It was a dream... a dream of the person he used to be.
He looked to be so much younger than before, trudging along a path lined with corpses, some untouched and left motionless by the side of the road, while others smelt burned and charred, as if having been burned alive. His body was small and frail, carrying the blind girl on his back while the soft green-eyed boy followed from behind, face wrought with sorrow, as if having committed a grievous sin.
"...big brother?" the girl called out weakly, her face nudged atop his shoulder. "Where are we? It smells..."
The response should have been blunt and straight to the point. He should have told her that they were surrounded by the dead. Corpses were all around them. And yet, strangely so, he answered, "We're passing by a junkyard." he said, a false smile on his face as he looked back at her. "Your probably just smelling the trash."
"Oh... I see." the girl nodded, a gentle smile coming across her face. He couldn't understand how she could be so happy, nor take his words for granted. It was when he saw her gentle, kind, honest smile that he realized why he had lied. She was so pure, angelic almost, like a guiding light to him. Such people like her were far and few in Drangleic, in fact he could not recall the last time he met someone with such gentleness. The only person he could recall, searching in the back of his mind, was the Emerald Herald, though her kindness and gentleness left some in distaste, perhaps because of her unique nature.
He stopped for a brief moment when he realized that the boy behind them had stopped. His small arms were shaking, head lowered. His eyes were watery, on the verge of tears no doubt. "...are you alright?" he asked, though strangely, his name alluded him. He knew this boy with the utmost certainty, yet his name, so close on the tip of his tongue, eluded him like a pesky, annoying fly. The child nodded somberly, wet streams flowing down his face, cutting through the patches of soot that caked his face. He walked over to him, the girl seemingly comforting him as she placed a hand on his cheek.
"It'll be okay..." she said, smiling still. The boy's eyes widened, looking at her in shock. He was left like this for a while before he gently placed his own small hands over hers, sobbing. He looked at the sight with apathy, unable to understand why this was happening between the two. He looked down at his hands, seeing only the flowing blood. The smell had changed. He no longer smelled burning flesh... only rotting.
He looked to his side, seeing corpses rising from their places, stumbling toward them, hands outstretched. He recognized some of them as the Hollows he had killed before. He no longer felt the child's weight on his back, and no longer heard the boy's sobbing. Wordless, he reached behind his back, taking the hilt of his blade into his hand. Even though the corpses reached out for him, as if begging for help, he regarded them with nothing but silence.
He pulled the blade from it's sheath, and slowly stalked forward, sword in hand. He began to pick up speed, his other hand clasping around the hilt. He was running now.
"...demon..." the corpses whispered and chanted, eyeless sockets glaring out at him. They were nothing but blackened holes, maggots falling from their skin. "...monster... betrayer...demon...heretic...!"
The chanting grew louder. He knew not of what they spoke of, and honestly speaking... he did not care for them.
"...die..." the corpses howled. "...die...die...die...die...!"
Die, indeed... how many times has he died in pursuit of that damned throne?
"...demon... a demon...!"
He leaped into the air, pulling his blade back behind him. The corpse at the very front screamed at him.
It was the girl he carried on his back.
"...you shouldn't exist...!"
The blade cut into her skull.
A sudden shift below him caused Lelouch to groan, shaking his form subtly. Slowly, his eyes blinked open, his sight blurry like murky water. His limbs were stiff, the rest of him aching angrily as he moved his arm to rub the drowsiness out from his orbs. Soon, the murk subsided, and was greeted with rays of harsh sunlight stabbing into his eyes. He gritted his teeth slightly, pulling himself up. His hair fell slightly across his face, flapping comically as he rose up. His hand touched his face, grasping it as he felt sweat pour down his face.
A dream... that was all it was, a mere dream... yet he could not deny the remnant of pain that ached in his heart, or what was left of it. Beside him, the Emerald Herald stirred as well, shifting ever so slightly. From outside the small little cot they were in, he could hear the cries of seagulls. He pinched his nose when an unfamiliar stink fled into his nostrils. "...smells like shit," Lelouch remarked crudely before he stood up on his legs. He had stripped himself of his armor when they had departed, now dressed in only a loose cotton shirt and slacks, a pair of mud-stained boots on his feet, and a ratty cloak covering his body. It would not do well for him to receive such strange stares.
He stepped out, leaving the Herald to herself, though he was forced to bring up his arm, his eyes still trying to register the harsh sunlight around him. The sky above was a cold, yet cerulean blue, a shade he thought he had seen before, despite the skies of Drangleic being nothing but cloudy, rotting gray. He wrinkled his nose in disgust when the smell continued to invade him. The waters here smelled so foul, but it was a far cry from the horrid stench he had come to begrudgingly get used to in his travels.
The boat was old and wrecked, yet strangely the man in charge of it thought it was still in perfect shape. He failed to see how, but did not question it. So long as it got him away from this hell hole as far as possible, he was content. And speaking of the captain, the man in question was lounging about at the head of the boat. He was dressed oddly, though his preference was not to be desired. A simple leather jacket, stained and dingy shirt, and worn out slacks. A dingy cap sat atop his head. When the fisherman noticed his presence, he chuckled a bit, waving at him. "Top of the mornin' to ya, laddie." he greeted, his accent thick and unfamiliar. "Sleep well 'nough?"
He gave a rough nod. He didn't like to talk more than he had to, especially since his throat hurt like hell right now. It was sore and scratchy, probably a result of sleeping in a damned haystack.
"Don't talk much, do ya?" the fisherman asked, chuckling. "Anyway, helluva time to be travelin', 'specially from dat hellhole... Dragon-whatsits?"
He gave the man a wry smirk beneath the cloth, walking over to join him. The pungent smile was going to take some getting used to, but the gentle breeze was refreshing. It reminded him of that small little town that acted as something of a home to him.
"So, where'd ya headin'?" he asked curiously. "Not da bes' time ta be movin'."
He figured as much. "...where are we heading?"
"Port town up north, nice place durin' da season!" the fisherman grinned, revealing yellow teeth, and a missing molar. Man must've been a warrior to lose a tooth. Hell knows how many he ended up losing, and yet they grow back just the same. A perk to being undead, he assumed. "'Course, there's dis big city Northeast, really famous for healin'! Don't put stock in all of 'is talk, but word is, it can heal anyone, just from a transfusion!"
Healing... when he heard the word, he grew curious. While he seemed to vaguely recall the meaning of 'transfusion,' whatever the hell it meant, it was obvious that it was important, and apparently something quite popular. Perhaps there was a chance to rid himself of this curse? Even if he could no longer Hollow, he could not rely on the Crown forever, and he needed to find someway to rid the Darksign of others who suffered the same fate as he did... from the fate the Emerald Herald held.
"...what is the name of this town?" he asked.
The fisherman chuckled. "'ey call it Yharnam, City of Blood Healing."
