The trek had taken no longer than three hours. Making a brief visit to Deningrad, Dart had quietly prepared himself. It had taken much tact on his part, way more than he was used to, to convince Coolon that he merely wanted to travel alone because it was so close. He deserved a break, Dart tried to argue, after practically flying around the world, something he would have to do once more the next day to recover everyone. Dart wasn't sure whether his words had worked, or perhaps Coolon saw through his cool countenance and sensed the warrior's uneasiness. Either way, the beast finally agreed to let him alone and the two agreed to meet up the next day with Miranda and Meru.
At last, Dart was alone.
He figured the path he must take might be full of hazards, having been long neglected. He filled his traveling bag with potions and purifiers; any food, he decided, he would just hunt for. The last thing he bought before setting out was a long, heavy, fur-lined coat. Though he had not been to the place since childhood, he clearly recalled the unforgiving low temperature, so cold it would without a doubt pierce through his thick clothes and armor. Standing on the edge of the city, he made one final list of all his supplies.
"That's everything," he muttered quietly as he tied his bag shut. "Nothing left to keep me from going." Besides his own apprehension, he grimly added in his thoughts. Regardless, he began to walk, letting his memory of the terrain lead him back to his home.
As he navigated the worn, treaded path of the Evergreen Forest, Dart was instantly reminded of his previous journey, the one he had taken six years ago in hopes of finding the Black Monster. For four years, he had walked alone, using the journey as a chance to familiarize himself with the world, as well as with himself. Looking back at all the contemplation, every moment of reflection and meditation, he began to wonder how much he was actually learning about himself. Rather than reflecting on his life choices or goals, more often than not, he recalled pondering about nothing else but his objective: how to find the Black Monster, what are its powers, what to do when he found it. It wasn't until he came across Haschel, whom he trained and journeyed with for his final year, that he thought of anything else except revenge. And then it was nothing but battles and wars. How to become a more capable fighter. How to train and improve quickly.
Pausing as the path began to fork, Dart had to think for a moment. Wasn't there a third pathway? Shrugging, he kept on forward, stepping into the unpaved dirt and grass. Of course, there wouldn't be a road leading there, not when there was no need by the average traveler.
"What a waste," he mumbled sadly. "Five years spent thinking about nothing but revenge and fighting." Looking ahead, he watched as the ground seemed to gradually whiten in the distance.
Snow. He was getting closer.
Peering from side to side, Dart found it a bit curious that he had yet to face any monsters on his way. Sure, since the wolf Kamuy had been healed, there was substantially less danger. Even so, as he met nothing but the occasional squirrel scurrying up a tree, he couldn't help but feel confused. Soa knows, he wasn't used to this kind of peace. Not when for the past month he had been fighting every terrible monster imaginable, and many more that even seasoned warriors couldn't fathom. Not even Rose had suspected. . .
'Rose. . .'
He sighed in frustration, forcing himself to banish his train of thought. He wondered how long he would have to do so. After separating with Coolon, his goal had been to forget about the dark warrior, if only temporarily. His main focus had to be his journey home. Many times in Deningrad, he had lost track of time, caught up in thoughts of the woman. The armor store was the worst. Why did she have to be a warrior, he had dumbly thought. Everything he looked at, even weapons he knew she would never use such as a bow or spear, reminded him of her, and he eventually decided against updating his equipment just to keep himself from thinking of her.
It was cowardly, he knew. Eventually, he would have to face her. He would have to explain his outburst in Mayfil to her. Eventually, he would have to look into those beautiful, cold, dark eyes and apologize. . . he would have to face her judgment, be it a lethal glare, viciously damning words, or a swift fist across his cheek.
He remembered the last time she had punched him. A small smile crept across his face. His eyes became hooded in reminisce. . . what a dangerous chance he had taken then. And by the gods, that was one he would never regret-
The impact of his face against the tough bark of a tree startled him.
'Right. . . no thinking about Rose,' he reminded himself, wiping blood from the quickly swelling cut on his cheek.
It wasn't long before his coat started to seem a little less warm. As the sound of crunching snow beneath his feet became audible, Dart felt his heart sink deeper with every step. He stopped in his tracks as the trees became thinner. The brush and the grass had all but vanished, covered in a clean sheet of snow. Letting out a breath, he stood very still.
Between the bare trees, he viewed the remains of Neet.
For many minutes, he moved not a hair, as if frozen over by the harsh cold itself. When he finally took a step forward, he grimaced. His boot seemed to crash unto the earth like thunder.
Another step. The petrifying, booming sound reverberated through every inch of his being. It reached into the deepest, darkest crevices of his fragile heart, hell bent on breaking the man into tiny, pathetic pieces.
In seconds, he was on his knees, fighting to keep down his lunch.
"Dammit," he cursed fiercely. His body convulsed violently. 'Dammit, don't do this, Dart. Not when you've come this far.' With the greatest care, he pushed himself to stand, dearly clenching his stomach. His brow was moist with sweat, even as the frigid air whipped at is face. Walking once more, the thunderous sound had quieted. Just the slightest.
'Pathetic,' he admonished himself as he neared the broken village. 'Absolutely fucking pathetic.'
Finally releasing his abdomen, he decided instead to clench the hilt of his sword. Half out of a need to touch something familiar, half in case any monsters wandered throughout.
The first thing he came upon was a lamp post. Though the neck was dented and the glass candle holder broken, it stood firmly. For a full minute, Dart simply stared at the charred, black metal. A blurry, distant memory teased his brain. With it, the sensation of pain. Dirt on his back. An angry middle aged woman picking him up, patting his back gently while chastising him.
'Probably tried to climb it when I was little,' he giggled in spite of his anxiety. He continued on.
It was the same everywhere he went. He would recognize some old relic or building and another memory would pass through his thoughts. Some times he would smile, other times frown. The one time he felt sad came from a memory of a cat he once played with and the alleyway he had watched her die in. Glancing warily at the shells of buildings, burnt and barely standing, he felt the tension in his stomach ease. For whatever reason, he had expected a ghost town, or a barren, neglected field where the village used to stand. Hell, a foolish part of him wondered if the town still was still smoking and freshly ruined like the day he last saw it. Stopping to stare at the remains of what he suspected to be the town church, he let out a surprisingly relieved breath.
It was. . . peaceful.
He felt at home.
Turning the corner, he frowned as he saw a curiously polished stone sculpture among the desolation. One he certainly had no recollection of, despite his youthful memory. It only took a quick scan across the top of the sculpture to learn what it was:
MEMORIAL FOR THOSE CLAIMED
ON THE TRAGIC NIGHT OF THE BLACK FLAME
MAY THEY NEVER BE FORGOTTEN
Dart practically sprinted to the thing. His knees sinking into the snow, he spied the plethora of names etched into the cold stone. The hazy faces he had long remembered became all the more clear as he read each name out loud. Friends, teachers, neighbors, even the angry middle aged woman. They all became vivid characters in his head. His heart swelled with every new citizen.
He was silent as he came across the most familiar name. Swallowing loudly, he reached out a gentle hand.
". . . Claire Feld. . . "
His hand trembled, not so much from pain than something else, as his fingertips brushed against the bitter cold letters.
". . . Zieg Feld. . . "
In an instant, all other images in his mind were gone, replaced with the frighteningly clear vision of his parents standing side by side. Their faces beamed. . . proudly? Lovingly? Apologetically? Dart would never know what look the two directed at their since grown son.
Focusing in on his father, Dart nearly lost it. How great it felt not be looked at with a sneer or with anger. Only that warm familiar smile of a man not possessed. A man whom for his whole life Dart knew only as his father and not his enemy.
And then he actually did lose it.
He cared not for the screaming pain across his cheeks as they became damp. Nor did he care if his loud, wretched sob aroused the interest of any nearby monsters.
Crying for the first time in eighteen years, he didn't give a damn about anything.
