had lived through saving the world, only to end up in worse condition than the things it had slain to get there.
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It is laughing at him. He doesn't care; why should he? It is not really there... Just a figment of his imagination, a moment of his soul, suspended and never-ending, torturous and cruel. He can make himself not care. It's easier than perhaps it should be.
His hands hurt, so he wraps them in his scarf, cradling them to his chest. There is a breeze blowing in from the north-- from Vale and the ruins-- that tosses his hair into his eyes. He notices without really noticing that it has gotten long, almost like Felix's. His feet pick his way through grass so green it hurts to look at, but he is not really paying attention anymore. Where he is going, why, when... None of it matters so much. He would not die for a where or a when. He would probably not even die for a why.
But that's what the problem is, isn't it? Too many things to die for, too many things not to die for, too many things to live and love for that aren't even worth caring about. Too many things, too few things, and they all combine and overlap until he is more confused than he was to begin with. He doesn't mind. It is easy to tangle his thoughts up like this, but it is not easy to undo the knots he makes in the process. The knots are interesting, and complex, and he likes to take his time in picking them apart. He always has something to do. He is always smiling inside his head.
The sun has risen already, bleeding out across most of the eastern horizon, then drifting westwards, only to be obscured by a clump of storm clouds floating in on the northern breeze. Soon, it will rain. He is glad; he has always loved the rain. It is quiet, and peaceful, and serene. When it comes, they will stop screaming at him and he will no longer listen. When it comes, he might laugh, but he doesn't quite trust himself that much. Nothing is easy like this. Nothing has ever been easy, really; the difference is his eyes. Through the eyes of a child, everything seems simple and beautiful and pure and right. Through the eyes of an adult, there is failure in every aspect of life, in every living creature and design and thing that could have been beautiful but is not. His eyes are changing, and he is too. He was afraid at first, but there is no use in fearing the inevitable; it won't stop it from happening or lessen the pain when it does. So now he just waits for things to change; drifting, neither child nor adult, neither whole nor broken. It never would have made a difference anyway. He knows. They know. They have always known.
The sky is quickly turning from red to gray, from life to death, as the light slides away, finding rest beneath a blanket of clouds. He is glad. The sun hurts his eyes.
It is whispering in his ear, quieter now, and somehow the decrease in volume makes it harder to block out. It is loud, but still quiet, and it hurts more than the burns on his hands. He does not want to hear. He does not need to; it doesn't really matter. He is afraid again.
The rain is chasing his mind away, and he is running after it, but he can't run when the mud at his feet is reaching up to entangle him, to pull him down. He has never been able to run properly... Not since that time. Why is he trying? Because he needs to. He wants to catch the wind, wants to race the rain and fall down and get back up and scream and be free. He wants, he needs, he tries, he fails, he sobs, he finds himself sprawled on his back in the still-green grass as water errupts all around him.
He is laughing after all, because he is too far gone to care; he is laughing, only it doesn't matter, and this is all it takes to be free. When it's over, he will be home.
That's all he ever wanted.
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He is tired, but he can feel himself waking, and all he knows is that he just wants to sleep forever. But he can be neither asleep nor awake; he is perpetually drifting somewhere in between the two, neither aware nor unaware of his surroundings; neither living nor dead. And he is so very tired...
The sun-- wait, the sun? It can't be, he hasn't seen daylight in ages-- is burning against his eyelids, scorching his skin. He swears softly, the words halting as they reach his parched lips. He cannot move, and the sun is bright and burning, but he cannot reach out and grab it as he so longs to do--
He is awake.
It is daylight, and he cannot remember how long he has been asleep or how he got here or what happened or why-- all he sees, with his eyes closed, is the Golden Sun, pure and sweet and strong, filling him with power. Yes, power... So much power that his body can barely contain it, that he longs to let it seep out through his fingers and his toes and poison the earth beneath him. He wants... He wants to test his limits, to find and break all restrictions, to free himself and be lost in the beauty of a new world. He has waited so long.
But he is tired, and his body aches horribly, and his head pounds and there are sharp pains in his shoulder blades. He cannot remember anything, but he knows that he has power, and he knows what he wants but cannot achieve, and he knows that he has never been happy. He knows things but doesn't know them; a cacophony of thoughts drifts through his brain, and it is suddenly so difficult to separate right from wrong, truths from lies, pain from beauty and strength from weakness. He is not afraid; he is alive, and he is powerful. He is not afraid.
Slowly, carefully, gently, he opens his eyes, managing a small smile as he realizes that he is staring straight into the midday sun. He is blinded, and he is smiling, and he is not afraid. He watches the colors explode in his eyes-- red, yellow, orange, gold, white. He lets them fade out and fade in, explode and recede, flare up and die down. He simply watches for several moments, and then he moves. Cautiously at first-- just the tips of his fingers, his ankles, his mouth. Then he sits up, his eyes making painful objections as they are torn away from their view of the sun.
He smiles, and lifts one arm, then the other, then his legs. He is completely uninjured, though his entire body is covered in rock dust and soil. His clothes are no longer recognizable, and his hair and skin are in no better condition. There are scars on his hands, but he has no recollection of receiving wounds on his palms. His back and shoulders feel very... Strange. It is almost as if a great weight has been dropped over his shoulders, and it cannot be removed. Whether the weight is metaphorical or physical, he is afraid to find out. He gathers his strength, and attempts to stand... But abruptly falls over.
Confused, he shakes his head in a vain effort to clear it, and tries again. This time he succeeds with the help of a nearby tree, but he feels very wobbly and overbalanced. There is definitely something on his shoulders that shouldn't be there. Hesitantly, he reaches back with his left hand, which abruptly collides with something very solid, sending jolts of pain through his body. Frowning, he tries the same thing with his left hand, encountering the same barrier. He can't tell what it is-- it is uneven, as if it has a bone structure of its own, and it is feathery.
Feathery bone structure? He isn't entirely sure that he likes the sound of that.
He turns his head to get a glimpse of these anomalies, and sinks to his knees, putting his face in hands. He is laughing, and he cannot stop. The sounds spasm through his chest and echo through the trees that surround him, reverberating through branches and returning to his ears, amplified so that they sound louder and even crazier. Because he is crazy. He cannot remember how it began, and he does not know how it will end. But he is crazy. He is tired, and he is crazy, and he cannot remember.
But somehow, some way, impossibly, he has sprouted wings. White, fluffy, feathery angel's wings. And if he wasn't sure before, now he knows that he is insane.
The trees close in around him, and the sun on his back begins to crush him, and he is crazy and he is laughing and he doesn't care.
This is the prelude. This is the beginning. This is the New Age, and this is the end.
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