Chapter One
Seeds in the Soil
The bell rang late in a glass half empty classroom and echoed across half full halls. Textbook packed shields mounted on the back of eager teenagers, rushing away from the shouts of teachers five minutes after their ears had grown deaf. The signal of a rush hour more predictable than the clock that had been viewed with bated breaths.
The students' footsteps went off like an explosion. Fast, loud, violent, and leaving a lifeless empty corridor the moment the ringing stopped,
"Mio", one teacher's voice jumped at the bell in surprise rather than anticipation. Long hair almost seeming to glow silver rather than grey. Her Mediterranean accented words still carrying the energy of a youthful educator not quite six months into their new role as educator rather than student, "… it appears that will be all for today's lesson. Do enjoy your extended weekend, perhaps even use the additional day to study for the exam next week-"
Her turn around cut her off with more force than any rude interruption. Brown eyes made colorless when reflecting a near empty classroom. One that wasn't even around for her last word in Italian, let alone the English farewell,
"Cercatori di miti. Ogni Ultimo", she mused. Five years past her own high school days or not, she could only shake her head with a smile going to her desk. One that dropped off when catching sight of a gaze that was perpendicular to her own. Blue eyes made stormy by the winter clouds that swirled in his iris but were produced in his mind, "Bernardo?"
The teacher raises her tone and eyebrow. Adding the 'O', but knew the additional vowel would not break his daydreams. Likely getting lost in the messy jungle of blonde hair guarding his ears like cotton muffs,
"Bernard", she tried again holding back an amused smirk. That name wouldn't quite break his concentration either, but like the clicking second hand, it was a part of the daily schedule she was growing accustomed to, "Bernie"
"H-huh", the boy's wandering mind found its way back to reality through flickering eyes. His stuttered words coming out like a thought, "O-oh…",
Bernie's mouth remained closed, but his reddened cheeks conveyed his emotions well enough,
"It is quite alright Bernardo", the teacher switches back to her native langue pronunciation of his name. Her tone trying to calm him down with the care of a guidance counselor rather than a foreign language teacher, "The sound of the bell is hard to hear when canceled out by your classmates rattling chairs"
The educator watched the anxious boy pack his own bag with the speed of a doomsday prepper who just saw the flash. Glad his nerves made him blind to the smile she couldn't help but form in amusement,
"S-sorry Ms. Venus", he stuttered out an already forgiven apology. Cracked words that nearly tripped him on his way out of the classroom.
The Latin teacher's cough managed to catch him from falling outside the door,
"It is quite alright Bernardo", she echoes again, before tilting her head with a closed eye grin, "if anything I shall grant you a reward for being the only student to leave on time"
Bernie turned around in a partial spin. Allowing him view down the hallways and class, but not the teacher,
"No doubt you already know because you pay ample attention in class", his blush ripened under a sun only a twenty-four-hour scattered brain can produce, "But just remember, there is an exam after the long weekend, so do try to use one of the days to study"
Bernie's extra pause at the door was all the thanks she needs. Her small chuckle waved him goodbye as he nods and quickens his steps into a vacant hall,
You've got to stop daydreaming, the blonde bit his bottom lips, I've got to stop daydreaming
He emphasized the singular pronoun, as if his words echoed off the lonely steel lockers and back into his ear. Shaking his head to jostle a mind he argued with, and needed to accept as his own, the last student of the day exits the brick wall academy.
It was a new building constructed on the edge of one the towns last remaining field. Allowing its grandeur to be stretched out rather than built upwards. A flat structure going down one story into the earth. Almost appearing like three Mayan pyramids connected by thin metro lines, all of which giving up after the second stories were placed on the first.
The main bodies extended themselves out nearly a thousand feet, but only had a waistline of two hundred. Making it appear like a parrel dash alongside the grey parking lot, and a cross against the nearby road.
Bernie's walk to the sidewalk caused a noiseless sigh. Quickly eaten up by a chilled winter breeze.
Shuffling along at a slow pace, he looked on at the track field. The athletic students seemed to move with more vigor across the sun-bleached dirt. As if running faster would cause time to dilate in reverse and accelerate the arrival of their mid-January vacation.
It would for me, the teenager slumped and took a turn away from the field and onto a main road. Bernie's pace slowed even further. Starring off at the walk home ahead like he just watched the winner of a marathon cross the finish, but I'm not going too
He wondered why he would even think those words. Then he wondered why he even wondered. Perhaps he wanted to narrate his own life passing by. Like it would cause something exiting to happen on this all too predictable day, one among many.
Arriving at the intersection, the boy could hear the hummer of car engines by his side. All his fellow seniors chatted about inside steel horses waiting for the traffic light to change. Their words spoken with extra enthusiasm to hear themselves over each other. He tried to keep his peripheral vision away from the windows. Not wanting to invade a privacy they let flow out when he stopped at the walkways sloped port,
Pressing the button, he shied away from the edge, looking down at the cracked pavement like the White Cliffs of Dover. For a moment his mind toyed with the idea that people would judge him if they noticed him treading home by foot. Not having a car to do so was one thing, but having no friends to drop him off could possibly produce some chuckles,
Stop being selfish, Bernie berated himself, those laughs aren't for you Holden
Even if he convinced himself that his nonexistent hat wasn't red, the blond still blushed the moment the traffic light changed its own hue. Unable to cross the street as anything but the skinny walk symbol. Bernie exhaled air he didn't need to hold upon reaching the other shore. Having faced no rough seas except the one he imagined.
The rest of his walk home was fueled by self-imposed cringes. A crunched face lunging his body forward every time he had a thought, he didn't want but not so secretly craved. Whether they be about how the winter days were not short enough to be of any real use for him. Or how New England lawns were far to obsessed with oak and maple trees and didn't go all out with the pine trees enough to make an impenetrable wall of needles.
He rebuttal those points as soon as they were brought up. Or more so the raised eyebrow of disappointment he gave himself. Questioning what he had against might Oaks that stood against time, and Maple's that reached for the heavens just as high as any pine. Bernie didn't have an answer. Having failed the moment, the questions had to be asked.
His own house coming into view put an end to the debate. No trees blocked the sight of the eggshell walled hut, although the grass that overgrew itself even during winter tried to stretch upwards in their place. Weeds rippled along the two-story rectangular. Its flat walls, gridded windows, and simple design making it appear like a children's drawing of home brought to life,
Bernie walked up the wooden steps, noticing the dark blue sedan was doodled in the driveway. Parked outside the safety of the garage that kept the lawn from being a year-round garage sell. One of the less predictable parts of his day was seeing if his mom was still at work or not by the time he came home, but his answer sat before him in all its rusted beauty.
With that knowledge, the blonde took in a deep breath, and willed his frown away to a thin line that did its best to twinge upward to a smile,
"H-hey mom, I'm home", Bernie creaks open the door with the simplest greeting he can manage. One that echoed in an equally unoriginal house.
Standing half a head shorter than her son, Bernie's mom wasn't hard to locate. The living room he enters only divides itself from the kitchen by a cotton rug and wooden plank terminus. No space for walls on the first floor, less they bisect the lounge area into broom closets like the bedrooms above,
"Hi honey", despite the bland nature of the abode, the mother's voice only held enthusiasm. A happy smile that made even the bills she was going through seem like a fun task, "How was school?"
"… it was… fine", a part of Bernie wished it wasn't. Wished he was bullied so he had something to overcome, or reasons to justify his own social anxiety. But like always, school was simply fine… the only difficulties he had was his desire for there to be difficulties,
Swinging his backpack over the stair guard rail he took two steps up before stopping to shake his head at the thought. Out of view of his mother's sight. Less the woman who had been overcoming the difficulties of a hectic and unfair life see his selfishness and innocence on the subject,
"Just fine?", she teased with a light chuckle. Although her yellow locks had just the faintest trails of white running through a shoulder length ponytail, the mother still had the jubilant joy of a young life in her blue eyes. Bernie having inherited nearly every physical trait he had from her, evidently her personality had been locked away behind a different last name, "Nothing new to report at all?"
"That's right", for a moment Bernie think's about joking back that he was planning to sneak out with friends. But stops himself when he realized that would be something his mom would be overjoyed too here, "Nothing new at all"
He couldn't force the smile on his face anymore, even away from his mother sight. It fell down the stair along with his words,
"Oh… well maybe-", Bernie climbed the stairs before his mom's voice could reach him. Hoping she would believe he only accidently cut her off by being in mid motion to his room.
The young man had to squeeze himself through a hallway half an arm length wide. Passing a bathroom that constantly froze mole to death with an open window, and a forever closed door that he scurried by like it was nothing more than another piece of dry wall.
Bernie entered his own room and quickly closed the door behind him. Slowing down its swing just before it could echo the house with a slam. For a moment his irises and pupils became one in the same, but fumbling for a switch, he flicked the overhead lights on. The room illuminated by artificial lights, while the natural one was blocked behind navy curtains.
The sleeping quarters would be as simple as the rest of the house, if not for its messiness. A blue cover massively thrown over white sheets, cloths sticking out of brown close drawers, and walls the same color as the barrier outside made the place a college dorm room in all but location and lack of posters.
A glass desk made transparent by a decade old computer, scatted homework assignments, and water stains where coasters should have been the most interesting part of the room. The turbines of the ancient desktop buzzing like a personal heater. The monitors pixelated screen glowing even when black.
Being the companion for his three-day weekend, and every weekend and afternoon, Bernie never risked turning the device off. He had once… and it took nearly three hours to boot itself back up. And the death pants it made clinging to life as it did leave little doubt that would be their last ever second wind.
Luckily, the blue hair boy sat down with his homework packed away below. No new papers to scatter about the desk as potential kindling,
"Alright", as if the noise blocked out the guilty thoughts in the back of his head, Bernie cracked a smile at the screen. The first true expression of calm he felt safe enough, yet the most ashamed off when out of the room, "time to head home from school"
A curious statement, and one he made not as himself. Or rather as a person he could pretend to be. At least until dragged away from a room he now lost sight of. Bernie slid his mouse cursor over the sea of pixels, resting on the blurry face of a picture one could perhaps make out as a golden-haired woman. Two quick taps were all it took to confirm the avatars appearance.
Bangs shaping a fair face like a crown, an emerald eyed knight looked outward. Gaze sailing along an ocean of grass streaming in the gale. The last of the boy's shame tried to fight back a smile, but the pitied gesture made it present on his face. Only growing more natural and calmer as brush strokes of pixels painted the characters Fate upon the scream, a red line dividing them from a Stay Night.
Slanted words, cut sharp into the screen as if by a sword. Granting entrance into a world he had no part off, but so desperately viewed as a window to an organized tragedy he craved. A fraction of a second was all he needed to fully appreciate the title, the wait between his computers coughs to load anything was more than enough time to savior anything.
Bernie leaned back in his chair waiting for his load file to boot up. Almost like he was preparing to view a video recording an old friend left him. Or more accurately, a woven tale of letters written of a youthful time passed long ago. Pictures sketched like a story book from a medieval time,
Alright Shirou, time to get to work, he echoed the name across his head as if it was his own. Wanting nothing more than for his blue eyes to reflect the amber gold that would ever so periodically grace the screen.
The story he read in envy was a new obsession of Bernie's that originated four years ago. Having found the visual novel as an anime while binging YouTube one day. Truthfully, he had never been into Japanese animation before, and despite his reclusive nature, never fell into that crowd despite how easily it fit him.
In a way, that type of mindset was what allowed him to become so inversed in a world not his own.
The images of a golden blonde king, grasping an invisible sword of victory in her hands, was an age-old legend in a world that should be alien to him, but was human even in its difference. A Greek tragedy told through the lens of an eastern writer, Bernie got to experience to cultures he subconsciously knew, but experienced for the first time.
As woven stories of myth were presented in a natural way that hit the young man as a breath of fresh air. A new experienced built on a structure he wasn't aware existed.
This serene dopamine rush had been too affected however, and he knew it. The story before him became something he was afraid to see end but needed to consume. As he drank in every ounce, but only recently fetched the original spring water.
Bernie knew how things would end, or rather how they could end one of five different ways. Or three ways at once. He would grow nervous of this though, his mind begging different choices to be made, or one outcome to not exist as he feared to peer to deep inside.
His obsession would most likely end with the first route, and a hopeful curiosity would lead him to the second but stop him from reaching the third.
Dancing around the mouse like a hand flicking past pages, the story for him was about two people. The King of old, and her red headed buffoon of a master. An imbecile Bernie strived to relate too. Who he believed he insulted by trying to relate too with his own tragedy he did not overcome as the orphaned boy did. The imagery of stone streets, paper houses, and dojo mats flashed across the screen, but the virtual day would drag on long for Shirou.
For Bernard though, the sun went by too fast. Unnoticed time trapped by drapes passed him by. The aroma his eyes sniffed in of lunch, distracting him far too well from the whiffs of dinner his noise caught coming from below.
Cloth like hair, nor pilot esc headphones could block the feel of sound revibrating around his room. Bernie jumped in his seat like the knock on the door punched him out of it,
"Hey Bernie", his mother's upbeat voice carried the slightest bit of annoyance. Clearly this wasn't the first time she had called for him only for Shirou not to hear, "It's time for dinner, come on"
The young man whipped his cursor to the save file. Three opened windows filled with the portrait of a stern eye blonde that he blushed at before exiting the game, "S-sorry mom"
Guilt traced his voice. Or more accurately, shame did. Without the buzz of his computer and the words of another life, his distraught mind reminded him of the narcissist it argued with,
Four and a half hours, Bernie opened the door after his mother's footsteps thundered down the stairs. Like a hammer striking his thought, four and a half hours we gave to people who don't exist and you can't be
I know, he had no words for himself, or his mother who wouldn't even ask. Taking his time going down the stairs, ready for a dinner he wouldn't be able to produce words for, let's just… get through this
An awkward silence whistled throughout his head. As if both halves of an ego he created missed an obvious point their subconscious made.
The actual meal existed in even thicker isolation. Bernie's mom would talk of course. Pushing through her own tiredness and concern to ask her son more general questions about his day. Speak of her own and ask him like always before he went up if everything was okay. To which he would respond to the same way he bid her farewell heading up the stairs after school.
In his mind he received disproval in a head he should shake. In awe at his own stupidity for thinking everything being fine wasn't a blessing. That he looked forward more to the dinner between others on a screen in a world that didn't exist was richer than the one with his own family. And above all disgusted, but too afraid to even voice in his own self-pity, that the door he opened contained the fire that forged him and Shirou as one. As if the spoke still haunting the one he past didn't still harbor the true victim of an inferno thar was his mother's hell more than it would ever be his.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Far away from the troubles of the Earth yet to come, and the war of the mind drugged by a shimmering screen, the full moon shined bright across asphalts streets of suburbia. A gale set free the last autumn leaves that cling to wooden skeletons that hibernated in between the roads and hills of a town that had long since abounded calling itself small.
The brick stone of the restaurant district may harbor ice cream shops that remind the older natives of their sweet tooth days, but the real downtown for even them was always an hour train ride south. The same place their modern descendants sought goods between skyscrapers. If too impatient for even that, the shopping center of the less flashy tri state city a literal stone throws away... depending one where one lived.
Seventeen thirty-four could be plastered outside the village hall all it wanted. But the town of Cardiff would always follow the word 'New' it inherited from the region an old England had tried to replicate. Despite all this though, the autumn leaves still sailed through the air, and the forest that snuck its way through still clutched onto a Connecticut that reminded the world settled atop it still harbored a land that had been just as ancient as the one across the pond.
Tolerated, fashionable, or ignored, forest and fields still existed here instead of skyscrapers and unimpeded horizons. Houses sporting gardens and yards, that while symmetrical, were made with the wood of the land. Harboring its spirit, and allowing those that wished, to feel in a land of tradition and mysticism. Oozing fables for those to pass on, or if brave enough, carry. Settled down like the copper leaf dashing by a pinewood green colonials last lit window of the night.
Like a weary traveler against the glass. Just in time to see wonder filled face plastered on a red headed boy. Brown eyes like chestnut seeds ready to burst into growth. peeking outside a spaceship dotted comforter. Greeted by the hopeful sight of a man, whose age had only just begun to wrinkle his forehead and take nips out of a hairline that teetered on the line between black and gray.
Yet he had the joy of somebody who was still safely twenty years younger than the bubbling voice of that sat at an unchanging half century,
"'Mistress Moiraine. And Master Lan was a whirlwind with that sword of his'", the father ran a hand through his head to emphasizes the mayor's bewilderment. His own smile growing with his son who looked like he just went from trick or treating alone to waking up Christmas morning at the mentioned of Lan's abilities, "'His sword? The man himself is a weapon and in ten places at once, or so it seemed. Burn me, but I still wouldn't believe it if I couldn't step outside and see…'"
Thomas Bragi held back an amused chuckle through his son's bit lips of excitement. The wonder in Matt's eyes was what got him through every day. He was at first a little concerned that the book that bore the Eye of the World, would be too much for the boy, barely a decade old, to handle. And when the Trolloc's seemed to leap out of the pages causing his son to frankly take cover under his sheet, the father reeled in his toothy smile and instantly thought he made the wrong choice.
Luckily, just as his son eagerly watched him turn the page now, he had told Thomas to keep reading so he knew how the Heron marked blade would save and Rand and Tam from the beast men. And past the tragedy of Winterfell, the story and this chapter ended hopefully for both father and son in fiction as well as reality.
The salt and peppered haired father himself was still getting lost in the pages, and approaching the end of the chapter, had to force himself out. A female voice, whispered like the wind and gone just as soon, causing him to close the book. His smile grew soft and remorseful. The trip from fantasy to a cold night air, only worth it to see what that voice could not,
"… Don't stop now dad… what happens next?", Matt nearly kicks him by accident tensing up in glee,
"The next chapter… but that will have to wait for another time", Thomas wanted to groan along with his son. But even if his wife was gone… he had promised himself that he would always represent Robin as a mother to Matt. Even if that meant following rules such as bedtime, because 'even on weekends children need to stick to sleep schedules',
"Nooooo fair", Matt whined. Before his opened mouth betrayed him in a yawn, "I've got hockey practice all day tomorrow, and I'm sleeping over at Percy's afterward… and you won't come read to me at the rink Sunday"
Matt pouted, a face that was normally kryptonite to the father… if not for one thing that caused Thomas's eyebrow to raise, "Do you want me to read to you during your game. Because I will, even offer to host your team slumber party so you can read while the other kids have fun with their boring video games"
"W-wait… w-we don't need to read on slumber party nights", still too young to see through his dad's sarcasm, Matt's mind goes defensive. Lips twinging into a forced smile, "P-Percy just got another Switch so we can play eight player Smash Bro's dad, Eight players!"
"Hmmmmm", he feigned like he was considering that new point against his first proposal. But seeing Matt scrunch his face and cross his fingers, he decided the boy's had enough of his dad mode teasing and chuckles, "Alright, no reading on video game nights"
"Yes!", the boy exhaled in a chirp that turned yawn. Causing Matt to redden in embarrassed, "N-not that I don't want to read with you dad… I really, really, want to know what happens to Rand, and Mat!"
"Hehe, of course", he laughs at how he had gotten away with giving his son the most normal name from the book he adored so much. Luckily, Thomas was able to convince Robin that he merely wished to honor her uncle… which he did, being named after the mischievous Two River's jester was merely a happy coincidence, "There's no school or boring work Monday, so we can spend all day reading"
Rubbing the boys red locks, Thomas tucked his son in. Watching the enthusiasm be shaded, but not lost, behind his eyes that now could feel the full wait of sleep. Biting his lips, he wished Robin was here. The smile he naturally had was pained that it couldn't be shared by her,
But wherever you are Robin, after a minute he rose, I want you to know… I should get some serious parent points. Are son's new MLK day tradition will be educating himself through the power of books while other kids goof off in front of TV
Thomas smirk fought back the sadness. These late-night conversation with Robin helped him pretend she wasn't gone. The man turned off Matt's light, but flicked the hallway on to keep any Trollocs at bay,
… of course, he's reading fantasy… about a group of people going on an adventure… so maybe not a book that represents the day off, he dug in his own pride's hole. As if they were wafted on his smiling wives' words, Alright, next year we'll read something that will do Mr. King more justice… Still… he's reading
Thomas shakes his head with a sad smile. It was so hard to know she was gone. The conversations he imagined could never do her justice. He wouldn't have her wit, or her remarks, nor her calm yet firm nature in handling the real world and preparing their son for it… but he still felt like she was around.
Something that helped him get to the bathroom, brush his teeth, and get into a bed that felt far too spacious now a days. Raising the covers, Thomas had a thought of downsizing to a twin size bed itch the back of his mind… but ever since Robin's death, Matt would occasionally run in with nightmares and need to spend the night here. His own discomfort at knowing the woman he loved would no longer be at his side, wasn't worth the comfort that she used to lay her brough their boy,
Stay strong Thomas… stay strong and focus on the void, that thought no longer felt silly to him, or depressing. The man's eyes trailed across the novel they came from. The Eye of the World, sporting a moon that had aged as much as he had over the twenty years since he had picked it out… but he still found comfort in their words.
Fiction or not, he found strength in them. In his youth, when he was five years Matt's senior, he had used the words as a distraction. A way to trade the name Thomas for Rand. To weave his way to the epicenter of a grand story then face a crumbling life. While he dug to deep the first time, the Wheel of Time brought him safely through a period in his life he could not handle as himself.
But luckily Robin had emerged to bring him out of the destination it led. For him to face the world as Thomas and leave the destiny of a fictional tale to the Dragon Reborn. Upon her death though, he looked at the books ready to fall into the same trap… but only grew amused at the thought of being the young Rand again.
That time had passed, and he knew the mind of an adventurer were for the young. People who still had hair thick as jungles, and imagination not bogged down by reality. In his second attempt through… he did see the man he wished to be though. For however hard Robin's death was for him, it was going to be harder for Matt. Who was he to cowardly waist away in self-pity, to leave his son as fatherless as himself at that age.
No Thomas would be a protector, a Warden. Who knew that his eyes found the name sake riding the black stallion from outside the cover rather than in. It would be hard, challenges would emerge. But a duty was to be had, and he would have to raise others,
Besides, he thought, smiling at the yawn he could once again produce, Lan was up there around fifty, graying, and still fought like a man closer to my own age
For a moment, the moon was his past loves iris. One that orbited the stars in an arc at his cringing behavior. Try as she might, she had married a nerd and that was something she would always love and tease him for even past death.
Thomas gazed out the window, but his stare fell with the light he turned off. The book he closed for the day falling to the nightstand just a tick before he fell asleep. Both fiction and reality unaware of the roots of fables that ran beneath the land. A blue sky growing fae with a twinkling river of stars. Transformed into the eye of the world. That shined down through the lens of a Milky Way that couldn't blink away the beautiful tragedy fated to stay the night.