Epilogue – The Park
It was over.
After he had arrived in that strange, separate dimension, there hadn't actually been very much for him to do. It didn't help that Britain's 'as close as possible' had been in terms of height as well as distance, so that he had ended up on the top of a tall, narrow spike of rock that might have once been part of the dish. Well, it was close to the winged Brooklyn, and it did give him a better view of the cataclysmic battle; it just wasn't very helpful.
But he had been there at the crucial moment when Tyson had needed power that one blade alone could not hold.
It had been Max who had started it, all generosity and friendship and trust that had marked him as American – as America's – from the start, sending his beloved Draciel soaring into the whirlwind of Dragoon to strengthen Tyson's defence.
Then Tala, ice and winter-wind blowing snow from the tundra, had proved the perseverance of Russians by erupting from a deep coma with all the power he possessed, claiming Zeus and wrapping it in a frozen blanket, just one more victim of the attack he had learnt from General Winter.
Ray, calm and quiet, honest and above all China's, had been the third, revealing steel-within-silk as Driger tore at the darkness with lightning for paws.
Daichi, loud, boisterous, strong and true despite being unclaimed as a representative, had blazed with certainty as Strata Dragoon fought against the dying of the light, and burned with every scrap of power he had to support the one who had learnt to believe in him.
Kai had felt the wind of their passing run cold down his neck where his scarf had been taken (when? He did not know. Perhaps it had been removed in the days when he lay unconscious.) and could only watch as the King of Darkness towered above Tyson, the representative of Japan, the representative of the world. After all, Tyson already had Tala – what did he need Kai for?
There is Russian ice in my veins, but there is phoenix-fire in my heart, and that is my strength.
Tala's strength was ice; it always had been. He was one half of what it meant to be Russia – even Kai could not be everything that Russia was (and he had tried). Kai was the fire at the heart of the ice, the volcano under the snow, the burn of ice on exposed skin.
He was the Firebird.
It had been enough. The feeling was somewhat familiar to the last two times that Dranzer had returned, but he had never actually felt the phoenix being renewed in flame before and so it was almost completely alien. As the yellow light of Daichi's bit-beast crashed into the blue-green-purple-white maelstrom that was Dragoon's shared power, the empty space that had scarred over in his heart suddenly burst into flame, drowning him. From nothingness, Dranzer sprang, fully formed and glorious and burning more brilliantly than the sun returning after the long night of winter in the Arctic Circle.
"Tyson!"
.
"Well, that didn't end too badly, I suppose." The blonde-haired man with unusually thick eyebrows glanced at his companion. "Between them, they've managed to sort things out pretty well. Maybe we'll get a bit of peace from all this – what's it called again?"
"Beyblading," France told him, wrapping his slender fingers around the chains of the swing he was seated on. "It ees fun, you know. I think zat you would not be as good at eet as moi, though. You are not pretty enough."
"Pretty?" Britain spluttered. "What has that got to do with it?" France just raised an eyebrow and kicked off from the ground. Britain, sitting on top of the roundabout, shook his head and turned to watch as America took on the slide.
"What are you doing about Brooklyn?" France asked as he swung higher. "He ees your responsibility, non?"
Britain nodded. "I'll look after him for a bit. He's a good lad; bit of company and some rest will do him fine. Wish I'd met him earlier, actually. Can't say the same for that Kai character, though. He's so quiet and distant all the time; I never know what he's thinking."
"Your Brooklyn ees quiet and distant too," France pointed out. "Is zere a difference?"
"Yes." Britain's eyes were faraway for a second. "Brooklyn is mine. Kai is Russia's. That is the difference between them."
.
On the far side of the park, barely within sight of the other two nations, Russia leant on the see-saw with obvious fascination. Kai, beside him, was trying very hard not to let any of his confusion show on his face, and succeeding rather well even if he said so himself.
Beyblading had gone back to being rather small again; just a few dishes in the parks and a couple down by the old riverside haunt. Kai sort of liked it. There was less at stake like this. There certainly wasn't a nation's pride on the line with every match. That certainly made things easier.
"What will you do now, Kai?" Russia asked, sitting down in the middle of the see-saw and tilting it from one end to the other by shifting his weight in the centre. "There is no World Championship. There are no big tournaments, not for a long time. Where will you go?"
Kai looked up at the silvery-blue sky, streaked with pale clouds. It reminded him of the way water ran under ice, or the shimmer of a glacier in the midday sun. That made up his mind.
"I'm going back to Russia, sir. Tala and the others say that they have a new training scheme and I'm going to join in. Besides, Japan's too hot for me."
Russia's smile, had Kai seen it, was genuine. But the silver-haired boy – no, probably more accurately described as a young man now – was still looking at the sky rather than his nation. The scarf, returned and renewed one final time, was tied loosely around his neck, comfortable without choking. Somewhere, Tyson was probably looking for a rematch, but Kai wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of that, not today. Today was not a day to be Kai Hiwatari, world-class blader and greatest rival of the champion Tyson Granger. Today wasn't even a day to be the blading representative of Russia before the world.
No, today was far more simple. Today was a day to be Russian.
Beside him, Russia stilled the see-saw and put a hand on his young protégé's shoulder. The cloth of the scarf was as smooth as new snow under his fingers.
"There is ice in your veins, Kai," Russia said quietly. "I am pleased that it is Russian ice."
.
FIN
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