Act II Scene iii
For Toushirou, his words do not linger, nor do their meaning, not even the desperate desire behind them. The world, which seems to have imploded, releases him without a fight. Those dire moments fraught with hopeless expectation of Momo's death do not follow him into abysmal dark. As if ripped from the trappings of self — memory, emotion, thought — and frozen in a state neither truly dead nor truly alive, Toushirou disappears deep into the confines of his soul.
Evading the darkness.
And so from ominous black comes omnipresent white, and for a time — a long time — there is only the whoosh of wind, glint of ice, and smell of frozen earth.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
Coast and glide.
The effortless flight of oblivion, wings sweeping languidly through the frosty air.
His vision spans the barren landscape blanketed by vast glaciers to the South and ridged by white capped peaks to the North. In between, the snow bedded plains extend for uncounted leagues. Above, cotton clouds of every shape and size play upon the blinding blue heavens, creating a permeable floor through which to climb and dive at his leisure.
Now, he banks left and enjoys freedom — such euphoria — as if there could be no finer way to spend his life than wandering the updrafts and undercurrents of the majestic sky.
This is Toushirou's snowy domain, and here, he is beholden to nothing and no one, not even the ground to which lesser creatures cling. He is the master of this world, the most powerful being — the only being— and so fear, pain, impotence… they do not trouble him here.
In fact, emotions of any kind, apart from a profound sense of divine right, exist on this plane only in the form of listless daydreams and few minute memories, fleeting and insignificant as a snowflake to an avalanche. There is only unassailed solitude, restive peace, and the irresistible inclination to ride the wind.
Toushirou veers with the current — always with, never against — traveling forward in the endless, open atmosphere. His massive crystalline wings beat lazily, adding momentum to his journey which leads everywhere and nowhere. The frigid air rushing through his massive jowls to feed his lungs feels wonderful, perfect. And the blue ice comprising his colossal frame glitters under a weak sun. His tail, which he uses as a rudder, swishes slightly with pleasure like a small celebratory wave to the ground far below.
Staring down out of large ruby eyes, Toushirou surveys his fiefdom cloaked in white with marked satisfaction. There's no better way to travel than to fly. And with an almighty roar, he lets it be known that there's no where else he'd rather be than here with only cotton clouds for company.
And yet… a sudden rumble like the cracking of an iced over lake interrupts, worming its way through his contentment and puncturing his tranquil state. The sound registers as would an irksome itch: peripheral, transitory, but nonetheless annoying.
The rumble grows louder then softer then louder again, and something about it — a dully understanding that cracking ice is objectionable if nothing else — causes Toushirou slight alarm.
Not fear, just… unease.
So he roars once more, fiercer and deafening though there is no one there to hear him.
And as his magnificent snarl rips through the air and the echo eventually fades over the mountains to the north, Toushirou is pleased to note that the indistinct rumbling has died away too. Tamped down like tumultuous waves beneath a glass smooth sheet of ice, like the lightless depths of the sea frozen over white.
Toushirou drifts onward alone as a dragon is wont to do.