30 Days of Sonic Prompt 10: History
Media: Sonic Adventure
Revelations from an Undesirable Past
Surrounded by twilight, the Master Emerald illuminated the frayed scraps of paper in Knuckles' hands. The ink used was faded, the words appearing more like gray smudges rather than proper letters and symbols. Knuckles shifted through the two papers, examining their various penmanship. One was bulky and exaggeratedly large, the apparent scrawlings of a child. Another maintained an air of dignity with looping flourish as words bled into each other, an example of cursive before it had a name.
During a treasure hunt throughout Angel Island, Knuckles had dug up the yellowed papers with torn edges. They were journal entries of ancient echidnas, baffling him. Miraculously, erosion and time had spared them, allowing Knuckles a glimpse into the era of echidnas he had never known.
"Tikal," he called, "can I ask you something?"
A spark of cherry red light rose from within the emerald. It danced around him, bouncing in a circle before forming into the shape of his dear friend. Tikal smiled at him, delight blossoming in her eyes when she noticed the papers, and she took a spot next to him, tucking her knees to her chest.
"I see you made remarkable discoveries today," she noted, taking the papers from him.
"I thought I sensed some rare gems in the south, but instead, when I dug deep enough, I found those papers wedged between hunks of limestone," he explained as she spread them out of the altar. "Can you read these to me? You know, if they're still legible."
Tikal hummed, tracing her finger along the childish writing. The excerpt was short, as the handwriting took up more space than needed. Giggling, Tikal said, "Spelling errors aside, yes, I think I can. You might like what this one says."
Knuckles brightened and moved closer, so their shoulders pressed together. He couldn't hide the grin creeping onto his face, the notion of learning anything about his ancestors a thrill he refused to deny. "So, this one is a child's diary entry. What's it say?"
Tikal cleared her throat and read, "'But today's lesson was really hard. Father tells me I need to keep my thumbs out when I punch, but I don't get why. Shouldn't tucking them in my palms protect my thumbs?'"
A laugh escaped Knuckles. He shook his head, resting his hand on his brow. "Because if you do that, kid, then you'll end up with a broken thumb as soon as you hit somebody!"
She chuckled as well, nodding. "'It's okay, though. Training went great, and I even beat Maya! The look on her face was so funny. She looked like she was about to cry. My sister can be such a baby when she loses.'" Tikal took a breath and tapped her thumb at the bottom of the page, which curled in response. "That's the end. I suspect this child was very young and just mastering how to write." Setting the paper aside as Knuckles nodded, she sighed. "It adds credence to what I've already told you, too."
"My ancestors taught their children how to fight as soon as they could," he summarized. It was a fact he already knew as Tikal had spent countless hours discussing and ruminating with him about the past. All he needed to do was pick a topic, and he would listen to everything she said, believing every word.
Tikal took the other paper, and Knuckles waited for her. She quickly read the document, her finger underlining the words. He heard her mumble under her breath in a language he still wanted to learn but knew that was a request for another day.
Her smile fell, the movement of her darting eyes slowing to a crawl. She drew back, her fingers trembling, causing the paper to wrinkle. She held her breath and pursed her lips, the change in expression catching Knuckles off guard, and he asked her what she had read, voice laced with concern.
Wordlessly, Tikal pointed to an emblem in the bottom left corner of the page. Hints of burgundy remained in the gray insignia. Three lines ran through the top to the bottom of the circular stamp. He couldn't make heads or tails out of it, gazing at her with a question in his eyes, but he dared not speak, holding his breath as Tikal wiped her eyes.
"It's my father's mark," she stated, and his heart dropped into his stomach.
"Tikal, I-" He bit his tongue. Words failed him, and he merely observed his friend.
"I'll read it to you," she said, lifting the paper. "'And the invasion is going according to plan. Our regiment destroyed another onslaught of Nocturnus fighters. They still lack strength, as I suspected. But amid our clash, my daughter came to me again pleading. She begs me not to lead the charge, to lead by another example. When will this daughter of mine understand? One day, she will rule the clan, but I fear she will guide them to ruin upon my passing. I will always love my child, but she chooses to stew in her weakness. When we obtain the emeralds of mystifying power, then perhaps she…'" Tikal trailed off and placed the paper on her lap. "That's all it says."
A stray breeze blew the scrap off her lap to Knuckles. He blocked it and held it to his knee, the paper scratching his skin. He continued holding his breath, unable to properly console her as Tikal rubbed her eyes then focused on the cracks in the altar steps.
"I believe my father loved me in his unique way," Tikal said, "but he also wanted conquest. I couldn't remain idle wondering why he caused harm to so many innocent people and creatures."
"You just wanted peace," Knuckles blurted. He gripped the paper so tightly that it ripped, his thumb puncturing through Pachacamac's emblem. "It's not your fault, Tikal. He was wrong to think this about you." He scowled, gritting his teeth. "There's nothing to gain from war. Why couldn't any of them realize that?"
A hollow smile graced her face. "I know. My father and I never saw eye-to-eye during our lifetime," she said, twisting the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. "Even in our last moments, I knew we couldn't come together. My father craved power at all costs to win a war and gain territories, even if it meant defiling holy grounds and ruining countless lives."
"You're strong, Tikal," Knuckles blurted, "much stronger than him."
Her face fell for a second, but her quiet mirth returned as she grasped his hand and squeezed. "Thank you, Knuckles."
He nodded. He wasn't sure if what he had said was appropriate. There were more ways to have better phrased what he wanted to say. His ancestors had committed crimes only remembered by one soul, burdening Tikal with the knowledge and regrets that came with surviving. He didn't know what else to add as Tikal raised her head, and he wished he knew how to help her, but the past was centuries ago, and he hadn't endured her suffering.
Together, they watched the stars blinking in and out of the night sky. The Master Emerald pulsed with energy, and Knuckles touched it, comforted by its warmth. He chose to glance at Tikal, who grinned at the darkness, and he wondered what other horrors she had witnessed because of her father.
When her heart mended, he wanted to ask her about the strained relationship she shared with her father. Tikal peered at him with that same smile, and Knuckles returned it, feeling stray tears stinging his eyes for reasons he couldn't quite verbalize.
"You deserved better from your dad," he said, "but I'm glad you're still here with me."
"I am, too," she whispered, and Knuckles dragged his thumb across his eyes, drying them, and he listened to Tikal tell stories about the ancient past.