.hack/EVA: Catharsis: Eightfold Illusion
Disclaimer: In this universe in the quantum foam, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the .hack series or Neon Genesis Evangelion.
" " denotes speech
'italics' denotes thought
'bold' denotes location names
'bold italics' denotes skill use
Prelude
He was a well-meaning man with a family, a man whose hands had helped to shape a world from nothingness. Passionate about what he believed in, he proved a diligent salaryman, supporting his family and his company as best he could while doing his best to lose himself by walking the lands of his creation, indulging himself with strange foods like chocolate covered noodles or bananas with curry powder to pass the tedium.
But even amidst dull routines, he wished for happiness, for a life of adventure and fulfillment beyond the world he knew.
In his dreams, he was a dashing hero, a figure revered by the people and glorified unto legend: the Heavy Swift-Footed Doberman, the Blue Cloudy-Sky Eagleman, upon who the stars would shine until the end of his journey. Of shining body, gushing sweat, he led his companions in the fight against foes out of myth, titans of a cursed wave shaped by the will of a wrathful god.
He was a man without fear, of stylish fashion and enchanting action, whose shimmering brow of justice hidden by his mask would never allow evil in all the blazing cosmos. This he swore by his burning spirit, the bond that bound together the hearts of his friends of fair eyes.
Beloved by many, his true identity remained unknown, as he donned his golden armor, springing into action faster than all.
"Those who wish for happiness must have a dream," he would say. "That is why dreams are as important as the universe."
Fugue
She stood alone in the center of a crowd, listening as they chanted her name and bestowed upon her accolades. A being of shadow and flame, she was temperamental but refined, quick to strike and slow to forgive, a maiden of battle, a lady of war. Wielding aggression and confidence as her sword and shield, she had no equal among her peers, her source of pride, her identity.
First a knight against the servants of divinity, and now an Empress by the strength of arms, she left a trail of wretched tears in her wake, scattering the lucky to the winds, littering the ground with corpses, to satisfy her need.
Cursed as "second", she did not hesitate in usurping what rights she could, using wit, using reason, using looks and charm and skill to gain what she wanted. For she walked alone by choice and by action, never letting anyone pierce the veils around her frozen heart.
Hedgehog of blood and iron, she struck first, asked questions later, never needing anyone, never suffering fools who claimed equality. Close-minded, close-hearted, she peered out at the world from the bulwarks of Hy Brasil, the Isle of Kings, singularly unimpressed.
An outstretched hand reaching into darkness, only to be spurned and batted 'way. A sigh as moonlight shines on bitter cold fingers; an eerie silence falls, prelude to the whispering of raven wings. Wings with which to charge to war—to run away and drown one's tears in a sea of crimson light—to hide one's eyes from the eyes of deepest memories.
A pillar of strength in a cage of broken glass, feelings held captive far beyond the infinite dark, beyond the walls never breeched within her heart.
A line that's never crossed, a front that's never shed, burying shame and nakedness through self-imposed isolation, listening to praises that cannot quite fill the empty void, reverence ringing hollow, only 'staining existence, never life.
She was shadow, she was flame; she was a knight above all others.
A little girl standing in a dark room, tugging on her mother's sleeve, bursting with excitement over the events of the day.
"Look at me, Mama!" she cried with joy, but was ignored as the older woman spoke instead to a doll.
"My darling, Mama cooked your favorite for you," the older woman said. "If you complain, 'that girl' will laugh at you."
'That girl.'
Why? Why was she was only "that girl." Why wouldn't mama look at her?
Twin nooses, an older woman standing on a chair, eyes only for a ragdoll gathered in her arms.
"Look at me," the little girl pleaded, "Please look at me! Mama, please, don't stop being my mother!"
But the figure on the chair only looked away into the hazy distance, and what was revealed to her, the little girl could not see.
"Please, come to heaven with me," 'Mama' said as she jumped, letting go of the doll. A crack! A broken neck, and before the girl's eyes, a horrifying tableau.
"Mama, no! Mama, please don't kill me!" the little girl whimpered. "Look at me, please. I want you to look at me!"
The little girl grew up alone, forswearing the company of tears and friends, for that road led to betrayal and loss.
'I will think for myself, and live on my own. I don't need anyone's help. And one day, one day they will look at me. They will only ever look at ME!'
She stands alone amidst the crowd, eyes flitting to and fro as others looked away and down, parting before her like the waves of sea.
"No! Look at me!" she cried, her pleas unanswered. "I want you to look at me…"
'Nobody ever looks at me…'
Canon
He awoke on the shore of an amber sea, the silence of desolation deafening in his ears. His clothes tattered, torn, and seared, he stood and cast his gaze around him, to the scarlet sky and to the earth below, dotted with small white crosses and the wreckage of a civilization. The trash of titans that had walked the world, littering the ground with their depravities and their excesses: scrapped enlightenment, quests for power, turmoil. The fruit of knowledge and the fruit of life both gleaned and then both lost, tossed away on a moment's whim.
All that remained was an empty world, a desert of sand and wind and seashores, no life to be seen anywhere, in the entirety of creation. For all its familiarity, it might as well have been the sea of chaos, the primal waters of a time before history.
"What's going on?' the boy asked himself, blue eyes looking towards the horizon as brown hair ruffled in the wind. 'Where am I?'
He walked along the tidal zone, listening to the waves lap against the shore, with the bones of monstrous figures in the distance, skewered on spears and swords and lances of an age long past.
'What's going on? Am I dead?' he questioned, reaching up to pinch his cheeks. 'I mustn't run away from the truth. I mustn't run away from myself. I mustn't run away.'
"Ow!" the boy winced, muttering, "Guess I'm not dead after all…but I don't understand. What is this place? What was the point of all this? Everything I've done. Everything I've been through, was it all just a waste?"
A flash of memory, of a young boy standing alone in the rain as a train pulled away.
"After my father abandoned me, I found I was alone, living in my teacher's house," he reminisced, the images seeming to float before him as he recalled them from distant memory. "Back then, all I had was a desire to be accepted…I wasn't interested in anything else. I just did what people told me, apathetic, uncaring—because I knew that to be myself would only mean being hurt. Back then, I thought that was fine. But on the day my father called me back, summoning me to Tokyo-3 only to pilot Unit 01, my illusions were shattered. The acceptance I thought I'd found was crushed like it was nothing."
He shook his head, blocking that day from his mind. For had he not piloted, the injured girl on a stretcher, Rei Ayanami, would have done so in his place, and died. And he couldn't let that happen because…because other people meant more to him than he himself. Because he still valued what they thought of him, and didn't want them to have to share his pain.
"But in the middle of all that, I met everybody else," he mused, a half-smile gracing his lips at last. "In the beginning, I didn't care—they just hurt me. People like Suzuhara, Aida, Eris…they just twisted the knife in my heart. I planned to just use them for companionship and then lose them, because nothing lasts forever—father was an example of that. And at some point, it all changed…someone became important to me. And since I opened up, since I started piloting EVA and playing The World, I've met and dealt with all kinds of people, people I could only understand by dealing with them head on."
Surprisingly, he laughed, recalling the antics of his now friends Aruna and Arano, who he knew to the so-called "Idiot Duo" Touji and Kensuke.
"People that caused nothing but trouble but were good deep down."
The image of Tomoyami with her scythe came to mind, particularly the confrontation with Eris in class. Asuka and her incessant demands for attention, in the battles against Sixth and Seventh Angels.
"People who have different reasons for doing things, but share the same goals."
He thought of Rei Ayanami, of the conversations they had before Operation Yashima, her smile when he'd rescued her, and the moment they'd shared since. And he thought of Reimeiki Hakubo, the girl who was called Lycoris in The World, who was very much like him.
"People I can count on."
Misato, in her role as NERV Operations Director. Dr. Akagi, in her labcoat, even if she was a little too eager to use needles and probes on him. Maya, who was always kind and never treated him like a child. Yumi Aranami, the teacher with an insight to the way things worked.
"That's right...Rei...Reimeiki...Asuka...everyone...they're all counting on me. After things changed, I told myself that I was going to get stronger, and see everything through to the end. That's why I'm here."
Behind him sounded footsteps, at a slow but steady walking pace, crunch-crunch-crunching on the sand of this alien world, only to pause a stone throw from where he was. The boy whirled about to see another boy, this one with long silver-blue hair, crimson eyes, pale skin, and charcoal-gray robes draped over a coat of dark chain mail.
"Ah yes, I've found you," the rogue commented, smirking upon seeing his counterpart.
"Who are you?" the first boy asked of the interloper who had disturbed him.
"Hahaha," the other replied. "So that's your answer, eh? Isn't it obvious? I am you, the self within the self…"
"The self within the self?"
"Yes, the 'self' has always consisted of two selves, the self that is watched by others and the self that watches itself," explained the other. "In essence, there is a version of you in your mind, in Misato Katsuragi's mind, in Asuka Langley—Eris' mind, in Rei Ayanami's mind, in Reimeki Hakubo's mind, in your Father's mind. Each is different from the others, but each of them is a true self."
The other paused for a moment, regarded his counterpart critically and continued.
"What a moron."
"What—?" the first boy questioned angrily, only to be cut off.
"You're afraid of the you in others' minds, and yet you're still willing to go down the road of companionship, to get closer to them?" the other berated him with a strangely familiar tone. "How many times have you turned your back on that road? How many times have you forsaken it? It's a pain, you know? Tough, harsh…like piloting EVA! Are you saying you'll still go down that road, that you'll still walk with others knowing you'll be hurt?"
"I don't want to be hurt," the first boy conceded, "but my mind's made up. I won't run away from my responsibility, not this time."
"Heh, I understand," the other replied, beginning to walk forward again, to walk past where the first one stood. "Well then, I guess you don't need me anymore."
But the blue haired boy with red eyes found his path blocked by the brown haired boy with blue, their gazes meeting, crimson and azure.
"No," Shinji insisted firmly. "I'm not letting you go. I said I'd see things through."
"Hey!" he protested, trying to push forward, only for his other self to remain unintimidated. "What are you saying?"
"You…are me," was the reply. "And I'm not going to let you run away anymore. So come on, I'm taking you with me."
"Aren't you…afraid of what you might become?"
A flash of light, and only the figure of the Third Child remained, though he stood straighter than he had before.
"I am," he acknowledged in a hoarse whisper, on the banks of the sea. "You're right, I'm afraid. But I know that nothing gets better if you run away—as should you, for you are me."
Alone he stood, defying the urge to cut and run, to simply give up. For he had changed from who he used to be, and he would see things through to the bitter end.
'I mustn't run away.'
Fantasia
It was twilight, and a 14 years old girl walked barefoot in a field of spider lilies, a small portion of an expansive oblivious fertile land stretched out before her eyes. She was clad appropriately enough, in her red ensemble of dress and cape marked with an infinity symbol, with the rays of the setting sun kissing her silver tresses and her alabaster, almost translucent skin. The breeze fluttered around her, and angelic feathers drifted down from the sky above, as if a sickened angel long held captive had finally returned to the heavens.
She laughed and skipped carefree through her dream of a place to call home, enjoying the remembrance of a place where once she roamed—a laughter that came skidding to a halt as she came face to face with a specter from her past.
'Alberio…'
It was a legendary figure of The World: R1, a tanned twenty-something man with one blue eye and one golden eye, dressed in scale armor and wielding the legendary Spear of Wotan. The person who she had shared her past with before impaling herself on his spear, the precious one she had protected from Morganna's Dawn Wanderer long ago…The knight from her memories, who considered it his personal duty to protect The World.
And yet, he had been always alone, an anti-social maverick who rarely talked to anyone—with the exception of the wavemaster Hokuto, who managed to force her way into a party with him, and…her.
But this Alberio was less reticent, speaking as she drew near…
"The memory of your face still haunts me, five years later," he said with shaded eyes as he looked at her, drinking in her form as if to see if it was really her who stood before him. "I wallowed in regret after that, thinking there had to be a better way—but like in life, there was no reset button. That's when I began to think that The World wasn't just a game…"
Drawing closer to him, the girl in red took hold of his hand, just like in times of old. Only this time, she flushed slightly, her eyes bright with tears as she looked at him.
"Even so…I was a failure, a child unwanted even by god, a child who could not become Aura," she murmured, hesitantly drawing the phantom into something of an awkward embrace. "And so I gave you my fate, the will to relinquish me, that I might find The End."
"But you wanted to live…I know it," whispered the warrior who wore the eyes of the stars. "Even if you thought you were a failure, why did you impale yourself upon my spear? Why did you choose to die, when I chose to spare you?"
"To spare the Vagrant AI that did not operate normally?" teased the silver haired girl. "I thought it was your mission to protect The World from such imbalances."
"As a system administrator, I was given my spear to protect The World, yes. And as such, I can access The World in ways that a player cannot, but I don't have a complete understanding of it, like a God would," allowed the tanned man. "I am not omniscient or omnipotent."
"Even God—who Morganna Mode Gone once was, is like that," replied the Child of Twilight. "An extremely complicated system functioning with contradictions, with results contrary to expectations. No different from human beings, if only existing in the other world. But don't humans come to The World to escape reality?"
"Even so, you were too real for me to forget," Alberio admitted gruffly. "Your death too, was no meaningful…I wished I could replay the moment in hopes of a better ending."
"Back then…I was alone, and though I lived, I searched only for The End," she said gently, squeezing his hand for a final time. "I was tired of running from God, and you gave me what I wanted…freed me from the fate of being alone. So thank you, Alberio."
The Long Arm let go of her hand and stepped back, looking at her with a wistful smile.
"If only…well, no matter," he said, dismissing an idle thought within his mind. "Just remember this…that in The World everyone is blessed. Even you and even me…"
His words trailed off as looked off behind her, his face softening for the first time in their long acquaintance.
"Besides, you're not alone," he said, before stepping back and vanishing into a flurry of golden rings of light.
The girl in red sighed and shook her head, her eyes thoughtful, overflowing at last with tears.
"Reimeiki-chan?" a familiar voice whispered into her ear, as strong but gentle arms encircled her waist from behind.
"Yes…Ecchi-kun?" she replied, turning her face to look at the lines of his face, remembering the manner in which they first met.
"You're not alone," he murmured to her, the same words he had said weeks ago at the Hulle Granz Cathedral, before leaning in and stealing a kiss from her surprised lips. "You're not alone anymore."
'You are not alone.'
Ode
He floated calmly in the Room of Gauf, the place where new souls were born. His purpose on this Earth was clear, a siren song backed by whispers from the shadows, urging him to fulfill his biological and spiritual imperatives, to complete the objective he had been created for. Every day he drew a little closer, plotted a little further ahead, though slowly but surely, the light of his soul was growing dim, and every day he became a little more like the Lilim.
The graceless union of both the Fruit of Life and the Fruit of Wisdom; it was a strong temptation, seducing with the sweet trap of sensuality. And to give in, one merely needed to follow along the preplanned course sans hesitation, sans resistance.
'What do I seek? I who am cursed with immortality?'
There was nothing in his way, no one who could stamp out or erode the wall around his heart—save perhaps the drip-drip-dripping of blood into a sea of ichor.
Before him was a figure crucified upon a giant cross of red, a white, legless giant, face covered with the Seven Eyes of God. From the stumps of what would have been its legs protruded a thousand human like limbs, each flailing and writhing as it sought to grow and regenerate.
'Life struggles to exist even in such an inhospitable climate, as the Lilim struggle on after Second Impact. But this is to be expected, as the Seeds of Life sown by the First Ancestral Race have one imperative above all else: live. Only a sentient being can choose to overcome that geas to self-preserve and submit oneself to death.'
He shook his head, his mouth set with grim determination as he drifted towards his eventual destination, pondering the irony of the situation in which he found himself.
'Free Will, they call me. The 'Free Man,' but I am not free. I cannot be free, for I am destined, no, fated to live forever. The geas of self-preservation bestowed upon me by the fruit of life, and enhanced by the shadow within, is all too strong, as it is in most beings in the cosmos. The "Free Man" has no freedom from himself, as I cannot wish my own demise.'
His dispassionate mind clouded by the whispering of the flickering darkness, he tilted his head and gave a simple "harrumph" as he joined with the giant of light.
"Perhaps I am ignorant of human emotions and taboos regarding social interaction," were his last words, "but I will do what I must because I can."
'From the beginning…this was the only path.'
Requiem
Rumor has it that the world will end not in a bang, but a whimper. Rumor has it that the shadow shall awaken and consume the world of light. Rumor has it that resistance is futile, that no matter how had one strives, in the end, it will not be enough. Was failure then, the only option left? He had heard, but only heard of the prowess of the generation that came before, who sacrifices and pains gave rise to the Golden Age of The World…but that time was no more.
In the old world, he had been somewhat of a bard, much like his old friend, the infamous W.B. Yeats, whose poems were always something special to behold. She had witnessed with events that gave the Descendants of Fianna their fame, as well as the first .hackers, and together, they had watched the legend of the Twilight unfold when Aura's daughter came into The World. And as those who spun and told tales of the legends, they themselves had become part of lore: as the poet, and the embodiment of rumor.
In that way, he had served the Goddess, keeping the story of the .hackers floating through the pool of players of The World, making his dramatic entrances and exits, and enlightening a new generation of heroes. Had it not been for him, Shugo Kunisaki might never have come into The World, and Zefie might not have found her way home. In those days, he was like a .hacker as well, even if only in spirit, his name placed together with the events of the legends.
Those were happy days, when he had roamed The World freely as a wavemaster, when with the passing of the Cursed Wave, The World had entered a gentler age of heroes. He had enjoyed the chance to make friends in those days, enjoyed exploring the vastness of creation, enjoyed the simple pleasures of spreading conversing with others about such things as player levels and character levels, and how there are two types of players: those who love the game and those who don't.
'Those who want to be heroes should want to be .hackers…whether then or now.'
But this new world was very different from the last, with the legends and texts forgotten or corrupted, or so it seemed, at least. Instead of camaraderie and friendship, it seemed that PKing was the most popular activity these days—even Yeats, as a new form as a Shadow Warlock, had found that it could not hold her interest.
'Everyone leaves in the end…both those who like The World and those who don't. And this World…isn't the same anymore.'
Oh, he knew of the new legends and how accurately they reflected what had happened at Cyberconnect Corporation, where a man's attempts to become a god had caused a cataclysm, destroying much of the data of his beloved home. That was why R2 was so much darker, a place where the backstory was a world where man had destroyed the gods, save the gatekeeper, and yet could not create any new ones to oppose the Shadow.
'It is…ironic how the backstories become reality, how this void left over has allowed great destruction. But this world has always bent to the will of its residents, bringing salvation or destruction at their whim. It is my fear that the world as it is now is a place of mere destruction, where legends of hope have yet to be reborn. Even the statue of Aura has disappeared from Hulle Granz Cathedral…'
The Goddess of Dawn had distanced herself from cause and effect to sleep once more within the Sea of Data, and her daughter Zefie had returned to the winds from which she was born. At least Lycoris, forerunner to the goddess remained, she who was so like—and yet unlike the one named for the west wind. Morganna's presence was more disconcerting to him, since he had known of her only from the none-too-pleasant legends, but she seemed to have softened up with time.
'Helba has told me this from Zefie's words…I wonder what my purpose shall be in this World…no longer the storyteller of legends, I am a commander of Knights. And yet…'
The small boy dressed in dark blue robes, stood alone on the bridge of Net Slum Tartarga, the fringes of his garment rustling as was their wont. As the great turtle on which the Slums rode swam above the plains, he smiled, seeing the players young and old, seeing the battles, the quests, the zeal in each of them. Lifting his staff, he went down on a knee and reaffirmed an old oath of service to the goddess he so loved.
"Rumor has it I will find a meaning to this place, the continuation of the dream of Twilight. Rumor believes that there are possibilities remaining to be plumbed, secrets waiting to be discovered. For rumors say that it is not the lands that make The World what it is, but those who dwell within it. And where is there is life, there are stories waiting to be told."
He arose and nodded, whispering to himself the four words that traditionally welcomed a newcomer, for it was as if he saw this place with new eyes.
'Welcome...to The World.'
Symphony
Angels, Demons, Rogue AIs. Hackers, monsters, Phases.
With her staff in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other (one in each world, of course), the Sorceress in White had seen it all, living out her double life and doing what she did best, playing mentor and guide to each succeeding generation of heroes. Whether from the bridge of NERV or Net Slum, she kept tabs on recent happenings in both worlds, coding on the fly, tweaking anomalous readings, dispatching her knights—watching over the brave children who fought for the sake of the world.
'There is an order that The World desires, then there's the order that individuals desire. Which one will be chosen?'
Each individual had a different answer to that question, with heroes and villains usually defined by their response. The Angels, wanting to cause Third Impact and annihilate the all for the sake of the one, would likely be called villains. Humanity…well, some of humanity, might be heroes (the executives of CC Corp, SEELE, and Commander Ikari notwithstanding).
She walked alone in memories, sans visor for once, uncased blond hair spilling over her shoulders, her white gown seeming to glow under the moonlight. In the distance, the wind stirred, blowing through the empty streets of Cultural City Carmina Gadelica, a metropolis bathed in eternal night. Something stirred in her at how very unnatural it was to see "the Song of Gael" so empty, with no one at any of the numerous shops, bars, or parks that lined the streets.
'Even the airships no longer fly here…and people here no longer gather…'
Then someone gave the lie to her words by stepping out of the shadows: a NPC Shopkeeper that should have been limited to the Delta Server, massively built like the blacksmiths of old, wearing the tunic and trousers that would have served his station…had he really been a shopkeeper.
"Hello, Lios, you pig," the Sorceress in White greeted him fondly. "A shame to see this place so empty, even in memory, isn't it?"
"Yes, vile hacker, it is," the other replied in kind. Named after the King of Light in the Epitaph, he was a System Administrator of The World, natural antithesis…and as of late, good friend to the hacker called the Queen of the Dark. "You miss the old days, don't you? Are you sure you don't want to take me up on my offer in making Net Slum an official root town in this new version of The World?"
"Heh," the Sorceress replied, a faint smile gracing her oh-so-rarely exposed face. "You know me Lios, and why I declined your generous offer. As the Mistress of Net Slum, I wished to keep it as a peaceful home for Vagrant AIs and lost data—that has not changed."
"Not so long ago, we fought against the Wave together, as foretold in the Epitaph."
"Aye, though now a new threat looms," the Sorceress said bitterly. "'Perhaps the Wave is just a beginning as well', the text says."
"And so another generation of The World is at risk…why am I not surprised you are in the center of this?" he jibed, more out of amusement than anything else. For Lios knew that she loved the World as well, and would not try to harm it.
"Because CC Corp is notorious for not wanting to acknowledge the existence of problems, as you well know," she shot back, eliciting a wince from the "shopkeeper."
"I suppose I can't blame everything on hackers this time around, especially not the .hackers."
"Considering that you are one, I think it's safe to say you can't."
"Touché," he conceded. "I may be a stubborn grouch, but I cannot deny the truth. And you…you have my respect."
"As you have mine, dear pig," she allowed with a smirk. "This time, let's hope the executives don't try to shut down the servers, ne? For the sake of the players of The World, for the sake of us who care for this place, I swear this…no matter what, I will do my best."
'No matter what…I will do my best.'
Coda
The Creator's Room, a holy place of the black box, where lie all the divine stories and all the wisdom of The World. Once, it had been an endless library of books, a repository of nearly infinite knowledge—until AIDA came into The World. The roving darkness struck at two who were in the room, only for one to shield the other…but to no avail, as AIDA possessed him, changing his dear sister into a Lost One.
Now the room marred by debris strewn through the air, the glowing sign of Tri-Edge scarring the pristine white canvas of the sea of white. And yet above the sign floated a great white isle, upon which rested the figure of a ghost: a girl seated on a rocking chair. Her small face was framed with cyan-blue hair, and she was dressed in elegant, white gothic lolita-style clothing, complete with a huge white bow on her head. She slept and watched The World through the spots that flickered and vanished, catching glimpses here and there of places she had been, places she had known, people she had seen.
'Brother…where are you? I'm scared to be alone…'
She waited in her slumber to be freed, all the while being privy to the secrets of the virtual world, to places hidden away from mortal eyes, places hidden even from the purview of the great Ouroboros, the Serpent of Lore. In the other world she slumbered too, alone in a hospital halfway around the world, her only signs of life her breath and heartbeat going thump-thump-thump day and night and night and day.
Visions danced within her mind of adventurers who too had seen the shadows:
A maniacal Edge Punisher in black leather casting spears of darkness out against a nobleman. The same dueling with another with the backdrop of the Tree of Light.
'To become strong…is that what you want?'
A Sorceress in White standing regally on the bridge in Net Slum, ordering her Knights to protect The World. The same seen wandering in a place of cubes and streams, where Outer Bugs lurked and proto-Gomoras played.
'Rumbles the Dark Hearth, and Helba, Queen of the Dark, has finally raised her army…'
A mini-Harvest Cleric spreading legends, speaking cryptically at the Arena.
'For rumors say that it is not the lands that make The World what it is, but those who dwell within it.'
An Adept Rogue with pale blue hair and crimson eyes, nearly drowned, but saved by a Macabre Dancer. The two standing together like lovers, embracing, fighting two heroes of the past and prevailing.
'All we can do is not run away…'
The Macabre Dancer of midnight blue praying in the Cathedral Hulle Granz. A burst of Shadow, and another spirit joined the Lost.
'Once there used to be a statue of a girl…a goddess that exists in The World.'
A Shadow Warlock very much like the shining girl, the goddess of The World.
'On whose whim is destiny decided?'
A black and silver Macabre Dancer floating in a room of shadow, the free man who was not free…
'What is your purpose? Is there no more time?'
A silver haired girl clad in red dress and cape, clasped about her neck with an infinity symbol.
'Shunning the field broken by Wave, the shadowed girl whispers…'
And from them all, she sensed feelings great and turbulent, with the might to change The World itself. For it is their will that Aura honors, the will of the millions who play The World, and so cause magic to appear by their very passion.
By happiness.
"Those who wish for happiness must have a dream. That is why dreams are as important as the universe."
By grief.
'Nobody ever looks at me…'
By courage.
'I mustn't run away.'
By apprehension.
'Welcome…to The World'
By Love.
'You are not alone…'
By Confidence.
'No matter what…I will do my best.
By Despair.
'From the beginning…this was the only path.'
Everything together as heroes dreamed a world anew, wishing for chance at a better tomorrow, like the three shadowed ones, the human and the two half-sprites who set out in search of the Twilight Dragon. Her favorite story, one she remembered her brother reading to her before the shadow came…
'Read it to me again? I promise…to get better…'
And yet her mind was filled with doubt, seeing all the violence, all the hatred in the world. For she knew of the incomplete ending of the Epitaph of Twilight as well, how the sprites risked their very existence in the fight against the Wave. How in the void remaining after Corbenik, the Wave was but the beginning.
Just as she knew of the last lines of that story, words that sealed the heroic party's sake:
"Never to return, the shadowed one, who quests for the Twilight Dragon."
